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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30450-8.txt b/30450-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d347a45 --- /dev/null +++ b/30450-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10649 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Monk of Hambleton, by Armstrong Livingston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Monk of Hambleton + +Author: Armstrong Livingston + +Release Date: November 11, 2009 [EBook #30450] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's notes: Extensive research found no evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + + +_By_ + +ARMSTRONG LIVINGSTON + + + + +NEW YORK + +RAE D. HENKLE CO. Inc. Publishers + +1928 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1928, + +By RAE D. HENKLE Co. INC. + + +Manufactured in the United States + + + + +_THE AUTHOR_ + +_Armstrong Livingston was born in New York City and was educated at St. +George's School, Newport, R. I; and in Europe. He began a writing +career in 1918. He has traveled extensively and for the past two years +he and Mrs. Livingston have made their home in Algiers with occasional +trips to Paris and London. He is the author of the following +books--all mystery stories:_ + + + THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + THE MYSTERY OF THE TWIN RUBIES + THE JU-JU MAN + ON THE RIGHT WRISTS + LIGHT-FINGERED LADIES + THE GUILTY ACCUSER + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. SAYING IT WITH FRUIT + II. THE HEAD OF THE TRAIL + III. A WARNING + IV. THE LEGEND OF THE MONK + V. MISS LUCY'S MAN + VI. AN AUNT IN NEED + VII. OUT OF THE PAST + VIII. TWO VICTIMS OF THEFT + IX. SIMON SEEKS ADVICE + X. CREIGHTON TAKES THE CASE + XI. CHECKERS AND CHICANE + XII. STARLIGHT ON STEEL + XIII. A DEDUCTION OR TWO + XIV. LUCY VARR + XV. TREASURE TROVE + XVI. A WOMAN OF NOTE + XVII. AN ARREST Is MADE + XVIII. SOME OLD MEN ARE OUT + XIX. AMONG THOSE PRESENT + XX. H. ANTEUS KRECH + XXI. TWILIGHT + XXII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT + XXIII. THE DARKEST HOUR + XXIV. BEYOND THE STARS + + + + +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + + +_I: Saying It With Fruit_ + +The weather-beaten buildings that comprised the plant of the Varr and +Bolt tannery occupied a scant five acres of ground a short half-mile +from the eastern edge of the village of Hambleton. They were of +old-type brick construction, dingy without and gloomy within, and no +one unacquainted with the facts could have guessed from their +dilapidated and defected exteriors that they represented a sound and +thriving business. It was typical of Simon Varr, that outward air of +shabbiness and neglect; it was said of him that he knew how to exact +the last ounce of efficiency from men and material without the +expenditure of a single superfluous penny. + +An eight-foot board fence surrounded the property on three sides, the +fourth being bounded by a sluggish, disreputable creek whose fetid +waters seemed to crawl onward even more slowly after receiving the +noisome waste liquor from the tan-pits. At only one point, that +nearest the village, did any of the buildings touch the encircling +fence. There its sweep was broken by the facade of a squat two-story +structure of yellow brick which contained the offices of the concern +and the big bare room in which a few decrepit clerks pursued their +uninspiring labors. Admission to this building, and through it to the +yard, was by way of a stout oaken door on which the word _Private_ was +stencilled in white paint. Just above the lettering, at the height of +a man's eyes, a small Judas had been cut--a comparatively recent +innovation to judge from the freshness of its chiselled edges. + +On the afternoon of a warm, late-summer day a number of +men--twenty-five or thirty--were loitering outside this door in various +attitudes of leisure and repose. They were a sorry, unkempt lot, +poorly clothed and unshaven, sullen of face and weary-eyed. When they +moved it was languidly, when they spoke it was with brevity, in tired, +toneless voices. All of them looked hungry and many of them were, for +it was the end of the third week of their strike. + +The faintest flicker of animation stirred them as they were presently +joined by a roughly-dressed man who sauntered up from the direction of +the village, though it is safe to suppose that some of them were moved +to interest less by the newcomer himself than by the fact that he was +carrying a huge ripe tomato in one hand. He nodded a greeting that was +returned by them in kind, and it was some moments before the most +energetic of their number crystallized their listless curiosity in a +single question. + +"Any news, Charlie?" + +"Nothin' to git excited about." + +"I seen you talkin' to Graham a while ago." + +"Uh-huh. Graham's a good sport even if he is standin' in with th' +bosses." + +"He's only lookin' out for himself," said the spokesman judicially, and +tightened his belt by one hole. There was a murmur of assent from the +others. "A man has to in this world." + +"Uh-huh. And that's why we're strikin' now for a livin' wage and +decent workin' conditions. We're just lookin' out for ourselves +because no one else will." + +"Don't see as we're gettin' 'em," ventured a pessimist mournfully. +"Graham say anythin'?" + +"Said we'd oughter give in. That's what we'd expect _him_ to say, +ain't it? But I was talkin' to one of the clerks, feller named +Stevens, and _he_ says that there's a lot of big orders on th' books +that ain't goin' to be filled if we don't go back to work. Reckon +that'll give old Varr somethin' to think about!" + +They contemplated this hopeful scrap of information in a silence broken +finally by the pessimist, who contributed a morsel of personal history +by no means as irrelevant to the subject as it sounded. + +"Wimpelheimer just shook his head when I went to him this noon for a +bit of meat. He was nice enough about it, but he says three or four +fellers left town last week owin' him money an' he can't figure noways +how we're goin' to win this strike. He's lookin' out for himself, too!" + +"Uh-huh." Charlie's favorite expression of agreement was slightly +blurred by a mouthful of tomato. "Varr owns Wimpelheimer's store. If +he catches Wimpy bein' too accommodatin' to us chaps he's fixed to make +trouble for him." He nodded portentously. "Get it?" + +"Seems as if Varr owns th' hull blame village of Hambleton, barrin' a +few things he's only got a mortgage on," drawled another speaker. He +went on musingly to quote a local aphorism. "What Varr says, _goes_!" + +"That's right," concurred the pessimist glumly. "I reckon we took on a +pretty big contract when we started to buck Simon Varr!" He wagged his +head despondently. "Why--a man might as well try to buck _Gawd_!" + +Charlie's face came out from behind the tomato and his eyes swept the +other with fiery scorn. "Gettin' cold feet, huh? Mebbe you'd like to +git down on your knees an' crawl back to th' old skinflint? The rest +of us started out to do somethin' an' I guess we'll stick. Ain't that +so, boys?" There was a low murmur of assent. "We'll win, +too--cry-baby!" + +"You'd better hope so, Charlie Maxon!" flashed the object of his +derision. "You talked us into this strike in the beginnin', more than +any one else did, an' if we have to go back to work on th' old terms +your name is goin' to be _mud_!" + +"Talked you into it, did I? All right, then--I did! What of it? +Afraid I'm goin' to quit on you, huh? Well, I'm not. If I talked you +into it, I'll get you _out_ of it--with more pay an' better +conditions." His voice hardened to a threatening note. "What's more, +we ain't goin' back on th' old terms or th' old conditions, neither. +You heard tell of th' fire that started in C buildin' t'other night, +didn't you? Said it was an accident, didn't they? Well, mebbe it was +an' mebbe it wasn't. Mebbe there's others who wouldn't be sorry to see +th' tannery go up in smoke! An' as for Simon Varr, before I'd go back +to work for him at the old scale I'd catch him by himself some night +an'--" + +"Here he comes now!" broke in somebody abruptly. + +Maxon, his harangue cut short, followed the gaze of all of them. +Coming toward them some fifty yards away, not from the direction of the +village but from a short-cut through the woods that led from the +tannery to his house on the hill, was the familiar, thickset, gray +figure of the man they had been discussing. They watched him draw near +for a moment, then quietly broke up into groups of two and three and +drifted silently away. Maxon lingered to the last from a spirit of +sullen bravado, but he had no wish to encounter his late employer face +to face and he, in turn, followed his comrades in retreat. + +Simon Varr watched them go from beneath his shaggy, scowling eyebrows, +and his thin lips relaxed their usual tightness to curve in a +contemptuous sneer. Jackals! + +He marched steadily to his objective, the door of the offices, and was +raising his hand to knock when there was the sound of an iron bar +sliding back and the door opened. Since the fire to which Maxon had +referred, it had been deemed advisable to employ a watchman by night +and a guard by day to protect the property from either accident or +sabotage. It was the day-man who had recognized his employer through +the Judas and drew the bar. + +"Good afternoon, sir," he ventured politely. + +Simon Varr was not accustomed to respect any amenity of social +intercourse and he paid no more attention now to the greeting than if +it had never been uttered. He merely glanced sharply at the man and +snapped a curt question. + +"Well, Nelson--any trouble?" + +"No, sir. There's been a bunch of them loungin' around outside and +talkin' a lot, I was listenin' to them when you came along." + +"Talking, eh? Who seemed to be doing the most of it?" + +"Well, sir, I'd say that--" + +He was not destined to say it at that moment, however, for his remarks +were interrupted by an incident as annoying as it was unexpected. He +and Varr were confronting each other in the open doorway while they +spoke, and at this point some missile hurtled past their faces and +thudded heavily against the planking of the door, where it burst with +all the enthusiasm of a hand-grenade. Startled, they sprang back; +then, recovering from the shock, they discovered themselves quite +uninjured in body if somewhat damaged in raiment. They were liberally +bespattered from head to foot with the lifeblood of an overripe tomato. + +Nelson vented his indignation in a mild oath, Varr relieved his +feelings in an angry snarl. The tanner wheeled swiftly in an effort to +detect the author of the outrage, but his eyes showed him only a small +knot of men, their hands thrust ostentatiously in their pockets, whose +snickers died away as he gazed at them grimly. He grunted +disdainfully, motioned the guard to precede him, and closed the door +behind them as they entered the building. They busied themselves +briefly with handkerchiefs. + +"I'd like to have the tannin' of their ugly hides!" muttered Nelson. + +"Charlie Maxon was eating a tomato as I came across from the path," +commented Varr, more to himself than to his companion. "He put his +hands behind his back to hide it from me, but he was too slow. Umph! +He'll wish he'd never seen that tomato, let alone thrown it at me, +before I'm through with him!" + +"Maxon, sir?" The mention of the name reminded Nelson of his +unfinished report. "Why, it was him that was doin' all the talkin'!" + +"It was, eh? Umph." + +"More than that, sir, he was makin' threats." + +"Threats! What sort of threats?" + +"Nothing very definite, sir, but it sounded to me as if he'd be glad +enough to set fire to this place if he got a good chance--and he said +he wouldn't come back to work at the old wages, not if he had to catch +you by yourself some night." + +"Catch me by myself--! And _then_ what?" + +"That was as far as he got, sir. They saw you comin' then and he +didn't say anything more." + +"Ah!" There was derision in the monosyllable, but a thoughtful +expression in the hard gray eyes indicated that Varr had found food for +reflection in Nelson's story. What direction his thoughts were taking +he did not choose to reveal at the moment, but shot another question at +the watchman instead. "Doesn't Maxon wear a dark-blue flannel shirt?" + +"Usually, sir; he had on a gray one to-day." + +"Ah!" It was a note of triumph this time. "Have you seen Steiner this +afternoon?" + +"Steiner, sir? The Chief of Police?" + +"The Chief of Police--certainly! Not the Sultan of Turkey!" + +"No, sir, I haven't. But this is about the time he turns up every day +to see that things are quiet." + +"Watch out for him. Tell him I want to speak to him. I'll be upstairs +in my office." + +"Yes, sir." + +They parted with no further remarks. Nelson made a cautious +preliminary survey of the outer world to satisfy himself that no more +tomatoes were to be apprehended, then opened the door, placed a chair +upon the threshold, and settled to the enjoyment of a freshly-filled +pipe while waiting for Steiner to put in an appearance. Varr strode to +the farther end of the hallway and climbed the flight of narrow, +rickety stairs which led to the upper floor. + +This was normally the scene of quiet and orderly activity, where the +day's work was done to the clicking of typewriters and the hum of +subdued voices, but now the rooms were empty and the only sound to be +heard was the heavy tread of Varr himself as he walked through the main +office to the small room where his own desk was located. He frowned at +the difference, and sniffed discontentedly at the stale air which +seemed already to have taken on the peculiar flat mustiness appropriate +to closed and deserted habitations. He frowned again when he drew his +finger along a desk and noted the depth of the furrow it had made in +the dust. + +A reasonable man--Simon emphatically was not--would have allocated to +himself some share of the blame while scowling at the empty chairs and +dusty furnishings of the office. It was he who was primarily +responsible. It was he who had decreed that the clerical force should +be laid off without pay for the duration of the strike. + +"They'll have nothing to do--why should we pay 'em to do it?" + +Jason Bolt, a minor partner in the business by virtue of some money he +had put into it at a critical period in its early development, had +protested mildly and ineffectually. + +"It wasn't their fault, this strike. If we do that it's going to make +them mighty sore." + +"Sore at us--but it'll make 'em _hate_ the strikers!" + +"It will work a hardship on them--they need their salaries." + +"If they don't like it let them find other jobs." + +"They can't, Simon--there aren't any in Hambleton." + +"Then let 'em move to another village--there isn't one of them who'd be +a real loss to the community." + +"They can't do that, either, they're all family men and they can't pull +up stakes and shift at a minute's notice." + +"Then they'll stay here and do the best they can until we're ready to +whistle 'em to heel again. So much the better. Nothing breaks a +strike quicker than adverse public opinion--and those clerks are going +to provide a lot of that when they begin to feel the pinch. I'm giving +you a lesson, Jason, not only in economy, but in strategy!" + +"Just the same--I don't like it." + +Simon Varr's eyebrows had gone up a full inch and dropped again. + +"You don't like it?" he retorted ironically. "Well, I _do_--and what I +say, _goes_!" + +Which had ended the debate, since he spoke the simple truth. + +He blew the dust from the finger that he had trailed along the desk and +entered the small office that was his sanctum. Seated at his ancient +roll-top, he opened and read a handful of letters that had come in the +afternoon mail--and his ready frown was active again as he noted the +tone of some of them. The clerk, Stevens, when he told Maxon that +several orders were shortly due to be filled, had in nowise exaggerated +the case. Two or three were already overdue, and irate gentlemen in +distant cities were beginning to make inquiries more pertinent than +polite. Varr threw the letters on his desk and swore at the writers. + +The light in the office suddenly became dim; Simon rose irritably and +went to the single window, where he raised the green shade to its +greatest height. Storm-clouds rolling up from the west had obscured +the descending sun so that the countryside, with its rolling fields of +grain and patches of thick woodland, which a moment since had been +laved in a golden flood, now looked grim and gray beneath the deepening +shadows. The tanner studied the gloomy prospect with angry eyes, +finding in it some reflection of his own situation, and the face which +he raised to the heavens was as black as the clouds themselves. + +His was the startled, half-uncomprehending fury of the bull at the +first stinging dart of the picador. Domineering and ever dominant, he +had been accustomed throughout his life to impose his will upon others. +Shrewd and capable in his chosen business, successful in the limited +area of his activities, he had come perilously close to believing +himself omnipotent, not only in all that pertained to his own destiny, +but in the destinies of those about him. Never until the last few +weeks had either men or events dared to march contrary to his wish, +whereas now they appeared to have entered deliberately into a +conspiracy to defy their master and defeat his plans. + +Well--conspiracies can be crushed! His jaw set, his thin lips +tightened and his powerful hands clenched until the nails on his stubby +fingers sank deep into the flesh of his palms. Let 'em match their +wits and their wills against his--he would show 'em! + +He was so rapt in thought that he did not hear a heavy step in the +outer office and was unaware that he had a visitor until a voice spoke +respectfully from the threshold of his room. + +"Mr. Varr--Nelson said you wished to see me." + +The tanner started and turned from the window. "Oh--it's you, +Steiner." He walked to his desk and seated himself solidly in his +swivel chair. "Come in." + +The Chief of Police--Chief by virtue of two subordinate +constables--obeyed a command, rather than accepted an invitation. He +was a tall man, slender of build but wiry, a little past middle-age, +with hair beginning to gray at the temples, pale blue eyes and lantern +jaws. As a policeman he was a singularly unconvincing figure, yet he +had served creditably enough for five years in the peaceful village of +Hambleton, where an occasional speeding motorist or some native exalted +by too much home-brew constituted the whole criminal calendar for a +year. A quiet job for a quiet man. + +Varr did not offer him a chair, so he stood patiently waiting, twirling +in his hands the uniform cap that he had removed in deference to his +surroundings. + +"Last night," began the tanner abruptly, "some one trespassed on my +property and committed material damage--or to put it more plainly, some +one entered my kitchen garden, picked a considerable quantity of my +best tomatoes, helped himself to a couple of dozen ears of sweet corn, +and incidentally trampled down and destroyed quite a number of plants +in the process. I strongly suspect that he did the last intentionally, +out of pure malice." + +"Why, sir, that's a singular thing to have happen," commented Steiner +as the other seemed to pause. "I don't expect it was any one in +Hambleton, sir. It might have been a tramp." + +"It might have been, but it wasn't. It was Charlie Maxon, who used to +work for me and never shall again. I want you to take the necessary +steps to effect his arrest. I intend to prosecute him and hope he will +be punished to the full extent of the law. It's time Charlie Maxon and +a few of his friends were taught that I'm a bad man to play tricks on!" + +"Maxon, sir?" Steiner seemed more thoughtful than surprised. "I think +he has been one of the more active men in agitating this strike of +yours. A bright enough chap with a queer streak running through him." + +"Umph. Well, I'm going to put him where his queer streak can't get +loose and run amuck in my garden." He caught an expression of +hesitancy in the policeman's eyes. "Eh? What's the matter?" + +"I was just thinking, sir--are we sure of proving it against him? +Mebbe we'd better go slow. If I arrest him, like you say, and the case +falls down, he'd have a cause for action--" + +"Idiot!" snapped Varr. "Don't you suppose I know that?" He thrust his +hand into his breast-pocket. "Of course I have plenty of proof." + +He produced a heavy wallet and opened it. From one of its compartments +he took a small, triangular bit of blue cloth and, with the habitual +impatience that marked his every speech and gesture, he threw it at +Steiner, who caught it deftly in his cap. + +"The man who looted my garden was afraid to use the gate for fear he'd +be seen from the house. He came and went through the barbed-wire fence +and left that as a souvenir. It's a piece of a flannel shirt, like the +one Maxon usually wears. Get his shirt and match this to the hole +you'll find in it--see? Then take his everyday shoes and fit 'em to +the footprints he left in my tomato patch--I've had two of 'em covered +with glass bells so they won't be washed away if it rains. That will +be all the evidence you need. Understand?" + +"Y-yes, sir." + +"Well--what is it now?" + +"It's this, sir--I guess I ought to tell you that there's a lot of +feeling in the village over this strike, and most of it favors the +strikers. Maxon would get a bunch of sympathy. S'pose he comes out +and says he took those tomatoes because he was hungry? It may be wrong +to steal, but there's people who will say you're persecuting him and +they'll set him up as a martyr. I--I'm looking at it from your +interest, sir--" + +"Indeed! Thank you, Steiner--thank you very much!" Varr was never +more disagreeable than on the rare occasions when he chose to be +studiously polite. "In return, let me suggest something that has to do +with your own best interests. You are employed here to preserve law +and order and this is decidedly a matter for your official +attention--unless, indeed, you are thinking of resigning from the force +on the chance that I may offer you a position as confidential adviser +to myself. Eh?" + +Cold gray eyes held and mastered pale blue ones. There was a brief +silence--a silence that lasted just long enough for Steiner to reflect +that he owed his job to the Board of Selectmen and that the Selectmen +pretty much owed theirs to Simon Varr. Then he cleared his throat +nervously. + +"Of course, you know best, sir. I'll act at once." + +"Let me know when I'm to appear in the police court." + +"Yes, sir. Is that all you want of me, sir?" + +Varr did not answer, but there was dismissal in the abrupt way that he +swivelled around to his desk and bent his head over his neglected +correspondence. + + + + +_II: The Head of the Trail_ + +The sound of the chief's subdued steps--in departing even his feet +contrived to appear deferential--had barely died away when it was +replaced by the noise of other and more determined ones ascending the +stairs. The creaking of the ancient floor-boards heralded the approach +of Jason Bolt, the junior partner, who passed by his own private office +and entered Varr's. + +He was a short, rotund little man of forty-five, smooth-shaven, +somewhat sandy in complexion, with twinkling eyes that were friendly, +and a light thatch of pinkish hair which was noticeably thinning on the +top of his head. There was a general air of cheerfulness and content +about him and his mouth, that was inclined to twitch at the corners, +seemed continually on the point of smiling. In truth, the fairy +godmother of Jason had presented him at birth with one of her choicest +gifts, a sense of humor, and it had seldom failed him since. Beyond +any possible doubt--as he had more than once pointed out to his wife +Mary--he owed to this fine characteristic the fact that he had +preserved his sanity of mind and body despite the twenty years of +intimate association with his grim, self-centered partner. + +He plopped down on a chair with a puffing sound of relief. He was +panting a bit from the stairs, and his forehead was beaded with a moist +tribute to the sultriness of the weather. He fanned himself gently +with a stiff straw hat. + +"Hello, Simon," he said presently, when returning breath permitted him +to speak. He did not expect any reply and continued without waiting +for one. "Gosh, I've just had quite a shock!" + +"Did, eh? What was it?" + +"The sight of our usually immaculate, if unpainted front door. I saw +that rich crimson stain, then observed Steiner coming out looking very +businesslike, and I made sure that some one had brained my noble +partner against his own building." + +"The shock coming when you stepped in here and discovered your mistake. +Is that it? + +"No, Simon; Nelson told me that it was only Charlie Maxon saying it +with catsup." His light voice grew more serious. "Just the same, a +man who throws tomatoes to-day may throw bricks to-morrow." + +"Not Maxon," cut in Varr. "Steiner has my orders to arrest him." + +"Arrest him! On charges of assault with a tomato? It's hardly a +deadly weapon unless it's green, and this one very obviously was not. +A slap on the wrist and a reprimand is about all he will get for that." + +Varr's chair revolved until he was facing his partner, at whom he +directed a glance of angry impatience. "If you'd listen to me instead +of chattering so much--! I'm charging him with trespass, theft and +property damage." Curtly but clearly, he described the overnight raid +on his garden and his reasons for believing Maxon the culprit. He +noted the changing expression of Bolt's face as the story progressed, +and when it was finished he asked, as he had asked the Chief of Police: +"Well--what is it?" + +"I'm thinking of the effect on public sentiment," answered the other +gravely, his thoughts turning in the same direction that Steiner's had +taken. "But of course that doesn't cut any ice with you--I know that. +You'll do as you please regardless of consequences." + +"I certainly will!" + +"Do you know, Simon, that about twenty of our best men have left town +in the last two weeks? I was talking to Billy Graham this afternoon +and he'd been checking up." + +"And making the worst of the situation, you may be sure!" Varr's face +darkened as his heavy brows came together in one of his ready scowls. +"If Graham has been watching the men, I've been watching him. I'm not +so certain that his sympathy isn't with them, instead of with us, where +it ought to be. Yesterday, I met that lanky daughter of his coming +from the direction of Brett's house with an empty basket in her hand. +I don't need three guesses to tell me what she'd been doing!" His lip +curled. "Nice bit of business, eh? We're trying to break a strike, +while our own manager rushes food to the strikers!" + +"Brett's wife has been sick and there are two kids to be looked after. +Sheila Graham probably remembered that and forgot everything else. +Billy may not have known anything about it--or have been able to stop +her if he did. Sheila is just as clever as she is pretty and generally +gets her own way in everything; since her mother died three years ago +she has been able to twist her father around her little finger. Smart +girl." + +"Entirely too smart!" + +The words were uttered with so much passion that Jason Bolt moved +uncomfortably on his chair, reproaching himself with having been +wanting in tact. There were good and sufficient reasons why Varr +should react to the mention of the girl's name like a bull to a red +rag, and here he had been stupid enough actually to praise the young +woman whom the tanner had referred to contemptuously as Graham's lanky +daughter. He opened his mouth with intent to change the subject, but +an outburst from Varr forestalled him. + +"You say she has her own way with her father. Exactly! Let me tell +you, Jason, I've no use at all for a man who can't command obedience +from his own children. That is something for my boy, Copley, to +consider before he involves himself any more deeply with Sheila +Graham--the daughter of one of my workmen of whose loyalty even I can't +be certain!" Under his sense of irritation, as his resentment against +those who were defying his wishes steadily increased, his voice grew +louder and more harsh. "If that girl wants to do her father a bad +turn, just let her continue to encourage that young fool! I was a wise +man never to give Graham a contract! He's only on salary, and for two +cents I'd give him a month's pay and throw him out!" + +"Well, I hope you won't," ventured Jason cautiously. He seemed to +spend most of his time debating whether the moment were propitious to +reason with Varr or whether he were best left alone! "It would be +awfully hard to replace Billy. You wouldn't have the satisfaction of +knowing that you had hurt him much, either. He told me recently that +the Thibault Tanneries have made him a very good offer to go to them. +He'd better himself considerably." + +"He would, eh? Why hasn't he accepted?" + +"You know as well as I do, Simon. He has been with us for years, saved +a fair bit of money, and he is hoping that some day we will see our way +to giving him an interest in the business. A laudable ambition for any +employee who wants to get on in the world. Even you can't criticize +that!" + +"Umph." Varr did not seem to think it necessary to express his views +on ambition, but appeared to be reflecting on the news Jason had just +given him. "The Thibault people, eh? In Rochester!" He raised one +hand and caressed his chin softly. "So if I throw him out of here he +will go to Rochester--taking that girl with him! Have you ever +noticed--" He broke off abruptly, leaned forward and threw his voice +into the outer office. "_Hello_! Is that you, Langhorn? What do +_you_ want?" + +They had failed to hear the approach of a thin, middle-aged man who had +come halfway across the main room from the head of the stairs before +Varr had chanced to see him. He came the rest of the way now, and the +fact that he stooped a little when walking lent him an odd air of +furtiveness, which was somehow borne out by his narrow face, weak, +irresolute chin and restless eyes. He was one of the clerks whom Varr +had summarily suspended from the payroll, and there was anxiety in the +gaze that shifted from one partner to another as he paused respectfully +in the doorway. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Varr! Good afternoon, Mr. Bolt!" + +"What do you want?" demanded Varr curtly, though a cruel light in his +eye made it apparent that he knew the answer. + +"Things are very hard, sir--" + +"And you come to me for help? The more fool you! I have made it plain +that not a single employee of this concern shall draw a dollar of +salary until those ungrateful pups who have struck come back to work on +my terms. Go tell _them_ your troubles! Tell 'em for me, too, that +their time is getting short. I'm making inquiries already with a view +to getting men to take their places." + +"I wasn't just thinking of work in the office, sir. If you had +something for me on the outside--something up at your house, perhaps--" + +"I have nothing. Good day!" + +The man waited a fraction of a second, his eyes mutely questioning +Jason Bolt, who negatived their appeal by an almost imperceptible shake +of his head. Slowly, the man withdrew. + +"A sneaking hound!" Varr did not lower his voice, indifferent to +whether the retreating clerk learned his opinion of him or not. "I +have never liked him." + +"He must have heard what you said about Graham," reflected Jason. "I'm +rather sorry for that. He's quite capable of carrying tales to Billy +that might lead him to misconstrue your attitude." + +"Let him! I guess it won't be such an awful misconstruction at that! +Graham was never farther in his life than this minute from his +partnership." + +"Well--of course--a partnership wouldn't quite march with my idea!" +Jason Bolt lighted a cigar rather nervously as he broached a subject +dear to his heart. "Not a partnership--no. But if we were to +incorporate and borrow the capital we ought to have, he might +reasonably expect a good block of stock on the most advantageous +terms----" + +"We--are--not--going--to--incorporate!" Varr's slow words carried the +emphasis of sheer exasperation. "I have told you before that I do not +intend to do so." + +"Still, Simon, our position warrants it--our increased business almost +demands it--" + +"I have said I won't!" + +"Yes--yes, I heard you. I would not have brought up the subject now +except that we will have an opportunity during the next week to get +some dope on the possibilities. Judge Taylor can tell us all about the +legal end of it, but Herman Krech can give us pointers on the practical +side--" + +"Who are you talking about?" + +"Oh--didn't I tell you?" Artful Mr. Bolt's surprise was well +simulated. "Why, he's a New York stockbroker who has made barrels of +money. He married a girl named Jean Graham, an old friend of my +wife's. Mary has tried two or three times to get them for a visit, and +they are finally coming to-morrow for a week." + +"He can stay a year for all of me." Varr brought his open hand down +with a loud smack on the arm of his chair. "Once and for all, Jason, +we are not going to incorporate!" + +"We could expand and make a lot more money." + +"We'll make more money without expanding!" + +When a youngster at school, some one had told Jason Bolt that the +constant dropping of water will in time wear away the hardest rock. He +had never forgotten this valuable piece of knowledge, possibly because +he had so frequently demonstrated its truth on the person of his +unsuspecting partner. No one could argue Varr into doing anything, +much less drive him, but Jason had more than once succeeded in +overcoming that granite obstinacy by a species of gentle, persistent +nagging. So adept had he become in this delicate accomplishment that +Simon Varr would have sworn at the end of a campaign that he had never +deviated from the original purpose that had been his in the beginning. + +"Well, anyway," tapped the drop of water, "it can't do a bit of harm to +listen to what he has to say." + +Varr shrugged his shoulders. The conversation had ceased to interest +him. So, evidently, had his letters, for he thrust them from him with +an air of finality as he rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. It +was not yet very late, but with the waning of summer the days were +growing perceptibly shorter and the light in the office where the two +men were talking was already failing. + +"I didn't see your car outside, Simon. Shall I give you a lift home? +or would you rather walk?" + +"I'll walk." Varr crossed the room and knelt before an old iron safe +in the corner near the window, peering closely at the figures on the +dial as he slowly turned the knob. In a moment the combination Was +complete and he pulled open the heavy door. "It occurred to me to-day +that this was a poor place to leave my memorandum book. If some one +succeeded in burning the building--as some one apparently wants to--it +would be none too secure even in this safe." + +Jason whistled softly. "Has that got the notes of your new formula in +it, Simon?" He stared at the small red leather notebook which Varr +took from a pigeonhole. "You're dead right to take that out of here! +By the way, did you see that letter from the Larscom Leather Company? +They say that the last order we shipped them--the batch we tanned by +your new process--is the best looking lot of leather they've ever had +in their shops." + +"I guess it was," acknowledged Varr calmly. He balanced the leather +memorandum book on his hand, his expression softening for a moment as +he regarded it and remembered the days and nights of toil represented +in its closely filled pages. A metal nameplate on the cover caught his +eye by reason of its dinginess. He breathed on it and rubbed it with +the cuff of his suit. "Yes, Jason, here is proof enough that my brains +in no way resemble a tomato. If you were capable of inventing the +processes that I have noted here, you would be running a business of +your own quite independent of me!" + +"That's very true, Simon." To this particular type of jeer Bolt had +grown accustomed, and if his eyes narrowed a trifle it was the only +hint of resentment that he showed. "As a matter of fact, it's just +because you've got such a good thing in this new formula that I'm +anxious for more elbow room." He glanced about him with an air of +dissatisfaction. "The business we're doing warrants something better +than this peanut stand!" + +"I'm ready to buy your interest for ten times what you put in!" offered +his partner dryly. "Will you accept?" + +"I will not." Jason stood up and clapped on his hat. "I must be off. +Sure you won't let me drive you home?" A shake of Varr's head answered +him. "Good night, then." + +He left the office and was halfway to the stairs when a sudden thought +occurred to him and he retraced his steps. + +"Say, Simon!" + +"Well?" + +"Where are you going to put that book?" + +"This notebook? In my library desk at home, I suppose. Why in thunder +do you want to know?" + +"Well, you might drop dead during the night! Think how awkward it would +be for me if your memoranda were missing, too!" + +He grinned cheerfully and departed, satisfied that he had scored mildly +in retaliation for some of the slights inflicted on him by Varr. He +had once discovered that Simon Varr, for all his outward strength and +ruthless nature, had an innate fear of death. This hitherto secret +weakness had revealed itself some years before when double pneumonia +had brought him dangerously close to the end of his mortal coil. + +He fell back a pace, shaken, but recovered in time to hurl an acid +comment or two at his tormentor's back. A derisive chuckle floated to +his ears from the stairway. + +Varr shut the safe and spun the dial, then picked up his hat and +prepared to leave the building. He paused for a word with Nelson, who +stood up and opened the outer door. + +"Your instructions are to allow no one in except Mr. Bolt and myself. +How does it happen that you permitted Langhorn to enter?" + +"I knew he was one of the clerks and I thought--" + +"Don't think. When does Fay relieve you?" + +"At seven, sir." + +"Tell him to keep a sharp watch. Instead of making his rounds at +regular intervals he had better vary the elapsed time between them. It +would be a good idea if he were to follow up one by another five +minutes later." + +"I see, sir. If any one is watching him, they'll begin their mischief +when he has just finished one round, and the second might catch them at +work. Is that it, sir?" + +"That is it. Keep it to yourself and Fay--no talking of it to some one +who may spread the story." + +"Certainly not, sir." + +"What became of that bunch of hot-air artists who were out here?" + +"They drifted away, sir--home, I expect. The last few of 'em left when +Mr. Graham came along." + +"Ah." Simon had asked about the men almost idly as his cold gaze swept +the clearing before the door. He had been on the point of crossing the +threshold when Nelson's casual remark stopped him short in his tracks. +"Mr. Graham was here? When was that?" + +"Not twenty minutes ago, sir." + +"Twenty minutes ago?" Varr thought back, and his calculations brought +a frown of annoyance to his brow. "Did he speak to you?" + +"No, sir. I made sure at first that he was comin' here, but Langhorn +had just left and he stopped Mr. Graham and spoke to him." + +"Humph. Did they talk together long?" + +"Five or ten minutes, sir." + +"Could you hear what they said?" + +"No, sir. They were too far away. Langhorn did most of the talkin' +and I figured he was probably tellin' Mr. Graham a hard-luck story." + +"No doubt you figured correctly," said Varr, neglecting, however, to +add that in all likelihood Graham had listened to a tale of misfortune +that concerned himself rather than the clerk. "What happened after +that? Did they leave together?" + +"N-no, sir." Nelson had begun to sense the presence of something +important underlying the surface of this inquisition and he paused +a moment to reflect before continuing. "It was Langhorn who left +first. Mr. Graham stood still a while, lookin' in this direction +as if he still meant to come over, then he turned and headed for +town." A shrewd gleam lit the watchman's eye. "While he was facin' +this way it struck me that he was lookin' red and sort of angry." + +"Ah!" + +The monosyllable served at once to express Varr's perfect apprehension +of what had passed between the two men and to bring the present +conversation to a close. He took his leave, ignoring Nelson's polite +"good evening" after his usual custom, and strode swiftly off along the +short-cut by which he had come an hour or two earlier. Irritation +quickened his step no less than the threat of rain from the banking +clouds in the western sky. + +So Jason had been right. Langhorn had overheard that portion of their +talk which concerned Graham and had promptly reported it to the man +most interested. Malicious, mischief-making little sneak! And of +course he had to walk smack into Graham just when he was in a mood to +make trouble and blow the consequences! With any luck he wouldn't have +encountered the other until resentment at the rebuff he had received +had cooled, and caution succeeded anger! + +Varr was in the humor these days to find in this trivial contretemps +yet another example of the annoyances, large and small, to which he had +been subjected lately--so persistently indeed that he was coming to +believe himself the chosen target at which some malefic Providence had +elected to discharge every arrow of misfortune in its quiver. + +Nothing seemed to go right any more; on the contrary, everything +appeared to take a fiendish delight in going wrong--which in Simon's +case meant largely that they were going in opposition to his wishes. +He briefly recapitulated a few of his major troubles as he hurried +along on his homeward way. + +First, there was dissension in his household, where his son was in +almost open rebellion against the paternal authority in the matter of +Sheila Graham, supported, Varr guessed, by the mild approval of his +mother. Second, there was the situation at the tannery, where a bunch +of incipient lunatics had gone completely mad and struck against +conditions that had previously been satisfactory to them and their +fathers before them. Last, but by no means least, was the discontent +in the office itself, what with a partner who had been bitten by the +bug of ambition--! A much-abused, sorely-tried man raised angry eyes +to Heaven and demanded of it, "What _next_?" + +And as he literally lifted his gaze from the trail, seeking an answer +in the sky, he saw something that halted him abruptly. He stood rooted +in his tracks, his head thrust slightly forward, very much as a keen +pointer freezes at the sight of game. + +The path he was following was one that ascended by gentle gradients +from the tannery to his big house on the crest of the low hill. A +narrow strip of meadowland on the edge of the town was crossed, then +the path, as it reached the rising ground, plunged into a deep belt of +heavy woods that stretched away on each side for the distance of a mile +or more; at the end, the trail crested a rather sharp acclivity before +emerging from the trees and linking up with a graveled path that +circled a kitchen garden in the rear of the house. + +Varr had just reached the foot of this last ascent at the moment he +looked up. Twenty yards ahead of him he could see the end of the path, +marked by a pale oblong of sky set in a dark frame of foliage, but it +was not that familiar sight which held him spellbound, started his +pulse to beating quickly and momentarily stopped his breath on a +painful gasp mingled of astonishment and fear. + +Silhouetted against the sky was a tall figure dressed from head to foot +in a black garment such as a monk might wear, but almost instantly Varr +recognized that there was something in this costume that was out of +keeping with the orthodox monastic habit. What the discrepancy might +be he could not determine in those seconds of bewilderment, but he knew +it existed. The outline against the light was clearcut; there were the +flowing line of the robe, and the conical shape of the hood, plain to +be seen and unmistakable. + +There were several reasons why the apparition--although he was +habitually unimaginative outside the field of barks and chemicals it +did not occur to Simon Varr in that first moment to doubt that this was +truly a specter from another world--should startle him to the verge of +sheer fright. To begin with, there was something suggestive of Death +in that somber, motionless figure, and of death he had a horror. Then +it had come so pat on his bitter question of "What _next_?" that it +seemed indubitably an answer from some Power not of earth. +Finally--there was something about the figure that wasn't _right_--! + +It spoke well for his spiritual courage that he was able to control his +nerves and conquer the trembling of his limbs within a few seconds, and +at the same time determine a course of immediate action. If this were +a human being it should be challenged; if it were a ghost, it should be +laid! He kept his eye fixed on the figure and deliberately took a step +toward it. + +Instantly, the immobility of the being ceased. A long black arm was +flung up and outward in his direction, a silent command to him to stay +his steps. + +His obedience was prompt, for now he knew what was wrong with the +apparition. Instinct had told him that the monk was confronting him, +regarding him closely, and the quick response to his attempted advance +was evidence enough that his instinct had not lied. + +His mouth went dry, his brow exuded beads of perspiration. The monk +was facing him sure enough--and that was queer, for the monk _had no +face_! + + + + +_III: A Warning_ + +From the shock of that gruesome discovery, Simon Varr reeled back both +mentally and physically. Involuntarily, he threw up a hand to shield +his eyes, then got the best of his terror and fell to rubbing them, +pretending to himself that this had been the intention behind the +gesture; doubtless their vision was blurred and had deceived him into +thinking the unthinkable-- + +He dropped his hand presently, blinked once or twice and prepared to +make a more careful scrutiny of the monk's appearance. He was balked +in this courageous essay. The apparition, if such it were, had acted +in accordance with tradition and had vanished. While his eyes were +covered it had departed, whether to left or right or merely into thin +air he could not tell. He did not debate the question, either--he +simply thanked his stars it was gone! + +It was with considerable reluctance that he resumed his way up the +path, but the daylight at the end of the trail looked inviting and +reassuring compared to the twilight in the woods and he covered the +distance to the spot where the monk had stood in a sort of a dogtrot. + +It was here that he made a fresh discovery as he collided rather +heavily with some obstruction in the path, an obstruction that gave way +as his body impinged upon it, but that nearly tripped him as it fell +between his legs. + +He picked it up, but did not pause to examine it. The light ahead +still lured and he continued his flight toward it, bearing his find +with him. + +He drew a deep breath of thankfulness as he finally emerged from the +woods into the comforting aura of the kitchen garden; his eyes rested +upon and were wonderfully soothed by a row of peaceful cabbages. Never +before had he noticed how beautiful a cabbage can be, but to a man +fresh from dalliance with a ghost there is something very steadying and +sustaining in a glimpse of that most stolid and solid of vegetables. + +There was a granite bowlder near-by on which he dropped gratefully for +a minute's rest. It was while reaching for a handkerchief to pat his +moist forehead that he was reminded of the object he had picked up and +still carried. He looked at it now, and found that it was a heavy +stick which must have been thrust firmly into the center of the path in +the woods; one end of it was split, and into the cleft had been thrust +a bit of folded paper--brown paper, he noted, of cheap quality, but +what really took his eye as he drew it free was his own name in +typewritten letters on the outside. + +Evidently this was intended for him, and he was about to open it to see +what message it might contain when the sound of hurrying steps from the +direction of the path diverted him from his purpose. Whatever the +contents of the paper might be, they were for him alone. Prompted by +an instinct for secrecy which was part of his psychological cosmos, he +thrust the missive into the breast-pocket of his coat and turned--with +a little tremor from his nerves--to see who was coming. + +It was a woman who burst from the shelter of the trees--a woman in some +haste and quite obviously in some alarm. She was panting from her +exertions, for she ceased running only when she reached the open, as +Varr had done before her. A close-fitting felt hat was slightly askew +on her head, and a once jaunty red feather that thrust up from it was +now hanging limp and dejected, broken perhaps by some low-hanging +branch she had failed to duck. She was dressed in a two-piece outing +costume of knitted wool, and she looked just now as if those garments +were too warm for comfort. + +Her face brightened as she observed Varr seated on the rock, and she +came toward him promptly. He brightened, too, welcoming any human +being of tangible flesh and blood at that moment, although there was no +living person whom he habitually detested more than he did his wife's +sister, Miss October Copley. Her evident perturbation, however, gave +him an uneasy premonition that he was about to hear more of his monk. +But he left it to her to introduce the subject. + +"Well, Ocky--reducing?" + +"Not much!" answered the lady briefly. "_Scared_!" + +She did not seat herself beside him on the bowlder, but chose instead +to drop at full length on a patch of green turf at his feet. With such +breath as remained to her she expelled a sigh of relief. + +"Scared, eh? I didn't suppose there was anything on earth that could +scare you!" + +She pounced instantly on his phraseology. "Perhaps not--on earth!" In +a smaller voice than she was wont to employ, she added timidly, "Simon, +d-do you believe in ghosts?" + +"_Ghosts_!" He fortified himself by a glance at the cabbages. "Talk +sense, Ocky!" + +"Who says it isn't sense?" snapped Miss Copley. "Anyway, I just got +the shock of my long and exciting life. See here, Simon--didn't you +come up that path a few minutes ago?" + +"I did. What of it?" + +"I was sure it was you ahead of me as we crossed the meadow. Tell me, +did you meet anything--I mean, any one?" + +"What do you mean? Did _you_?" + +"Y-yes. A figure in black--dressed something like a monk. I didn't +meet him, exactly--he dodged into the woods as I came along. That is, +I suppose he did--he just seemed to vanish!" + +"Oh--he seemed to vanish, did he?" Varr shifted nervously on his +granite throne. "You say he was dressed like a monk? Did--did you see +his _face_?" + +"No, I couldn't see that--" + +"Ah! You couldn't, eh?" He rubbed the palms of his hands on his +handkerchief as he probed a little deeper. "Too far away, I suppose." + +"No. He had on a mask." + +"A _mask_!" Comprehension came to him at once, and he inwardly cursed +himself for an imaginative fool before continuing. "Well, Ocky, to +tell you the truth, I did see him--right here at the head of the trail. +He had his back to the light so I couldn't make out any mask. Er--what +made you think of ghosts?" + +"Because I had such a creepy feeling when I saw him. Didn't you?" + +"Humph. For a moment, perhaps." + +"Did you pass each other after you met?" + +"Why--why-- Confound it--_no_! He just _disappeared_!" + +"Gosh!" said Miss Copley fervently. "Simon, it _was_ a spook! I know +it was! Have you ever seen or heard of a monk around here before?" + +"N-no. But that doesn't mean anything. There's no law that says they +can't travel if they want to." + +"But what would a monk be doing on a private path through this +property? Why should he disappear from people? Why should he wear a +mask? Monks don't wear masks." She reflected a moment. "Come to +think of it, he wasn't dressed exactly like a monk--Simon! did you +ever see a picture of those creatures of the Spanish Inquisition? +'Familiars' I think they used to call them. They dressed that way and +wore masks!" + +"Humph." Despite that skeptic snort, Varr was conscious of a nervous +chill. "You've been drinking too much coffee, Ocky! Indigestion!" + +"_Oh_!" cried Miss Copley suddenly. She raised herself on an elbow and +looked all about her on the ground. "Oh--_pshaw_!" + +"Eh? What is it?" + +"Coffee! Your mentioning it just reminded me! I was coming back from +a walk and I stopped at Wimpelheimer's to get a pound of it--I knew it +was needed at the house. Now it's gone! I must have dropped it when +that creature frightened me." She looked woebegone. "It's not very +far back, but I'm so tired!" + +"Are you?" repeated Varr restlessly. + +"You'll get it for me, won't you, Simon?" She regarded him +appealingly. "Oh--please!" + +He got up from the rock and glanced at her with marked distaste. His +gaze traveled to the dark entrance of the trail, came back to rest +briefly on the consoling cabbages, went again to the trail. He took an +irresolute, halting step--and then was struck by an inspiration that +cleared his brow as if by magic. + +"What do I keep a houseful of idle servants for?" he demanded crisply. +"Let Bates hunt it up--he'd better take a torch." + +"Simon--you're _scared_!" + +"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, it's going to storm. I felt a drop of +rain a moment ago. Come along to the house and stop your nonsense +about monks and familiars and--and ghosts!" + +Perhaps the last word came out a little uncertainly, but as he strode +through the kitchen garden and around to the front door, followed +closely by Miss Copley, he decided with pardonable pride that he had +extricated himself from an embarrassing position with his accustomed +masterful dexterity. The thought comforted him, for he vaguely +realized that he had come close to experiencing a nervous panic during +those minutes in the woods. + +A white-haired man, still lithe, erect and agile despite his years, +opened the door for them as their steps sounded on the planking of the +veranda. This was Bates, the butler, a faithful retainer who had +served the father of Lucy Varr and her sister a full decade before +passing with the house and land into the keeping of the younger +daughter and her husband. At the time of Mr. Copley's death, Varr had +tentatively suggested letting the man go, but his wife had protested +against that idea and had gained her point by shrewdly convincing her +husband that good servants were becoming increasingly difficult to find +and that Bates could never be replaced for less than twice his wages. +It was one of the very rare occasions when Simon had credited the +gentle, self-effacing lady with showing sound sense. + +The butler had just lighted the big lamp in the hall--electricity had +not yet found its way into the old house--and the warm cheerfulness of +the homely scene went far to rehabilitating Simon's convalescent nerve. +Ghosts did not fit into this atmosphere. Bates did--Bates was almost +as satisfying as a cabbage. Of course, Ocky would promptly do her best +to spoil it--! He could have dispensed willingly with the examination +to which she immediately subjected the servant. + +"Bates, has any one called?" + +"No, Miss Ocky." + +"No one at all?" + +"No, Miss Ocky." His wrinkled face showed his surprise at the +repetition. + +"How about the back door? Any one come there?" + +"No one, Miss Ocky." + +"Well, have you seen any one around the grounds? A man dressed like a +monk? Wearing a mask?" + +"A monk? In a mask?" The old man smiled indulgently at this quaint +whimsy, which might have come more suitably from the little girl with +flying pigtails whom he used to chase out of his pantry than from this +sensible, middle-aged woman who was waiting with apparent seriousness +for his answer. "A monk in a mask? Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" + +"All right." Miss Copley sent a significant glance at Varr, which he +acknowledged by wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "By the way, Bates--I +left a pound of coffee a little ways down the short-cut, you might step +out and get it before dinner." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +"You ought to find it right in the middle of the path." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +Bates waited, and when nothing further appeared to be forthcoming he +betook himself wonderingly to his usual habitat in the rear quarter of +the house. Monks in masks, indeed! And why did any one want to leave +a pound of coffee down a trail with rain commencing to fall? He shook +his head despondently over a Miss Ocky returned from foreign parts so +changed from the Miss Ocky of the old days. + +She seemed inclined to renew the ghostly topic of conversation when +left alone with her brother-in-law, but Simon gave her no chance. He +stalked off down the hall and entered his study, a small room that +opened off the comfortable, old-fashioned parlor. He closed the door +from the hall behind him, and also, for the sake of greater privacy, +the door that communicated with the living-room. Then he seated +himself at a roll-top desk and turned up the wick of the lamp that was +burning dimly in a wall bracket, close at hand. + +He had remembered, as he left Miss Ocky to her eerie fancies, the note +which he had retrieved from the cleft stick. She had driven the +recollection of it from his mind by her idle chatter about ghosts! He +took the slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. + +A few typewritten lines jumped to his eye, and he nodded as if that +were as he had expected. Before reading the text, however, he leaned +back in his chair and strove to recall the exact circumstances under +which he had discovered the missive. He had been hurrying--no, blast +it, he had been scuttling like a scared rabbit!--along the trail and +had run into the stick, which had been jabbed into the ground where he +could not fail to notice it--and at the very spot where the figure in +black had been standing! Apparition--pooh! If there was one thing +certain about the whole silly business it was that the note had been +put there by that--that creature. Simon did not profess to be versed +in the lore of spooks, but he could not vision an ambassador from +another world leaving behind him a tangible message composed on an +earthly typewriter--! Pooh, and again, _pooh_! + +He paused at this stage of his reflections to grin at the thought of +Ocky, denied the knowledge of this consolatory bit of evidence. He +hadn't mentioned it to her, and he wouldn't. Let her go on believing +in ghosts! He was hugely pleased to think that there really existed +one thing that could get under the skin of that hard-boiled human! + +He was still smiling grimly as he finally began to read the +message--but the smile had faded away before he finished. + + +"_Woe unto thee, stiff-necked son of Belial! Woe unto thee, oppresor +of the defensless! Woe unto thee, who hast ground the faces of the +poor, who hast turned the hopes of thy neighbers to ashes! Woe! Woe! +Woe! Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by +the thunderbolts of wrath!_" + + +A hand-written signature in a sprawling fist concluded the +communication; heavy, labored characters, inscribed in a crimson fluid +by a blunt pen, formed two words: "The Monk." + +Simon Varr read the thing through twice. He laid it on the desk before +him and stared at it as though it had some power to hypnotize him. A +pulse of anger beat in his temple, but it was a more subdued anger than +his quick temper usually produced. His mental processes had ceased to +function normally as they sank beneath a wave of bewilderment such as +had submerged them in the woods. Feebly, they came again to the +surface. + +This message was an event entirely outside the range of his previous +experience. He had heard of anonymous letters, naturally, and he knew +that the correct and courageous thing to do was to ignore them as if +they did not exist. But anonymous letters, as he understood them, were +brought by the postman and placed on the breakfast table with the +morning mail; they weren't planted in the middle of a lonely copse by +gentlemen attired as Spanish Inquisitioners! + +The letter on his desk seemed to leer at its recipient and challenge +him to ignore it. + +What did it mean? Who had sent it? Was it a genuine warning and +threat, or was it merely an elaborate hoax? He pondered the latter +possibility quite at length--and thanked his stars that he had not told +Ocky about it. Simon Varr was not the man to relish a jest against +himself, and if Ocky ever heard about it and it subsequently proved to +be the work of a practical joker--well, she would never let him forget +that he hadn't gone after the pound of coffee! + +But the theory that it might be a hoax grew more and more implausible +as he contemplated it. He was positive he knew no one capable of such +a prank, and to suppose that any stranger had gone to so much trouble +to play a trick on him was absurd. + +He had no lack of enemies--he knew that. Had one of them chosen this +fantastic method of declaring war on him? In that case he could +certainly afford to ignore the letter as coming from a source unworthy +of serious consideration. A worth-while enemy does not give a warning; +he strikes. The cheapest thing about a rattlesnake is its rattle. +Varr started to run over a list of recognized foemen who might have +done this ill-natured deed, but presently desisted; their name was +legion. + +He did not overlook a third, quite reasonable theory. The whole +business might have sprung from the unbalanced mind of a lunatic--some +person who believed himself appointed to right the wrongs of the +world--the victim of religious mania. That would account for the +choice of a monastic costume in which to masquerade--and it would also +account for the queer language of the letter, savoring as it did of the +Bible. Again, the type of person most likely to suffer from that form +of mental affliction would be a poorly educated person--and Simon +entertained grave doubts as to the orthography of some of the words in +the letter. + +He reached into a pigeonhole of the desk and took out a small +dictionary that he always kept at hand. He selected the dubious +spellings that had caught his attention and ran them down one by one. +"Oppresor" was wrong. "Defensless" was fearful. "Neighbor" started +out brilliantly but came a cropper at the end. And that curious +phrase, "Who hast"; what about that? Simon was a trifle hazy over +this, so he gave the writer the benefit of the doubt. It sounded +queer, though. Anyway, he had established to his satisfaction that the +fellow was illiterate--naïvely passing by the fact that he had himself +resorted to a dictionary to confirm his belief. + +He congratulated himself frankly on one score--he had laid the ghost! +He could admit now--though with a blush of shame--that he had been +badly shaken for just a few minutes, what with his own nerves and +Ocky's confounded chattering! A man without a face! A "familiar" from +the Spanish Inquisition! What rot a man's imagination can trick him +into crediting. But that was over and done with now; he was back on +solid ground, self-confident, secure-- + +He jumped quite half a foot in his chair at a muffled tap on the +door--and swore at Bates for announcing dinner. + + + + +_IV: The Legend of the Monk_ + +Four people sat down to dinner that evening in the big dining-room +across the hall from the parlor and Varr's study. The walls of the +dining-room were plentifully equipped with sconces bearing lamps, but +Simon, in some moment of petty economy, had once decreed that these +should be lighted only on formal occasions. The only illumination this +evening came from the candles on the table, which stood in the center +of the room, and beyond the area reached by their rays the shadows +deepened into impenetrability. At one end of the room a narrow slit of +light at top and bottom marked the position of the swinging door which +gave access to the pantry. + +From this point to the sideboard, and thence to the table, and back +again, moved Bates on noiseless feet as he busied himself with the +service of the meal. In his black clothes, the instant he slipped out +of the magic lighted circle he was swallowed completely by the shadows, +to reappear presently with spectral abruptness in another segment of +activity. Several times he startled Simon by silently materializing +from the void at his elbow, and on each occasion the tanner found some +excuse to vent his anger in a curt rebuke to the servant. + +The four who dined were of diametrically opposed temperaments. Across +the table from Varr sat his wife, Lucy, a pale, gentle soul who under +happier circumstances might have retained more of her youthful +freshness and beauty than she had. She appeared washed-out and +bloodless, so that her sister had remarked to herself that living with +Simon Varr must be not unlike associating permanently with a vampire. +His own abundant vitality sapped the life-juice from those about him, +leaving the desiccated bodies an easy prey to his appetite for +dominance. + +At Varr's left was his son, Copley, a young man who had come of age +that summer. He was tall and straight, aquiline of feature, brown-eyed +and with dark chestnut hair that persisted, to his annoyance, in a +tendency to curl. He was a likable chap, popular with young and old of +both sexes. His good looks came from his mother, together with the +equable disposition that promised to be his as he grew older and +learned better to control his emotions. When a youngster he had been +willful at times and prone to flashes of fiery temper, a heritage, +beyond doubt, from his father's chronic irascibility, but the +discipline of boarding-school and college had taught him to restrain at +least its outward manifestations. From Simon, too, he had inherited a +flair for business--an invaluable asset, thought Miss Ocky, for a man +sentenced for life to this twentieth century America. + +She was studying him now as she sat across the table from him, just as +she studied the other two when opportunity served. They were all three +practically strangers to her. The boy had not even been expected when +she went to China with the Oriental Languages committee from her +college, and in the twenty-three years that had elapsed before her +return two months ago, time had worked changes. She would never have +recognized her bright, joyous sister in this tired woman of the +listless air. As for her brother-in-law--well, perhaps it was not +quite accurate to say that he was a stranger to her; she had known +Simon Varr at the period of his courtship and marriage and he was still +Simon Varr, only a little more so! Detestable creature. She held him +accountable, quite justly, for the blight that lay upon Lucy. + +And upon Bates, too, for that matter. Miss Ocky had always had a warm +place in her heart for the faithful old man, reposing in him the trust +and confidence that her father had shown in the same quarter. Bates +was something more than the ordinary servant, he came close to being a +throw-back to the feudal retainer type of other days in his loyalty and +devotion to his house, just as his former master, Sylvester Copley, had +approximated in his time the character of a country gentleman. Bates +was getting on in years, of course, which would account for much of his +increased graveness and passivity, but not all. Unless Miss Ocky's +suspicions were wide of the mark, he, too, had come under the deadening +influence of Varr's dominance--ah! but _had_ he _entirely_? At the +very moment she was thinking about it, Simon had uttered a terse +comment, as biting as acid, upon some negligible feature of the +dinner-service. No faintest flicker of his facial muscles gave any +hint that Bates had heard the remark, but his eyes revealed that he +had, and for the fraction of a second they glinted oddly red in the +candlelight. Was there a spark of manhood in his breast that still +glowed when breathed upon? + +They dined in silence for the most part. Simon was never a brilliant +conversationalist, and to-night his thoughts were busy with matters far +afield. Young Copley was taciturn and moody, preoccupied by +reflections of no very agreeable nature, to judge by his glum manner. +Lucy Varr, helping herself but scantily from the dishes passed, +preserved her customary pose of nervous diffidence. Only Miss Ocky +tried to dispel the settled atmosphere of depression by occasionally +shooting point-blank questions at one or another of her companions--and +toward the end of the meal she did manage to stir up a little +excitement. + +"Copley," she addressed the quiet young man across the table. "You've +been out in the great world for several days, what's going on in New +York? Haven't you brought back any news to us country folk?" + +"New York?" He roused himself by a palpable effort. "No, Aunt Ocky, I +didn't pick up anything in New York that would interest you. Nothing +much good at the theaters just now. But if you want a piece of local +news I may have one for you. It would be more interesting to you three +than to me. When I got off the train this afternoon there was another +chap who swung off just ahead of me, and I noticed him particularly +because he was so different from anything you'd expect to drop off the +four-sixteen. Tall and well-set-up, dressed like the mirror of +fashion, smooth and polished--and followed by a valet, if you please, +carrying his grips and a bag of golf clubs! Imagine a sight like that +in Hambleton! I thought he'd made a mistake in his station, until I +saw him walk right across the platform to where Adams, the +baggage-master, was standing. He said something and held out his hand, +and old Adams grabbed it and shook it as if he was greeting a prodigal +son. I thought the valet looked a bit shocked! Then this chap tucked +himself and his man and his baggage into one of Brown's jitneys and +drove off like a lord!" + +"Who in the world could it have been?" wondered his mother, awakened to +a mild interest at the account of such grandeur in Hambleton. "Did you +ask, Copley?" + +"I have my share of vulgar curiosity, mother; I did. As soon as he +disappeared I pounced on old Adams and asked him the name of his swell +friend. He told me that it was Leslie Sherwood, the son of the man who +died last winter--_hullo_!" + +He broke off short and looked into the darkness behind him, whence had +come the crash of china as Bates dropped a tray of coffee cups. +Silence succeeded the tragedy, during which they could hear the +butler's muttered ejaculations of horror and distress as he bent to +retrieve the debris. + +"Confound you, Bates! You get clumsier every day you live!" + +Varr's outburst was swift, but not swift enough to deceive his +sister-in-law. Her quick eye had detected several little items of +interest, although they had occurred simultaneously and in opposite +directions. + +At the mention of Leslie Sherwood's name, Lucy Varr had straightened in +her chair and turned to her son with parted lips as if eager for more +news, while a delicate flush--the first touch of color Ocky had seen +there in two months--sprang into her pale cheeks. This was fair +enough. In the old days, Leslie Sherwood had been attentive to Lucy +Copley in such degree that their circle confidently stood by for a +formal announcement. Then he had rather abruptly departed toward a +"business career in New York," making it plain that Hambleton would see +him no more for some while to come. His departure left clear the way +to the lady's hand for a colder, less attractive, but more determined +suitor. Lucy married Simon Varr. + +She was entitled, then, to display some faint emotion at the mention of +a recreant knight, and Simon, with propriety, might have shown a +husbandly twinge of jealousy or contempt or dislike--any of a dozen +different sentiments other than the one he did reveal. At the bit of +news so casually dropped by his son, his head had jerked up sharply and +a look of fear had flashed into his eyes and out again. He had +cleverly seized upon the butler's mishap to cover his confusion, but +the ruse was too late to be effective as far as Miss Ocky was concerned. + +So Simon was afraid of Leslie Sherwood, or else he had something to +fear from the sudden reappearance of that gentleman. Which was it? and +why? Miss Ocky determined to find out eventually. In the meantime she +would accept the curious circumstance and store it in that corner of +her brain where she was collecting odds and ends of data relating to +her brother-in-law. + +"When did old Mr. Sherwood die?" she asked promptly. + +"Last February," answered her sister. "He had been very ill for +several months--a general breakdown." + +"Leslie was here at the time, I suppose." + +"N-no; he wasn't. You're not posted on local topics, Ocky! This is +the first time Leslie has been back in Hambleton since he left to go +into business in New York. No one ever knew anything definite, but we +have always assumed that father and son quarreled over something so +bitterly that reconcilement was impossible. Still, when the old man +died he left everything to Leslie--and he has turned up, now. I wonder +if he will sell the place or--or live here?" + +That was an unusually long speech for Lucy Varr, and it betrayed her +lively interest in the subject under discussion. Simon must have noted +that and perhaps resented it, for his face darkened. He made no +comment, however, but celebrated the end of dinner in his usual manner +by pushing back his chair a little, crossing his legs comfortably, and +beginning a series of excavating operations with a quill toothpick +which he drew from his vest pocket. Miss Ocky winced. This was the +postprandial habit of his that annoyed her excessively. + +She had not changed for dinner. Now she took a cigarette case from a +side pocket of her coat, extracted a cigarette and lighted it from one +of the candles. Simon did not smoke himself, and he disliked intensely +the sight of a woman using tobacco. He glanced at Ocky, and to her +deep satisfaction made a wry face at the cloud of smoke she contentedly +exhaled. Winces were easy. + +The little circle broke up after dinner. Varr went off to his study +and shut himself in, his wife pleaded a headache, and with a word of +apology to her sister departed for her bedroom. Ocky, amiably anxious +to distract her nephew's thoughts from whatever he was glooming over, +suggested a game of chess. Finding this had not been included in his +college curriculum, she announced that she would settle herself in the +living-room with some new books that had come. + +She went upstairs for one of these, and returned bearing it and a small +sheathed dagger with a highly ornamented handle. She found Copley in +the living-room, attired in a raincoat, standing and looking at the +closed door leading to Simon's study. Miss Ocky settled herself in a +chair by the lamp on the center table, drew the dagger from its worn +leather sheath and proceeded to cut the pages of Henner's "Through +Asia." She glanced up whimsically at her nephew. + +"Well, Copley, are you posing for a statue of indecision?" + +"Something like that, Aunt Ocky." He smiled ruefully. "I was going +for a tramp, then I thought I'd drop in for a chat with father--and now +I think I won't have a chat with him, but will go for a walk." + +"It's pouring, isn't it?" + +"I don't care." + +"Of course, you don't. I know that mood--and a good sloshing hike in +the rain is a splendid cure for it. I know what's the matter with you, +too." She shot a look at the closed door and lowered her voice. "Why +don't you cut the Gordian knot and be done with it?" she added quietly. + +"I--I don't get you." + +"Elope, idiot child! You and she are both of age. Consider the late +Mr. Ajax of Greece--he defied the lightning and got away with it! They +can't do more than excommunicate you with bell and book and candle." + +"But that's plenty, Aunt Ocky." A smile that had greeted her +suggestion faded away, leaving him gloomier than ever. "If I only had +to think about myself--! But I can't let Sheila in for a lot of +hardship. It costs money, these days, to live in even the most +moderate comfort, and all I could bring into the family treasury would +be just what I could earn with my two hands--supposing I was lucky +enough to find a job! It wouldn't be fair to Sheila--that's the long +and short of it." + +"Have you given her a chance to speak for herself?" His aunt sniffed +contemptuously. "Gracious goodness, Copley, isn't there something more +in life than money? Don't people think of anything else in America?" + +"Oh, yes. It's a free country and a man has a perfect right to be a +visionary and starve to death if he wants to. It just happens I +don't!" He grinned as some of her disgust went into a savage slashing +of uncut edges. "As things are, I don't believe I'll ask Sheila to +share my crust of bread." + +"Then I'll ask her for you--blessed if I don't! I intended to run over +and see her in the morning, anyway. Did it ever strike you that +matchmaking is the proper business of old maids? They atone for +celibacy through vicarious marriage!" + +"So that is the explanation of their favorite indoor sport, is it? But +I can't regard you as a confirmed old maid, Aunt Ocky." He moved to +her side and dropped a hand affectionately on her shoulder. "If you +won't think me awfully fresh for saying it--you're about the youngest +looking woman for your age that I've ever laid eyes on." + +"Oh, thank you, Copley; thank you very much. Really, I must remember +you in my will for them kind words! But about to-morrow--may I +represent myself as being your plenipotentiary?" + +"Sure thing. Go as far as you like, Aunt Ocky. Anything you start, +I'll finish." The sound of a chair being pushed back in the study +caught his ear and indicated a discreet change of subject. He stooped +to retrieve the dagger that had slipped from her lap and examined it a +moment. For all its exquisite beauty of design and workmanship, it was +a wicked little weapon. "You have a bloodthirsty taste in paper +cutters, Aunt Ocky. Where did you get this? Has it a history?" + +"Very likely, but I don't know it. It is certainly old enough to have +a lurid past. I picked it up in the bazaar at Teheran. That +inscription on the blade is Persian." + +"What does it mean? They taught me Persian when they taught me chess." + +"It reads, 'I bring Peace!'" + +"Oh. The Oriental point of view, I suppose! We would be more apt to +think of a dagger as bringing war." + +"We think backwards at times," commented Miss Ocky. She reclaimed her +colorful souvenir of the East, then glanced up as the study door +opened. "Hello, Simon. I expect you will sleep easier to-night; no +fear of fire bugs in a rain like this!" + +He grunted something unintelligible, and stared at Copley standing +there in the parlor in his raincoat. The young man returned the stare +with expressionless face. Neither he nor his father spoke, and in a +moment the tanner left the room. + +Miss Ocky was as good as her word the following morning. She marched +cross-country to the Graham house, some half-mile distant, and had a +long and enlightening conversation with Sheila. She had met the girl +several times and approved of her highly, and when she left her finally +to return home her good opinion of Miss Graham was in nowise +diminished. The young woman, if she were not mistaken, had just the +qualities needed to make a useful citizen out of a husband like Copley +whose chief defect was clearly a lack of decision. He wanted +starching, that was it. + +She bore homeward a book that she had borrowed from Sheila, and though +it only wanted twenty minutes to lunch time, she neither went to her +room to freshen up nor sought her nephew to make a hasty report on the +result of her embassy. She betook herself instead to the study, and +there was a malicious twinkle in her eye as she tapped on the closed +door. She obeyed a gruff command to enter. + +Varr had made the best of his period of enforced idleness by working on +a batch of order-books that he had brought from his office. He was +busy with them now, and he looked as displeased as he was surprised by +Ocky's interruption. + +"What do _you_ want?" he snapped irritably. + +"I've picked up some information that I thought you'd like to hear, +Simon. How is your nerve this morning? I've just been to call on +Sheila Graham and she fairly made my blood curdle." + +"Serves you right. Mine curdles when I even think of her." He +frowned. "Why did you go to see her?" + +"I promised to take her a recipe for a cous-cous I described to her the +other day. Anyway, I like her, even if you don't. But that has +nothing to do with our muttons! While I was chatting with her I +happened to mention our experience yesterday with the monk--" + +"You did! What in the world _for_?" + +"Well, Simon, when I go to call on any one I like to talk about +_something_--I can't sit like a dummy--" + +"You can't!" + +"And that was certainly the most interesting bit of news that I had. +It quite woke her up. She's something of a blue-stocking, you know, +and has read a lot about the early history of this country. When I +spoke of the monk she looked very queer and went straight to a shelf of +books and took out this one--" Miss Ocky held up the one she was +carrying, and Varr saw that she was keeping a place in it with one +forefinger. "When she showed me a certain passage in it, I put it +right under my arm and brought it--" + +"You needn't have," he told her abruptly. "I recognize the thing, +though I've never bothered to read it; Jennison's 'History of Wayne +County,' isn't it? There's a copy among your father's books in the +library." + +"Is there? I wish I'd known it!" She opened the book at her place, +steadied the heavy volume on her knees and cleared her throat. "I am +going to read this to you, Simon--it isn't long." + +"Go ahead." He had tried overnight to put the disagreeable subject out +of his mind but had not succeeded very well. He was consumed by +curiosity now to learn what she had discovered, though nothing would +have induced him to admit it. "What's it all about?" + +She began to read in a soft, well-modulated voice. + +"'Wayne County is not without its share of legends and quaint scraps of +folklore, some of them nicely calculated to chill the blood o' nights. +One fable, at least, has risen from a base of fact; I refer to the +famous Monk of Hambleton. Ancient chronicles of this town record the +arrival--in pre-Revolutionary times--of an unfortunate individual whose +face had been shockingly mutilated by accident or disease. He drifted +to Hambleton from the outer world and apparently quartered himself on +the countryside, living the life of a hermit in a small dry cave that +still shows traces of his presence. He habitually wore the garb of a +friar--a penance, perhaps, for former sins--and his disfigured face was +always concealed from curious eyes by a mask of black cloth. + +"'After his death--a lonely demise in his humble cave--a story sprang +up about him to the effect that his spirit still lingered in the +neighborhood of its passing. Several credible persons claimed at +different times to have met the Monk, and since by some unhappy chance +these victims of an optical delusion were all subsequently visited by +misfortune in greater or less degree, it soon began to be whispered +about that to encounter the specter was a sure augury of impending +calamity. A local poet, long since forgotten, was inevitably inspired +to preserve the legend in his rustic doggerel. I append a few couplets: + + "_'Who meets the monk at crack o' dawn + Shall rue the day that he was born._ + + "_'Who meets the monk in light of day, + Woe goes with him on his way.'_" + + +"Cheery little thing," grunted Simon Varr as she paused an instant. +"Is that all of it?" + +"No, there's one more verse." Miss Ocky deepened her tones a note or +two as she solemnly read it. + + "_'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh + Within the fortnight he shall die.'_" + + +She closed the book and regarded her brother-in-law with eyes +half-mocking, half-pitying. + +"Of course you wouldn't dream of treating such nonsense seriously, +Simon; I know that. But it's curious, and rather interesting, don't +you think? Jennison had his tongue in his cheek when he wrote his +account of it, but even he relates as a matter of fact the coincidence +that those persons who saw the vision were subsequently badly out of +luck." Ocky shook her head gently and glanced at him commiseratingly. +"If it _should_ come true in your case, Simon, I suppose this is an +opportune moment to offer you my condolences!" + +"Thank you," he managed to reply dryly. + +He felt very squeamish inside, though most of that was due to his +innate abhorrence of anything that brought up the subject of death. As +far as the Monk was concerned, he had found in the letter thrust into +the cleft stick and now reposing in a pigeonhole of his desk the reason +back of that masquerade--though he had to admit that the writer of the +anonymous note had certainly hit upon a sufficiently gruesome method of +transmitting it. + +"Thank you, Ocky, for your condolences," he continued after an +interval. "The same to you and many of them! We'll go together, no +doubt. Don't forget you saw the Monk at the same time I did!" + +"_Ah_!" + +The monosyllable was almost a gasp of pain. Simon stared at her, +rather startled by the effectiveness of his sardonic reminder. The +book she was holding had dropped to the floor with a crash, her cheeks +had gone white to the lips, and now she was staring straight ahead of +her with a fixed expression of horror in her eyes as though they were +truly visioning the sure approach of Death. + + + + +_V: Miss Lucy's Man_ + +It did not take Simon Varr and Miss Copley very long to recover from +the perturbation they had shown when she finished reading him the bit +of folklore relating to the Monk. Both of them were highly efficient +in the art of self-repression, or failing that, knew how to mask an +inner emotion behind their normal outward semblance. When they +presently left the study for the luncheon table, Simon wore his usual +frown above knitted brows, while Miss Ocky displayed her accustomed +placidity of countenance with its high-lights of humor about her lips +and sharp gray eyes. + +A dish of French chops annoyed the lord and master of the house. He +pointed out to his patient helpmeet that times were ripe for economy +and that French chops are economical only in respect to their nutritive +content. With the tannery closed down, an era of corned beef and +cabbage was strongly indicated--especially, she would understand, as +there now appeared to be four mouths to feed in the family instead of +the customary three. He hoped she would heed his words and exercise +greater prudence in the management of her household--and the courteous +inflection of his tones as he voiced his hope was a masterpiece of +sarcasm. It left his wife pale and resigned, his son red and +embarrassed. + +"If corned beef and cabbage ever shows up in this dining-room," +remarked the one member of his audience still undaunted, "my father +will turn in his grave." + +"Your father thought entirely too much of his stomach," said her host +coldly. + +"Yes? Well, it repaid him for all the affection he lavished on it. +His digestion was wonderful to the very end. How is yours?" + +"I could say that that is purely my own business, but if you insist on +knowing, my digestion is excellent." + +"I shouldn't have thought it. I don't agree with you as to the +essential privacy of the subject, either. It concerns all of us since +we have to live with you." + +"_Do_ you?" + +"Ah!" A touch of color in her cheeks suggested that flint was at last +beginning to spark beneath the steel. "Apropos of that and your +earlier remark, Simon--would it ease your financial straits at all if I +were to contribute something for my board and lodging? It would be a +novel experience for me in this house, but I've always been able to +adapt myself to altered circumstances." + +She did not expect a hurried and polite disclaimer from her +brother-in-law. Disclaimers of any sort were not in Simon's line. He +merely sent her a chill look as he thrust back from the table and rose +to his feet. + +"That is something you can settle with Lucy," he said coldly. "I'm +sorry I can't stay and chat with you a little longer, but I am due to +spend the afternoon at the tannery." + +"It's nice to know that you can spend something," she threw after him +sweetly. "Why don't you bring back a hide or two from the vats, Simon? +We might boil them down for soup!" + +He glared back at her over his shoulder as he stalked from the room. +Miss Ocky glanced at the faces of the two who remained with her and +gave a contented little chuckle. + +"Now, that scene was a bit of honest, downright vulgarity!" she said +cheerfully. "Refreshing once in a while, don't you think?" + +"Ocky! I wish you wouldn't poke him up like that." + +"Well! Suppose he stops poking me first! I haven't got the patience +of a saint like you, Lucy--and gracious only knows where _you_ get it +from, my poor child! Twenty years ago you'd have taken that plate of +chops and shoved it down his throat." A fleeting recollection +corollary to this thought impelled her to shoot a discontented glance +at her nephew across the table. "What in the world has become of the +Copley spirit?" she demanded bitterly. + +"You don't really understand Simon," murmured her sister. + +"No," said Miss Ocky grimly, "but I'm beginning to." + +They left it at that and withdrew from the dining-room. From his +inconspicuous post near the sideboard, Bates followed the retreating +figure of Miss Ocky with admiring and grateful eyes. Here, he told +himself, was the old Miss Ocky coming to life again, and his heart +rejoiced to think that Simon was in a fair way to get back as good as +he gave. The spirit of the Copleys--aye, they had it, every one of +them, if only they would show it now and then! + +Lucy Varr departed for the kitchen, possibly to caution the cook +against undue ostentation at dinner, and Copley, obeying an imperious +glance from a pair of gray eyes, followed his aunt to the veranda. She +led the way to one end of it, and there turned the corner into an ell +that had been screened and glassed against the mosquitoes of summer and +the frosts of winter. With comfortable wicker chairs and quantities of +soft cushions, it was a cosy nook that had become Miss Ocky's favorite +haunt for reading or writing. + +She ousted a magnificent, smoky-blue Angora who, catlike, had decided +the best was none too good for him, seated herself and waved Copley to +another chair. + +"I had a talk with Sheila this morning," she announced. + +The young man's face had been flushed and dark, but now, at the mention +of Sheila's name, it lighted quickly. He had been acutely embarrassed +during the exchange of courtesies between his father and his aunt, and +he had felt a quick resentment at the innuendo she had flung at him and +which he had by no means missed, but these passing moods vanished in +favor of happier emotions. + +"I wondered if you really would! But, say, Aunt Ocky--you surely +didn't have the nerve to mention your elopement scheme, did you?" + +"I certainly did. My nerve is a very superior article. I wish to +goodness I could graft a piece of it onto your backbone." + +"Oh. Can't a fellow be sensible, Aunt Ocky, without being accused of +spinelessness? However, for the love of Mike, tell me what she said! +She turned it down hard, of course." + +"She did not, though it was obvious that she would have preferred to +hear it from your own lips. Naturally. At any rate, when I first got +there I broached the subject tactfully--" + +"You couldn't do it any other way, Aunt Ocky." + +"Don't be impertinent. She soon made it plain that she was willing to +talk frankly and openly--was glad of the rare opportunity to discuss +matters with a person of some intelligence. She has been having a +little unpleasantness of her own; did you know that? It appears her +father has been fearfully stirred up over something yesterday and +to-day, and this morning when she spoke of you in some connection he +was quite savage. He was never keen on the idea of a match between you +two, was he?" + +"No. I'm afraid he has sense, too!" + +"Well, his daughter has a mind of her own, and she has made it up. She +has wisely concluded that a lot of our happiness in this life has to be +snatched from the Fates who dangle it before our eyes, just out of our +reach. She feels that the most practical way for you and her to grab +yours is to marry first and let the fireworks follow. Opposition to +the marriage will be curiously ineffective if the marriage has already +taken place. I thought she showed a good deal of fine logic, there." + +"You mean, she agreed with everything you suggested!" Copley made a +despairing gesture. "Aunt Ocky, come down to brass tacks. It's true +that I'm crazy about Sheila and that she cares more for me that I could +hope to deserve--" + +"Ever so much more!" + +"--but Sheila is a human being who has to _eat_! She has to have +clothes to wear. She probably has a preference for a roof over her +head. And I--I'm _bust_!" + +"Nothing saved from your allowance, I suppose?" + +"It was never magnificent. Now, it is discontinued. Father has always +put it to my credit at the bank punctually on the first of the month. +Last Tuesday I dropped in to get my balance and--found an overdraft! +He was never careless in his life, so I don't need to ask him if he +forgot to make the deposit. He has simply decided to bring it sharply +to my attention that I am in no situation to marry, so he has cut out +my allowance." + +"Humph. I expect you're right." She frowned at this new manifestation +of Simon's ruthless determination always to have his own way in +everything, then shifted a portion of her severity toward her nephew. +"In a sense, Copley, I'm rather glad that he did. If there's one thing +you need, it's a touch of adversity. Stiffen up, boy! I've done +everything this morning that I propose to do for you; now go to Sheila +and talk things over with her, as you ought to, instead of with me. +She's waiting for you!" + +He rose with decision, a new alertness in his face and manner. + +"Aunt Ocky, you're a brick." Impulsively, he took a step toward her, +thrust forth a sinewy hand and gripped the one she raised. "It makes +me feel like a new man just to listen to you--and the only thing I +can't understand is why you think me worth the trouble you take." + +"There is no mystery about that. I have always loved your mother +tenderly, and some of that affection you have inherited. Sheila is a +lovely girl who I believe will make you happy--and do you good. As for +my desire to have the business settled--well, I've my own reasons for +that which will be made clear to you in time. Have you anything else +on your infant mind? No? Then, go--for goodness' sake, go!" + +He went. + +Miss Ocky sank back in her chair and for a space stared out at the +peaceful countryside that rose and fell in gentle undulations which +finally faded away into the blue distance. The forgiving Angora leaped +to her lap and she caressed him absently, her mind centered upon her +thoughts, which were not always as cheerful as they might have been. + +So rapt was she in meditation that she was not aware of Bates' presence +until he had stood near her for a full minute. His house-shoes enabled +him to move on noiseless feet and he had never stooped to that common +subterfuge of butlers, the nervous cough. He stood patiently, in +silence, and Miss Ocky, when she noticed him at length, was stirred to +remembrance by something in his attitude. It was just so he had used +to come upon her in the old days when he was wont to bring his +difficulties to her, apparently deriving comfort from her half-mocking, +half-sympathetic comments. + +"Well, Bates--you want to speak to me?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky, I do--and I don't." + +"I understand perfectly, thanks to my exceptional cleverness and my +vast knowledge of human nature. What you want to do is blow off +steam--as you used to--but you are not certain that it's quite the +right thing to do. Isn't that it?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +"Well, I can set your doubts at rest. It isn't right; and now that +we've settled that," added the lady comfortably, "go ahead and blow. +After a long and very virtuous life I'm beginning to think there is +much to be said for crime! I can guess your secret sorrow, too." + +"I'm sure you can, Miss Ocky." A faint amusement that had lighted his +tired eyes at her philosophy vanished again. "You've been here two +months or more, and you've seen how it is for yourself." + +"Yes--I have. I tell you candidly, Bates, if I had dreamed how things +were going here I would never have stayed away twenty years. I was +shocked when I saw my sister--" + +"That's it, Miss Ocky, that's it!" In his eagerness he was oblivious +to his breach of good form in interrupting. "It's not myself I'm +blowing off steam about. It's Miss Lucy. You can guess how I've felt +through these years, watching her change into what she is. It has hurt +me, Miss Ocky, for when all is said and done, I'm Miss Lucy's man as I +was her father's before her--not Simon Varr's! You remember what she +was like before you went away--always bright and happy and full of fun +and singing around the house. We used to call her the Queen of +Fairyland--" + +"My memory is excellent, Bates. You needn't harrow me further." + +"And look at her now," continued the old man relentlessly. "A poor +meek woman that never dares to call her soul her own, faded and +lifeless as the flowers I throw out of the vases, looking twice her +age--" + +"I hope she's well out of earshot, Bates." + +"And it's all the fault of that man!" said the butler passionately, his +eyes shining with anger and indignation and his usual careful diction +sacrificed to the greater need of plain speech. "It's him that has +done it with his sneerin' mockin' ways that would bring an angel to +tears--his penny-savin', snivelin' meanness that grudges her every cent +she spends, just as though he'd had a dollar to call his own before she +lifted him out of the gutter where he belongs. 'Twould have been +kinder if he had up in the beginning and struck her over the head and +been done with it instead of wearin' her down to skin and bones by his +naggin' and growlin' and snarlin'. And how do you think I've felt, +Miss Ocky, while I stood by all these years and watched it goin' on +unable to lift a finger to her help? 'Tis only once and again, when he +has her near to tears at the table, that I'm able to drop a plate or +joggle his elbow and him drinkin' coffee the while, and so distract his +attention." + +He paused for breath. Ordinarily Miss Ocky would have been vastly +entertained by this sketch of Simon's attention being distracted, but +she was in no mood for amusement at the moment. Her eyes were hard, +and if she deliberately kept her comments pitched on a semi-humorous +note, it was more to pacify and soothe the old butler than anything +else. + +"I gather you don't care for Mr. Varr," she said. + +"Does any one, Miss Ocky?" he retorted more calmly. + +"You used a curious expression a moment since," she said, ignoring a +question she deemed purely rhetorical. "You spoke of yourself as 'Miss +Lucy's man.' Just what did you mean, Bates? I know you don't use +words just because you like the sound of them." + +"You don't miss anything, do you, Miss Ocky?" + +His set face softened as he regarded her with a look almost of +affection. "No, you were never one to miss anything! I'll tell you +what I meant, though I've never breathed a word of it even to Miss +Lucy, bless her!" + +"There are a lot of things you could tell me," said Miss Ocky, "and I +hope some day you will. Go ahead with this one, first." + +"It dates back. I could make a long story of it, but I won't. You +might say it goes back to the time I took service with your father and +mother. I was in trouble, mortal trouble, when they took me in, Miss +Ocky, and they gave me a home and comfort and--and security. That last +is a great thing in a hard world, as I guess you know. The only way I +could repay them was by being a 'good and faithful servant,' as the +Bible puts it, and I had reason to believe that they both came to be +glad of the day they showed kindness to a less fortunate human." + +"What was your trouble?" she asked quietly, for this was her first +intimation that his advent to the household had been marked by anything +out of the ordinary. "My father never mentioned it." + +"He wouldn't--and it doesn't belong with what I've started to tell you +now, Miss Ocky." He glanced at her apologetically. "I'm telling you +how I know they were glad to have me. When your mother was dying, Miss +Ocky, she had me called in for a word with her. She thanked me for the +service I'd given and said she hoped I would always stay with your +father as long as he needed me--'which will be to the day of his +death,' she said. + +"The same thing happened when his time came. I was in and out of his +room a dozen times a day while he was ill, and once he stopped me and +told me a few things he had on his mind. + +"'It's a queer thing, Bates,' he said. 'Here I am dying with scarce a +relative to my name, and I'm leaving two daughters to face the world +alone. They'll have money, but they won't have an older person to help +them over the rough places.' I could see he was worried. 'Of course,' +he said, 'Miss Lucy is going to marry that young fellow, Varr. I'm not +so fond of him as she is, though I've nothing against him that would +stop the match. It's her I'm thinking about. She will have this house +when I'm gone and she is married--and I want her to have you.' Well, +Miss Ocky, to tell you the truth I started to say something about +hoping that _you_ would set up housekeeping and find a place for me, +but he wouldn't listen to me for a minute. You know how quick he was. +'I'm competent to judge my own children!' he snapped at me. 'Ocky can +stand on her own two legs as long as she has 'em and will get along +nicely on crutches after that. It's Lucy that may need help.' He +looked at me very sharp--you have his eyes, Miss Ocky. 'I'm a dying +man and this is the last thing I'll ever ask of you,' he said. 'I +don't pretend that you owe me anything, but I'll ask you as a favor to +promise me you'll always stand by Miss Lucy.' + +"There couldn't be two answers to that. I promised." + +"And you've kept your promise faithfully. You've stood by." + +"That's all I have done, though," grumbled the old servant morosely. +His troubled gaze sought hers. "I've just--stood by." + +"Well, you couldn't very well do more. I think it is greatly to your +credit that you didn't leave the house long ago." + +"I've been tempted often enough, Miss Ocky, but there's been the +thought in the back of my head that some day I might really be able to +help Miss Lucy in an hour of need." His hands closed nervously. "But +for that I'd have left, no fear! I've stood so much from him that now +I _hate_ him! Do you know, Miss Ocky," his voice dropped to awed +confession, "when he was so sick of pneumonia awhile back I just hoped +and hoped and hoped our troubles were near an end!" + +"It would have been more practical to have left a window open on him, +but I suppose the nurse would have stopped that." Miss Ocky's voice +was an amused drawl. "Did you try prayer, Bates?" + +"_Prayer_! Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" + +"It's effective sometimes." She seemed to muse. "Of course, if you +were only practiced in witchcraft you could make a wax image of him and +then stick pins in it until he curled up and died--" + +"Good gracious, Miss Ocky, but you've brought back some terrible ideas +from those foreign parts!" He was smiling, now, to show that he had +caught her mood and understood she was poking fun at him. The ceremony +of the blowing off of steam was nearly concluded. "If you ask me, I +don't believe that even witchcraft could hurt Simon Varr. It was only +the other day I heard him tell Miss Lucy that he'd increased his life +insurance and that the doctor had told him he was good for a +century-mark." + +"Humph!" There was about her the air of one whose hopes have just been +rudely dashed. Then her face brightened and she added with determined +cheerfulness. "Never mind, Bates--you'd be amazed if you knew how +often doctors are wrong!" + +"I hope you're right, Miss Ocky!" + +"Suppose we drop the subject for the time. If you will look in the +sitting-room you'll find a book on the table called 'The Court of the +Borgias.' Bring it to me, please. I think a little quiet reading will +settle my thoughts after our conversation." + +He went off smiling to get the volume, and presently returned with it. +He lingered to produce a match for the cigarette she took from a stand +beside her. + +"Thank you for listening to me, Miss Ocky." + +"And thank you, Bates, for telling me what you did about father. I am +glad he had confidence in my ability to take care of myself, and that +he wasn't worrying over me when he had so much else to think about." + +"I wish Simon Varr was more like him!" said Bates. + +She made no reply to that, and he withdrew in his noiseless fashion. +She did not immediately dip into the sedative history of the Borgias, +but remained looking at the corner around which he had vanished with +something akin to speculative interest. She was pondering the old +man's revelation of his hatred for Varr and the curious glint she had +caught in his eye at dinner the night before. It would be amusing, she +thought, if Bates instead of handing Simon the carving-knife should +sometime so far forget himself as to slip it between his master's +shoulders. + +Amusing was the word she used to herself; perhaps, as the butler had +suggested, she had brought home some terrible ideas from the +East--ideas about Kismet and fatalism and the cheapness of human life +in comparison to human good. Wrong ideas, from the point of view of +the queer, drab, cramped and hypocritical Occidental mind. + +She contemplated the Occidental mind briefly, then dismissed it as a +negligible quantity and settled to her book. + +_VI: An Aunt in Need_ + +It was very nearly dinner-time before Copley Varr came back from his +talk with Sheila Graham. In deference to a hint from her that the +course of true love could not run smooth that afternoon in the vicinity +of her father, they had taken a long walk over the hills along quiet +country roads where hands could touch unseen by alien eyes. They were +happy, but rather nervously so, with something of the nervousness of a +young colt about to kick over the traces for the first time and who is +a little uncertain about the consequences. + +One bit of their afternoon was devoted to a ramble around the grounds +of a small, vacant house, whose exterior they viewed and discussed from +every possible angle. It stood in the center of a wooded ten-acre +tract, a long mile by winding road from Simon Varr's house but not a +quarter of that distance from it as a plane flies. It was situated, in +fact, at the bottom of the very hill on which Simon's home flaunted its +greater magnificence, and it had once formed part of the property until +severed from it by the elder Copley's will. + +They tried the front and back door, but finding them quite naturally +locked they made no further effort to effect an entrance. They +contented themselves with strolling around it once again, admiring its +shingles that were weather-beaten to a silvery gray, enthusing over the +quaintly-gabled windows of its upper story, calling each other's +attention to its palpable solidity of structure. + +"A few hundred dollars spent on these grounds!" cried Sheila, her +cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining. "Coppie, isn't it a _love_ of a +place? Did you ever in your life see a nicer?" + +Coppie admitted freely that he never had. + +It was for reasons directly connected with this desirable country +property that he sought audience of his aunt immediately upon his +return home. She was not to be found anywhere downstairs, and since +his impatience did not welcome the idea of waiting for a fortuitous +opportunity to chat with her in private, he took the stairs three at a +time and rapped eagerly on the door of her bedroom. + +This was presently opened to him by a tall, bony, angular woman of +fifty-odd who regarded him not altogether favorably through +steel-rimmed spectacles. This was Janet Mackay, whom the +prosaic-minded would have designated a lady's-maid, but who had risen +from that humble position to be no less than Chancellor of State to her +sovereign majesty, Miss Ocky. The two women had shared the +ups-and-downs, the sunshine and shadow, of that mystic, colorful Orient +through whose extent the restless curiosity of the younger had led them +to and fro. Out there the line between mistress and servant had +inevitably been supplanted by the bond of companionship; but when they +returned to the more humdrum civilization of the western world, it was +Janet whose dour Scotch rectitude had re-established the distinction. +She took her meals with old Bates at a little table in the butlery, +found her chief relaxation in the one motion-picture house that +Hambleton boasted, and for the rest, "kept herself _to_ herself." + +"Hello, Janet!" he greeted her. "Is my aunt in there? Ask her if I +can come in and speak to her." + +The woman drew aside in the doorway as Miss Ocky answered for herself. + +"That you, Copley? Come in. I'm out on the veranda. Janet, you +needn't wait." + +Miss Ocky's bedroom, like all the others on the upper floor, had a +small private balcony outside its tall French windows that made a +pleasant place to draw a comfortable chair in the late afternoon or the +cool of the evening. She was sitting there now and called to him to +bring a chair for himself, but he preferred to lounge against the heavy +wooden rail of the balcony. + +"Well, Romeo! I expect affairs have been marching with you and Juliet +or you wouldn't be hunting me up so promptly." + +"See here, Aunt Ocky, I'm just tickled pink and all that, but are you +sure you ought to have done it?" + +"Suggested the elopement?" + +"N-no, of course not. That's all right. That's lovely. We are going +to take your advice and grab our happiness. What I'm fussing about is +the house business." + +"Yes, you'd find something to fuss about, wouldn't you! I didn't +encounter any such obstinacy in Sheila, but women are much more +practical than men in every respect. When I told her I owned that +particular property and proposed to settle it on you jointly as a +wedding-gift, she yelped with joy. It's true that after that she began +to make polite gestures of remonstrance, but the yelp came first by a +good, wide margin! I'm glad one of you has some common-sense." + +"I'm just as grateful as I can be, but--" + +"Really, Copley, you're a downright nuisance. Let me tell you +something, my child. I've a great deal more money than your mother or +you or any one else around here has any idea of. I've made investments +in my time that would have turned a banker's hair gray, and never one +of them but brought me huge returns. That property is of negligible +value to me--how negligible you don't know--and yet it will be very +valuable to you and Sheila as a haven of security that you can call +your own. As a rich aunt, I have every legal and moral and ethical +right to give it to you--and as a poor but deserving nephew, it is your +cue to say 'Thank you' and accept." + +"You're a brick, Aunt Ocky," said the young man soberly, for the second +time that afternoon. "Sheila spoke of a check for a thousand--" + +"For your honeymoon. If you don't splurge too hard, there'll be some +of it left for initial expenses." + +"You bet there will." He drew a long breath. "Thank you, Aunt Ocky," +he said obediently. "I accept. But, look here--there'll be a holy row +when my father hears what you've done. He'll want your head on a +charger!" + +"Better men than he have wanted that--and it's still neatly articulated +to the end of my spinal column!" She gave a low, reminiscent chuckle. +"There was a Chinese general, once, whom it was my privilege to annoy, +and he went so far as to put quite a flattering price on it. He lost +his own! Shall I tell you the story?" + +He eagerly assented, and the gory narrative of the unlucky Chinese +head-hunter occupied them until dinner was announced. + +It was scarcely to be wondered at that Copley was exuberantly cheerful +during the meal. His aunt might really have succeeded in her wish to +graft a bit of her nerve on to his backbone, for he felt a new sense of +self-reliance and resolution. Once married to Sheila, and with the +immediate future provided for by the generosity of Miss Ocky, he had no +doubt of his ability to pluck a pearl necklace from the world that was +his oyster! He knew quite a bit about the tanning business, a +knowledge acquired casually during summer vacations, and he also +knew--from Sheila--something of Graham's disappointed ambitions in +respect to a partnership, if his prospective father-in-law elected to +seek his fortune in another field, there was no reason why he shouldn't +hitch his wagon to Graham's star as Graham had once hitched his to +Varr's. The golden sun of finance was rising in the East for him, and +he and Sheila, hand in hand, would walk into the dawn-- + +So ran his thoughts, and between them he kept up a flow of badinage +with Ocky, rallied his quiet mother into some show of life, and even +directed a few flippancies at the glum figure which graced the head of +the table. The tanner was taciturn, abstracted, and the only show of +emotion registered by his wooden countenance was a flash of uneasiness +when Copley made some casual reference to Leslie Sherwood. Miss Ocky +did not miss that, and again she wondered what lay behind. + +His son's airiness of manner distinctly jarred on Simon. A young man +just bereft of his allowance and under orders to renounce his lady-love +had no right to act like that. It wasn't natural--or else he had +something up his youthful sleeve. Humph. That might bear looking into! + +"What are you going to do this evening, Copley?" he demanded, as he +returned the quill toothpick to his pocket and rose from table. + +"Nothing special, sir. Read a while and turn in early." + +"I'm going to be busy with some work for an hour or so. I wish you +would come to my study at nine. Want to talk to you." + +Copley's heart sank as he nodded acquiescence. Then it rose again, for +his eyes had strayed across to Miss Ocky and the sight of his powerful +ally braced his courage--just as Simon, the day before, had gained +fresh confidence from the glimpse of a cabbage. Nothing could harm him +while Aunt Ocky held up his arm! + +Punctually at nine o'clock he passed through the living-room on his way +to the appointment, and paused for a word with Ocky, who was reading by +the lamp in the center of the room. She had checked him with a gesture. + +"What does he want to see you about?" + +"I don't know. Just a snappy laying down of the laws of the Medes and +the Persians, I expect." + +"Well, don't quarrel with him!" + +"You mean--he's my father, after all? Right. It takes two to make a +quarrel anyway." + +"The most ridiculous aphorism ever coined! I've made lots of them +myself, single-handed. And it was policy, not filial respect, that +dictated my caution. If you quarrel, you'll lose your temper; if you +lose your temper, you may let something slip that will reveal your +plans." + +"Yours is the sapience of the serpent! But what could he do if he did +know the truth? We're both of age." + +"Just the same, it's a good generalship to avoid risks. I have learned +to leave little to chance." + +"Aunt Ocky, will you come and live with us when we are really settled? +I've an idea I could profit a lot if I sat at your knees for a while!" + +"I wish I could accept your invitation," Miss Ocky answered gravely. +Her eyes left his face and seemed to shield her thoughts behind a film +of blankness. "I'm afraid I have other--plans," she added quietly. +"It's after nine--don't get the habit of unpunctuality." + +He knocked on the study door at the end of the room, and closed it +after him when he had entered in response to a gruff command. + +For some little time Miss Ocky tried to center her thoughts on her +book, lifting her head to listen now and again as she paused in her +reading to cut pages with her two-edged souvenir of Teheran. The +conversation in the study appeared to be flowing along smoothly. She +could not catch any words, nor did she try to; a shrewd listener can +glean a good deal merely by interpreting the vocal tones of the +different speakers. Her ear told her that Simon was certainly laying +down the law but with no more than his usual acidity, and that his son +was pleading his cause patiently and without acrimony. It was natural +enough that he should hope up to the eleventh hour for a favorable +change in his father's attitude, a foolish hope but a pardonable one-- + +Abruptly, Miss Ocky's ear cocked itself to a more alert angle. The +voices in the study had suddenly altered. Simon had said something in +his usual dictatorial accents, and Copley, instead of the soft answer +that turneth away wrath, had snapped a crisp rejoinder in louder tones +than any he had yet used. For a minute the two men were speaking at +once, discharging verbal salvos at point-blank range. Miss Ocky +shrugged her shoulders and smiled rather scornfully to herself. She +was not surprised. Lucy had told her of Copley's youthful flashes of +temper, which still persisted, though he had learned in some measure to +control them. + +She was trying to guess the probable outcome of the battle of words +when her thoughts were interrupted from another quarter. The bell of +the front door had rung violently, and Bates hurried from the pantry +and along the hallway to answer it. Miss Ocky wondered who in the +world could be calling at such an hour. + +She knew in a moment. There was the briefest of parleys with the +butler, and then, through the door of the living-room, she saw two men +hurry rearward through the hall in the direction of the study. +Evidently they proposed to present themselves before Varr without the +formality of announcing themselves through Bates. + +The first of the two she recognized instantly--it was Graham, the +manager of the tannery, whom she had met several times. And he was +Sheila's father! An awkward occasion for him to appear! The second +man she did not know at all. He was smaller and slighter than Graham, +a pale, anaemic creature. He lagged behind his companion, and as the +latter kept a grip on his arm as they proceeded, he gave the effect of +a lamb going reluctantly to the sacrifice. + +Graham's face had been deeply flushed--so much she had had time to note +as he swept past the open door. She heard him knock at the study--from +sheer force of habit, no doubt, as he could not have waited for a +summons to enter before flinging back the door. His voice carried +clear to Miss Ocky's ear as he swiftly took up some remark he had +caught from within. + +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you--!" + +Obviously, events were marching to a proper row. Miss Ocky had no +objection to rows when she could participate in them, but to sit by and +listen to others enjoying themselves was merely boresome. She put her +book on the table, marking her place with the Persian dagger, rose and +left the room. The angry voices from the study followed her upstairs +as she sought the quiet of her own room. + +Here she found Janet Mackay, seated in a corner with a dozen new +handkerchiefs of linen that she was adorning with exquisitely +embroidered initials. She looked up, but continued her work without +speaking. + +"Hello, Janet. Why aren't you at the movies this evening?" + +"They're showing a gripping picture of purple passion," replied Miss +Mackay succinctly. She snipped a thread, deftly inserted fresh thread +in her needle and added casually, "It's a small world." + +This was a sample of Janet's cautious, crab-like approach to some topic +of interest. Miss Ocky recognized it and soon had encouraged her to +persevere. + +"A great thought, Janet, but scarcely a new one. What brought it to +your mind?" + +"A piece of news that Bates was telling me over our supper. He got it +this afternoon from the postman. Did ye know that old Simon's kitchen +garden had been looted the other night?" + +"No." + +"It was. The fellow took a few tomatoes and did a wee bit damage with +his big feet. Old Simon found out who it was, and he had him arrested." + +"Humph. He would. The man was probably hungry, poor devil." + +"Aye; so they're saying in the town. No matter. Old Simon appeared +against him this morning in court and they sent him to the lock-up for +thirty days." + +"Ninety meals! It might be worse. Who was it?" + +"A young fellow named Charlie Maxon." + +"Charlie Maxon! Well, he'll be no loss to the community for a month!" + +"Aye?" Janet looked up sharply from her work. "Ye know him?" + +"He's one of the leaders of the strike. I've spoken with him once or +twice. A bad egg, I should think." + +"Aye, and his parents before him," said Janet Mackay. "They used to +live around the corner from me in Aberdeen. I can remember Charlie as +a bairn, and even then he was always into mischief. He's no whit +better now." + +"And he turns up again in this little out-of-the-way place in America! +I see now why you say the world's a small one. Queer, but it's the way +things sometimes happen. Are you sure it's the same?" + +"Aye. Three times I've seen him in town and thought his face familiar, +he looks so like his father. When Bates spoke his name, I knew." + +"Well, I take it you won't remind him of the old times in bonnie +Scotland!" + +"No fear!" said the older woman promptly. Then she looked keenly at +her mistress. "Aren't ye up early to-night?" + +"Simon is having a row with Copley in the study." Miss Ocky shrugged +her shoulders and made a grimace. "I didn't care to listen any longer." + +"He's having a row with the boy, is he?" Janet regarded her work +critically and bit off a thread neatly. "The old deevil! I'm glad I +have been with you all this time, Miss Ocky, and not around that 'un! +I've heard a few things about him from Bates." She threaded another +needle with deft fingers. "He's a rare curmudgeon. D'ye suppose he'll +go on like this to the end of his days?" + +"Can you teach an old dog new tricks?" asked Miss Ocky contemptuously. +"You should know better at your age, Janet." She got up and strolled +out on the balcony to see the brilliant stars in a sky of velvet +blackness. "Quarter past ten already. I shan't need you for anything +to-night. If you insist on ruining your eyes with that work any +longer, go off to your own room and let me get to bed!" + + + + +_VII: Out of the Past_ + +When the curtain rose on the scene of that interview between the tanner +and his son, Simon was discovered at his desk laboriously making +entries in his small, cramped handwriting in the red notebook that held +so many of his secrets. He did not look up until he had completed the +memorandum which engaged him; when he swung his chair around he still +held the closed book in his hand and occasionally pounded his knee with +it when he wished to emphasize some point in the ensuing conversation. + +He had his notions of good generalship no less than his shrewd +sister-in-law, and he did not make the mistake of pitching his +prefatory remarks on a note of hostility. He was fishing for +information. He hoped to get a clue to the reason for Copley's sudden +elevation of spirit, if a reason really existed. + +"I was a little pressed for ready money at the beginning of the month +and did not see my way to making the usual deposit to your account," he +began, utterly indifferent, so he were not caught, that he was being +deliberately untruthful. "Hope it didn't embarrass you. Things are +easier, now, and I will attend to the matter to-morrow morning." + +"Why--why, thank you, sir!" This was so unexpected that the young man +was as bewildered as if a mine had exploded at his feet. "That is very +good of you. I had no idea you were--were strapped." He flushed. "As +a matter of fact, I thought--I thought--" + +"Go on. What did you think?" + +"Well, sir, I thought you were just giving me a reminder of my absolute +dependence on you. I've been a pretty useless animal, I know." + +"Why the past tense? Are you a useful animal now?" + +"N-no, sir. I guess it would be exaggerating the facts if I claimed +that! But my intentions are good." Simon's lips lifted. "I want to +get busy at something useful right away." + +"Humph. You're just out of college and the general idea has been that +you would take a post-graduate course in the Columbia Law School; that +is your mother's wish. The tannery, if I may so express it, has always +been a stench in her nostrils. She is not the first woman to quarrel +with the honest source of her bread-and-butter." He stared at his son +from beneath level brows. "Well? Have plans changed?" + +"I want to make money, sir, and it would be years before I could hope +to do that at the Bar." + +"I will undertake to continue your allowance until you have established +yourself." + +"Thank you, father, but it's not the same thing. I want to stand on my +own feet--and as soon as possible." + +"Why?" + +"Because I wish--I intend--to marry Sheila Graham." + +"You shan't do it!" + +It was the drop of the handkerchief; steel rang upon steel, and no +buttons tipped their foils. It was careful fencing at first, thrust +and parry, parry and thrust, until Simon lost patience at length and +put all his viciousness into one deadly lunge. + +"Now, see here, Copley! If you persist in disregarding my wishes let +me tell you what will happen; I will throw Billy Graham out of his job +and I'll use every scrap of influence I possess to keep him from +getting another! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" The notebook +slapped on his knee. "Ruin your own prospects if you're fool enough to +do it; ruin Sheila's, if she's fool enough to let you; but _stop +there_! Maybe she'll help you to stop when she knows that your +stubbornness and hers will be a knife in her father's back! She _will_ +know, too, for you can't go ahead in common decency without telling her +what it will mean to him!" The tanner leaned forward, an ugly light of +triumph in his eyes, raised his free hand and slowly clenched his fist. +"I've got--you--right--_there_!" + +"Father!" The bitterest shame in the world, the shame of a son for his +father, was in that cry. The young man rose from his chair and stood +looking at Simon Varr almost incredulously. "You couldn't do _that_! +You couldn't do anything so contemptible! Do what you please to me, +but take back that threat before I--I despise you!" + +"Despise me? _You_! Ha! I'll take back nothing, and I'll use my +advantage to its full extent. Mark that! I've said you shan't marry +Sheila Graham--and what I say _goes_!" + +"Not any longer with me!" flared his son at white heat. For a full +minute they indulged in a furious exchange of half-incoherent insults +before Copley's voice rose clear above his father's. "I will marry +Sheila as soon as she'll have me, and I warn you to keep your hands off +Graham!" + +It was then that the study door was flung open and a thick, heavy voice +cut through their abusive volleys. + +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you!" + +Graham came into the study, dragging with him the shrinking figure of +the clerk, Langhorn. His intrusion was startling enough, but there was +still a deeper significance in the slight lurch that the manager gave +as he halted, glowering, before Simon Varr. His flushed face and +blurred utterance contributed their testimony to a fact that was +ominous in itself; he had been drinking, drinking heavily, though he +was notably abstemious by habit. Varr got hastily to his feet, so +threatening was his manager's attitude. + +"What do you want here?" he demanded curtly, though he knew well enough +what Langhorn's presence betokened. "What do you mean by bursting in +like that? Are you drunk?" + +Possibly the crisp question went far to sober Graham, who was plainly +trying to shake off the effect of his potations as if the sense of the +undignified figure he was cutting was just beginning to filter into his +confused brain. He straightened up, steadied himself. + +"I want a talk with you, Mr. Varr. It's overdue, I think. I've been +waiting for you to make a move in a certain direction, and it seems +I've been fooling myself nicely." He spoke slowly. "More than a score +of years I've worked for you, Mr. Varr, and not you nor any man can say +I haven't done well by you and the business. I'm entitled to something +more than the salary of a hired hand--Mr. Bolt agrees with me +there--and I've been hoping that you would give me some chance to +invest my savings in a business I've grown up with. I've earned the +right--" + +"Stop pinning medals on yourself and come to the point!" + +"I've been wondering if maybe you didn't understand how I felt and if I +oughtn't to speak straight out, but yesterday afternoon this man, +Langhorn, told me he had heard you and Mr. Bolt discussing me. He told +me you said you would never give me a partnership, that--that you were +going to throw me out so I would go to Rochester, taking Sheila with +me! It--it nearly knocked me off my feet, Mr. Varr; it's no wonder I +took a drink or so too much this evening. Now I've brought this man +here so you can say if he told me the truth--or so you can call him a +liar to his face." + +"You needn't have gone to that trouble!" snarled Simon, purple with +rage. "He's a sneaking hound, but he told you the truth this time, and +I'd have told you all you wanted to know without your bringing him +along!" + +"Then--it's true? You're going to let me out after all these years?" + +"Yes!" The word was fairly shouted. From temper and sheer +exasperation, Simon was in a towering passion. He flung the notebook +he was holding onto his desk, raised both hands above his head and +shook them in a frenzy at the two men. "_Yes_! And you can start +going by getting out of here, now, and taking your eavesdropping pal +with you! Get out--and don't either of you ever come back!" + +Langhorn wriggled free and stepped out into the hall. Graham did not +leave without a parting shot--directed via Copley, who had been a +silent witness of the scene. + +"This is your fault more than any one else's," he said, "but I know you +didn't mean it." He glanced expressively at Varr and back again. "I +hope you're proud of your father!" he added dryly, and followed the +departing clerk from the house. + +There was a brief silence in the study for a moment or two after the +thud of the closing front door came to their ears. Then Copley made to +leave the room, unchecked by his father, who stood watching him in +sullen mood. The young man paused on the threshold and turned to face +his father. + +"So," he said evenly, "you were threatening me with a course of action +that you had already determined on! Isn't that so?" + +A wave of color suffused Varr's face and answered him. + +"Come back here!" snapped Simon. "I've not finished with you!" + +"Yes, you have, father," said Copley. "Just that!" + +White to his lips, he turned and left the room. Varr listened to his +retreating steps and to a second closing of the front door as he went +out of the house into the dark night. + +Alone, Varr sank into the chair before his desk and tried to take stock +of his position. For once, it seemed, he had not only failed to have +his own way but had definitely come out at the short end of the horn. +It would be difficult to replace Graham--he could admit that to +himself. It would be impossible to replace Copley--! He did not try +to deceive himself with false hopes in that connection; there had been +a finality in his son's last utterance that rang true. + +What curse had come upon him? What malign fate had led Graham there +that evening at the very moment when he could least afford to have his +trickery revealed to his son? Why was everything going wrong? + +The solace of tobacco was denied him, since he did not smoke. His +shaken nerves cried for some attention, and the faint odor of whisky +that still lingered in the room recalled him to Graham's resource. He +stepped to the door and called Bates, who came from the rear of the +house. + +"Fetch me a glass, and that decanter of Bourbon." + +The butler returned in a minute with a tray. He placed it on a small +table near the desk and looked inquiringly at Simon. + +"Will you wish anything else, sir?" + +"No. Go to bed." + +"Thank you, sir. Everything is closed but the front door. Mr. Copley +is still out. Good night, sir." + +Varr poured himself a stiff three fingers and tossed it off at a gulp, +making a wry face as the fiery liquor stung his unaccustomed throat. +Otherwise the effect was excellent. He decanted another large drink +and was about to take a sip of it when his eyes, above the glass, +chanced to rest on a piece of brown paper in a pigeonhole of his desk. + +Abruptly, he put down his drink, drew the paper out, and read the last +lines of the message so curiously received. + + +"_Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the +thunderbolts of wrath!_" + + +Bah! He flung the paper back into its hole, yet continued to eye it +with a feeling of uneasiness that required another swallow of whisky to +allay. Ah--that was better! He took a second, and new life and +courage flowed into him with the liquor. + +He threw back his head and squared his shoulders defiantly. Blast +them--blast them one and all, root and branch! Graham--Copley--this +lunatic Monk--! Threaten _him_, would they? Let 'em look out for +themselves--_he'd_ show 'em! + +He raised his clenched fist preparatory to bringing it down with a +crash upon the desk. It did not fall; it stayed aloft while a sudden +fear leaped into his eyes. He bent forward, his head turned sideways, +his ears straining to catch a sound that had come to them from a +distance. + +A siren was blowing--the siren whose raucous wail gave warning to the +people of Hambleton when fire threatened their homes. Tensely, Simon +counted the long blasts. One--two--three! A short pause. +One--two--three! + +Thirty-three! _The tannery_! + +He sprang erect. Instinct born of habit impelled him to slam down the +roll-top cover of his desk before he rushed from the room and down the +hall. He snatched his soft hat from a rack as he reached with his +other hand for the heavy latch of the front door. + +Two minutes later he was guiding his light car down the curving +hillside road, driving fast but carefully. He made such good time that +he arrived at the scene of the fire several minutes before the local +Fire Department had assembled its hats, its equipment and itself, and +had gotten its apparatus to the field of action. + +A small mob of men, women and delighted children was gathered in the +open space before the office building and the gate. They were milling +about in excited groups, eager enough to lend a hand but hopelessly +confused without the guidance of a leader. Varr thrust through them +impatiently, opened the door--that the watchman had thoughtfully left +unbarred--and hurried through the building to the rear premises. + +A column of black smoke shot with leaping crimson flames told him where +to direct his swift steps. The fire, evidently, was confined for the +moment to one, or possibly two, of the small outbuildings. These were +used largely for storage purposes; they were crammed full of packing +cases, extra carboys of acids and loose heaps of bark--a raft of stuff +that was highly combustible. A glance told Simon that they were doomed. + +Through a haze of greasy smoke he glimpsed an active figure--the only +human being in sight except himself--and he hastened to its side. It +was Fay, the night-watchman, a powerful, stocky man who clearly did not +share the tanner's pessimistic conviction. He had ransacked the +premises for every hand fire-extinguisher he could find, had brought +them to the burning buildings and, with fine optimism, was now spraying +their contents on the edges of the blaze. + +"Stop wasting that stuff!" commanded Varr. "Nothing to be done here! +All we can do is try to save the rest of the outfit." + +The watchman withdrew, reluctantly at first but then with a succession +of leaps and bounds as a muffled explosion from the interior of the +building marked the passing of some overheated container. He halted at +a safe distance, wiping his smoke-grimed face, until Varr rejoined him. +A faint cheer from beyond the boundary fence carried to them over the +roar of the blaze. + +"Guess that's the Fire Department," grunted Fay. "About time they +turned up!" + +"There's oil in that fire!" snapped the tanner, gazing at the black +smoke. "Where'd it come from?" + +"Two five-gallon tins of it, brought from D building, spilled on the +floor and a match chucked into it. I seen them lying on their side in +there at the start of it." + +"Humph. Brought from D building, eh? Then there's no doubt of _this_ +being the work of an incendiary!" + +"Doubt? Huh! I'll tell the world there ain't no doubt! I seen the +feller that did it!" + +"Ah! Could you recognize him? Who was it? Why in thunder didn't you +grab him? Where'd he get to?" + +Before Fay could even begin to sort out these questions and try to +answer the easier ones, their quick conversation was interrupted by the +appearance of a resplendent figure at their elbows. A short, stout man +was Gus Wimpelheimer, grocer and butcher by profession and in his +lighter moments Chief of the Hambleton Fire Department. His round +little body was now quivering with pleased excitement. + +"Evening, gentlemen!" he greeted them politely. He glanced at the fire +and wrinkled an expert nose. "Kerosene!" he pronounced. + +"The thought had occurred to us," retorted Simon. Marshal Wimpelheimer +trotted briskly toward the fire for a better view, and trotted briskly +back again as another carboy let go. + +"Bad business," he reported cheerfully. "Nasty wind springing up," he +added happily. "Blowing straight for the other buildings, too!" He put +a little whistle to his lips and its squeaky notes brought two +satellites of the main luminary. "Hustle out those chemicals and get +'em to work on the blaze. Rout out all the buckets you can find, and +send for more. Call on that crowd out there for volunteers and get a +chain started from the stream to these other buildings. Douse +'em--douse 'em _good_! Don't stop till I tell you to. Fay! You'll +know where there are any ladders; fetch them out!" + +"Yes, Chief!" came the admiring chorus, and the men sprang off to +execute his orders. He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and +turned brightly to the tanner. + +"Don't you worry, Mr. Varr," he said indulgently. "We'll handle this +little affair for you!" + +Worry was not exactly Varr's predominant emotion. There was small +reason to fear that the remainder of the buildings would not be kept +intact, and there was ample insurance on the property, including +contents. The blaze could cause him inconvenience when business was +resumed, that was all. + +The real significance of the affair lay in the fact that the fire had +been of incendiary origin. His face was stormy as he contemplated that +angle of the situation. Who was his enemy? Who had made this second +determined effort to burn the tannery? Second, for he could no longer +consider the first an accident in the light of this new attempt. In +his mind he had always held the thought that Charlie Maxon might have +been the perpetrator of the earlier outrage, but Maxon was now in jail +and could not be guilty of this. Had he a confederate? Was this fire +a token of resentment on the part of his friends for the way he had +been treated? + +He fumed with angry impotence. How would he fight this unseen, unknown +foe? He could take his suspicions to Steiner--but what could that +futile fellow do? He would fiddle around and scratch his head and +mumble inanities! Varr gritted his teeth in helpless rage as he +watched the men fighting their slow but certain battle to victory over +the flames. + +The crowd outside the premises speedily discovered that this drama was +hidden from them by the high fence, and they were forbidden to pass the +guard stationed at the office door by the ubiquitous Wimpelheimer. The +nimbler-witted among them reflected that they might obtain a good view +of the proceedings from the rising ground to the left of the tannery, +and they drifted there by twos and threes until quite a respectable +number of people were sprinkled over the field through which the +shortcut ran to Simon's house. From this vantage point they could look +down into the tannery and watch the performance to their hearts' +content. + +A little to one side of the crowd stood a woman alone, her gaze turned +steadily on the burning buildings. Several passers-by spoke to her by +name, and she answered them mechanically without turning her head. +Finally, one of these greetings was overheard by a man who was standing +a few yards distant; he turned sharply to look at the woman addressed, +then approached her rather hesitatingly. He took off his hat and bowed. + +"I beg pardon," he said pleasantly. "Is this Miss Copley?" + +"Yes." Miss Ocky peered at him through the dark, then gave a little +exclamation. "Leslie Sherwood!" + +"Correct. How are you, Ocky? It seems like a lifetime since I last +saw you." + +"Twenty-odd years. I heard you were back for the first time since +you--since you left the parent nest!" + +"Yes," answered Sherwood quietly. Then he added casually--too casually +to be convincing to her sharp intuitions--"How is Lucy?" + +"She is--oh, pretty well." + +"Er--happy, and all that sort of thing?" + +"As happy as she could expect to be. She married Simon Varr, you know." + +"Yes--I know." He disregarded her sarcastic implication. "I hear +you've been back only a short time yourself. Staying at Lucy's?" + +"Staying at Simon's!" corrected Miss Ocky grimly. "I suppose you know +that's his beloved tannery a-fire down there?" + +"So they tell me. I saw the flames from my house and thought I'd +stroll down for the show." + +"I was just turning in myself when I heard the siren," said Miss Ocky. +"Rather pretty effect, don't you think?" + +"Beautiful," agreed Sherwood. He surveyed the scene of the fire +critically. "Beautiful--only I'm afraid they are going to save most of +the buildings." + +"Eh? What's that?" cried Miss Ocky sharply. Then she gave a chuckle. +"Did you say 'afraid'?" + +"Are you a friend of Simon's?" + +"I detest the creature," she answered promptly. "And you?" + +"It would afford me great pleasure," stated Sherwood calmly, "if that +were Simon's funeral pyre." + +Miss Ocky pursed her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whistle. She was +thinking back to the expression on her brother-in-law's face when this +man's name was mentioned. Simon had been afraid! And here was Leslie +Sherwood expressing, not fear, but--but what? + +"Any one would think you hated the poor man," she suggested at length. + +"That," said Mr. Sherwood, "exactly expresses my feeling toward him." + +"But--but, Leslie--" Miss Ocky was groping for the truth back of all +this--"I don't understand! Why do you hate a man you haven't even seen +for over twenty years?" + +"Some hates have very lasting qualities, Ocky. They endure for ever +and a day." + +"Then--whatever it was--happened before you left here?" + +"Yes. Simon came between me and something that I wanted--and did it in +a way that made a mortal enemy of me. Sounds theatrical, doesn't it? +But it's true. He contrived at the same time to cause the trouble +between me and my father that has kept me from returning to Hambleton +until now, when the old gentleman has ended with worldly cares." + +"I wish you'd tell me the whole story in words of one syllable," begged +Miss Ocky. "It's not that I'm just curious. I'm trying to learn all +that I can about Simon. He interests me as a--as a specimen." + +"I would hardly have told you as much if I weren't willing to tell you +all. I'm puzzling over a problem that might be simplified by a woman's +wit. We can't talk here, though. Too public." + +"Suppose you escort me home. I've a torch, and I'm going up this +short-cut. We can chat on the way." She glanced downhill. "This +excitement is about over; shall we start?" + +"Whenever you please." + +They were turning away side-by-side when a fitful gust of wind swept up +to them from the direction of the sinking flames. There is only one +thing more malodorous than a tannery, and that is a burning tannery. +Miss Ocky choked. + +"Pwhew!" she gasped. "It smells like--like--" + +"Like the soul of Simon Varr," supplied Sherwood promptly. + + + + +_VIII: Two Victims of Theft_ + +Varr remained at the tannery until the last dying ember had been +extinguished. Not till then did Marshal August Wimpelheimer come gayly +up to him, his regalia a trifle the worse for wear and his breath +coming a little short from his exertions but his expression that of one +who has been hugely enjoying himself. He saluted with a flourish. + +"All over, Mr. Varr! I told you we'd handle it. I'm sorry we couldn't +save those first two buildings, but they had too much of a start. Full +of that inflammable stuff and with a breeze like this blowing sparks as +big as my helmet"--the article of attire referred to was nearly as +large as himself--"We were lucky to get control--" + +"Have you seen anything of Fay about?" + +"Your watchman? Yes, sir, he was in the thick of everything! I'd like +to add him to my Department. But the boys all did +splendidly--smoke-eaters, Mr. Varr, every mother's son of 'em! I hope +you noticed, sir, that when it came to volunteers for the bucket-gang a +lot of your workmen stepped up. They forgot about the strike and +pitched in with both hands! It shows there's a heap of good in human +nature." + +"It shows they know which side their bread is buttered!" grunted the +tanner. "How would they get their jobs back if they let the whole +outfit burn? Eh?" + +The Fire Marshal flushed, but the grocer bit back the words that +trembled on his lips. Little Wimpy had gallantry to spare when it came +to facing fire, which is a clean foe and a clean fighter, but his +courage stopped there. Varr owned his store, Varr held a chattel +mortgage on his fixtures--and there were the little Wimpies to be +thought of! + +"Good night, sir!" he said, and went sadly home. + +Simon Varr joined the stragglers who were leaving by way of the hall +through the office building, but he did not go with them as far as the +exit. He ascended the creaky stairs, went into his office and snapped +on the electric light. He had seen nothing of Fay, but he confidently +expected the watchman to seek him out as soon as possible. + +In this he was not disappointed. The man had only paused to remove +some of the traces of his activities before presenting himself for +Simon's inquisition. + +"Well, Fay, what can you tell me about this? Where were you when you +discovered the fire?" + +"I was making my second round at twenty-five minutes to eleven. You'll +remember, sir, you left orders that I should make another trip about +the premises five minutes after my regular round, which was ten-thirty +in this case. That was a good idea, sir, if you'll let me say so; it +certainly led to my seeing the fire right after it started." + +"That scoundrelly fire bug was watching you, depend on that!" + +"Yes, sir; there's dozens of places he could keep a look-out from, once +he got inside. Soon as he saw me finish one round and go out front, he +commenced his dirty work." + +"You say you caught a glimpse of him?" + +"A poor one, sir. I was just quietly passing one of those storage +buildings when I saw a flicker of light beneath the doorsill. It was +too soon to hear the crackle of burning wood or smell any smoke, but I +knew what was up. I pushed open the door. That was when I saw the two +oil-tins lying on their sides and the whole floor flooded with the +stuff. There was smoke enough, then, sir! That's why I could only get +a poor look through it at the feller." + +"He was in the building when you saw him?" + +"Yes, sir--and out of it again like a deer, by the door at the other +end, as soon as he saw me. I couldn't run through the flames, and by +the time I'd jumped back and cut around the building, he was lost in +the darkness. I swept my torch this way and that, but never a sign of +him. I heard him, though," he added significantly. + +"Yes? Where?" + +"He stumbled over something near the left-hand corner of the yard where +the fence runs down to the brook. That tells us what we didn't know +before, sir. He doesn't come over the fence, nor under it; he either +wades the brook around the end of it, or else scrambles around by way +of the bank. Unless I'm all wrong, sir, we'll find his footprints +there in the morning." + +"We'll find them there now," Varr corrected him curtly. "You have your +torch? Come along, then." + +He extinguished the light in the office and led the way downstairs and +out into the yard. They passed the smoking ruins of the two destroyed +buildings and came in a few seconds to the spot described by Fay. Varr +took the torch from him and played its beam on the ground near the +juncture of fence and brook. + +"You're right!" he exclaimed. "Here are footprints--and that piece of +wire is what you heard him trip over. Take a close look at those +prints, Fay, while I hold the light. Don't muck 'em up with your own +dainty feet! Anything noticeable about them?" + +The conscientious watchman dropped on his hands and knees and seemed to +fairly sniff at the marks like a bloodhound. + +"No, sir," he reported regretfully. "They're just footprints." + +Varr corroborated the truth of this when he bent to make his own +examination. The prints were sharp and distinct, but their very +clearness only added to the general obscurity. They were large and +clumsy, rude of outline, and had obviously been made by a pair of heavy +shoes such as workmen wear--and they might have been worn by any one of +a million workmen! Varr grunted his disgust as he sought in vain for +some little mark by which they might be distinguished from two million +like them. + +"A big man," was the extent of his deductions. + +"Yes, sir, that was what he looked like to me. I wish I could have +seen his face--though I've a notion he might have been masked." + +"_Masked_!" Varr fell back a step. "_Masked_?" + +"Why--yes, sir. That wouldn't be so unlikely, considering the errand +he come on! But I'm not sure--I had just that moment's look at him +through a swirl of smoke." + +"Could you tell how he was dressed?" + +"He was in black, sir. I thought so at first, and the way he got out +of sight in the darkness makes it seem likely. What, sir?" + +Varr had muttered an oath. A figure dressed in black, with a mask! +That was circumstantial enough, the Monk had been busy--launching a +thunderbolt of wrath, presumably! Simon's lip curled; Ocky's familiar +of the Spanish Inquisition was a pretty scurvy knave if he would stoop +to firebrands by night--! + +"Fay," he commanded abruptly. "Keep a close tongue in your head about +this. I've my reasons for it. Don't tell any one of these footprints +until I give you permission. Understand?" + +"Yes, sir," replied the watchman dutifully and dolefully. He had +rather been looking forward to public kudos and acclaim. "You'll tell +Steiner, sir, I suppose?" + +"Do as I tell you, and leave the rest to me!" Varr returned sharply. +He handed back the borrowed torch, first glancing at his watch by its +light. "Only half-past one! I could have sworn I'd been down here the +best part of the night. Come along!" + +They returned to the office building, Varr leaving a few more +directions for increased and unceasing watchfulness as the exhausted +Fay dropped into his chair in the front hall. Then Simon betook +himself to his car and drove slowly homeward. + +His bad temper had largely worn itself out on the various irritations +that had kept it jumping, and in sooth the time had come for anger to +give way to calculation. There were so many things to be thought of! +Enough to make a man's head spin! + +The matter of Copley by itself--! He did not know yet just what was +back of the boy's angry declaration that his father was "finished" with +him. Was he planning to leave home? A nice row there'd be with a +wounded mother! And Copley--Simon judged others by himself--would be +sure to make the most of his grievance with her over a parental +stratagem that had miscued! + +The thought of that nasty few minutes in the study reminded him of +Graham. Another coil. Jason Bolt would have some bitter comment on +the wisdom of firing a useful man with no substitute in sight; Jason +had a rough tongue at times for all his good-nature. That would be +still another quarrel--and he couldn't fire Jason! + +And this blasted Monk, with his anonymous letters and talk of +thunderbolts! He must be taken seriously after this night's work. +True, there was no definite proof to connect him with the fire but it +was too probable a hypothesis to be lightly dismissed. What had he +better do to cut that fellow's claws? There was hope, of course, that +he had worked off his spleen in firing the tannery, and also that a +wholesome fear of being caught and convicted of arson might cool his +spirit! Unless he was mad--! + +He left his car in the garage and locked the sliding-door behind him +with a feeling of relief that the balance of the night was likely to +pass without further incident. As he walked from the garage to the +house, he remembered the decanter and glass still standing on the study +table and welcomed the idea of another bracer before bed. He had +earned it. + +The darkened house, as he approached it, provided him with a new +grievance. Every one asleep! What did they care if the tannery went +up in smoke? More than likely they'd be _glad_! + +It was not in him to feel a sense of shame when he presently learned +that his assumption of their indifference was unjustified. As he let +himself in with his key, a slippered step shuffled from the rear to +greet him. It was Bates, sleepy but inquisitive. + +"The fire's out. Yes, it was the work of an incendiary. The actual +damage is immaterial." Varr's answers were curt. "Every one asleep, I +suppose?" + +"I expect so, sir. Miss Ocky went down to the fire, but she came home +long ago and told us it was under control. Miss Lucy came downstairs +and waited until she heard that, then she went to bed. She wanted you +to wake her when you came in and tell her all that happened." + +"Humph. I'll go up in a few minutes. And--my son?" + +"He's not in, sir. I haven't seen him all evening." + +"Very well. Go to bed. Leave the door unlatched." + +The old butler wished him good night and padded softly up the front +stairs. Simon struck a match and went along the darkened hall to his +study, where he struck another and lighted the wall-lamp near his desk. +It was then he noticed something that caused him to fall back a pace +and utter a sharp exclamation. The roll-top cover had been thrust up +to its fullest extent--and the same glance showed him that his +red-leather notebook, which he distinctly remembered tossing on to the +desk, was gone! With a cry of pure rage, he darted to the door of the +study. + +"Bates!" he shouted. "Bates! Come down here! At once!" + +The butler heard, and hurried to obey the urgency in Simon's voice. He +found the tanner standing before his desk and examining its rather +inadequate lock. + +"We've been burgled," announced the victim grimly. "It just needed +that to round the night off nicely." + +"Burgled! Robbed! Surely not, sir!" + +"Don't talk like an idiot! Get your torch. We'd best have a look +around, though there's no doubt the dirty devil got what he came for! +Where were you while--" + +"What is it _now_?" interrupted a plaintive and sleepy voice from the +doorway. "Another fire?" + +Varr wheeled toward the speaker and saw Miss Ocky regarding him with +wondering eyes. She had slipped on a vivid negligee, a trophy from +some Eastern bazaar, and she made a most attractive picture in the +soft, kindly light from the lamp as she stood there looking her inquiry +at one and the other of the two men. Simon was somehow glad to see +her, for much as he disliked her, he admitted her level-headed +shrewdness and welcomed the help of another brain in coping with a +situation that was rapidly getting beyond him. + +"Some one has broken open my desk and taken the notebook in which I +keep memoranda of formulas and experiments," he explained gruffly. "I +don't miss anything else. It must have been done within the last few +hours." + +"I see. I thought I detected a note of tragedy in the way you hollered +for Bates just now." She eyed the butler reflectively as she drew a +silver case from a pocket of the negligee and lighted a cigarette. +"Bates--I see you are still dressed! Where have you been for the past +few hours?" + +"Right in the pantry, Miss Ocky, except when I came out to let you in a +while back. I heard nothing, nor no one." + +She turned, as if to measure distances with her eye. "Right in the +pantry," she repeated. "Fifteen yards--and two closed doors--away. +Still, it's queer you heard nothing." + +"I was reading a paper, Miss Ocky, and I dozed once or twice." + +"Ah. That probably accounts for it. Have you found out yet how he got +into the house?" She moved her shoulders slightly as she put the +question. "I can feel a draught on the back of my neck, now. +Something is open--in the living-room, perhaps. Did you lock up as +carefully as usual this evening, Bates? Things were rather upset!" + +"That didn't make any difference, Miss Ocky," he protested eagerly. "I +had closed everything as usual--I had even started for bed--before the +siren blew and I heard Mr. Varr hurrying out to the garage. Nothing +was left unlocked." + +At the first mention of the living-room, Simon had secured a small +torch from a nearby stand. Together, they trooped through the door +leading to the parlor, where he flashed the light on the two sets of +tall French windows that gave on to a side veranda. They exclaimed in +chorus at the sight of one pair ajar. + +"That's that," said Miss Ocky. She took the flash from Simon, opened +the window wide and turned the light on the planking of the piazza. +"Nothing to be seen by this light!" She directed the beam at the +fastenings of the window. "Huh! Didn't take much to force this +affair! Your defenses are pretty flimsy, Simon!" + +"You're not in the heart of Asia, Ocky. We don't go in much for +fortifications in this country." + +"Well, I could wish you did. I don't want to wake up some night and +find a burglar going off with my treasures. What did you say this one +took--a notebook?" + +"Yes." + +"What's the idea? Who wants an old notebook?" + +"Exactly what I'm asking myself, Ocky." Simon sent a sideways look at +the old butler as if reluctant to speak too openly. "It was full of +important data relative to tanning processes. Not much of a loss to +me, for I know 'em all by heart--but it might be extremely useful to +any one else in the business or--or to any one who might be expecting +to go into it--" His voice trailed off as if he were lost in some +thought that had just struck him. "Humph!" he grunted. + +"What is it?" demanded Ocky alertly. + +"Nothing--nothing to be discussed now, anyway. Bates!" + +"Sir?" The butler had just finished lighting the lamp on the center +table and he glanced at Varr with expressionless face. "Yes, sir?" + +"Stop fiddling with that lamp. There's nothing to be done to-night. +And look here--I don't want this business mentioned to the other +servants or any one else until I have decided just what action I shall +take. Understand? Go to bed, then,--and I hope you stay there this +time!" + +"One moment, Bates." Miss Ocky had moved over to the table and was +contemplating it with thoughtful gaze. "Simon--what sort of an +implement would have forced that desk of yours? A knife, for instance?" + +"Yes, that would have done the trick. It could have been slipped under +the top near the lock; a slight pressure would have done the rest." + +"I like a lock that is a lock," sniffed Miss Ocky. + +"A matter of taste, I suppose. Bates, you know that Persian dagger of +mine I've been using here lately for a paper-cutter? When did you see +it last?" + +"This evening, Miss Ocky." + +"Sure?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky. I was straightening up in here just after you went to +your room the first time, and I knocked the book you had been reading +on to the floor. When I picked it up, the dagger fell out. I knew I'd +lost your place and was sorry, but I couldn't do anything to find it +again so I just laid the dagger down beside the book--right here." He +indicated a perfectly blank spot on the table and looked mystified. + +"I came down for the book just before one o'clock--couldn't seem to get +to sleep," explained Miss Ocky musingly. "The dagger was not here +then--but it didn't occur to me to raise the house about it. I took it +for granted there was some simple reason for its being gone, and I +didn't stop to look for it, as I was only striking matches to find what +I wanted." She made a face. "For all I know, the burglar was right in +this room at that very minute!" + +"Pity you didn't run on to him," grunted Simon. "What are you +suggesting, anyway?" + +"I think your burglar came in here and noticed the dagger--he probably +had a flash--and decided it was just what he needed in his business! +He opened the desk with it, and unless he dropped it around somewhere +when he was finished with it, I guess _I've_ been robbed, _too_." + +"Huh. Wasn't valuable, was it?" asked Simon impatiently. + +"Well, I don't care about losing it--thanks for your kind and +sympathetic interest!" retorted his sister-in-law tartly. "Thank you, +Bates, that's all." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." The old man bowed. "Good night, sir," he said, for +the third time that night. + +"I'll be off, too," said Miss Ocky, moving toward the door, where she +lingered for a parting shot. "If I were you, Simon, I'd either have my +locks seen to or else have my more valuable possessions nailed down. +Good morning!" + +She was gone before he could think of an effective retort. He occupied +himself briefly in dragging a heavy chair against the broken window, +then put out the lamp and went into his study. Bed seemed to make no +appeal, though there was a suggestion of weariness in the way he +dropped into his chair before the desk. He was mentally tired. + +Who had dealt him this latest blow--a shrewder one than he had +confessed to Ocky. That notebook full of formulas, the results of a +lifetime of experiment and research, would be worth more than a gold +mine to a competitor. There were men in the business who would pay +handsomely for the picking of Simon Varr's brain! But who had known +that, and turned his knowledge to advantage by the crooked way of +burglary? + +Two names kept bobbing up in the back of his brain. Copley was one; +Graham the other. Either might have done it, or they might have +entered into an unholy partnership of crime. Both knew the value of +the notebook, and both had seen it in his desk that evening. Where had +they been since? He had not noticed either of them at the fire; had +they been robbing his desk while they knew him safely absent? + +No sentiment played any part in these cogitations. He measured the +possibility of his son's guilt as coldly as if the young man had been a +complete stranger--or an ex-convict. Measured it, perhaps, +unconsciously, by his own standards of behavior. He had done things in +his time that would have made a self-respecting burglar blush. + +There was a third possibility. The Monk. Simon tried to shake off +that thought. There was no sense in it. Queer how anything like that +masquerader's mischief-making could get under a sensible man's +skin--dig its way into his brain until it became an obsession! Suppose +he _had_ set fire to the tannery--was that any reason to believe he had +proceeded to further activities the same night? There was not a shred +of proof connecting him with the burglary. + +He yielded to the fascination that the scrap of brown paper was +beginning to exercise over him and drew it from the pigeonhole. He +opened it and let his eye travel over the illiterate text to the threat +at the end that was already known to him by heart: "Take heed to thy +ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the thunderbolts of +wrath!" Then he started violently in his chair, for he had come upon +the very proof he had thought lacking. + +Beneath the last line of the message a few words had been scrawled with +a blunt, blue crayon and then deeply underscored for emphasis. He +stared at them, his face flushing and paling by turns, his lips +soundlessly shaping the ill-formed characters. + +"_Behold, the bolts are loosed!_" + + + + +_IX: Simon Seeks Advice_ + +The discovery that his unknown enemy after first firing the tannery had +then rounded off a perfect evening by burglarizing his house threw +Simon Varr into a state of mental confusion. Here was a saturnalia of +crime condensed into the space of a few hours. And the man's audacity +was no less bewildering than his swift efficiency! Who, in this +hitherto quiet township of Hambleton, had suddenly developed a brand of +vicious courage that nerved him to commit arson and burglary? Simon +reviewed an imposing procession of possible suspects until his brain +wearied, and his wits, seeking vainly for light, were hopelessly at +fault in a fog of conjecture. + +It was nearly three o'clock before he laid an aching head on his +pillow, it was nearly five before sleep came to him, but he was up at +his usual hour and downstairs in his study by eight. Physically he was +still tired, but the brief spell of slumber had at least rested his +brain and cleared it against the problems of a new day. + +However undeserving he might be of sympathy, mere humanity would +suggest that it would be pleasanter, far pleasanter, to record that +this day of all days in Simon Varr's life was peaceful and calm, but +the truth is exactly the reverse. It was destined to be a day of +bitterness and strife, terminating in actual violence. + +The trouble began with Jason Bolt. + +Lucy Varr did not descend for breakfast, nor did Ocky, who elected to +depart from custom and have a tray brought up by Janet to her bedroom +balcony. Simon ate his usual hearty meal with more deliberation than +appetite, and had barely returned to his desk when he heard the squeal +of brakes that distinguished Jason's car from its numerous fellows. + +He came straight back to the study and threw himself into a chair, his +round, good-humored face unwontedly grave. + +"Well, Simon, here's a pretty kettle of fish!" + +"There are several kettles of fish. Which do you mean?" + +"Well--Billy Graham's, to commence with. He was around to see me an +hour ago--" + +"Was he sober?" + +"Of course he was, don't be too unjust, Simon! Graham doesn't make a +practice of drinking, and if he took one or two too many last evening, +as he admits he did, I for one don't blame him. That confounded pup +Langhorn told him what he overheard--" + +"I know--I know all that. I have fired Langhorn and I have fired +Graham." Simon's jaw tilted truculently. "What about it?" + +"That's what I've come to ask. What about it? If you keep on at this +rate, another week will see you down to bed-rock--reduced to one +partner and one idle tannery. And some one seems determined to burn +that up piecemeal!" + +"I didn't see you there last night." + +"No, thank goodness, I was in blissful ignorance of our latest trouble. +We have guests, you know. Mary and I took the Krechs to Barney's road +house just to give them a taste of night-life in Hambleton. Mr. Krech +and Barney spent the evening extemporizing cocktails--" + +"I'm not interested in your orgies. What did Graham have to say this +morning?" + +"Nothing that wasn't mighty decent, all things considered. He is sorry +to go after all these years, but he doesn't question your right to fire +him. He prefers to discuss the details attendant on his quitting with +me--you have no objection?--and he is writing to Rochester to tell the +Thibault crowd he accepts their offer." + +"That doesn't break my heart. The sooner he gets to Rochester the +better pleased I'll be." + +"Oh, yes--because of Copley, I suppose, and the girl. Well--I guess +Billy Graham isn't in the market for sympathy. He tells me that he is +fairly familiar with the Thibault tanneries from hearsay and he is +confident that he is taking them some tips that will make him solid +with them from the start." + +"Eh? What's that?" Suddenly intent, Simon Varr leaned forward and +fixed a sharp gaze on the speaker. "What is he taking them? What did +he refer to?" + +"Why--nothing specific, Simon! No doubt he has picked up a score of +useful tips during the time he has been associated with us. We can't +stop him from giving them the benefit of his experience; that's the +sort of thing you must expect when you fire a good man without any +reason except that he has a pretty daughter whom you can't keep your +only son away from. I must say, Simon--" + +"Must you? Please try not to!" + +Jason complied with a shrug of his shoulders; why waste his breath on +this human lump of obstinacy? + +Varr relaxed in his chair again, thinking. He ran over the events of +the previous night. Graham had drunk at least enough to render him +irresponsible for his impulses and actions. He had seen the notebook +lying on the desk. Enough time had elapsed between his departure and +the alarm of fire to have enabled him to slip down the hill and fire +the tannery. He might then have returned and watched his opportunity +to break into the house. Yes--it was possible, physically, for him to +be the guilty man. "Taking something valuable to Thibault?" The +notebook? Would he have the brazen nerve to make such a remark if he +were the thief? Yes! If Graham were the man, that identified him with +the masquerading monk, and _he_ had nerve enough for anything! + +It struck Simon--while his partner waited in glum silence--that it +would be interesting to learn where Graham had been on the night before +after leaving him in the study. To put it more bluntly--had the man an +alibi? How did one go to work to learn such things, short of asking +open questions? Varr shelved the problem temporarily, though an idea +in the back of his head was slowly shaping itself into the answer. He +would do nothing decisive until he had weighed things more carefully +and was sure-- + +"How shall we replace Billy Graham?" said Jason Bolt, having fidgeted +in silence to the limit of his patience. "Have you any one in mind?" + +"Certainly I have!" snapped his partner, who had given not a thought to +the matter until that moment. "D'you suppose I'd fire a man unless I +saw my way free of that difficulty? There's old Maple; let him take +hold when he is hungry enough to come back to work." + +"Maple? A good, steady man, Simon, but not the sort I'd pick. Not a +scrap of initiative. He knows enough to do just what he's told to do, +but--" + +"That's the sort of man I want." + +"And what you say goes! Don't trouble to point that out; I have heard +it before. Do you mind, however, if I mention another man whom I've +been thinking might fit in?" + +"Well--who?" + +"Copley. Your son. Don't look as if a snake had bit you! I think he +would make up in intelligence anything he lacks in experience. He is +quick to learn--" + +"You may leave him out of your calculations." + +Jason started at the tone of the remark, glanced at Varr's set face and +shot at him an impulsive question. + +"Simon! You haven't gone and quarreled with him _too_, have you?" + +"Never mind that." + +"By thunder, you _have_!" Jason Bolt regarded his partner +open-mouthed. Then he added, half to himself: "'Whom the gods would +destroy they first make mad!'" + +"What's that?" snapped Simon. The quotation had jarred on him, +something in its phraseology savoring unpleasantly of the anonymous +message he had received. "I'm a long way from being mad!" + +"You can't prove it by me," said Jason rudely. He came to his feet. +"I'll be getting back home; only blew in to talk with you about Billy." +He hesitated before continuing. "By the way, Simon, are you going to +be at the office this morning?" + +"Very likely--yes, I shall. Why?" + +"This chap who's staying with me--Herman Krech--very nice fellow--he's +the broker I was speaking of to you the other day. I thought I might +bring him in and introduce him to you." + +"Listen to me, Jason!" Varr's face was slowly flushing with anger. +"We are _not_ going to incorporate!" + +"Oh--bless me, I'd practically abandoned that notion myself," said Mr. +Bolt, airily mendacious. "Nothing was farther from my thoughts; I just +thought I'd show him around and introduce him to you--let him see all +the sights, huh? You may as well meet him; we're bound to be dining +together either here or at my house as soon as our wives get their +heads--" + +"Bring him in by all means," interrupted Varr. The idea in the back of +his head had suddenly burgeoned while his partner rambled on. "If +either of you mentions the word incorporate I'll have you thrown out, +but there is another matter in which he may be of service to me." + +"Krech? Why, you don't even know him!" + +"Well, you're going to fix that difficulty, aren't you?" Varr turned +to his desk in his usual gesture of dismissal. "I'll be there at +eleven." + +True to his word, at a few minutes past ten Simon left home for the +tannery. He would have a busy day, there, what with insurance data and +other matters relative to the fire. The prospect fretted him--and it +steeled his resolution to leave no stone unturned to bring the author +of his troubles to book. Blast him! He'd learn that it was safer to +monkey with a buzz-saw than with Simon Varr! + +He stopped at the door of the office-building for a word with Nelson, +who was already yawning at his post. Without any suggestion other than +the promptings of good-nature, he had turned out long before daybreak +to relieve the tired Fay. + +"Mr. Bolt and another gentleman are in back, sir," he reported. "Just +looking around. A young man was in about the insurance--said he'd be +back later. Steiner was here, very curious about the fire, but I told +him he'd have to see you." + +"Right. You can tell Mr. Bolt that I'm upstairs. Did you or Fay look +around any more in the neighborhood of those footprints?" + +"Footprints? He said nothing to me--" + +"True; I told him to keep his head shut. I will talk to you about that +later, Nelson. There hasn't been any trouble from the strikers?" + +"I haven't seen a soul, sir, but I've heard they are having a sort of a +meeting this morning. There's been talk of appointing a committee to +call on you and discuss things." + +"There's nothing to discuss. However, I'm perfectly willing to meet a +committee from them and tell them again that they'll gain nothing by +their strike but trouble for themselves. You have to tell a fool the +same thing over and over again before he'll believe it. Send 'em up +when they come--but not more than three of 'em, I don't want a whole +mob mucking up my office." + +"Yes, sir. There's been a young woman askin' for you, too, sir. A +girl named Drusilla Jones." + +"Never heard of her." Simon, on the point of turning away, paused and +looked curious. "What does she want?" + +"She's been goin' around pretty steady with Charlie Maxon, sir. I +guess she'll want to see you about lettin' him out." + +"Humph. He's where he belongs, and I wouldn't do anything to get him +out even if I could. Tell her that, and say I won't see her. Make it +clear, Nelson, I've no time to waste on Maxon's women." + +"Yes, sir." + +The watchman had nothing further to offer, and Varr went up to his +office and busied himself with the morning mail. There were more +indignant demands from aggrieved customers, and the fact that Simon had +expected them did not lessen their power to annoy. His face grew +steadily redder and redder as he worked through the pile of +correspondence. + +A clock in the outer office struck eleven, and as the last loud stroke +thinned to silence there came the sound of heavy footsteps ascending +the stairs. Jason Bolt believed in punctuality. + +He entered with a cheerful greeting that suggested he had recovered +some of his equanimity since his earlier talk with his partner. On his +heels came his friend, a genial-looking, red-faced, smooth-shaven +gentleman whose personal dimensions and displacement were such that +they seemed to dwarf the small office to the proportions of a room in a +doll's house. He stood well over six feet, was broad, deep-chested and +bulky, but moved with a light-footed agility that argues muscle rather +than fat. Simon was not a small man himself, but he felt like a pigmy +as his hand disappeared into one that opened like a suitcase. + +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Varr," said the newcomer pleasantly, in a voice +that was deep but agreeably pitched. "Bolt has been showing me the +whole works, here. You have a fine proposition." + +"I think so," concurred Simon with mild gruffness. "Jason is +dissatisfied with it, but it suits me very well." + +"So I have gathered from talking with him," said Mr. Krech, genially. +"No doubt you are right--at any rate, I seldom try to advise other men +in respect to their own business." He took a huge cigar-case from his +pocket and opened it, then offered it to Varr and Jason Bolt. "No? +You don't mind if I do, though?" He carefully lighted a mammoth cigar +and sat down on a chair toward which Simon had waved. "I see that some +one else is dissatisfied with the tannery, too. You must have had a +narrow escape from being burned out last night." + +"Ah, yes! We have had some little trouble with a number of malcontent +employees. I am gradually weeding out the more noxious of them--eh, +Jason?" Mr. Bolt palpably winced. "In fact, Mr. Krech, there have +been developments in connection with that fire, and certain other +occurrences, that put it in my mind to ask something of you." + +"Bolt told me that you wanted to see me about something," said the big +man heartily as the tanner paused to choose his words. "If I can be of +service to you I'll be delighted." + +"Thanks. It's really a very simple matter. You see, I have decided to +have this fire--and those other occurrences--investigated, competently +investigated, and their perpetrator punished to the full extent of the +law. Unfortunately, the local police are utterly incompetent to handle +a case of this kind, and I don't think much more of the County +officials. It finally struck me that a private detective agency might +do the trick. But I don't know any such concern and I don't feel like +employing one blindly, so I thought I'd take advantage of your coming +from New York and ask you to hunt up a responsible agency for me." + +"A private detective!" exclaimed Jason Bolt. "Why, Simon, what has +happened to require any such critter as that? What are those other +occurrences you speak of?" + +"I'll tell you--I'll tell you in good time. First, I want to hear if +Mr. Krech is disposed to assist me. He has facilities in New York for +locating a reputable agency, no doubt." + +"I don't have to go to New York for that," answered the big man +promptly. "You've come to the right place for information, Mr. Varr. +I know a very capable chap." He turned to Jason, and added slowly: "We +don't talk much about it, as you can imagine, but possibly you have +heard that my wife's brother was murdered under rather curious +circumstances; a cold-blooded crime if ever there was one." + +"I've heard Mary speak of it," admitted Bolt. + +"Well, the detective I have in mind is the man who cleared up that +mystery." His gaze shifted back to Simon. "Of course, knowing him and +getting him are two different things. He's usually up to his ears in +one thing or another. If it's not too confidential, and you want to +give me an idea of your problem, perhaps it would help me interest him. +At least, if it is out of his line, he will recommend some one else +who'll be competent to handle it for you." + +The tanner gagged a bit over the idea of any private detective +rejecting his patronage, but after all he wanted a good man and not the +first Tom, Dick or Harry to offer his services so he gulped down the +tart comment that had sprung to his lips. + +"There's nothing confidential about it--short of its getting into the +papers and giving my show away. I've got to tell Jason about it, and +if you care to listen I'll be glad of your opinion on the whole crazy +business. It began with--" + +He got no farther for the moment. There was a scuffling and shuffling +of feet from the direction of the stairs, and Nelson appeared in +advance of three rather ill-at-ease visitors. They were dressed in +workmen's clothing and carried their caps respectfully in their hands. + +"A committee from our strikers," explained Varr curtly to his partner. +He stood up. "Don't bother, Jason, stay here with Mr. Krech while I +talk to them in the outer room. It'll take me about two minutes to get +rid of 'em!" he added grimly. + +He strode from the room and met the approaching delegation halfway +across the main office. From where they sat, Jason Bolt and his friend +could watch the ensuing proceedings and hear every word that was spoken. + +Varr was instantly wrathful at discovering in the gray-haired +individual who turned out to be their spokesman an old employee whose +name was Maple, the very man he had spoken of to Bolt as possibly +replacing Graham as manager. He could almost hear Jason chuckling over +the fact as he snapped a curt command at the fellow to state his +business. + +"We've come for a talk with you, Mr. Varr," began Maple soberly, +"because there's some of us who feel that this strike has gone on too +long as it is. It's bad for us, sir, and it must be bad for you and +Mr. Bolt. We three have been appointed to call on you gentlemen and +ask you to look into the whole situation with us. There's points on +which we've been unreasonable, maybe, and there's others where we think +you've been unreasonable. If we give in a bit and you give in a bit +perhaps we can reach some sort of a compromise that'll let us all go to +work--" + +"Stop! I've been waiting for that word compromise! You can go back +and tell your crowd that this strike isn't going to be settled--it's +going to be _broken_!" Varr smashed one fist into the other as he +roared his defiance. "Go back and tell 'em! Tell 'em I'll watch every +man of you starving in the gutters before I'll be driven into doing +what I've said I won't do. Go set some more fires in the tannery; +you'll soon find that'll get you nowhere but in jail!" + +"We've set no fires, Mr. Varr," answered Maple with dignity. "On the +contrary, sir, the three of us here now were amongst them who helped to +put out the fire last night. You've no call to blackguard honest men. +As for starving in the gutter, sir--" + +He stopped speaking to reach in his pocket and draw out a few small +bills, which he held up for Varr's inspection, and at a nod of his +head, his two companions also produced money from their trousers. +Simon glanced at it and sneered. + +"Found a union to support you, eh?" + +"No, sir, not that. To tell the truth, Mr. Varr, there don't seem to +be any good reason to tell you where this came from, or how it came, +but we feel in duty bound to say it brought with it a message for you." + +"A message? For me?" Simon repeated the phrases quickly, his mind +alert for new alarms. "Well, what was it? Get it out!" + +"We were told to tell you that while we held out against you we could +count on getting money for our needs from the 'Black Monk'." + +"The Black Monk!" Simon fell back a pace as he whispered the words. +"The Black Monk! What--what do you mean?" + +"That's all we can tell you, sir." Maple fumbled with his cap and +coughed nervously. "We'll ask you again, sir, as in duty bound to our +comrades, if you'll help us come to a compromise--" + +"_No_!" + +The committee shrank back from the explosive quality of the +monosyllable that was like a door slammed in their faces. + +"Very well, sir, then we'll wish you good day--and a kinder heart for +your fellowmen." + +"Stop!" + +Sheer anger at this latest evidence of his enemy's activity had swept +Simon Varr beyond self-control, beyond reasoning and beyond decency. +He launched upon the stolid committee a rushing torrent of insult and +invective. The veneer of dignity that had come to him with wealth and +position slipped from him, as the old skin slips from a snake, and he +went back to the vocabulary of his youth for terms sufficiently +blasphemous and obscene to express his opinion of the strike, the +strikers, the committee and its sponsors. He did not stop until his +breath failed and left him panting. + +The two men in the small office listened to that tirade in embarrassed +silence. Jason Bolt fidgeted in his chair and grew pink to the tips of +his ears. Herman Krech, as became a tactful bystander, gazed at the +floor, stared at the ceiling, studied the glowing tip of his cigar, +peered through the grimy window at the uninspiring view of Hambleton +and generally comported himself with discretion and _savoir faire_. +Inwardly, he was wondering if he had any right to inflict this +termagant tanner on his unsuspecting friend, the detective. Not by a +jugful, unless the mutt had a mighty interesting case-- + +"I think," said Simon Varr, reentering his office, "I think I have now +made my position clear to those fellows!" A grim satisfaction was +apparent in his voice and bearing, the usual aftermath with him of an +outburst of temper. "Now we can resume where we left off." + +"What was that stuff about a monk?" demanded Jason. + +"That's part of my story. When Mr. Krech has heard it, he will tell us +if it is likely to interest his friend." He sent a questioning glance +at the big man. "By the way, what is his name?" + +"Peter Creighton," said Mr. Krech. + + + + +_X: Creighton Takes the Case_ + +Jason Bolt and Herman Krech listened to Varr's narrative in rapt +silence. The former's interest was mixed with amazement, the latter's +with enthusiasm. As the tale progressed the big man hitched farther +and farther forward in his chair, his expression that of a little child +who proposes to miss no syllable of a fascinating fairy story. He +considered himself something of a connoisseur in crime, did Mr. Krech, +thanks to a few experiences with his friend Creighton, and a subject +that had always made an appeal to his imagination was now become the +hobby of his every idle moment. Although he would not have abandoned a +lucrative business to take a position on Creighton's staff of +operatives, it was his secret grief that the detective had never +recognized his ability to the extent of offering him one. + +He was beaming with delight by the time Varr had ended his curt account +of his tribulations, and his distaste of the tanner's personality had +been temporarily forgotten. + +"Gee Joseph, Mr. Varr!" he burst out. "You really ought to +congratulate yourself! You've been the victim of the prettiest piece +of persecution I've ever heard of!" + +"Thanks," returned Simon without enthusiasm. + +"He seems to be waltzing all around you and jabbing you just where it +will hurt the most, and yet he's clever enough to evade capture and +even to keep you from guessing his identity. Why not make a list of +your known enemies and check them off one by one?" + +"Too many of 'em," retorted Simon briefly. + +"Ah, yes--I should have thought of that!" A muffled snort from Jason +marked his appreciation of the seemingly ingenuous jibe. "If a man's +known by the enemies he makes, I should say this fellow was a lasting +credit to you. You'll miss him when he's gone." + +"I'll miss him with pleasure. But when is he going? D'you think this +is a problem that will appeal to Mr. Creighton's critical taste?" + +"It will have my hearty endorsement, anyway, when I submit it to him. +He likes crooks with imagination, I know, and this bird has it. I wish +you had brought along that note you got from him." + +"I did." The tanner reached into his pocket and drew forth the message +that he had found in the deft stick. "I decided to fetch it as long as +I intended to tell you the story." + +Krech accepted the bit of brown paper, carefully taking it by the tip +of one corner and opening it with a shake. He held it out for Jason to +read, but drew it back from the other's outstretched hand. + +"Naughty, naughty, mustn't touch!" + +"Fingerprints?" grunted Varr skeptically. + +"It's a possibility we must consider," insisted the big man firmly. "I +don't believe there are any, sort of pity if there were." + +"Pity, eh? What do you mean, pity?" + +"It would cheapen our crook. I don't believe he's the lad to leave +clues." He added calmly, "Hush, now, and let me read this carefully." + +Simon gasped and hushed. He consoled himself with the reflection that +this human mastodon probably knew what it was about. + +"Well, I'm hanged!" blurted Jason Bolt, when he had perused the +missive. "What do you make of it, Krech?" + +"Why, there are a number of curious features about it that leap to the +eye," said Mr. Krech blandly. "I will call them to Creighton's +attention, of course." He stepped to Varr's desk, helped himself to an +unused envelope and inserted the note. "How many other people have +touched this paper besides yourself, Mr. Varr?" + +"Not a soul. I've shown it to no one." + +"Oh, that's fine." He picked up a clean letterhead and held it out to +the tanner. "Ink your thumbs and forefingers on that pad there and +then press them on this." He waited until Simon had gruntingly obeyed. +"Good. These will identify your marks on the message, and if there are +any others they will be the sign manual of our crook." + +"How can you be sure?" argued Jason. "It's obviously an old scrap of +paper and a dozen people may have handled it before the crook got hold +of it." + +Mr. Krech regarded his friend with a look of dignified annoyance. + +"There's always some one around to make difficulties," he said +severely. "You're a fly on the wheel of progress." + +"Excuse me for living," begged the fly meekly. Then he looked at his +watch and exclaimed, "Hello. Our wives, Krech, our wives--! We're +late for lunch already! Drop you anywhere, Simon?" + +"I have my car." The tanner glanced at Krech. "You'll notify +Creighton?" + +"With pleasure. I'll keep these for him, too." + +He placed the envelope containing the message and the fingerprints in +his pocket, then moved to follow his friend, already on his way to the +stairs. He paused at the door, however, and came back rather +hesitatingly. "Say--just how did that couplet run?" + +Simon made a wry face, but obligingly recited: + + "_'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh + Within the fortnight he shall die.'_" + + +"Do you take that seriously?" asked the big man. + +"Do you take me for a blasted fool?" snapped Simon irritably. + +"Yes," said Mr. Krech simply. "Just the sort of blasted fool I would +be in your place, or that nine out of ten men would be. Because the +threat is directed at _you_, you scoff at it and ignore it." + +"What are you getting at?" + +"This: the fellow who wrote that note and does his stuff in a monk's +costume has all the earmarks of a maniac. Maniacs are dangerous. If +he has made use of this old local legend to further his purpose, he may +go ahead with it to the bitter end--your bitter end! Until he is laid +by the heels, why not play safe and stay home after dark?" + +"Humph. I'm likely to, aren't I?" jeered Simon. + +"No, you aren't, because, to use your own expression, you're 'a blasted +fool,'" conceded Mr. Krech cheerfully. "Anyway, if you happen to get +bumped off, don't come around haunting me on the score that I didn't +warn you!" He smiled benignly. "Ta-ta!" + +The tanner choked back an oath. For some time after the loud groaning +of the stairs beneath his visitor's tread had died away, he sat at his +desk and scratched his chin gently as he meditated. The striking of +the clock in the outer office recalled him to more present matters. It +was understood that if he did not return home by a certain hour in the +middle of the day he would lunch downtown, and the hour was now past. +On these occasions he usually walked to the Hambleton Hotel, the town's +one hostelry, where he could regale himself on a couple of heavy +sandwiches and a cup of doubtful coffee. + +Thither he now betook himself, frowning on the way as he noted some +condemnatory expressions on the faces of those he passed on the street. +He knew that public opinion was antagonistic to him in the matter of +the strike and his treatment of Maxon--the Hambleton _News_ had run a +nasty paragraph about the last--and the censure irritated, if it did +not move him. + +He had no sooner entered the dingy lobby of the hotel than his eye +rested on his son, Copley, seated at a rickety writing table and +industriously scribbling on a pad of cheap paper. Varr strode across +to his side and addressed him curtly. + +"What are you doing here?" + +"Living here," returned the young man, glancing up but making no move +to rise. He met his father's angry glare coolly. "More convenient to +my job." + +"Your job!" echoed Simon derisively. "What mental incompetent has +employed _you_?" + +"Barlow, the editor of the _News_. I'm a reporter now." + +"Humph. Why?" + +"For ready money, naturally, until I can get something good." + +"Am I to understand you have left my roof?" + +"Absolutely. Left it last night, and returned for clothes and a few +personal belongings this morning. You piled it on a bit thick last +evening--too thick. I've quit." + +"Saved me the trouble of throwing you out!" said Simon between his +teeth. "What did you tell your mother?" + +"The truth. I didn't intend to, but I found Aunt Ocky had overheard +our little chat and had told her we'd had a holy row. Sorry." + +"Blast your Aunt Ocky!" + +That did not seem to call for a reply and Copley made none. After a +few seconds of silence he raised his pencil suggestively. + +"Speaking as a prominent citizen, Mr. Varr, what have you to say +regarding the opening of the new sewer in State Street?" + +"Nothing--except that I hope you'll fall into it!" said his father with +asperity, and walked away. + +Copley wrote an item on another sheet of paper. "Among those lunching +at the Hambleton Hotel yesterday was Mr. Simon Varr, of the Varr-Bolt +Tanneries. He did not tip the waiter." He cocked his head at a +critical angle and contemplated the last six words before reluctantly +obliterating them. Discretion must be his watchword, he told himself, +and a job is better than a jest. + +Simon finished his meal and returned to the office, noticing already +the premonitory symptoms of the mild indigestion that habitually +followed the greasy cooking of the hotel chef. He found his insurance +man waiting for him and spent two tedious hours over an inventory and +proofs of loss before he could rid himself of the fellow--and sped his +going with a curse because the broker warned him the insurance company +would certainly cancel their existing policies if they got wind of an +incendiary. + +That reminded Simon of the footprints in the tannery yard which he had +wished to examine by daylight. He had intended to show them to that +chap Krech, but Jason had spoiled things by hurrying him off to his +silly lunch. He descended the stairs, called Nelson to join him, and +went to the end of the fence around which the fire bug had fled. + +He gave the watchman a brief account of Fay's experience at the +commencement of the fire, when he had actually obtained a glimpse of +the incendiary at his evil work. He discussed with Nelson, a shrewd +man, the possible identity of the miscreant, but they arrived at no +conclusion. Together they traced the footprints from the yard around +the fence and up the muddy bank of the little stream until they +vanished on the firmer ground outside the premises. + +"Make anything of them?" asked Varr. + +"Nothing more than you do, sir; they seem to be the tracks of a large +man. That friend of Mr. Bolt's could have made 'em nicely." + +"Get a couple of empty boxes," directed Simon, mindful of the +protective device he had used in his kitchen garden to preserve the +marks left by Charlie Maxon. "Cover up two good sets of these; they +may come in handy later." He studied the skies. "We'll probably have +rain before morning." + +"Fay won't object to that," declared the watchman, grinning. "If he +had his wish, it would rain chemical fire-extinguishing fluid!" + +Simon lingered to see that the work of covering the tracks was properly +done, and hoped that Mr. Krech and his detective would appreciate his +thoughtfulness. Then he left the tannery, climbed into his car and +drove home. The strain of the night before had told on even his iron +physique--and there was the mute appeal of a decanter of Bourbon that +he knew would freshen his nagging spirit. + +Jason's dilapidated little touring car greeted his gaze as he drove +past the front of the house to the garage, and a sound of light voices +came to him from the side veranda. Easy enough to guess the meaning of +that, the Bolts had dropped in with their friends for tea and a chat +with Lucy, who counted Mary Bolt her closest friend. + +He joined them a moment later. Lucy, he saw at once, had been crying. +No amount of powder or superficial gayety could conceal that fact from +him. She did not look at him directly, and her voice was frigid as she +introduced him to the one member of the party he had not met. + +"Mrs. Krech--my husband." + +Varr bowed to a tall, slender, strikingly handsome young woman with +deep-blue eyes and a mass of dark red hair, who was seated beside his +sister-in-law on a couch. The two were talking earnestly together +until he interrupted them, as though they had taken an instant liking +to each other. + +"Excuse me if I don't get up," apologized Krech from the deep chair in +which he was sitting. "I'm anchored." + +The handsome Angora had found him, and as though to mark his +approbation of another animal as fine as himself, had leaped into his +lap and curled up contentedly beneath his caressing hand. Despite his +words, Krech put him down and rose immediately when Simon indicated +that he did not propose to join them. He followed the tanner into the +house and accosted him in the hall. + +"I'd like to see the window where that burglar got in last night," he +said. "Got a minute to show me?" + +"Very well. In this way." They went into the sitting room and Varr +spoke on the way of his recent activities in the tanning yard, a piece +of foresight that Krech instantly applauded. "This is the window; it +was either pushed open by main force, or the catch was pressed back by +some tool." + +"The last is it," announced the big man promptly. "See here where the +paint has been broken near the lock and the brass of the bolt is +scratched? It's a cinch to open these things--a child could do it with +a penknife." + +"You have sharp eyes," admitted Varr grudgingly. "I hadn't noticed +those scratches on the brass." + +"Oh, I've helped Creighton on his cases any number of times, and of +course a man soon gets the trick of observing the least thing out of +the ordinary. Smaller marks than those scratches have hanged many a +man, Mr. Varr." + +"What a cheerful thought!" exclaimed a laughing voice behind them. +They turned and found Mrs. Krech, with Miss Ocky at her elbow. "What +are you two talking about hanging for? Herman, I came in to look for +you; we're just leaving." + +"All right, Jean; I was just giving Mr. Varr my celebrated imitation of +an expert criminologist!" He did not proceed further until he had +glanced questioningly at his host, who gave permission with a nod and a +shrug. "Some one broke in here last night and staged a burglary; I +didn't tell you before because I didn't know how far it was being kept +secret." + +"Can't keep secrets in this place," grunted Simon. "I gave up trying +long ago." + +"Have the police any idea who did it?" + +"The police! My dear Mrs. Krech, it's evident that you don't know much +about country constabulary. I wasted no time telling them of my +troubles. Your husband is going to place them in the hands of a friend +of his." + +"Peter Creighton! Is he coming here? Lovely!" She turned impulsively +to Miss Ocky. "He's just the nicest man you ever met!" + +"Who is he?" demanded Miss Ocky, but before she could get her answer, +Varr had interrupted. + +"We don't know yet that he is coming. You will surely write to him +to-night, Mr. Krech?" + +It was the very question the big man had been waiting for, but no one +could have guessed it from his perfectly simulated surprise. His +eyebrows were delicately arched as he made bland reply. + +"You don't realize the value of time in these matters, Mr. Varr. Write +to him! To-night! He'd have my life! No, sir, as soon as I left you +this morning I went straight to the village and telephoned him. Bolt +was fearfully annoyed about his lunch--he doesn't understand urgency, +either." + +"You got Creighton? What did he say?" + +"He will handle it. He can't get here until the first train in the +morning, but of course he is working on the case already." + +"Working on the case?" repeated Simon impatiently. "How in thunder +_can_ he? He doesn't know anything about it yet." + +"Oh, yes, he does. You forget that I was able to give him a lot of +information. We had a long talk--ask Bolt." + +"But, what can he do in New York?" + +"Plenty," said the big man airily. "You don't know him." + +"May I ask again," said Miss Ocky plaintively, "who is this Peter +Creighton? And what?" + +"He's a dear!" said Mrs. Krech. + +"He's a wonder!" said her husband. + +"He's a detective," said Simon grimly. + +"A detective! Coming here!" cried Miss Ocky, her eyes bright with +interest. "My word, won't _that_ be jolly!" + + + + +_XI: Checkers and Chicane_ + +Miss Drusilla Jones, whose fortunes were temporarily bound up with +those of Charlie Maxon, was a rather tall and shapely young woman, +handsome in a coarse sort of way when her face was in a state of +animation; in repose, its expression was marred by a too-great boldness +in the big dark eyes and a suggestion of sullenness about the heavy, +full-lipped mouth. She dressed well--"too well for an honest woman," +was the dark verdict of ladies more reputable and less attractive--and, +with a shrewdness surprising in one of her type, avoided the cheapening +allure of cosmetics. She spent most of her days in bed, and earned her +living, at least ostensibly, by spending most of the night at Tom +Martin's dance hall, where she was kept on the payroll as an +"entertainer." It was there she had first met Charlie Maxon. + +In accordance with her promise to return at a later hour, she left her +small house on the edge of the town shortly after four o'clock and +turned her steps in the direction of the tannery, where she hoped to +catch Simon Varr in his office. Her natural sullenness of expression +was intensified as she walked slowly along her way, for certain friends +of hers had pointed out to her that she was wasting her time. Simon +could do nothing if he would, and would do less than that if he could, +for the lover languishing in jail. + +"Then I'll give him a piece of my mind!" she retorted. "I'm not afraid +of old Varr nor any other man." + +Her course led her through the heart of the town, and her exact social +status could have been nicely determined by the glances of disfavor she +received from certain thin-nosed, pursed-lipped matrons of Hambleton +whom she passed en route. She could pretend to ignore these glances, +and she did, but they aroused a fierce resentment in her breast and +hardened a resolution already half formed--she was sick of this place, +she was sick of these people, she was sick of her undue prominence in a +small town where every one knew all about every one else, and she +proposed to shake its dust from her high heels at the first opportunity +that offered. + +At the tannery, Nelson opened the door when he recognized her through +the peephole and greeted her with a shake of the head. + +"No use, Drusilla. He isn't here, and he wouldn't talk to you if he +was. Said to tell you he'd no time to waste on Maxon's women." + +"He did, did he!" flared the girl. "Then you can tell him for me that +he's goin' to get into a peck of trouble if he don't look out!" + +"I wouldn't say things like that if I was you, Drusilla," admonished +the watchman. He had always liked the girl and regarded her with as +much kindly tolerance as was fitting to a respectable family man. +"There's talk around town already that your Charlie knows more about +the fires we've had than he ought to." + +"Sort of thing this town would say! How could he start a fire when he +was locked up in jail? Answer me that." + +"He's got friends, ain't he?" + +"That's neither here nor there. You can take it from me, he don't know +anything about those fires." + +"You may be wrong, Drusilla, a man don't have to tell a woman all he +knows. Anyway, it will be best for you and best for him if you keep +your mouth shut." He looked around them cautiously. "I know what I'm +talking about. Take my tip and watch your step." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Varr's sending to New York for a detective." + +"A detective!" Miss Jones was startled, and made no effort to conceal +the fact. "How do you know?" + +"Mr. Bolt was here this morning with a friend of his from New York, and +I heard them speakin' about it as they went out. So you tell Charlie +Maxon to be a good little boy and put away his box of matches." + +"He had nothing to do with those fires," reiterated Drusilla +mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere. She had met country detectives +and done business with them on terms satisfactory to both sides, and +she held them consequently in contempt, but a detective from New York +was an unknown and possibly ominous quantity. "When's he comin'?" + +"Dunno. To-morrow, I'd say likely." + +"Well, to-morrow's another day," remarked Drusilla easily, recovering +something of her poise. "I guess he won't amount to so much! I'm +obliged to you just the same for tipping me off. Drop in at Martin's +one of these evenings and have one on me--he's serving a pretty good +brand just now." + +"Don't you try to vamp me, Drusilla," grinned Nelson. "I'm a decent +married man." + +Miss Jones tossed her head and strolled away. + +She quickened her step presently as she decided on a course of action +that appealed to her restless, rather adventurous nature. She had +played with this same idea previously, but had lacked the animus to put +it through. Nelson, with his good-natured hint about a detective from +the city, had supplied that. + +She went straight to the dance hall, closed at this hour to its +nocturnal patrons, where she knew she would find Tom Martin in the +office back of the main room. He was there as she expected--a +keen-eyed, sharp-featured little cockney whose history from the time he +disappeared from London in a fog to the day when he emerged in this +unlikely corner of the great United States would have made a thrilling +story--particularly to the English police! Through the open door of +his office he was keeping an eye on the activities of several waiters +who were cleaning up the dance hall and straightening the small round +tables where "only soft drinks" were served, and he looked up to +welcome his visitor with a nod of surprised recognition. + +"'Ello, Drusilla. Wotcher doin' 'ere at this time o' dye?" + +Miss Jones had two wants and voiced them promptly. + +"Give me a quart of rye, Tom, and a couple of knock-out drops." + +Mr. Martin jumped in his chair and shot a nervous glance at the men in +the outer room. "The rye's all right--you've got some wiges comin' ter +yer an' I'll take it out o' them. But I don't know nothin' about them +other things, Drusilla. Wot are they?" + +"Don't try the baby-innocent act on me, Tom! I want some knock-out +drops, same's you put in the beer of that drummer from the city last +Tuesday night--and I mean to have 'em!" + +Hers was a carrying voice, and she was speaking with fearful +distinctness. A visible shudder ran through Mr. Martin's slender frame +as he sprang to his feet and hurriedly shut the door. + +"All right, Drusilla, you can have 'em--but fer the luv o' Mike don't +tell th' blinkin' world abaht it! Wotcher want 'em for?" + +"What you don't know won't hurt you," responded the girl. + +That gave him pause, but in the end she had her way after some cajolery +and a few loud threats. She left the premises with a paper parcel in +her hand and the wished-for pellets in her bag. + +Her house was not far removed from the police station, in the rear of +which was the small square building that served as a lockup for such +casual unfortunates as were not of a quality to be sent to the county +jail. Here Charlie Maxon was incarcerated, his quarters consisting of +a small room with a grille door and a barred window too high for +anything but light and ventilation. The only additional deterrent to +his escape was to be found in the person of a nondescript elderly man +who received a dollar a day from the town funds to act as jailer when +the lockup was in use. His name was Moody, his chief characteristic +the determined grouch he had cherished since the advent of prohibition. + +He was seated on the stone steps of the jail, smoking a small but +powerful pipe, when Drusilla Jones appeared from the direction of her +house. She bore a basket in one hand, its contents scrupulously +covered with a white napkin. It was about six o'clock. + +"Good evening, Mr. Moody!" + +"Hullo." + +"I've brought a few things I've cooked myself for Charlie's dinner," +she informed him. "Want to look 'em over?" She put down the basket +and whipped off the napkin, replacing it when the jailer had cast a +gloomy eye over the contents and signified his satisfaction with a nod. +"Come and unlock the door so I can give it to him, there's an old dear!" + +The old dear arose grumbling and proceeded to obey, pulling the door +key from his pocket. She followed him into the building, where their +advent was hailed with joy by the prisoner, upon whose hands time was +already beginning to hang heavy. + +"That you, Drusilla? Say--that's fine! Twenty-five cents a day is the +food allowance in this jail, and nineteen of that is grafted by some +one before it turns into grub." He accepted the basket from Moody, who +promptly relocked the door of the cell. "Get a chair, Drusilla, and we +can talk while I polish off this dinner." + +"No, you don't," corrected Moody. "What do you think this is--a hotel? +You can have five minutes, young woman, an' then out you go!" + +He went back to his doorstep and resumed his pipe. He might or might +not be within earshot; Drusilla could not determine which and she dared +not take chances. Fortunately she had guarded against such a +contretemps as this by providing a second line of communication, and +after chatting loudly with her _vis-a-vis_ through the bars of his cell +she suddenly dropped her voice and whispered swiftly: + +"Bottom of the basket. A note. Read it!" + +He registered his perfect comprehension by an eloquent wink the while +he discoursed long and loudly upon more innocent topics. They +exchanged sally and quip through the forbidding grille until a warning +grumble from the doorstep marked the expiration of the five minutes and +the end of their interview. + +"'Night, Charlie. See you again soon!" + +"'Night, Drusilla--and thanks. If you run into old Varr, give him a +bust on the head for me!" + +"Hush, Charlie--you shouldn't talk that way! Should he, Mr. Moody?" +she added brightly to Cerberus as she passed him. "I'm always telling +him he talks too much and doesn't mean half what he says." + +"Every one talks too much except me," declared the disappointed +disciple of Bacchus. "I only talk when I'm drinkin', and I haven't +said a word for months and I haven't been what you might call +loquacious for some years." + +"Charlie knows where to get liquor," suggested Drusilla, quick to seize +this happy opportunity to titivate the jailer's thirst. "Make him get +you some!" + +"On your way!" said Mr. Moody virtuously--but thoughtfully. + +Charlie Maxon, hearing their voices and sure that he was unobserved, +delved rapidly into the bottom of the basket at some cost to a custard +pie that recklessly intervened. He discovered a quart of rye which he +promptly thrust into concealment beneath the single blanket on his +narrow cot, a half dozen excellent cigars that he stored in a pocket of +his vest, and an envelope that contained two white pellets and a +hastily-written note. + +The latter he carried nearer to the window and read its contents +hurriedly; a soundless whistle relieved his emotions when he had +finished its perusal. He was briefly pensive. + +"Well--why not?" he demanded of himself finally. "She's not such a bad +looker--and she's sure got a brain!" + +He secreted the letter inside his shirt, proposing to destroy it at the +first opportunity, then settled himself to the tranquil enjoyment of +Drusilla's dainties quite as if no weightier matter than her pastry +portended. A hearty eater always, he did not desist until the last +fragment of the damaged pie concluded his repast. Then he went to the +door of his cell, stuck his head between the bars and hailed the seated +figure of his personal attendant. + +"Wotcher want?" asked Moody, grudgingly coming to his call. + +"Thought you might like a cigar," explained his prisoner, poking one +through the grille. "Smoke 'em, don't you?" + +"When I c'n get 'em," admitted the jailer, and regarded this one with +the dark suspicion of a man who has been the victim of practical jokes +before. "What's the matter with it?" + +"Nothin'. Smoke up! Gimme a match, will you?" + +"You ain't supposed to smoke in your cell," objected Moody, but +produced the match and lighted both their cigars. "However, I guess +you won't tell the Chief of Police if I don't!" + +"No fear. You're a good sport, Moody. I always knew that." + +"Fine cigar," commented the jailer critically. + +"Leave it to Drusilla. You can bet she helped herself from the best +box Tom Martin has." + +"Women are useful when they provide a man with good tobacco, but in +other ways they can get you into a mortal lot of trouble. Take it from +me, Charlie, and steer clear of 'em." + +"I guess you know your way around, eh, Moody?" + +"You can tie to that. Frinstance, if you knew as much as me you never +would've got into this jail." + +"I expect you're right. You've got a head on your shoulders!" + +"Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody some good," reflected the +jailer complacently. "I'm gettin' a dollar a day because you coveted +your neighbor's tomatoes and then had no more sense than to shy one at +him. Missed him, too, they tell me." + +"I won't miss him another time if I get a shot at him, whether it's +with a tomato or something else!" snapped Maxon with sudden +viciousness. "I'd like to pitch him into one of his own vats!" + +"You don't love him much, eh?" + +Charlie Maxon thereupon expressed his exact opinion of his late +employer in studied terms to which Mr. Moody lent the attentive and +appreciative ear of a connoisseur in language. When the recitation was +ended, he nodded approval and returned to his doorstep, where he sat +down and contentedly finished his cigar. + +Maxon dropped on his cot, eased the cork from the bottle of rye and +took one satisfying drink of the invigorating liquor. More, he dared +not allow himself for the moment. + +At nine o'clock Moody rose from his doorstep and came inside, carefully +locking and double-locking the door and putting its key in his pocket. +He did the same by the rear exit, and was preparing to retire to the +privacy of his own small room when he was hailed a second time by his +charge. + +"Now, what?" Moody went to the barred door of the cell with more +alacrity on this occasion, hopeful of further largesse. "Can't you let +a man have a minute's peace?" + +"Going to bed so soon?" + +"Nothin' else to do." + +"Remember two years ago how we used to play checkers at the Workmen's +Club?" + +"What of it?" + +"You used to beat me then pretty regular, but I guess it'd be different +now. I'd beat you four out of five." + +"That's nonsense. What are you gettin' at anyway?" + +"What's the matter with letting me out of here for a while? A few +games of checkers wouldn't do any harm--help pass the time." + +"Help pass--! Say, where do you think you are? Why don't you ask me +to take you to the movies? Mebbe you'd like me to send for Drusilla +so's we could have a dance? Want me to lose my job, huh?" + +"Who's going to know anything about it except us? Slip out and get a +board--and a couple of glasses!" + +"_Glasses_? What kind of glasses?" + +"Whisky glasses." + +Moody started. He looked keenly at his prisoner. Slowly, a warm light +stole into his eye, he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. + +"Quit your kiddin'!" + +"I'm not kidding--look here!" + +Maxon knew his man. Satisfied that he had Moody quivering with +anticipation, he stepped to his cot, produced the flat bottle and shook +it invitingly. The rich gurgle was music to the jailer's ear. A more +hard-boiled, professional warder would have followed just one course +with decision and dispatch, to Moody's credit be it said, it did not +once occur to him that he might safely confiscate the treasure and +dedicate it to his own delight. + +"I'll go after those glasses," he said promptly. "Sure it's good +stuff, Charlie?" + +"Wouldn't drink it myself if I wasn't, would I? Hustle up--I'm ready +for a drink right now." + +Tempted beyond his strength, the faithless keeper of the Hambleton +lockup departed on winged feet. He was back in remarkably quick time, +a checkerboard under his coat and two bar glasses in his pockets. A +last feeble flicker of responsibility stayed his hand an instant as he +opened the cell door. + +"No tricks, Charlie!" + +"'Course not. Cross my heart and hope to die." + +With the doors locked and no windows through which they could be seen, +they sat themselves confidently at a small table, a glass at each side, +the checkerboard between them and the precious bottle on the floor +within easy reach. The proceedings opened with one apiece. + +"A-a-a-ah!" + +"Told you it was good, didn't I? Have another." + +"Thanks. This is like old times. Black moves first." + +"Teach your grandmother. Chin-chin." + +"If that's bootleg, it's good enough for me." + +"It ain't, though. He gets it from Canada himself." + +"An empty glass is a mournful sight. Thanks. Your move." + +They played and drank and drank and played. Moody won most of the +games, which suited both of them. An hour passed. There was lots of +time, Charlie told himself. He wasn't due at Drusilla's until +eleven-thirty--the rendezvous she had made in the event that all went +well. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the effect of the +whisky he was drinking. It wouldn't do to get tight himself. Better +speed things up a bit, then take a walk for half an hour or so before +going to Drusilla's-- + +"Em-py glash--mournful shight." + +Charlie's left hand hovered an instant over the mournful sight, his +fingers crumbling something; then he picked up the glass and filled it. + +"A-a-a-ah." + +Five minutes later he was half-carrying, half-dragging the inert figure +of his jailer to the cell which by rights he should have been occupying +himself. He dropped Moody on the narrow cot, relieved him of his keys +and stepped out, grinning as he locked the door behind him. It would +be a long, long time before the recreant warder awakened to discovery +and disgrace. No one from outside would come near the place until +eight or nine in the morning; he had oceans of time in which to make +good his escape before the alarm could be given. + +He possessed himself of a slouch hat that he found in Moody's room and +drew its brim well down over his eyes, then cautiously unlocked the +back door of the jail. This gave on to a narrow, unlighted alley, +which led to a quiet side-street. There was little chance of his +meeting any one at that hour of the night. After a quick survey which +assured him the alley was deserted, he left the building and locked the +door. + +The fresh night air after the stuffy atmosphere of the jail hit him +hard. It sent the potent fumes of the whisky to his head, and by the +time he had reached the end of the alley he was staggering perceptibly. +He vaguely realized his condition and the peril it implied, and paused +for an instant at the first corner to steady himself against the wall +of a building while he strove to clear his brain. He jerked off his +hat to give the air access to his head, too fuddled to note that a +street-lamp not ten yards away was shining directly on his face. + +Then a tight grip fastened on his arm and he was pushed back into the +obscurity of the alley. + +"Charlie Maxon, by glory! Who let _you_ out?" + +"Wh-who are you?" + +"Who am I? Well, that's pretty good! Mean to say you can't _see_ me? +I'm Langhorn!" + + + + +_XII: Starlight on Steel_ + +When he had finished his examination of the broken window in the +living-room, Herman Krech contrived--partly by his sheer physical bulk +and partly by the exercise of a soft assertiveness that was saved by +his bland geniality from being plain rudeness--to sequester Simon Varr +for a word in private. To accomplish this end he was obliged to shake +off his own wife, the tanner's wife, the Jason Bolts and Miss Ocky +Copley, the last lady in especial revealing the pertinacity of a +cockle-burr in her objection to being shaken off. Krech didn't succeed +in losing her until he had shut the door of the study in her face with +a courteously affected air of absent-mindedness. + +"What do you want?" inquired Varr ungraciously. + +"I've got a message for you--sorry if I'm intruding," replied the big +man, half-amused and half-resentful at his host's tone. "I'm afraid it +will annoy you--but most things do, don't they? But Creighton thought +it best to give you a tip and of course I feel obliged to pass it on as +received." + +"All right. What is it?" said the tanner less irascibly. + +"Practically a repetition of the warning I gave you this morning on my +own account. I read him that note over the telephone. He said it +sounded like the work of a nut, and added that a bad nut is often a +dangerous proposition. He thinks you should take reasonable +precautions against a personal attack at least until he gets here." + +"When peace will mantle the earth, I suppose!" + +"Possibly so," answered the big man imperturbably. "I know if I were a +crook engaged in a campaign of crime I'd be apt to desist if a +detective suddenly appeared over the horizon. Wouldn't you?" + +"Not if I thought he was scared of me!" + +"Oh--I see." Mr. Krech's face, normally pink, deepened to a delicate +shade of rose. "Rather cheap, that, isn't it, Varr? No, Creighton is +not scared of crooks so you could notice it, but he's not a darn' fool +either. Anyway, there it is. Take it or leave it." + +"I'll leave it, thank you. Does he think I'm going to wire the +Governor to turn out the militia?" + +"He'd be more likely to suggest that you wire the nearest asylum for a +competent keeper; he has a rough tongue at times." + +"Humph. When's he coming?" + +"First train in the morning. Gets here at eleven." + +"I'll drive down and meet him. Will he stop at the hotel, or will he +expect me to put him up here?" + +"You'd better settle that with him, Mr. Varr. He's not a roughneck, if +that's what you mean." Krech contemplated the tanner reflectively; +there were several things he wished to tell him but he manfully +swallowed them all. "Good-day, sir!" + +His doubts of the morning were reborn as he left the study, unattended. +Had he any right to inflict this specimen on Creighton? He could only +hope that the detective's sense of humor would prove a buffer between +him and his patron's boorishness. If not-- + +His cogitations ended abruptly as he spied Miss Ocky awaiting him in +the living-room. He had caught her with her eye so attentively fixed +on the study door as to suggest that a less refined woman might have +had an ear glued to the keyhole. He beamed on her, his customary +good-nature again in the ascendant as he left the irritating tanner +behind. + +"Hello," he greeted her cheerfully. "Others all waiting for me +outside?" + +"Yes. Your wife has apologized for you twice, I believe. I think it +was mean of you to shut yourself up like that after getting me all +excited about detectives and things! What were you two talking about?" + +"Secrets," chuckled Mr. Krech. He continued to move implacably toward +the front door as she marched with equal determination at his elbow. +"Just a girly-girly heart-to-heart talk. Delightful fellow, isn't he?" + +"Humph. You might remember he wasn't the only victim of the robbery. +If he lost a notebook, I lost a perfectly good dagger. Why can't I +know what's going on, too?" She cooed softly. "_Please_, Mr. Krech!" + +"Well, if you _must_ know! I asked him, 'Vot iss a tanner?' and he +said, '_Vat_ do you mean?', and then--" + +"_Oh!_" cried Miss Ocky, and flounced. Then her indignation gave way +to laughter. "Mr. Krech, you're a--a _sus domesticus_!"' + +"French for diplomat, I take it," he retorted amiably, and left her on +the top step as he surged across the piazza and down to the waiting +car. Nevertheless, he sought his more erudite spouse at the first +opportunity. + +"Jean, what's a _sus domesticus_?" + +"Gracious!" She wrinkled her beautiful brow for a moment, but she had +taught school for a while before acquiring wedded affluence and the +answer presently came to her. "Why--a common pig, I suppose." + +"Gosh. A _common_ pig? Not even a nice, clean, pink-and-white, +prize-winning pig?" + +"No. What _are_ you talking about?" + +"Nothing. Nothing _a_-tall! Say--what did you think of that Copley +woman?" + +"Miss Copley? Very interesting. Very attractive. I liked her +immensely. Didn't you?" + +He thought that over an instant. Then, like Miss Ocky, he surrendered +to amusement and gave one of his deep chuckles. + +"Yes," he said. "I did. Sometime I'd like to pack a dictionary with +me and drop in on her for a chat!" + +After Krech had dropped his unwelcome warning and departed, Simon Varr +turned to his desk and tried to forget some of his immediate problems +by attacking a small mass of correspondence that he had brought home +from the office after the innumerable interruptions of the morning. He +did not succeed any too well in concentrating his thoughts on the task. +They would persist in wandering to other matters, leaving him staring +blankly at a letter while his wits went the weary round of his +perplexities. With reflection came temper, and he rather welcomed the +sound of his study door being opened with no preliminary knock. That +foreboded more trouble of some sort, and he was in the humor for a +fight-- He swung his chair around and started at the sight of his wife +in the doorway. + +"Well? Come in. What is it?" + +She accepted the invitation. She came into the room slowly, but she +ignored his gesture toward a chair. She stood looking down at him, her +face all the whiter for a touch of vivid color that burned in each +cheek, her arms hanging loosely at her sides but her hands clenched in +token of restrained emotion. Her voice was calm as ever when she +spoke, but passion lent it a husky quality that smote ominously on his +ear. + +"What have you done to--my son?" + +"Done to him? Done to him? What d'you mean?" He sputtered. "I +haven't _done_ anything to him!" + +"You quarreled with him?" + +"Call it that if you choose. He forced the issue--though he probably +went cry-babying to you with some other version!" + +"He doesn't lie. And he told me just what I managed to drag out of +him--no more. I got the impression that he was--ashamed of you, that's +all." + +"Well? I'll live it down, I guess! What do you expect me to do about +it?" + +"The decent thing, just for once in your life. I want you to go to +him, or send for him, and--and make peace." + +"You can see me doing it, can't you? Ha!" + +"He has left our roof." + +"His own choice!" + +"You drove him to it." + +"That's not so! He's free, white and twenty-one; he can do as he +pleases elsewhere, but he'll do as I say while he's in my house!" + +"_My_ house, please!" + +"We've had that argument before and you've had precious little change +out of it! As for Copley--let him rustle his own living or starve +until he learns to obey my wishes!" + +"You won't consider mine?" + +"No!" The word was like a thunderclap. + +"Very well." She held herself erect to every inch of her slim height, +her steadfast gaze leveled at him from beneath straight brows. "I warn +you, Simon, that you are going too far. I don't know if you realize +all the brutalities, the ignominies, that I've suffered from you since +we were married. Much kinder if you'd beaten me. It hasn't seemed +possible to me that you can have realized--! Yours is a very curious +nature--I've had to make allowances--often--" Her voice faded into +silence. + +"_What are you going to do about it?_" + +She jumped beneath the lash of that crisp question. + +"I don't know--_yet_." Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left the +room. + +"That's that!" Simon swung back to his desk, a grim smile on his lips. +"It always boils down to the same thing--they don't know what they're +going to do about it. Let 'em rant all they please, in the end what I +say _goes_!" + +He resumed his correspondence, refreshed. + +The only aftermath of this latest squall instantly apparent was the +message Bates gave him as he announced dinner. Miss Lucy would not be +down. She was indisposed. + +"Another word for a bad disposition," Simon informed his sister-in-law, +as they seated themselves at a table laid for two, indifferent to the +fact that he was criticizing his wife within the hearing of a servant. +"She'll have recovered by morning." + +"We can't all have your sunny nature, Simon." + +"Humph. You've heard about the roekus with Copley, I suppose?" + +"Rumors have reached me." Miss Ocky peppered her soup composedly. +"Need we discuss it now?" + +"No. There's always the weather, if you prefer that." + +The topic did not seem to appeal to her. They did not talk about the +weather, nor anything else. A silence that would have been perfect but +for the sound of a subdued champing from the head of the table was +broken only once during the progress of the meal. Occupied though he +was with his food, Varr gradually became conscious of a steady scrutiny +that first puzzled, then irritated him. He glared at her angrily. + +"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" he demanded. + +"Interest, Simon. Pure, unadulterated interest." + +"Well, stop it! I don't like it!" + +For a wonder, she acceded to his insistence without a word. It cost +her no effort to avoid looking at him for the remainder of the time at +the table, after which they rose in silence and parted. Simon went +inevitably to his study, Miss Ocky in sisterly fashion to Lucy's room +to inquire the cause of her _malaise_. + +Two hours passed before she came down again. Two somewhat trying +hours, to judge from the expression on her face, which wore a look as +grim as any ever sported by Medusa. Her eyes were cold and hard as she +marched promptly to the closed study door and rapped upon it--a gesture +of icy politeness. + +"Come in! Humph. So it's you, Ocky! Dropped in to take another good +look at me?" + +"No--to have a rather serious talk with you, Simon." From the +effortless way in which she drew a heavy armchair into the position she +desired, a shrewd observer might have gleaned a hint of the muscular +strength that was her heritage from many a camp and trail. "Hope you +don't mind." + +"Quite the contrary. By a serious talk I presume you mean a row. +Well--I've gotten so I thrive on 'em!" + +"Yes. I pity you just enough, Simon, to wish you weren't so fond of +them." Miss Ocky dropped into her chair and lighted a cigarette with +pensive deliberation. "I don't know that I can offer you a real row, +my idea was to hand you a few straight-from-the-shoulder remarks and +then a couple of ultimatums. As for the brutal badinage in which you +delight, I'm in no mood for it this evening." + +"Let's have your remarks. I guess I can stand 'em." + +"First, then--I suppose you know that you have played the cat-and-banjo +with Lucy's happiness for the last twenty-odd years?" + +"Don't assume I know anything. Just tell me!" + +"Consider yourself told that, to start with. I was literally shocked +when I came back and saw the change in Lucy. She's the shadow of her +old self, nothing more. It is you who are responsible for that." + +"Humph!" + +"Now you have started on Copley--made a good start, too, if the boy's +manner is any criterion. Possibly I may be doing him an injustice. It +might have been consideration for his mother rather than fear of you +that has restrained him until now. Anyway, I'm glad he has summoned +the courage to defy you at last." + +"Indeed. May I ask you one question? How long has it been considered +good form for a woman to enter a man's house and interfere with his +domestic relations. Eh?" + +"It was my father's house first, then Lucy's. I am more at home here +this minute than you could ever be." + +"Try and prove it in a law-court!" + +"Perhaps I shall--some day." She paused to scrutinize her polished +finger-nails, brushed a speck from one of them, raised her eyes to his +and added dryly, "After all, Simon, you know you only got in here by a +trick." + +"A _trick_! Now--what do you mean by _that_?" + +"Memory gone _phut_, Simon? Perhaps I can refresh it. While I was +watching the fire last night a man came up to me and called me by name. +It was--Leslie Sherwood." + +"_Ah!_" The exclamation was wrung from him through stiff lips. The +color drained from his face as he leaned forward tensely, one hand +gripping an arm of his chair like a vise. "G-go on!" + +"That shot went home, did it?" asked Miss Ocky coolly, watching the +effect of her words. "I've several more in the locker! We had quite a +long talk together and he told me many things I didn't know. +Interesting things--very!" + +"_What?_" Simon's voice was hoarse. "He didn't tell you--he didn't +dare tell you--" He stopped, a deadly fear in his eyes. + +"Yes. He told me why he quarreled with his father. Why he left home. +Why he has come back now, freed by his father's death. Shall I go on, +Simon?" + +He sank back in his chair, shaken in all his being. He could not speak +until he moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"Have you--told Lucy?" + +"No. That is Leslie's right, I should say. No doubt he will use it. +As far as I can see, there is only one way by which you can make a +decent exit from the mess you're in." + +"If--if you're suggesting--suicide--forget it!" + +"Suicide? No! Why should I waste my breath proposing an act that +requires courage? What I meant was--divorce." + +"Divorce!" + +"It needn't cost you a penny. Make it easy for her to get--your +lawyers will arrange that. You'll have the tannery--and welcome! All +you need do is--go! Go from this house!" + +"Divorce! Stand aside--hat in hand--bow another man into my place--!" +The rage of a cornered animal swept aside his fear. "I'll see you all +in--" + +"Don't shout." + +"So _that_ is why Sherwood has come back!" He gritted his words +through set teeth. "He thinks he is going to make trouble for me, eh? +Just let him try--just let him try! If he dares to say a word to +Lucy--if he even dares to set foot on this property--" His clenched +fist crashed on the desk beside him as he abandoned himself to a very +ecstasy of fury. "If he dares try that, by Heaven, I'll kill him like +a dog!" + +"I wouldn't," advised Miss Ocky in her quiet, hard little voice. +"Everything would have to come out in court, then, and you'd have a +fearful time persuading any jury that it was justifiable." She had +finished her cigarette, and since Simon's study boasted no ash-trays, +she rose and went to the open window to toss the stub outside. She +remained there, leaning against the casement and breathing deep of the +cool night air. "Wouldn't you rather be divorced than hanged?" + +"_No!_" + +"Humph. Queer tastes, you have! Well--I've kept my promise. I've +told you a few straight facts and issued an ultimatum. The rest is up +to you. Would you like time to consider--" + +"No! Not a minute--blast you!" + +"I don't blast easily, Simon. I'm to assume, then, that you reject my +well-intentioned--_Hello! What's that!_" Her voice dropped to an +excited whisper as she bent her head and peered into the darkness. + +The alteration in her manner penetrated through the fog of temper that +had clouded his brain. He left his chair and was at her side in a +bound, surmising her answer even before he snapped a swift question. + +"What is it?" + +"That monk--! I could have sworn--! Over there by the big silver +birch--! I can't see him now. Can you make out anything?" + +Side by side they leaned from the window, striving to accustom their +eyes to the starlit night. A long minute passed. + +"I must have been mistaken." Miss Ocky drew a long breath. "A shadow +from a swaying bough--or imagination." + +"There isn't wind enough to sway a twig!" he corrected curtly. He +lingered a while longer, his angry gaze continuing to search the +darkness, before he drew back into the room. "It's quite likely you +saw him," he muttered. "No doubt he saw you, too, and heard you--and +has slunk off with his tail between his legs!" He half made to pull +down the sash, then contemptuously refrained. "I'd like to get my +hands on him!" His fingers curled longingly. + +After a moment's hesitation, she accepted his dismissal of the subject. +She stepped back and confronted him. + +"To return, then--divorce, Simon?" + +"Never!" He fairly barked it. + +"I know of just one thing to your credit, Simon," said Miss Ocky rather +sadly, rather dully. "You do mean what you say. I must accept your +decision as--final." + +"You must!" The interlude had braced him. "And--what are you going to +do about it?" + +She shrugged her shoulders, looked at him with expressionless +eyes--turned and walked quickly from the room. His sharp, sardonic +laugh followed her down the hall. + +"Another false alarm!" + +He threw himself into his chair, mopping his brow. Some ten minutes +went by before a thought occurred to him that was fortuitously +anticipated by the sudden appearance of the old butler. + +"That decanter of Bourbon, Bates! Then go to bed." + +"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." + +History repeated itself. He drank two glasses of the fiery liquor in +swift succession. As he did so it rather staggered him to reflect that +barely twenty-four hours had elapsed since he had stood there the night +before, doing the same thing. Gad--what a day! Last night that monk +had interrupted him-- + +That monk! He muttered the words. Had Ocky really seen him? Was he +loose again on some fresh errand of crime? Had he been frightened away +by their appearance at the window? Had he been frightened away +_permanently_? + +On the spur of a swift impulse, born perhaps of the whisky, he reached +up quickly and extinguished the solitary lamp. The room was instantly +plunged into darkness, through which he groped his way cautiously as he +set the stage for a game of cat-and-mouse. He pushed the chair that +Ocky had used directly in front of the open window and settled himself +in its depths, his hot eyes staring into the night and challenging it +to yield its secrets. + +He moved only once during the next half-hour. That was to pour himself +another drink, which he sipped slowly while he continued to watch the +neighborhood of the big birch that Ocky had indicated. Would he come +back? Would he? Varr waited for the answer to that, waited and waited +while a murderous rage filled his breast and grew ever more intense +with each succeeding mouthful of raw drink. Would he come? + +Yes! + +The empty glass slipped from his fingers to fall with a light thud on +the carpeted floor as he slowly rose from his seat. He rubbed his +eyes, quite unnecessarily, for they were now used to the dim starlight. +No possible doubt existed--the ominous black figure was _there_! +Straight and tall, it stood, exactly as he remembered seeing it at the +head of the trail. Now it was on a concrete path that bisected the +kitchen garden, motionless, apparently inspecting the darkened house of +the man it pursued. + +Stealthy as a cat, nearly as swiftly, Simon rushed from his room and +out of the house by the front door. His plan was to circle the +building, taking advantage of every shadow, and get as close to his +enemy as he could before revealing himself. Suppose the fellow took +alarm and got off to a running start? Could he hope to catch him? For +the first time in his life, he wished he had a revolver. + +Less than ten yards intervened between them when he finally broke cover +and hurled himself furiously forward, hatred in his heart, a deep oath +on his lips. At last! His fingers itched for the throat of his enemy. + +It was disconcerting suddenly to realize that he had not taken his foe +by surprise; his swift approach was slightly checked as he saw that the +figure was facing him, watching him--waiting for him! It was still as +any statue up to the very instant when he flung out his arms to seize +it; then it fell back a pace and its left hand went slowly up to lift +the black veil that masked its countenance. + +If another emotion as strong as his hatred existed in Simon's breast, +it was curiosity as to the identity of his relentless enemy. His +advance came to an almost involuntary halt as he thrust his head +forward the better to distinguish the features of that face so dimly +visible in the uncertain light. + +Then it was his turn to step back, his arms dropping to his sides, his +brain reeling from the shock as it apprehended the truth. + +"_You!_" he gasped chokingly. "_You!_" + +In that moment he was helpless, defenseless, mentally and physically +paralyzed from sheer amazement. It was the moment for which his crafty +foe had played--and won. The figure darted, forward, its right arm +rose and fell. One flicker of starlight on metal, then the thud of +steel driven home-- + +A single groan escaped the lips of Simon Varr before they were sealed +in death. + + + + +_XIII: A Deduction or Two_ + +The eleven o'clock train from New York was commendably punctual the +next morning. + +Its brakes had barely ceased squealing on one side of the Hambleton +platform when Miss Ocky brought her small car to a smart halt on the +other. She sprang to the planking and waited for the passengers to +alight, her face reflecting the cheerful knowledge that she was looking +her very best that morning in a becoming hat and a well-fitting coat +and skirt of gray English tweed. + +Not many people alight at Hambleton on even the liveliest occasions, +and this time a mere handful descended from the train. Among them was +a middle-aged man in a dark-blue serge, a light overcoat on one arm and +a heavy suitcase suspended from the other. He was compactly built +without being too heavy, his smooth-shaven face wore an expression of +good nature, and his eyes looked out on the world from behind +tortoise-shell glasses with a friendly twinkle that concealed something +of their sharpness. They had an inquiring expression now as he glanced +about him. + +Miss Ocky did not have to be much of a detective herself to know that +here was her search concluded, though no one in the world could have +measured up less to her expectations. She had visualized something +with large feet, a big mustache and a heavy jowl, that would descend +from a smoker with a dead cigar gripped between its teeth. Silly of +her, she admitted to herself as she walked over and accosted him +briskly. + +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it? Knew it must be. I'm Miss Copley, and if I +hadn't come down for you I don't know who would!" + +"Very good of you, Miss Copley." He looked not unnaturally mystified +by her greeting. "I was rather expecting a friend of mine--" + +"Mr. Krech? He couldn't get away from the police." + +"The police!" He was startled at first, then the twinkle in his eye +deepened. "Don't tell me that his sins have found him out at last!" + +"I have to tell you something much more serious than that," she +answered soberly. "Come along and stick that bag in the car. We can +talk while I drive you to the house. To begin with, Simon Varr was +found in his kitchen garden this morning--stabbed to the heart." + +Peter Creighton had a fashion of receiving such bits of news in a +little silence that gave him time to gather his wits. Miss Ocky saw +that the good humor was gone from his face which was now grave and +stern. He did not speak until he had deposited his bag in the tonneau +of the car and seated himself at her side in the front. + +"Murdered," he said; it was not a question. + +"The doctor says the blow could not have been self-inflicted." She +touched the starter and turned the car homeward. "Yes--murdered." + +"That is terrible, Miss Copley. I feel deeply shocked. Has the +murderer been identified?" + +"I can't say positively. He was found about six o'clock this morning +by the cook, and you can imagine that we have been simply inundated +with police and officials ever since. They've been doing a lot of +whispering and conferring and I think they _do_ suspect some one, but +of course they haven't confided in me." + +"Excuse me, Miss Copley--just who are you? I gather you are a member +of the Varr household." + +"He was my brother-in-law. He married my sister. I've been visiting +them about two months." + +"I see. Thank you. Now--what about Krech and the police?" + +"Well, they notified Jason Bolt--he was Simon's partner--and he came +right over, bringing Mr. Krech, who is staying with him. There was a +lot of talk about a mysterious monk--I know something about him, +too!--and just when it was time to go to the train, Mr. Norvallis was +questioning your friend in the living-room. So I slipped away and came +to your rescue. It's as well I did--there are no taxis in Hambleton!" + +"It was very good of you to remember me, with so much else to think +about. You--er--how did you know I was expected?" + +"Mr. Varr told us yesterday that Mr. Krech was sending for you." + +"'Us'?" He turned to look at her while she answered. "How many people +knew that I was coming, do you suppose?" + +"Oh--several, anyway! Why?" + +"I'm wondering if the news could have reached the ears of the +murderer," he explained. "Some one was persecuting Mr. Varr, we know +that. If he suddenly learned that a detective was coming--you see?" + +"He might have thought it better to--to strike while the striking was +good? Yes, I see." She took her eyes from the road long enough to +give him a quick look. "You think of things very quickly, Mr. +Creighton!" + +"Practice makes perfect," he murmured. "Who is Norvallis?" + +"Assistant County Attorney, or something like that. Murders are rather +too complicated to be handled by the local police, evidently." + +"Yes, the County takes hold usually--sometimes the State, if the County +can't make the grade. You spoke of a doctor--was that the County +Physician? Has the body been moved yet?" + +"Yes--thank goodness! I wasn't a great admirer of Simon's, but it +wasn't nice to think of him lying out there in a tomato-patch! +However, I suppose you're disappointed." + +"Why? Oh, I see! You're assuming that I might be interested in the +investigation. That doesn't seem likely. I came here on some matter +of burglary--and quite possibly that has ceased to be of importance +now. I must talk to Norvallis, though." + +"If you investigate the robbery, you will be investigating the murder," +said Miss Ocky quietly. "When Simon's notebook was stolen, his desk +was forced open by a Persian dagger, belonging to me, that happened to +be lying handy. That was missing with the notebook--and it was found +again this morning in--in Simon!" + +"Golly!" Creighton looked at her with renewed interest. "Not pleasant +for you, that!" + +"It seems to link the two crimes, doesn't it?" + +"Decidedly. Here we are, I see." + +A small crowd of curiosity-seekers was gathered at the gate which gave +access to the driveway from the highroad, and a policeman in uniform +was chatting with them amiably while barring their closer approach. He +saluted as Miss Ocky waved her hand to him and vigorously honked her +way through the staring crowd. + +"I'll drop this bag in the hall for the time being," said the detective +as they mounted the piazza steps and entered the house. "Will you put +me deeper in debt to you by finding Mr. Krech for me?" + +She said she would, and departed on the errand while he lingered in the +hall. The sight of no less than twelve automobiles of various sizes +and sorts parked in front of the house had prepared him for a mob +inside. A hum of voices reached him from a room on his left, the door +of which was discreetly closed, and another hum came from one on the +right, which he could see was a dining-room. Farther back in the hall, +three solid-looking gentlemen had their gray heads together in a +serious confab. For some reason they appeared to regard his entrance +with considerable interest, and seemed to be discussing him while he +waited. He put it down to the fact that he was a stranger where it was +the custom for every one to know every one else. Then Herman Krech +came out of some room in the rear and swept down upon him, accompanied +by a short, stout, worried-looking individual. + +"Hello, Creighton. This is Mr. Bolt, Mr. Varr's partner." + +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bolt." Creighton barely acknowledged the +introduction as he searched his friend's face. "Krech, how did this +happen? I wouldn't have had it--" + +"I know." The big man broke in quickly, earnestly. "I know what you +are thinking. Forget it! It isn't your fault, nor mine. I warned him +yesterday morning on my own account, and again in the afternoon after I +had talked with you. He simply disregarded it." + +"A pity!" muttered the detective. His face had cleared somewhat at +Krech's statement. "Thank goodness, I haven't got that negligence on +my conscience! It has been worrying me ever since I heard the news. +So he wouldn't listen to you?" + +"Nary a bit. Let's go out on the piazza. There's a place around the +corner that this merry throng hasn't discovered." + +He led the way with his easy self-assurance and they followed at his +heels. He was right about the privacy of the retreat to which he took +them; a few men were standing around the front piazza, but no one had +turned the corner. + +"I'm glad to have a chance to speak to you, Mr. Bolt," said the +detective when they had found seats. "This is a shockingly different +state of affairs than I expected to find. What of the burglary that +Mr. Varr had on his mind? Has that any importance now apart from its +obvious connection with the crime?" + +"Yes, indeed, great importance for me and a number of other people who +may suffer from the theft of Simon's notebook." Jason looked ten years +older than when he had risen that morning. "If that has gone it will +be a serious blow to our tanning business--and a gold-mine to any +competitor who might get his hands on it and not be honest enough to +return it." + +"Um. Secret formulas--that sort of thing?" + +"Exactly. On my own behalf, and out of respect for my partner's +wishes--his last wish, practically,--I would be very glad to have you +take a hand in the affair and see if you can locate that notebook." + +"The theft and the murder are linked by the dagger. If the police have +their eye on the murderer, the notebook should be recovered when he is +arrested." + +"That's only a possibility, Mr. Creighton--and--oh, frankly, I want you +to take the case anyway! Mr. Krech and I must try to tell you the +whole story as we heard it from Simon yesterday. He was the victim of +an unknown enemy. Threats--robbery--arson--murder! I won't be +satisfied until that scoundrel is well and truly--_hanged_! As for the +police--well, I think better of them than Simon, perhaps, but I'd still +be glad of another string to my bow. It's proper for me to employ +extra assistance if I wish, isn't it?" + +"Perfectly. I quite understand how you feel--and I will be glad to do +what I can. The family won't object, I suppose?" + +"Not a scrap," said a woman's voice behind him. They started to their +feet at the sight of Miss Ocky, who had come upon them unawares. "I +can answer for the family. Please sit down again. I'll take this +sofa--unless you're talking secrets," she added, with a faint smile for +Herman Krech. "I tried to stay quiet in my room upstairs, +but--nerves!" She lifted her shoulders and looked apologetic. + +They assured her they had no secrets from her. She sat down and +listened attentively as Jason Bolt, at Creighton's request, gave a +careful account of the events preceding Varr's death as he had heard +them from his partner, appealing to Krech from time to time for +corroboration. His voice shook with emotion as he described his horror +that morning when the news of Simon's fate was brought to him. + +"A rotten business," he ended huskily. + +Miss Ocky eased the tension by suddenly producing her cigarette case +and passing it around; Creighton accepted one and lighted it, a thought +surprised at this touch of outer-worldliness in a demure, middle-aged, +country lady. It might be, he mused, that she called herself not an +old maid, but a bachelor girl. He liked her, though; liked the bright +eyes that lost nothing that passed, the alert brain that missed no +trick, the strength of character revealed in the finely-modeled mouth +and chin that were still invested with feminine charm. + +"Let's tackle this business at once," he suggested. "Sooner the +better. In a murder, look for the motive. Miss Copley--Mr. Bolt--can +either of you tell me who might have wanted to kill Simon Varr?" + +They looked uncomfortable. It was Krech who took the bull by the horns. + +"_De mortuis ml nisi bonum_," he said gravely. "Otherwise, I should +say that it would be simpler to give you a list of the people who +didn't." He spared a regretful glance for Bolt's hurt little +exclamation. "I know it jars on you just now, but truth is truth. +I've seen enough in the last three days to know that Varr must have had +a host of enemies." + +"Yes," said Miss Ocky. "A notable collection." + +"That won't do," objected the detective. "To dislike a man is one +thing, to hate him to the point of murdering him is another." + +"Greed is a motive for murder," said Krech. "Who stood to profit +financially by his death?" + +Jason Bolt stirred uneasily in his seat. Miss Ocky looked +uncomfortable. Krech glanced from one to the other, then nodded to +Creighton. + +"It's the same answer," he said. "A lot of people." + +"Neither the question nor answer are pertinent," commented the +detective. "This murderer did not kill for money." + +"Why are you so sure?" demanded Krech stubbornly. + +"If he made up his mind that it would pay him to kill Simon Varr, he +would have gone to work and done it out-of-hand, skillfully or clumsily +as his limitations might permit. He wouldn't have wasted a lot of time +with ineffective fires, bugaboo masquerading--and, above all, he never +would have been so gracious as to send a warning note!" Creighton had +the satisfaction of seeing his argument score a grand slam; there was +conviction in the eyes of Krech and Jason Bolt, and something like +admiration in Miss Ocky's. "No, the motive was not mercenary whatever +else it may have been." + +"There's this strike we've had on our hands," offered Jason. "I'll +swear most of the men are decent fellows, but there are always some +exceptions. They knew pretty well that Varr was the man who was +fighting them--in other words, locking them out. With him out of the +way, they knew they could count on better terms from me." He added +diffidently, "Mightn't one of them have done it?" + +"I spoke of the fires just now as being ineffective," replied +Creighton. "I have gathered that they were. The second was the more +serious of the two, wasn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, was it serious enough to cripple the business? Was it a vital +blow?" + +"Not at all. The contents of the two buildings burned were worth +money, of course, but they were only reserve stuff." + +"But there are buildings in the yard whose loss might have hit you +hard?" + +"Oh, yes. Several." + +"Then, if one of the striking workmen had set the fire, he would have +selected one or more of them. I think we may safely assume that the +incendiary was unfamiliar with the tannery and consequently was not one +of the strikers." + +"You win," said Jason Bolt, after a pause. "I've wondered why the +scoundrel didn't touch off something more important, but the +significance of his failure to do so never occurred to me. Go on, Mr. +Creighton; I'm getting a lesson in straight thinking." + +"Not so very straight," smiled the detective. "Given a fact, you have +to think over and under and all around it before you can grasp its +every implication. It's only because I've had a lot of experience that +I can draw inferences a shade faster than the average man--and often +quite as inaccurate!" + +"If it wasn't either a striker or a person actuated by the desire for +gain," said Krech, "who is left? What other motives are there for +murder?" + +"Revenge. Jealousy. What about the last, Miss Copley? Was he +interested in any other woman than his wife?" + +"No," said Miss Ocky, "and remarkably little in her!" + +"Um. Friction?" + +"No--not friction." + +He saw her reluctance to answer this line of questioning and took it +for granted that the presence of the others embarrassed her. He +dropped the topic, intending to pursue it at a later, more favorable +moment. + +"Revenge," he continued. "Did Varr ever wrong any one to the extent of +driving them to murder him?" + +"No," said Jason Bolt. "Simon was a hard man but not as bad as that." + +"No," said Miss Ocky--but she had gasped, and Creighton had heard her. +He made a mental note of that. + +"We're getting along nicely," said Herman Krech, who never liked to be +out of the limelight too long. "It wasn't for money, it wasn't for +revenge, it wasn't jealousy; by the time we've eliminated a few more +motives we'll have only the correct one left." + +"Meanwhile," said Creighton, "what's going on in the house? Who is +running the police show?" + +"Chap named Norvallis," answered the big man. "The Sheriff, the County +Physician and a few plainclothes sleuths are in attendance, but +Norvallis is the real leader of the gang. He has been going through +the usual motions--asking everybody about everything--" + +"Hold on!" broke in Jason. "I don't know that I agree with you. +Seemed to me his questions were mighty casual and indifferent. Did it +strike you that he had a sort of a pleased-with-himself air? I got the +impression that he might already have made up his mind as to who was +the guilty man and considered everything else relatively unimportant." + +"It's not impossible that you're right," suggested Creighton. "The +murderer may have left some glaring clue to his identity. Naturally, +the police wouldn't talk about it until they got their hands on him." +He turned to Krech. "You told him about this monk business, didn't +you? How did he take it?" + +"His first attitude," said Krech, "was that of a polite but skeptical +child listening to a bedtime story. I soon convinced him of its +importance, though. He says it simplifies things." + +"Um. He must be even quicker at inferences than I am!" + +"By the way, I told him about you and he said he wanted to see you the +moment you got here." + +"Well, this is a nice time to tell me!" laughed Creighton. He stood +up. "I'd better take my place in line." + +"I can count on you, then, to help us in the matter of locating that +notebook?" asked Jason Bolt. + +"Yes, sir," the detective assured him for the second time. "I can +promise to take a personal as well as a professional interest in this +case. I feel deeply the fact that Mr. Varr should have met death in +such a fashion after he became my client." + +"You did what you could to warn him." + +"Now, about my headquarters; there's a hotel in the town?" + +"Yes, but I've been hoping you would let us put you up." Bolt wrinkled +his brows thoughtfully. "Mr. and Mrs. Krech are staying with us, but +there's always room for one more." + +"You're both talking nonsense," interrupted Miss Ocky. "The logical +place for Mr. Creighton is right _here_." + +"Kind of you, Miss Copley, but I hardly think I'll add to your +problems. Let us agree that the hotel is the best for the time being. +It is too soon yet to say where my activities will center." + + + + +_XIV: Lucy Varr_ + +There were four men in the living-room when Creighton tapped on the +door and entered in response to a command. Two of them were standing +by a French window which they appeared to be examining and discussing, +and as Creighton knew that the theft of the notebook had been prefaced +by the breaking of one of the windows in this room, he had no +difficulty in deducing that this was the one and that the two men were +plainclothes detectives of the county staff. + +The other two were seated at the table in the center of the room, a +litter of papers scattered in front of them. They looked up +inquisitively as Creighton advanced and laid his card on the pile of +memoranda before the more important gentleman of the pair. + +"Ah, yes. Glad to meet you, Mr. Creighton. Very glad, indeed. My +name's Norvallis--County Attorney's office. This is Sheriff Andrews, +of Wayne County. Andrews, this is Mr. Peter Creighton of New York." + +"Your name's familiar to me, Mr. Creighton," said Andrews, and +stretched forth a long, bony arm with a calloused hand at the end of +it. He was a mild-eyed individual with a soft, sweeping, +tobacco-stained mustache. "I read the New York papers pretty reg'lar +and I've followed one or two of your cases." + +Norvallis was a stout, prosperous-looking man of forty-odd, a typical +product of country politics. His manner was carefully bluff and hearty +and characterized by a sort of _bonhommie_ that was useful in +impressing voters with the fact that he was a pretty good fellow, his +close-set eyes sparkled with intelligence that his low brow defined as +cunning rather than wisdom, and there were puffy semicircles beneath +them that told of parties not entirely political. + +"Your friend Krech told us the circumstances under which you were sent +for," broke in Norvallis before Creighton could find some polite +acknowledgment of the Sheriff's interest. "Must have been quite a +shock to you to learn of Mr. Varr's death." + +"It certainly was. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I took care +yesterday to warn him against taking undue risks. He disregarded the +advice." + +"Oh. You warned him? You had some reason to believe his life was in +danger?" + +"Nothing so definite as that, but it was apparent that he had some sort +of a queer, tough customer on his trail and it's always in order to +take reasonable precautions." + +"A queer customer, eh? This monk we've been hearing so much about! +What opinion have you formed about that?" + +"None at all," replied Creighton promptly. + +Norvallis did not quite conceal the disappointment he felt at the flat +negative. He changed the subject. + +"I think you have a piece of evidence that should properly be turned +over to me. Didn't Mr. Krech send you an anonymous note that Mr. Varr +received from his enemy?" + +"Yes." Creighton took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to +Norvallis. "There it is, in good order. I had it tested for +fingerprints this morning before I left the city." + +"Find any?" + +"Only those made by Mr. Varr himself. Further than that, the +microscope showed that the surface of the paper had been uniformly +abraded before it was written on, as if the crook had taken a rubber +eraser and removed all traces of any prints that might have been there +already." + +"Cautious devil, wasn't he?" + +Creighton did not answer. His eye had suddenly fallen on an object +imperfectly concealed beneath a blank sheet of paper at Norvallis' +elbow. + +"Is that the knife that was used?" he asked. + +"Yes." The county official rather reluctantly uncovered the exhibit. +"Don't touch!" + +"No fear!" Creighton reassured him. + +He moved nearer to the ghastly souvenir and bent over it. A fine bit +of Oriental workmanship that any museum might have valued; the haft was +of silver, exquisitely chased, the blade was straight and slender, +narrowing to a needlelike point, so that it belonged rather to the +stiletto type than the dagger. An inscription ran lengthwise down the +steel, which was of a distinct bluish tinge where it was not darkly +stained. About an inch from the tip a tiny triangular nick had been +made in one of the sharp edges, the only flaw in the weapon's +perfection. Creighton looked up from it to meet the Sheriff's +speculative eye. + +"Can you read what it says on the blade, Mr. Creighton?" + +"No! I have my limitations." + +"It means, 'I bring peace'!" The officer tugged at his mustache and +smiled. "Miss Copley told us that. It belongs to her." + +"Well, I expect she won't want it back." + +Norvallis put down the anonymous letter which he had been reading. His +eyes were alight with satisfaction. + +"This case will make people talk when it gets into the papers, Mr. +Creighton!" + +"Sure to." + +"Have you any other information, or evidence, or exhibit, for me?" + +"Not a scrap." + +"Mr. Varr's death must alter your plans, of course. May I ask if you +are returning to New York this afternoon or evening?" + +Creighton knew perfectly well that Norvallis had been eager to put that +question since the moment he had come into the room. He shook his head +smilingly. + +"Mr. Bolt has invited me to do what I can to recover the notebook that +was stolen from Mr. Varr's desk." + +"Oh." Norvallis exchanged a quick glance with the Sheriff. "Then, in +a sense, we'll be working together. Possibly it hasn't occurred to Mr. +Bolt that when the murderer is found, the thief will be found." + +"Yes, he knows that. But my inquiry may diverge from yours, Mr. +Norvallis. It may have to go farther than yours. Of course, you +realize that yourself." + +"Eh? Ah--yes, yes!" said the other blankly. + +"I expect our relations will be both amicable and of mutual benefit," +continued Creighton cheerfully. "If I turn up anything good I'll let +you know, and I can hope for as much from you, can't I?" + +"Er--well, I don't know about that." Norvallis looked pink and +uncomfortable as he began to fidget with the papers on the table. "I +don't know about that, Mr. Creighton. I may not feel free--er--no, on +the whole I think it would be preferable if we conducted our +investigations independently of each other. Yes, that would be +better!" He had an air of relief as he got that dictum off his chest. + +"All right," agreed Creighton, still cheerfully. He surmised the +reason for the official's embarrassment, the police already knew, or +thought they knew, the identity of the murderer, and it was a secret +they proposed to guard jealously until they could cover themselves with +glory by making an arrest. He did not blame them in the least, and +accepted the rebuff good-humoredly. "As you please, Mr. Norvallis." + +The two men by the window apparently had concluded their examination. +One of them sauntered over to the table and reported. + +"Nothing much there, sir. There's a few prints made by the butler +opening and shutting the doors." + +"Just as I expected," said Norvallis composedly. "Lucky we don't have +to rely on fingerprints in this case, Mr. Creighton." + +"Found none at all?" + +"Not one. I'll make you a present of that bit of news." + +"Thank you for nothing," grinned Creighton, then added mischievously, +"Of course, before you can find fingerprints you have to know where to +look for them." + +"Oh." + +"Yes. You stick to that window and Varr's desk and the hilt of this +dagger--and leave the less obvious places to me." + +"Indeed. I suppose it would be useless for me to ask you to designate +some of those less obvious places?" + +"Quite useless," answered Creighton truthfully. + +He was smiling over that as he excused himself and left the room. He +could not have answered the hypothetical question on a bet, for his +remark had been a chance shot simply intended to annoy. No one would +have been more surprised than himself to learn that this same shot +would develop the qualities of a boomerang. + +He was stopped in the hall by a pale, gray-haired man whose trembling +hands betrayed the strain under which he labored. + +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it, sir? Miss Copley told me to fix up some +sandwiches and coffee in the butler's pantry. There's so many coming +and going through the house she thought it would be quieter there. Mr. +Krech is there already, waiting for you, sir." + +"Very thoughtful of her. What is your name?" + +"Edward Bates, sir. I'm the butler." + +"Oh, yes, Miss Copley spoke of you. She tells me you handled things +very well this morning after Mr. Varr was found." + +"I did what I could, sir. I knew the body mustn't be moved, so I kept +the news from Miss Lucy--that's Mrs. Varr, sir--until the police and +the doctor got here." + +"Knew that, did you? Been with the family long, Bates?" + +"Thirty-five years, sir. I worked for old Mr. Copley before his +daughter married Mr. Varr. This is a shocking business, sir." + +The conversation carried them to the pantry door, whither Bates had led +them. His hand was on the knob when Creighton checked him with a touch +on his elbow, at which the old man jumped nervously. + +"One moment. A butler who keeps his ears open often knows a lot that +other people don't. What is your idea about this? Can you guess who +murdered Mr. Varr?" + +"No, sir!" His voice was almost panicky. "Indeed I can't, sir!" + +"Uh-huh," said Creighton easily. Was the old fellow suffering from +frazzled nerves or from hidden knowledge? Another little matter for +future examination. "By the way, how is Mrs. Varr standing the shock?" + +"Not too well, sir. She bore up like the brave lady she is until Mr. +Norvallis was through with her, then broke down. She's in bed. The +doctor says she must keep quiet and that she'll be all right, but he's +coming again this afternoon." + +"Get him to give you something for yourself," was Creighton's kindly +admonition. "You're trembling like a leaf. The family will be +depending on you a lot these next few days. Don't let them down by +getting sick." + +"I won't, sir. Thank you, sir." + +Creighton permitted him to escape, well satisfied with the new tone in +the man's voice as he acknowledged his appreciation of the detective's +interest. Creighton was never harsh with a witness, never tried to +bulldoze or rattle him, until all else had failed. His policy was to +put people at their ease and gentle them into talking freely, a course +that was all the more facile for him by reason of his genuine sympathy +and understanding and his native kindliness. + +Krech was waiting patiently behind a plate piled high with sandwiches. +There was coffee, too, and before the butler left them alone, he stood +an interesting decanter on the table. A shadow of gloom that +overspread the big man's extensive countenance was visibly lightened by +this. + +"Bolt's gone home," he announced. "Mrs. Bolt and Jean must be +suffering agonies of curiosity. I stayed here because I felt I might +be able to help you." + +"Stout fellow," said Creighton with a grin, and selected a huge +sandwich. "Where do you think we'd better begin?" + +"There's no use adopting that superior attitude with me. You know +perfectly well I come in handy at times. Say--I'm sore at Bolt! He +did you out of a good job." + +"Me? How come?" + +"Did you notice three solid-looking citizens in the hall when you +arrived? Well, that was the Board of Selectmen of Hambleton, yes, +sirree, b'gosh. Bolt had told 'em you were coming and they were all +het up. They don't get along with the county crowd too well, and for +that reason they'd about decided to retain your services just to show +they were ready to hold up their end. Then Bolt came along and blurted +out that he had commissioned you to investigate the matter and they +pulled their horns in like a bunch of frightened snails. If he had +only kept still you could have made a deal with them." + +"I see. And what makes you think I'd be guilty of the indelicacy of +letting two outfits pay me for the same job?" + +"'Thnot 'n 'ndelicathy," said Mr. Krech vigorously through a sandwich. +"If Bolt can have a second string to his bow, why can't you have a +couple of employers?" + +"Krech, you're a nice fellow with all the instincts of a crook." + +"Huh. I suppose nothing could ever lead you from the narrow path of +rectitude?" + +"No," laughed Creighton, "nothing ever could!" + +"Well, it won't be the Hambleton Selectmen, anyway. The three of them +were pale when they discovered how close they'd been to spending a +bunch of money unnecessarily." + +They finished their lunch without the loss of much time, the detective +setting the pace. Once into a case, he could be as patient and +plodding as an ox, but the preliminaries found him restless and +impatient. He detested the inevitable gathering of masses and masses +of information that must subsequently be pulled to pieces and mulled +over until the most of it had been discarded and the important residue +determined. It all took so much time--precious time that the criminal +might be using to strengthen his own position. + +"Let's have a look at the place marked 'X' in the picture," he +suggested, rising. "Kitchen garden, wasn't it? That means the rear of +the house. Let's go out this back way, through the kitchen. Sometimes +it pays to look the servants over in a casual fashion before having +them on the mat. They're less apt to be on guard." + +He bustled cheerfully into the kitchen, asked a question or two about +the exact location of the crime, and left the house by the rear door, +Krech close behind. + +"One Irish cook," summarized the detective when they were safely out of +hearing. "Fat and fifty, good-natured and violent by turns. One +rather pretty girl, a housemaid from the white cap, frightened, been +crying, inclined to be hysterical. Old Bates, the butler. Last, one +gaunt, tall, vinegary, nondescript female. Who's the nondescript, +Krech?" + +"Search me. Here's the place." + +Creighton took one look and groaned. Whatever precautions the police +might have taken in the first stages of their investigation had +evidently been relaxed thereafter. The garden might have been the +scene of a recent rodeo. A mob of curious Hambletonians had held high +revel in it from one end to the other. + +"That ought to be classed as criminal negligence," snorted the +detective, turning away. + +"It's no use to you?" asked his friend disappointedly. + +"Not for the moment. If I were nature-faking a book on Africa I could +run a picture of it as an elephant's playground, but that's all." He +stopped and gazed at the house long enough to memorize the windows that +commanded a view of the garden. "No use going back there, now," he +decided. "Chuck full of a man named Norvallis. Suppose we drop down +to the tannery. Not far, is it? Where's that short cut through the +woods in which Varr first saw his monk?" + +"Right over here." The big man had gleaned that piece of information +earlier in the day. The two men crossed the garden by its path, +passing the very spot where Simon Varr had met his tragic end, and +plunged into the trail. Like the garden, this had been trampled by a +multitude of feet. "What are you going to do at the tannery?" asked +Krech, yielding to his favorite weakness, curiosity. + +"Talk to whoever is in charge. Poke around the premises. We know the +crook was there twice, on the occasions of the fires, and where a man +has been he may leave a trace. It's an off-chance, but we can't +neglect it." + +In default of any orders to the contrary, the watchman, Nelson, was at +his post behind the office building door, though he shrewdly suspected +that the chief necessity for guarding the premises had ceased with +their owner's death. He willingly admitted Krech, whom he recognized +afar, and nodded comprehension when Creighton introduced himself and +his present mission. + +"Yes, sir, I've been wondering when you would get here." + +"The deuce you have! You knew I was coming?" + +"Yes, sir. I heard Mr. Bolt and this gentleman mentioning you +yesterday as they went out of here." + +Creighton turned and looked at his friend sardonically. Beneath that +fixed regard Mr. Krech reddened, but stoutly defended himself. + +"That was Jason Bolt," he averred. "He was full of the subject and I +remember his chattering about it as we left." + +"Um. Can't be helped now." He shifted his gaze to the watchman. "Do +you remember if you mentioned it to any one?" Nelson hesitated, and +the detective was on him in a flash. "You did! Speak out. Tell the +truth, and you'll have no reason to be afraid of me or any one else. +This is a murder case, you know. It's an awful mistake to hold +anything back. Who did you tell?" + +"Only one person sir. A woman. It just slipped out--" + +"And probably did no harm. Don't get worried. Who was she?" + +"A girl named Jones, sir, Drusilla Jones." An expression akin to +horror dawned in Nelson's eyes as he grasped for the first time the +significance of what he was about to add. "She had been keeping +company with a fellow named Charlie Maxon, who was put in jail a few +days ago by Mr. Varr--and last evening Charlie drugged his keeper and +never was missed until this morning!" + +"My sainted aunt! What time did he break jail?" + +"Moody--the keeper--says the last thing he remembers was the clock +strikin' ten." + +"Krech, do they know what time Varr was murdered?" + +"Approximately at eleven." + +"Let's hope for his sake that Charles has a whacking good alibi! Have +you told the police about your talk with Drusilla Jones?" + +"No, sir, they haven't been near me yet." + +"Oh. Well, eventually you will find yourself having a heart-to-heart +talk with a man named Norvallis. Don't fail to tell him about your +chat with the lady--and you might just say that I advised you to repeat +it to him, will you?" + +"Why, yes, sir. Do you think that Charlie Maxon--?" + +"No embarrassing questions, please! Now I'd like to have a look about, +if I may." + +"Yes, sir." Painfully anxious to escape any suspicion of withholding +more information, Nelson hurriedly related the incident of the previous +afternoon when he and Simon Varr had examined the tracks left by the +incendiary. "There was some light rain last night, sir, but those I +put the box over will be plain enough." + +"Good. Show us where they are at once." + +The watchman obeyed with alacrity. + +Together the three men stood by the edge of the sluggish little brook +and contemplated the tracks that Nelson indicated. The detective did +not even take his eyes from them as he accepted and mechanically +lighted one of the cigars that Krech offered his companions. + +"Big feet!" said Krech presently. + +"That's what Mr. Varr remarked yesterday, sir." + +"Um." Creighton slowly came out of his trance. He pointed to a small +piece of wood that lay down by the water's edge. "Krech, will you step +down there and get that for me? I want to look at it." + +"Sure." Astonished but amiable, the detective's willing assistant +strode to the object indicated and retrieved it handsomely. His +astonishment increased when Creighton, after turning it over two or +three times in his hands, suddenly pitched it into the water. "Don't +like it?" + +"No. That's all I want here just now." + +They returned to the office building, where Creighton patiently +questioned Nelson at some length about the various phases of the +strike. It was not until they had left the tannery and were walking +back up the hill that Krech was able to put an eager question. + +"What was the racket with that piece of wood?" + +"That was a stunt to cover my real interest from the watchman. No use +letting the whole world in on what I'm thinking about." + +"You didn't fool him any more than you did me. Please explain why I'm +going home with over an inch of mud on my expensive shoes." + +"I wanted you to make a set of tracks alongside those of the +incendiary. I didn't want to ask you right out loud to do it, so I +asked you to get me that bit of wood. When you did so, you left a very +nice set of footprints parallel with his. Thus I was enabled to +compare them, as were you, if you happened to think of doing so." + +"Well, I didn't! Why should I?" + +"Suppose you were a small man about to commit a crime and wished to +disguise yourself past recognition. What would you do?" + +"Make myself look like a large man," said Krech slowly. + +"Exactly. Suppose again that you were an educated man about to write +an anonymous, threatening letter. How would you go about doing that?" + +"I'd use a typewriter to conceal my handwriting. I'd sign the thing in +an awkward scrawl." Krech saw the drift of it now. "And I'd take good +care to misspell a bunch of words!" he concluded triumphantly. + +"That he faked illiteracy was a pure surmise, a mere possibility, until +now, when it gains color from the evidence of the footprints. A mental +twist that would make a small man disguise himself as a large one would +make an educated man resort to illiteracy. Logical, I think." + +"Very likely. But how did you get this from footprints?" + +"They were too shallow. I noticed that at once, and proved it by +parading yours alongside them. That fellow wore shoes as big as yours +and was running to boot, but his tracks were scarcely half the depth of +those you made. Get it?" + +"Oh, yes," said Krech rather mournfully. "Two and two always make four +when you add them up. They never run to more than three and a half for +me." He sighed. "Creighton, I'd like once--just for _once_--to score +a beat over you!" + +"Well, you may do it in this very case," remarked his friend +encouragingly. "You never can tell." + + + + +_XV: Treasure Trove_ + +The instant they stepped into the house they knew that the police had +left it. A calm, almost holy, peace seemed to have settled upon the +place, a far more fitting atmosphere considering the motionless form +that lay in a room upstairs, its eyes closed and its face more +reposeful than ever it had been in life. "I bring peace," wrote some +long-forgotten craftsman on the blade of the dagger he had just +fashioned, and in some measure wrote the truth. + +"And I've got to stir them all up again," said Creighton half +regretfully. + +"Can't make omelets without breaking eggs," was the responsive +platitude from Herman Krech. "I suppose you mean you're going to start +in asking questions." + +"Millions of 'em. I've been here just a few hours and I've barely +scratched the surface of this case, yet I've learned already that Mr. +Varr had a fine bunch of evil-wishers. Where is that desk which was +broken open? Do you know?" + +"Yes. It's in a small study in the back of the house that he used as a +sort of office, I guess. Come along and I'll show you. There's not a +soul in sight and we may as well make ourselves at home." + +Creighton agreed, but before they reached the study a light step on the +stairs warned them that their privacy was to be invaded. Miss Ocky +advanced upon them with determination, and instantly revealed that she +had at least one quality in common with the inquisitive Mr. Krech. + +"Where have you been?" she demanded. "What have you been doing? I +sent Bates to look for you a while ago and he reported you missing." + +"Anything special, Miss Copley?" + +"Mostly curiosity," she confessed shamelessly. "I've never seen a +detective at work and I've always wanted to. I think yours must be the +most fascinating profession in the world even if it's a rather sad one. +Don't you find after looking into the hearts of people and dissecting +their mean little minds and motives that you grow cynical on the +subject of humanity?" + +"Indeed I do not," he answered earnestly. "Your question makes you +sound more cynical that I ever dreamed of being. My experience is that +very few persons have mean minds and motives, and they are often +victims of some pressure of circumstance they can't control or resist. +I've put handcuffs on more than one poor devil for whom I've had +nothing but sympathy." + +"You put them on just the same, though?" + +"Certainly. I'm supposed to, you know." + +"It seems very hard-hearted. If you knew that 'poor devil' was morally +justified in committing his crime, wouldn't you be tempted to--leave +the key of the handcuffs where he could get it?" + +"Tempted, perhaps; that's all." + +"Suppose it was some one who had a claim on you--a sister or brother or +child?" + +"You must ask that of some unfortunate sleuth with a family. My +nearest relative is a third cousin who lives in Chicago but has +nevertheless shown no criminal tendency to date. I'm remarkably +well-protected from any potential struggle between duty and +inclination." He smiled, and added apologetically, "Detective ethics +is a pretty complicated subject to discuss, and I'm afraid it isn't +getting on with the problem of who stole a notebook from Simon Varr's +desk." + +"Of course it isn't--and I'm much more interested in seeing you attack +that! But I warn you our conversation is only postponed!" + +They entered the study, where Creighton went straight to the window and +stood looking out at the now devastated garden where Simon Varr had +been found. + +"Who _did_ find him, by the way?" he voiced a sudden thought. + +"Katie, the cook. She came down first, as usual, and saw a man lying +flat on his back in the tomato patch. Her first idea was that some one +had taken a drop too much and had strayed there and gone to sleep, so +she went up to Bates' room and routed him out. He came down and +discovered the awful truth--and he behaved wonderfully. He seemed to +know just what had to be done, and he actually managed to keep the news +from the family until official permission had been received to bring +the body into the house. Poor Lucy--my sister--was at least spared the +thought of his lying out there." + +"Who saw him last--in the house, I mean, of course?" + +"Bates, who brought him a decanter of whisky here to the study, wished +him good-night and left him." + +"What time was that? Did the butler notice?" + +"Yes, because he was interested in getting to bed. It was about +ten-thirty." + +"Um. He was left here--alone--with a decanter of whisky and a troubled +mind. It's safe to assume that he took a drink or so. Tell me, was +your brother-in-law an impulsive sort of person--liable to outbursts of +passion--inclined to do things in a headlong, reckless way?" + +"A very good description indeed." + +"I've been wondering how he happened to be out in the garden so +opportunely for the murderer. If he was sitting in this room, looked +out the window and spotted the fellow hanging around, his first impulse +might have been to rush from the house and tackle him. Does that +impress you as being a likely scenario, Miss Copley?" + +"Very. To tell you the truth, when he was really angry I'm inclined to +think he was scarcely responsible for his actions." + +"His enemy knew that, you may be sure, and counted on it to his own +advantage. Now, another question about the matter of time. You told +me, Krech, that the hour of the murder had been approximately set at +eleven. Do you know how that was determined?" + +"It was the doctor's opinion, for one thing. Then it was pretty +plausibly substantiated by a trick of the weather. There was a shower +at eleven-thirty last night from which the ground was still wet early +this morning. The local Chief of Police covered himself with glory by +noticing that the earth beneath Varr's body was as dry as a bone when +they took him up." + +"Good enough. I must have a chat with that lad. I wonder if he +noticed anything else that was useful." + +"Somebody did," commented Miss Ocky thoughtfully. "There was a man out +there making a plaster cast of some footprints. Why do you suppose he +was doing that, Mr. Creighton?" + +"My golly!" The detective's eyes flashed with excitement. "Did you see +them, Miss Copley?" + +"Yes, but they meant nothing to me." + +"How large were they, do you remember?" He waved a hand at Mr. Krech's +extremities. "Large as those?" + +"Oh, my, no," said Miss Ocky, glancing at the objects indicated. "Not +nearly as large as those." + +"I'd like to interrupt these proceedings," declared Krech in an injured +voice, "long enough to remark that any sculptor would tell you they are +beautifully proportioned to my size." + +"I wasn't criticizing their--architecture," said the lady. + +"Second time to-day he's called attention to them!" + +"Shameful. What was the first?" + +"Oh, that was rather interesting. I'll tell you about it if he'll let +me." + +"Tell me anyway. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us at +all. What _is_ he doing?" + +"Hush! he's thinking," said the big man vindictively after a brief +inspection of his friend. "He always looks like that when he thinks. +Scientists aver the eye reflects the mind; note the perfect blankness +of his?" + +That effectively aroused Creighton from his momentary abstraction. He +grinned at the two of them. + +"Pay no attention to him, Miss Copley. Yes, you can tell her what we +found at the tannery, Krech." He looked at Miss Ocky. "That is in +deference to your interest in the art of detection; may I count on you +not to breathe a word of what I tell you to any one?" + +"You may." + +"It's a bargain. Go ahead, Krech, while I amuse myself looking over +his desk." + +Miss Ocky listened eagerly to Krech's somewhat embroidered account of +their activities at the tannery, but managed to keep an eye on Peter +Creighton the while. He was going over the desk and its roll-top cover +inch by inch, peering at its surface, trailing his fingertips over the +polished wood in case touch might find something that vision hadn't. +Once he interrupted Krech by asking him to bring a magnifying glass +from his bag in the hall. + +"What are you looking for?" asked Miss Ocky in the interim. + +"Nothing--anything. I expect the first and may chance on the second. +This is just routine, Miss Copley. When I know a crook has been in a +certain spot, I go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. You'd be +surprised to know the number of microscopic bits of evidence a man can +leave behind him in spite of every precaution." + +"Have you found anything here?" + +"No." He accepted the glass that Krech handed him and went back to his +task. "This fellow was careful, sure enough." + +The big man resumed his story. She interrupted him with a quick little +exclamation when she heard of Charlie Maxon's escape. Her interest +brought a question from the detective. + +"Know him, Miss Copley?" + +"I've spoken to him once or twice. Casually." + +"How did that happen? Where did you meet him?" + +"In a grocery store in the town. He came in for something while I was +there. Of course he knew who I was, and he started talking to me about +the strike and how hard it was on the men." + +"Um. What sort of a chap is he? Capable of--murder?" + +"Good gracious, I don't think so!" Miss Ocky straightened in her chair +and shot a quick glance at the detective. "He's the agitator +type--more bark than bite. I don't believe he'd have the courage to +kill a man. Is--is he suspected?" + +"I can't tell you. We may know more about that after the +inquest--unless Norvallis gets it adjourned, which he may. I don't +think he'll want to show his hand so soon." + +"This will be a spicy bit of gossip for Janet," mused Miss Ocky half to +herself, then caught Creighton's raised eyebrow and explained her +remark. "Janet Mackay is my maid, and she used to know Maxon in +Scotland when he was a youngster." + +"Um. Have they seen anything of each other lately?" + +"No. Janet has no use for him. She says he was always getting into +trouble as a boy." + +"He doesn't seem to have lost the habit. Is Janet a tall thin woman +who wears steel-rimmed glasses?" + +"Yes. You noticed her in the kitchen this morning, didn't you? She +told me you went through that way." + +"Has she been with you long?" + +"Twenty-five years. She came here as a sort of companion-maid to my +sister and me a few years before my father's death. She was very fond +of Lucy, but she didn't care so much for Simon, so when I went East I +took her with me. We've been together ever since." + +"No need to ask, then, if you trust her." + +"Trust her! Trust Janet?" Miss Ocky's voice was warm. "I'd trust her +with my life!" + +Creighton dropped the subject, but added another fragment to the data +he was compiling. Janet, the nondescript lady, didn't care much for +Varr, and was acquainted with Charlie Maxon. Important? Um--too soon +to say. He concentrated his attention once more on his search. + +"Nothing," he finally announced briefly. He rose as he spoke--he had +been on his hands and knees the better to examine the floor in front of +the desk--and shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Said I expected +as much, didn't I? Now for that window in the living-room." + +Krech had finished his story and Miss Ocky was looking at the detective +with considerable interest and some respect. + +"That was clever of you to notice the shallowness of the footprints," +she said. "And your deductions from them and the note are quite +shrewd. A small educated man instead of a large illiterate one?" + +"Yes. Not that I'd advise you to bet on it. Quite often the brilliant +deduction falls by the wayside and leaves the obvious conclusion to jog +home a winner. You had a good look at the fellow didn't you? You got +the impression that he was tall? How tall?" + +"Oh, six feet perhaps. It was dusk, you know, and he brushed by me +very quickly. I was too scared to do much observing!" + +"Uncomfortable experience," said Krech, "having a masked monk pop out +at you from a peaceful countryside. What did you think about it? Did +you know the fool legend?" + +"N-no. I learned about that next day from Sheila Graham. I was +telling her my experience and she remembered the story and went and got +the book." + +"She's the daughter of Billy Graham, the manager whom Varr had decided +to get rid of?" Creighton's face was serious. + +"How in the world did you know _that_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"Gossip. I love to listen to it. Ever talk to a chap named Nelson, a +watchman at the tannery? He's full of it." It was a trick of Peter +Creighton's to sound most flippant when he was soberest inside, and +Krech, who knew it, fell to watching him sharply. But the detective's +face was inscrutable. "So Graham's daughter had a book containing the +legend of the monk, eh? Just what was the trouble between him and Mr. +Varr?" + +"Well--I suppose I may as well tell you," said Miss Ocky reluctantly. +"It wouldn't be right to keep anything back from you, especially as +you'd be bound to hear about it anyway. The trouble between them was +mostly started by my brother-in-law, who objected to the interest his +son was showing in Sheila Graham. They considered themselves engaged--" + +"What? Varr had a son?" Creighton broke in on her abruptly, +unconsciously raising his voice in his surprise. "Where is he?" + +"His father drove him from the house!" cried a hoarse voice from the +door. "I don't know where he is. He ought to be with me now---_and I +don't know where he is_!" + +Creighton wheeled swiftly toward the speaker, Krech shot out of his +chair as though a powerful spring had been released beneath him, and +Miss Ocky darted, birdlike, to the side of a slender figure which +swayed in the doorway, gripping the woodwork for support. It was Lucy +Varr. + +"Lucy! What are you doing down here?" Miss Ocky circled her sister's +slender waist with a gently compelling arm. "Come with me!" + +"I rang and rang and nobody came. I wanted water. I was _so_ +thirsty!" She muttered the words feverishly and the brightness of her +big eyes told its own story of a tortured brain. "I heard somebody +talking in here--" + +"Come, Lucy! I'll bring you the water." + +"Was it you who was asking for my son?" Her gaze passed over Krech, +whom she appeared vaguely to recognize, and fixed itself on the grave, +sympathetic face of the detective. "You're Mr. Creighton, aren't you? +They tell me you have come to find out who killed my husband--" + +"Lucy, dear! Please--" + +"I--I'm sure I wish you luck!" + +"Thank you, Mrs. Varr," said Creighton quietly, choosing to ignore the +irony in her tone. "I'll do my very best, I promise you." + +His promise was made to her retreating figure as she finally permitted +her sister to lead her away. Left alone, the two men exchanged a quick +glance and were silent for a minute. Then Krech jerked his head toward +the door significantly. + +"Could it be--her?" he whispered. + +"Not grammatically!" retorted Creighton with a grin, much as if his +friend's query had freed him from a spell. "Piffle, Krech. If a woman +like that--high-strung, nervous--were to kill a man it would be in some +swift fit of passion. Varr's death came as the climax of a deliberate +campaign of persecution. She isn't capable of that." + +"If you can tell me what any woman can or can't do--" + +"Oh, I grant them an infinite capacity for surprising a man! However, +this interesting little interlude isn't getting us anywhere. Come into +the living-room. I want a look at that window before daylight goes." + +"The police have probably mucked that all up," said Mr. Krech gloomily. + +"I heard one of the detectives tell Norvallis they had found nothing. +Anyway, if I don't miss my guess, they were so satisfied with something +they're keeping up their sleeve that I don't believe they paid more +than cursory attention to other details. Just gave everything a +perfunctory once-over and let it go at that." + +"What have they got, Creighton? Do you know?" + +"Charlie Maxon seems an attractive prospect," replied the detective. +They had gone to the window in the living-room and he was busily +engaged upon the same eager scrutiny that he had given the desk. "They +may have discovered something that links him with the murder--that +business of taking plaster casts of footprints is very suggestive. +Maxon could have reached here after breaking jail in plenty of time to +knife Varr in keeping with the schedule as we know it. He's an ugly +customer by reputation, and he certainly had no reason to love Simon +Varr." + +"How did he get the dagger? He didn't steal it, because the evening it +was stolen he was safe in the hoosgow." + +"Correct, Krech, absolutely correct." The detective was intently +studying the brass lock of the door through his powerful glass. "Now +you've started thinking, persevere! If Maxon committed the murder but +didn't steal the knife, what's the answer?" + +"An accomplice!" cried Krech. "A whole gang, perhaps!" + +"Oh, don't be extravagant. One accomplice will do for the time being." +Creighton dropped to his knees and transferred his interest to the +flooring of the piazza outside the window and the carpet within. "_By +golly!_" + +The phrase fairly exploded from his lips. Krech, abandoning his +cogitations, came quickly to his side, eager to learn what this +exclamation portended. + +Creighton, with his habitual care to miss nothing, had not contented +himself with exploring the surface of the veranda or the surface of the +heavy gray carpet that covered the floor of the room from edge to edge. +That finished, he had thrust his fingers between the carpet and the +wood of the window-sill, holding it back with one hand while he passed +his magnifying glass over the accumulation of dust and dirt and +sweepings that lay in the crack. His pains were rewarded. A tiny +scrap of something that glittered in its nest of dirt caught his eye, +but it was not until it lay on the tip of one finger beneath his glass +that he realized the importance of his treasure trove. It was then he +exclaimed. + +"What is it?" asked Krech, craning for a better look. + +"See for yourself!" Very carefully the detective pushed the object +from his finger on to one of his friend's. "Don't drop it. What do +_you_ think it is? Here--take the glass." + +"A chip of metal, I should say. Steel. Blue steel." + +"Blue steel! Where have you seen blue steel before to-day?" + +"Gee Joseph! That dagger!" + +"Right. Did you notice the nick in it near the point?" + +"N-no. They wouldn't let me really look at it." + +"Well, there was one! And this piece will fit that nick, or I'm a +dumb-bell!" His eyes were dancing with delight. "Know what this +means?" + +"Y-yes. When the fellow slipped back the catch of this window he +nicked the blade. Probably never noticed it. This piece fell to the +floor and has been there ever since." + +"Fell to the floor--yes. It isn't likely that it went neatly into the +crack. It was swept there. Ever stop to think that the detective's +best friend is the housemaid who scamps her work? Bless their little +souls, they will sweep into cracks! But that isn't what I had in mind +when I asked you if you knew what this means?" + +"Maybe I could dope it out in time--" + +"He opened this window with the dagger! Don't you get it?" + +"My brain isn't hitting on all sixteen cylinders--" + +"Listen. The assumption has been that he broke in here, took the +dagger from the table where it lay handy, and forced Varr's desk. If +he got the dagger after he entered the house, why did he then force the +window with it?" + +"Gee Joseph! It's a blind! He faked the breaking and entering to make +it appear an outside job!" + +"Yes." Creighton's face was solemn as he reclaimed his chip of steel +and added the obvious corollary to Krech's deduction. "If it's not an +outside job it must be an inside one. Somebody in this house took that +dagger and notebook." + +"I'll bet it was--!" + +"Hush!" whispered the detective sharply. "Some one coming!" + + + + +_XVI: A Woman of Note_ + +At the warning sound of approaching footsteps, Creighton whipped an +envelope from his pocket and dropped into it the precious bit of blue +steel he had recovered from the crack beneath the French window; he +smoothed down the carpet with a quick sideways flirt of his foot, +thrust the envelope into his coat, and had barely time to hiss one +further admonition into Krech's attentive ear. + +"Not a word of this to a soul!" + +"My lips are sealed," declared the big man. + +Miss Ocky entered the room to find two gentlemen engaged in +conversation close by an open window out of which they were looking +while their backs were tranquilly turned to the apartment. When she +said, "Excuse me!" they pivoted about as one, and the synchronic +promptitude with which they uttered the same question did credit to +their bringing up. + +"How is Mrs. Varr?" + +"Much quieter--much better, thank you." Miss Ocky lighted a cigarette +with the air of one who has earned it, and dropped wearily into a +chair. "I was as much upset as you must have been when she turned up +there in the study. Hardly necessary to make excuses for her, is it? +She is not very strong, and she has been through enough in the last two +days to wreck an Amazon." + +"Doctor worried about her?" asked Krech. "Is there anything Mrs. Bolt +or my wife can do? I know that's the first thing they'll ask." + +"Not a thing. Please thank them both for me. I'm not a bit diffident +about asking favors of people and they can be sure I'll call for help +if I need it. No, the doctor isn't alarmed; he just wants her to sleep +as much as possible until the worst of the mental strain is over." + +A faint clatter of silverware from the dining-room aroused Krech to the +passage of time. He looked at his watch and started as if he had been +stung. + +"Nearly seven! I'm a ruined man! Where on earth is Jason Bolt? He +was to call for me long before this." + +"That's true--you're stranded, aren't you? I'd forgotten you came with +him." Miss Ocky reflected briefly. "I simply can't leave here myself +just now, but I'll have Janet take the car and drive you home." + +"Janet?" inquired Creighton. "Drives a car, does she? Quite an +accomplished lady's-maid!" + +"She's a remarkable person," said Miss Ocky. "I'll tell you about her +some other time. Now--about yourself! Will you let me save you from +the horrors of the local hotel?" + +"I was going to ask you if your invitation was still open," answered +the detective hesitantly. "But under the circumstances--with your +sister ill--haven't you enough trouble on your hands?" + +"This house runs itself, thank to Bates," she replied quickly. She met +his eye frankly. "You won't inconvenience us in the least, and I'd +really be grateful if you would stay. So would my sister. With only +old Bates in the house she is inclined to be nervous while--while that +man is still at large." + +"It is very gracious of you to put it that way," he murmured. + +"That's settled," she said briskly, and stood up. "Now I'll go find +Janet." + +"So Janet's a remarkable person, is she?" muttered Krech when Miss Ocky +had left the room. "Hers was the name I was about to mention when you +stopped me. Janet Mackay knows Charlie Maxon!" + +"Easy! Don't let your imagination run away with you. What conceivable +motive could she have had to conspire against Varr's life?" + +"I don't know." Krech grinned. "If I lay the foundation, it's up to +you to erect the edifice. Brain-work, not manual labor, is my forte." +Then he added more seriously, "I've thought of something; instead of +the accomplice being actually a member of the household, mightn't he be +just some one who has the entrée--the run of the house? Some one who +could carry off the situation if he had been discovered in the +living-room or study by the servants?" + +"That's a good point, Krech; a very good point. I'll inquire into that +possibility." + +"So you're going to make this your headquarters?" + +"Assuredly." Creighton tapped his pocket. "This decided it." + +"Well--take care of yourself, won't you?" There was genuine concern in +the big man's voice as he went on with specious flippancy. "Miss +Copley left a dagger kicking around; let's hope she hasn't dropped an +automatic or a machine-gun here and there. If Mr. Monk got the idea +that you knew too much--" + +"All right." Creighton reached out and gave Krech's arm an +affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry; I'm an artist at taking care of +myself." + +"I know a darn' sight better!" growled Krech, and the honking of a horn +from the driveway ended their talk. "Good-by. I'm going to pump Jason +Bolt and if I glean anything I'll let you know in the morning." + +Creighton waved good-night to him from the veranda and stepped back +into the house to find the maid awaiting him in the hall. + +"Your bag has gone up, sir. Shall I show you your room?" + +"Thank you. By the way, what is your name?" + +"Betty, sir. Betty Blake." + +"Very pretty name, too." He motioned her to precede him up the stairs. +"Been with Mrs. Varr long?" + +"About four months, sir." + +"Are you a Hambleton girl?" + +"Yes, sir, born and bred." + +The room assigned to him was one of the best in the house. It was next +to Miss Ocky's own, he was to discover later, and like hers it had a +small rounded balcony outside the tall windows. He glanced about him +appreciatively. He could rough it with any man, but he vastly +preferred to be comfortable. Here he would be, if his eye didn't +deceive him. + +"Native, eh?" he continued conversationally as the girl made to leave +him. "Then you must know every one in these parts. For instance--do +you know a young man called Maxon?" + +"Charlie Maxon?" She tossed her head. "Yes, I know _him_!" Her +accent was richly scornful. "Pity they couldn't keep him in jail!" + +There was a writing table with note paper on it in one corner of the +room, and as she finished speaking a scrap of crumpled paper on the +floor beneath it caught her eye. With instinctive neatness she went +across the room and picked it up, steadying herself as she stooped by +resting her fingertips lightly on the pile of paper. + +"Is there anything more, sir?" + +"Thank you, no," replied Creighton absently. + +When she had closed the door behind her he went over by the writing +table and stood looking down at the topmost sheet of paper. The maid's +orderly spirit had given him a hint that he thought he might profitably +employ. He picked up the paper and held it slantwise to the light of +the window while he peered at its surface. Then he nodded contentedly. + +He drew forth his pencil and made a neat number one at the top of the +sheet, which he then dropped in a drawer of the desk. He found a clean +page in a small memo-book that he carried and made a careful entry, "1. +Betty Blake." + +"I'll get 'em all before I finish," he promised himself. + +He went downstairs a few minutes later to meet the butler on his way up +with the announcement that dinner was served; a welcome piece of news +to a man who had had a long day on sandwiches only. + +"Just the two of us," Miss Ocky greeted him as he entered the +dining-room. "I'll pay you the compliment of admitting that the +arrangement suits me perfectly. A crowd would have been terrible, but +to have dined by myself would have been ghastly." + +"Nothing could have pleased me better," said the detective as they +seated themselves. "It has been growing increasingly clear to me that +I must look to you for a great deal of information. Yours is the most +authoritative voice around here." + +"I'll play oracle within reason." + +"Um. Don't let's start off with a reservation like that, Miss Copley. +You made a naïve, but very wise, remark this afternoon when you said +you might just as well tell me something, especially as I was bound to +find it out anyway. Stick to that maxim. It will save me time and you +trouble." + +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky. + +"About there only being two of us for dinner," continued the detective, +blandly ignoring the sniff, "there's a matter I'd like to clear up. +Where is Mr. Varr's son? Was the trouble between them so bitter that +it is to be perpetuated after death?" + +"I couldn't bring myself to speak about that until we were by +ourselves," said Miss Ocky. She looked up at Bates with a friendly +glance. "I know you won't repeat anything, Bates! The trouble between +Simon and his son grew out of Copley's attachment for Sheila Graham. I +like her extremely, so I found myself in opposition to Simon. I cast +myself in the role of the heavy fairy godmother and took a hand in +shaping the destinies of the young couple--a fond aunt has an +inalienable right to barge into her nephew's affairs, hasn't she?" + +"Second only to a grandmother's," he assured her. + +"I persuaded them to elope," confessed Miss Ocky. "No date was set for +it that I heard of. Yesterday Copley succeeded in finding a job on the +Hambleton _News_ as a reporter--and the editor, Mr. Barlow, when he +arrived here this morning to cover this story told me that the boy had +immediately celebrated his getting a job by asking for a two-week +vacation to attend to some personal business. He left Hambleton last +night for parts unknown. Meanwhile, Sheila Graham had gone to visit +friends in New York for a fortnight. If you're a good detective, Mr. +Creighton, you may make the right deduction." + +"He started off on a honeymoon the very day his father was murdered. +Rather--unpleasant coincidence." + +"It struck me that way. I've been keeping mum just on that account. +Norvallis was apparently satisfied with a statement that Copley is +temporarily absent and that we are trying to get in touch with him." + +"Norvallis is a very amiable gentleman; he has his reasons for being +so, I think. As for Copley--well, a good many newspapers will carry +the story of what happened last night and he will undoubtedly read it +by to-morrow morning--possibly this evening. Then he will come home." + +"Keeping his marriage--if there was one--dark, I trust. With the +opposition--er--removed, I think it would be more suitable to have a +public ceremony after a decent interval." + +"Um. A matter of taste, perhaps. Personally, I've seen so much +trouble caused by secret marriages that I'm inclined to eye them +doubtfully. But--may I ask you a few questions about the less romantic +adventures of the young man? Mrs. Varr declared this afternoon that +her husband had driven him from the house. Was their +disagreement--violent?" + +"You must make allowances for my sister's nervous condition," answered +Miss Ocky quickly. Her perceptions were instantly alive to whither +this shift in the conversation might lead, and she resolved to limit +the information she gave him as much as possible to the facts he would +surely discover for himself. "Simon and Copley talked over the +situation, night before last; Lucy naturally exaggerates the affair." + +"Mr. Varr and his son quarreled. Isn't that the plain truth?" + +"Doesn't a quarrel depend somewhat on the natures of the two people +involved, Mr. Creighton? Simon was fearfully obstinate, and Copley is +a little high-tempered--just to the extent that is becoming to a young +man with any spirit--and I suppose that what might be merely a normal +discussion between two such natures might--might seem like a quarrel to +other people. Mightn't it?" she added, not very hopefully. + +Despite himself, the detective was forced to grin at this ingenuous, or +ingenious, argument. + +"They quarreled," he summed it up, regaining his gravity. "If you will +recollect, Miss Copley, when you came into the sitting-room a while ago +you excused your sister's indisposition on the plea that she had been +through enough the last _two_ days to wreck an Amazon. Why _two_ days, +unless it was the quarrel between her husband and her son that worried +her all of yesterday?" + +"Oh, heavens! You're worse than a dictaphone!" Miss Ocky made a face +at him. "There's no help for it--I must go into a silence." + +"Please don't, until I've asked one more thing. You can answer freely, +or the station master will. If Copley went to town last night, what +trains were available?" + +"Only one," she admitted slowly. "There's a through train from the +West that stops at Hambleton for water--at midnight!" + +"Ah," said Peter Creighton, then wished he hadn't. + +A high-tempered youth--a pig-headed father--a balked romance--a +quarrel--a murder at eleven and a train away at midnight. These facts +paraded through Creighton's brain and to a certain extent got ready to +parade right on out of it. He could think all around a given subject, +as he had described the process to Jason Bolt, and he was no fool to +commit himself to half-baked hypotheses. Any theory of Copley's guilt +could be countered with the same objection he made to Krech's hasty +indictment of Mrs. Varr; a boy like that might strike down a man in the +heat of passion but he would hardly set himself to calculated +murder--or if he did, he would certainly arrange a better finish than a +clumsy attempt at flight. + +He became aware that Miss Copley was watching him anxiously while he +meditated. He met her eyes--very nice eyes they were, he +reflected--and it was too bad they should reveal fear, as they had +since his monosyllabic exclamation. + +"Are--are you suggesting--" + +"Nothing, Miss Copley--nothing! Frankly and honestly! If you will +permit me to say so, I think you are trying to make a mountain out of +this molehill yourself. I haven't a doubt in the world that your +nephew will turn up with every minute of last evening properly +accounted for." He welcomed the slow reversion to normal of her +expression. "Come, if I'm a dictaphone, let's pretend I'm turned off! +Shall we talk of something else than murder? One might as well dine to +jazz!" + +That brought a smile to her lips--a quavery, uncertain little smile but +an augury of better ones to come. + +"With all my heart," she agreed. "What are your conversational +preferences?" + +"Anything but shop. May I ask you a personal question?" + +"Personal questions are always the most interesting." + +"I've heard you addressed once or twice as 'Miss Ocky,' and I've been +wondering just what the abbreviation stands for?" + +"Oh! You've landed squarely on a sore spot, but no matter. My father, +bless him, was one of the dearest men that ever lived, but now and then +he would get some particularly quaint idea into his head and proceed to +carry it out in spite of every opposition. I arrived in this world on +a chilly autumn day and was duly presented to my father's gaze. He was +quite inexperienced about babies and it's recorded of him that he +stared at me aghast and said: 'My gad, what a bleak-looking object!' +That inspired some by-standing lunatic to observe that I doubtless took +after the month, and my father promptly exclaimed: 'October! What a +jolly fine name for her. We'll call her October!'" Miss Ocky sighed +resignedly. "They let him get away with it. I was christened October. +It has the sole merit of being distinctive!" + +"My golly!" Creighton had listened to the concluding phrases of her +anecdote with wonderment writ large on his face. He carefully put his +knife and fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair while he +continued to regard her with a rapt expression. "Are _you_ October +Copley?" + +"Yes!" laughed the lady. + +"_The_ October Copley?" + +"I'm quite unique, I believe," said Miss Ocky cheerfully. + +"Did _you_ write 'Thibetan Trails,' 'Passages from Persia' and those +bully Chinese things with the queer title?" + +"'Chiliads of China.' Yes, I wrote 'em. Don't sit there and tell me +you've read them!" + +"Read them--I've _loved_ them! It's a wonder I didn't connect your +name with them at once. My wits have been woolgathering. But, hang +it! Who could have expected to find an internationally famous writer +and traveler stuck away in this corner of the world? Why haven't +seventeen or ninety people _told_ me who you were?" + +She laughed at his eager interest. + +"A prophet is without honor in his own country," she said. "To my +family I'm just Ocky; to the natives of Hambleton I'm only 'that Copley +girl with the queer name who's come back from furrin parts'." + +She laughed again, half surprised and half embarrassed, as he suddenly +rose from his chair, marched around the table, shook hands with her and +solemnly marched back again to his seat. + +"Meeting a stray Miss Copley is one thing," he assured her. "Meeting +October Copley is quite another matter." + +It was impossible for her not to be touched by such sincere, +whole-hearted enthusiasm. Her throat tightened queerly. Bates, too, +an astonished spectator of the scene, was discreetly impressed. A +stand-offishness that he had felt toward Peter Creighton, the +detective, was weakened in favor of a man who thus appreciated his own +Miss Ocky. An artist in simple gestures, he testified to his new +approbation by refilling the wineglass beside Creighton's plate. + +"Now, tell me what you are doing here. I can't believe it is really +you sitting opposite me, there! If any one had asked me ten minutes +ago where I supposed you might be, I would have answered that you were +probably hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas or--or--" + +"Tigers in Africa!" suggested Miss Ocky. "No, here I really am." +Creighton had already noticed that she was usually divided between two +moods, an amused, faintly mocking one, and another that had somehow an +undercurrent of sadness. This last seemed to hold her as she added, +"Here to stay, I think. My wanderings are done and now I must--settle +down." + +"Another great light has just burst on me," exclaimed Creighton. +"Janet Mackay! She must be the companion you refer to so often in your +travel books. By golly, was it she who dove beneath an ice-pack and +brought you back to the air-hole through which you had fallen?" + +"That was indeed Janet! I repaid the favor later by valiantly dashing +into a burning hotel and releasing her from a beam that had dropped +across her--well, she'd call 'em limbs! Regular movie stuff. Yes, +Janet and I are now fearfully responsible for each other." + +"There was no mention of the fire in any of your books." + +"Mmph. I'd be apt to bust into print with that, wouldn't I? But I +don't mind informing you--just between us girls, as your friend Mr. +Krech would say--that you're in the presence of an honest-to-goodness +heroine!" + +"I knew that," said Peter Creighton simply. + +There followed for him a somewhat curious evening. No detective worth +his salt will permit extraneous matters to thrust themselves between +his mind and the immediate problem with which it should be occupied, +and Creighton really had a very high sense of duty. When they had +taken themselves out of the house and settled down in the cozy corner +of the big veranda, he punctiliously strove to concentrate on a dagger +and a notebook and a murder, but ever and anon, as he tried to post +himself on the manifold ramifications of the affair to date, the +conversation would persist in taking unexpected trips to the Orient. +His interest in this topic was so keen that he blamed these divagations +on himself, and since a clever woman is cleverer than the cleverest +man, it never once occurred to him that the guiding-reins of their talk +lay in a pair of slender, capable, sun-browned hands. Miss Ocky +preferred almost any subject that evening to the one of paramount +importance. + +He sat a while after she bade him good-night and left him, his thoughts +a medley of vague impressions, confused, half-formed, inchoate. He +tried to fix his mind on Simon Varr and ended by surrendering it to the +vivid, vital personality of Miss Ocky. + +When he went upstairs to his room the first object that caught his +attention was a slender volume, beautifully bound, that lay on his +dressing-table. "The Mystery of Lhasa." He had not heard of that one. +A glance at the title-page accounted for that. Privately printed. On +the flyleaf, inscribed in a bold, dashing hand, were the words, "For +Peter Creighton--a master of mysteries--from October Copley." + +"That's mighty nice of her," he told himself, putting it down. "Golly, +what a woman! She has packed more life into each of her years than +most men get in their three-score-and-ten." + +The hour was early for his metropolitan standards. He thought of the +balcony outside his window, and forthwith carried a comfortable chair +to that cool retreat. He had lighted a cigar and established himself +contentedly before a low voice challenged him from the darkness to the +right. + +"So you have found your little veranda!" + +"Hello, Miss Copley! You got one too?" + +"Yes. I come out here nearly every evening for an hour before going to +bed. I love to watch the stars." + +"No dearth of them in these skies." + +"If we could look beyond them we might read the Riddle of the Universe. +I think we could--I think so!" Here was the undercurrent of sadness +again, sounding through an odd intensity of tone. "Surely, there is +something beyond them. There must be! What do you think?" + +"I know there is. If you sat here long enough, Miss Copley, I believe +your doubts would be set at rest." + +"What do you mean? What is behind the stars?" + +"The dawn," he told her seriously. "These windows must face due East." +He mused briefly. "They also command a partial view of that kitchen +garden, come to think of it! You didn't happen to see or hear +any--last evening--" + +"What a one-track mind!" lamented Miss Ocky. "_No!_" + +They talked until very late. + + + + +_XVII: An Arrest is Made_ + +At eleven o'clock the next morning, the ground-floor of the big house +was again invaded by a heterogeneous collection of people drawn thither +by the coroner's inquest into the death of Simon Varr. Some were there +as witnesses or because they had a personal interest in the +proceedings, some because they were part of the legal machinery, and +many because they were driven by morbid curiosity. The Coroner, an +alert, bewhiskered old gentleman named Merton, took possession of the +big living-room and had one end of it fenced off with chairs the better +to mark the dignified exclusiveness of his court. + +As on the previous day, the end of the veranda around the corner from +the front of the house escaped the notice of the invading horde. +Creighton spent the early part of the morning there, after a solitary +breakfast, reading the morning paper attentively. Barlow, the editor, +had covered the story of the murder with a competent pencil. The +account was graphic, lucid and comprehensive, a credit to himself and +his paper. When Creighton had finished its careful perusal he was +posted on many details of the case that sheer lack of time had +prevented him from learning the day before. With a considerable degree +of satisfaction, however, he noted that he had unearthed a fair amount +of information that the industrious scribe had missed. + +Only second in interest to the big story itself was the half-column on +an inner page devoted to the jail-breaking exploit of Mr. Charles +Maxon--which would certainly have been largely featured at any other +time. Some lesser scribe on Barlow's staff had been assigned to this +minor item of news. He had gotten hold of the unfortunate Moody, and +under the caption, "Der Jail Is Oudt" he had written a racy, humorous +account of a Lady-Fair with Knockout Drops, a Resourceful Romeo and a +hoodwinked Jailer. It ended with the statement that Romeo and the Lady +were still missing, and that a ticket agent on night duty at the +railroad station had seen two muffled figures unostentatiously board +the last car of the midnight train without the formality of buying +tickets. + +"That means they'll have had to pay on the train," mused Creighton, +"and of course the conductor will remember to what point they bought +transportation when the police get around to asking him. Um. Would a +murderer leave a trail as clear as that? I think not!" + +It still lacked half-an-hour of the time set for the inquest. +Creighton was smoking a cigarette and mentally digesting the +information gleaned from the newspaper when Jason Bolt, accompanied by +Krech and Miss Ocky, came swooping down upon him. + +"Developments!" said Jason, his face wreathed in smiles. "I've found +out what Norvallis has up his sleeve. Want to know?" + +"I certainly do," said Creighton. "How did you find out?" + +"Small-town stuff," declared Bolt cheerfully. "You can't keep a thing +dark in the country. Our local Chief of Police is sore as a pup +because Norvallis, when he gave the paper the story yesterday, failed +to give him credit for fixing the hour of the murder by the dry ground +beneath the body. Steiner--that's the chief--came to see me this +morning at the office to make some inquiries about the fire the other +night. He accepted a cigar, got to talking about his troubles--and +didn't hesitate to tell me the county officers' theory when I asked him +what it was." + +"Charlie Maxon?" asked Creighton when Bolt paused for breath--and from +the corner of his eye saw Miss Ocky give a little start. + +"You've guessed it," admitted Jason a trifle disappointedly. "I confess +I don't think much of their case, but Charlie Maxon is their choice. +He broke jail just after ten o'clock and came up here. That is +definitely proved to their satisfaction, at least, by footprints +recognized as his in the soft earth beside Simon's body. They were +identical with some he'd left when he came up here on an earlier +tomato-swiping raid. Norvallis swore out a warrant yesterday afternoon +and started a couple of sleuths on the trail of Maxon and his lady +friend, and they were arrested early this morning in the village of +Chiswick, about fifty miles down the line. What do you think of that?" + +"What is the charge?" + +"Indefinite. They're to be held on suspicion of being concerned in the +murder. That's why I say it sounds like a weak case." + +"How do they trace the dagger to Maxon?" + +"He is supposed to have an accomplice." Bolt looked a little more +serious. "Steiner was more cautious on that point--or else he was not +so much in the know. There was a discharged clerk named Langhorn who +accompanied Billy Graham to this house on the night of the robbery. +Langhorn must have recognized the notebook in Simon's hand during that +interview, and it was common knowledge among the clerks in the tannery +that it contained valuable matter. The police theory is that he took +advantage of Simon's absence at the fire to sneak back to the house, +enter the study and steal the book--using the dagger and carrying it +off with him afterward. He was seen talking to a man on the evening of +the murder at the corner of an alley behind the lock-up. The county +crowd think that man was Maxon, that Maxon was two-thirds drunk at +least, and that Langhorn gave him the knife and egged him on to kill +Simon. That's the gist of it." + +"Um. Why should Langhorn flirt with the hangman? Discharged clerks +don't necessarily revenge themselves to that extent!" + +"He wouldn't tell me if he could--and I don't believe he can!" + +"There is something I don't understand," broke in Miss Ocky, frowning +thoughtfully. "Can a possibly innocent man be held just on suspicion +like that? Surely, Norvallis must have strong proofs." + +"I may be doing him an injustice," answered Creighton quietly, "but I +think I have discovered the reason for Mr. Norvallis' activities. I +rather wondered why he was thrusting himself so eagerly into the +investigation instead of leaving it to the detectives. Yesterday I saw +a poster on a fence by the tannery and learned that he is up for +County-Attorney at the coming State election!" He caught a flicker of +comprehension in Jason's eye, but Miss Ocky and Krech looked blank. +"Don't you see? Here's a murder--a notable murder--committed in his +county a few weeks before election. He has to do something. Maxon +obligingly implicates himself enough to warrant his being held. +Norvallis arrests him. He can easily juggle things along until the +ballots have dropped in the box--meanwhile demonstrating that he's an +active, zealous and conscientious officer!" + +"You've hit it," declared Bolt. "He's that kind." + +"But that's--_vile_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"We'll give him the benefit of one doubt," said Creighton. "He +probably would not do that to a man he believed innocent; undoubtedly +he is convinced that Maxon is guilty and will fight tooth-and-nail to +convict." + +"Well--is he right?" asked Bolt slowly. A dull red flushed his cheeks. +"Did Maxon do it?" + +"I'm confident that he did not," said Creighton. A pressure of his arm +against his breast brought a crackle of paper and the comfortable +assurance that his chip from the blade of the dagger was safe. "Don't +press me for reasons yet, Mr. Bolt." + +"I won't." Jason rose as Bates came around the corner to say the +inquest had opened. "Take your time, sir, but get me that notebook!" + +The proceedings went swiftly and smoothly from beginning to end. +Whether or not he was a particularly good coroner--and Creighton felt +some doubt of that--Merton was certainly expert in the technique of his +job. He handled his witnesses capably, with deftness and dispatch, +extracting facts from them with the easy grace of a headwaiter pulling +corks, and each time a fact popped out he beamed benignly at his jury. + +No mention was made of the police theory, and from the way Merton +neatly headed off one or two witnesses who came close to trespassing on +that forbidden ground, Creighton reckoned that Norvallis had persuaded +him to mark time "in the interests of justice." The crowd that had +come for a thrill were rewarded by the tale of the black monk, most of +which was told by Miss Ocky. Her soft, clear voice carried to every +ear, and her cool, matter-of-fact tones seemed rather to accentuate the +dramatic values of her testimony than otherwise. It was the highlight +of the whole picture, more interesting even than the verdict with its +orthodox tag of "person or persons unknown." + +"Norvallis hasn't shown his hand," murmured Jason Bolt, who was sitting +next to Creighton. + +"It'll make a louder splash in the papers to-morrow," retorted the +detective cynically. + +He had taken care to seat himself at the beginning of the inquest in +such a way that he could watch the faces of the spectators who had come +to this macabre entertainment. There was so much to the case that was +hopelessly dark to him that he dared miss no opportunity to seek +something or somebody who might inject even a single ray of light into +the murk. He knew that the crowd at any inquest was quite likely to +include the very person or persons unknown mentioned in the verdict. +He watched the crowd here with a sharp eye for any one who might +display a deeper interest than that of the casual ambulance-chaser +brand. + +He spotted just one among those present who seemed worthy of closer +attention. This was a strikingly handsome blond man, middle-aged and +well-dressed, who occupied an inconspicuous seat in the farthest corner +of the long room. He had about him an air of strained intensity as he +leaned forward to follow every word of the testimony, particularly when +Miss Ocky was giving hers, and he tugged nervously and continuously at +a close-cropped mustache. Creighton could see that his face was +haggard and bore lines of worry--and he could see that an unmistakable +look of relief came into his eyes as the jury returned its open verdict. + +"Interesting," said the detective to himself, and touched Bolt on the +arm as the man hurried from the room at the conclusion of the +proceedings. "Who is that fair-haired chap just going out?" + +"His name is Leslie Sherwood," answered Jason promptly. "He's a native +of these parts but he has been out in the great world making lots of +money. He has just returned and opened up the old Sherwood place, +which has been closed since his father's death a few months ago. Why?" + +Creighton was spared a reply by the appearance of a dapper, sharp +little old gentleman who came up and greeted Bolt by his first name. + +"Hello, Judge!" Jason turned with a gesture of his hand. "I want you +to meet Mr. Peter Creighton, of New York. This is Judge Taylor, Mr. +Creighton, who has always handled our legal affairs and managed somehow +to keep us out of jail! Judge, Creighton is here to investigate that +robbery of the other evening when Simon's notebook was stolen." + +"_And_ the dagger that killed him!" added Taylor significantly. "Glad +to meet you, Mr. Creighton. I trust your inquiry will be successful." +He jerked his head backward. "What did you think of this inquest?" + +"Nicely stage-managed," said the detective, and an appreciative twinkle +lit the lawyer's eyes. "May I have a chat with you sometime, Judge?" + +"Whenever you please. Jason will show you my office." + +"Hello! Who is this?" Creighton was facing the door from the hall, to +which the other two men had their backs, and he was the first of them +to notice a tall, prepossessing young man who hurried into the room. +Behind him came Miss Ocky, looking pleased, and after her Krech, +hunting for the detective from whom he had become separated. "Is it--?" + +"Copley!" cried Jason Bolt and Judge Taylor with one voice. They +greeted the newcomer warmly, but with the subdued sympathy suitable to +the occasion. "When did you learn about this?" added Bolt. + +"This morning's papers. I came as fast as I could." He spun around +toward Miss Ocky. "My mother--?" + +"Sleeping," answered his aunt. "It has been a shock, but you have no +need to worry about her. Don't think of waking her up; I know you must +want to go to her, but wait." + +"This is a terrible business," said the young man to Bolt and the +lawyer. He was yet unaware of Creighton, who had withdrawn slightly +into the background. "I only know what I've read in the papers. As I +came in just now I heard somebody say the inquest had drawn a blank. +Is that so?" + +"Yes. It is a complicated affair, Copley," answered Bolt. "It will +take some time to tell you everything that has happened--" + +"We'll go into it later, then. Just tell me now if everything possible +is being done to identify the man who killed my father. That is the +most important business before us. Have the police any clues?" + +"I believe so, but they are saying little. On our own account, I have +engaged this gentleman here--Mr. Creighton--to conduct an independent +inquiry. Creighton, this is Mr. Varr's son, of whom you have heard." + +Copley sent a keen look at the detective, then held out his hand. + +"Glad to meet you--and very glad that Mr. Bolt has engaged your +services. It is the very thing I would have wished. I have no +confidence in the local authorities." + +"That appears to make it unanimous," said Creighton, grinning. +"Really, I'm beginning to wonder if these county fellows can be as +stupid as they're reputed." He glanced at Jason Bolt. "Suppose I take +Mr. Varr into the study here and give him a résumé of events to date? +Somebody must, and I know the details better than any one else, +perhaps." + +There was a chorus of relieved approval from Bolt, Taylor and Miss Ocky +and a quick nod of assent from Copley. + +"I must have a talk with you, too, Copley, as soon as possible," added +Jason Bolt. "It's hard to have to intrude business--" + +"Oh!" interrupted the young man, and suddenly ran his fingers through +his hair with a distraught gesture. "I'm in the deuce of a jam--! +Aunt Ocky, when is the funeral?" + +"We were waiting to hear from you. Now that you're here--shall we say +to-morrow noon?" + +"Very well. After that I must catch the one-thirty to New York." He +shrugged his shoulders at Bolt's disappointed grunt. "It can't be +helped, sir! And I'll be busy every minute until I leave. Are you +sure that you need me after all?" He looked at the old lawyer who was +eyeing him thoughtfully. "Judge Taylor, you had charge of my father's +will, didn't you? Would it be improper for you to tell me whether or +not I've inherited his interest in the tannery?" + +"I'll risk the impropriety under the circumstances," said Taylor +slowly, breaking a little silence that followed the question. "Yes, +you have inherited a controlling interest without any restriction." He +hesitated cautiously. "I'm assuming that no other will exists--I +cannot believe there is any." + +"In that case--you and I are partners, Mr. Bolt." Copley held out his +hand rather bashfully. "You'll have a fearful lot to teach me, but +you'll find me willing to learn." He continued more incisively. "I +believe the first thing to do is to get that strike settled and the men +to work. They'll listen to you, Mr. Bolt, if you ask them to return +pending our decision to raise wages and improve conditions. Another +thing--can you persuade Graham to stay with us?" + +"I believe so--now," said Bolt slowly. + +"The tannery must remain closed to-morrow, the day of the funeral. I'd +like to see it open up the morning after at the usual hour." + +"It will," said Jason flatly. "Leave it to me." + +"That's what I want to do, for a fortnight anyway. After that you will +find me ready to pull my weight in the boat." The young man turned to +the others. "Aunt Ocky, you'll let me know, won't you, as soon as my +mother wakes up? Come on, Mr. Creighton; I'm anxious to hear all you +can tell me." He walked off to the study without waiting to see if the +detective followed. + +Creighton did not, for the moment. Bolt and Krech were leaving, and so +was Judge Taylor. The detective had a few words with his friend as +they followed the other two along the hall to the piazza, while Miss +Ocky went up to her sister's room. + +"What did you think of him?" asked Krech. + +"Haven't thought much yet." + +"He ought to be a pleasant change for Jason. He'll be open to reason, +yet he'll have ideas of his own. Did you notice how he snapped into +the business of getting work started again?" + +"I noticed it." + +"An up-and-coming lad," said Krech. "He couldn't have done it better +if he'd been expecting the job." + +Creighton glanced at the speaker quickly, but the big man's face was as +ingenuous as a child's. They dropped the subject as they came up with +the others. + +When he had bidden them _au revoir_, the detective went to the small +study, where he found Copley Varr restlessly pacing the short fairway +between the door and his father's desk. The young man welcomed him +with a gesture of relief. + +"Thought you were never coming," he said, though not rudely. "If I +can't see my mother yet, I'm in a hurry to--to attend to some other +matters." + +"Is an interview with William Graham one of them?" asked Creighton +quietly as they sat down. He caught the sharp look that Copley sent +him. "While digging into the history of this case it was inevitable +that I should discover something of your private affairs. I will ask +you to believe that I do not violate confidences--even though I have to +force them at times." + +"That's all right. You're a detective, aren't you?" + +"I try to be!" smiled Creighton. + +"Well, it's no use employing a detective and then cramping his style by +refusing him information. I understand that." + +"Good. We'll get along beautifully. Will you tell me, please, why you +are obliged to return to New York? Is the reason--Miss Graham?" + +"Not any more." For the first time since he had entered the house, +Copley smiled a little. "It is Mrs. Varr, now. We were married +yesterday morning in New York." The smile vanished abruptly. "And my +father--scarcely cold! I won't forget the shock I got from the papers +this morning if I live to be a hundred." + +"Got a shock, did you?" repeated Creighton to himself, yet the boy's +words had rung true. "If you're ready, Mr. Varr, I'll give you the +story of what happened up to your father's death. I'll be brief." + +At that, it was a lengthy narrative. It took more than an hour to +relate, an hour in which Copley Varr did not once take his eyes from +the detective's face. His gaze was expressionless; Creighton, +returning it with interest, strove vainly to pierce that inscrutable +veil to see what lay behind. + +"And there is no definite clue to the murderer?" asked, Copley when +Creighton finished. "Is the Maxon theory sound?" + +"I think not. As for clues--well, such indications as I have turned up +are too vague to be termed that." + +"Do you suspect any one?" + +"That question is out of order, Mr. Varr." + +"Oh. Will you tell me then, in a general way, where those indications +you mention seem to point?" + +"In a general way, yes." Creighton meditated. "They point to a person +who hated your father, who sympathized with the striking tanners, who +was wealthy enough to supply them with money, either from sympathy or +to further his grudge, a person of some education, familiar with local +history and imaginative enough to adapt the costume of a legendary monk +to a perfect disguise. Last, a person who was sufficiently familiar +with this house to stage a burglary as bold as it was successful." + +Copley Varr was pale as this hypothetical portrait was limned. His +eyes now avoided the detective's. + +"That description might fit a--a number of people," he said. + +"Oh, yes. It's very vague. Now, I can ask a question that you +mustn't, do _you_ suspect any one?" + +"N-no." + +"Come! are you weakening already about giving me information?" + +"Suspicion--if I had any--is not fact!" + +"Quibbles won't get us anywhere. I won't press you further to voice +your suspicion--right now. In the meantime, I'll plod along with my +investigation on the obvious lines." + +"Obvious? I suppose they are to you, Mr. Creighton, but I do not see +a single point of attack. Will you tell me what you plan to do, or is +that also taboo?" + +"I'm going to make a list of all the people that description might fit +and then eliminate them one by one as circumstances dictate. I suppose +competent alibis will let most of 'em out. Yes, I guess I'll have +quite a fine assortment of alibis at the end." The detective was +speaking easily, good-humoredly, and his voice was elaborately casual +as he added: + +"By the way, where were you the night of the burglary from ten to +twelve?" + +Copley Varr started violently and his face crimsoned. For a long +minute he did not speak but sat staring angrily at his inquisitor. He +clenched his hands as though ready to leap on the detective. Then, +slowly, his fingers relaxed, the color faded from his cheeks and the +anger from his eyes. Creighton watched the metamorphosis with +approval; if he could get the best of his temper like that, would he +have been likely to lose it to the extent of committing murder? +Improbable! + +"I was in the editorial rooms of the _News_ from ten-thirty until +quarter to twelve, when I left to catch the midnight train to New York. +At least three men connected with the paper will bear me out." + +"That's bully!" said Creighton. "The crowd on my list will be in luck +if they do half as well. One thing more, Mr. Varr, and then I'm off to +real work. Was William Graham in the habit of coming to this house?" + +Again Copley jumped, but this time with the air of shrinking from a +blow rather than delivering one. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. + +"Don't ask me that--now!" + +"Um. Yes, it's rather a tough question--new father-in-law, new bride +and all that! You needn't answer it, Mr. Varr!" + +"Plainer than you have already, my son!" he added to himself as he left +the room. "William Graham--to the bar!" + +Creighton was light on his feet and invariably wore rubber-soled +shoes--not, as he had been obliged to explain to Krech aforetime, +because he was trying to be the complete pussy-footed sleuth, but +because he really preferred them to leather. The result, however, +whether designed or not, was to make him as soundless in his movements +as a panther. + +He slipped noiselessly along the hall to the front door, his thoughts +busy with what he had just learned, his immediate intention to go to +town for the talk he had promised himself with Judge Taylor. Lawyers +often could throw light on an affair of this kind if they chose to; +what if there were some secret, unsuspected page in Simon Varr's life--? + +As he put on his hat and stepped out of the front door, he heard the +low hum of voices from the cozy corner at the end of the piazza. He +wondered who it might be, and curiosity turned his steps in that +direction. Instead of turning the corner, however, he halted abruptly +when he heard his own name spoken by unmistakable accents. + +"Where is Mr. Creighton, do you know?" + +"He's in the study with Master Copley. Do you wish to speak to him, +Miss Ocky?" + +"No. Has he had any conversation with you yet, Bates?" + +"No, Miss Ocky; nothing special." + +"He probably will, though. It struck me, Bates, that you might +inadvertently mention our little talk of the other day if I didn't warn +you. I don't think that would be advisable." + +"Nor do I, Miss Ocky! I was only afraid you might let it out yourself!" + +"It would be a pity to put notions in his head," continued Miss Ocky +calmly. "I must say, Mr. Creighton seems to be unusually sensible, but +you can never tell which way a detective will jump." + +"They're worse'n cats!" agreed the old butler. + + + + +_XVIII: Some Old Men Are Out_ + +There was a tinkle of silver and china suggestive of the butler picking +up a tray and preparing to depart, so Creighton fled from the vicinage +as softly as the furry felines to which Bates had spitefully compared +him. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. Utterly +shameless, he reminded himself that if listeners hear no good of +themselves, they also occasionally hear much that is valuable. So +Bates and Miss Ocky were in conspiracy to conceal from him some +conversation they had had! Um. It would be funny if he couldn't pry +the truth out of one of them; mentally, he girded up his loins for the +fray. + +The immediate effect of what he had overheard was an alteration in his +plans for the balance of the afternoon. He wanted to see Judge Taylor +for more than one reason, but his brief essay in eavesdropping had +served to remind him of a chore neglected nearer home. The servants. +He must question them, painstakingly and at length, on the chance that +one or more of them might have heard or noticed something that would +bring him a step closer to the truth. + +Copley Varr had gone upstairs, summoned to his mother's bedside by +Janet Mackay who was temporarily in attendance on the stricken Lucy. +That left the study clear for Creighton who immediately possessed +himself of it and touched the bell for Bates. The old man appeared +presently, gave an attentive ear to the detective's brief statement of +his intentions, and answered on behalf of himself and the staff that +all would be glad to assist Mr. Creighton in every possible way. + +"The main essential is perfect frankness," said the detective. + +"Yes, indeed, sir, I quite understand that," said the butler, a trifle +too promptly. "It's wrong to hold anything back." + +"I'll begin with the cook. I had a few words with her yesterday, just +enough to learn she's nobody's fool. She's good-hearted, too--you can +tell it by the layer of fat on the ribs of that Angora I've seen +about." Creighton's eyes were laughing behind the shell-rimmed +glasses. "Did it ever occur to you, Bates, that you can learn a lot +about the cook by looking at the cat?" + +"No, sir, it never did," said Bates, smiling faintly. + +"It never did to me, either, until just this minute," admitted the +detective frankly, "but I dare say there's a lot in it. Anyway, ask +her to come here, please, and tell her I won't keep her long from her +work." + +Thus he played upon the sensibilities of his witnesses after a fashion +whose worth he had demonstrated frequently in the past. He had put +Bates a little more at his ease and to that extent weakened his +defenses if it became necessary to startle him into speaking the truth, +and he had sent a bouquet of flattering phrases to the cook which he +confidently counted on Bates to deliver with his summons. That the +butler had indeed done so was apparent the moment the cook appeared, +her fat red face wreathed in smiles. A cross, recalcitrant woman who +had sorely tried the patience of Mr. Norvallis the day before was an +angel of sweetness as she responded to Creighton's inquisition. + +Unfortunately, she did not have anything of value to offer in repayment +for his studied politeness. Hers was the most prosaic of lives. She +rose in the morning, cooked all day and went to bed, to rise and cook +again. She knew nothing of what went on in the front part of the +house, and Bates was the most close-mouthed butler she had ever worked +with, he never opened his head about what he heard in the dining-room. + +That let her out, and Creighton dismissed her with a request that she +send in Betty Blake. + +When she had recovered from a preliminary attack of nervousness, the +pretty young housemaid unexpectedly produced information that gave +Creighton furiously to think, for he reawakened an idea that had been +present, but dormant, in his brain since his talk with Copley. It +reminded him of a chance remark made by Jason Bolt to the effect that +Langhorn had accompanied Graham when the latter came to see Varr, for +Betty described how in passing through the hall on her way to bed she +had seen the tannery manager "quarreling with Mr. Varr in his study." + +"Sure they were quarreling, Betty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. They were both angry and excited." + +"That was the night of the fire? The night of the robbery?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You were on your way to bed--do you know what time it was?" + +"Just past ten, sir,--or maybe half-past." + +"That's near enough." + +After a few more questions he let her go, telling her to ask Janet +Mackay to join him in the study at her first opportunity. While he +waited for the "tall, gaunt nondescript" to appear he contemplated the +case of William Graham, and sitting in Varr's chair he came slowly to +the same dark suspicions that Varr had entertained. + +"Graham saw the notebook here, and knew what it was. He could use what +was in it--none better. According to the watchman, Nelson, Graham +sympathized with the strikers even if he ranked with the bosses. He +was a bit the worse for liquor when he was here that evening, in the +mood to think of some wild act and perhaps drunk enough to carry out +the thought. He had time to slip down and set that fire, then come +back when it was under way and sneak into the house. Granting that he +used the dagger because it was handy, why did he carry it away with +him? Was he thinking of murder already? Was he cool enough to figure +that a weapon taken from Varr's own house would not readily be traced +to him? Can't answer these questions--now!" Creighton lighted a +cigarette and wrinkled his brow. "Graham has plenty of intelligence, +from all accounts. He is clever enough to have thought of an effective +disguise, and he probably knew the legend of the monk, since his +daughter showed it to Miss Copley in a book belonging to them. Um. Is +he the man I'm looking for?" + +He did not have time for further reflection before the entrance of Miss +Janet Mackay, once of Aberdeen, now a citizen of the world and the +devoted henchwoman of Miss October Copley. She inclined her head +stiffly in reply to his pleasant greeting, refused a chair, and +remained standing in front of him, hands folded across her flat +stomach, her cold eyes fixed on him through her cheap, steel +spectacles. She was taller and gaunter and more angular than ever. +Creighton chuckled inwardly. If Miss Copley was October, then this was +January, or at best late December! + +It did not take him long to discover that he had drawn another perfect +blank. Trying to extract information from Janet Mackay was about as +profitable as trying to squeeze water from a handful of Sahara sand. +She knew nothing, and said less. After ten minutes of fruitless effort +he gave it up. + +"It's clear you know nothing!" + +"I know the world is well rid of a selfish deevil." + +"Tut, tut! Have you no respect for the dead?" + +"Not a whit for him, dead or alive." + +"How is Mrs. Varr?" + +"Resting easier." + +"Is her son with her still?" + +"He went off somewhere an hour ago." + +"That's all, then. Thank you." + +She stalked away, head in air, stiff as any ramrod. + +"Now for Bates," muttered the detective, and touched the bell. "I'll +swear he's got something on his mind!" + +In this surmise he was perfectly correct. The old butler did have +something that was troubling him--a matter so grave and serious that +they did not finish discussing it until the study was dusk and sounds +from the dining-room indicated that Betty Blake was helpfully setting +the table in the unduly prolonged absence of its regular attendant. +When their talk was ended, it was the detective who wore a perplexed +expression, while Bates had lost the troubled, almost haunted look that +had been in his eyes since the death of Simon Varr. + +Creighton hurried to his room to prepare for dinner, and when he +glanced from his window he observed for the first time that the weather +was about to exhibit itself in a petulant, ill-humored mood. Black +storm-clouds were rolling up, a chill, gusty wind was rattling the +windows and a heavy spat of rain dashed against the glass as he turned +away. It would be a nasty night. + +Miss Ocky remarked on the fact when she joined him in the dining-room. +She looked unhappy. + +"I hate cold," she told him. "Had enough of it in my life. I am going +to have a fire lighted in the living-room. If you want to talk to me +this evening you'll have to put up with having your toes toasted." + +He assured her that toasted toes were his favorite delicacy. Then he +nodded to a third place set at the table and raised his eyebrows. + +"For Copley, but he hasn't turned up." + +"He may be dining with his new father-in-law," suggested the detective. +"Or with Jason Bolt, talking business." + +She did not pursue the subject, but later, when they were seated before +a crackling fire in the living-room, she attacked him briskly. + +"I haven't talked with either you or him since your interview in the +library. Was--was it satisfactory? Please tell me." + +"With all the pleasure in the world. The interview was +satisfactory--and I think I know what you mean by that! He accounted +for his movements on the night before last with unimpeachable accuracy." + +"Thank heaven!" said Miss Ocky. "I don't mean that I had any suspicion +of him, but I'm glad if he has cleared himself in your eyes." + +"He has, perfectly." + +"I wish I knew what your plan of campaign is to be! You half promised +to let me see just how a detective works, you know. What are you going +to do first?" + +"Suppose I don't know myself?" He paused to light her cigarette and +one for himself, then added deliberately: "You can't always tell which +way a detective will jump; they're worse'n cats." + +"Oh!" cried Miss Ocky, and choked on a puff of smoke. "Eavesdropper!" +she gasped. + +"I didn't go for to do it. But if you _will_ have these little +intimate chats on a piazza without looking around the corner--! Now, +you can tell me what it was all about." + +"I'll tell you first that it's a mistake to take overheard remarks too +seriously." Miss Ocky, recovered from smoke and emotion, smiled at the +fire. "Once, when I was a little girl of seven, I got an awful scare +that way--right in this very room, on a wild stormy night like this! I +had come in to say good night to my father and mother, who were sitting +before a fire as we are now. Just as I left the room, I heard my +mother say to him, 'The old man is out to-night!' Unless you were a +nervous, high-strung brat yourself, you can't imagine the effect of +that on me. I crept off to bed shivering, and lay awake half the +night. Every time the wind shook my windows, I pictured some +monstrous, hoary-headed creature trying to get in and gobble me up!" +She laughed a little. "It gives me a grue to think of it even yet. I +discovered the explanation of the phrase the next day. Can you guess +it?" + +"No. Another local legend, perhaps?" + +"Nothing half so thrilling." She pointed to a high shelf above the +mantelpiece. "There is the answer!" + +Creighton followed the direction of her finger and smiled. On the +shelf stood one of those miniature Swiss chalets so popular in +drawing-rooms a generation ago. Two little figurines, a young woman +and an old man, operating on barometric principles, emerged from the +front door in turn as the weather indications were fair or stormy. At +this moment the old man was well out. + +"Enough to scare any child to death," he admitted. "Now--" + +"But tame when explained, like lots of overheard things. Once when I +was staying with a Chinese family in Pekin--" + +"Where did you get the idea," inquired Creighton mildly, "that I was +fond of red-herring? As a matter-of-fact, I've always hated it." + +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky, and made a face at him. "Well, what do you +want to know?" + +"You are probably aware that I had a long talk with Bates this +afternoon. He told me much that was interesting--but I'd like _your_ +version of that conversation which you felt shouldn't be repeated to +me." + +"I wish I'd kept still about it," sighed Miss Ocky repentantly. "Now +you'll probably magnify it out of all proportion. You see, I've known +old Bates ever since I was a youngster, and we've always been good +friends. He got in the habit years ago of bringing his troubles to me +and talking them over--'blowing off steam,' he always called it! That +was how we happened to have that talk a few days ago. Simon had been +unusually querulous even for him--and he could be very trying at times. +Bates had suffered a long while in silence, and when he got a chance to +air his grievance to me he--he blew off quite a lot of steam first and +last! He chiefly resented Simon's attitude toward Lucy, and I couldn't +blame him there. One thing led to another, and that's how we came +finally to agree that the world would be a brighter little planet if +Simon no longer lived on it." Miss Ocky shrugged her shoulders. "The +sort of thing that means nothing at the time but sounds like the very +devil after a man is found murdered!" + +"Yes, it does," answered Creighton gravely. "I had no idea you two had +been contemplating the possible death of Simon Varr. That is not at +all a pleasant bit of news." + +"You--you had no idea! You had no--!" Miss Ocky sat up very straight. +"Didn't Bates tell you that?" she demanded crisply. + +"No. He told me much, but he wouldn't tell me the subject of your +conversation with him because he'd promised you he wouldn't. He was +adamant. That's why I've had to get it out of you." + +"Oh!" She slumped again into her chair. "You--you _creature_!" + +"I know," he said apologetically. "But what's a man to do if people +hold out on him?" + +"I suppose," said Miss Ocky in a small voice, "this is a judgment on me +for wondering how a detective works!" + +"Possibly. Did he make any threats?" + +"_No!_" said Miss Ocky. + +"Um. Would you tell me if he did?" + +"N-no," said the lady. + +"It makes a fellow long for the days of the Spanish Inquisition," said +Creighton, addressing the fireplace. He added darkly, "There are +several persons around that I could enjoy putting on a cozy little +rack!" + +"It's no use being bloodthirsty," she informed him. "As for Bates--! +Oh, I do wish you'd stop getting ideas into your head!" + +"I can't. It's the sort of head that gets 'em!" + +"Well, I wish you'd draw the line at Bates! Why, I've known him all my +life!" + +"There is always some one to say that about any criminal. Always some +one to say it isn't possible. The awful thing is, it is possible." + +"But--Bates! How could any one associate the idea of murder with that +gentle, harmless old man? Ridiculous!" + +"He was devoted to your father because Mr. Copley stood by him when he +didn't know where to turn. He had been in trouble. Did you know that?" + +"Vaguely--from Bates himself. Why? What trouble was it?" + +"Starvation. He had difficulty finding work because no one wished to +employ a man who had just been pardoned out of a penitentiary where he +was serving a life sentence for murder." + +There was a brief silence. + +"It can't be!" she whispered at length. "Not Bates! It can't be +_true_!" + +"He was married in those days, and the other man was guilty of breaking +up the home. Extenuating circumstances, you see. He was lucky enough +to have a lawyer who didn't lose interest when the prison swallowed +him, and he brought the matter to the attention of a new Governor who +pardoned Bates after he had served five years. Your father happened on +him when he was near the end of his rope, gave him sanctuary and helped +him bury the past. That is his story." + +"How did he come to tell you?" + +"I persuaded him to. I've noticed ever since I've been in the house +that he was shaky, nervous--_worried_. Three times out of five, when +you see a servant in that condition following a mysterious crime, you +can look for the explanation in a shady past. I tackled him from that +basis. He didn't need much urging--in fact, he told me he had half +made up his mind to come to me with the story of his own accord. I +believe him. He had been in mortal terror lest the police discover +it." Creighton paused in order to study her serious, thoughtful face. +"He asked me to tell you this." + +"He did!" + +"He seems devoted to you. He had wanted to tell you himself, but could +never quite find the courage. He has wanted you to know the truth +about him, but has never been able to forget the way others used to +receive it. He has taken some hard knocks." + +"Poor soul. Poor lonely soul!" Her voice was tender. + +"I thought you'd feel that way about it! You'll find an opportunity to +make him understand, I suppose? Probably he won't want to talk much +about it, but you--you could give him a friendly pat on the arm or--or +something like that, couldn't you?" + +Miss Ocky suddenly turned and looked at him with eyes that were shining +through unshed tears. + +"You're a queer man! You can sit there suspecting him of murder and +still want me to be kind to him!" + +"Have I said anything about suspecting him?" demanded the detective +with almost a touch of asperity. + +"You accused me of suspecting Copley last evening and I had to remind +you that he'd probably turn up with a perfectly good alibi--and he did! +If there's a pessimist in human nature sitting around here, it isn't I!" + +"Mmph. All right, little sunshine!" + +"I don't care anything about suspicion. I want proof. Until I get it, +I try to preserve an open mind." + +"Oh. Well, that's an improvement over Mr. Norvallis, I must admit!" +Miss Ocky turned her eyes back to the fire. "What you've told me about +Bates has given me quite a--a shock, Mr. Creighton. I won't drag any +more red-herrings around, but can't we _please_ talk of something else?" + +He cheerfully and promptly consented. They talked a while on every +subject under the sun except the death of Simon Varr, and they were +both a trifle disconcerted when a wild shrieking of brakes and a heavy +step on the veranda announced the arrival of Herman Krech, who would +tolerate no other topic until he left at eleven. + +It was just short of midnight when Creighton, sound asleep, was roused +by a discreet but persistent tapping on his door. He rolled out of +bed, struck a match, opened the door and discovered Copley Varr, +grinning broadly. + +"I've got my father-in-law's blessing!" he announced. + +"I congratulate you." The detective blinked. "Excuse me, but I was +with the angels! Did you call me back just to tell me this?" + +"No. I thought you ought to know that we were a pair of nuts this +noon. Mr. Graham was holding pat hands in a poker game during the fire +and robbery, and he was presiding at a lodge-meeting in Hambleton the +night--the night before last!" + +"With umpty-umph fellow-lodgers to prove it. Um. Touch 'em and they +vanish!" + +"What?" + +"I mean, I'd like to find a prospect that would stay put for a while at +least. As it is now, the moment I look sideways at any one he promptly +trots out an alibi." + +"Like I did to-day! I see. Trying for a detective, eh?" + +"Very trying," said Peter Creighton. "Good night!" + +He shut the door, and presently rejoined the angels. + + + + +_XIX: Among Those Present_ + +After that midnight report from Copley Varr, ten days passed without +the occurrence of a single distinctive event. They were not empty +days, however, for Peter Creighton, who continued patiently to cast +hither and yon very much like an Indian brave seeking the trail of an +enemy warrior. + +The full scope of his investigation was not apparent to the naked eye, +as Krech, who was chafing at the lack of developments and inclined to +accuse his friend of masterly inactivity, discovered one afternoon. +They were taking a stroll in the twilight at the detective's +insistence, and met a roughly-dressed individual with a cap on the back +of his head and a short pipe stuck in his mouth. He was loitering by +the side of the road, and to Krech's surprise, Creighton excused +himself and joined the man for a brief chat. + +"Who's your rough-neck pal?" he demanded curiously as the detective +came back and suggested a return home. "His face is familiar but I +can't just place him." + +"You once bought a painting from him when he was posing as an artist!" +Creighton chuckled. "He reminded me of it just now; said you're the +only connoisseur who ever really appreciated his work!" + +"Gee Joseph! One of your men!" + +"Fellow named Latimer." + +"What is he doing around here?" + +"Covering the tannery end of this affair. Latimer's an artist in more +ways than one. When I told him what I wanted, he got two books on +modern methods in tanning from the New York Public Library, studied +them on the train coming up, and landed a job as easy as you please +when Graham and Bolt started to replace the old hands who had left. +Snappy work!" + +"Gosh. And I thought you were investigating this case single-handed! +You're a foxy guy at times, Creighton. Has Latimer learned anything +useful?" + +"Not to me, I'm sorry to say. The few facts he has turned up seem +merely to darken the outlook for Charlie Maxon, that unfortunate +prisoner-pent. He appears to be quite as bad an egg as Mr. Norvallis +believes." + +"Do you suppose Norvallis is making any progress with _his_ case?" +inquired Krech. + +"He's sitting pretty with the voters!" said Creighton shortly. "By the +way, neither Bolt nor Graham knows who Latimer is. Don't tell 'em." + +"I won't," promised the big man. + +He did, however, after the fashion of husbands, tell his wife that +evening after dinner. They were standing together on the front steps +of their host's house, having been persuaded with no great difficulty +to lengthen their stay by at least another week, and Krech had just +lighted a cigar to keep him company while he strolled over to the Varr +home. + +"You might have known Peter Creighton is never as idle as he looks," +commented Jean Krech, when she had listened to the tale of Latimer. +"He probably has a dozen more irons in the fire that you don't dream +of. I suppose you're going over there now?" + +"Uh-huh. There's always a chance he may have some news." + +"Well, it's all right for you to drop in and ask," said Jean calmly. +"But--don't linger, melove, don't linger!" + +"Huh? What do you mean, don't linger? Why not?" + +"You blind old goose! Has it ever struck you that Creighton is a +rather lonely man?" + +"Lonely?" Then the significance of her question suddenly hit him +between the eyes. "Gee Joseph! Are you trying to promote a romance +between him and Miss Ocky?" + +"Precious little promotion is required," she corrected him. "It's as +plain as the nose on your face how things are going." She laughed when +her husband in his bewilderment reached up and felt of the promontory +indicated. "Yes, it's very plain!" + +"But they've only known each other a week or so!" + +"What of it? They're old enough to know their own minds--both in the +early forties. Neither of them has ever had a love-affair as far as we +know; probably it hits them harder and quicker when they're like that!" + +"Maybe you're right." Krech reflected deeply, and then nodded his +head. "Suits me! I like her immensely, and of course he'd be a whole +lot happier if he were married. Any man is." + +"Oh, _thank_ you!" cried his beautiful wife softly. She slipped a hand +beneath his elbow and gave his massive arm an affectionate squeeze +while her blue eyes twinkled up at his. "Is um itty-witty baby happy, +then?" + +"Shut up," commanded Mr. Krech with intense dignity. "Don't go cooing +at me--not where any one might hear you, anyway!" + +An unprejudiced observer of the trend of events at the house on the +hill must have admitted that Mrs. Krech had considerable grounds for +her romantic suspicions. Twice during the ten days aforementioned +Creighton was obliged to go to New York and spend half a day on +business that would not be denied, and each time he returned bearing +books and candy and a vast quantity of assorted and exotic fruits for +which Miss Ocky had expressed a casual longing and which the marts of +Hambleton could not provide. On the first occasion he pretended they +were for Lucy Varr, still confined to her room, but on the second he +abandoned pretense. + +Then there was the incident of the picnic, sponsored by Miss Ocky. +They took their lunch and plunged into the wilderness of hills that lay +to the north of Hambleton, their destination the cave that was reputed +to have sheltered the legendary monk. It was Miss Ocky's suggestion +that in the haunts of the old monk they might come upon some traces of +the new, if that imaginative imitator had carried his masquerade to the +extent of using his predecessor's quarters, and Creighton, without the +flutter of an eyelash, agreed that nothing was more likely. They found +the cave--or some cave--but nothing else. Their disappointment weighed +lightly upon them, and the detective enjoyed the day with all the +artless abandon of a schoolboy playing hooky. + +Even more significant than the picnic was the _pilau_. Miss Ocky had +described this supposedly delectable dish to Creighton at some length, +and the next day was impelled to possess herself of the kitchen and +compose a _pilau_ such as she swore appeared daily on the tables of the +first epicures of Constantinople. However that might be, affairs are +approaching a crisis when a woman is seized with a desire to +demonstrate her culinary accomplishments to a man. + +The _pilau_ was an amazing dish. At table with them during those days +was a very pale, very thin young man with gold pince-nez, fair hair and +a painfully self-effacing manner, who had been quartered on the house +by Judge Taylor for the purpose of documenting a vast accumulation of +papers in Simon Varr's study. He took a mouthful of the pilau, started +slightly, and took a second to make sure his senses had not deceived +him about the first. Ten minutes later, the closest approach to any +emotion that he ever revealed was visible on his face as Creighton sent +back his plate for a third helping. + +If Miss Ocky noticed his tactless expression of awe--and she rarely +missed anything so obvious--it probably did nothing to raise the young +man in her esteem. She frankly disliked him. + +"That Merrill!" she grumbled to Creighton when they were by themselves +after dinner. "A perfect imposition on the part of Judge Taylor! Of +course I couldn't very well refuse under the circumstances, but I'll be +glad when we lose him!" + +"He must have nearly finished his work," Creighton consoled her. +"After all, he's harmless. Why does he annoy you?" + +"I don't know," was the conclusively feminine reply. "He just does." + +On the afternoon of the eleventh day after the death of Simon Varr, +Creighton had a chat with Jason Bolt in the office of the tannery that +was in no-wise remarkable except for the odd timeliness of the +detective's farewell observation. Jason had asked him if he was +satisfied with the progress made to date or whether he was discouraged +by the present lull which so closely resembled stagnation. Could he +say when the mystery might take some definite turn toward solution? + +"Ask me when the millennium is coming and be done with it," said +Creighton rather plaintively, wondering why so many people seemed to +credit detectives with oracular powers. "If Norvallis has the right +pig by the ear, Maxon may break down, turn State's evidence and hang +his accomplice. That's one possibility. Another--we may as well face +it--is that this case will go to swell the great army of unsolved +mysteries." He hesitated, then added, "There's a third possibility, of +course." + +"What is it?" + +"The chance that a break will come from some totally unexpected quarter +when we've all but given up hope. I've seen that happen a score of +times. There's no predicting it--no counting on it. But when it +comes--then look out! A case that has been placid and smooth as a mill +pond will suddenly develop the characteristics of a maelstrom!" He +smiled encouragement at the troubled Jason. "If one starts in this +case, we may reasonably expect that its gurgitations will yield us that +missing notebook if nothing more." + +He was on foot that afternoon by choice, for he had long held that a +daily walk is the best exercise for a man whose profession does not in +itself provide him with much physical activity. He preferred it to +gymnasium stuff, too; a man can think deeply while walking with perfect +safety, if he avoids traffic, whereas the hospitals are full of +misguided gentlemen who have committed the error of thinking deeply on +some other subject while engaged, say, in "skinning the cat." + +He had much to make him thoughtful these days. He was not at all +satisfied with the situation in this Varr case, though he refrained +from revealing his pessimism to others, and was reluctantly coming to +fear that Norvallis had indeed gotten the jump on him--and jumped in +the right direction. The possibility irritated him. He wished to +clear up this murder himself more than he had ever wished for anything +in his life. Wasn't Miss Ocky waiting confidently for him to do just +that? + +The intrusion of her name into his thoughts turned them into a new +channel. He knew now that before he dropped his personal supervision +of this case, before he left Hambleton for New York to attend to +matters which were pressing there, he would have to ask Miss October +Copley one of the most important questions he had ever asked in the +course of a career devoted mostly to inquisitions. The prospect gave +him a shivery feeling up and down his spine! + +He walked briskly up the short-cut through the woods and came out at +the end of the kitchen garden, now associated with a grimmer business +than the growing of vegetables. It was due to his swift pace that he +was in the open, in plain view, before he noticed two figures seated on +the big granite bowlder near the tomato-patch. He would have retreated +to the obscurity of the trees and watched that interview if Miss Ocky +had not spied him and risen instantly from her seat on the rock. + +"Come here!" she called. "The very man we want!" + +He walked over to them, and Miss Ocky's companion, a tall, handsome, +fair-haired man, stood up to acknowledge the impending introduction. +He looked pale and worn, more haggard even than that morning at the +inquest. + +"Mr. Creighton--Mr. Leslie Sherwood," said Miss Ocky quickly. "You +haven't met each other yet, have you?" + +"No, I haven't _met_ Mr. Sherwood," acknowledged the detective, +accenting the verb very slightly. + +"But you've been on my track!" said Sherwood, smiling rather nervously. +"My valet was shrewd enough to suspect the man who scraped an +acquaintance with him and showed so much interest in discovering my +whereabouts on the night of Simon Varr's murder! He followed his new +acquaintance one afternoon and saw him report to you." + +"You appear to be more fortunate than I in the intelligence of your +followers," said Creighton rather glumly. "I'm glad, though, to have +this matter brought into the open." He glanced at Miss Ocky and back +to Sherwood. "May I speak frankly, or shall we adjourn to the house by +our two selves?" + +"I have nothing to conceal from Miss Copley," answered Sherwood, +flushing slightly. "As a matter of fact, I've just been making a full +statement to her of my actions that evening and she had just advised me +strongly to consult you when you suddenly appeared." + +"Excellent advice. I'll explain my curiosity first, though. During +the course of my investigation I've had to poke up a lot of gossip and +more or less ancient history, and some of it related to you. According +to my information you were once--attentive--to Miss Lucy Copley. You +left, and she married Simon Varr. You returned, and Simon Varr, who +had not proved a kind husband, is presently murdered. I had already +noted your agitation at the inquest, and without entertaining definite +views, I still thought it advisable to learn what I could about you." + +"Quite naturally," admitted Sherwood with a certain urbanity, though +his color deepened. "I can see now that you had some reason to regard +me askance. However, the fact that you are already so well posted in +my affairs has its consoling virtues--it makes it easier for me to tell +you more." He hesitated, looked toward Miss Ocky as if for +encouragement, received it in a short nod and added slowly, "I may as +well begin with a circumstance that would probably have crystallized +your suspicions of me if you had learned it for yourself." + +"What was that?" asked the detective a bit impatiently. + +"I was present at the murder," said Sherwood. + + + + +_XX: H. Antaeus Krech_ + +Miss Ocky, who had heard the story already, sat down on the rock and +calmly waited its continuance, but Creighton's eyes narrowed. + +"You were present! At the murder!" + +"In the background only, I assure you," amended Sherwood, and plunged +rather desperately into his account. "It is a habit of mine to grab my +hat and stick and take a short walk every evening before going to bed, +and that was how I came to be out that night. I had no special +objective, and--and because old memories had been stirred by my return +I almost unconsciously cut across the fields near my house and headed +for that path which leads to this garden. I used to do that twenty-two +years ago when--when there used to be some one to meet me right by this +rock! Somehow, I felt as if I wanted to--to look at a certain lighted +window before I turned in. I don't expect you to understand--" + +"I do, however! What time was all this?" + +"Half-past ten, roughly. When I got here, the only light burning was +in Simon's study--otherwise the house was in darkness, which seemed to +me an ironic commentary on my foolish gesture! The study light went +out almost immediately, but I lingered on. I sat down on a fallen log +in the deep shadow of those trees--there, to the right of the path--and +began to think back to old times. One discovery I made was that I +hated Simon Varr more than ever after all these years. Damaging +confession, I suppose? + +"Twenty or thirty minutes must have passed. Then I heard a cautious +step on the trail--and nearly fell off my log when a figure in the garb +of a monk glided into the open. Rather weird! Sounds silly here, of +course, but for a moment my hair stood on end. I had a notion that I +was seeing a ghost! + +"Before I recovered my wits, it--it happened! I had supposed Simon had +gone to bed when his light went out, but now he appeared from around +the corner of the house. It was obvious that he was stalking the monk. +It was like watching a scene in a melodrama, and I couldn't have moved +hand or foot to save my life. All of a sudden, Varr rushed him. I +thought the fellow would run, but instead of that he waited. When +Simon got close, the monk appeared to raise a sort of mask he wore. I +heard Simon cry out something in a surprised voice, and then I saw a +flash of steel as the monk threw up his arm and brought it down. Simon +dropped to the ground and lay on his back--and the monk glided off down +that trail before I realized that I had seen a murder!" + +"Why didn't you chase him--holler--do _something_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"Couldn't seem to budge," said Sherwood briefly. He looked a little +hurt. "If you think it was just cowardice you're jolly well mistaken! +I had no sensation of fear at any time. You've heard the expression, +'rooted with amazement'? Well, I was it! + +"I was still in that condition three minutes later, perhaps, when I +heard another, heavier step on the trail. A man appeared, and from the +way he walked I could tell he had been drinking. He staggered toward +the body, but he was staring at the house and shaking his fist at it. +He reeled off the cement path and almost stumbled over Simon before he +saw him. He gave a cry, and stooped to look closer--then turned and +bolted for dear life and vanished down the trail. He had been scared +sober! + +"I began to get back my senses. The first thing I thought of was my +own position and what I should do. If I were called on to account for +my presence there it would involve the mention of Lucy's name if I told +the truth--and to save my neck I couldn't think of a plausible lie! +There was none to explain my presence in Varr's kitchen garden at +eleven o'clock at night! + +"I felt under no obligation to give the alarm--it never once occurred +to me that the second man wasn't tearing hell-for-leather to the +police-station with his story! I did, however, feel that I could not +leave Simon lying there with a knife in him while there was a +possibility of his being still alive. It took all the nerve I had, but +I walked out and took a careful look at him. I knew enough about +anatomy to see at once that he had been stabbed through the heart and +must have died instantly. Then I lost no time in getting away--" + +"You kept to this cement path?" + +"Yes; I had sense enough to leave no tracks in that soft earth. I got +home without meeting any one, and I hoped I would never be drawn into +the case. + +"It gave me a jolt when I found the crime had not been reported by that +second man. The inquest reassured me when it seemed as if everybody +was at a loss to know who had committed the murder. They could remain +at a loss for all of me, so long as I wasn't brought into the case--and +Lucy! Then, the next morning, the papers had the news of Maxon's +arrest! I haven't slept much since!" + +"I'm hardly surprised," said Creighton dryly. "Your story does one +thing to the Queen's taste--it corroborates Maxon's description of his +movements that evening. He was drunk when he broke jail, he had an +hour or so to kill before meeting Drusilla Jones, and he staggered up +here with the tipsy notion of wrecking the garden to spite old Varr. +He was sobered by what he found, as you noticed, but even then didn't +have sense enough to see that his best bet was to go straight to the +police. He claims he never stopped to think how black appearances +against him would be. Would you be able to swear that he was the man +you saw here after the murder?" + +"Yes. I went to court when he was examined and remanded and I +recognized him beyond a shadow of doubt." + +"And I'm to understand you've kept silent simply out of consideration +for Mrs. Varr?" + +"That weighs a good deal with me," said Sherwood quietly. "I haven't +enjoyed these past nine days, Mr. Creighton. When I couldn't stand it +any longer, I came to Miss Copley to tell her of my difficulty." + +"And I advised him to talk with you and be guided by your +instructions," threw in Miss Ocky. + +"What had I better do?" asked Sherwood hopelessly. + +"Do! There's a man in the county jail with an ugly charge hanging over +him that a word from you will lift--and you ask me what to do!" +Creighton was scandalized. "Go to Norvallis--instantly! Tell him the +truth and let him decide how much publicity must attend the liberation +of Maxon. I don't think he will insist upon much!" + +"You're right, Mr. Creighton--but not helpful." + +"Helpful! What did you expect?" snorted the detective indignantly. +"Did you think I'd encourage you to let Maxon rot in jail just to humor +your quixotic notions about gossip and a woman's name? I sympathize +with your difficulty, but that's as far as I can go. There are two +things I've never done and never expect to do knowingly--let an +innocent man suffer unjustly or a guilty one escape!" + +"At this point there was loud applause from the gallery!" murmured Miss +Ocky in her soft, amused drawl, and brought him to earth. "Go on, +Leslie, and do your duty. It can't be helped." + +"Very well," said Mr. Sherwood unhappily, and got off the rock. +"Nothing more you want to ask me, is there?" + +"N-no," answered the detective, a bit subdued by Miss Ocky's rebuke. +"Yes--one thing. What did this confounded monk look like?" + +"Well, I can't help you much there. I got the impression that he wore +a mask--as Miss Copley did when she saw him on the trail. He was +dressed from head to foot in black. He even wore black gloves; it was +an odd thing that made me notice that. Have you ever seen a man +straighten up from some completed task and stand looking down at it, +nodding his head and rubbing his hands together as if to say, 'Well, +there's a good job over and done with'? That's what this fellow did as +he stood above Simon--" + +"_Oh!_" gasped Miss Ocky, and collapsed limply on the bowlder, her face +ashen. "Oh!" + +"What is it?" snapped Creighton, wheeling upon her. "What is the +matter?" + +"It's all so ghastly--so--so cold-blooded!" she managed to stammer. +"Don't mind me. I'm all right." + +"Um," said Creighton, eyeing her doubtfully. "You come into the house +and get a rest before dinner! Good-day, Mr. Sherwood!" + +He carried his point without much difficulty. He hovered over Miss +Ocky until he had her safely in the house and on her way to her room, +and for once her militant spirit seemed burned out. He reproached +himself bitterly for having let her listen to Sherwood, though nobody +could have foreseen that the noodle-pated idiot would start +embroidering his story with graphically gruesome tidbits! Why hadn't +he kept his fat head shut? Serve him right if Norvallis jumped _him_ +next and put him in the jug for political prestige! For a few minutes +Creighton was almost cheerful as he pondered that possibility. + +Fortunately for his peace of mind, Miss Ocky reappeared for dinner and +impressed him as having entirely regained her composure. She was her +usual gently mocking, always slightly cynical and amusing self. As the +swift conversation flashed back and forth between them--past the +apparently unconscious person of young Mr. Merrill--he gradually +recovered his own equanimity and was quite himself again by the time he +and Miss Ocky settled to coffee and cigarettes in the cozy corner of +the veranda. + +"Almost time for Mr. Krech to make his evening call," she suggested. +"They dine earlier at the Bolts' than we do here." + +"Queer thing about Krech," mused Creighton. "I've never seen him take +so little interest in a case as he does in this. Usually he is at my +heels from morning until night, spraying questions the way a +machine-gun sprays bullets. Now he just blows in--and presently blows +out." + +"Oh!" said Miss Ocky. She sat up straight, scratched her chin +meditatively with one slim forefinger, and darted him a look that he +missed. "Mmph. Y-yes, that is queer." + +"Of course he's devoted to his wife," continued the detective, "and I +suppose that distracts a man from the pursuit of a mere hobby." + +"Briefly," said Miss Ocky. "Briefly!" + +"A charming woman ought not to be cynical--" Creighton broke off and +raised his hand. "He's coming now; you can hear that car of Bolt's six +miles on a quiet night! Shall we tell him about Leslie Sherwood?--the +poor chap hasn't had anything so nourishing for a week." + +"Swear him to secrecy," stipulated Miss Ocky. + +Thus, when the big man appeared and dropped into a chair, he was duly +pledged to discretion and informed of the fact that an eyewitness of +the murder had turned up. + +"My gosh!" he exclaimed when the details had been told. "Why, that +just naturally blows Norvallis clean out of water! What'll he do if he +loses Mr. Vote-getter Maxon?" + +"Pinch Sherwood," chuckled Creighton. "That ought to net him even +handsomer returns." + +"Oh--_no_!" cried Miss Ocky, and turned white. "Oh, I think it is +simply disgraceful that such things can happen in a civilized country! +Bad enough to be the subject of gossip and suspected of a crime, but to +be actually imprisoned on mere suspicion--" + +"I was only joking," cut in the detective hastily. "Norvallis will +make no such stupid blunder. I'm sorry to say there is a wide +difference between what can be done to a mere workingman and what may +be done to a country gentleman of position." + +"So much the worse!" snapped Miss Ocky unappeased. + +"This lets out Charlie Maxon," muttered Krech, and regarded his friend +morosely. "Seems to me, Creighton, that every time this case takes one +step forward, it slides back two. Jason Bolt is getting fearfully down +in the mouth. When this news reaches him it will be the finishing +touch." + +"I had a talk with him this afternoon," said the detective, and flicked +his cigarette over the veranda rail. "Reminded him that Rome wasn't +built in a day and that murderers aren't always caught in a night, that +the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and dropped a few other +comforting thoughts in similar vein. I also mentioned that one never +knew in a case of this kind when something might happen--" + +"_It's happening now!_" + +Krech hissed the words in a fierce whisper. His eyes had automatically +followed the detective's glowing cigarette and had been attracted by +something farther off, barely visible through the deepening dusk. +Almost before Miss Ocky and Creighton could sense the meaning of his +words, he had sprung to his feet and vaulted the veranda railing. +Thanks to a downhill slope of the ground at this point the piazza floor +was a full nine feet from the grass lawn, and they heard a hearty grunt +as Krech alighted. Then he recovered his footing and sped with +extraordinary swiftness for so large a man across the sward in the +direction of that woods that edged it. + +"What is it?" gasped Miss Ocky. "Oh--what is it?" + +"The monk!" cried Creighton. "The monk!" + +His glance, darting ahead of the speeding Krech, had discerned an +unmistakable figure outlined against a clump of white birch as though +the monk had deliberately chosen a background against which he would be +most conspicuous to the group on the piazza. He was standing there +motionless, apparently indifferent to the rushing menace of Krech, and +through the detective's brain, searing it like a flame, shot the memory +of something Sherwood had said, "I thought the fellow would run, but +instead of that he waited!" He was waiting now! + +"Krech!" cried the detective. "_Careful--careful!_" + +His hands were on the rail of the veranda. It had not taken two +seconds for him to size the situation and shout his warning, and those +same seconds were occupied in getting out of his chair and dashing to +the rail. He had one leg over this when two hands like steel clamps +circled his right arm and gripped him fiercely. + +"Please--oh, _please_!" stammered a frightened voice. + +"_Ocky!_" he gasped in furious protest. "_Leggo!_" + +He wrenched himself free and went sprawling over the rail, a wordless +prayer in his heart that no broken legs or sprained ankles were to be +his portion. He landed unhurt in a providential flowerbed, and +struggled again to his feet to discover that both the monk and Krech +had vanished. + +There was a little-used trail which commenced near the birch-trees and +ran sharply downhill to the small house that Miss Ocky had donated to +her nephew and his bride. Creighton knew of its existence, and never +doubted now that the monk had disappeared into it at the last moment +with the impetuous Krech in full pursuit. He drew an electric torch +from his hip-pocket as he raced for the dark entrance to the path, +anxiety for his friend the paramount force that speeded his flying feet. + +"Why did he try to jump him like that?" he thought. "If he had only +used his head a bit! He could have sauntered into the house, out the +back door, crept through the woods and taken the fellow in the rear. +He has all the courage of a mad bull--and about as much sense." + +This unkind summary of Krech's character was no sooner complete than +Creighton himself was in the trail, plunging headlong down its sharp +declivity with quite as much recklessness as his friend had shown, save +the advantage of his flash. He played its powerful beam ahead of him +as he ran and leaped, until twenty yards from the entrance he suddenly +dug his heels hard into the rubble of the path to halt his wild career +as the light showed him the body of a man lying face downward in the +trail. Its bulk alone left no doubt of identity. + +"_Hell!_" snapped the detective, and the one vicious word was the +epitome of all that he felt. + +With desperate haste he jammed the torch into a crotch of a small tree +so that its rays illuminated the scene, then dropped to his knees +beside the prone body of his friend, exerted all his strength and +rolled it over on its back. His eager fingers, pressing, prodding, +explored the still form throughout its length. + +"No wounds--no broken bones," was his first relieved diagnosis. Then +"Hello--here we are!" An angry red abrasion on the big man's forehead +had caught his attention. He touched it, and smiled as it elicited a +groan from the victim that sounded to Creighton like celestial music. +"A crack on the head--knocked him out!" he muttered, then raised his +voice. "I say, Krech--come to, old man, come to!" + +The adjuration seemed to penetrate Mr. Krech's dazed faculties. His +eyes opened, blinked once or twice, opened again and stared tranquilly +up into Creighton's. His lips moved and words issued. + +"A fall like that," he observed calmly, "would have killed an ordinary +man." + +"Thank heaven!" ejaculated the detective fervently. "Are you much +hurt? What happened?" + +"Tripped--came down with a dirty wallop and cracked my head on +something awfully hard." He raised himself cautiously to a sitting +position and glanced about him. "That chunk of granite there--doesn't +it look to you as if it were freshly broken?" + +"I guess it was only this big root!" said Creighton, and laughed aloud +in his relief. Then his mirth abruptly gave way to surprise. "Hello," +he said. "Hello--hello--hello!" + +He had been looking around too, and now he picked up a loose end of +stout wire that was attached at one extremity to a sapling. There +could be no question as to what it was doing there. Until Krech's shin +had snapped it, it had been stretched taut across the trail a foot +above the ground. + +"Gee Joseph!" exclaimed the big man, staring at the simple apparatus of +destruction. "Clever little hellion, ain't he?" He stood up, moved +his arms and legs tentatively and gave himself a shake. + +"All right?" asked Creighton quickly. + +"Never felt better in my life. Little shaking-up like that--good for a +man. Who was the ancient johnnie that used to bounce up from the earth +a bit stronger for every time he hit it?" + +"Antaeus," suggested the detective absently. + +"Uh-huh. H. Antaeus Krech--that's me." He added with more appropriate +seriousness, "What became of our little playmate?" + +"Search me," replied Creighton, still thoughtful. "I'm trying to +figure out what was back of all this. It was a prearranged trap, of +course. He showed himself deliberately, invited us to chase him, then +arranged this wire to insure his get-away. But--why?" + +"I can give you a good guess, Peter, my boy," said Krech slowly. "I +think I have inadvertently saved your life." + +"Huh? What's that?" + +"Suppose you are getting too close to the truth of who killed Simon +Varr--or suppose the murderer thinks you are, which comes to the same +thing. He doesn't care for the idea--not a-tall. So he has a happy +inspiration and plots this scenario as you have described it--only to +draw an anticlimax. You were supposed to do the chasing. Naturally he +couldn't foresee that your guardian angel, the unfortunate me, would +come galloping down here and spring his trap. + +"What if it had been you who was slumbering peacefully in the middle of +the path instead of me? Would you ever have awakened again? Or would +you now be sitting somewhere on a cloud talking it all over with Simon? +How's that for a theory?" + +"You think he'd have stuck a knife in me? I must admit there is a +nasty air of plausibility about your sketch." The detective mused a +moment. "There's one consolation if it's true; it's mighty +complimentary--almost flattering--to my ability!" + +He stood up and rescued his torch from its resting-place in the tree. +As he took it down, its beam was deflected briefly along the trail, and +in that instant he uttered a quick exclamation. + +"Look there!" he snapped. "What's that?" + + + + +_XXI: Twilight_ + +Krech came to attention at the detective's exclamation and his eyes +followed the ray of light from the torch as Creighton directed it to a +point on the ground scarcely two yards from their feet. An oblong, +flat package wrapped in brown paper lay in the trail. They dove for it +together and Creighton secured it, properly enough, since the +flash-light revealed his name on the face of it, scrawled in the same +uncouth writing that they had seen before on the anonymous +communication of the monk to Simon Varr. + +"What's in it?" demanded Krech, and added a trifle anxiously, "It +doesn't tick, does it?" + +"That cropper you came evidently hasn't hurt your imagination," +chuckled the detective as he loosened the coarse string about the +package. "No, it isn't a bomb. It's--well, by golly, will you look at +what it is!" + +Very gingerly, holding it in the tips of his fingers, he lifted a red +leather notebook from its nest of brown wrappings and showed it to +Krech. The big man nearly dropped the torch which he had taken from +his friend. + +"Varr's notebook!" he cried. "It must be!" + +"It is," confirmed Creighton, who had lifted one cover with the tip of +a finger nail and glanced at the contents of a page. "Now, isn't this +lovely! Who says we can't recover loot? The thief may have to hand it +to us on a tray, but it's only results that count! Say, Krech--there +goes your melodramatic theory of a plot to bump me off." + +"I suppose so." + +"He lured me down this trail so I'd find it, and to make sure I didn't +miss it, he strung that wire where it would throw me with my face +almost on the darn thing! You'd have seen it if you hadn't been +knocked silly, and I'd have seen it if I'd been thinking of anything +but you." + +"He went to a lot of trouble that he could have spared himself for all +of me!" grunted Krech, feeling his forehead. "I must look like the +happy end of a barroom brawl. Why didn't he mail it?" + +"By golly, I don't know. That's a mighty pertinent question, Mr. +Krech. We'll get the answer when we get the crook, I expect. I'm not +so fearfully surprised at getting back this notebook; did it ever +strike you that there might be another explanation of its disappearance +other than simple theft?" + +"N-no. If there's another reason, I missed it." + +"The dagger wasn't used to further the looting of Varr's desk. Just +the contrary is the truth, I believe. The notebook was stolen to cover +the theft of the dagger." + +"Gee Joseph!" Krech whistled softly. "That checks up with the theory +of an inside job! Creighton--_who_?" + +"That's something I hope to find out pretty soon," replied the +detective gravely. "Come on back to the house--and, listen! We lost +sight of the monk. We hunted a while until you tripped and hurt your +head, then we gave up the search and came home. Get it? Not another +word!" + +"Right," said the big man obediently. + +There was no one on the veranda when they emerged from the woods. Two +figures moved in the lamp-lit hall as they entered the house. Bates +came up to greet them nervously, and young Merrill lurked in the offing +looking curious. + +"Is everything all right, sir?" asked the butler timidly. + +"Perfectly all right. Where is Miss Copley?" + +"Retired, sir. She left word for you that she would not be down again +this evening." + +The news that she had left a message for him was welcome. He had been +troubled by the recollection of the cavalier fashion in which he had +shaken off her hand on his arm, and he was uncomfortably certain that +in his haste he had addressed her, as he thought of her, by her family +nickname. + +"Go tap on her door, please, Bates, and tell her that I am back with +nothing to report. Wait--take Mr. Krech up with you and show him my +room. He has a forehead he wants to bathe." + +The butler went off, and Krech, after a mild protest, accompanied him. +Creighton, when they were out of sight, beckoned Merrill to follow and +went swiftly into the living-room. + +"Find out at once if any one has been absent from the house during the +past hour. Let me know." + +"Done it already, sir. Thought you'd want it. Only one person I +haven't had my eye on." + +"_Who?_" + +"Janet Mackay, sir. She went to town immediately after dinner to a +movie." + +"_Janet Mackay_! There is only one motion-picture theater?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Go there at once. Check up on her. She's a regular patron--the +ticket-girl should be able to tell you if she's been there. When you +come back, signal to me, yes or no. Understand? _Beat it_!" + +When Krech came down again he found Creighton sitting on the veranda, +smoking a cigar and apparently more in the mood to think than to talk. +It was nearly ten o'clock when a step sounded on the porch and Merrill +sauntered into view. + +"Pardon!" he said promptly, and vanished again. + +But he had obeyed his instructions and sent Creighton a sign that +started the detective's heart to thumping. Janet Mackay had not been +to the theater. Here was a coil with collateral complications that +were not pleasant to contemplate. His heart stopped thumping and made +a dive for his boots as he wondered what Miss Ocky would say when she +learned of his interest in Janet. + +"I'm going to New York on the midnight," he said abruptly. "Will you +run me to the station on your way home?" + +"Sure. Unexpected, isn't it? What are you going for?" + +"Mostly on account of this notebook." Creighton tapped the side-pocket +of his coat in which he had placed his treasure, rewrapped and tied. +"It must go to the chap in Brooklyn who does my finger-print work, and +I don't care to trust it to the mail. I've another reason for going +which I don't propose to tell you." + +"_Sus domesticus_!" cried Mr. Krech proudly, then obligingly translated +for his astonished companion. "Pig!" + +"Oh. Well, if you feel so deeply about it I suppose I might toss you a +hint. I'm going to New York to give something a chance to happen that +might not happen if I stayed here. I'll be back to-morrow evening, +late--which reminds me that I'd better catch young Merrill and leave a +message for Miss Ocky. Bates has probably gone to bed." + +He spent the night at his apartment in the city and surprised his staff +by entering his office the next morning at nine sharp--surprised them +pleasantly, it may be added, for they had come to be loyal friends no +less than faithful helpers. He exchanged cheerful greetings with a +very pretty young woman who left her typewriter and accompanied him +into his private room. + +"Something didding, Rose, I do believe." He seated himself at his +handsome, flat-top desk. "Send Jimmy here. Get Kitty Doyle on the +wire, tell her to pack a bag and stand by the telephone in case I need +her." + +A minute later he was smiling at the homely face of Jimmy Horton, his +chief of staff. + +"Got that notebook, Jimmy!" He slapped the brown package on his desk. +"The story will have to wait. I want you to take this over to Martin +yourself. Leave it there. Ask him to make every effort to bring out +such prints as there may be on the covers. If he finds any, tell him +to compare them with the assortment I sent him from Hambleton last week +and see if any of them check. He is to telephone me his findings here, +or wire them to me at Hambleton if I've gone back. Understand?" + +"Perfectly. Does he mail you the book?" + +"No. When he's through with it, you go back and get it. Be careful of +it, Jimmy. If it comes to a choice of losing that book or losing your +life, you hang on to the book." + +"I get you!" grinned Jimmy. "Doesn't the recovery of this notebook +technically end your commission? We're up to our ears in work here. +Why are you going back to Hambleton?" + +"Because--because I darn well choose to!" Creighton writhed inwardly +as he felt his cheeks growing hot. "On your way, young man--you ought +to be under the East River by this time!" + +Nevertheless, a certain compunction helped him to put the Varr case, +and even Miss Ocky, out of his mind for the balance of the morning +while he laboriously worked through an accumulation of other matters +that had been waiting for his personal attention. At one o'clock he +went to the basement of the building for a hurried lunch in the +rathskeller, leaving word of his whereabouts with Rose. + +It was well that he did so. With the coffee came an extension +telephone that was plugged in at his elbow, and a distant voice spoke +clearly in his ear. + +"Merrill speaking. I'm telephoning from the railroad station. You +guessed right, sir. The woman has just left for New York. Seemed a +bit low in her mind--been crying and was still sniffling. She's +wearing a dark-gray cloth dress--black oxfords--small black hat with a +green feather--black fur neck-piece--brown leather suit-case-- What's +that, sir? No, sir!" Mr. Merrill's voice was gently reproachful. +"She's not wearing the suit-case; she's carrying it. Yes, sir. I +thought she acted rather queer--nervous, unhappy and fidgety." + +"And no doubt she is! Thank you, Merrill. Good work!" + +Creighton hung up the receiver, shook his head at the waiter who came +for the instrument, then called an uptown number. A woman's voice +answered--bright, alert, faintly tinged with a soft brogue. + +"Miss Doyle speaking." + +"Hello, Kitty! Did you pack that bag? Good. I want you to meet the +train from Hambleton arriving four-thirty. Janet Mackay is on it. You +can't miss her--listen!" He rattled off Merrill's description of the +woman's dress. "Shadow her, Kitty; follow her to Kamchatka if you have +to. Keep your eyes and ears open. Use your own judgment in regard to +scraping up an acquaintance if an opportunity offers. She's dour, and +probably a bit suspicious. I can give you one useful tip about +her--she talks in her sleep. _Huh_! That will be all from you, Miss +Doyle; it doesn't matter how I know. Wire me any news as you get it to +Hambleton. Have you plenty of money?" + +"Couple of hundred, I'll telegraph if I need more." + +"Right. Whatever happens, Kitty--stay with her!" + +"Like a Siamese twin," the bright voice assured him. "Is there +anything special I'm to try and find out?" + +"Well, you know the nature of this case." Creighton hesitated. "A +confession would be very useful--if you could get it!" + +"Crumbs!" gasped Miss Doyle. "Did _she_ do it?" + +"I have no definite proof--yet. There's just enough evidence to +warrant our taking a warm interest in her. This sudden departure from +Hambleton may be--flight!" + +"Oh-ho. And she chose her time while you were here, thus avoiding any +embarrassing farewell scene with you! Quite so. Leave her to me, Mr. +Creighton. I'll wire you from Liverpool or Buenos Aires or Paris--" + +"Or Hoboken or Harlem!" he corrected her. + +"Much more likely." + +He sent away the telephone, ordered fresh coffee, lighted a cigarette +and glanced at his watch. Two courses were open to him. He could put +in the afternoon at the office and thereby clear up a lot of stuff for +Rose and Jimmy, returning late to Hambleton as he had planned, or he +could catch a train that would get him there just in time for dinner. +Um. + +He caught the train that was to get him there just in time for dinner. +Bates, meeting him in the hall and relieving him of his bag, dashed his +hopes forthwith. + +"I'm afraid we weren't expecting you, sir," said the butler +apologetically. "Miss Ocky is dining at Mrs. Bolt's. I'll have +something ready for you in about half-an-hour, sir. Will that be all +right, sir?" + +"Fine, Bates; thank you." + +"A judgment on me for my sins of omission!" he told himself +philosophically. "I should have stayed on the job at the office." + +He went and put his head in at the dining-room door, where Merrill had +just commenced his solitary dinner. The young man signaled to him +instantly that he had a communication to make. Bates had vanished to +the upper floor with his bag, and when Creighton had assured himself +that there was no one in the pantry, he stepped quickly to Merrill's +side. + +"I wanted to tell you that Miss Copley and the Mackay woman had a long +talk in Miss Copley's room very late last night--or early this morning, +rather. It was nearly four o'clock when Janet went to bed. They were +talking about something very--well, _fiercely_. Almost quarreling. I +couldn't make out the words. That's all, sir; I should really have +reported this to you over the wire." + +"So you should, my boy, so you should," muttered Creighton absently. +"No harm done this time, fortunately." + +He slipped away before the butler should return, and went out to the +veranda to wait until something had been prepared for him. He was glad +of the brief opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. + +Merrill's latest bit of information was disturbing in the extreme--so +disturbing that he had to force his mind to consider a possibility from +which it shrank aghast. The two women had "talked fiercely." They had +"almost quarreled." _What about_? A hypothetical answer came to him +so ugly that it chilled him to the bone. + +Granted that Janet Mackay, from motives yet obscure, had killed Simon +Varr, had Miss Ocky somehow learned the truth and become an accessory +after the crime? Swayed by her dislike of Simon and her friendship for +her companion of a score of years, had she condoned a crime and helped +a murderess to escape? What was that she had once said? "Janet and I +are fearfully responsible for each other!" + +_Oof_! He took out his handkerchief and vigorously rubbed at the moist +palms of his hands. + +He had sat in this very same spot the night before and worried over +Miss Ocky's probable reaction to a theory of Janet's guilt, but he had +not dreamed of anything so terrible as this. Ocky an accessory! +Finished with his palms, he shifted the handkerchief to his brow. + +An unwelcome memory stirred in him of the scene the evening before when +he had leaped the piazza rail in pursuit of the monk. He could feel +again her grip on his arm. Had she known that the black figure was +Janet and sought to restrain him lest he catch her? Obvious! And he +had ascribed that action to timidity or even--blatant ass!--to fear for +his safety. Fear! As if October Copley knew the meaning of the word +either for herself or any one else! "Afraid for his safety?" His +cheeks were red as he spared a mirthless laugh for an egotistical idiot. + +"Dinner is served, sir," announced Bates, appearing in his silent +fashion around the corner of the house. "It is not very elaborate, I'm +afraid, sir." + +"It will be ample," Creighton assured him, and added a trifle bitterly, +"I don't seem to have much appetite this evening." + + + + +_XXII: A Cry in the Night_ + +During the progress of that mournful meal his discomfort was vastly +increased by the sudden reflection that he was now confronted with a +most disagreeable necessity. He bit his lip and frowned, strongly +tempted deliberately to sidestep a task so uncongenial. + +No--he couldn't shirk it! Come what might, he would see this through +and force himself to act in every respect as he would have acted were +Ocky not involved. She was clean and straight herself, even if +misguided loyalty to Janet had caused her momentarily to swerve from +the narrow path of rectitude, and it would be no compliment to her if +he were to scamp his job. Antagonists they might be in this contest of +wits, but she was too sporting ever to want him to do aught but play +the game for all that was in him. + +"What time will Miss Copley be back?" he asked the butler. + +"She said about ten, sir." + +That would give him ample time for what he proposed to do. The dreary +dinner ended, he went upstairs as though going to his room, but he did +not get quite so far. The hall was empty. The house was still. He +knew there was small chance of any one interrupting him while he worked. + +Softly, he turned the knob of Miss Ocky's door, slipped inside and +closed it again behind him. He crossed the room and drew the curtains +of the French window before taking his torch from his pocket. + +Then, tight-lipped, he set to work. + +An hour passed before his search, swift, silent and sure, approached +its end. He had found nothing to incriminate Janet Mackay, nothing to +connect her departure with any guilty knowledge thereof on the part of +Miss Ocky. He smiled contentedly at the result, exulting in his +failure, then sobered suddenly as the light from his torch, playing +over her desk, discovered to him a neat, leather-bound book with the +word "Diary" stamped in gold across its top cover. + +A diary! Why in thunder did people keep 'em? Ocky had got the habit +from keeping notes for her books, he supposed. Silly things, always +getting their owners into trouble! He glared at the innocent book a +full minute before he reluctantly opened it and sought the entries for +the past few weeks. There were not many, thank goodness; she was not a +faithful diarist. He scanned them rapidly, gathering courage as it +grew plain that there was nothing here the whole world might not read. +Then he caught his breath and stood transfixed as one entry, dated +three days back, sped its message to his brain. + +"The usual talk with P. C. last night from balcony to balcony. He is +amusing and very entertaining--amazingly kind and sympathetic despite +his profession, which must tend to harden a man--though he will not +admit it!" So much was in her bold, firm writing, but underneath a +line had been added in fainter, more uncertain script. "Why couldn't +we have met twenty years ago!" + +Creighton shut the book quickly, flicked off his torch, stood +motionless in the dark. His breast was a chaos of wild, conflicting +emotions. There was rejoicing at what he had found, loathing for the +way he had found it, terror of the problems it portended. That +regretful line in her diary revealed some feeling for him, he felt +sure, but what would become of that newborn sentiment when she learned +that he had-- + +The raucous blare of a motor-horn from the direction of the driveway +cut sharply through his abstraction. He leaped for the door and gained +the hall in safety, then sauntered downstairs to find not one arrival +but two. Miss Ocky had returned ahead of schedule, and a messenger on +a motorcycle had come with a telegram. + +"Telegram for Creighton." + +"Right here." He scrawled a signature in the book, opened the wire and +read it by his flash-light. "No answer." + +He read it again as the boy putt-putted off into the darkness. + + +"_We leave for Montreal to-night. Cheers. Can I have one on you? +Address General Delivery, Montreal. K. Doyle._" + + +He struck a match and held it to the corner of the yellow sheet. By +the time it was burned and the charred fragments crunched beneath his +heel, Miss Ocky had garaged the car and come around to the front steps. + +"Hello," she said, rather wearily. "Never dreamed you'd be back +already!" + +"Couldn't stay away," he said lightly. "Have a nice time at the Bolts?" + +"Rotten," answered Miss Ocky tersely. "My own fault--I've been low in +my mind all day." She pulled off her driving gloves and waved with +them toward the veranda. "Come and give me a cigarette." + +"What has been worrying you?" he asked her quietly when they were +settled in the cozy corner. "Anything serious?" + +"Janet has gone. I shall miss her--terribly--after all these years. +She insisted, though, and I had no right to refuse her." + +"But she will miss you, too, surely." + +"Possibly." + +"She's going home to Scotland, I suppose?" + +"N-no." Miss Ocky hesitated, then added calmly, "She is going to a +sister in New Orleans." + +"Oh," said Creighton, and it seemed to him that some one else must have +uttered the word, so far away did it sound. "Very nice for her." + +"Let's--forget her," suggested Miss Ocky. + +There was no talk from balcony to balcony that night. Miss Ocky begged +off on the plea of fatigue, and it was fairly evident that the plea was +perfectly honest. She acted as if she were tired, she looked so, and +Creighton, grimly comparing the fiction of New Orleans with the fact of +Montreal, could no longer doubt that she had every reason to be tired, +mentally and physically. + +He was none too fit himself when he came down to breakfast the next +morning after a miserable night's rest. He could scarcely eat +anything. He rose from the table finally and sped into the front hall +at the sound of a motorcycle, and when he accepted two wires from a +messenger and dismissed him, his powers of resistance were pitifully +inadequate to withstand the greatest shock he was ever to receive in +all his life. + +The first was a night-letter from Martin, the finger-print expert. + + +"_Numerous prints on cover of took. Freshest superimposed on others +are one of thumb top cover four of finger tips on bottom, made by +number eight in collection you sent me. Characteristics distinctive. +No possibility of error. Martin._" + + +Number eight of the collection he had made! Made since the death of +Simon Varr, then, and by some one in the household! Here was a +tangible clue to the truth at last! + +He took his memorandum book from his pocket and turned its pages with +fingers that trembled slightly until he found the list that he had +started with Betty Blake. Swiftly, his eyes went to number eight. + +"No. 8. October Copley." That was the entry. + +A full minute passed before he stooped and recovered the memorandum +book which had slipped from his grasp, together with the second +telegram. He shook his head impatiently in an effort to clear it of +the stupor which numbed his brain. + +Why should he be affected like this? he demanded angrily of himself. +What was there here that couldn't be explained in the light of facts +already known? It was no news to him now that Ocky was aiding Janet to +escape the consequences of her crime, and it was plain enough what must +have happened. She had found the notebook in Janet's possession, +handled it cautiously and left those prints, then insisted upon its +return to its rightful owners. That was all. His heart began to pound +less violently, and presently he was opening the second telegram, which +he saw at once was a straight wire from Kitty Doyle filed early that +morning. + + +"_Same compartment in sleeper. She had lower berth. Was very +restless. Talked several times. Could only hear one sentence, +repeated frequently. Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it? +She wired Hotel Beauclerc Montreal for reservation. K. Doyle._" + + +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it?" + +For a few moments that sentence written in letters of fire danced madly +before his eyes. Then it cleared away and left him gazing at the +peaceful woods beyond the patch of velvet lawn. His face was +expressionless, but his lips moved slowly. + +"That's it. That's it, of course. It's been there all the time. I +knew it. I was just afraid to face it. Now--I've got to." + +He was standing on the veranda, but he had an odd sense that his brain +had detached itself from his body and was floating high in the air, +whence it had a comprehensive, bird's-eye view of the whole situation. +The chief actors in the drama were there, and as his brain watched them +they dissolved briefly into mist, then reformed slowly into a sort of +allegorical tableau. + +There was Miss Ocky, arrayed in the somber robes of a monk, a stained +dagger held loosely in her fingers, an illusive, faintly mocking smile +on her lips. There was a great figure in white, a bandage about its +eyes, leaning negligently on a long, two-edged sword, its calm, +sightless face turned toward the woman in black. There was Janet +Mackay, gaunt and ugly, interposing her thin body between the two, a +pitifully inadequate shield. They all appeared to be waiting for +something, and presently it was evident that the attention of the two +women was centered on the figure of a funny little man whose troubled +eyes peered out from behind a huge pair of shell-rimmed glasses as he +stood beside the goddess, hesitant, his hand stretched out to loose the +bandage from the eyes of Justice. + +The vision faded until only the funny little man was left. The watcher +on high saw him turn and enter the house, calm and composed, putting +two telegrams and a notebook into his pocket as he walked the length of +the hall and into the pantry. His voice was placid when he spoke. + +"Bates, fix me up a couple of sandwiches and a flask of black coffee. +I've been a bit seedy lately and I'm going to try the effects of a long +walk. I may not be back until quite late." + +"Yes, sir. I'll have them in a few minutes, sir." + +After an interminable wait of centuries, a neat package was forthcoming +and he was at length able to leave the house and plunge into the woods, +his destination the little cave in the hills where he and Miss Ocky had +shared their picnic lunch. There he could be alone, secure from +interruption, while two little devils, devised for the torment of man, +donned the gloves and staged in the squared circle of his heart the +age-old battle between love and duty. + +It was a memorable fight, that. Love went down for the count of nine +more than once, but more often it was the ugly little demon of duty +that the end of a round left hanging on the ropes. Not until dusk had +fallen was the referee able to hold up the arm of the victor. + +It was ten o'clock when he limped wearily into the quiet house and +slipped noiselessly to his room. His first glance was for his desk, +where telegrams might be found if any had come. There were none, but a +large white envelope, sealed but unaddressed, lay on the blotting-pad. +He took it up and ripped it open. Two letters, stamped and ready for +mailing, fell on the desk. He stared at them indifferently, then +picked them up and thrust them in his pocket. + +He sat down, determined to act while his decision was fresh, and drew +writing materials toward him. It was a very simple note that he +intended to write, and it was just that when he finally finished it, +but six false starts lay in the trash-basket beside his desk. He read +over the completed product. + + +"_My dear Mr. Bolt--Pressure of business recalls me to New York early +to-morrow morning before I can have an opportunity to see you. I am +happy to say that Mr. Varr's notebook has been recovered, under +circumstances which I hereby authorize Mr. Krech to describe to you. I +will send it to you by messenger. I regret that I cannot name the +thief, whose identity, in my opinion, will never be learned. I shall +look forward to seeing you when I again visit Hambleton, which I hope +to do after a short period of work and rest. Sincerely yours, Peter +Creighton._" + + +He stood up, holding the open letter in his hand. His head was heavy. +Hardly conscious of what he was doing, he went to the French windows, +pulled them open and stepped out on the balcony. Instantly, a low +voice challenged him from the darkness. + +"Mr. Creighton! I'm so glad! I thought you must be lost! I've been +waiting here--! Please, will you do something for me?" + +"I'm always ready for that, Miss Copley." + +"I want you to come here. The door of my room is unlocked." The low +voice grew even fainter. "I--I am very ill," said Miss Ocky. + + + + +_XXIII: The Darkest Hour_ + +Everything else faded from his mind at the emergency suggested by her +last words. + +He was with her in five seconds. In that time she had retreated from +the balcony and was lying back in a deep, upholstered armchair near the +open window, a soft woolen lap-robe over her knees and tucked about her +feet. He leaned over her anxiously. + +"You are ill? What is it?" he questioned her swiftly. "Let me go for +the doctor!" + +"No--please! It isn't a case for a doctor--yet. I must talk to you +first." There was a straight-backed chair close by, as though she had +placed it there for him, and she waved him to it. She did not continue +until he had reluctantly seated himself on its edge, bending forward to +watch her face in the dim light from a single lamp across the room. +"I--there is something I must tell you. Do you remember saying one +evening that a detective must occasionally be a father-confessor as +well as--" + +"Stop!" He interrupted her, aghast, his tortured nerves rebelling +against this unexpected, fresh flagellation. "I want no confession +from you--I won't listen--!" + +"Please! You must let me have my way in this; I have a good reason for +insisting on that." Her voice was low, quiet and determined. "I want +to tell you that your search is ended. It was I who--" + +"Don't say it!" he broke in hoarsely. "I know it already!" + +"You--_what_?" Her eyes were large, incredulous. "You know that it +was I who--who killed Simon Varr?" Amazed, she saw him nod his head, +and flinched from the gesture as if it were a blow. "How did you learn +that?" + +"A score of things pointed to it from the first," he answered +miserably. "I would have seen the truth long since if--if something +else had not blinded me to it. This morning my eyes were finally +opened--" he fumbled in his pocket with shaking fingers--"by these!" + +Miss Ocky took the two telegrams, held them shoulder-high to the light, +and read them wonderingly. She exclaimed sharply over the one from +Kitty Doyle. + +"'K. Doyle'! Who is that?" + +"A clever woman detective accompanying Janet Mackay--not to New +Orleans, but to Montreal! I already knew her destination before you +attempted to mislead me." + +"A detective following Janet!" Her tone was a vigorous protest. "Oh, +you must call her back! It isn't fair to Janet! Promise me you will +call her back!" + +"I will, at once. Kitty Doyle's usefulness there--is ended!" + +She had raised herself slightly in her eagerness; now she relaxed again +with a sigh of relief. Creighton, a dull ache in his heart, waited for +her to resume the conversation. He would not take the lead. + +"So Janet talked in her sleep!" To his horror, Miss Ocky was speaking +in her amused, faintly mocking accents as though nothing mattered less +than this gruesome discussion of how she came to be exposed. "In a +Pullman, too; how very indiscreet! I should have foreseen that and +made her stick to day coaches. I knew her failing!" + +"It was a paragraph in one of your books that revealed it to me," +contributed Creighton gloomily. "You once described a bad night you +spent due to your companion talking in her sleep. That enabled me to +give my operative a tip." + +"In one of my own books! The irony of fate, that! Please, Mr. +Creighton, tell me why you happened to have Janet shadowed in the first +place. What had she done to deserve this delicate attention? Is it +possible that you suspected _her_?" + +"I most certainly did." Chin cupped in both hands, his eyes fixed on +the floor at his feet, he morosely supplied her with the salient +features of the case as he had come upon them, from the discovery of +the steel chip that pointed to an inside job to the moment when he +learned that only Janet was missing from the house on the occasion of +the monk's final appearance. "Then it developed that she hadn't been +at the theater, as she was supposed to be. I argued from the return of +the notebook that the case was drawing to a climax, so I went to New +York to see if she would take advantage of my absence to slip away. +When she did, it seemed pretty conclusive evidence of her guilt. I put +Kitty Doyle on her track. Until this morning, the worst I thought of +you was that your friendship for Janet had led you to condone her +crime." + +"Whereas the truth is exactly the reverse! Her friendship and my +crime!" She gave a little shiver. "That chip from the +dagger--interesting! It really started you on the right track, didn't +it? I never knew I'd nicked the blade. Mmph. Extraordinary what +trifles may affect our destinies! Funny, don't you think?" + +Each word she uttered in that whimsical tone was like a needle pricking +his heart. He threw out his hands protestingly, suddenly groaning the +very phrase that Janet had used in her troubled dreams. + +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it? Why did you do it?" + +"Yes, I must tell you about that." Her reply was cool, matter-of-fact, +and he did not see that she winced at the pain in his voice. "After +all, I can plead extenuating circumstances. I'll make it short as +possible; you can ask questions later if you wish. Meanwhile, please +don't interrupt me or I'll lose track of my story. + +"I had been away from here twenty-two years. When I came back ten +weeks ago I discovered a situation that I had never dreamed existed. +Lucy's letters had never been especially happy or cheerful, but neither +had they contained anything to give me even an inkling of the truth. I +did not know she was married to a human vampire, a sort of--of +spiritual leech! Words can't tell you the difference between the Lucy +I left and the Lucy I returned to! It hurt me--oh, it hurt me! + +"You won't put down all that I say about Simon to personal prejudice +because you have heard enough about him from others to realize how mean +and selfish and--and psychically cruel he could be. He never beat +Lucy, but that was simply because he specialized in a more refined type +of cruelty--and if you want to know which of the two hurts a woman +most, there are plenty of unfortunate wives who can tell you! + +"Simon owed everything he had in the world to Lucy, for it was the +money she brought to their marriage that enabled him to start his own +tannery and gave him the opportunity to develop new processes that +proved lucrative. Father disapproved of the match, but did not +actively oppose it, and when he died shortly after, Simon's feet were +on the road to fortune. Remember that, please! + +"When I came home, I found he had completely broken Lucy's spirit and +was deliberately trying to accomplish the same result in the case of +his son. He had all but succeeded, too. Money seems to be the answer +to practically every problem in this country to-day, so I was able to +come to the boy's rescue. I told you one evening how I decided to put +him on his feet, promote his elopement with Sheila Graham, who will +make him an excellent wife--and incidentally put a spoke in Simon's +wheel! + +"I began to study my brother-in-law, and the more I learned about him +the more shocked and fascinated I became. Satisfied with the lion's +share of the income from the tannery, he refused to develop the +business so that Jason's modicum might increase to reasonable +proportions. He had always hated Jason since the panic of 1907 when he +had to borrow money from him and give him a small interest in the +business. + +"He hated his manager, Graham, too, because he was beginning to be +troublesome. Graham felt that his long and faithful services deserved +some greater reward than a small raise in salary, and the one thing +Simon could not bear to do was to reward a man according to his +deserts! He decided to discharge Graham--but that did not prevent him +from threatening Copley with the ruin of Sheila's father if he did not +discontinue his attentions to the girl! Pretty? + +"I was interested in the working conditions at the tannery, conditions +that were unsanitary, primitive--obscene! I met the Maxon person in a +grocery, as I told you, but it was before the strike, not after. He +told me things, and even with a liberal discount for exaggeration, they +were pretty bad. + +"It was then I decided to take a hand in Simon's family and business +affairs! I have a queer sense of humor at times, and it rather amused +me to think of myself as a deputy of Destiny! And--and it just so +happened that I was in a position to play fast and loose with no regard +for possible consequences to myself. + +"I opened my campaign by promoting that strike! I persuaded Maxon, a +born agitator, to talk the men into doing it, and I provided him with +money so they should not be broken by hardship. Afterwards I found he +hypothecated this fund and spent it on a dance-hall girl, so I was +obliged to send more money later, in a letter signed by the monk, to a +more responsible treasurer! I was a little shocked when Maxon was +accused of murder, but my spirit rejoiced at the thought of him in +jail! _Snake_! + +"The strike only brought out Simon's worst qualities of stubbornness +and vindictiveness. He ordered a closed shop, and suspended a lot of +innocent, needy clerks without pay. Except that it goaded him to fury, +a pleasant achievement to contemplate, I had to write off my strike as +a flash in the pan. + +"I chanced to discover that Simon's heel of Achilles was his fear of +death, so my next scheme was a pious plot to frighten him into behaving +like a human being and a good citizen. I had known the legend of the +monk all my life, of course, and it was while telling it to Janet one +day that I was struck with the idea of employing it to my own +ends--though I afterwards pretended to Simon that I first heard of it +from Sheila Graham. + +"The next time I went to New York I purchased the costume and a pair of +large boots from a theatrical supply store. I made a mask myself, and +wired the cowl to stay up so that it would give the impression of a +tall man. The large boots, of course, were to give a wrong idea of the +man's size in case I left tracks. + +"Sometimes I kept the outfit in the bottom of a trunk in that closet, +there, but more often it was hidden in a cubbyhole of my little house +down the hill. There is a very ancient and disreputable typewriter in +the attic, there, too, and I used that to write my messages on. I +concealed that, by the way, under a loose piece of flooring just as a +precaution, though I did not think then that a police case would ever +grow out of what I was doing! + +"I set the first fire in the tannery, and it fizzled out. Then I wrote +my first note to Simon and waylaid him in the trail. I slipped off the +disguise in the woods, ran to overtake him and pretended I, too, had +seen a 'ghost'. The next day I brought him that historical book and +read him the legend, and I had real hopes of humanizing him when I saw +how scared he was! + +"I followed up this jolt by firing the tannery again, hoping that its +destruction would necessitate the building of modern and proper +quarters for the men to work in. I was nearly caught that time--Simon +had the cunning to order his watchman to make double rounds! + +"That night brought things to a sudden head. I had escaped from the +tannery yard, run up into the woods and shed my disguise, and came back +to stand on the hill and watch the fire. + +"It was than that Leslie Sherwood spoke to me and made no bones about +expressing his hatred of Simon Varr. I was curious to know why he was +so bitter, and I had a sneaking notion that it might have something to +do with the way Leslie had suddenly deserted Hambleton and abandoned my +sister to his only admitted rival. It did! I asked him to tell me the +story back of it and he willingly complied. + +"It appears that Simon clerked for a time in a local bank of which +Leslie's father was the president, and while there had discovered old +Mr. Sherwood guilty of serious defalcations. Sherwood was too deeply +involved to extricate himself short of stupendous good luck and years +of effort, so Simon cunningly stored away his knowledge against a day +when it might come in useful. Blackmail. + +"The occasion arrived quickly. Lucy was obviously attached to Leslie, +if not secretly engaged to him. Simon went to Leslie and told him he +must withdraw with no word of explanation to Lucy under penalty of +having his father exposed as a thief! Leslie was knocked galley-west, +of course. He went to his father, found that Simon had told the truth, +had a row with the old gentleman and departed forthwith, stricken to +his soul. + +"I don't criticize Leslie for acting that way. He was obeying the +queer standards of behavior we have set up in the West. Actually, it +never once occurred to him that to kill a blackmailer of that type +rather than permit him to ruin a woman's life might be a very righteous +deed! I see you wince, Mr. Creighton! Please remember I have lived in +the East long enough to imbibe some of its philosophy. I don't +consider one human life so much more important than the happiness of +many other people! + +"Simon's death warrant was nearly signed that night, though he was to +have one more chance. I left Leslie and came home, and I won't even +try to describe my feelings when I realized how that monster had used +his power to sneak into this house and destroy Lucy's happiness! + +"The dagger on the table caught my eye and I remembered its +inscription. 'I Bring Peace'. Suggestive--very suggestive; I thought +of the peace it would bring to a number of persons if any one had the +courage to--to play Destiny. I thought of Leslie's expression when he +told me he still loved Lucy devotedly, and of hers when she heard the +news of his return. There were two more people who would find +happiness if Simon were removed. + +"I took the dagger, but of course that was dangerous by itself, so I +slipped into the study, pried up the roll-top cover of Simon's desk and +pouched a notebook that looked as if it must be valuable. Then I had +still another idea--it seemed a good one then! The house was still, +except for Bates snoring in the pantry. I went out on the piazza and +forced the lock of one of the living-room windows with the dagger. +Mmph! Wish I'd noticed that nick! I thought I was only leaving +evidence of a burglary! + +"The next evening I had a snappy talk with Simon. I told him that the +death of old Sherwood--who succeeded in rehabilitating his fortunes +before he died--had taken that particular curse off Leslie, and that +Leslie had told me everything. Simon merely asked me what I was going +to do about it. I suggested divorce--his last chance!--and he turned +it down. Just from meanness and malice, he turned it down. Blame me +for anything you please, but don't sympathize with Simon; he asked for +it! + +"I knew a detective was coming on the morrow and I wasn't anxious to +take more chances than I had to. The hour was striking--! + +"Don't look at me like that! I won't go on with that part of it! +Harrowing and gruesome, and not at all important. + +"I'm afraid I didn't take either the police or you very seriously. +More fool I! As I examined my position it seemed to me that I had left +absolutely no clue, that I was secure from every suspicion. Mmph. I +forgot Janet! + +"She and I never had secrets from each other until this affair of Simon +Varr. I had discussed him with her and she understood just what a blot +on society he was, but I had not confessed to playing Destiny! After +the murder, however, she learned of the monk who had been threatening +Simon. She knew I detested him, she knew all my points of view, and +her old mind began to work. Janet's mind is like the mills of the +gods; it grinds slowly but exceeding fine. + +"She watched me, questioned me slyly, and presently began a search for +proof of her suspicions. She found the notebook in the back of one of +my bureau drawers, and then she found the disguise in the house below +the hill. She knew the truth! + +"She has a Scotch conscience, which appears to be a terrible +affliction! She was horrified at her discovery, almost sickened, but +her loyalty to me rose above every other consideration. If she had +only come to me--! But she didn't; she elected to follow certain +impulses of her own conception. + +"The most important thing, according to her strict notions, was that +the stolen property should be returned to its rightful owners. In +wondering how best to do that, she evolved the crazy scheme of +appearing in the monk's costume some time when I was with you. She +could leave the notebook for you to find and at the same time provide +me with a perfect and impervious alibi in case suspicion was ever +directed my way! + +"You know how it worked out. It's a miracle she didn't kill poor Mr. +Krech! He looked very cunning in his bandage this evening! + +"Of course, Janet gave herself away to me! When she came home late +that night I had it out with her--and sent her away! I admired her +loyalty and spirit, but she was entirely too dangerous to have around! +I think Scotch consciences jump at odd angles like cats and detectives! + +"That brings the story to date, Mr. Creighton. You know everything +else, and the next move is yours." She leaned back and regarded him +quietly, her little mocking smile on her lips. "What is the usual +procedure? Do you make the arrest yourself? Or do you call the +police? What a triumph you will enjoy over Norvallis!" + +He did not reply in words. The answer lay on the floor beside his +foot, where he had dropped the note to Jason Bolt which he had brought +with him in his hurried dash to her side. He picked it up and gave it +to her. + +When she had read it, she let it drop in her lap. There was no mockery +in her expression at that moment, though she could not forego a +whimsical little taunt. + +"That isn't practicing what you preach, Mr. Creighton!" + +"I--I could not find the strength," he muttered hoarsely. + +She made no verbal response to that, but her eyes blessed him. After a +moment she forced one uncertain question from trembling lips. + +"Will you tell me wh-why?" + +"Yes. I've a confession to make, too, Miss Ocky." He nerved himself +to this ordeal. "I--I searched your room last evening while you were +at the Bolts. Looking for proof against Janet. Will you forgive me?" +He waited for her quick nod. "I found nothing, but I did see your +diary on that desk--and glanced at it." + +"Ah!" said Miss Ocky, her cheeks stained a deep crimson. + +"I found something there that interested me--made me--happy! A line +wishing we had met twenty years ago. Will you tell me what you meant +by that? I'm afraid to trust my own interpretation." He paused, but +she remained silent. "Anyway, I echo the wish! But twenty years is +not a lifetime. If you tell me what I want to hear, we can still have +many years--to forget Simon and think only of our own happiness--" + +"Oh, stop! Stop!" She flung out a hand imploringly and drew back from +him, her face ashen. "Oh, what a fool I've been--what a wicked little +fool! I saw this coming--I never should have let it happen--oh, I +should have hit you over the head--k-killed you, too!--anything but let +this go on! But I d-didn't have the s-trength either! I wanted my bit +of happiness--I wanted to be cared for like--like that by some +one--by--by _you_ above all! And now--and now--!" She broke off on a +sob. + +"But, Ocky! What is it, dear? We have the future--" + +"That's just what we haven't got!" she gasped. "Oh, don't you +understand? Haven't you guessed why I have done all these things, why +I was able to play Destiny without fear of the consequences to myself, +why I called you in to-night to hear my confession?" She drew a +sobbing breath, "I told you I was very ill. Peter, I--I'm _dying_!" + +Softly though it was spoken, the word crashed upon his ears like a +thunderclap. He sprang to his feet, shaken and bewildered. + +"Ocky! What are you saying? Are you telling me the truth? What is +the matter with you?" + +"Yes. It's the truth. Sit down--please! Don't get silly ideas into +your head about a doctor. Give me credit for some sense!" She managed +to smile, and gallantly pitched her voice to a note of lightness. "As +for what's the matter--well, we needn't wander off into pathology, need +we? I think we'll dispense with an ante-post-mortem, if there is such +an animal! I contrived to tie some of my little innards into bowknots +once when I was h-hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas, I guess. + +"Months afterwards, I came down with a pain--a pain such as I could not +have believed a human being could experience and survive, I went to a +doctor in Paris, and he told me there was no hope. A few months later +I had a second attack. When I was able to travel, I went to a new man +in Rome. He said the next attack would be the--last. + +"Then I came home. I wanted to see Lucy again, and if this stupid +business of dying had to be gone through I wanted to do it here in this +old house. I wanted a few weeks or months of peace and quiet and +h-happiness." Her voice broke, then steadied again. "Golly--what a +fizzle!" She shivered. "This afternoon I got my--notice! How I +wished you were here! I came up to my room, burned that diary--you +snooped just in time, Peter!--and wrote two letters. I didn't dare +leave the house to mail them. I might have dropped in the--_ah_!" + +Swift as a flash of lightning it had come. Beyond that one moan she +fought silently, lips tight, one hand clutching at her side, through +seconds that seemed eternities to the man watching helplessly. At last +the spasm passed and speech returned to her. + +"That's--just a preliminary twinge!" she whispered between her teeth. +"Peter--there's something beyond the stars! You believe that, don't +you?" + +"My dear--my dear!" + +"That's all right, then." She looked at him long. "I wonder if you'll +ever forgive me for hurting you like this. Try, won't you, Peter?" +Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. "Will you get me a glass +of--water. On the table by my bed." She waited as he eagerly fetched +it, grateful that he could do even this much. "Thanks. Now, a +handkerchief--over there on the bureau." Again she waited, this time +until he was across the room by her dressing-table. Then she raised +the glass and spoke softly. "I'm glad I took this from _your_ +hands--Peter!" + +She had not thought him capable of such quickness. Not a drop had +passed her lips before he was upon her with the leap of a frightened +deer. A vicious sweep of his hand sent the glass from her fingers out +the window and through the moonlit night, to fall harmless on the lawn. + +"Ocky--what were you doing?" he demanded almost furiously. + +"Peter--what have you _done_?" she retorted. "That was all I had--all +I had! Oh, that was a cruel of you! Why do you want me to suffer? +Could you not let me die in peace?" + +"You aren't going to die!" he cried. "Listen--how long will it be +before another of those attacks comes on?" + +"I--don't know. Several hours, p-perhaps." She stared at him +open-eyed. "Wh-what are you going to do?" + +"Local doctor, for temporary relief. To-morrow, the best +diagnosticians--and surgeons if necessary--in New York." He was alert, +now, coolly capable, free of the stupor of grief and despair. His face +was grimly defiant as he added, "We'll see how much those gentlemen in +Rome and Paris really know!" + +"Oh--it's useless, Peter. And--and I _can't_ live! They'll h-hang me! +Peter, there's something I haven't told you. I hadn't stopped to think +until lately that an unsolved crime leaves so much ugly suspicion in +its wake! Innocent people--suspected all their lives! I couldn't die +with that on my soul so--so this afternoon I wrote a full confession +and mailed it to Norvallis--" + +"Oh--_that_!" he said contemptuously. He reached into his pocket, +plucked forth two letters and dropped them in her lap. "There!" + +"Peter!" She stared at them. "Where on earth--? I couldn't go to +town s-so I gave them to young Merrill to post. And he--he--" + +"Is one of my men, introduced by Judge Taylor at my request! I'm glad +you picked him, Ocky! He placed them on my desk, as in duty bound." +He hesitated, eyeing her dubiously. "I'm going for that +doctor--Joliffe, the chap your sister has had. I liked his looks. +First, though, I suppose I'll have to rouse Bates to mount guard over +you!" + +"No-no--not that! Whatever happens, let that be our secret!" + +"You must promise me not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He +took one of her hands and clasped it tightly in both of his. "Ocky, +keep your nerve, dear! I'm going to get you out of this--get you out +_somehow_! Leave it to me, dear, and stop worrying. Now, promise me!" + +"There's another thing, Peter; I ought to tell you while we have this +opportunity to talk. Mr. Krech knows I--I did it!" + +"Krech! _Krech_! How in thunder--" + +"I don't know, but he does. It would have been funny last n-night if +it hadn't been so tragic! He got me alone for a few minutes and began +to drop hints; said you were practically certain of the criminal and +that if he were the murderer he would do almost anything desperate to +prevent himself from being caught, only he admitted he couldn't think +of anything!" + +"Will wonders never cease! However, we needn't bother our heads about +Krech--I'd trust him with my life. Can't waste any more time on him +now. Promise me, Ocky!" + +"It's--no--use--" + +"_Promise me!_" + +"I--I promise, Peter!" + +He bent and kissed her almost fiercely--and was gone. + + + + +_XXIV: Beyond the Stars_ + +The next two hours for Peter Creighton were more like a nightmare than +a nightmare itself. First he aroused Bates and startled the old man +with the news of Miss Ocky's illness, and ordered him to call Lucy Varr +and suggest that she go immediately to her sister. He could not bear +the thought of Ocky sitting there alone with hideous memories of the +past and fearful doubts of the future. Then he ran to the garage, +jumped in the car and drove madly through the night to the home of +Doctor Joliffe. The physician was an elderly and experienced man +long-practiced in the art of turning out promptly for these midnight +emergencies, and he was pulling on his trousers almost before the +door-bell had ceased to ring, but to the anguished gaze of the +detective he resembled nothing more than a languid snail with white +whiskers. It seemed as if they would never get back to the house. + +They finally did, and Joliffe took competent charge of the situation. +Creighton, banished peremptorily, went into his room, extinguished the +lamp, and sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark to await a +verdict from the doctor. At each side of him his fingers gripped the +corner of the mattress tensely. + +He had not waited thus above fifteen minutes when he heard a familiar, +heavy tread in the hall outside. His door was unceremoniously flung +open and the space filled by a huge form. + +"Creighton--you in here?" + +"Hello, Krech. What are you doing here at this hour?" + +"Haven't been sleeping well lately. Got up to smoke a cigar, looked +out my bedroom window and saw this house lighted up. What's doing?" + +"Miss Copley is seriously ill--perhaps--dying." + +"The deuce!" ejaculated Krech, startled. He fumbled in his pocket, +produced a match and struck it. "Mind if I light the lamp?" But the +flickering flame of the match showed him a face so white and drawn that +he caught his breath in sudden realization of the truth. He abandoned +his idea of lighting the lamp and fumbled his way to a chair near the +foot of the bed. "So--you _know_!" he said quietly. + +"Yes," admitted the detective wearily. "But how did _you_?" + +"I tumbled to it the night you went to New York," answered Krech, his +voice anything but happy. "I didn't go home after I left you at the +station. Came back here. You hinted something might happen if you +went away and gave it a chance, and I didn't see why it shouldn't +happen right away. I hoped the monk would turn up again; had a notion +that my head would feel better if I could once get my hands on that +wire-stretching humorist. + +"I kept carefully out of sight in the woods and settled down at a point +where I could watch both the kitchen garden and the spot where we'd +last seen the monk. I waited three hours. If patience and +perseverance make a good detective I was the best in the world that +night. + +"The reason I waited so long was that I was interested in a lighted +window--Miss Ocky's. She was keeping pretty late hours, talking to +Janet Mackay, I recognized her tall, thin shadow as it occasionally +fell on the blinds, and you know I had already suggested that there was +something dubious about Janet because of her acquaintance with Charlie +Maxon. + +"That light didn't go out until three in the morning. A few minutes +later I saw some one slip out the back door of the house and hurry +across the garden to the trail. Janet! It was brilliant moonlight, +you'll remember, and I recognized her at once. + +"I followed her, keeping a cautious distance behind. Lost her once +when she vanished from the trail into the woods, but she came back a +minute or two later with a bundle under her arm that she had retrieved +from some hiding-place. After that she took a bypath leading downhill +in the direction of that poisonous little brook which runs through +those meadows after passing the tannery. + +"I watched her as she knelt down on the bank of the stream, weighted +her bundle with a couple of rocks and hove it as far out as she could +into the water. She stood watching the bubbles break above the spot +where it disappeared, then turned and marched away erect as a grenadier +and calm as a cucumber. + +"I let her go, of course. My interest was centered in that stuff she +had sunk, and I scurried around until I found a long pole. Then I +started dredging operations that would have been a credit to De Lesseps +himself--and brought ashore that bundle. + +"You've guessed what it was. The monk's disguise, complete even to the +shoes! + +"You were gone, or I'd have brought the reeking mess to you. I +couldn't smuggle it into Bolt's house without embarrassing +explanations--after a dip in that brook, those clothes advertised their +presence to a distance of a hundred yards. Finally, I threw them back +into the water, making careful note of the exact location, and went off +to where I had left Jason's car. + +"I was pretty well pleased with myself as I drove home. It seemed to +me that I had solved the mystery of who killed Simon Varr, and it +didn't injure my self-esteem any to think I had nailed the crime on the +very person I had first suspected. Great work! I finally appeared +before Jean all covered with mud and medals. + +"It was when we were talking it over that the same awful idea came to +us both. The more we thought it out, the less plausible seemed the +theory of Janet's guilt. A sharper wit than hers had planned the +murder. I told Jean about the long interview with Miss Ocky before +Janet went out to destroy the evidence, and Jean groaned. It grew +plain as a pike-staff that Janet was at worst an accomplice, and more +probably only an accessory after the crime. + +"Her abrupt departure the next day appeared to clinch this hypothesis. +She--she would not betray her mistress and friend, but the shock of the +discovery she must have made had proved too much for her. We figured +she had either left voluntarily to--to pacify her own conscience, or at +Miss Ocky's insistence because she was too dangerous to have around. +And--and that's all, Creighton!" + +It wasn't all, as no one knew better than the detective himself. There +was something yet that had to be brought into the light and discussed. +Moved to the very depths of his being, he reached out in the dark and +dropped a hand gently on the big man's knee. + +"Why didn't you tell me this at once, Krech?" + +"I knew you'd ask that! Well, it was because Jean had some notion--and +I did, for that matter--that if you learned the truth you'd--you'd get +an awful jolt. We have both come to like Miss Ocky immensely, and I +needn't tell you how we feel toward you! When it came to a choice of +hurting you or condoning a crime we--we didn't hesitate long. Jean +said if I ever let out a peep about what I'd seen that night, she'd +divorce me--and, honestly, Creighton, I think she _meant_ it!" + +Some emotions do not lend themselves readily to verbal expression. +Peter Creighton was silent, but there was eloquence in the tightening +of his hand on Krech's knee. The big man spoke again, mournfully. + +"Do you remember that afternoon at the tannery when I said I'd like +just for once to find out something before you did? Well, I got my +wish the other night--and I'd have given an arm to alter the meaning of +what I'd found!" + +"Thank you, Krech. You and Jean are two of the best friends a man ever +had." The detective paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I +expect you'd like to know how I stumbled on to the truth--? All right." + +Though he was scarcely conscious of it, the telling of that story +brought him some measure of relief. It eased the ordeal of waiting for +news from the next room. He was forced to concentrate his thoughts on +what he was saying to the exclusion of anxieties and fears, and shortly +his chief concern was the clear presentation of his narrative. + +He deemed it advisable that Krech, since he knew so much, should know +all. The single incident he left untold was his dashing of the lethal +glass from Ocky's lips--that, as she had stipulated, should remain +their own secret. + +"You always manage to fool me, Creighton," said his friend as the +detective ended. "I never guessed Merrill was your man, and I never +dreamed that you knew about Janet's flight in time to wish Kitty Doyle +on her. Jean and I would have bet any amount of money that you weren't +within a hundred miles of the truth." + +"Your bet would have been safe twenty-four hours ago." + +"Now the question is--" + +Creighton suddenly sprang into activity. A door had opened and shut +softly close at hand, a light footfall sounded from the hall, and the +detective leaped to fling back his door as a set of bony knuckles was +extended to rap on it. + +Krech did not leave his chair, but his ears were strained to their +limit. He caught various illuminating phrases from a brisk, capable +little person with flowing white whiskers. + +"Resting now ... Opiates ... Careful examination ... Curious case +... Similar one ... Medical text books ... To-morrow ... +MacNaughton ... Billy MacNaughton ... Best Man ... Know Him? ... +Fine fellow ... Exquisite touch with the knife ... I will telegraph +... No complications ... No reason for excessive alarm ... Very +simple ... Expert surgeon ... Splendid constitution ... Strong as a +Shetland pony ... Better go to bed yourself ... Good-night ... +Tut-tut, don't mention it ... _Good_-night!" + +Creighton shut the door quietly, turned and lighted the lamp. Krech +saw that much of the trouble had gone from his face--much, but not all. + +"You heard what he said, Krech?" + +"She's going to pull through?" + +"He thinks so." + +"That's good news. At least--I suppose it is." + +"Huh? What in thunder do you _mean_?" + +Krech deliberately lighted a fresh cigar before he answered, eyeing his +friend steadily as he spoke. + +"If she recovers, what will you do?" he asked calmly. "Hand her over +to the police--as you should?" + +Creighton stared at him. Then he suddenly swore--crisply, concisely, +and without passion. + +"That's all right, then!" said the big man with satisfaction. "I'll +tell Jean just what you have said. In the event of your learning the +truth, we felt some concern as to whether or not you'd be--be--" + +"_What?_" + +"Well--human!" + +"Um." The detective gave a little laugh that was totally devoid of +mirth. "Yes, I'm going to be--human! I fought that battle all day +yesterday! I find that Ocky means more to me than--than honor, to put +it bluntly and melodramatically." + +"Cheers!" cried the unscrupulous Mr. Krech. "Loud cheers!" + +"I came to another decision," continued Creighton seriously, "one that +is dictated by common decency if nothing else. This is my last case. +My shingle is coming down forthwith. I haven't met the acid test. +I've quit under fire. I'm a deserter from the ranks. I'm--_through_!" +He shook his head as Krech started to protest. "No. Whatever happens, +that is definitely settled." + +"Whatever happens," repeated the big man musingly, the phrase recalling +him to certain practical considerations. "Let's see. Jean and I know +the truth; we're mum. Janet knows it; she's safe. How about Kitty +Doyle? That young lady is sharper than a serpent's tooth, as I +remember her! Suppose she tumbles to It? Will she join the conspiracy +of silence?" + +"I believe Kitty is a friend of mine," said Creighton, and added +simply, "I'm singularly fortunate in my friends, Krech." + +The next moment he jumped nervously as some one rapped gently on his +door. He glanced at the big man appealingly, and sat down again on the +edge of his bed. + +"All right," grinned Krech. "Leave it to me!" + +"A telegram for Mr. Creighton, sir," said Bates, as the door was opened +to him. "The boy just brought it this minute." + +"That must be something from Kitty now," muttered Creighton when the +butler had gone. "Open it and read it, will you? My nerve has gone to +pieces!" He shifted uneasily. "Hurry up!" + +"Yes, it's from Kitty," confirmed Krech, opening the envelope and +glancing at the signature on the message. "A long one, too. Here +goes!" He held the paper under the lamp and began to read, casually at +first, then rapidly as the import of the dispatch quickened his pulse. + + +"_Arrived hotel. Secured room adjoining Janet. Bed early. Was +restless, talkative. Unable distinguish words. Picked lock +communicating door. Listened by bed. Incoherent. Suddenly awoke. +Surprised me. I used own judgment as instructed. Made best of bad +situation. Accused her of murder. Threatened her with police. +Terrible scene. Frantic denials followed by complete collapse. Full +confession. Made lengthy synopsis. Obtained signature. Abruptly she +seemed to go mad. Raved wildly. On point summoning assistance when +violently attacked. Threw me in corner. Threw bureau on top of me. +Before interference possible ran to open window. Jumped out. Six +stories. Death instantaneous. Wire instructions. K. Doyle._" + + +"Gee Joseph!" gasped Krech, and handed the telegram to the detective, +who had sprung to his elbow long since and peered over his shoulder. +The big man walked back to his chair and dropped into it limply. "I'm +all unstarched!" he said plaintively. "Save my sanity and tell me what +it's all about! How many people killed Simon Varr?" + +"One!" answered Creighton grimly, but his eyes were shining. "Janet +Mackay! And Ocky--Ocky thought she was dying--! She tried to shield +Janet by assuming the guilt! Merciful Heaven, what a thing to do! No +wonder she insisted on my recalling Kitty Doyle at once! Threatened to +turn her sacrifice into a wasted gesture, Kitty did--and, by golly, +Kitty _has_! But it wasn't wasted as far as we're concerned--we can +always appreciate it! It was fine, Krech--fine!" + +"But foolish," grunted Krech. "Think of the unhappiness she would have +caused every one who is fond of her if she'd been allowed to roll up +her reputation into a ball and kick it away!" + +"Don't you suppose that thought hurt her?" cried Creighton. "If laying +down your life for a friend exemplifies the greater love, what of a +woman who lays down her reputation? Isn't that even finer?" + +"Y-yes. Perhaps you're right. But--she condoned a crime." + +"Uh-huh. And I think you and I are in a nice position to criticize +her, aren't we? Perhaps Jean might help us there!" + +Creighton, carried out of himself by a _denouement_ almost beyond +belief, was close to laughter. Mr. Krech was not. He left his chair +and began to saunter uncertainly around the room, pausing finally at +the desk and staring down at its blotter, his back turned to his +companion. A more neutral observer than the other, he thought he could +see a question arising that had not yet occurred to the +less-unprejudiced detective. But Creighton would stumble upon it +eventually--far better to thrash it out now. + +"Why did Janet kill Simon Varr?" he opened the subject. + +"Why--why--" Creighton stammered, at a loss for a moment, but recovered +himself swiftly as an answer came. "Don't you understand that? Her +motive was the one Ocky professed! She was playing Destiny! She knew +all about Varr--they discussed him at length--and she had always had a +distaste for the man since the old days in this house. When Ocky told +her the story of the monk, it was she who conceived the idea of the +masquerade. It was she who knew Maxon's propensity for mischief-making +and selected him as a deputy. It was she who threatened Simon, fired +the tannery--but why go on? The two women are simply interchangeable, +and Ocky had only to repeat in her own person the confession she forced +from Janet--" + +"Why was she so long suspecting Janet?" + +"Huh? Well--if a murder is committed are you apt to suspect a person +you've known as well as you know yourself for twenty-five years? I've +been wondering what first directed Ocky's suspicion to her companion, +and I think I have the answer. The other day when Sherwood was +describing the actions of the monk at the time of the murder, Ocky +suddenly revealed a tremendous lot of emotion; depend upon it, +something he said then must have given her a clue to the truth. And +the incident of the fingerprints on the notebook--change one woman for +the other and that is explained! It was not the cautious Janet that +found the book in Ocky's bureau--it was the heedless Ocky who found it +somewhere among Janet's things and never stopped to think that she was +leaving prints when she picked it up!" + +"But--this playing Destiny, as you call it. Ocky could do that without +fear of the consequences, since she believed her days to be numbered, +but could Janet?" + +"Why not?" Creighton's voice was still confident but he had begun to +look askance at his friend as he caught a hint of something more +serious behind this inquisition. "Haven't we an explanation for that +in Kitty's telegram? She says 'Janet seemed to go mad'. Isn't that +the whole story after all? Janet was unbalanced; she pondered the +cussedness of Varr; she fell victim to an obsession. She began to +picture herself as a scourge of the unrighteous--she probably read up +on Jael and Charlotte Corday and women like that. Her brain cracked. +I'm not romancing, either. History is full of cold-blooded murders +committed from motives of altruism. Common enough, both the cause and +effect. Anyway, we have Janet's full confession coming to us--" He +broke off short at an involuntary movement on the part of his +friend--and abruptly a fear crept into his eyes. "_Krech_--what are +you thinking of?" + +"The same thing you are, Creighton." + +"Put it into words!" commanded the detective fiercely. + +"You've done it yourself. You have pointed out that the two women are +interchangeable. So they are--even to the point where each makes what +is tantamount to a dying statement! Ocky's confession was convincing +when you heard it, wasn't it? Janet's will be equally so when it +arrives. Creighton--which are we to believe?" + +"That's it!" whispered Creighton. "That's it!" + +The big man came back slowly from the desk. They stared at each other +blankly. The light had gone from the detective's eyes, the new born +life from his limbs. He felt weak and beaten as he contemplated this +fresh perplexity. He moistened his lips before he could speak. + +"It--it seems to resolve itself into a problem in psychology," he said +wearily. "No definite, tangible proof either way. Janet was perhaps +the more likely of the two to commit murder--I know something of that +dour Scotch temperament and its slow-burning fire that suddenly +explodes into flame. She traveled with Ocky and imbibed her own share +of Oriental fatalism. On the other hand, Ocky was far the cleverer of +the two, there's no denying that. Hers would be the brain more apt to +conceive the masquerade of the monk, the promotion of the strike, the +concoction of that note with its queer phrases--'stiff-necked son of +Belial', 'thunderbolts of wrath'--all that stuff. Yet again, those are +just the expressions Janet might use if she were afflicted with a +semi-religious mania! But Ocky was better equipped mentally to carry +the scheme through, that took a cool head, and Janet, from Kitty's +account, was rather of the emotional, high-strung, hysterical type. +Oh--!" Creighton raised his two hands and dropped them despairingly. +"Krech--I'm just going around in circles!" + +"There's no other place _to_ go," declared the big man morosely. "But +I disagree with your last description of Janet. She may have been +hysterical in Montreal but she was cool enough the last time I saw her. +The way she marched down to that brook with evidence of a first degree +murder under her arm! And the way she stood watching the bubbles, +nodding her head and rubbing her hands together as if to say, 'Well, +_that's_ a good job done!'-- _Creighton_! What is it?" + +The detective did not reply. Perhaps he could not trust his voice, +perhaps he wished to enjoy in silence the wave of happiness and +exquisite relief that flooded his breast. He rose abruptly, and +further to conceal his emotion he walked to the French window and flung +it open. + +The night was gone. The eastern sky was a blaze of crimson glory. +Some of its radiance was reflected from his face as he draw a deep +breath of the fresh morning air. + +"Hullo," he said huskily. "It--it's dawn!" + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Monk of Hambleton, by Armstrong Livingston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + +***** This file should be named 30450-8.txt or 30450-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/5/30450/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Monk of Hambleton + +Author: Armstrong Livingston + +Release Date: November 11, 2009 [EBook #30450] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="transnote"> +[Transcriber's notes: Extensive research found no evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>By</I> +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ARMSTRONG LIVINGSTON +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK +<BR> +RAE D. HENKLE CO. Inc. Publishers +<BR> +1928 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1928, +<BR> +By RAE D. HENKLE Co. INC. +<BR><BR> +Manufactured in the United States +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE AUTHOR</I> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="author"> +<I>Armstrong Livingston was born in New York City and was educated at St. +George's School, Newport, R. I; and in Europe. He began a writing +career in 1918. He has traveled extensively and for the past two years +he and Mrs. Livingston have made their home in Algiers with occasional +trips to Paris and London. He is the author of the following +books—all mystery stories:</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="author"> +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON<BR> +THE MYSTERY OF THE TWIN RUBIES<BR> +THE JU-JU MAN<BR> +ON THE RIGHT WRISTS<BR> +LIGHT-FINGERED LADIES<BR> +THE GUILTY ACCUSER<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">SAYING IT WITH FRUIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">THE HEAD OF THE TRAIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">A WARNING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">THE LEGEND OF THE MONK</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">MISS LUCY'S MAN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">AN AUNT IN NEED</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">OUT OF THE PAST</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">TWO VICTIMS OF THEFT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">SIMON SEEKS ADVICE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CREIGHTON TAKES THE CASE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHECKERS AND CHICANE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">STARLIGHT ON STEEL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">A DEDUCTION OR TWO</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">LUCY VARR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">TREASURE TROVE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">A WOMAN OF NOTE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">AN ARREST Is MADE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">SOME OLD MEN ARE OUT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">AMONG THOSE PRESENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">H. ANTEUS KRECH</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">TWILIGHT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">A CRY IN THE NIGHT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">THE DARKEST HOUR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">BEYOND THE STARS</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>I: Saying It With Fruit</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The weather-beaten buildings that comprised the plant of the Varr and +Bolt tannery occupied a scant five acres of ground a short half-mile +from the eastern edge of the village of Hambleton. They were of +old-type brick construction, dingy without and gloomy within, and no +one unacquainted with the facts could have guessed from their +dilapidated and defected exteriors that they represented a sound and +thriving business. It was typical of Simon Varr, that outward air of +shabbiness and neglect; it was said of him that he knew how to exact +the last ounce of efficiency from men and material without the +expenditure of a single superfluous penny. +</P> + +<P> +An eight-foot board fence surrounded the property on three sides, the +fourth being bounded by a sluggish, disreputable creek whose fetid +waters seemed to crawl onward even more slowly after receiving the +noisome waste liquor from the tan-pits. At only one point, that +nearest the village, did any of the buildings touch the encircling +fence. There its sweep was broken by the facade of a squat two-story +structure of yellow brick which contained the offices of the concern +and the big bare room in which a few decrepit clerks pursued their +uninspiring labors. Admission to this building, and through it to the +yard, was by way of a stout oaken door on which the word <I>Private</I> was +stencilled in white paint. Just above the lettering, at the height of +a man's eyes, a small Judas had been cut—a comparatively recent +innovation to judge from the freshness of its chiselled edges. +</P> + +<P> +On the afternoon of a warm, late-summer day a number of +men—twenty-five or thirty—were loitering outside this door in various +attitudes of leisure and repose. They were a sorry, unkempt lot, +poorly clothed and unshaven, sullen of face and weary-eyed. When they +moved it was languidly, when they spoke it was with brevity, in tired, +toneless voices. All of them looked hungry and many of them were, for +it was the end of the third week of their strike. +</P> + +<P> +The faintest flicker of animation stirred them as they were presently +joined by a roughly-dressed man who sauntered up from the direction of +the village, though it is safe to suppose that some of them were moved +to interest less by the newcomer himself than by the fact that he was +carrying a huge ripe tomato in one hand. He nodded a greeting that was +returned by them in kind, and it was some moments before the most +energetic of their number crystallized their listless curiosity in a +single question. +</P> + +<P> +"Any news, Charlie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' to git excited about." +</P> + +<P> +"I seen you talkin' to Graham a while ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Graham's a good sport even if he is standin' in with th' +bosses." +</P> + +<P> +"He's only lookin' out for himself," said the spokesman judicially, and +tightened his belt by one hole. There was a murmur of assent from the +others. "A man has to in this world." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. And that's why we're strikin' now for a livin' wage and +decent workin' conditions. We're just lookin' out for ourselves +because no one else will." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't see as we're gettin' 'em," ventured a pessimist mournfully. +"Graham say anythin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Said we'd oughter give in. That's what we'd expect <I>him</I> to say, +ain't it? But I was talkin' to one of the clerks, feller named +Stevens, and <I>he</I> says that there's a lot of big orders on th' books +that ain't goin' to be filled if we don't go back to work. Reckon +that'll give old Varr somethin' to think about!" +</P> + +<P> +They contemplated this hopeful scrap of information in a silence broken +finally by the pessimist, who contributed a morsel of personal history +by no means as irrelevant to the subject as it sounded. +</P> + +<P> +"Wimpelheimer just shook his head when I went to him this noon for a +bit of meat. He was nice enough about it, but he says three or four +fellers left town last week owin' him money an' he can't figure noways +how we're goin' to win this strike. He's lookin' out for himself, too!" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh." Charlie's favorite expression of agreement was slightly +blurred by a mouthful of tomato. "Varr owns Wimpelheimer's store. If +he catches Wimpy bein' too accommodatin' to us chaps he's fixed to make +trouble for him." He nodded portentously. "Get it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seems as if Varr owns th' hull blame village of Hambleton, barrin' a +few things he's only got a mortgage on," drawled another speaker. He +went on musingly to quote a local aphorism. "What Varr says, <I>goes</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," concurred the pessimist glumly. "I reckon we took on a +pretty big contract when we started to buck Simon Varr!" He wagged his +head despondently. "Why—a man might as well try to buck <I>Gawd</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Charlie's face came out from behind the tomato and his eyes swept the +other with fiery scorn. "Gettin' cold feet, huh? Mebbe you'd like to +git down on your knees an' crawl back to th' old skinflint? The rest +of us started out to do somethin' an' I guess we'll stick. Ain't that +so, boys?" There was a low murmur of assent. "We'll win, +too—cry-baby!" +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better hope so, Charlie Maxon!" flashed the object of his +derision. "You talked us into this strike in the beginnin', more than +any one else did, an' if we have to go back to work on th' old terms +your name is goin' to be <I>mud</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Talked you into it, did I? All right, then—I did! What of it? +Afraid I'm goin' to quit on you, huh? Well, I'm not. If I talked you +into it, I'll get you <I>out</I> of it—with more pay an' better +conditions." His voice hardened to a threatening note. "What's more, +we ain't goin' back on th' old terms or th' old conditions, neither. +You heard tell of th' fire that started in C buildin' t'other night, +didn't you? Said it was an accident, didn't they? Well, mebbe it was +an' mebbe it wasn't. Mebbe there's others who wouldn't be sorry to see +th' tannery go up in smoke! An' as for Simon Varr, before I'd go back +to work for him at the old scale I'd catch him by himself some night +an'—" +</P> + +<P> +"Here he comes now!" broke in somebody abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +Maxon, his harangue cut short, followed the gaze of all of them. +Coming toward them some fifty yards away, not from the direction of the +village but from a short-cut through the woods that led from the +tannery to his house on the hill, was the familiar, thickset, gray +figure of the man they had been discussing. They watched him draw near +for a moment, then quietly broke up into groups of two and three and +drifted silently away. Maxon lingered to the last from a spirit of +sullen bravado, but he had no wish to encounter his late employer face +to face and he, in turn, followed his comrades in retreat. +</P> + +<P> +Simon Varr watched them go from beneath his shaggy, scowling eyebrows, +and his thin lips relaxed their usual tightness to curve in a +contemptuous sneer. Jackals! +</P> + +<P> +He marched steadily to his objective, the door of the offices, and was +raising his hand to knock when there was the sound of an iron bar +sliding back and the door opened. Since the fire to which Maxon had +referred, it had been deemed advisable to employ a watchman by night +and a guard by day to protect the property from either accident or +sabotage. It was the day-man who had recognized his employer through +the Judas and drew the bar. +</P> + +<P> +"Good afternoon, sir," he ventured politely. +</P> + +<P> +Simon Varr was not accustomed to respect any amenity of social +intercourse and he paid no more attention now to the greeting than if +it had never been uttered. He merely glanced sharply at the man and +snapped a curt question. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Nelson—any trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. There's been a bunch of them loungin' around outside and +talkin' a lot, I was listenin' to them when you came along." +</P> + +<P> +"Talking, eh? Who seemed to be doing the most of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sir, I'd say that—" +</P> + +<P> +He was not destined to say it at that moment, however, for his remarks +were interrupted by an incident as annoying as it was unexpected. He +and Varr were confronting each other in the open doorway while they +spoke, and at this point some missile hurtled past their faces and +thudded heavily against the planking of the door, where it burst with +all the enthusiasm of a hand-grenade. Startled, they sprang back; +then, recovering from the shock, they discovered themselves quite +uninjured in body if somewhat damaged in raiment. They were liberally +bespattered from head to foot with the lifeblood of an overripe tomato. +</P> + +<P> +Nelson vented his indignation in a mild oath, Varr relieved his +feelings in an angry snarl. The tanner wheeled swiftly in an effort to +detect the author of the outrage, but his eyes showed him only a small +knot of men, their hands thrust ostentatiously in their pockets, whose +snickers died away as he gazed at them grimly. He grunted +disdainfully, motioned the guard to precede him, and closed the door +behind them as they entered the building. They busied themselves +briefly with handkerchiefs. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to have the tannin' of their ugly hides!" muttered Nelson. +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon was eating a tomato as I came across from the path," +commented Varr, more to himself than to his companion. "He put his +hands behind his back to hide it from me, but he was too slow. Umph! +He'll wish he'd never seen that tomato, let alone thrown it at me, +before I'm through with him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Maxon, sir?" The mention of the name reminded Nelson of his +unfinished report. "Why, it was him that was doin' all the talkin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was, eh? Umph." +</P> + +<P> +"More than that, sir, he was makin' threats." +</P> + +<P> +"Threats! What sort of threats?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing very definite, sir, but it sounded to me as if he'd be glad +enough to set fire to this place if he got a good chance—and he said +he wouldn't come back to work at the old wages, not if he had to catch +you by yourself some night." +</P> + +<P> +"Catch me by myself—! And <I>then</I> what?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was as far as he got, sir. They saw you comin' then and he +didn't say anything more." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" There was derision in the monosyllable, but a thoughtful +expression in the hard gray eyes indicated that Varr had found food for +reflection in Nelson's story. What direction his thoughts were taking +he did not choose to reveal at the moment, but shot another question at +the watchman instead. "Doesn't Maxon wear a dark-blue flannel shirt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Usually, sir; he had on a gray one to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" It was a note of triumph this time. "Have you seen Steiner this +afternoon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Steiner, sir? The Chief of Police?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Chief of Police—certainly! Not the Sultan of Turkey!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I haven't. But this is about the time he turns up every day +to see that things are quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"Watch out for him. Tell him I want to speak to him. I'll be upstairs +in my office." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +They parted with no further remarks. Nelson made a cautious +preliminary survey of the outer world to satisfy himself that no more +tomatoes were to be apprehended, then opened the door, placed a chair +upon the threshold, and settled to the enjoyment of a freshly-filled +pipe while waiting for Steiner to put in an appearance. Varr strode to +the farther end of the hallway and climbed the flight of narrow, +rickety stairs which led to the upper floor. +</P> + +<P> +This was normally the scene of quiet and orderly activity, where the +day's work was done to the clicking of typewriters and the hum of +subdued voices, but now the rooms were empty and the only sound to be +heard was the heavy tread of Varr himself as he walked through the main +office to the small room where his own desk was located. He frowned at +the difference, and sniffed discontentedly at the stale air which +seemed already to have taken on the peculiar flat mustiness appropriate +to closed and deserted habitations. He frowned again when he drew his +finger along a desk and noted the depth of the furrow it had made in +the dust. +</P> + +<P> +A reasonable man—Simon emphatically was not—would have allocated to +himself some share of the blame while scowling at the empty chairs and +dusty furnishings of the office. It was he who was primarily +responsible. It was he who had decreed that the clerical force should +be laid off without pay for the duration of the strike. +</P> + +<P> +"They'll have nothing to do—why should we pay 'em to do it?" +</P> + +<P> +Jason Bolt, a minor partner in the business by virtue of some money he +had put into it at a critical period in its early development, had +protested mildly and ineffectually. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't their fault, this strike. If we do that it's going to make +them mighty sore." +</P> + +<P> +"Sore at us—but it'll make 'em <I>hate</I> the strikers!" +</P> + +<P> +"It will work a hardship on them—they need their salaries." +</P> + +<P> +"If they don't like it let them find other jobs." +</P> + +<P> +"They can't, Simon—there aren't any in Hambleton." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let 'em move to another village—there isn't one of them who'd be +a real loss to the community." +</P> + +<P> +"They can't do that, either, they're all family men and they can't pull +up stakes and shift at a minute's notice." +</P> + +<P> +"Then they'll stay here and do the best they can until we're ready to +whistle 'em to heel again. So much the better. Nothing breaks a +strike quicker than adverse public opinion—and those clerks are going +to provide a lot of that when they begin to feel the pinch. I'm giving +you a lesson, Jason, not only in economy, but in strategy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just the same—I don't like it." +</P> + +<P> +Simon Varr's eyebrows had gone up a full inch and dropped again. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't like it?" he retorted ironically. "Well, I <I>do</I>—and what I +say, <I>goes</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Which had ended the debate, since he spoke the simple truth. +</P> + +<P> +He blew the dust from the finger that he had trailed along the desk and +entered the small office that was his sanctum. Seated at his ancient +roll-top, he opened and read a handful of letters that had come in the +afternoon mail—and his ready frown was active again as he noted the +tone of some of them. The clerk, Stevens, when he told Maxon that +several orders were shortly due to be filled, had in nowise exaggerated +the case. Two or three were already overdue, and irate gentlemen in +distant cities were beginning to make inquiries more pertinent than +polite. Varr threw the letters on his desk and swore at the writers. +</P> + +<P> +The light in the office suddenly became dim; Simon rose irritably and +went to the single window, where he raised the green shade to its +greatest height. Storm-clouds rolling up from the west had obscured +the descending sun so that the countryside, with its rolling fields of +grain and patches of thick woodland, which a moment since had been +laved in a golden flood, now looked grim and gray beneath the deepening +shadows. The tanner studied the gloomy prospect with angry eyes, +finding in it some reflection of his own situation, and the face which +he raised to the heavens was as black as the clouds themselves. +</P> + +<P> +His was the startled, half-uncomprehending fury of the bull at the +first stinging dart of the picador. Domineering and ever dominant, he +had been accustomed throughout his life to impose his will upon others. +Shrewd and capable in his chosen business, successful in the limited +area of his activities, he had come perilously close to believing +himself omnipotent, not only in all that pertained to his own destiny, +but in the destinies of those about him. Never until the last few +weeks had either men or events dared to march contrary to his wish, +whereas now they appeared to have entered deliberately into a +conspiracy to defy their master and defeat his plans. +</P> + +<P> +Well—conspiracies can be crushed! His jaw set, his thin lips +tightened and his powerful hands clenched until the nails on his stubby +fingers sank deep into the flesh of his palms. Let 'em match their +wits and their wills against his—he would show 'em! +</P> + +<P> +He was so rapt in thought that he did not hear a heavy step in the +outer office and was unaware that he had a visitor until a voice spoke +respectfully from the threshold of his room. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Varr—Nelson said you wished to see me." +</P> + +<P> +The tanner started and turned from the window. "Oh—it's you, +Steiner." He walked to his desk and seated himself solidly in his +swivel chair. "Come in." +</P> + +<P> +The Chief of Police—Chief by virtue of two subordinate +constables—obeyed a command, rather than accepted an invitation. He +was a tall man, slender of build but wiry, a little past middle-age, +with hair beginning to gray at the temples, pale blue eyes and lantern +jaws. As a policeman he was a singularly unconvincing figure, yet he +had served creditably enough for five years in the peaceful village of +Hambleton, where an occasional speeding motorist or some native exalted +by too much home-brew constituted the whole criminal calendar for a +year. A quiet job for a quiet man. +</P> + +<P> +Varr did not offer him a chair, so he stood patiently waiting, twirling +in his hands the uniform cap that he had removed in deference to his +surroundings. +</P> + +<P> +"Last night," began the tanner abruptly, "some one trespassed on my +property and committed material damage—or to put it more plainly, some +one entered my kitchen garden, picked a considerable quantity of my +best tomatoes, helped himself to a couple of dozen ears of sweet corn, +and incidentally trampled down and destroyed quite a number of plants +in the process. I strongly suspect that he did the last intentionally, +out of pure malice." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sir, that's a singular thing to have happen," commented Steiner +as the other seemed to pause. "I don't expect it was any one in +Hambleton, sir. It might have been a tramp." +</P> + +<P> +"It might have been, but it wasn't. It was Charlie Maxon, who used to +work for me and never shall again. I want you to take the necessary +steps to effect his arrest. I intend to prosecute him and hope he will +be punished to the full extent of the law. It's time Charlie Maxon and +a few of his friends were taught that I'm a bad man to play tricks on!" +</P> + +<P> +"Maxon, sir?" Steiner seemed more thoughtful than surprised. "I think +he has been one of the more active men in agitating this strike of +yours. A bright enough chap with a queer streak running through him." +</P> + +<P> +"Umph. Well, I'm going to put him where his queer streak can't get +loose and run amuck in my garden." He caught an expression of +hesitancy in the policeman's eyes. "Eh? What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was just thinking, sir—are we sure of proving it against him? +Mebbe we'd better go slow. If I arrest him, like you say, and the case +falls down, he'd have a cause for action—" +</P> + +<P> +"Idiot!" snapped Varr. "Don't you suppose I know that?" He thrust his +hand into his breast-pocket. "Of course I have plenty of proof." +</P> + +<P> +He produced a heavy wallet and opened it. From one of its compartments +he took a small, triangular bit of blue cloth and, with the habitual +impatience that marked his every speech and gesture, he threw it at +Steiner, who caught it deftly in his cap. +</P> + +<P> +"The man who looted my garden was afraid to use the gate for fear he'd +be seen from the house. He came and went through the barbed-wire fence +and left that as a souvenir. It's a piece of a flannel shirt, like the +one Maxon usually wears. Get his shirt and match this to the hole +you'll find in it—see? Then take his everyday shoes and fit 'em to +the footprints he left in my tomato patch—I've had two of 'em covered +with glass bells so they won't be washed away if it rains. That will +be all the evidence you need. Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—what is it now?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's this, sir—I guess I ought to tell you that there's a lot of +feeling in the village over this strike, and most of it favors the +strikers. Maxon would get a bunch of sympathy. S'pose he comes out +and says he took those tomatoes because he was hungry? It may be wrong +to steal, but there's people who will say you're persecuting him and +they'll set him up as a martyr. I—I'm looking at it from your +interest, sir—" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Thank you, Steiner—thank you very much!" Varr was never +more disagreeable than on the rare occasions when he chose to be +studiously polite. "In return, let me suggest something that has to do +with your own best interests. You are employed here to preserve law +and order and this is decidedly a matter for your official +attention—unless, indeed, you are thinking of resigning from the force +on the chance that I may offer you a position as confidential adviser +to myself. Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Cold gray eyes held and mastered pale blue ones. There was a brief +silence—a silence that lasted just long enough for Steiner to reflect +that he owed his job to the Board of Selectmen and that the Selectmen +pretty much owed theirs to Simon Varr. Then he cleared his throat +nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, you know best, sir. I'll act at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me know when I'm to appear in the police court." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. Is that all you want of me, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Varr did not answer, but there was dismissal in the abrupt way that he +swivelled around to his desk and bent his head over his neglected +correspondence. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>II: The Head of the Trail</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The sound of the chief's subdued steps—in departing even his feet +contrived to appear deferential—had barely died away when it was +replaced by the noise of other and more determined ones ascending the +stairs. The creaking of the ancient floor-boards heralded the approach +of Jason Bolt, the junior partner, who passed by his own private office +and entered Varr's. +</P> + +<P> +He was a short, rotund little man of forty-five, smooth-shaven, +somewhat sandy in complexion, with twinkling eyes that were friendly, +and a light thatch of pinkish hair which was noticeably thinning on the +top of his head. There was a general air of cheerfulness and content +about him and his mouth, that was inclined to twitch at the corners, +seemed continually on the point of smiling. In truth, the fairy +godmother of Jason had presented him at birth with one of her choicest +gifts, a sense of humor, and it had seldom failed him since. Beyond +any possible doubt—as he had more than once pointed out to his wife +Mary—he owed to this fine characteristic the fact that he had +preserved his sanity of mind and body despite the twenty years of +intimate association with his grim, self-centered partner. +</P> + +<P> +He plopped down on a chair with a puffing sound of relief. He was +panting a bit from the stairs, and his forehead was beaded with a moist +tribute to the sultriness of the weather. He fanned himself gently +with a stiff straw hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Simon," he said presently, when returning breath permitted him +to speak. He did not expect any reply and continued without waiting +for one. "Gosh, I've just had quite a shock!" +</P> + +<P> +"Did, eh? What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The sight of our usually immaculate, if unpainted front door. I saw +that rich crimson stain, then observed Steiner coming out looking very +businesslike, and I made sure that some one had brained my noble +partner against his own building." +</P> + +<P> +"The shock coming when you stepped in here and discovered your mistake. +Is that it? +</P> + +<P> +"No, Simon; Nelson told me that it was only Charlie Maxon saying it +with catsup." His light voice grew more serious. "Just the same, a +man who throws tomatoes to-day may throw bricks to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Not Maxon," cut in Varr. "Steiner has my orders to arrest him." +</P> + +<P> +"Arrest him! On charges of assault with a tomato? It's hardly a +deadly weapon unless it's green, and this one very obviously was not. +A slap on the wrist and a reprimand is about all he will get for that." +</P> + +<P> +Varr's chair revolved until he was facing his partner, at whom he +directed a glance of angry impatience. "If you'd listen to me instead +of chattering so much—! I'm charging him with trespass, theft and +property damage." Curtly but clearly, he described the overnight raid +on his garden and his reasons for believing Maxon the culprit. He +noted the changing expression of Bolt's face as the story progressed, +and when it was finished he asked, as he had asked the Chief of Police: +"Well—what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm thinking of the effect on public sentiment," answered the other +gravely, his thoughts turning in the same direction that Steiner's had +taken. "But of course that doesn't cut any ice with you—I know that. +You'll do as you please regardless of consequences." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly will!" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know, Simon, that about twenty of our best men have left town +in the last two weeks? I was talking to Billy Graham this afternoon +and he'd been checking up." +</P> + +<P> +"And making the worst of the situation, you may be sure!" Varr's face +darkened as his heavy brows came together in one of his ready scowls. +"If Graham has been watching the men, I've been watching him. I'm not +so certain that his sympathy isn't with them, instead of with us, where +it ought to be. Yesterday, I met that lanky daughter of his coming +from the direction of Brett's house with an empty basket in her hand. +I don't need three guesses to tell me what she'd been doing!" His lip +curled. "Nice bit of business, eh? We're trying to break a strike, +while our own manager rushes food to the strikers!" +</P> + +<P> +"Brett's wife has been sick and there are two kids to be looked after. +Sheila Graham probably remembered that and forgot everything else. +Billy may not have known anything about it—or have been able to stop +her if he did. Sheila is just as clever as she is pretty and generally +gets her own way in everything; since her mother died three years ago +she has been able to twist her father around her little finger. Smart +girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Entirely too smart!" +</P> + +<P> +The words were uttered with so much passion that Jason Bolt moved +uncomfortably on his chair, reproaching himself with having been +wanting in tact. There were good and sufficient reasons why Varr +should react to the mention of the girl's name like a bull to a red +rag, and here he had been stupid enough actually to praise the young +woman whom the tanner had referred to contemptuously as Graham's lanky +daughter. He opened his mouth with intent to change the subject, but +an outburst from Varr forestalled him. +</P> + +<P> +"You say she has her own way with her father. Exactly! Let me tell +you, Jason, I've no use at all for a man who can't command obedience +from his own children. That is something for my boy, Copley, to +consider before he involves himself any more deeply with Sheila +Graham—the daughter of one of my workmen of whose loyalty even I can't +be certain!" Under his sense of irritation, as his resentment against +those who were defying his wishes steadily increased, his voice grew +louder and more harsh. "If that girl wants to do her father a bad +turn, just let her continue to encourage that young fool! I was a wise +man never to give Graham a contract! He's only on salary, and for two +cents I'd give him a month's pay and throw him out!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I hope you won't," ventured Jason cautiously. He seemed to +spend most of his time debating whether the moment were propitious to +reason with Varr or whether he were best left alone! "It would be +awfully hard to replace Billy. You wouldn't have the satisfaction of +knowing that you had hurt him much, either. He told me recently that +the Thibault Tanneries have made him a very good offer to go to them. +He'd better himself considerably." +</P> + +<P> +"He would, eh? Why hasn't he accepted?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know as well as I do, Simon. He has been with us for years, saved +a fair bit of money, and he is hoping that some day we will see our way +to giving him an interest in the business. A laudable ambition for any +employee who wants to get on in the world. Even you can't criticize +that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Umph." Varr did not seem to think it necessary to express his views +on ambition, but appeared to be reflecting on the news Jason had just +given him. "The Thibault people, eh? In Rochester!" He raised one +hand and caressed his chin softly. "So if I throw him out of here he +will go to Rochester—taking that girl with him! Have you ever +noticed—" He broke off abruptly, leaned forward and threw his voice +into the outer office. "<I>Hello</I>! Is that you, Langhorn? What do +<I>you</I> want?" +</P> + +<P> +They had failed to hear the approach of a thin, middle-aged man who had +come halfway across the main room from the head of the stairs before +Varr had chanced to see him. He came the rest of the way now, and the +fact that he stooped a little when walking lent him an odd air of +furtiveness, which was somehow borne out by his narrow face, weak, +irresolute chin and restless eyes. He was one of the clerks whom Varr +had summarily suspended from the payroll, and there was anxiety in the +gaze that shifted from one partner to another as he paused respectfully +in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"Good afternoon, Mr. Varr! Good afternoon, Mr. Bolt!" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want?" demanded Varr curtly, though a cruel light in his +eye made it apparent that he knew the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Things are very hard, sir—" +</P> + +<P> +"And you come to me for help? The more fool you! I have made it plain +that not a single employee of this concern shall draw a dollar of +salary until those ungrateful pups who have struck come back to work on +my terms. Go tell <I>them</I> your troubles! Tell 'em for me, too, that +their time is getting short. I'm making inquiries already with a view +to getting men to take their places." +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't just thinking of work in the office, sir. If you had +something for me on the outside—something up at your house, perhaps—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing. Good day!" +</P> + +<P> +The man waited a fraction of a second, his eyes mutely questioning +Jason Bolt, who negatived their appeal by an almost imperceptible shake +of his head. Slowly, the man withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +"A sneaking hound!" Varr did not lower his voice, indifferent to +whether the retreating clerk learned his opinion of him or not. "I +have never liked him." +</P> + +<P> +"He must have heard what you said about Graham," reflected Jason. "I'm +rather sorry for that. He's quite capable of carrying tales to Billy +that might lead him to misconstrue your attitude." +</P> + +<P> +"Let him! I guess it won't be such an awful misconstruction at that! +Graham was never farther in his life than this minute from his +partnership." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—of course—a partnership wouldn't quite march with my idea!" +Jason Bolt lighted a cigar rather nervously as he broached a subject +dear to his heart. "Not a partnership—no. But if we were to +incorporate and borrow the capital we ought to have, he might +reasonably expect a good block of stock on the most advantageous +terms——" +</P> + +<P> +"We—are—not—going—to—incorporate!" Varr's slow words carried the +emphasis of sheer exasperation. "I have told you before that I do not +intend to do so." +</P> + +<P> +"Still, Simon, our position warrants it—our increased business almost +demands it—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have said I won't!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes, I heard you. I would not have brought up the subject now +except that we will have an opportunity during the next week to get +some dope on the possibilities. Judge Taylor can tell us all about the +legal end of it, but Herman Krech can give us pointers on the practical +side—" +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you talking about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—didn't I tell you?" Artful Mr. Bolt's surprise was well +simulated. "Why, he's a New York stockbroker who has made barrels of +money. He married a girl named Jean Graham, an old friend of my +wife's. Mary has tried two or three times to get them for a visit, and +they are finally coming to-morrow for a week." +</P> + +<P> +"He can stay a year for all of me." Varr brought his open hand down +with a loud smack on the arm of his chair. "Once and for all, Jason, +we are not going to incorporate!" +</P> + +<P> +"We could expand and make a lot more money." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll make more money without expanding!" +</P> + +<P> +When a youngster at school, some one had told Jason Bolt that the +constant dropping of water will in time wear away the hardest rock. He +had never forgotten this valuable piece of knowledge, possibly because +he had so frequently demonstrated its truth on the person of his +unsuspecting partner. No one could argue Varr into doing anything, +much less drive him, but Jason had more than once succeeded in +overcoming that granite obstinacy by a species of gentle, persistent +nagging. So adept had he become in this delicate accomplishment that +Simon Varr would have sworn at the end of a campaign that he had never +deviated from the original purpose that had been his in the beginning. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, anyway," tapped the drop of water, "it can't do a bit of harm to +listen to what he has to say." +</P> + +<P> +Varr shrugged his shoulders. The conversation had ceased to interest +him. So, evidently, had his letters, for he thrust them from him with +an air of finality as he rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. It +was not yet very late, but with the waning of summer the days were +growing perceptibly shorter and the light in the office where the two +men were talking was already failing. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't see your car outside, Simon. Shall I give you a lift home? +or would you rather walk?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll walk." Varr crossed the room and knelt before an old iron safe +in the corner near the window, peering closely at the figures on the +dial as he slowly turned the knob. In a moment the combination Was +complete and he pulled open the heavy door. "It occurred to me to-day +that this was a poor place to leave my memorandum book. If some one +succeeded in burning the building—as some one apparently wants to—it +would be none too secure even in this safe." +</P> + +<P> +Jason whistled softly. "Has that got the notes of your new formula in +it, Simon?" He stared at the small red leather notebook which Varr +took from a pigeonhole. "You're dead right to take that out of here! +By the way, did you see that letter from the Larscom Leather Company? +They say that the last order we shipped them—the batch we tanned by +your new process—is the best looking lot of leather they've ever had +in their shops." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it was," acknowledged Varr calmly. He balanced the leather +memorandum book on his hand, his expression softening for a moment as +he regarded it and remembered the days and nights of toil represented +in its closely filled pages. A metal nameplate on the cover caught his +eye by reason of its dinginess. He breathed on it and rubbed it with +the cuff of his suit. "Yes, Jason, here is proof enough that my brains +in no way resemble a tomato. If you were capable of inventing the +processes that I have noted here, you would be running a business of +your own quite independent of me!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's very true, Simon." To this particular type of jeer Bolt had +grown accustomed, and if his eyes narrowed a trifle it was the only +hint of resentment that he showed. "As a matter of fact, it's just +because you've got such a good thing in this new formula that I'm +anxious for more elbow room." He glanced about him with an air of +dissatisfaction. "The business we're doing warrants something better +than this peanut stand!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm ready to buy your interest for ten times what you put in!" offered +his partner dryly. "Will you accept?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will not." Jason stood up and clapped on his hat. "I must be off. +Sure you won't let me drive you home?" A shake of Varr's head answered +him. "Good night, then." +</P> + +<P> +He left the office and was halfway to the stairs when a sudden thought +occurred to him and he retraced his steps. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Simon!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going to put that book?" +</P> + +<P> +"This notebook? In my library desk at home, I suppose. Why in thunder +do you want to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you might drop dead during the night! Think how awkward it would +be for me if your memoranda were missing, too!" +</P> + +<P> +He grinned cheerfully and departed, satisfied that he had scored mildly +in retaliation for some of the slights inflicted on him by Varr. He +had once discovered that Simon Varr, for all his outward strength and +ruthless nature, had an innate fear of death. This hitherto secret +weakness had revealed itself some years before when double pneumonia +had brought him dangerously close to the end of his mortal coil. +</P> + +<P> +He fell back a pace, shaken, but recovered in time to hurl an acid +comment or two at his tormentor's back. A derisive chuckle floated to +his ears from the stairway. +</P> + +<P> +Varr shut the safe and spun the dial, then picked up his hat and +prepared to leave the building. He paused for a word with Nelson, who +stood up and opened the outer door. +</P> + +<P> +"Your instructions are to allow no one in except Mr. Bolt and myself. +How does it happen that you permitted Langhorn to enter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew he was one of the clerks and I thought--" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think. When does Fay relieve you?" +</P> + +<P> +"At seven, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him to keep a sharp watch. Instead of making his rounds at +regular intervals he had better vary the elapsed time between them. It +would be a good idea if he were to follow up one by another five +minutes later." +</P> + +<P> +"I see, sir. If any one is watching him, they'll begin their mischief +when he has just finished one round, and the second might catch them at +work. Is that it, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is it. Keep it to yourself and Fay--no talking of it to some one +who may spread the story." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"What became of that bunch of hot-air artists who were out here?" +</P> + +<P> +"They drifted away, sir--home, I expect. The last few of 'em left when +Mr. Graham came along." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah." Simon had asked about the men almost idly as his cold gaze swept +the clearing before the door. He had been on the point of crossing the +threshold when Nelson's casual remark stopped him short in his tracks. +"Mr. Graham was here? When was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not twenty minutes ago, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty minutes ago?" Varr thought back, and his calculations brought +a frown of annoyance to his brow. "Did he speak to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. I made sure at first that he was comin' here, but Langhorn +had just left and he stopped Mr. Graham and spoke to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. Did they talk together long?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five or ten minutes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Could you hear what they said?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. They were too far away. Langhorn did most of the talkin' +and I figured he was probably tellin' Mr. Graham a hard-luck story." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt you figured correctly," said Varr, neglecting, however, to +add that in all likelihood Graham had listened to a tale of misfortune +that concerned himself rather than the clerk. "What happened after +that? Did they leave together?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no, sir." Nelson had begun to sense the presence +of something important underlying the surface of this inquisition +and he paused a moment to reflect before continuing. "It was Langhorn +who left first. Mr. Graham stood still a while, lookin' in this +direction as if he still meant to come over, then he turned and headed +for town." A shrewd gleam lit the watchman's eye. "While he was +facin' this way it struck me that he was lookin' red and sort of angry." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" +</P> + +<P> +The monosyllable served at once to express Varr's perfect apprehension +of what had passed between the two men and to bring the present +conversation to a close. He took his leave, ignoring Nelson's polite +"good evening" after his usual custom, and strode swiftly off along the +short-cut by which he had come an hour or two earlier. Irritation +quickened his step no less than the threat of rain from the banking +clouds in the western sky. +</P> + +<P> +So Jason had been right. Langhorn had overheard that portion of their +talk which concerned Graham and had promptly reported it to the man +most interested. Malicious, mischief-making little sneak! And of +course he had to walk smack into Graham just when he was in a mood to +make trouble and blow the consequences! With any luck he wouldn't have +encountered the other until resentment at the rebuff he had received +had cooled, and caution succeeded anger! +</P> + +<P> +Varr was in the humor these days to find in this trivial contretemps +yet another example of the annoyances, large and small, to which he had +been subjected lately—so persistently indeed that he was coming to +believe himself the chosen target at which some malefic Providence had +elected to discharge every arrow of misfortune in its quiver. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing seemed to go right any more; on the contrary, everything +appeared to take a fiendish delight in going wrong—which in Simon's +case meant largely that they were going in opposition to his wishes. +He briefly recapitulated a few of his major troubles as he hurried +along on his homeward way. +</P> + +<P> +First, there was dissension in his household, where his son was in +almost open rebellion against the paternal authority in the matter of +Sheila Graham, supported, Varr guessed, by the mild approval of his +mother. Second, there was the situation at the tannery, where a bunch +of incipient lunatics had gone completely mad and struck against +conditions that had previously been satisfactory to them and their +fathers before them. Last, but by no means least, was the discontent +in the office itself, what with a partner who had been bitten by the +bug of ambition—! A much-abused, sorely-tried man raised angry eyes +to Heaven and demanded of it, "What <I>next</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +And as he literally lifted his gaze from the trail, seeking an answer +in the sky, he saw something that halted him abruptly. He stood rooted +in his tracks, his head thrust slightly forward, very much as a keen +pointer freezes at the sight of game. +</P> + +<P> +The path he was following was one that ascended by gentle gradients +from the tannery to his big house on the crest of the low hill. A +narrow strip of meadowland on the edge of the town was crossed, then +the path, as it reached the rising ground, plunged into a deep belt of +heavy woods that stretched away on each side for the distance of a mile +or more; at the end, the trail crested a rather sharp acclivity before +emerging from the trees and linking up with a graveled path that +circled a kitchen garden in the rear of the house. +</P> + +<P> +Varr had just reached the foot of this last ascent at the moment he +looked up. Twenty yards ahead of him he could see the end of the path, +marked by a pale oblong of sky set in a dark frame of foliage, but it +was not that familiar sight which held him spellbound, started his +pulse to beating quickly and momentarily stopped his breath on a +painful gasp mingled of astonishment and fear. +</P> + +<P> +Silhouetted against the sky was a tall figure dressed from head to foot +in a black garment such as a monk might wear, but almost instantly Varr +recognized that there was something in this costume that was out of +keeping with the orthodox monastic habit. What the discrepancy might +be he could not determine in those seconds of bewilderment, but he knew +it existed. The outline against the light was clearcut; there were the +flowing line of the robe, and the conical shape of the hood, plain to +be seen and unmistakable. +</P> + +<P> +There were several reasons why the apparition—although he was +habitually unimaginative outside the field of barks and chemicals it +did not occur to Simon Varr in that first moment to doubt that this was +truly a specter from another world—should startle him to the verge of +sheer fright. To begin with, there was something suggestive of Death +in that somber, motionless figure, and of death he had a horror. Then +it had come so pat on his bitter question of "What <I>next</I>?" that it +seemed indubitably an answer from some Power not of earth. +Finally—there was something about the figure that wasn't <I>right</I>—! +</P> + +<P> +It spoke well for his spiritual courage that he was able to control his +nerves and conquer the trembling of his limbs within a few seconds, and +at the same time determine a course of immediate action. If this were +a human being it should be challenged; if it were a ghost, it should be +laid! He kept his eye fixed on the figure and deliberately took a step +toward it. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly, the immobility of the being ceased. A long black arm was +flung up and outward in his direction, a silent command to him to stay +his steps. +</P> + +<P> +His obedience was prompt, for now he knew what was wrong with the +apparition. Instinct had told him that the monk was confronting him, +regarding him closely, and the quick response to his attempted advance +was evidence enough that his instinct had not lied. +</P> + +<P> +His mouth went dry, his brow exuded beads of perspiration. The monk +was facing him sure enough—and that was queer, for the monk <I>had no +face</I>! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>III: A Warning</I> +</H3> + +<P> +From the shock of that gruesome discovery, Simon Varr reeled back both +mentally and physically. Involuntarily, he threw up a hand to shield +his eyes, then got the best of his terror and fell to rubbing them, +pretending to himself that this had been the intention behind the +gesture; doubtless their vision was blurred and had deceived him into +thinking the unthinkable— +</P> + +<P> +He dropped his hand presently, blinked once or twice and prepared to +make a more careful scrutiny of the monk's appearance. He was balked +in this courageous essay. The apparition, if such it were, had acted +in accordance with tradition and had vanished. While his eyes were +covered it had departed, whether to left or right or merely into thin +air he could not tell. He did not debate the question, either—he +simply thanked his stars it was gone! +</P> + +<P> +It was with considerable reluctance that he resumed his way up the +path, but the daylight at the end of the trail looked inviting and +reassuring compared to the twilight in the woods and he covered the +distance to the spot where the monk had stood in a sort of a dogtrot. +</P> + +<P> +It was here that he made a fresh discovery as he collided rather +heavily with some obstruction in the path, an obstruction that gave way +as his body impinged upon it, but that nearly tripped him as it fell +between his legs. +</P> + +<P> +He picked it up, but did not pause to examine it. The light ahead +still lured and he continued his flight toward it, bearing his find +with him. +</P> + +<P> +He drew a deep breath of thankfulness as he finally emerged from the +woods into the comforting aura of the kitchen garden; his eyes rested +upon and were wonderfully soothed by a row of peaceful cabbages. Never +before had he noticed how beautiful a cabbage can be, but to a man +fresh from dalliance with a ghost there is something very steadying and +sustaining in a glimpse of that most stolid and solid of vegetables. +</P> + +<P> +There was a granite bowlder near-by on which he dropped gratefully for +a minute's rest. It was while reaching for a handkerchief to pat his +moist forehead that he was reminded of the object he had picked up and +still carried. He looked at it now, and found that it was a heavy +stick which must have been thrust firmly into the center of the path in +the woods; one end of it was split, and into the cleft had been thrust +a bit of folded paper—brown paper, he noted, of cheap quality, but +what really took his eye as he drew it free was his own name in +typewritten letters on the outside. +</P> + +<P> +Evidently this was intended for him, and he was about to open it to see +what message it might contain when the sound of hurrying steps from the +direction of the path diverted him from his purpose. Whatever the +contents of the paper might be, they were for him alone. Prompted by +an instinct for secrecy which was part of his psychological cosmos, he +thrust the missive into the breast-pocket of his coat and turned—with +a little tremor from his nerves—to see who was coming. +</P> + +<P> +It was a woman who burst from the shelter of the trees—a woman in some +haste and quite obviously in some alarm. She was panting from her +exertions, for she ceased running only when she reached the open, as +Varr had done before her. A close-fitting felt hat was slightly askew +on her head, and a once jaunty red feather that thrust up from it was +now hanging limp and dejected, broken perhaps by some low-hanging +branch she had failed to duck. She was dressed in a two-piece outing +costume of knitted wool, and she looked just now as if those garments +were too warm for comfort. +</P> + +<P> +Her face brightened as she observed Varr seated on the rock, and she +came toward him promptly. He brightened, too, welcoming any human +being of tangible flesh and blood at that moment, although there was no +living person whom he habitually detested more than he did his wife's +sister, Miss October Copley. Her evident perturbation, however, gave +him an uneasy premonition that he was about to hear more of his monk. +But he left it to her to introduce the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Ocky—reducing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not much!" answered the lady briefly. "<I>Scared</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not seat herself beside him on the bowlder, but chose instead +to drop at full length on a patch of green turf at his feet. With such +breath as remained to her she expelled a sigh of relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Scared, eh? I didn't suppose there was anything on earth that could +scare you!" +</P> + +<P> +She pounced instantly on his phraseology. "Perhaps not—on earth!" In +a smaller voice than she was wont to employ, she added timidly, "Simon, +d-do you believe in ghosts?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ghosts</I>!" He fortified himself by a glance at the cabbages. "Talk +sense, Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who says it isn't sense?" snapped Miss Copley. "Anyway, I just got +the shock of my long and exciting life. See here, Simon—didn't you +come up that path a few minutes ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did. What of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was sure it was you ahead of me as we crossed the meadow. Tell me, +did you meet anything—I mean, any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean? Did <I>you</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-yes. A figure in black—dressed something like a monk. I didn't +meet him, exactly—he dodged into the woods as I came along. That is, +I suppose he did—he just seemed to vanish!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—he seemed to vanish, did he?" Varr shifted nervously on his +granite throne. "You say he was dressed like a monk? Did—did you see +his <I>face</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I couldn't see that—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! You couldn't, eh?" He rubbed the palms of his hands on his +handkerchief as he probed a little deeper. "Too far away, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"No. He had on a mask." +</P> + +<P> +"A <I>mask</I>!" Comprehension came to him at once, and he inwardly cursed +himself for an imaginative fool before continuing. "Well, Ocky, to +tell you the truth, I did see him—right here at the head of the trail. +He had his back to the light so I couldn't make out any mask. Er—what +made you think of ghosts?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I had such a creepy feeling when I saw him. Didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. For a moment, perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you pass each other after you met?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—why— Confound it—<I>no</I>! He just <I>disappeared</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh!" said Miss Copley fervently. "Simon, it <I>was</I> a spook! I know +it was! Have you ever seen or heard of a monk around here before?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no. But that doesn't mean anything. There's no law that says they +can't travel if they want to." +</P> + +<P> +"But what would a monk be doing on a private path through this +property? Why should he disappear from people? Why should he wear a +mask? Monks don't wear masks." She reflected a moment. "Come to +think of it, he wasn't dressed exactly like a monk—Simon! did you +ever see a picture of those creatures of the Spanish Inquisition? +'Familiars' I think they used to call them. They dressed that way and +wore masks!" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph." Despite that skeptic snort, Varr was conscious of a nervous +chill. "You've been drinking too much coffee, Ocky! Indigestion!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oh</I>!" cried Miss Copley suddenly. She raised herself on an elbow and +looked all about her on the ground. "Oh—<I>pshaw</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Coffee! Your mentioning it just reminded me! I was coming back from +a walk and I stopped at Wimpelheimer's to get a pound of it—I knew it +was needed at the house. Now it's gone! I must have dropped it when +that creature frightened me." She looked woebegone. "It's not very +far back, but I'm so tired!" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you?" repeated Varr restlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll get it for me, won't you, Simon?" She regarded him +appealingly. "Oh—please!" +</P> + +<P> +He got up from the rock and glanced at her with marked distaste. His +gaze traveled to the dark entrance of the trail, came back to rest +briefly on the consoling cabbages, went again to the trail. He took an +irresolute, halting step—and then was struck by an inspiration that +cleared his brow as if by magic. +</P> + +<P> +"What do I keep a houseful of idle servants for?" he demanded crisply. +"Let Bates hunt it up—he'd better take a torch." +</P> + +<P> +"Simon—you're <I>scared</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, it's going to storm. I felt a drop of +rain a moment ago. Come along to the house and stop your nonsense +about monks and familiars and—and ghosts!" +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps the last word came out a little uncertainly, but as he strode +through the kitchen garden and around to the front door, followed +closely by Miss Copley, he decided with pardonable pride that he had +extricated himself from an embarrassing position with his accustomed +masterful dexterity. The thought comforted him, for he vaguely +realized that he had come close to experiencing a nervous panic during +those minutes in the woods. +</P> + +<P> +A white-haired man, still lithe, erect and agile despite his years, +opened the door for them as their steps sounded on the planking of the +veranda. This was Bates, the butler, a faithful retainer who had +served the father of Lucy Varr and her sister a full decade before +passing with the house and land into the keeping of the younger +daughter and her husband. At the time of Mr. Copley's death, Varr had +tentatively suggested letting the man go, but his wife had protested +against that idea and had gained her point by shrewdly convincing her +husband that good servants were becoming increasingly difficult to find +and that Bates could never be replaced for less than twice his wages. +It was one of the very rare occasions when Simon had credited the +gentle, self-effacing lady with showing sound sense. +</P> + +<P> +The butler had just lighted the big lamp in the hall—electricity had +not yet found its way into the old house—and the warm cheerfulness of +the homely scene went far to rehabilitating Simon's convalescent nerve. +Ghosts did not fit into this atmosphere. Bates did—Bates was almost +as satisfying as a cabbage. Of course, Ocky would promptly do her best +to spoil it—! He could have dispensed willingly with the examination +to which she immediately subjected the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Bates, has any one called?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"No one at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Miss Ocky." His wrinkled face showed his surprise at the +repetition. +</P> + +<P> +"How about the back door? Any one come there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, have you seen any one around the grounds? A man dressed like a +monk? Wearing a mask?" +</P> + +<P> +"A monk? In a mask?" The old man smiled indulgently at this quaint +whimsy, which might have come more suitably from the little girl with +flying pigtails whom he used to chase out of his pantry than from this +sensible, middle-aged woman who was waiting with apparent seriousness +for his answer. "A monk in a mask? Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +"All right." Miss Copley sent a significant glance at Varr, which he +acknowledged by wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "By the way, Bates—I +left a pound of coffee a little ways down the short-cut, you might step +out and get it before dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to find it right in the middle of the path." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +Bates waited, and when nothing further appeared to be forthcoming he +betook himself wonderingly to his usual habitat in the rear quarter of +the house. Monks in masks, indeed! And why did any one want to leave +a pound of coffee down a trail with rain commencing to fall? He shook +his head despondently over a Miss Ocky returned from foreign parts so +changed from the Miss Ocky of the old days. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed inclined to renew the ghostly topic of conversation when +left alone with her brother-in-law, but Simon gave her no chance. He +stalked off down the hall and entered his study, a small room that +opened off the comfortable, old-fashioned parlor. He closed the door +from the hall behind him, and also, for the sake of greater privacy, +the door that communicated with the living-room. Then he seated +himself at a roll-top desk and turned up the wick of the lamp that was +burning dimly in a wall bracket, close at hand. +</P> + +<P> +He had remembered, as he left Miss Ocky to her eerie fancies, the note +which he had retrieved from the cleft stick. She had driven the +recollection of it from his mind by her idle chatter about ghosts! He +took the slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. +</P> + +<P> +A few typewritten lines jumped to his eye, and he nodded as if that +were as he had expected. Before reading the text, however, he leaned +back in his chair and strove to recall the exact circumstances under +which he had discovered the missive. He had been hurrying—no, blast +it, he had been scuttling like a scared rabbit!—along the trail and +had run into the stick, which had been jabbed into the ground where he +could not fail to notice it—and at the very spot where the figure in +black had been standing! Apparition—pooh! If there was one thing +certain about the whole silly business it was that the note had been +put there by that—that creature. Simon did not profess to be versed +in the lore of spooks, but he could not vision an ambassador from +another world leaving behind him a tangible message composed on an +earthly typewriter—! Pooh, and again, <I>pooh</I>! +</P> + +<P> +He paused at this stage of his reflections to grin at the thought of +Ocky, denied the knowledge of this consolatory bit of evidence. He +hadn't mentioned it to her, and he wouldn't. Let her go on believing +in ghosts! He was hugely pleased to think that there really existed +one thing that could get under the skin of that hard-boiled human! +</P> + +<P> +He was still smiling grimly as he finally began to read the +message—but the smile had faded away before he finished. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>Woe unto thee, stiff-necked son of Belial! Woe unto thee, oppresor +of the defensless! Woe unto thee, who hast ground the faces of the +poor, who hast turned the hopes of thy neighbers to ashes! Woe! Woe! +Woe! Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by +the thunderbolts of wrath!</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A hand-written signature in a sprawling fist concluded the +communication; heavy, labored characters, inscribed in a crimson fluid +by a blunt pen, formed two words: "The Monk." +</P> + +<P> +Simon Varr read the thing through twice. He laid it on the desk before +him and stared at it as though it had some power to hypnotize him. A +pulse of anger beat in his temple, but it was a more subdued anger than +his quick temper usually produced. His mental processes had ceased to +function normally as they sank beneath a wave of bewilderment such as +had submerged them in the woods. Feebly, they came again to the +surface. +</P> + +<P> +This message was an event entirely outside the range of his previous +experience. He had heard of anonymous letters, naturally, and he knew +that the correct and courageous thing to do was to ignore them as if +they did not exist. But anonymous letters, as he understood them, were +brought by the postman and placed on the breakfast table with the +morning mail; they weren't planted in the middle of a lonely copse by +gentlemen attired as Spanish Inquisitioners! +</P> + +<P> +The letter on his desk seemed to leer at its recipient and challenge +him to ignore it. +</P> + +<P> +What did it mean? Who had sent it? Was it a genuine warning and +threat, or was it merely an elaborate hoax? He pondered the latter +possibility quite at length—and thanked his stars that he had not told +Ocky about it. Simon Varr was not the man to relish a jest against +himself, and if Ocky ever heard about it and it subsequently proved to +be the work of a practical joker—well, she would never let him forget +that he hadn't gone after the pound of coffee! +</P> + +<P> +But the theory that it might be a hoax grew more and more implausible +as he contemplated it. He was positive he knew no one capable of such +a prank, and to suppose that any stranger had gone to so much trouble +to play a trick on him was absurd. +</P> + +<P> +He had no lack of enemies—he knew that. Had one of them chosen this +fantastic method of declaring war on him? In that case he could +certainly afford to ignore the letter as coming from a source unworthy +of serious consideration. A worth-while enemy does not give a warning; +he strikes. The cheapest thing about a rattlesnake is its rattle. +Varr started to run over a list of recognized foemen who might have +done this ill-natured deed, but presently desisted; their name was +legion. +</P> + +<P> +He did not overlook a third, quite reasonable theory. The whole +business might have sprung from the unbalanced mind of a lunatic—some +person who believed himself appointed to right the wrongs of the +world—the victim of religious mania. That would account for the +choice of a monastic costume in which to masquerade—and it would also +account for the queer language of the letter, savoring as it did of the +Bible. Again, the type of person most likely to suffer from that form +of mental affliction would be a poorly educated person—and Simon +entertained grave doubts as to the orthography of some of the words in +the letter. +</P> + +<P> +He reached into a pigeonhole of the desk and took out a small +dictionary that he always kept at hand. He selected the dubious +spellings that had caught his attention and ran them down one by one. +"Oppresor" was wrong. "Defensless" was fearful. "Neighbor" started +out brilliantly but came a cropper at the end. And that curious +phrase, "Who hast"; what about that? Simon was a trifle hazy over +this, so he gave the writer the benefit of the doubt. It sounded +queer, though. Anyway, he had established to his satisfaction that the +fellow was illiterate—naïvely passing by the fact that he had himself +resorted to a dictionary to confirm his belief. +</P> + +<P> +He congratulated himself frankly on one score—he had laid the ghost! +He could admit now—though with a blush of shame—that he had been +badly shaken for just a few minutes, what with his own nerves and +Ocky's confounded chattering! A man without a face! A "familiar" from +the Spanish Inquisition! What rot a man's imagination can trick him +into crediting. But that was over and done with now; he was back on +solid ground, self-confident, secure— +</P> + +<P> +He jumped quite half a foot in his chair at a muffled tap on the +door—and swore at Bates for announcing dinner. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>IV: The Legend of the Monk</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Four people sat down to dinner that evening in the big dining-room +across the hall from the parlor and Varr's study. The walls of the +dining-room were plentifully equipped with sconces bearing lamps, but +Simon, in some moment of petty economy, had once decreed that these +should be lighted only on formal occasions. The only illumination this +evening came from the candles on the table, which stood in the center +of the room, and beyond the area reached by their rays the shadows +deepened into impenetrability. At one end of the room a narrow slit of +light at top and bottom marked the position of the swinging door which +gave access to the pantry. +</P> + +<P> +From this point to the sideboard, and thence to the table, and back +again, moved Bates on noiseless feet as he busied himself with the +service of the meal. In his black clothes, the instant he slipped out +of the magic lighted circle he was swallowed completely by the shadows, +to reappear presently with spectral abruptness in another segment of +activity. Several times he startled Simon by silently materializing +from the void at his elbow, and on each occasion the tanner found some +excuse to vent his anger in a curt rebuke to the servant. +</P> + +<P> +The four who dined were of diametrically opposed temperaments. Across +the table from Varr sat his wife, Lucy, a pale, gentle soul who under +happier circumstances might have retained more of her youthful +freshness and beauty than she had. She appeared washed-out and +bloodless, so that her sister had remarked to herself that living with +Simon Varr must be not unlike associating permanently with a vampire. +His own abundant vitality sapped the life-juice from those about him, +leaving the desiccated bodies an easy prey to his appetite for +dominance. +</P> + +<P> +At Varr's left was his son, Copley, a young man who had come of age +that summer. He was tall and straight, aquiline of feature, brown-eyed +and with dark chestnut hair that persisted, to his annoyance, in a +tendency to curl. He was a likable chap, popular with young and old of +both sexes. His good looks came from his mother, together with the +equable disposition that promised to be his as he grew older and +learned better to control his emotions. When a youngster he had been +willful at times and prone to flashes of fiery temper, a heritage, +beyond doubt, from his father's chronic irascibility, but the +discipline of boarding-school and college had taught him to restrain at +least its outward manifestations. From Simon, too, he had inherited a +flair for business—an invaluable asset, thought Miss Ocky, for a man +sentenced for life to this twentieth century America. +</P> + +<P> +She was studying him now as she sat across the table from him, just as +she studied the other two when opportunity served. They were all three +practically strangers to her. The boy had not even been expected when +she went to China with the Oriental Languages committee from her +college, and in the twenty-three years that had elapsed before her +return two months ago, time had worked changes. She would never have +recognized her bright, joyous sister in this tired woman of the +listless air. As for her brother-in-law—well, perhaps it was not +quite accurate to say that he was a stranger to her; she had known +Simon Varr at the period of his courtship and marriage and he was still +Simon Varr, only a little more so! Detestable creature. She held him +accountable, quite justly, for the blight that lay upon Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +And upon Bates, too, for that matter. Miss Ocky had always had a warm +place in her heart for the faithful old man, reposing in him the trust +and confidence that her father had shown in the same quarter. Bates +was something more than the ordinary servant, he came close to being a +throw-back to the feudal retainer type of other days in his loyalty and +devotion to his house, just as his former master, Sylvester Copley, had +approximated in his time the character of a country gentleman. Bates +was getting on in years, of course, which would account for much of his +increased graveness and passivity, but not all. Unless Miss Ocky's +suspicions were wide of the mark, he, too, had come under the deadening +influence of Varr's dominance—ah! but <I>had</I> he <I>entirely</I>? At the +very moment she was thinking about it, Simon had uttered a terse +comment, as biting as acid, upon some negligible feature of the +dinner-service. No faintest flicker of his facial muscles gave any +hint that Bates had heard the remark, but his eyes revealed that he +had, and for the fraction of a second they glinted oddly red in the +candlelight. Was there a spark of manhood in his breast that still +glowed when breathed upon? +</P> + +<P> +They dined in silence for the most part. Simon was never a brilliant +conversationalist, and to-night his thoughts were busy with matters far +afield. Young Copley was taciturn and moody, preoccupied by +reflections of no very agreeable nature, to judge by his glum manner. +Lucy Varr, helping herself but scantily from the dishes passed, +preserved her customary pose of nervous diffidence. Only Miss Ocky +tried to dispel the settled atmosphere of depression by occasionally +shooting point-blank questions at one or another of her companions—and +toward the end of the meal she did manage to stir up a little +excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Copley," she addressed the quiet young man across the table. "You've +been out in the great world for several days, what's going on in New +York? Haven't you brought back any news to us country folk?" +</P> + +<P> +"New York?" He roused himself by a palpable effort. "No, Aunt Ocky, I +didn't pick up anything in New York that would interest you. Nothing +much good at the theaters just now. But if you want a piece of local +news I may have one for you. It would be more interesting to you three +than to me. When I got off the train this afternoon there was another +chap who swung off just ahead of me, and I noticed him particularly +because he was so different from anything you'd expect to drop off the +four-sixteen. Tall and well-set-up, dressed like the mirror of +fashion, smooth and polished—and followed by a valet, if you please, +carrying his grips and a bag of golf clubs! Imagine a sight like that +in Hambleton! I thought he'd made a mistake in his station, until I +saw him walk right across the platform to where Adams, the +baggage-master, was standing. He said something and held out his hand, +and old Adams grabbed it and shook it as if he was greeting a prodigal +son. I thought the valet looked a bit shocked! Then this chap tucked +himself and his man and his baggage into one of Brown's jitneys and +drove off like a lord!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who in the world could it have been?" wondered his mother, awakened to +a mild interest at the account of such grandeur in Hambleton. "Did you +ask, Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have my share of vulgar curiosity, mother; I did. As soon as he +disappeared I pounced on old Adams and asked him the name of his swell +friend. He told me that it was Leslie Sherwood, the son of the man who +died last winter—<I>hullo</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +He broke off short and looked into the darkness behind him, whence had +come the crash of china as Bates dropped a tray of coffee cups. +Silence succeeded the tragedy, during which they could hear the +butler's muttered ejaculations of horror and distress as he bent to +retrieve the debris. +</P> + +<P> +"Confound you, Bates! You get clumsier every day you live!" +</P> + +<P> +Varr's outburst was swift, but not swift enough to deceive his +sister-in-law. Her quick eye had detected several little items of +interest, although they had occurred simultaneously and in opposite +directions. +</P> + +<P> +At the mention of Leslie Sherwood's name, Lucy Varr had straightened in +her chair and turned to her son with parted lips as if eager for more +news, while a delicate flush—the first touch of color Ocky had seen +there in two months—sprang into her pale cheeks. This was fair +enough. In the old days, Leslie Sherwood had been attentive to Lucy +Copley in such degree that their circle confidently stood by for a +formal announcement. Then he had rather abruptly departed toward a +"business career in New York," making it plain that Hambleton would see +him no more for some while to come. His departure left clear the way +to the lady's hand for a colder, less attractive, but more determined +suitor. Lucy married Simon Varr. +</P> + +<P> +She was entitled, then, to display some faint emotion at the mention of +a recreant knight, and Simon, with propriety, might have shown a +husbandly twinge of jealousy or contempt or dislike—any of a dozen +different sentiments other than the one he did reveal. At the bit of +news so casually dropped by his son, his head had jerked up sharply and +a look of fear had flashed into his eyes and out again. He had +cleverly seized upon the butler's mishap to cover his confusion, but +the ruse was too late to be effective as far as Miss Ocky was concerned. +</P> + +<P> +So Simon was afraid of Leslie Sherwood, or else he had something to +fear from the sudden reappearance of that gentleman. Which was it? and +why? Miss Ocky determined to find out eventually. In the meantime she +would accept the curious circumstance and store it in that corner of +her brain where she was collecting odds and ends of data relating to +her brother-in-law. +</P> + +<P> +"When did old Mr. Sherwood die?" she asked promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Last February," answered her sister. "He had been very ill for +several months—a general breakdown." +</P> + +<P> +"Leslie was here at the time, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"N-no; he wasn't. You're not posted on local topics, Ocky! This is +the first time Leslie has been back in Hambleton since he left to go +into business in New York. No one ever knew anything definite, but we +have always assumed that father and son quarreled over something so +bitterly that reconcilement was impossible. Still, when the old man +died he left everything to Leslie—and he has turned up, now. I wonder +if he will sell the place or—or live here?" +</P> + +<P> +That was an unusually long speech for Lucy Varr, and it betrayed her +lively interest in the subject under discussion. Simon must have noted +that and perhaps resented it, for his face darkened. He made no +comment, however, but celebrated the end of dinner in his usual manner +by pushing back his chair a little, crossing his legs comfortably, and +beginning a series of excavating operations with a quill toothpick +which he drew from his vest pocket. Miss Ocky winced. This was the +postprandial habit of his that annoyed her excessively. +</P> + +<P> +She had not changed for dinner. Now she took a cigarette case from a +side pocket of her coat, extracted a cigarette and lighted it from one +of the candles. Simon did not smoke himself, and he disliked intensely +the sight of a woman using tobacco. He glanced at Ocky, and to her +deep satisfaction made a wry face at the cloud of smoke she contentedly +exhaled. Winces were easy. +</P> + +<P> +The little circle broke up after dinner. Varr went off to his study +and shut himself in, his wife pleaded a headache, and with a word of +apology to her sister departed for her bedroom. Ocky, amiably anxious +to distract her nephew's thoughts from whatever he was glooming over, +suggested a game of chess. Finding this had not been included in his +college curriculum, she announced that she would settle herself in the +living-room with some new books that had come. +</P> + +<P> +She went upstairs for one of these, and returned bearing it and a small +sheathed dagger with a highly ornamented handle. She found Copley in +the living-room, attired in a raincoat, standing and looking at the +closed door leading to Simon's study. Miss Ocky settled herself in a +chair by the lamp on the center table, drew the dagger from its worn +leather sheath and proceeded to cut the pages of Henner's "Through +Asia." She glanced up whimsically at her nephew. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Copley, are you posing for a statue of indecision?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something like that, Aunt Ocky." He smiled ruefully. "I was going +for a tramp, then I thought I'd drop in for a chat with father—and now +I think I won't have a chat with him, but will go for a walk." +</P> + +<P> +"It's pouring, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, you don't. I know that mood—and a good sloshing hike in +the rain is a splendid cure for it. I know what's the matter with you, +too." She shot a look at the closed door and lowered her voice. "Why +don't you cut the Gordian knot and be done with it?" she added quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I don't get you." +</P> + +<P> +"Elope, idiot child! You and she are both of age. Consider the late +Mr. Ajax of Greece—he defied the lightning and got away with it! They +can't do more than excommunicate you with bell and book and candle." +</P> + +<P> +"But that's plenty, Aunt Ocky." A smile that had greeted her +suggestion faded away, leaving him gloomier than ever. "If I only had +to think about myself—! But I can't let Sheila in for a lot of +hardship. It costs money, these days, to live in even the most +moderate comfort, and all I could bring into the family treasury would +be just what I could earn with my two hands—supposing I was lucky +enough to find a job! It wouldn't be fair to Sheila—that's the long +and short of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you given her a chance to speak for herself?" His aunt sniffed +contemptuously. "Gracious goodness, Copley, isn't there something more +in life than money? Don't people think of anything else in America?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. It's a free country and a man has a perfect right to be a +visionary and starve to death if he wants to. It just happens I +don't!" He grinned as some of her disgust went into a savage slashing +of uncut edges. "As things are, I don't believe I'll ask Sheila to +share my crust of bread." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll ask her for you—blessed if I don't! I intended to run over +and see her in the morning, anyway. Did it ever strike you that +matchmaking is the proper business of old maids? They atone for +celibacy through vicarious marriage!" +</P> + +<P> +"So that is the explanation of their favorite indoor sport, is it? But +I can't regard you as a confirmed old maid, Aunt Ocky." He moved to +her side and dropped a hand affectionately on her shoulder. "If you +won't think me awfully fresh for saying it—you're about the youngest +looking woman for your age that I've ever laid eyes on." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, thank you, Copley; thank you very much. Really, I must remember +you in my will for them kind words! But about to-morrow—may I +represent myself as being your plenipotentiary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure thing. Go as far as you like, Aunt Ocky. Anything you start, +I'll finish." The sound of a chair being pushed back in the study +caught his ear and indicated a discreet change of subject. He stooped +to retrieve the dagger that had slipped from her lap and examined it a +moment. For all its exquisite beauty of design and workmanship, it was +a wicked little weapon. "You have a bloodthirsty taste in paper +cutters, Aunt Ocky. Where did you get this? Has it a history?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very likely, but I don't know it. It is certainly old enough to have +a lurid past. I picked it up in the bazaar at Teheran. That +inscription on the blade is Persian." +</P> + +<P> +"What does it mean? They taught me Persian when they taught me chess." +</P> + +<P> +"It reads, 'I bring Peace!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. The Oriental point of view, I suppose! We would be more apt to +think of a dagger as bringing war." +</P> + +<P> +"We think backwards at times," commented Miss Ocky. She reclaimed her +colorful souvenir of the East, then glanced up as the study door +opened. "Hello, Simon. I expect you will sleep easier to-night; no +fear of fire bugs in a rain like this!" +</P> + +<P> +He grunted something unintelligible, and stared at Copley standing +there in the parlor in his raincoat. The young man returned the stare +with expressionless face. Neither he nor his father spoke, and in a +moment the tanner left the room. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky was as good as her word the following morning. She marched +cross-country to the Graham house, some half-mile distant, and had a +long and enlightening conversation with Sheila. She had met the girl +several times and approved of her highly, and when she left her finally +to return home her good opinion of Miss Graham was in nowise +diminished. The young woman, if she were not mistaken, had just the +qualities needed to make a useful citizen out of a husband like Copley +whose chief defect was clearly a lack of decision. He wanted +starching, that was it. +</P> + +<P> +She bore homeward a book that she had borrowed from Sheila, and though +it only wanted twenty minutes to lunch time, she neither went to her +room to freshen up nor sought her nephew to make a hasty report on the +result of her embassy. She betook herself instead to the study, and +there was a malicious twinkle in her eye as she tapped on the closed +door. She obeyed a gruff command to enter. +</P> + +<P> +Varr had made the best of his period of enforced idleness by working on +a batch of order-books that he had brought from his office. He was +busy with them now, and he looked as displeased as he was surprised by +Ocky's interruption. +</P> + +<P> +"What do <I>you</I> want?" he snapped irritably. +</P> + +<P> +"I've picked up some information that I thought you'd like to hear, +Simon. How is your nerve this morning? I've just been to call on +Sheila Graham and she fairly made my blood curdle." +</P> + +<P> +"Serves you right. Mine curdles when I even think of her." He +frowned. "Why did you go to see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I promised to take her a recipe for a cous-cous I described to her the +other day. Anyway, I like her, even if you don't. But that has +nothing to do with our muttons! While I was chatting with her I +happened to mention our experience yesterday with the monk—" +</P> + +<P> +"You did! What in the world <I>for</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Simon, when I go to call on any one I like to talk about +<I>something</I>—I can't sit like a dummy—" +</P> + +<P> +"You can't!" +</P> + +<P> +"And that was certainly the most interesting bit of news that I had. +It quite woke her up. She's something of a blue-stocking, you know, +and has read a lot about the early history of this country. When I +spoke of the monk she looked very queer and went straight to a shelf of +books and took out this one—" Miss Ocky held up the one she was +carrying, and Varr saw that she was keeping a place in it with one +forefinger. "When she showed me a certain passage in it, I put it +right under my arm and brought it—" +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't have," he told her abruptly. "I recognize the thing, +though I've never bothered to read it; Jennison's 'History of Wayne +County,' isn't it? There's a copy among your father's books in the +library." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there? I wish I'd known it!" She opened the book at her place, +steadied the heavy volume on her knees and cleared her throat. "I am +going to read this to you, Simon—it isn't long." +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead." He had tried overnight to put the disagreeable subject out +of his mind but had not succeeded very well. He was consumed by +curiosity now to learn what she had discovered, though nothing would +have induced him to admit it. "What's it all about?" +</P> + +<P> +She began to read in a soft, well-modulated voice. +</P> + +<P> +"'Wayne County is not without its share of legends and quaint scraps of +folklore, some of them nicely calculated to chill the blood o' nights. +One fable, at least, has risen from a base of fact; I refer to the +famous Monk of Hambleton. Ancient chronicles of this town record the +arrival—in pre-Revolutionary times—of an unfortunate individual whose +face had been shockingly mutilated by accident or disease. He drifted +to Hambleton from the outer world and apparently quartered himself on +the countryside, living the life of a hermit in a small dry cave that +still shows traces of his presence. He habitually wore the garb of a +friar—a penance, perhaps, for former sins—and his disfigured face was +always concealed from curious eyes by a mask of black cloth. +</P> + +<P> +"'After his death—a lonely demise in his humble cave—a story sprang +up about him to the effect that his spirit still lingered in the +neighborhood of its passing. Several credible persons claimed at +different times to have met the Monk, and since by some unhappy chance +these victims of an optical delusion were all subsequently visited by +misfortune in greater or less degree, it soon began to be whispered +about that to encounter the specter was a sure augury of impending +calamity. A local poet, long since forgotten, was inevitably inspired +to preserve the legend in his rustic doggerel. I append a few couplets: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"<I>'Who meets the monk at crack o' dawn<BR> +Shall rue the day that he was born.</I><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"<I>'Who meets the monk in light of day,<BR> +Woe goes with him on his way.'</I>"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Cheery little thing," grunted Simon Varr as she paused an instant. +"Is that all of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, there's one more verse." Miss Ocky deepened her tones a note or +two as she solemnly read it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"<I>'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh<BR> +Within the fortnight he shall die.'</I>"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +She closed the book and regarded her brother-in-law with eyes +half-mocking, half-pitying. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you wouldn't dream of treating such nonsense seriously, +Simon; I know that. But it's curious, and rather interesting, don't +you think? Jennison had his tongue in his cheek when he wrote his +account of it, but even he relates as a matter of fact the coincidence +that those persons who saw the vision were subsequently badly out of +luck." Ocky shook her head gently and glanced at him commiseratingly. +"If it <I>should</I> come true in your case, Simon, I suppose this is an +opportune moment to offer you my condolences!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he managed to reply dryly. +</P> + +<P> +He felt very squeamish inside, though most of that was due to his +innate abhorrence of anything that brought up the subject of death. As +far as the Monk was concerned, he had found in the letter thrust into +the cleft stick and now reposing in a pigeonhole of his desk the reason +back of that masquerade—though he had to admit that the writer of the +anonymous note had certainly hit upon a sufficiently gruesome method of +transmitting it. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Ocky, for your condolences," he continued after an +interval. "The same to you and many of them! We'll go together, no +doubt. Don't forget you saw the Monk at the same time I did!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ah</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The monosyllable was almost a gasp of pain. Simon stared at her, +rather startled by the effectiveness of his sardonic reminder. The +book she was holding had dropped to the floor with a crash, her cheeks +had gone white to the lips, and now she was staring straight ahead of +her with a fixed expression of horror in her eyes as though they were +truly visioning the sure approach of Death. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>V: Miss Lucy's Man</I> +</H3> + +<P> +It did not take Simon Varr and Miss Copley very long to recover from +the perturbation they had shown when she finished reading him the bit +of folklore relating to the Monk. Both of them were highly efficient +in the art of self-repression, or failing that, knew how to mask an +inner emotion behind their normal outward semblance. When they +presently left the study for the luncheon table, Simon wore his usual +frown above knitted brows, while Miss Ocky displayed her accustomed +placidity of countenance with its high-lights of humor about her lips +and sharp gray eyes. +</P> + +<P> +A dish of French chops annoyed the lord and master of the house. He +pointed out to his patient helpmeet that times were ripe for economy +and that French chops are economical only in respect to their nutritive +content. With the tannery closed down, an era of corned beef and +cabbage was strongly indicated—especially, she would understand, as +there now appeared to be four mouths to feed in the family instead of +the customary three. He hoped she would heed his words and exercise +greater prudence in the management of her household—and the courteous +inflection of his tones as he voiced his hope was a masterpiece of +sarcasm. It left his wife pale and resigned, his son red and +embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"If corned beef and cabbage ever shows up in this dining-room," +remarked the one member of his audience still undaunted, "my father +will turn in his grave." +</P> + +<P> +"Your father thought entirely too much of his stomach," said her host +coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes? Well, it repaid him for all the affection he lavished on it. +His digestion was wonderful to the very end. How is yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"I could say that that is purely my own business, but if you insist on +knowing, my digestion is excellent." +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't have thought it. I don't agree with you as to the +essential privacy of the subject, either. It concerns all of us since +we have to live with you." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Do</I> you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" A touch of color in her cheeks suggested that flint was at last +beginning to spark beneath the steel. "Apropos of that and your +earlier remark, Simon—would it ease your financial straits at all if I +were to contribute something for my board and lodging? It would be a +novel experience for me in this house, but I've always been able to +adapt myself to altered circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +She did not expect a hurried and polite disclaimer from her +brother-in-law. Disclaimers of any sort were not in Simon's line. He +merely sent her a chill look as he thrust back from the table and rose +to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"That is something you can settle with Lucy," he said coldly. "I'm +sorry I can't stay and chat with you a little longer, but I am due to +spend the afternoon at the tannery." +</P> + +<P> +"It's nice to know that you can spend something," she threw after him +sweetly. "Why don't you bring back a hide or two from the vats, Simon? +We might boil them down for soup!" +</P> + +<P> +He glared back at her over his shoulder as he stalked from the room. +Miss Ocky glanced at the faces of the two who remained with her and +gave a contented little chuckle. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, that scene was a bit of honest, downright vulgarity!" she said +cheerfully. "Refreshing once in a while, don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ocky! I wish you wouldn't poke him up like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Well! Suppose he stops poking me first! I haven't got the patience +of a saint like you, Lucy—and gracious only knows where <I>you</I> get it +from, my poor child! Twenty years ago you'd have taken that plate of +chops and shoved it down his throat." A fleeting recollection +corollary to this thought impelled her to shoot a discontented glance +at her nephew across the table. "What in the world has become of the +Copley spirit?" she demanded bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't really understand Simon," murmured her sister. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Miss Ocky grimly, "but I'm beginning to." +</P> + +<P> +They left it at that and withdrew from the dining-room. From his +inconspicuous post near the sideboard, Bates followed the retreating +figure of Miss Ocky with admiring and grateful eyes. Here, he told +himself, was the old Miss Ocky coming to life again, and his heart +rejoiced to think that Simon was in a fair way to get back as good as +he gave. The spirit of the Copleys—aye, they had it, every one of +them, if only they would show it now and then! +</P> + +<P> +Lucy Varr departed for the kitchen, possibly to caution the cook +against undue ostentation at dinner, and Copley, obeying an imperious +glance from a pair of gray eyes, followed his aunt to the veranda. She +led the way to one end of it, and there turned the corner into an ell +that had been screened and glassed against the mosquitoes of summer and +the frosts of winter. With comfortable wicker chairs and quantities of +soft cushions, it was a cosy nook that had become Miss Ocky's favorite +haunt for reading or writing. +</P> + +<P> +She ousted a magnificent, smoky-blue Angora who, catlike, had decided +the best was none too good for him, seated herself and waved Copley to +another chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I had a talk with Sheila this morning," she announced. +</P> + +<P> +The young man's face had been flushed and dark, but now, at the mention +of Sheila's name, it lighted quickly. He had been acutely embarrassed +during the exchange of courtesies between his father and his aunt, and +he had felt a quick resentment at the innuendo she had flung at him and +which he had by no means missed, but these passing moods vanished in +favor of happier emotions. +</P> + +<P> +"I wondered if you really would! But, say, Aunt Ocky—you surely +didn't have the nerve to mention your elopement scheme, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly did. My nerve is a very superior article. I wish to +goodness I could graft a piece of it onto your backbone." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Can't a fellow be sensible, Aunt Ocky, without being accused of +spinelessness? However, for the love of Mike, tell me what she said! +She turned it down hard, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"She did not, though it was obvious that she would have preferred to +hear it from your own lips. Naturally. At any rate, when I first got +there I broached the subject tactfully—" +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't do it any other way, Aunt Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be impertinent. She soon made it plain that she was willing to +talk frankly and openly—was glad of the rare opportunity to discuss +matters with a person of some intelligence. She has been having a +little unpleasantness of her own; did you know that? It appears her +father has been fearfully stirred up over something yesterday and +to-day, and this morning when she spoke of you in some connection he +was quite savage. He was never keen on the idea of a match between you +two, was he?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I'm afraid he has sense, too!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, his daughter has a mind of her own, and she has made it up. She +has wisely concluded that a lot of our happiness in this life has to be +snatched from the Fates who dangle it before our eyes, just out of our +reach. She feels that the most practical way for you and her to grab +yours is to marry first and let the fireworks follow. Opposition to +the marriage will be curiously ineffective if the marriage has already +taken place. I thought she showed a good deal of fine logic, there." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, she agreed with everything you suggested!" Copley made a +despairing gesture. "Aunt Ocky, come down to brass tacks. It's true +that I'm crazy about Sheila and that she cares more for me that I could +hope to deserve—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ever so much more!" +</P> + +<P> +"—but Sheila is a human being who has to <I>eat</I>! She has to have +clothes to wear. She probably has a preference for a roof over her +head. And I—I'm <I>bust</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing saved from your allowance, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was never magnificent. Now, it is discontinued. Father has always +put it to my credit at the bank punctually on the first of the month. +Last Tuesday I dropped in to get my balance and—found an overdraft! +He was never careless in his life, so I don't need to ask him if he +forgot to make the deposit. He has simply decided to bring it sharply +to my attention that I am in no situation to marry, so he has cut out +my allowance." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. I expect you're right." She frowned at this new manifestation +of Simon's ruthless determination always to have his own way in +everything, then shifted a portion of her severity toward her nephew. +"In a sense, Copley, I'm rather glad that he did. If there's one thing +you need, it's a touch of adversity. Stiffen up, boy! I've done +everything this morning that I propose to do for you; now go to Sheila +and talk things over with her, as you ought to, instead of with me. +She's waiting for you!" +</P> + +<P> +He rose with decision, a new alertness in his face and manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Ocky, you're a brick." Impulsively, he took a step toward her, +thrust forth a sinewy hand and gripped the one she raised. "It makes +me feel like a new man just to listen to you—and the only thing I +can't understand is why you think me worth the trouble you take." +</P> + +<P> +"There is no mystery about that. I have always loved your mother +tenderly, and some of that affection you have inherited. Sheila is a +lovely girl who I believe will make you happy—and do you good. As for +my desire to have the business settled—well, I've my own reasons for +that which will be made clear to you in time. Have you anything else +on your infant mind? No? Then, go—for goodness' sake, go!" +</P> + +<P> +He went. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky sank back in her chair and for a space stared out at the +peaceful countryside that rose and fell in gentle undulations which +finally faded away into the blue distance. The forgiving Angora leaped +to her lap and she caressed him absently, her mind centered upon her +thoughts, which were not always as cheerful as they might have been. +</P> + +<P> +So rapt was she in meditation that she was not aware of Bates' presence +until he had stood near her for a full minute. His house-shoes enabled +him to move on noiseless feet and he had never stooped to that common +subterfuge of butlers, the nervous cough. He stood patiently, in +silence, and Miss Ocky, when she noticed him at length, was stirred to +remembrance by something in his attitude. It was just so he had used +to come upon her in the old days when he was wont to bring his +difficulties to her, apparently deriving comfort from her half-mocking, +half-sympathetic comments. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Bates—you want to speak to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky, I do—and I don't." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand perfectly, thanks to my exceptional cleverness and my +vast knowledge of human nature. What you want to do is blow off +steam—as you used to—but you are not certain that it's quite the +right thing to do. Isn't that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can set your doubts at rest. It isn't right; and now that +we've settled that," added the lady comfortably, "go ahead and blow. +After a long and very virtuous life I'm beginning to think there is +much to be said for crime! I can guess your secret sorrow, too." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure you can, Miss Ocky." A faint amusement that had lighted his +tired eyes at her philosophy vanished again. "You've been here two +months or more, and you've seen how it is for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I have. I tell you candidly, Bates, if I had dreamed how things +were going here I would never have stayed away twenty years. I was +shocked when I saw my sister—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it, Miss Ocky, that's it!" In his eagerness he was oblivious +to his breach of good form in interrupting. "It's not myself I'm +blowing off steam about. It's Miss Lucy. You can guess how I've felt +through these years, watching her change into what she is. It has hurt +me, Miss Ocky, for when all is said and done, I'm Miss Lucy's man as I +was her father's before her—not Simon Varr's! You remember what she +was like before you went away—always bright and happy and full of fun +and singing around the house. We used to call her the Queen of +Fairyland—" +</P> + +<P> +"My memory is excellent, Bates. You needn't harrow me further." +</P> + +<P> +"And look at her now," continued the old man relentlessly. "A poor +meek woman that never dares to call her soul her own, faded and +lifeless as the flowers I throw out of the vases, looking twice her +age—" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope she's well out of earshot, Bates." +</P> + +<P> +"And it's all the fault of that man!" said the butler passionately, his +eyes shining with anger and indignation and his usual careful diction +sacrificed to the greater need of plain speech. "It's him that has +done it with his sneerin' mockin' ways that would bring an angel to +tears—his penny-savin', snivelin' meanness that grudges her every cent +she spends, just as though he'd had a dollar to call his own before she +lifted him out of the gutter where he belongs. 'Twould have been +kinder if he had up in the beginning and struck her over the head and +been done with it instead of wearin' her down to skin and bones by his +naggin' and growlin' and snarlin'. And how do you think I've felt, +Miss Ocky, while I stood by all these years and watched it goin' on +unable to lift a finger to her help? 'Tis only once and again, when he +has her near to tears at the table, that I'm able to drop a plate or +joggle his elbow and him drinkin' coffee the while, and so distract his +attention." +</P> + +<P> +He paused for breath. Ordinarily Miss Ocky would have been vastly +entertained by this sketch of Simon's attention being distracted, but +she was in no mood for amusement at the moment. Her eyes were hard, +and if she deliberately kept her comments pitched on a semi-humorous +note, it was more to pacify and soothe the old butler than anything +else. +</P> + +<P> +"I gather you don't care for Mr. Varr," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Does any one, Miss Ocky?" he retorted more calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"You used a curious expression a moment since," she said, ignoring a +question she deemed purely rhetorical. "You spoke of yourself as 'Miss +Lucy's man.' Just what did you mean, Bates? I know you don't use +words just because you like the sound of them." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't miss anything, do you, Miss Ocky?" +</P> + +<P> +His set face softened as he regarded her with a look almost of +affection. "No, you were never one to miss anything! I'll tell you +what I meant, though I've never breathed a word of it even to Miss +Lucy, bless her!" +</P> + +<P> +"There are a lot of things you could tell me," said Miss Ocky, "and I +hope some day you will. Go ahead with this one, first." +</P> + +<P> +"It dates back. I could make a long story of it, but I won't. You +might say it goes back to the time I took service with your father and +mother. I was in trouble, mortal trouble, when they took me in, Miss +Ocky, and they gave me a home and comfort and—and security. That last +is a great thing in a hard world, as I guess you know. The only way I +could repay them was by being a 'good and faithful servant,' as the +Bible puts it, and I had reason to believe that they both came to be +glad of the day they showed kindness to a less fortunate human." +</P> + +<P> +"What was your trouble?" she asked quietly, for this was her first +intimation that his advent to the household had been marked by anything +out of the ordinary. "My father never mentioned it." +</P> + +<P> +"He wouldn't—and it doesn't belong with what I've started to tell you +now, Miss Ocky." He glanced at her apologetically. "I'm telling you +how I know they were glad to have me. When your mother was dying, Miss +Ocky, she had me called in for a word with her. She thanked me for the +service I'd given and said she hoped I would always stay with your +father as long as he needed me—'which will be to the day of his +death,' she said. +</P> + +<P> +"The same thing happened when his time came. I was in and out of his +room a dozen times a day while he was ill, and once he stopped me and +told me a few things he had on his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"'It's a queer thing, Bates,' he said. 'Here I am dying with scarce a +relative to my name, and I'm leaving two daughters to face the world +alone. They'll have money, but they won't have an older person to help +them over the rough places.' I could see he was worried. 'Of course,' +he said, 'Miss Lucy is going to marry that young fellow, Varr. I'm not +so fond of him as she is, though I've nothing against him that would +stop the match. It's her I'm thinking about. She will have this house +when I'm gone and she is married—and I want her to have you.' Well, +Miss Ocky, to tell you the truth I started to say something about +hoping that <I>you</I> would set up housekeeping and find a place for me, +but he wouldn't listen to me for a minute. You know how quick he was. +'I'm competent to judge my own children!' he snapped at me. 'Ocky can +stand on her own two legs as long as she has 'em and will get along +nicely on crutches after that. It's Lucy that may need help.' He +looked at me very sharp—you have his eyes, Miss Ocky. 'I'm a dying +man and this is the last thing I'll ever ask of you,' he said. 'I +don't pretend that you owe me anything, but I'll ask you as a favor to +promise me you'll always stand by Miss Lucy.' +</P> + +<P> +"There couldn't be two answers to that. I promised." +</P> + +<P> +"And you've kept your promise faithfully. You've stood by." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all I have done, though," grumbled the old servant morosely. +His troubled gaze sought hers. "I've just—stood by." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you couldn't very well do more. I think it is greatly to your +credit that you didn't leave the house long ago." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been tempted often enough, Miss Ocky, but there's been the +thought in the back of my head that some day I might really be able to +help Miss Lucy in an hour of need." His hands closed nervously. "But +for that I'd have left, no fear! I've stood so much from him that now +I <I>hate</I> him! Do you know, Miss Ocky," his voice dropped to awed +confession, "when he was so sick of pneumonia awhile back I just hoped +and hoped and hoped our troubles were near an end!" +</P> + +<P> +"It would have been more practical to have left a window open on him, +but I suppose the nurse would have stopped that." Miss Ocky's voice +was an amused drawl. "Did you try prayer, Bates?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Prayer</I>! Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's effective sometimes." She seemed to muse. "Of course, if you +were only practiced in witchcraft you could make a wax image of him and +then stick pins in it until he curled up and died—" +</P> + +<P> +"Good gracious, Miss Ocky, but you've brought back some terrible ideas +from those foreign parts!" He was smiling, now, to show that he had +caught her mood and understood she was poking fun at him. The ceremony +of the blowing off of steam was nearly concluded. "If you ask me, I +don't believe that even witchcraft could hurt Simon Varr. It was only +the other day I heard him tell Miss Lucy that he'd increased his life +insurance and that the doctor had told him he was good for a +century-mark." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" There was about her the air of one whose hopes have just been +rudely dashed. Then her face brightened and she added with determined +cheerfulness. "Never mind, Bates—you'd be amazed if you knew how +often doctors are wrong!" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you're right, Miss Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose we drop the subject for the time. If you will look in the +sitting-room you'll find a book on the table called 'The Court of the +Borgias.' Bring it to me, please. I think a little quiet reading will +settle my thoughts after our conversation." +</P> + +<P> +He went off smiling to get the volume, and presently returned with it. +He lingered to produce a match for the cigarette she took from a stand +beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for listening to me, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"And thank you, Bates, for telling me what you did about father. I am +glad he had confidence in my ability to take care of myself, and that +he wasn't worrying over me when he had so much else to think about." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish Simon Varr was more like him!" said Bates. +</P> + +<P> +She made no reply to that, and he withdrew in his noiseless fashion. +She did not immediately dip into the sedative history of the Borgias, +but remained looking at the corner around which he had vanished with +something akin to speculative interest. She was pondering the old +man's revelation of his hatred for Varr and the curious glint she had +caught in his eye at dinner the night before. It would be amusing, she +thought, if Bates instead of handing Simon the carving-knife should +sometime so far forget himself as to slip it between his master's +shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +Amusing was the word she used to herself; perhaps, as the butler had +suggested, she had brought home some terrible ideas from the +East—ideas about Kismet and fatalism and the cheapness of human life +in comparison to human good. Wrong ideas, from the point of view of +the queer, drab, cramped and hypocritical Occidental mind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>VI: An Aunt in Need</I> +</H3> + +<P> +It was very nearly dinner-time before Copley Varr came back from his +talk with Sheila Graham. In deference to a hint from her that the +course of true love could not run smooth that afternoon in the vicinity +of her father, they had taken a long walk over the hills along quiet +country roads where hands could touch unseen by alien eyes. They were +happy, but rather nervously so, with something of the nervousness of a +young colt about to kick over the traces for the first time and who is +a little uncertain about the consequences. +</P> + +<P> +One bit of their afternoon was devoted to a ramble around the grounds +of a small, vacant house, whose exterior they viewed and discussed from +every possible angle. It stood in the center of a wooded ten-acre +tract, a long mile by winding road from Simon Varr's house but not a +quarter of that distance from it as a plane flies. It was situated, in +fact, at the bottom of the very hill on which Simon's home flaunted its +greater magnificence, and it had once formed part of the property until +severed from it by the elder Copley's will. +</P> + +<P> +They tried the front and back door, but finding them quite naturally +locked they made no further effort to effect an entrance. They +contented themselves with strolling around it once again, admiring its +shingles that were weather-beaten to a silvery gray, enthusing over the +quaintly-gabled windows of its upper story, calling each other's +attention to its palpable solidity of structure. +</P> + +<P> +"A few hundred dollars spent on these grounds!" cried Sheila, her +cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining. "Coppie, isn't it a <I>love</I> of a +place? Did you ever in your life see a nicer?" +</P> + +<P> +Coppie admitted freely that he never had. +</P> + +<P> +It was for reasons directly connected with this desirable country +property that he sought audience of his aunt immediately upon his +return home. She was not to be found anywhere downstairs, and since +his impatience did not welcome the idea of waiting for a fortuitous +opportunity to chat with her in private, he took the stairs three at a +time and rapped eagerly on the door of her bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +This was presently opened to him by a tall, bony, angular woman of +fifty-odd who regarded him not altogether favorably through +steel-rimmed spectacles. This was Janet Mackay, whom the +prosaic-minded would have designated a lady's-maid, but who had risen +from that humble position to be no less than Chancellor of State to her +sovereign majesty, Miss Ocky. The two women had shared the +ups-and-downs, the sunshine and shadow, of that mystic, colorful Orient +through whose extent the restless curiosity of the younger had led them +to and fro. Out there the line between mistress and servant had +inevitably been supplanted by the bond of companionship; but when they +returned to the more humdrum civilization of the western world, it was +Janet whose dour Scotch rectitude had re-established the distinction. +She took her meals with old Bates at a little table in the butlery, +found her chief relaxation in the one motion-picture house that +Hambleton boasted, and for the rest, "kept herself <I>to</I> herself." +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Janet!" he greeted her. "Is my aunt in there? Ask her if I +can come in and speak to her." +</P> + +<P> +The woman drew aside in the doorway as Miss Ocky answered for herself. +</P> + +<P> +"That you, Copley? Come in. I'm out on the veranda. Janet, you +needn't wait." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky's bedroom, like all the others on the upper floor, had a +small private balcony outside its tall French windows that made a +pleasant place to draw a comfortable chair in the late afternoon or the +cool of the evening. She was sitting there now and called to him to +bring a chair for himself, but he preferred to lounge against the heavy +wooden rail of the balcony. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Romeo! I expect affairs have been marching with you and Juliet +or you wouldn't be hunting me up so promptly." +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Aunt Ocky, I'm just tickled pink and all that, but are you +sure you ought to have done it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suggested the elopement?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no, of course not. That's all right. That's lovely. We are going +to take your advice and grab our happiness. What I'm fussing about is +the house business." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you'd find something to fuss about, wouldn't you! I didn't +encounter any such obstinacy in Sheila, but women are much more +practical than men in every respect. When I told her I owned that +particular property and proposed to settle it on you jointly as a +wedding-gift, she yelped with joy. It's true that after that she began +to make polite gestures of remonstrance, but the yelp came first by a +good, wide margin! I'm glad one of you has some common-sense." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm just as grateful as I can be, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Copley, you're a downright nuisance. Let me tell you +something, my child. I've a great deal more money than your mother or +you or any one else around here has any idea of. I've made investments +in my time that would have turned a banker's hair gray, and never one +of them but brought me huge returns. That property is of negligible +value to me—how negligible you don't know—and yet it will be very +valuable to you and Sheila as a haven of security that you can call +your own. As a rich aunt, I have every legal and moral and ethical +right to give it to you—and as a poor but deserving nephew, it is your +cue to say 'Thank you' and accept." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a brick, Aunt Ocky," said the young man soberly, for the second +time that afternoon. "Sheila spoke of a check for a thousand—" +</P> + +<P> +"For your honeymoon. If you don't splurge too hard, there'll be some +of it left for initial expenses." +</P> + +<P> +"You bet there will." He drew a long breath. "Thank you, Aunt Ocky," +he said obediently. "I accept. But, look here—there'll be a holy row +when my father hears what you've done. He'll want your head on a +charger!" +</P> + +<P> +"Better men than he have wanted that—and it's still neatly articulated +to the end of my spinal column!" She gave a low, reminiscent chuckle. +"There was a Chinese general, once, whom it was my privilege to annoy, +and he went so far as to put quite a flattering price on it. He lost +his own! Shall I tell you the story?" +</P> + +<P> +He eagerly assented, and the gory narrative of the unlucky Chinese +head-hunter occupied them until dinner was announced. +</P> + +<P> +It was scarcely to be wondered at that Copley was exuberantly cheerful +during the meal. His aunt might really have succeeded in her wish to +graft a bit of her nerve on to his backbone, for he felt a new sense of +self-reliance and resolution. Once married to Sheila, and with the +immediate future provided for by the generosity of Miss Ocky, he had no +doubt of his ability to pluck a pearl necklace from the world that was +his oyster! He knew quite a bit about the tanning business, a +knowledge acquired casually during summer vacations, and he also +knew—from Sheila—something of Graham's disappointed ambitions in +respect to a partnership, if his prospective father-in-law elected to +seek his fortune in another field, there was no reason why he shouldn't +hitch his wagon to Graham's star as Graham had once hitched his to +Varr's. The golden sun of finance was rising in the East for him, and +he and Sheila, hand in hand, would walk into the dawn— +</P> + +<P> +So ran his thoughts, and between them he kept up a flow of badinage +with Ocky, rallied his quiet mother into some show of life, and even +directed a few flippancies at the glum figure which graced the head of +the table. The tanner was taciturn, abstracted, and the only show of +emotion registered by his wooden countenance was a flash of uneasiness +when Copley made some casual reference to Leslie Sherwood. Miss Ocky +did not miss that, and again she wondered what lay behind. +</P> + +<P> +His son's airiness of manner distinctly jarred on Simon. A young man +just bereft of his allowance and under orders to renounce his lady-love +had no right to act like that. It wasn't natural—or else he had +something up his youthful sleeve. Humph. That might bear looking into! +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do this evening, Copley?" he demanded, as he +returned the quill toothpick to his pocket and rose from table. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing special, sir. Read a while and turn in early." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to be busy with some work for an hour or so. I wish you +would come to my study at nine. Want to talk to you." +</P> + +<P> +Copley's heart sank as he nodded acquiescence. Then it rose again, for +his eyes had strayed across to Miss Ocky and the sight of his powerful +ally braced his courage—just as Simon, the day before, had gained +fresh confidence from the glimpse of a cabbage. Nothing could harm him +while Aunt Ocky held up his arm! +</P> + +<P> +Punctually at nine o'clock he passed through the living-room on his way +to the appointment, and paused for a word with Ocky, who was reading by +the lamp in the center of the room. She had checked him with a gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"What does he want to see you about?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Just a snappy laying down of the laws of the Medes and +the Persians, I expect." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, don't quarrel with him!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—he's my father, after all? Right. It takes two to make a +quarrel anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"The most ridiculous aphorism ever coined! I've made lots of them +myself, single-handed. And it was policy, not filial respect, that +dictated my caution. If you quarrel, you'll lose your temper; if you +lose your temper, you may let something slip that will reveal your +plans." +</P> + +<P> +"Yours is the sapience of the serpent! But what could he do if he did +know the truth? We're both of age." +</P> + +<P> +"Just the same, it's a good generalship to avoid risks. I have learned +to leave little to chance." +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Ocky, will you come and live with us when we are really settled? +I've an idea I could profit a lot if I sat at your knees for a while!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could accept your invitation," Miss Ocky answered gravely. +Her eyes left his face and seemed to shield her thoughts behind a film +of blankness. "I'm afraid I have other—plans," she added quietly. +"It's after nine—don't get the habit of unpunctuality." +</P> + +<P> +He knocked on the study door at the end of the room, and closed it +after him when he had entered in response to a gruff command. +</P> + +<P> +For some little time Miss Ocky tried to center her thoughts on her +book, lifting her head to listen now and again as she paused in her +reading to cut pages with her two-edged souvenir of Teheran. The +conversation in the study appeared to be flowing along smoothly. She +could not catch any words, nor did she try to; a shrewd listener can +glean a good deal merely by interpreting the vocal tones of the +different speakers. Her ear told her that Simon was certainly laying +down the law but with no more than his usual acidity, and that his son +was pleading his cause patiently and without acrimony. It was natural +enough that he should hope up to the eleventh hour for a favorable +change in his father's attitude, a foolish hope but a pardonable one— +</P> + +<P> +Abruptly, Miss Ocky's ear cocked itself to a more alert angle. The +voices in the study had suddenly altered. Simon had said something in +his usual dictatorial accents, and Copley, instead of the soft answer +that turneth away wrath, had snapped a crisp rejoinder in louder tones +than any he had yet used. For a minute the two men were speaking at +once, discharging verbal salvos at point-blank range. Miss Ocky +shrugged her shoulders and smiled rather scornfully to herself. She +was not surprised. Lucy had told her of Copley's youthful flashes of +temper, which still persisted, though he had learned in some measure to +control them. +</P> + +<P> +She was trying to guess the probable outcome of the battle of words +when her thoughts were interrupted from another quarter. The bell of +the front door had rung violently, and Bates hurried from the pantry +and along the hallway to answer it. Miss Ocky wondered who in the +world could be calling at such an hour. +</P> + +<P> +She knew in a moment. There was the briefest of parleys with the +butler, and then, through the door of the living-room, she saw two men +hurry rearward through the hall in the direction of the study. +Evidently they proposed to present themselves before Varr without the +formality of announcing themselves through Bates. +</P> + +<P> +The first of the two she recognized instantly—it was Graham, the +manager of the tannery, whom she had met several times. And he was +Sheila's father! An awkward occasion for him to appear! The second +man she did not know at all. He was smaller and slighter than Graham, +a pale, anaemic creature. He lagged behind his companion, and as the +latter kept a grip on his arm as they proceeded, he gave the effect of +a lamb going reluctantly to the sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +Graham's face had been deeply flushed—so much she had had time to note +as he swept past the open door. She heard him knock at the study—from +sheer force of habit, no doubt, as he could not have waited for a +summons to enter before flinging back the door. His voice carried +clear to Miss Ocky's ear as he swiftly took up some remark he had +caught from within. +</P> + +<P> +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you—!" +</P> + +<P> +Obviously, events were marching to a proper row. Miss Ocky had no +objection to rows when she could participate in them, but to sit by and +listen to others enjoying themselves was merely boresome. She put her +book on the table, marking her place with the Persian dagger, rose and +left the room. The angry voices from the study followed her upstairs +as she sought the quiet of her own room. +</P> + +<P> +Here she found Janet Mackay, seated in a corner with a dozen new +handkerchiefs of linen that she was adorning with exquisitely +embroidered initials. She looked up, but continued her work without +speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Janet. Why aren't you at the movies this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're showing a gripping picture of purple passion," replied Miss +Mackay succinctly. She snipped a thread, deftly inserted fresh thread +in her needle and added casually, "It's a small world." +</P> + +<P> +This was a sample of Janet's cautious, crab-like approach to some topic +of interest. Miss Ocky recognized it and soon had encouraged her to +persevere. +</P> + +<P> +"A great thought, Janet, but scarcely a new one. What brought it to +your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"A piece of news that Bates was telling me over our supper. He got it +this afternoon from the postman. Did ye know that old Simon's kitchen +garden had been looted the other night?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"It was. The fellow took a few tomatoes and did a wee bit damage with +his big feet. Old Simon found out who it was, and he had him arrested." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. He would. The man was probably hungry, poor devil." +</P> + +<P> +"Aye; so they're saying in the town. No matter. Old Simon appeared +against him this morning in court and they sent him to the lock-up for +thirty days." +</P> + +<P> +"Ninety meals! It might be worse. Who was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"A young fellow named Charlie Maxon." +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon! Well, he'll be no loss to the community for a month!" +</P> + +<P> +"Aye?" Janet looked up sharply from her work. "Ye know him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's one of the leaders of the strike. I've spoken with him once or +twice. A bad egg, I should think." +</P> + +<P> +"Aye, and his parents before him," said Janet Mackay. "They used to +live around the corner from me in Aberdeen. I can remember Charlie as +a bairn, and even then he was always into mischief. He's no whit +better now." +</P> + +<P> +"And he turns up again in this little out-of-the-way place in America! +I see now why you say the world's a small one. Queer, but it's the way +things sometimes happen. Are you sure it's the same?" +</P> + +<P> +"Aye. Three times I've seen him in town and thought his face familiar, +he looks so like his father. When Bates spoke his name, I knew." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I take it you won't remind him of the old times in bonnie +Scotland!" +</P> + +<P> +"No fear!" said the older woman promptly. Then she looked keenly at +her mistress. "Aren't ye up early to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Simon is having a row with Copley in the study." Miss Ocky shrugged +her shoulders and made a grimace. "I didn't care to listen any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"He's having a row with the boy, is he?" Janet regarded her work +critically and bit off a thread neatly. "The old deevil! I'm glad I +have been with you all this time, Miss Ocky, and not around that 'un! +I've heard a few things about him from Bates." She threaded another +needle with deft fingers. "He's a rare curmudgeon. D'ye suppose he'll +go on like this to the end of his days?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can you teach an old dog new tricks?" asked Miss Ocky contemptuously. +"You should know better at your age, Janet." She got up and strolled +out on the balcony to see the brilliant stars in a sky of velvet +blackness. "Quarter past ten already. I shan't need you for anything +to-night. If you insist on ruining your eyes with that work any +longer, go off to your own room and let me get to bed!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>VII: Out of the Past</I> +</H3> + +<P> +When the curtain rose on the scene of that interview between the tanner +and his son, Simon was discovered at his desk laboriously making +entries in his small, cramped handwriting in the red notebook that held +so many of his secrets. He did not look up until he had completed the +memorandum which engaged him; when he swung his chair around he still +held the closed book in his hand and occasionally pounded his knee with +it when he wished to emphasize some point in the ensuing conversation. +</P> + +<P> +He had his notions of good generalship no less than his shrewd +sister-in-law, and he did not make the mistake of pitching his +prefatory remarks on a note of hostility. He was fishing for +information. He hoped to get a clue to the reason for Copley's sudden +elevation of spirit, if a reason really existed. +</P> + +<P> +"I was a little pressed for ready money at the beginning of the month +and did not see my way to making the usual deposit to your account," he +began, utterly indifferent, so he were not caught, that he was being +deliberately untruthful. "Hope it didn't embarrass you. Things are +easier, now, and I will attend to the matter to-morrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Why—why, thank you, sir!" This was so unexpected that the young man +was as bewildered as if a mine had exploded at his feet. "That is very +good of you. I had no idea you were—were strapped." He flushed. "As +a matter of fact, I thought—I thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on. What did you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sir, I thought you were just giving me a reminder of my absolute +dependence on you. I've been a pretty useless animal, I know." +</P> + +<P> +"Why the past tense? Are you a useful animal now?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no, sir. I guess it would be exaggerating the facts if I claimed +that! But my intentions are good." Simon's lips lifted. "I want to +get busy at something useful right away." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. You're just out of college and the general idea has been that +you would take a post-graduate course in the Columbia Law School; that +is your mother's wish. The tannery, if I may so express it, has always +been a stench in her nostrils. She is not the first woman to quarrel +with the honest source of her bread-and-butter." He stared at his son +from beneath level brows. "Well? Have plans changed?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to make money, sir, and it would be years before I could hope +to do that at the Bar." +</P> + +<P> +"I will undertake to continue your allowance until you have established +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, father, but it's not the same thing. I want to stand on my +own feet—and as soon as possible." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I wish—I intend—to marry Sheila Graham." +</P> + +<P> +"You shan't do it!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the drop of the handkerchief; steel rang upon steel, and no +buttons tipped their foils. It was careful fencing at first, thrust +and parry, parry and thrust, until Simon lost patience at length and +put all his viciousness into one deadly lunge. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, see here, Copley! If you persist in disregarding my wishes let +me tell you what will happen; I will throw Billy Graham out of his job +and I'll use every scrap of influence I possess to keep him from +getting another! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" The notebook +slapped on his knee. "Ruin your own prospects if you're fool enough to +do it; ruin Sheila's, if she's fool enough to let you; but <I>stop +there</I>! Maybe she'll help you to stop when she knows that your +stubbornness and hers will be a knife in her father's back! She <I>will</I> +know, too, for you can't go ahead in common decency without telling her +what it will mean to him!" The tanner leaned forward, an ugly light of +triumph in his eyes, raised his free hand and slowly clenched his fist. +"I've got—you—right—<I>there</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" The bitterest shame in the world, the shame of a son for his +father, was in that cry. The young man rose from his chair and stood +looking at Simon Varr almost incredulously. "You couldn't do <I>that</I>! +You couldn't do anything so contemptible! Do what you please to me, +but take back that threat before I—I despise you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Despise me? <I>You</I>! Ha! I'll take back nothing, and I'll use my +advantage to its full extent. Mark that! I've said you shan't marry +Sheila Graham—and what I say <I>goes</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not any longer with me!" flared his son at white heat. For a full +minute they indulged in a furious exchange of half-incoherent insults +before Copley's voice rose clear above his father's. "I will marry +Sheila as soon as she'll have me, and I warn you to keep your hands off +Graham!" +</P> + +<P> +It was then that the study door was flung open and a thick, heavy voice +cut through their abusive volleys. +</P> + +<P> +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you!" +</P> + +<P> +Graham came into the study, dragging with him the shrinking figure of +the clerk, Langhorn. His intrusion was startling enough, but there was +still a deeper significance in the slight lurch that the manager gave +as he halted, glowering, before Simon Varr. His flushed face and +blurred utterance contributed their testimony to a fact that was +ominous in itself; he had been drinking, drinking heavily, though he +was notably abstemious by habit. Varr got hastily to his feet, so +threatening was his manager's attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want here?" he demanded curtly, though he knew well enough +what Langhorn's presence betokened. "What do you mean by bursting in +like that? Are you drunk?" +</P> + +<P> +Possibly the crisp question went far to sober Graham, who was plainly +trying to shake off the effect of his potations as if the sense of the +undignified figure he was cutting was just beginning to filter into his +confused brain. He straightened up, steadied himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I want a talk with you, Mr. Varr. It's overdue, I think. I've been +waiting for you to make a move in a certain direction, and it seems +I've been fooling myself nicely." He spoke slowly. "More than a score +of years I've worked for you, Mr. Varr, and not you nor any man can say +I haven't done well by you and the business. I'm entitled to something +more than the salary of a hired hand—Mr. Bolt agrees with me +there—and I've been hoping that you would give me some chance to +invest my savings in a business I've grown up with. I've earned the +right—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop pinning medals on yourself and come to the point!" +</P> + +<P> +"I've been wondering if maybe you didn't understand how I felt and if I +oughtn't to speak straight out, but yesterday afternoon this man, +Langhorn, told me he had heard you and Mr. Bolt discussing me. He told +me you said you would never give me a partnership, that—that you were +going to throw me out so I would go to Rochester, taking Sheila with +me! It—it nearly knocked me off my feet, Mr. Varr; it's no wonder I +took a drink or so too much this evening. Now I've brought this man +here so you can say if he told me the truth—or so you can call him a +liar to his face." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't have gone to that trouble!" snarled Simon, purple with +rage. "He's a sneaking hound, but he told you the truth this time, and +I'd have told you all you wanted to know without your bringing him +along!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then—it's true? You're going to let me out after all these years?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" The word was fairly shouted. From temper and sheer +exasperation, Simon was in a towering passion. He flung the notebook +he was holding onto his desk, raised both hands above his head and +shook them in a frenzy at the two men. "<I>Yes</I>! And you can start +going by getting out of here, now, and taking your eavesdropping pal +with you! Get out—and don't either of you ever come back!" +</P> + +<P> +Langhorn wriggled free and stepped out into the hall. Graham did not +leave without a parting shot—directed via Copley, who had been a +silent witness of the scene. +</P> + +<P> +"This is your fault more than any one else's," he said, "but I know you +didn't mean it." He glanced expressively at Varr and back again. "I +hope you're proud of your father!" he added dryly, and followed the +departing clerk from the house. +</P> + +<P> +There was a brief silence in the study for a moment or two after the +thud of the closing front door came to their ears. Then Copley made to +leave the room, unchecked by his father, who stood watching him in +sullen mood. The young man paused on the threshold and turned to face +his father. +</P> + +<P> +"So," he said evenly, "you were threatening me with a course of action +that you had already determined on! Isn't that so?" +</P> + +<P> +A wave of color suffused Varr's face and answered him. +</P> + +<P> +"Come back here!" snapped Simon. "I've not finished with you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you have, father," said Copley. "Just that!" +</P> + +<P> +White to his lips, he turned and left the room. Varr listened to his +retreating steps and to a second closing of the front door as he went +out of the house into the dark night. +</P> + +<P> +Alone, Varr sank into the chair before his desk and tried to take stock +of his position. For once, it seemed, he had not only failed to have +his own way but had definitely come out at the short end of the horn. +It would be difficult to replace Graham—he could admit that to +himself. It would be impossible to replace Copley—! He did not try +to deceive himself with false hopes in that connection; there had been +a finality in his son's last utterance that rang true. +</P> + +<P> +What curse had come upon him? What malign fate had led Graham there +that evening at the very moment when he could least afford to have his +trickery revealed to his son? Why was everything going wrong? +</P> + +<P> +The solace of tobacco was denied him, since he did not smoke. His +shaken nerves cried for some attention, and the faint odor of whisky +that still lingered in the room recalled him to Graham's resource. He +stepped to the door and called Bates, who came from the rear of the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Fetch me a glass, and that decanter of Bourbon." +</P> + +<P> +The butler returned in a minute with a tray. He placed it on a small +table near the desk and looked inquiringly at Simon. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you wish anything else, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Go to bed." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, sir. Everything is closed but the front door. Mr. Copley +is still out. Good night, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Varr poured himself a stiff three fingers and tossed it off at a gulp, +making a wry face as the fiery liquor stung his unaccustomed throat. +Otherwise the effect was excellent. He decanted another large drink +and was about to take a sip of it when his eyes, above the glass, +chanced to rest on a piece of brown paper in a pigeonhole of his desk. +</P> + +<P> +Abruptly, he put down his drink, drew the paper out, and read the last +lines of the message so curiously received. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the +thunderbolts of wrath!</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Bah! He flung the paper back into its hole, yet continued to eye it +with a feeling of uneasiness that required another swallow of whisky to +allay. Ah—that was better! He took a second, and new life and +courage flowed into him with the liquor. +</P> + +<P> +He threw back his head and squared his shoulders defiantly. Blast +them—blast them one and all, root and branch! Graham—Copley—this +lunatic Monk—! Threaten <I>him</I>, would they? Let 'em look out for +themselves—<I>he'd</I> show 'em! +</P> + +<P> +He raised his clenched fist preparatory to bringing it down with a +crash upon the desk. It did not fall; it stayed aloft while a sudden +fear leaped into his eyes. He bent forward, his head turned sideways, +his ears straining to catch a sound that had come to them from a +distance. +</P> + +<P> +A siren was blowing—the siren whose raucous wail gave warning to the +people of Hambleton when fire threatened their homes. Tensely, Simon +counted the long blasts. One—two—three! A short pause. +One—two—three! +</P> + +<P> +Thirty-three! <I>The tannery</I>! +</P> + +<P> +He sprang erect. Instinct born of habit impelled him to slam down the +roll-top cover of his desk before he rushed from the room and down the +hall. He snatched his soft hat from a rack as he reached with his +other hand for the heavy latch of the front door. +</P> + +<P> +Two minutes later he was guiding his light car down the curving +hillside road, driving fast but carefully. He made such good time that +he arrived at the scene of the fire several minutes before the local +Fire Department had assembled its hats, its equipment and itself, and +had gotten its apparatus to the field of action. +</P> + +<P> +A small mob of men, women and delighted children was gathered in the +open space before the office building and the gate. They were milling +about in excited groups, eager enough to lend a hand but hopelessly +confused without the guidance of a leader. Varr thrust through them +impatiently, opened the door—that the watchman had thoughtfully left +unbarred—and hurried through the building to the rear premises. +</P> + +<P> +A column of black smoke shot with leaping crimson flames told him where +to direct his swift steps. The fire, evidently, was confined for the +moment to one, or possibly two, of the small outbuildings. These were +used largely for storage purposes; they were crammed full of packing +cases, extra carboys of acids and loose heaps of bark—a raft of stuff +that was highly combustible. A glance told Simon that they were doomed. +</P> + +<P> +Through a haze of greasy smoke he glimpsed an active figure—the only +human being in sight except himself—and he hastened to its side. It +was Fay, the night-watchman, a powerful, stocky man who clearly did not +share the tanner's pessimistic conviction. He had ransacked the +premises for every hand fire-extinguisher he could find, had brought +them to the burning buildings and, with fine optimism, was now spraying +their contents on the edges of the blaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop wasting that stuff!" commanded Varr. "Nothing to be done here! +All we can do is try to save the rest of the outfit." +</P> + +<P> +The watchman withdrew, reluctantly at first but then with a succession +of leaps and bounds as a muffled explosion from the interior of the +building marked the passing of some overheated container. He halted at +a safe distance, wiping his smoke-grimed face, until Varr rejoined him. +A faint cheer from beyond the boundary fence carried to them over the +roar of the blaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess that's the Fire Department," grunted Fay. "About time they +turned up!" +</P> + +<P> +"There's oil in that fire!" snapped the tanner, gazing at the black +smoke. "Where'd it come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two five-gallon tins of it, brought from D building, spilled on the +floor and a match chucked into it. I seen them lying on their side in +there at the start of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. Brought from D building, eh? Then there's no doubt of <I>this</I> +being the work of an incendiary!" +</P> + +<P> +"Doubt? Huh! I'll tell the world there ain't no doubt! I seen the +feller that did it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Could you recognize him? Who was it? Why in thunder didn't you +grab him? Where'd he get to?" +</P> + +<P> +Before Fay could even begin to sort out these questions and try to +answer the easier ones, their quick conversation was interrupted by the +appearance of a resplendent figure at their elbows. A short, stout man +was Gus Wimpelheimer, grocer and butcher by profession and in his +lighter moments Chief of the Hambleton Fire Department. His round +little body was now quivering with pleased excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Evening, gentlemen!" he greeted them politely. He glanced at the fire +and wrinkled an expert nose. "Kerosene!" he pronounced. +</P> + +<P> +"The thought had occurred to us," retorted Simon. Marshal Wimpelheimer +trotted briskly toward the fire for a better view, and trotted briskly +back again as another carboy let go. +</P> + +<P> +"Bad business," he reported cheerfully. "Nasty wind springing up," he +added happily. "Blowing straight for the other buildings, too!" He put +a little whistle to his lips and its squeaky notes brought two +satellites of the main luminary. "Hustle out those chemicals and get +'em to work on the blaze. Rout out all the buckets you can find, and +send for more. Call on that crowd out there for volunteers and get a +chain started from the stream to these other buildings. Douse +'em—douse 'em <I>good</I>! Don't stop till I tell you to. Fay! You'll +know where there are any ladders; fetch them out!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Chief!" came the admiring chorus, and the men sprang off to +execute his orders. He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and +turned brightly to the tanner. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you worry, Mr. Varr," he said indulgently. "We'll handle this +little affair for you!" +</P> + +<P> +Worry was not exactly Varr's predominant emotion. There was small +reason to fear that the remainder of the buildings would not be kept +intact, and there was ample insurance on the property, including +contents. The blaze could cause him inconvenience when business was +resumed, that was all. +</P> + +<P> +The real significance of the affair lay in the fact that the fire had +been of incendiary origin. His face was stormy as he contemplated that +angle of the situation. Who was his enemy? Who had made this second +determined effort to burn the tannery? Second, for he could no longer +consider the first an accident in the light of this new attempt. In +his mind he had always held the thought that Charlie Maxon might have +been the perpetrator of the earlier outrage, but Maxon was now in jail +and could not be guilty of this. Had he a confederate? Was this fire +a token of resentment on the part of his friends for the way he had +been treated? +</P> + +<P> +He fumed with angry impotence. How would he fight this unseen, unknown +foe? He could take his suspicions to Steiner—but what could that +futile fellow do? He would fiddle around and scratch his head and +mumble inanities! Varr gritted his teeth in helpless rage as he +watched the men fighting their slow but certain battle to victory over +the flames. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd outside the premises speedily discovered that this drama was +hidden from them by the high fence, and they were forbidden to pass the +guard stationed at the office door by the ubiquitous Wimpelheimer. The +nimbler-witted among them reflected that they might obtain a good view +of the proceedings from the rising ground to the left of the tannery, +and they drifted there by twos and threes until quite a respectable +number of people were sprinkled over the field through which the +shortcut ran to Simon's house. From this vantage point they could look +down into the tannery and watch the performance to their hearts' +content. +</P> + +<P> +A little to one side of the crowd stood a woman alone, her gaze turned +steadily on the burning buildings. Several passers-by spoke to her by +name, and she answered them mechanically without turning her head. +Finally, one of these greetings was overheard by a man who was standing +a few yards distant; he turned sharply to look at the woman addressed, +then approached her rather hesitatingly. He took off his hat and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg pardon," he said pleasantly. "Is this Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Miss Ocky peered at him through the dark, then gave a little +exclamation. "Leslie Sherwood!" +</P> + +<P> +"Correct. How are you, Ocky? It seems like a lifetime since I last +saw you." +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-odd years. I heard you were back for the first time since +you—since you left the parent nest!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," answered Sherwood quietly. Then he added casually—too casually +to be convincing to her sharp intuitions—"How is Lucy?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is—oh, pretty well." +</P> + +<P> +"Er—happy, and all that sort of thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"As happy as she could expect to be. She married Simon Varr, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I know." He disregarded her sarcastic implication. "I hear +you've been back only a short time yourself. Staying at Lucy's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Staying at Simon's!" corrected Miss Ocky grimly. "I suppose you know +that's his beloved tannery a-fire down there?" +</P> + +<P> +"So they tell me. I saw the flames from my house and thought I'd +stroll down for the show." +</P> + +<P> +"I was just turning in myself when I heard the siren," said Miss Ocky. +"Rather pretty effect, don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Beautiful," agreed Sherwood. He surveyed the scene of the fire +critically. "Beautiful—only I'm afraid they are going to save most of +the buildings." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? What's that?" cried Miss Ocky sharply. Then she gave a chuckle. +"Did you say 'afraid'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a friend of Simon's?" +</P> + +<P> +"I detest the creature," she answered promptly. "And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would afford me great pleasure," stated Sherwood calmly, "if that +were Simon's funeral pyre." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky pursed her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whistle. She was +thinking back to the expression on her brother-in-law's face when this +man's name was mentioned. Simon had been afraid! And here was Leslie +Sherwood expressing, not fear, but—but what? +</P> + +<P> +"Any one would think you hated the poor man," she suggested at length. +</P> + +<P> +"That," said Mr. Sherwood, "exactly expresses my feeling toward him." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, Leslie—" Miss Ocky was groping for the truth back of all +this—"I don't understand! Why do you hate a man you haven't even seen +for over twenty years?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some hates have very lasting qualities, Ocky. They endure for ever +and a day." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—whatever it was—happened before you left here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Simon came between me and something that I wanted—and did it in +a way that made a mortal enemy of me. Sounds theatrical, doesn't it? +But it's true. He contrived at the same time to cause the trouble +between me and my father that has kept me from returning to Hambleton +until now, when the old gentleman has ended with worldly cares." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you'd tell me the whole story in words of one syllable," begged +Miss Ocky. "It's not that I'm just curious. I'm trying to learn all +that I can about Simon. He interests me as a—as a specimen." +</P> + +<P> +"I would hardly have told you as much if I weren't willing to tell you +all. I'm puzzling over a problem that might be simplified by a woman's +wit. We can't talk here, though. Too public." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you escort me home. I've a torch, and I'm going up this +short-cut. We can chat on the way." She glanced downhill. "This +excitement is about over; shall we start?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whenever you please." +</P> + +<P> +They were turning away side-by-side when a fitful gust of wind swept up +to them from the direction of the sinking flames. There is only one +thing more malodorous than a tannery, and that is a burning tannery. +Miss Ocky choked. +</P> + +<P> +"Pwhew!" she gasped. "It smells like—like—" +</P> + +<P> +"Like the soul of Simon Varr," supplied Sherwood promptly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>VIII: Two Victims of Theft</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Varr remained at the tannery until the last dying ember had been +extinguished. Not till then did Marshal August Wimpelheimer come gayly +up to him, his regalia a trifle the worse for wear and his breath +coming a little short from his exertions but his expression that of one +who has been hugely enjoying himself. He saluted with a flourish. +</P> + +<P> +"All over, Mr. Varr! I told you we'd handle it. I'm sorry we couldn't +save those first two buildings, but they had too much of a start. Full +of that inflammable stuff and with a breeze like this blowing sparks as +big as my helmet"—the article of attire referred to was nearly as +large as himself—"We were lucky to get control—" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen anything of Fay about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your watchman? Yes, sir, he was in the thick of everything! I'd like +to add him to my Department. But the boys all did +splendidly—smoke-eaters, Mr. Varr, every mother's son of 'em! I hope +you noticed, sir, that when it came to volunteers for the bucket-gang a +lot of your workmen stepped up. They forgot about the strike and +pitched in with both hands! It shows there's a heap of good in human +nature." +</P> + +<P> +"It shows they know which side their bread is buttered!" grunted the +tanner. "How would they get their jobs back if they let the whole +outfit burn? Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +The Fire Marshal flushed, but the grocer bit back the words that +trembled on his lips. Little Wimpy had gallantry to spare when it came +to facing fire, which is a clean foe and a clean fighter, but his +courage stopped there. Varr owned his store, Varr held a chattel +mortgage on his fixtures—and there were the little Wimpies to be +thought of! +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, sir!" he said, and went sadly home. +</P> + +<P> +Simon Varr joined the stragglers who were leaving by way of the hall +through the office building, but he did not go with them as far as the +exit. He ascended the creaky stairs, went into his office and snapped +on the electric light. He had seen nothing of Fay, but he confidently +expected the watchman to seek him out as soon as possible. +</P> + +<P> +In this he was not disappointed. The man had only paused to remove +some of the traces of his activities before presenting himself for +Simon's inquisition. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Fay, what can you tell me about this? Where were you when you +discovered the fire?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was making my second round at twenty-five minutes to eleven. You'll +remember, sir, you left orders that I should make another trip about +the premises five minutes after my regular round, which was ten-thirty +in this case. That was a good idea, sir, if you'll let me say so; it +certainly led to my seeing the fire right after it started." +</P> + +<P> +"That scoundrelly fire bug was watching you, depend on that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; there's dozens of places he could keep a look-out from, once +he got inside. Soon as he saw me finish one round and go out front, he +commenced his dirty work." +</P> + +<P> +"You say you caught a glimpse of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"A poor one, sir. I was just quietly passing one of those storage +buildings when I saw a flicker of light beneath the doorsill. It was +too soon to hear the crackle of burning wood or smell any smoke, but I +knew what was up. I pushed open the door. That was when I saw the two +oil-tins lying on their sides and the whole floor flooded with the +stuff. There was smoke enough, then, sir! That's why I could only get +a poor look through it at the feller." +</P> + +<P> +"He was in the building when you saw him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir—and out of it again like a deer, by the door at the other +end, as soon as he saw me. I couldn't run through the flames, and by +the time I'd jumped back and cut around the building, he was lost in +the darkness. I swept my torch this way and that, but never a sign of +him. I heard him, though," he added significantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes? Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"He stumbled over something near the left-hand corner of the yard where +the fence runs down to the brook. That tells us what we didn't know +before, sir. He doesn't come over the fence, nor under it; he either +wades the brook around the end of it, or else scrambles around by way +of the bank. Unless I'm all wrong, sir, we'll find his footprints +there in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll find them there now," Varr corrected him curtly. "You have your +torch? Come along, then." +</P> + +<P> +He extinguished the light in the office and led the way downstairs and +out into the yard. They passed the smoking ruins of the two destroyed +buildings and came in a few seconds to the spot described by Fay. Varr +took the torch from him and played its beam on the ground near the +juncture of fence and brook. +</P> + +<P> +"You're right!" he exclaimed. "Here are footprints—and that piece of +wire is what you heard him trip over. Take a close look at those +prints, Fay, while I hold the light. Don't muck 'em up with your own +dainty feet! Anything noticeable about them?" +</P> + +<P> +The conscientious watchman dropped on his hands and knees and seemed to +fairly sniff at the marks like a bloodhound. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," he reported regretfully. "They're just footprints." +</P> + +<P> +Varr corroborated the truth of this when he bent to make his own +examination. The prints were sharp and distinct, but their very +clearness only added to the general obscurity. They were large and +clumsy, rude of outline, and had obviously been made by a pair of heavy +shoes such as workmen wear—and they might have been worn by any one of +a million workmen! Varr grunted his disgust as he sought in vain for +some little mark by which they might be distinguished from two million +like them. +</P> + +<P> +"A big man," was the extent of his deductions. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, that was what he looked like to me. I wish I could have +seen his face—though I've a notion he might have been masked." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Masked</I>!" Varr fell back a step. "<I>Masked</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—yes, sir. That wouldn't be so unlikely, considering the errand +he come on! But I'm not sure—I had just that moment's look at him +through a swirl of smoke." +</P> + +<P> +"Could you tell how he was dressed?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was in black, sir. I thought so at first, and the way he got out +of sight in the darkness makes it seem likely. What, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +Varr had muttered an oath. A figure dressed in black, with a mask! +That was circumstantial enough, the Monk had been busy—launching a +thunderbolt of wrath, presumably! Simon's lip curled; Ocky's familiar +of the Spanish Inquisition was a pretty scurvy knave if he would stoop +to firebrands by night—! +</P> + +<P> +"Fay," he commanded abruptly. "Keep a close tongue in your head about +this. I've my reasons for it. Don't tell any one of these footprints +until I give you permission. Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," replied the watchman dutifully and dolefully. He had +rather been looking forward to public kudos and acclaim. "You'll tell +Steiner, sir, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do as I tell you, and leave the rest to me!" Varr returned sharply. +He handed back the borrowed torch, first glancing at his watch by its +light. "Only half-past one! I could have sworn I'd been down here the +best part of the night. Come along!" +</P> + +<P> +They returned to the office building, Varr leaving a few more +directions for increased and unceasing watchfulness as the exhausted +Fay dropped into his chair in the front hall. Then Simon betook +himself to his car and drove slowly homeward. +</P> + +<P> +His bad temper had largely worn itself out on the various irritations +that had kept it jumping, and in sooth the time had come for anger to +give way to calculation. There were so many things to be thought of! +Enough to make a man's head spin! +</P> + +<P> +The matter of Copley by itself—! He did not know yet just what was +back of the boy's angry declaration that his father was "finished" with +him. Was he planning to leave home? A nice row there'd be with a +wounded mother! And Copley—Simon judged others by himself—would be +sure to make the most of his grievance with her over a parental +stratagem that had miscued! +</P> + +<P> +The thought of that nasty few minutes in the study reminded him of +Graham. Another coil. Jason Bolt would have some bitter comment on +the wisdom of firing a useful man with no substitute in sight; Jason +had a rough tongue at times for all his good-nature. That would be +still another quarrel—and he couldn't fire Jason! +</P> + +<P> +And this blasted Monk, with his anonymous letters and talk of +thunderbolts! He must be taken seriously after this night's work. +True, there was no definite proof to connect him with the fire but it +was too probable a hypothesis to be lightly dismissed. What had he +better do to cut that fellow's claws? There was hope, of course, that +he had worked off his spleen in firing the tannery, and also that a +wholesome fear of being caught and convicted of arson might cool his +spirit! Unless he was mad—! +</P> + +<P> +He left his car in the garage and locked the sliding-door behind him +with a feeling of relief that the balance of the night was likely to +pass without further incident. As he walked from the garage to the +house, he remembered the decanter and glass still standing on the study +table and welcomed the idea of another bracer before bed. He had +earned it. +</P> + +<P> +The darkened house, as he approached it, provided him with a new +grievance. Every one asleep! What did they care if the tannery went +up in smoke? More than likely they'd be <I>glad</I>! +</P> + +<P> +It was not in him to feel a sense of shame when he presently learned +that his assumption of their indifference was unjustified. As he let +himself in with his key, a slippered step shuffled from the rear to +greet him. It was Bates, sleepy but inquisitive. +</P> + +<P> +"The fire's out. Yes, it was the work of an incendiary. The actual +damage is immaterial." Varr's answers were curt. "Every one asleep, I +suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I expect so, sir. Miss Ocky went down to the fire, but she came home +long ago and told us it was under control. Miss Lucy came downstairs +and waited until she heard that, then she went to bed. She wanted you +to wake her when you came in and tell her all that happened." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. I'll go up in a few minutes. And—my son?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's not in, sir. I haven't seen him all evening." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Go to bed. Leave the door unlatched." +</P> + +<P> +The old butler wished him good night and padded softly up the front +stairs. Simon struck a match and went along the darkened hall to his +study, where he struck another and lighted the wall-lamp near his desk. +It was then he noticed something that caused him to fall back a pace +and utter a sharp exclamation. The roll-top cover had been thrust up +to its fullest extent—and the same glance showed him that his +red-leather notebook, which he distinctly remembered tossing on to the +desk, was gone! With a cry of pure rage, he darted to the door of the +study. +</P> + +<P> +"Bates!" he shouted. "Bates! Come down here! At once!" +</P> + +<P> +The butler heard, and hurried to obey the urgency in Simon's voice. He +found the tanner standing before his desk and examining its rather +inadequate lock. +</P> + +<P> +"We've been burgled," announced the victim grimly. "It just needed +that to round the night off nicely." +</P> + +<P> +"Burgled! Robbed! Surely not, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk like an idiot! Get your torch. We'd best have a look +around, though there's no doubt the dirty devil got what he came for! +Where were you while—" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it <I>now</I>?" interrupted a plaintive and sleepy voice from the +doorway. "Another fire?" +</P> + +<P> +Varr wheeled toward the speaker and saw Miss Ocky regarding him with +wondering eyes. She had slipped on a vivid negligee, a trophy from +some Eastern bazaar, and she made a most attractive picture in the +soft, kindly light from the lamp as she stood there looking her inquiry +at one and the other of the two men. Simon was somehow glad to see +her, for much as he disliked her, he admitted her level-headed +shrewdness and welcomed the help of another brain in coping with a +situation that was rapidly getting beyond him. +</P> + +<P> +"Some one has broken open my desk and taken the notebook in which I +keep memoranda of formulas and experiments," he explained gruffly. "I +don't miss anything else. It must have been done within the last few +hours." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. I thought I detected a note of tragedy in the way you hollered +for Bates just now." She eyed the butler reflectively as she drew a +silver case from a pocket of the negligee and lighted a cigarette. +"Bates—I see you are still dressed! Where have you been for the past +few hours?" +</P> + +<P> +"Right in the pantry, Miss Ocky, except when I came out to let you in a +while back. I heard nothing, nor no one." +</P> + +<P> +She turned, as if to measure distances with her eye. "Right in the +pantry," she repeated. "Fifteen yards—and two closed doors—away. +Still, it's queer you heard nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"I was reading a paper, Miss Ocky, and I dozed once or twice." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah. That probably accounts for it. Have you found out yet how he got +into the house?" She moved her shoulders slightly as she put the +question. "I can feel a draught on the back of my neck, now. +Something is open—in the living-room, perhaps. Did you lock up as +carefully as usual this evening, Bates? Things were rather upset!" +</P> + +<P> +"That didn't make any difference, Miss Ocky," he protested eagerly. "I +had closed everything as usual—I had even started for bed—before the +siren blew and I heard Mr. Varr hurrying out to the garage. Nothing +was left unlocked." +</P> + +<P> +At the first mention of the living-room, Simon had secured a small +torch from a nearby stand. Together, they trooped through the door +leading to the parlor, where he flashed the light on the two sets of +tall French windows that gave on to a side veranda. They exclaimed in +chorus at the sight of one pair ajar. +</P> + +<P> +"That's that," said Miss Ocky. She took the flash from Simon, opened +the window wide and turned the light on the planking of the piazza. +"Nothing to be seen by this light!" She directed the beam at the +fastenings of the window. "Huh! Didn't take much to force this +affair! Your defenses are pretty flimsy, Simon!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're not in the heart of Asia, Ocky. We don't go in much for +fortifications in this country." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I could wish you did. I don't want to wake up some night and +find a burglar going off with my treasures. What did you say this one +took—a notebook?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idea? Who wants an old notebook?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly what I'm asking myself, Ocky." Simon sent a sideways look at +the old butler as if reluctant to speak too openly. "It was full of +important data relative to tanning processes. Not much of a loss to +me, for I know 'em all by heart—but it might be extremely useful to +any one else in the business or—or to any one who might be expecting +to go into it—" His voice trailed off as if he were lost in some +thought that had just struck him. "Humph!" he grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" demanded Ocky alertly. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—nothing to be discussed now, anyway. Bates!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir?" The butler had just finished lighting the lamp on the center +table and he glanced at Varr with expressionless face. "Yes, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop fiddling with that lamp. There's nothing to be done to-night. +And look here—I don't want this business mentioned to the other +servants or any one else until I have decided just what action I shall +take. Understand? Go to bed, then,—and I hope you stay there this +time!" +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, Bates." Miss Ocky had moved over to the table and was +contemplating it with thoughtful gaze. "Simon—what sort of an +implement would have forced that desk of yours? A knife, for instance?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that would have done the trick. It could have been slipped under +the top near the lock; a slight pressure would have done the rest." +</P> + +<P> +"I like a lock that is a lock," sniffed Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"A matter of taste, I suppose. Bates, you know that Persian dagger of +mine I've been using here lately for a paper-cutter? When did you see +it last?" +</P> + +<P> +"This evening, Miss Ocky." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky. I was straightening up in here just after you went to +your room the first time, and I knocked the book you had been reading +on to the floor. When I picked it up, the dagger fell out. I knew I'd +lost your place and was sorry, but I couldn't do anything to find it +again so I just laid the dagger down beside the book—right here." He +indicated a perfectly blank spot on the table and looked mystified. +</P> + +<P> +"I came down for the book just before one o'clock—couldn't seem to get +to sleep," explained Miss Ocky musingly. "The dagger was not here +then—but it didn't occur to me to raise the house about it. I took it +for granted there was some simple reason for its being gone, and I +didn't stop to look for it, as I was only striking matches to find what +I wanted." She made a face. "For all I know, the burglar was right in +this room at that very minute!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pity you didn't run on to him," grunted Simon. "What are you +suggesting, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think your burglar came in here and noticed the dagger—he probably +had a flash—and decided it was just what he needed in his business! +He opened the desk with it, and unless he dropped it around somewhere +when he was finished with it, I guess <I>I've</I> been robbed, <I>too</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh. Wasn't valuable, was it?" asked Simon impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't care about losing it—thanks for your kind and +sympathetic interest!" retorted his sister-in-law tartly. "Thank you, +Bates, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Ocky." The old man bowed. "Good night, sir," he said, for +the third time that night. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be off, too," said Miss Ocky, moving toward the door, where she +lingered for a parting shot. "If I were you, Simon, I'd either have my +locks seen to or else have my more valuable possessions nailed down. +Good morning!" +</P> + +<P> +She was gone before he could think of an effective retort. He occupied +himself briefly in dragging a heavy chair against the broken window, +then put out the lamp and went into his study. Bed seemed to make no +appeal, though there was a suggestion of weariness in the way he +dropped into his chair before the desk. He was mentally tired. +</P> + +<P> +Who had dealt him this latest blow—a shrewder one than he had +confessed to Ocky. That notebook full of formulas, the results of a +lifetime of experiment and research, would be worth more than a gold +mine to a competitor. There were men in the business who would pay +handsomely for the picking of Simon Varr's brain! But who had known +that, and turned his knowledge to advantage by the crooked way of +burglary? +</P> + +<P> +Two names kept bobbing up in the back of his brain. Copley was one; +Graham the other. Either might have done it, or they might have +entered into an unholy partnership of crime. Both knew the value of +the notebook, and both had seen it in his desk that evening. Where had +they been since? He had not noticed either of them at the fire; had +they been robbing his desk while they knew him safely absent? +</P> + +<P> +No sentiment played any part in these cogitations. He measured the +possibility of his son's guilt as coldly as if the young man had been a +complete stranger—or an ex-convict. Measured it, perhaps, +unconsciously, by his own standards of behavior. He had done things in +his time that would have made a self-respecting burglar blush. +</P> + +<P> +There was a third possibility. The Monk. Simon tried to shake off +that thought. There was no sense in it. Queer how anything like that +masquerader's mischief-making could get under a sensible man's +skin—dig its way into his brain until it became an obsession! Suppose +he <I>had</I> set fire to the tannery—was that any reason to believe he had +proceeded to further activities the same night? There was not a shred +of proof connecting him with the burglary. +</P> + +<P> +He yielded to the fascination that the scrap of brown paper was +beginning to exercise over him and drew it from the pigeonhole. He +opened it and let his eye travel over the illiterate text to the threat +at the end that was already known to him by heart: "Take heed to thy +ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the thunderbolts of +wrath!" Then he started violently in his chair, for he had come upon +the very proof he had thought lacking. +</P> + +<P> +Beneath the last line of the message a few words had been scrawled with +a blunt, blue crayon and then deeply underscored for emphasis. He +stared at them, his face flushing and paling by turns, his lips +soundlessly shaping the ill-formed characters. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Behold, the bolts are loosed!</I>" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>IX: Simon Seeks Advice</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The discovery that his unknown enemy after first firing the tannery had +then rounded off a perfect evening by burglarizing his house threw +Simon Varr into a state of mental confusion. Here was a saturnalia of +crime condensed into the space of a few hours. And the man's audacity +was no less bewildering than his swift efficiency! Who, in this +hitherto quiet township of Hambleton, had suddenly developed a brand of +vicious courage that nerved him to commit arson and burglary? Simon +reviewed an imposing procession of possible suspects until his brain +wearied, and his wits, seeking vainly for light, were hopelessly at +fault in a fog of conjecture. +</P> + +<P> +It was nearly three o'clock before he laid an aching head on his +pillow, it was nearly five before sleep came to him, but he was up at +his usual hour and downstairs in his study by eight. Physically he was +still tired, but the brief spell of slumber had at least rested his +brain and cleared it against the problems of a new day. +</P> + +<P> +However undeserving he might be of sympathy, mere humanity would +suggest that it would be pleasanter, far pleasanter, to record that +this day of all days in Simon Varr's life was peaceful and calm, but +the truth is exactly the reverse. It was destined to be a day of +bitterness and strife, terminating in actual violence. +</P> + +<P> +The trouble began with Jason Bolt. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy Varr did not descend for breakfast, nor did Ocky, who elected to +depart from custom and have a tray brought up by Janet to her bedroom +balcony. Simon ate his usual hearty meal with more deliberation than +appetite, and had barely returned to his desk when he heard the squeal +of brakes that distinguished Jason's car from its numerous fellows. +</P> + +<P> +He came straight back to the study and threw himself into a chair, his +round, good-humored face unwontedly grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Simon, here's a pretty kettle of fish!" +</P> + +<P> +"There are several kettles of fish. Which do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—Billy Graham's, to commence with. He was around to see me an +hour ago—" +</P> + +<P> +"Was he sober?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course he was, don't be too unjust, Simon! Graham doesn't make a +practice of drinking, and if he took one or two too many last evening, +as he admits he did, I for one don't blame him. That confounded pup +Langhorn told him what he overheard—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know—I know all that. I have fired Langhorn and I have fired +Graham." Simon's jaw tilted truculently. "What about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I've come to ask. What about it? If you keep on at this +rate, another week will see you down to bed-rock—reduced to one +partner and one idle tannery. And some one seems determined to burn +that up piecemeal!" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't see you there last night." +</P> + +<P> +"No, thank goodness, I was in blissful ignorance of our latest trouble. +We have guests, you know. Mary and I took the Krechs to Barney's road +house just to give them a taste of night-life in Hambleton. Mr. Krech +and Barney spent the evening extemporizing cocktails—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not interested in your orgies. What did Graham have to say this +morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing that wasn't mighty decent, all things considered. He is sorry +to go after all these years, but he doesn't question your right to fire +him. He prefers to discuss the details attendant on his quitting with +me—you have no objection?—and he is writing to Rochester to tell the +Thibault crowd he accepts their offer." +</P> + +<P> +"That doesn't break my heart. The sooner he gets to Rochester the +better pleased I'll be." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes—because of Copley, I suppose, and the girl. Well—I guess +Billy Graham isn't in the market for sympathy. He tells me that he is +fairly familiar with the Thibault tanneries from hearsay and he is +confident that he is taking them some tips that will make him solid +with them from the start." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? What's that?" Suddenly intent, Simon Varr leaned forward and +fixed a sharp gaze on the speaker. "What is he taking them? What did +he refer to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—nothing specific, Simon! No doubt he has picked up a score of +useful tips during the time he has been associated with us. We can't +stop him from giving them the benefit of his experience; that's the +sort of thing you must expect when you fire a good man without any +reason except that he has a pretty daughter whom you can't keep your +only son away from. I must say, Simon—" +</P> + +<P> +"Must you? Please try not to!" +</P> + +<P> +Jason complied with a shrug of his shoulders; why waste his breath on +this human lump of obstinacy? +</P> + +<P> +Varr relaxed in his chair again, thinking. He ran over the events of +the previous night. Graham had drunk at least enough to render him +irresponsible for his impulses and actions. He had seen the notebook +lying on the desk. Enough time had elapsed between his departure and +the alarm of fire to have enabled him to slip down the hill and fire +the tannery. He might then have returned and watched his opportunity +to break into the house. Yes—it was possible, physically, for him to +be the guilty man. "Taking something valuable to Thibault?" The +notebook? Would he have the brazen nerve to make such a remark if he +were the thief? Yes! If Graham were the man, that identified him with +the masquerading monk, and <I>he</I> had nerve enough for anything! +</P> + +<P> +It struck Simon—while his partner waited in glum silence—that it +would be interesting to learn where Graham had been on the night before +after leaving him in the study. To put it more bluntly—had the man an +alibi? How did one go to work to learn such things, short of asking +open questions? Varr shelved the problem temporarily, though an idea +in the back of his head was slowly shaping itself into the answer. He +would do nothing decisive until he had weighed things more carefully +and was sure— +</P> + +<P> +"How shall we replace Billy Graham?" said Jason Bolt, having fidgeted +in silence to the limit of his patience. "Have you any one in mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I have!" snapped his partner, who had given not a thought to +the matter until that moment. "D'you suppose I'd fire a man unless I +saw my way free of that difficulty? There's old Maple; let him take +hold when he is hungry enough to come back to work." +</P> + +<P> +"Maple? A good, steady man, Simon, but not the sort I'd pick. Not a +scrap of initiative. He knows enough to do just what he's told to do, +but—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the sort of man I want." +</P> + +<P> +"And what you say goes! Don't trouble to point that out; I have heard +it before. Do you mind, however, if I mention another man whom I've +been thinking might fit in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Copley. Your son. Don't look as if a snake had bit you! I think he +would make up in intelligence anything he lacks in experience. He is +quick to learn—" +</P> + +<P> +"You may leave him out of your calculations." +</P> + +<P> +Jason started at the tone of the remark, glanced at Varr's set face and +shot at him an impulsive question. +</P> + +<P> +"Simon! You haven't gone and quarreled with him <I>too</I>, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind that." +</P> + +<P> +"By thunder, you <I>have</I>!" Jason Bolt regarded his partner +open-mouthed. Then he added, half to himself: "'Whom the gods would +destroy they first make mad!'" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" snapped Simon. The quotation had jarred on him, +something in its phraseology savoring unpleasantly of the anonymous +message he had received. "I'm a long way from being mad!" +</P> + +<P> +"You can't prove it by me," said Jason rudely. He came to his feet. +"I'll be getting back home; only blew in to talk with you about Billy." +He hesitated before continuing. "By the way, Simon, are you going to +be at the office this morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very likely—yes, I shall. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"This chap who's staying with me—Herman Krech—very nice fellow—he's +the broker I was speaking of to you the other day. I thought I might +bring him in and introduce him to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen to me, Jason!" Varr's face was slowly flushing with anger. +"We are <I>not</I> going to incorporate!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—bless me, I'd practically abandoned that notion myself," said Mr. +Bolt, airily mendacious. "Nothing was farther from my thoughts; I just +thought I'd show him around and introduce him to you—let him see all +the sights, huh? You may as well meet him; we're bound to be dining +together either here or at my house as soon as our wives get their +heads—" +</P> + +<P> +"Bring him in by all means," interrupted Varr. The idea in the back of +his head had suddenly burgeoned while his partner rambled on. "If +either of you mentions the word incorporate I'll have you thrown out, +but there is another matter in which he may be of service to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Krech? Why, you don't even know him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you're going to fix that difficulty, aren't you?" Varr turned +to his desk in his usual gesture of dismissal. "I'll be there at +eleven." +</P> + +<P> +True to his word, at a few minutes past ten Simon left home for the +tannery. He would have a busy day, there, what with insurance data and +other matters relative to the fire. The prospect fretted him—and it +steeled his resolution to leave no stone unturned to bring the author +of his troubles to book. Blast him! He'd learn that it was safer to +monkey with a buzz-saw than with Simon Varr! +</P> + +<P> +He stopped at the door of the office-building for a word with Nelson, +who was already yawning at his post. Without any suggestion other than +the promptings of good-nature, he had turned out long before daybreak +to relieve the tired Fay. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Bolt and another gentleman are in back, sir," he reported. "Just +looking around. A young man was in about the insurance—said he'd be +back later. Steiner was here, very curious about the fire, but I told +him he'd have to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"Right. You can tell Mr. Bolt that I'm upstairs. Did you or Fay look +around any more in the neighborhood of those footprints?" +</P> + +<P> +"Footprints? He said nothing to me—" +</P> + +<P> +"True; I told him to keep his head shut. I will talk to you about that +later, Nelson. There hasn't been any trouble from the strikers?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't seen a soul, sir, but I've heard they are having a sort of a +meeting this morning. There's been talk of appointing a committee to +call on you and discuss things." +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing to discuss. However, I'm perfectly willing to meet a +committee from them and tell them again that they'll gain nothing by +their strike but trouble for themselves. You have to tell a fool the +same thing over and over again before he'll believe it. Send 'em up +when they come—but not more than three of 'em, I don't want a whole +mob mucking up my office." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. There's been a young woman askin' for you, too, sir. A +girl named Drusilla Jones." +</P> + +<P> +"Never heard of her." Simon, on the point of turning away, paused and +looked curious. "What does she want?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's been goin' around pretty steady with Charlie Maxon, sir. I +guess she'll want to see you about lettin' him out." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. He's where he belongs, and I wouldn't do anything to get him +out even if I could. Tell her that, and say I won't see her. Make it +clear, Nelson, I've no time to waste on Maxon's women." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The watchman had nothing further to offer, and Varr went up to his +office and busied himself with the morning mail. There were more +indignant demands from aggrieved customers, and the fact that Simon had +expected them did not lessen their power to annoy. His face grew +steadily redder and redder as he worked through the pile of +correspondence. +</P> + +<P> +A clock in the outer office struck eleven, and as the last loud stroke +thinned to silence there came the sound of heavy footsteps ascending +the stairs. Jason Bolt believed in punctuality. +</P> + +<P> +He entered with a cheerful greeting that suggested he had recovered +some of his equanimity since his earlier talk with his partner. On his +heels came his friend, a genial-looking, red-faced, smooth-shaven +gentleman whose personal dimensions and displacement were such that +they seemed to dwarf the small office to the proportions of a room in a +doll's house. He stood well over six feet, was broad, deep-chested and +bulky, but moved with a light-footed agility that argues muscle rather +than fat. Simon was not a small man himself, but he felt like a pigmy +as his hand disappeared into one that opened like a suitcase. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Varr," said the newcomer pleasantly, in a voice +that was deep but agreeably pitched. "Bolt has been showing me the +whole works, here. You have a fine proposition." +</P> + +<P> +"I think so," concurred Simon with mild gruffness. "Jason is +dissatisfied with it, but it suits me very well." +</P> + +<P> +"So I have gathered from talking with him," said Mr. Krech, genially. +"No doubt you are right—at any rate, I seldom try to advise other men +in respect to their own business." He took a huge cigar-case from his +pocket and opened it, then offered it to Varr and Jason Bolt. "No? +You don't mind if I do, though?" He carefully lighted a mammoth cigar +and sat down on a chair toward which Simon had waved. "I see that some +one else is dissatisfied with the tannery, too. You must have had a +narrow escape from being burned out last night." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes! We have had some little trouble with a number of malcontent +employees. I am gradually weeding out the more noxious of them—eh, +Jason?" Mr. Bolt palpably winced. "In fact, Mr. Krech, there have +been developments in connection with that fire, and certain other +occurrences, that put it in my mind to ask something of you." +</P> + +<P> +"Bolt told me that you wanted to see me about something," said the big +man heartily as the tanner paused to choose his words. "If I can be of +service to you I'll be delighted." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. It's really a very simple matter. You see, I have decided to +have this fire—and those other occurrences—investigated, competently +investigated, and their perpetrator punished to the full extent of the +law. Unfortunately, the local police are utterly incompetent to handle +a case of this kind, and I don't think much more of the County +officials. It finally struck me that a private detective agency might +do the trick. But I don't know any such concern and I don't feel like +employing one blindly, so I thought I'd take advantage of your coming +from New York and ask you to hunt up a responsible agency for me." +</P> + +<P> +"A private detective!" exclaimed Jason Bolt. "Why, Simon, what has +happened to require any such critter as that? What are those other +occurrences you speak of?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you—I'll tell you in good time. First, I want to hear if +Mr. Krech is disposed to assist me. He has facilities in New York for +locating a reputable agency, no doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't have to go to New York for that," answered the big man +promptly. "You've come to the right place for information, Mr. Varr. +I know a very capable chap." He turned to Jason, and added slowly: "We +don't talk much about it, as you can imagine, but possibly you have +heard that my wife's brother was murdered under rather curious +circumstances; a cold-blooded crime if ever there was one." +</P> + +<P> +"I've heard Mary speak of it," admitted Bolt. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the detective I have in mind is the man who cleared up that +mystery." His gaze shifted back to Simon. "Of course, knowing him and +getting him are two different things. He's usually up to his ears in +one thing or another. If it's not too confidential, and you want to +give me an idea of your problem, perhaps it would help me interest him. +At least, if it is out of his line, he will recommend some one else +who'll be competent to handle it for you." +</P> + +<P> +The tanner gagged a bit over the idea of any private detective +rejecting his patronage, but after all he wanted a good man and not the +first Tom, Dick or Harry to offer his services so he gulped down the +tart comment that had sprung to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing confidential about it—short of its getting into the +papers and giving my show away. I've got to tell Jason about it, and +if you care to listen I'll be glad of your opinion on the whole crazy +business. It began with—" +</P> + +<P> +He got no farther for the moment. There was a scuffling and shuffling +of feet from the direction of the stairs, and Nelson appeared in +advance of three rather ill-at-ease visitors. They were dressed in +workmen's clothing and carried their caps respectfully in their hands. +</P> + +<P> +"A committee from our strikers," explained Varr curtly to his partner. +He stood up. "Don't bother, Jason, stay here with Mr. Krech while I +talk to them in the outer room. It'll take me about two minutes to get +rid of 'em!" he added grimly. +</P> + +<P> +He strode from the room and met the approaching delegation halfway +across the main office. From where they sat, Jason Bolt and his friend +could watch the ensuing proceedings and hear every word that was spoken. +</P> + +<P> +Varr was instantly wrathful at discovering in the gray-haired +individual who turned out to be their spokesman an old employee whose +name was Maple, the very man he had spoken of to Bolt as possibly +replacing Graham as manager. He could almost hear Jason chuckling over +the fact as he snapped a curt command at the fellow to state his +business. +</P> + +<P> +"We've come for a talk with you, Mr. Varr," began Maple soberly, +"because there's some of us who feel that this strike has gone on too +long as it is. It's bad for us, sir, and it must be bad for you and +Mr. Bolt. We three have been appointed to call on you gentlemen and +ask you to look into the whole situation with us. There's points on +which we've been unreasonable, maybe, and there's others where we think +you've been unreasonable. If we give in a bit and you give in a bit +perhaps we can reach some sort of a compromise that'll let us all go to +work—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop! I've been waiting for that word compromise! You can go back +and tell your crowd that this strike isn't going to be settled—it's +going to be <I>broken</I>!" Varr smashed one fist into the other as he +roared his defiance. "Go back and tell 'em! Tell 'em I'll watch every +man of you starving in the gutters before I'll be driven into doing +what I've said I won't do. Go set some more fires in the tannery; +you'll soon find that'll get you nowhere but in jail!" +</P> + +<P> +"We've set no fires, Mr. Varr," answered Maple with dignity. "On the +contrary, sir, the three of us here now were amongst them who helped to +put out the fire last night. You've no call to blackguard honest men. +As for starving in the gutter, sir—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped speaking to reach in his pocket and draw out a few small +bills, which he held up for Varr's inspection, and at a nod of his +head, his two companions also produced money from their trousers. +Simon glanced at it and sneered. +</P> + +<P> +"Found a union to support you, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, not that. To tell the truth, Mr. Varr, there don't seem to +be any good reason to tell you where this came from, or how it came, +but we feel in duty bound to say it brought with it a message for you." +</P> + +<P> +"A message? For me?" Simon repeated the phrases quickly, his mind +alert for new alarms. "Well, what was it? Get it out!" +</P> + +<P> +"We were told to tell you that while we held out against you we could +count on getting money for our needs from the 'Black Monk'." +</P> + +<P> +"The Black Monk!" Simon fell back a pace as he whispered the words. +"The Black Monk! What—what do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's all we can tell you, sir." Maple fumbled with his cap and +coughed nervously. "We'll ask you again, sir, as in duty bound to our +comrades, if you'll help us come to a compromise—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>No</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The committee shrank back from the explosive quality of the +monosyllable that was like a door slammed in their faces. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, sir, then we'll wish you good day—and a kinder heart for +your fellowmen." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" +</P> + +<P> +Sheer anger at this latest evidence of his enemy's activity had swept +Simon Varr beyond self-control, beyond reasoning and beyond decency. +He launched upon the stolid committee a rushing torrent of insult and +invective. The veneer of dignity that had come to him with wealth and +position slipped from him, as the old skin slips from a snake, and he +went back to the vocabulary of his youth for terms sufficiently +blasphemous and obscene to express his opinion of the strike, the +strikers, the committee and its sponsors. He did not stop until his +breath failed and left him panting. +</P> + +<P> +The two men in the small office listened to that tirade in embarrassed +silence. Jason Bolt fidgeted in his chair and grew pink to the tips of +his ears. Herman Krech, as became a tactful bystander, gazed at the +floor, stared at the ceiling, studied the glowing tip of his cigar, +peered through the grimy window at the uninspiring view of Hambleton +and generally comported himself with discretion and <I>savoir faire</I>. +Inwardly, he was wondering if he had any right to inflict this +termagant tanner on his unsuspecting friend, the detective. Not by a +jugful, unless the mutt had a mighty interesting case— +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said Simon Varr, reentering his office, "I think I have now +made my position clear to those fellows!" A grim satisfaction was +apparent in his voice and bearing, the usual aftermath with him of an +outburst of temper. "Now we can resume where we left off." +</P> + +<P> +"What was that stuff about a monk?" demanded Jason. +</P> + +<P> +"That's part of my story. When Mr. Krech has heard it, he will tell us +if it is likely to interest his friend." He sent a questioning glance +at the big man. "By the way, what is his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Creighton," said Mr. Krech. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>X: Creighton Takes the Case</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Jason Bolt and Herman Krech listened to Varr's narrative in rapt +silence. The former's interest was mixed with amazement, the latter's +with enthusiasm. As the tale progressed the big man hitched farther +and farther forward in his chair, his expression that of a little child +who proposes to miss no syllable of a fascinating fairy story. He +considered himself something of a connoisseur in crime, did Mr. Krech, +thanks to a few experiences with his friend Creighton, and a subject +that had always made an appeal to his imagination was now become the +hobby of his every idle moment. Although he would not have abandoned a +lucrative business to take a position on Creighton's staff of +operatives, it was his secret grief that the detective had never +recognized his ability to the extent of offering him one. +</P> + +<P> +He was beaming with delight by the time Varr had ended his curt account +of his tribulations, and his distaste of the tanner's personality had +been temporarily forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph, Mr. Varr!" he burst out. "You really ought to +congratulate yourself! You've been the victim of the prettiest piece +of persecution I've ever heard of!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," returned Simon without enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"He seems to be waltzing all around you and jabbing you just where it +will hurt the most, and yet he's clever enough to evade capture and +even to keep you from guessing his identity. Why not make a list of +your known enemies and check them off one by one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Too many of 'em," retorted Simon briefly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes—I should have thought of that!" A muffled snort from Jason +marked his appreciation of the seemingly ingenuous jibe. "If a man's +known by the enemies he makes, I should say this fellow was a lasting +credit to you. You'll miss him when he's gone." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll miss him with pleasure. But when is he going? D'you think this +is a problem that will appeal to Mr. Creighton's critical taste?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will have my hearty endorsement, anyway, when I submit it to him. +He likes crooks with imagination, I know, and this bird has it. I wish +you had brought along that note you got from him." +</P> + +<P> +"I did." The tanner reached into his pocket and drew forth the message +that he had found in the deft stick. "I decided to fetch it as long as +I intended to tell you the story." +</P> + +<P> +Krech accepted the bit of brown paper, carefully taking it by the tip +of one corner and opening it with a shake. He held it out for Jason to +read, but drew it back from the other's outstretched hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Naughty, naughty, mustn't touch!" +</P> + +<P> +"Fingerprints?" grunted Varr skeptically. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a possibility we must consider," insisted the big man firmly. "I +don't believe there are any, sort of pity if there were." +</P> + +<P> +"Pity, eh? What do you mean, pity?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would cheapen our crook. I don't believe he's the lad to leave +clues." He added calmly, "Hush, now, and let me read this carefully." +</P> + +<P> +Simon gasped and hushed. He consoled himself with the reflection that +this human mastodon probably knew what it was about. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm hanged!" blurted Jason Bolt, when he had perused the +missive. "What do you make of it, Krech?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, there are a number of curious features about it that leap to the +eye," said Mr. Krech blandly. "I will call them to Creighton's +attention, of course." He stepped to Varr's desk, helped himself to an +unused envelope and inserted the note. "How many other people have +touched this paper besides yourself, Mr. Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a soul. I've shown it to no one." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's fine." He picked up a clean letterhead and held it out to +the tanner. "Ink your thumbs and forefingers on that pad there and +then press them on this." He waited until Simon had gruntingly obeyed. +"Good. These will identify your marks on the message, and if there are +any others they will be the sign manual of our crook." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you be sure?" argued Jason. "It's obviously an old scrap of +paper and a dozen people may have handled it before the crook got hold +of it." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Krech regarded his friend with a look of dignified annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +"There's always some one around to make difficulties," he said +severely. "You're a fly on the wheel of progress." +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me for living," begged the fly meekly. Then he looked at his +watch and exclaimed, "Hello. Our wives, Krech, our wives—! We're +late for lunch already! Drop you anywhere, Simon?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have my car." The tanner glanced at Krech. "You'll notify +Creighton?" +</P> + +<P> +"With pleasure. I'll keep these for him, too." +</P> + +<P> +He placed the envelope containing the message and the fingerprints in +his pocket, then moved to follow his friend, already on his way to the +stairs. He paused at the door, however, and came back rather +hesitatingly. "Say—just how did that couplet run?" +</P> + +<P> +Simon made a wry face, but obligingly recited: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"<I>'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh<BR> +Within the fortnight he shall die.'</I>"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Do you take that seriously?" asked the big man. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you take me for a blasted fool?" snapped Simon irritably. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mr. Krech simply. "Just the sort of blasted fool I would +be in your place, or that nine out of ten men would be. Because the +threat is directed at <I>you</I>, you scoff at it and ignore it." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you getting at?" +</P> + +<P> +"This: the fellow who wrote that note and does his stuff in a monk's +costume has all the earmarks of a maniac. Maniacs are dangerous. If +he has made use of this old local legend to further his purpose, he may +go ahead with it to the bitter end—your bitter end! Until he is laid +by the heels, why not play safe and stay home after dark?" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. I'm likely to, aren't I?" jeered Simon. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you aren't, because, to use your own expression, you're 'a blasted +fool,'" conceded Mr. Krech cheerfully. "Anyway, if you happen to get +bumped off, don't come around haunting me on the score that I didn't +warn you!" He smiled benignly. "Ta-ta!" +</P> + +<P> +The tanner choked back an oath. For some time after the loud groaning +of the stairs beneath his visitor's tread had died away, he sat at his +desk and scratched his chin gently as he meditated. The striking of +the clock in the outer office recalled him to more present matters. It +was understood that if he did not return home by a certain hour in the +middle of the day he would lunch downtown, and the hour was now past. +On these occasions he usually walked to the Hambleton Hotel, the town's +one hostelry, where he could regale himself on a couple of heavy +sandwiches and a cup of doubtful coffee. +</P> + +<P> +Thither he now betook himself, frowning on the way as he noted some +condemnatory expressions on the faces of those he passed on the street. +He knew that public opinion was antagonistic to him in the matter of +the strike and his treatment of Maxon—the Hambleton <I>News</I> had run a +nasty paragraph about the last—and the censure irritated, if it did +not move him. +</P> + +<P> +He had no sooner entered the dingy lobby of the hotel than his eye +rested on his son, Copley, seated at a rickety writing table and +industriously scribbling on a pad of cheap paper. Varr strode across +to his side and addressed him curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Living here," returned the young man, glancing up but making no move +to rise. He met his father's angry glare coolly. "More convenient to +my job." +</P> + +<P> +"Your job!" echoed Simon derisively. "What mental incompetent has +employed <I>you</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Barlow, the editor of the <I>News</I>. I'm a reporter now." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"For ready money, naturally, until I can get something good." +</P> + +<P> +"Am I to understand you have left my roof?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely. Left it last night, and returned for clothes and a few +personal belongings this morning. You piled it on a bit thick last +evening—too thick. I've quit." +</P> + +<P> +"Saved me the trouble of throwing you out!" said Simon between his +teeth. "What did you tell your mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"The truth. I didn't intend to, but I found Aunt Ocky had overheard +our little chat and had told her we'd had a holy row. Sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"Blast your Aunt Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +That did not seem to call for a reply and Copley made none. After a +few seconds of silence he raised his pencil suggestively. +</P> + +<P> +"Speaking as a prominent citizen, Mr. Varr, what have you to say +regarding the opening of the new sewer in State Street?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—except that I hope you'll fall into it!" said his father with +asperity, and walked away. +</P> + +<P> +Copley wrote an item on another sheet of paper. "Among those lunching +at the Hambleton Hotel yesterday was Mr. Simon Varr, of the Varr-Bolt +Tanneries. He did not tip the waiter." He cocked his head at a +critical angle and contemplated the last six words before reluctantly +obliterating them. Discretion must be his watchword, he told himself, +and a job is better than a jest. +</P> + +<P> +Simon finished his meal and returned to the office, noticing already +the premonitory symptoms of the mild indigestion that habitually +followed the greasy cooking of the hotel chef. He found his insurance +man waiting for him and spent two tedious hours over an inventory and +proofs of loss before he could rid himself of the fellow—and sped his +going with a curse because the broker warned him the insurance company +would certainly cancel their existing policies if they got wind of an +incendiary. +</P> + +<P> +That reminded Simon of the footprints in the tannery yard which he had +wished to examine by daylight. He had intended to show them to that +chap Krech, but Jason had spoiled things by hurrying him off to his +silly lunch. He descended the stairs, called Nelson to join him, and +went to the end of the fence around which the fire bug had fled. +</P> + +<P> +He gave the watchman a brief account of Fay's experience at the +commencement of the fire, when he had actually obtained a glimpse of +the incendiary at his evil work. He discussed with Nelson, a shrewd +man, the possible identity of the miscreant, but they arrived at no +conclusion. Together they traced the footprints from the yard around +the fence and up the muddy bank of the little stream until they +vanished on the firmer ground outside the premises. +</P> + +<P> +"Make anything of them?" asked Varr. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing more than you do, sir; they seem to be the tracks of a large +man. That friend of Mr. Bolt's could have made 'em nicely." +</P> + +<P> +"Get a couple of empty boxes," directed Simon, mindful of the +protective device he had used in his kitchen garden to preserve the +marks left by Charlie Maxon. "Cover up two good sets of these; they +may come in handy later." He studied the skies. "We'll probably have +rain before morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Fay won't object to that," declared the watchman, grinning. "If he +had his wish, it would rain chemical fire-extinguishing fluid!" +</P> + +<P> +Simon lingered to see that the work of covering the tracks was properly +done, and hoped that Mr. Krech and his detective would appreciate his +thoughtfulness. Then he left the tannery, climbed into his car and +drove home. The strain of the night before had told on even his iron +physique—and there was the mute appeal of a decanter of Bourbon that +he knew would freshen his nagging spirit. +</P> + +<P> +Jason's dilapidated little touring car greeted his gaze as he drove +past the front of the house to the garage, and a sound of light voices +came to him from the side veranda. Easy enough to guess the meaning of +that, the Bolts had dropped in with their friends for tea and a chat +with Lucy, who counted Mary Bolt her closest friend. +</P> + +<P> +He joined them a moment later. Lucy, he saw at once, had been crying. +No amount of powder or superficial gayety could conceal that fact from +him. She did not look at him directly, and her voice was frigid as she +introduced him to the one member of the party he had not met. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Krech—my husband." +</P> + +<P> +Varr bowed to a tall, slender, strikingly handsome young woman with +deep-blue eyes and a mass of dark red hair, who was seated beside his +sister-in-law on a couch. The two were talking earnestly together +until he interrupted them, as though they had taken an instant liking +to each other. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me if I don't get up," apologized Krech from the deep chair in +which he was sitting. "I'm anchored." +</P> + +<P> +The handsome Angora had found him, and as though to mark his +approbation of another animal as fine as himself, had leaped into his +lap and curled up contentedly beneath his caressing hand. Despite his +words, Krech put him down and rose immediately when Simon indicated +that he did not propose to join them. He followed the tanner into the +house and accosted him in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to see the window where that burglar got in last night," he +said. "Got a minute to show me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. In this way." They went into the sitting room and Varr +spoke on the way of his recent activities in the tanning yard, a piece +of foresight that Krech instantly applauded. "This is the window; it +was either pushed open by main force, or the catch was pressed back by +some tool." +</P> + +<P> +"The last is it," announced the big man promptly. "See here where the +paint has been broken near the lock and the brass of the bolt is +scratched? It's a cinch to open these things—a child could do it with +a penknife." +</P> + +<P> +"You have sharp eyes," admitted Varr grudgingly. "I hadn't noticed +those scratches on the brass." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I've helped Creighton on his cases any number of times, and of +course a man soon gets the trick of observing the least thing out of +the ordinary. Smaller marks than those scratches have hanged many a +man, Mr. Varr." +</P> + +<P> +"What a cheerful thought!" exclaimed a laughing voice behind them. +They turned and found Mrs. Krech, with Miss Ocky at her elbow. "What +are you two talking about hanging for? Herman, I came in to look for +you; we're just leaving." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Jean; I was just giving Mr. Varr my celebrated imitation of +an expert criminologist!" He did not proceed further until he had +glanced questioningly at his host, who gave permission with a nod and a +shrug. "Some one broke in here last night and staged a burglary; I +didn't tell you before because I didn't know how far it was being kept +secret." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't keep secrets in this place," grunted Simon. "I gave up trying +long ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Have the police any idea who did it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The police! My dear Mrs. Krech, it's evident that you don't know much +about country constabulary. I wasted no time telling them of my +troubles. Your husband is going to place them in the hands of a friend +of his." +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Creighton! Is he coming here? Lovely!" She turned impulsively +to Miss Ocky. "He's just the nicest man you ever met!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is he?" demanded Miss Ocky, but before she could get her answer, +Varr had interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't know yet that he is coming. You will surely write to him +to-night, Mr. Krech?" +</P> + +<P> +It was the very question the big man had been waiting for, but no one +could have guessed it from his perfectly simulated surprise. His +eyebrows were delicately arched as he made bland reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't realize the value of time in these matters, Mr. Varr. Write +to him! To-night! He'd have my life! No, sir, as soon as I left you +this morning I went straight to the village and telephoned him. Bolt +was fearfully annoyed about his lunch—he doesn't understand urgency, +either." +</P> + +<P> +"You got Creighton? What did he say?" +</P> + +<P> +"He will handle it. He can't get here until the first train in the +morning, but of course he is working on the case already." +</P> + +<P> +"Working on the case?" repeated Simon impatiently. "How in thunder +<I>can</I> he? He doesn't know anything about it yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, he does. You forget that I was able to give him a lot of +information. We had a long talk—ask Bolt." +</P> + +<P> +"But, what can he do in New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty," said the big man airily. "You don't know him." +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask again," said Miss Ocky plaintively, "who is this Peter +Creighton? And what?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's a dear!" said Mrs. Krech. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a wonder!" said her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a detective," said Simon grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"A detective! Coming here!" cried Miss Ocky, her eyes bright with +interest. "My word, won't <I>that</I> be jolly!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XI: Checkers and Chicane</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Miss Drusilla Jones, whose fortunes were temporarily bound up with +those of Charlie Maxon, was a rather tall and shapely young woman, +handsome in a coarse sort of way when her face was in a state of +animation; in repose, its expression was marred by a too-great boldness +in the big dark eyes and a suggestion of sullenness about the heavy, +full-lipped mouth. She dressed well—"too well for an honest woman," +was the dark verdict of ladies more reputable and less attractive—and, +with a shrewdness surprising in one of her type, avoided the cheapening +allure of cosmetics. She spent most of her days in bed, and earned her +living, at least ostensibly, by spending most of the night at Tom +Martin's dance hall, where she was kept on the payroll as an +"entertainer." It was there she had first met Charlie Maxon. +</P> + +<P> +In accordance with her promise to return at a later hour, she left her +small house on the edge of the town shortly after four o'clock and +turned her steps in the direction of the tannery, where she hoped to +catch Simon Varr in his office. Her natural sullenness of expression +was intensified as she walked slowly along her way, for certain friends +of hers had pointed out to her that she was wasting her time. Simon +could do nothing if he would, and would do less than that if he could, +for the lover languishing in jail. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll give him a piece of my mind!" she retorted. "I'm not afraid +of old Varr nor any other man." +</P> + +<P> +Her course led her through the heart of the town, and her exact social +status could have been nicely determined by the glances of disfavor she +received from certain thin-nosed, pursed-lipped matrons of Hambleton +whom she passed en route. She could pretend to ignore these glances, +and she did, but they aroused a fierce resentment in her breast and +hardened a resolution already half formed—she was sick of this place, +she was sick of these people, she was sick of her undue prominence in a +small town where every one knew all about every one else, and she +proposed to shake its dust from her high heels at the first opportunity +that offered. +</P> + +<P> +At the tannery, Nelson opened the door when he recognized her through +the peephole and greeted her with a shake of the head. +</P> + +<P> +"No use, Drusilla. He isn't here, and he wouldn't talk to you if he +was. Said to tell you he'd no time to waste on Maxon's women." +</P> + +<P> +"He did, did he!" flared the girl. "Then you can tell him for me that +he's goin' to get into a peck of trouble if he don't look out!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't say things like that if I was you, Drusilla," admonished +the watchman. He had always liked the girl and regarded her with as +much kindly tolerance as was fitting to a respectable family man. +"There's talk around town already that your Charlie knows more about +the fires we've had than he ought to." +</P> + +<P> +"Sort of thing this town would say! How could he start a fire when he +was locked up in jail? Answer me that." +</P> + +<P> +"He's got friends, ain't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's neither here nor there. You can take it from me, he don't know +anything about those fires." +</P> + +<P> +"You may be wrong, Drusilla, a man don't have to tell a woman all he +knows. Anyway, it will be best for you and best for him if you keep +your mouth shut." He looked around them cautiously. "I know what I'm +talking about. Take my tip and watch your step." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Varr's sending to New York for a detective." +</P> + +<P> +"A detective!" Miss Jones was startled, and made no effort to conceal +the fact. "How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Bolt was here this morning with a friend of his from New York, and +I heard them speakin' about it as they went out. So you tell Charlie +Maxon to be a good little boy and put away his box of matches." +</P> + +<P> +"He had nothing to do with those fires," reiterated Drusilla +mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere. She had met country detectives +and done business with them on terms satisfactory to both sides, and +she held them consequently in contempt, but a detective from New York +was an unknown and possibly ominous quantity. "When's he comin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dunno. To-morrow, I'd say likely." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, to-morrow's another day," remarked Drusilla easily, recovering +something of her poise. "I guess he won't amount to so much! I'm +obliged to you just the same for tipping me off. Drop in at Martin's +one of these evenings and have one on me—he's serving a pretty good +brand just now." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you try to vamp me, Drusilla," grinned Nelson. "I'm a decent +married man." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Jones tossed her head and strolled away. +</P> + +<P> +She quickened her step presently as she decided on a course of action +that appealed to her restless, rather adventurous nature. She had +played with this same idea previously, but had lacked the animus to put +it through. Nelson, with his good-natured hint about a detective from +the city, had supplied that. +</P> + +<P> +She went straight to the dance hall, closed at this hour to its +nocturnal patrons, where she knew she would find Tom Martin in the +office back of the main room. He was there as she expected—a +keen-eyed, sharp-featured little cockney whose history from the time he +disappeared from London in a fog to the day when he emerged in this +unlikely corner of the great United States would have made a thrilling +story—particularly to the English police! Through the open door of +his office he was keeping an eye on the activities of several waiters +who were cleaning up the dance hall and straightening the small round +tables where "only soft drinks" were served, and he looked up to +welcome his visitor with a nod of surprised recognition. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ello, Drusilla. Wotcher doin' 'ere at this time o' dye?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Jones had two wants and voiced them promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me a quart of rye, Tom, and a couple of knock-out drops." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Martin jumped in his chair and shot a nervous glance at the men in +the outer room. "The rye's all right—you've got some wiges comin' ter +yer an' I'll take it out o' them. But I don't know nothin' about them +other things, Drusilla. Wot are they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't try the baby-innocent act on me, Tom! I want some knock-out +drops, same's you put in the beer of that drummer from the city last +Tuesday night—and I mean to have 'em!" +</P> + +<P> +Hers was a carrying voice, and she was speaking with fearful +distinctness. A visible shudder ran through Mr. Martin's slender frame +as he sprang to his feet and hurriedly shut the door. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Drusilla, you can have 'em—but fer the luv o' Mike don't +tell th' blinkin' world abaht it! Wotcher want 'em for?" +</P> + +<P> +"What you don't know won't hurt you," responded the girl. +</P> + +<P> +That gave him pause, but in the end she had her way after some cajolery +and a few loud threats. She left the premises with a paper parcel in +her hand and the wished-for pellets in her bag. +</P> + +<P> +Her house was not far removed from the police station, in the rear of +which was the small square building that served as a lockup for such +casual unfortunates as were not of a quality to be sent to the county +jail. Here Charlie Maxon was incarcerated, his quarters consisting of +a small room with a grille door and a barred window too high for +anything but light and ventilation. The only additional deterrent to +his escape was to be found in the person of a nondescript elderly man +who received a dollar a day from the town funds to act as jailer when +the lockup was in use. His name was Moody, his chief characteristic +the determined grouch he had cherished since the advent of prohibition. +</P> + +<P> +He was seated on the stone steps of the jail, smoking a small but +powerful pipe, when Drusilla Jones appeared from the direction of her +house. She bore a basket in one hand, its contents scrupulously +covered with a white napkin. It was about six o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, Mr. Moody!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hullo." +</P> + +<P> +"I've brought a few things I've cooked myself for Charlie's dinner," +she informed him. "Want to look 'em over?" She put down the basket +and whipped off the napkin, replacing it when the jailer had cast a +gloomy eye over the contents and signified his satisfaction with a nod. +"Come and unlock the door so I can give it to him, there's an old dear!" +</P> + +<P> +The old dear arose grumbling and proceeded to obey, pulling the door +key from his pocket. She followed him into the building, where their +advent was hailed with joy by the prisoner, upon whose hands time was +already beginning to hang heavy. +</P> + +<P> +"That you, Drusilla? Say—that's fine! Twenty-five cents a day is the +food allowance in this jail, and nineteen of that is grafted by some +one before it turns into grub." He accepted the basket from Moody, who +promptly relocked the door of the cell. "Get a chair, Drusilla, and we +can talk while I polish off this dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you don't," corrected Moody. "What do you think this is—a hotel? +You can have five minutes, young woman, an' then out you go!" +</P> + +<P> +He went back to his doorstep and resumed his pipe. He might or might +not be within earshot; Drusilla could not determine which and she dared +not take chances. Fortunately she had guarded against such a +contretemps as this by providing a second line of communication, and +after chatting loudly with her <I>vis-a-vis</I> through the bars of his cell +she suddenly dropped her voice and whispered swiftly: +</P> + +<P> +"Bottom of the basket. A note. Read it!" +</P> + +<P> +He registered his perfect comprehension by an eloquent wink the while +he discoursed long and loudly upon more innocent topics. They +exchanged sally and quip through the forbidding grille until a warning +grumble from the doorstep marked the expiration of the five minutes and +the end of their interview. +</P> + +<P> +"'Night, Charlie. See you again soon!" +</P> + +<P> +"'Night, Drusilla—and thanks. If you run into old Varr, give him a +bust on the head for me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Charlie—you shouldn't talk that way! Should he, Mr. Moody?" +she added brightly to Cerberus as she passed him. "I'm always telling +him he talks too much and doesn't mean half what he says." +</P> + +<P> +"Every one talks too much except me," declared the disappointed +disciple of Bacchus. "I only talk when I'm drinkin', and I haven't +said a word for months and I haven't been what you might call +loquacious for some years." +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie knows where to get liquor," suggested Drusilla, quick to seize +this happy opportunity to titivate the jailer's thirst. "Make him get +you some!" +</P> + +<P> +"On your way!" said Mr. Moody virtuously—but thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +Charlie Maxon, hearing their voices and sure that he was unobserved, +delved rapidly into the bottom of the basket at some cost to a custard +pie that recklessly intervened. He discovered a quart of rye which he +promptly thrust into concealment beneath the single blanket on his +narrow cot, a half dozen excellent cigars that he stored in a pocket of +his vest, and an envelope that contained two white pellets and a +hastily-written note. +</P> + +<P> +The latter he carried nearer to the window and read its contents +hurriedly; a soundless whistle relieved his emotions when he had +finished its perusal. He was briefly pensive. +</P> + +<P> +"Well—why not?" he demanded of himself finally. "She's not such a bad +looker—and she's sure got a brain!" +</P> + +<P> +He secreted the letter inside his shirt, proposing to destroy it at the +first opportunity, then settled himself to the tranquil enjoyment of +Drusilla's dainties quite as if no weightier matter than her pastry +portended. A hearty eater always, he did not desist until the last +fragment of the damaged pie concluded his repast. Then he went to the +door of his cell, stuck his head between the bars and hailed the seated +figure of his personal attendant. +</P> + +<P> +"Wotcher want?" asked Moody, grudgingly coming to his call. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you might like a cigar," explained his prisoner, poking one +through the grille. "Smoke 'em, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I c'n get 'em," admitted the jailer, and regarded this one with +the dark suspicion of a man who has been the victim of practical jokes +before. "What's the matter with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'. Smoke up! Gimme a match, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't supposed to smoke in your cell," objected Moody, but +produced the match and lighted both their cigars. "However, I guess +you won't tell the Chief of Police if I don't!" +</P> + +<P> +"No fear. You're a good sport, Moody. I always knew that." +</P> + +<P> +"Fine cigar," commented the jailer critically. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave it to Drusilla. You can bet she helped herself from the best +box Tom Martin has." +</P> + +<P> +"Women are useful when they provide a man with good tobacco, but in +other ways they can get you into a mortal lot of trouble. Take it from +me, Charlie, and steer clear of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you know your way around, eh, Moody?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can tie to that. Frinstance, if you knew as much as me you never +would've got into this jail." +</P> + +<P> +"I expect you're right. You've got a head on your shoulders!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody some good," reflected the +jailer complacently. "I'm gettin' a dollar a day because you coveted +your neighbor's tomatoes and then had no more sense than to shy one at +him. Missed him, too, they tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't miss him another time if I get a shot at him, whether it's +with a tomato or something else!" snapped Maxon with sudden +viciousness. "I'd like to pitch him into one of his own vats!" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't love him much, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Charlie Maxon thereupon expressed his exact opinion of his late +employer in studied terms to which Mr. Moody lent the attentive and +appreciative ear of a connoisseur in language. When the recitation was +ended, he nodded approval and returned to his doorstep, where he sat +down and contentedly finished his cigar. +</P> + +<P> +Maxon dropped on his cot, eased the cork from the bottle of rye and +took one satisfying drink of the invigorating liquor. More, he dared +not allow himself for the moment. +</P> + +<P> +At nine o'clock Moody rose from his doorstep and came inside, carefully +locking and double-locking the door and putting its key in his pocket. +He did the same by the rear exit, and was preparing to retire to the +privacy of his own small room when he was hailed a second time by his +charge. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what?" Moody went to the barred door of the cell with more +alacrity on this occasion, hopeful of further largesse. "Can't you let +a man have a minute's peace?" +</P> + +<P> +"Going to bed so soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' else to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Remember two years ago how we used to play checkers at the Workmen's +Club?" +</P> + +<P> +"What of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You used to beat me then pretty regular, but I guess it'd be different +now. I'd beat you four out of five." +</P> + +<P> +"That's nonsense. What are you gettin' at anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with letting me out of here for a while? A few +games of checkers wouldn't do any harm—help pass the time." +</P> + +<P> +"Help pass—! Say, where do you think you are? Why don't you ask me +to take you to the movies? Mebbe you'd like me to send for Drusilla +so's we could have a dance? Want me to lose my job, huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who's going to know anything about it except us? Slip out and get a +board—and a couple of glasses!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Glasses</I>? What kind of glasses?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whisky glasses." +</P> + +<P> +Moody started. He looked keenly at his prisoner. Slowly, a warm light +stole into his eye, he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. +</P> + +<P> +"Quit your kiddin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not kidding—look here!" +</P> + +<P> +Maxon knew his man. Satisfied that he had Moody quivering with +anticipation, he stepped to his cot, produced the flat bottle and shook +it invitingly. The rich gurgle was music to the jailer's ear. A more +hard-boiled, professional warder would have followed just one course +with decision and dispatch, to Moody's credit be it said, it did not +once occur to him that he might safely confiscate the treasure and +dedicate it to his own delight. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go after those glasses," he said promptly. "Sure it's good +stuff, Charlie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't drink it myself if I wasn't, would I? Hustle up—I'm ready +for a drink right now." +</P> + +<P> +Tempted beyond his strength, the faithless keeper of the Hambleton +lockup departed on winged feet. He was back in remarkably quick time, +a checkerboard under his coat and two bar glasses in his pockets. A +last feeble flicker of responsibility stayed his hand an instant as he +opened the cell door. +</P> + +<P> +"No tricks, Charlie!" +</P> + +<P> +"'Course not. Cross my heart and hope to die." +</P> + +<P> +With the doors locked and no windows through which they could be seen, +they sat themselves confidently at a small table, a glass at each side, +the checkerboard between them and the precious bottle on the floor +within easy reach. The proceedings opened with one apiece. +</P> + +<P> +"A-a-a-ah!" +</P> + +<P> +"Told you it was good, didn't I? Have another." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. This is like old times. Black moves first." +</P> + +<P> +"Teach your grandmother. Chin-chin." +</P> + +<P> +"If that's bootleg, it's good enough for me." +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't, though. He gets it from Canada himself." +</P> + +<P> +"An empty glass is a mournful sight. Thanks. Your move." +</P> + +<P> +They played and drank and drank and played. Moody won most of the +games, which suited both of them. An hour passed. There was lots of +time, Charlie told himself. He wasn't due at Drusilla's until +eleven-thirty—the rendezvous she had made in the event that all went +well. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the effect of the +whisky he was drinking. It wouldn't do to get tight himself. Better +speed things up a bit, then take a walk for half an hour or so before +going to Drusilla's— +</P> + +<P> +"Em-py glash—mournful shight." +</P> + +<P> +Charlie's left hand hovered an instant over the mournful sight, his +fingers crumbling something; then he picked up the glass and filled it. +</P> + +<P> +"A-a-a-ah." +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes later he was half-carrying, half-dragging the inert figure +of his jailer to the cell which by rights he should have been occupying +himself. He dropped Moody on the narrow cot, relieved him of his keys +and stepped out, grinning as he locked the door behind him. It would +be a long, long time before the recreant warder awakened to discovery +and disgrace. No one from outside would come near the place until +eight or nine in the morning; he had oceans of time in which to make +good his escape before the alarm could be given. +</P> + +<P> +He possessed himself of a slouch hat that he found in Moody's room and +drew its brim well down over his eyes, then cautiously unlocked the +back door of the jail. This gave on to a narrow, unlighted alley, +which led to a quiet side-street. There was little chance of his +meeting any one at that hour of the night. After a quick survey which +assured him the alley was deserted, he left the building and locked the +door. +</P> + +<P> +The fresh night air after the stuffy atmosphere of the jail hit him +hard. It sent the potent fumes of the whisky to his head, and by the +time he had reached the end of the alley he was staggering perceptibly. +He vaguely realized his condition and the peril it implied, and paused +for an instant at the first corner to steady himself against the wall +of a building while he strove to clear his brain. He jerked off his +hat to give the air access to his head, too fuddled to note that a +street-lamp not ten yards away was shining directly on his face. +</P> + +<P> +Then a tight grip fastened on his arm and he was pushed back into the +obscurity of the alley. +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon, by glory! Who let <I>you</I> out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wh-who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who am I? Well, that's pretty good! Mean to say you can't <I>see</I> me? +I'm Langhorn!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XII: Starlight on Steel</I> +</H3> + +<P> +When he had finished his examination of the broken window in the +living-room, Herman Krech contrived—partly by his sheer physical bulk +and partly by the exercise of a soft assertiveness that was saved by +his bland geniality from being plain rudeness—to sequester Simon Varr +for a word in private. To accomplish this end he was obliged to shake +off his own wife, the tanner's wife, the Jason Bolts and Miss Ocky +Copley, the last lady in especial revealing the pertinacity of a +cockle-burr in her objection to being shaken off. Krech didn't succeed +in losing her until he had shut the door of the study in her face with +a courteously affected air of absent-mindedness. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want?" inquired Varr ungraciously. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got a message for you—sorry if I'm intruding," replied the big +man, half-amused and half-resentful at his host's tone. "I'm afraid it +will annoy you—but most things do, don't they? But Creighton thought +it best to give you a tip and of course I feel obliged to pass it on as +received." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. What is it?" said the tanner less irascibly. +</P> + +<P> +"Practically a repetition of the warning I gave you this morning on my +own account. I read him that note over the telephone. He said it +sounded like the work of a nut, and added that a bad nut is often a +dangerous proposition. He thinks you should take reasonable +precautions against a personal attack at least until he gets here." +</P> + +<P> +"When peace will mantle the earth, I suppose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly so," answered the big man imperturbably. "I know if I were a +crook engaged in a campaign of crime I'd be apt to desist if a +detective suddenly appeared over the horizon. Wouldn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I thought he was scared of me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—I see." Mr. Krech's face, normally pink, deepened to a delicate +shade of rose. "Rather cheap, that, isn't it, Varr? No, Creighton is +not scared of crooks so you could notice it, but he's not a darn' fool +either. Anyway, there it is. Take it or leave it." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll leave it, thank you. Does he think I'm going to wire the +Governor to turn out the militia?" +</P> + +<P> +"He'd be more likely to suggest that you wire the nearest asylum for a +competent keeper; he has a rough tongue at times." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. When's he coming?" +</P> + +<P> +"First train in the morning. Gets here at eleven." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll drive down and meet him. Will he stop at the hotel, or will he +expect me to put him up here?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'd better settle that with him, Mr. Varr. He's not a roughneck, if +that's what you mean." Krech contemplated the tanner reflectively; +there were several things he wished to tell him but he manfully +swallowed them all. "Good-day, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +His doubts of the morning were reborn as he left the study, unattended. +Had he any right to inflict this specimen on Creighton? He could only +hope that the detective's sense of humor would prove a buffer between +him and his patron's boorishness. If not— +</P> + +<P> +His cogitations ended abruptly as he spied Miss Ocky awaiting him in +the living-room. He had caught her with her eye so attentively fixed +on the study door as to suggest that a less refined woman might have +had an ear glued to the keyhole. He beamed on her, his customary +good-nature again in the ascendant as he left the irritating tanner +behind. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello," he greeted her cheerfully. "Others all waiting for me +outside?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Your wife has apologized for you twice, I believe. I think it +was mean of you to shut yourself up like that after getting me all +excited about detectives and things! What were you two talking about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Secrets," chuckled Mr. Krech. He continued to move implacably toward +the front door as she marched with equal determination at his elbow. +"Just a girly-girly heart-to-heart talk. Delightful fellow, isn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. You might remember he wasn't the only victim of the robbery. +If he lost a notebook, I lost a perfectly good dagger. Why can't I +know what's going on, too?" She cooed softly. "<I>Please</I>, Mr. Krech!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you <I>must</I> know! I asked him, 'Vot iss a tanner?' and he +said, '<I>Vat</I> do you mean?', and then—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oh!</I>" cried Miss Ocky, and flounced. Then her indignation gave way +to laughter. "Mr. Krech, you're a—a <I>sus domesticus</I>!"' +</P> + +<P> +"French for diplomat, I take it," he retorted amiably, and left her on +the top step as he surged across the piazza and down to the waiting +car. Nevertheless, he sought his more erudite spouse at the first +opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +"Jean, what's a <I>sus domesticus</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gracious!" She wrinkled her beautiful brow for a moment, but she had +taught school for a while before acquiring wedded affluence and the +answer presently came to her. "Why—a common pig, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh. A <I>common</I> pig? Not even a nice, clean, pink-and-white, +prize-winning pig?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. What <I>are</I> you talking about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. Nothing <I>a</I>-tall! Say—what did you think of that Copley +woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Copley? Very interesting. Very attractive. I liked her +immensely. Didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +He thought that over an instant. Then, like Miss Ocky, he surrendered +to amusement and gave one of his deep chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said. "I did. Sometime I'd like to pack a dictionary with +me and drop in on her for a chat!" +</P> + +<P> +After Krech had dropped his unwelcome warning and departed, Simon Varr +turned to his desk and tried to forget some of his immediate problems +by attacking a small mass of correspondence that he had brought home +from the office after the innumerable interruptions of the morning. He +did not succeed any too well in concentrating his thoughts on the task. +They would persist in wandering to other matters, leaving him staring +blankly at a letter while his wits went the weary round of his +perplexities. With reflection came temper, and he rather welcomed the +sound of his study door being opened with no preliminary knock. That +foreboded more trouble of some sort, and he was in the humor for a +fight— He swung his chair around and started at the sight of his wife +in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"Well? Come in. What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She accepted the invitation. She came into the room slowly, but she +ignored his gesture toward a chair. She stood looking down at him, her +face all the whiter for a touch of vivid color that burned in each +cheek, her arms hanging loosely at her sides but her hands clenched in +token of restrained emotion. Her voice was calm as ever when she +spoke, but passion lent it a husky quality that smote ominously on his +ear. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done to—my son?" +</P> + +<P> +"Done to him? Done to him? What d'you mean?" He sputtered. "I +haven't <I>done</I> anything to him!" +</P> + +<P> +"You quarreled with him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Call it that if you choose. He forced the issue—though he probably +went cry-babying to you with some other version!" +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't lie. And he told me just what I managed to drag out of +him—no more. I got the impression that he was—ashamed of you, that's +all." +</P> + +<P> +"Well? I'll live it down, I guess! What do you expect me to do about +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The decent thing, just for once in your life. I want you to go to +him, or send for him, and—and make peace." +</P> + +<P> +"You can see me doing it, can't you? Ha!" +</P> + +<P> +"He has left our roof." +</P> + +<P> +"His own choice!" +</P> + +<P> +"You drove him to it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's not so! He's free, white and twenty-one; he can do as he +pleases elsewhere, but he'll do as I say while he's in my house!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>My</I> house, please!" +</P> + +<P> +"We've had that argument before and you've had precious little change +out of it! As for Copley—let him rustle his own living or starve +until he learns to obey my wishes!" +</P> + +<P> +"You won't consider mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" The word was like a thunderclap. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." She held herself erect to every inch of her slim height, +her steadfast gaze leveled at him from beneath straight brows. "I warn +you, Simon, that you are going too far. I don't know if you realize +all the brutalities, the ignominies, that I've suffered from you since +we were married. Much kinder if you'd beaten me. It hasn't seemed +possible to me that you can have realized—! Yours is a very curious +nature—I've had to make allowances—often—" Her voice faded into +silence. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>What are you going to do about it?</I>" +</P> + +<P> +She jumped beneath the lash of that crisp question. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know—<I>yet</I>." Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left the +room. +</P> + +<P> +"That's that!" Simon swung back to his desk, a grim smile on his lips. +"It always boils down to the same thing—they don't know what they're +going to do about it. Let 'em rant all they please, in the end what I +say <I>goes</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +He resumed his correspondence, refreshed. +</P> + +<P> +The only aftermath of this latest squall instantly apparent was the +message Bates gave him as he announced dinner. Miss Lucy would not be +down. She was indisposed. +</P> + +<P> +"Another word for a bad disposition," Simon informed his sister-in-law, +as they seated themselves at a table laid for two, indifferent to the +fact that he was criticizing his wife within the hearing of a servant. +"She'll have recovered by morning." +</P> + +<P> +"We can't all have your sunny nature, Simon." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. You've heard about the roekus with Copley, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rumors have reached me." Miss Ocky peppered her soup composedly. +"Need we discuss it now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. There's always the weather, if you prefer that." +</P> + +<P> +The topic did not seem to appeal to her. They did not talk about the +weather, nor anything else. A silence that would have been perfect but +for the sound of a subdued champing from the head of the table was +broken only once during the progress of the meal. Occupied though he +was with his food, Varr gradually became conscious of a steady scrutiny +that first puzzled, then irritated him. He glared at her angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Interest, Simon. Pure, unadulterated interest." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, stop it! I don't like it!" +</P> + +<P> +For a wonder, she acceded to his insistence without a word. It cost +her no effort to avoid looking at him for the remainder of the time at +the table, after which they rose in silence and parted. Simon went +inevitably to his study, Miss Ocky in sisterly fashion to Lucy's room +to inquire the cause of her <I>malaise</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Two hours passed before she came down again. Two somewhat trying +hours, to judge from the expression on her face, which wore a look as +grim as any ever sported by Medusa. Her eyes were cold and hard as she +marched promptly to the closed study door and rapped upon it—a gesture +of icy politeness. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in! Humph. So it's you, Ocky! Dropped in to take another good +look at me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—to have a rather serious talk with you, Simon." From the +effortless way in which she drew a heavy armchair into the position she +desired, a shrewd observer might have gleaned a hint of the muscular +strength that was her heritage from many a camp and trail. "Hope you +don't mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite the contrary. By a serious talk I presume you mean a row. +Well—I've gotten so I thrive on 'em!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I pity you just enough, Simon, to wish you weren't so fond of +them." Miss Ocky dropped into her chair and lighted a cigarette with +pensive deliberation. "I don't know that I can offer you a real row, +my idea was to hand you a few straight-from-the-shoulder remarks and +then a couple of ultimatums. As for the brutal badinage in which you +delight, I'm in no mood for it this evening." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's have your remarks. I guess I can stand 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"First, then—I suppose you know that you have played the cat-and-banjo +with Lucy's happiness for the last twenty-odd years?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't assume I know anything. Just tell me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Consider yourself told that, to start with. I was literally shocked +when I came back and saw the change in Lucy. She's the shadow of her +old self, nothing more. It is you who are responsible for that." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now you have started on Copley—made a good start, too, if the boy's +manner is any criterion. Possibly I may be doing him an injustice. It +might have been consideration for his mother rather than fear of you +that has restrained him until now. Anyway, I'm glad he has summoned +the courage to defy you at last." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed. May I ask you one question? How long has it been considered +good form for a woman to enter a man's house and interfere with his +domestic relations. Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was my father's house first, then Lucy's. I am more at home here +this minute than you could ever be." +</P> + +<P> +"Try and prove it in a law-court!" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I shall—some day." She paused to scrutinize her polished +finger-nails, brushed a speck from one of them, raised her eyes to his +and added dryly, "After all, Simon, you know you only got in here by a +trick." +</P> + +<P> +"A <I>trick</I>! Now—what do you mean by <I>that</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Memory gone <I>phut</I>, Simon? Perhaps I can refresh it. While I was +watching the fire last night a man came up to me and called me by name. +It was—Leslie Sherwood." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ah!</I>" The exclamation was wrung from him through stiff lips. The +color drained from his face as he leaned forward tensely, one hand +gripping an arm of his chair like a vise. "G-go on!" +</P> + +<P> +"That shot went home, did it?" asked Miss Ocky coolly, watching the +effect of her words. "I've several more in the locker! We had quite a +long talk together and he told me many things I didn't know. +Interesting things—very!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>What?</I>" Simon's voice was hoarse. "He didn't tell you—he didn't +dare tell you—" He stopped, a deadly fear in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He told me why he quarreled with his father. Why he left home. +Why he has come back now, freed by his father's death. Shall I go on, +Simon?" +</P> + +<P> +He sank back in his chair, shaken in all his being. He could not speak +until he moistened his lips with his tongue. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you—told Lucy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. That is Leslie's right, I should say. No doubt he will use it. +As far as I can see, there is only one way by which you can make a +decent exit from the mess you're in." +</P> + +<P> +"If—if you're suggesting—suicide—forget it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Suicide? No! Why should I waste my breath proposing an act that +requires courage? What I meant was—divorce." +</P> + +<P> +"Divorce!" +</P> + +<P> +"It needn't cost you a penny. Make it easy for her to get—your +lawyers will arrange that. You'll have the tannery—and welcome! All +you need do is—go! Go from this house!" +</P> + +<P> +"Divorce! Stand aside—hat in hand—bow another man into my place—!" +The rage of a cornered animal swept aside his fear. "I'll see you all +in—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't shout." +</P> + +<P> +"So <I>that</I> is why Sherwood has come back!" He gritted his words +through set teeth. "He thinks he is going to make trouble for me, eh? +Just let him try—just let him try! If he dares to say a word to +Lucy—if he even dares to set foot on this property—" His clenched +fist crashed on the desk beside him as he abandoned himself to a very +ecstasy of fury. "If he dares try that, by Heaven, I'll kill him like +a dog!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't," advised Miss Ocky in her quiet, hard little voice. +"Everything would have to come out in court, then, and you'd have a +fearful time persuading any jury that it was justifiable." She had +finished her cigarette, and since Simon's study boasted no ash-trays, +she rose and went to the open window to toss the stub outside. She +remained there, leaning against the casement and breathing deep of the +cool night air. "Wouldn't you rather be divorced than hanged?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>No!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph. Queer tastes, you have! Well—I've kept my promise. I've +told you a few straight facts and issued an ultimatum. The rest is up +to you. Would you like time to consider—" +</P> + +<P> +"No! Not a minute—blast you!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't blast easily, Simon. I'm to assume, then, that you reject my +well-intentioned—<I>Hello! What's that!</I>" Her voice dropped to an +excited whisper as she bent her head and peered into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +The alteration in her manner penetrated through the fog of temper that +had clouded his brain. He left his chair and was at her side in a +bound, surmising her answer even before he snapped a swift question. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That monk—! I could have sworn—! Over there by the big silver +birch—! I can't see him now. Can you make out anything?" +</P> + +<P> +Side by side they leaned from the window, striving to accustom their +eyes to the starlit night. A long minute passed. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have been mistaken." Miss Ocky drew a long breath. "A shadow +from a swaying bough—or imagination." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't wind enough to sway a twig!" he corrected curtly. He +lingered a while longer, his angry gaze continuing to search the +darkness, before he drew back into the room. "It's quite likely you +saw him," he muttered. "No doubt he saw you, too, and heard you—and +has slunk off with his tail between his legs!" He half made to pull +down the sash, then contemptuously refrained. "I'd like to get my +hands on him!" His fingers curled longingly. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment's hesitation, she accepted his dismissal of the subject. +She stepped back and confronted him. +</P> + +<P> +"To return, then—divorce, Simon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never!" He fairly barked it. +</P> + +<P> +"I know of just one thing to your credit, Simon," said Miss Ocky rather +sadly, rather dully. "You do mean what you say. I must accept your +decision as—final." +</P> + +<P> +"You must!" The interlude had braced him. "And—what are you going to +do about it?" +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged her shoulders, looked at him with expressionless +eyes—turned and walked quickly from the room. His sharp, sardonic +laugh followed her down the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Another false alarm!" +</P> + +<P> +He threw himself into his chair, mopping his brow. Some ten minutes +went by before a thought occurred to him that was fortuitously +anticipated by the sudden appearance of the old butler. +</P> + +<P> +"That decanter of Bourbon, Bates! Then go to bed." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +History repeated itself. He drank two glasses of the fiery liquor in +swift succession. As he did so it rather staggered him to reflect that +barely twenty-four hours had elapsed since he had stood there the night +before, doing the same thing. Gad—what a day! Last night that monk +had interrupted him— +</P> + +<P> +That monk! He muttered the words. Had Ocky really seen him? Was he +loose again on some fresh errand of crime? Had he been frightened away +by their appearance at the window? Had he been frightened away +<I>permanently</I>? +</P> + +<P> +On the spur of a swift impulse, born perhaps of the whisky, he reached +up quickly and extinguished the solitary lamp. The room was instantly +plunged into darkness, through which he groped his way cautiously as he +set the stage for a game of cat-and-mouse. He pushed the chair that +Ocky had used directly in front of the open window and settled himself +in its depths, his hot eyes staring into the night and challenging it +to yield its secrets. +</P> + +<P> +He moved only once during the next half-hour. That was to pour himself +another drink, which he sipped slowly while he continued to watch the +neighborhood of the big birch that Ocky had indicated. Would he come +back? Would he? Varr waited for the answer to that, waited and waited +while a murderous rage filled his breast and grew ever more intense +with each succeeding mouthful of raw drink. Would he come? +</P> + +<P> +Yes! +</P> + +<P> +The empty glass slipped from his fingers to fall with a light thud on +the carpeted floor as he slowly rose from his seat. He rubbed his +eyes, quite unnecessarily, for they were now used to the dim starlight. +No possible doubt existed—the ominous black figure was <I>there</I>! +Straight and tall, it stood, exactly as he remembered seeing it at the +head of the trail. Now it was on a concrete path that bisected the +kitchen garden, motionless, apparently inspecting the darkened house of +the man it pursued. +</P> + +<P> +Stealthy as a cat, nearly as swiftly, Simon rushed from his room and +out of the house by the front door. His plan was to circle the +building, taking advantage of every shadow, and get as close to his +enemy as he could before revealing himself. Suppose the fellow took +alarm and got off to a running start? Could he hope to catch him? For +the first time in his life, he wished he had a revolver. +</P> + +<P> +Less than ten yards intervened between them when he finally broke cover +and hurled himself furiously forward, hatred in his heart, a deep oath +on his lips. At last! His fingers itched for the throat of his enemy. +</P> + +<P> +It was disconcerting suddenly to realize that he had not taken his foe +by surprise; his swift approach was slightly checked as he saw that the +figure was facing him, watching him—waiting for him! It was still as +any statue up to the very instant when he flung out his arms to seize +it; then it fell back a pace and its left hand went slowly up to lift +the black veil that masked its countenance. +</P> + +<P> +If another emotion as strong as his hatred existed in Simon's breast, +it was curiosity as to the identity of his relentless enemy. His +advance came to an almost involuntary halt as he thrust his head +forward the better to distinguish the features of that face so dimly +visible in the uncertain light. +</P> + +<P> +Then it was his turn to step back, his arms dropping to his sides, his +brain reeling from the shock as it apprehended the truth. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>You!</I>" he gasped chokingly. "<I>You!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +In that moment he was helpless, defenseless, mentally and physically +paralyzed from sheer amazement. It was the moment for which his crafty +foe had played—and won. The figure darted, forward, its right arm +rose and fell. One flicker of starlight on metal, then the thud of +steel driven home— +</P> + +<P> +A single groan escaped the lips of Simon Varr before they were sealed +in death. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XIII: A Deduction or Two</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The eleven o'clock train from New York was commendably punctual the +next morning. +</P> + +<P> +Its brakes had barely ceased squealing on one side of the Hambleton +platform when Miss Ocky brought her small car to a smart halt on the +other. She sprang to the planking and waited for the passengers to +alight, her face reflecting the cheerful knowledge that she was looking +her very best that morning in a becoming hat and a well-fitting coat +and skirt of gray English tweed. +</P> + +<P> +Not many people alight at Hambleton on even the liveliest occasions, +and this time a mere handful descended from the train. Among them was +a middle-aged man in a dark-blue serge, a light overcoat on one arm and +a heavy suitcase suspended from the other. He was compactly built +without being too heavy, his smooth-shaven face wore an expression of +good nature, and his eyes looked out on the world from behind +tortoise-shell glasses with a friendly twinkle that concealed something +of their sharpness. They had an inquiring expression now as he glanced +about him. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky did not have to be much of a detective herself to know that +here was her search concluded, though no one in the world could have +measured up less to her expectations. She had visualized something +with large feet, a big mustache and a heavy jowl, that would descend +from a smoker with a dead cigar gripped between its teeth. Silly of +her, she admitted to herself as she walked over and accosted him +briskly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it? Knew it must be. I'm Miss Copley, and if I +hadn't come down for you I don't know who would!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good of you, Miss Copley." He looked not unnaturally mystified +by her greeting. "I was rather expecting a friend of mine—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Krech? He couldn't get away from the police." +</P> + +<P> +"The police!" He was startled at first, then the twinkle in his eye +deepened. "Don't tell me that his sins have found him out at last!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have to tell you something much more serious than that," she +answered soberly. "Come along and stick that bag in the car. We can +talk while I drive you to the house. To begin with, Simon Varr was +found in his kitchen garden this morning—stabbed to the heart." +</P> + +<P> +Peter Creighton had a fashion of receiving such bits of news in a +little silence that gave him time to gather his wits. Miss Ocky saw +that the good humor was gone from his face which was now grave and +stern. He did not speak until he had deposited his bag in the tonneau +of the car and seated himself at her side in the front. +</P> + +<P> +"Murdered," he said; it was not a question. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor says the blow could not have been self-inflicted." She +touched the starter and turned the car homeward. "Yes—murdered." +</P> + +<P> +"That is terrible, Miss Copley. I feel deeply shocked. Has the +murderer been identified?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say positively. He was found about six o'clock this morning +by the cook, and you can imagine that we have been simply inundated +with police and officials ever since. They've been doing a lot of +whispering and conferring and I think they <I>do</I> suspect some one, but +of course they haven't confided in me." +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me, Miss Copley—just who are you? I gather you are a member +of the Varr household." +</P> + +<P> +"He was my brother-in-law. He married my sister. I've been visiting +them about two months." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. Thank you. Now—what about Krech and the police?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they notified Jason Bolt—he was Simon's partner—and he came +right over, bringing Mr. Krech, who is staying with him. There was a +lot of talk about a mysterious monk—I know something about him, +too!—and just when it was time to go to the train, Mr. Norvallis was +questioning your friend in the living-room. So I slipped away and came +to your rescue. It's as well I did—there are no taxis in Hambleton!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was very good of you to remember me, with so much else to think +about. You—er—how did you know I was expected?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Varr told us yesterday that Mr. Krech was sending for you." +</P> + +<P> +"'Us'?" He turned to look at her while she answered. "How many people +knew that I was coming, do you suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—several, anyway! Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm wondering if the news could have reached the ears of the +murderer," he explained. "Some one was persecuting Mr. Varr, we know +that. If he suddenly learned that a detective was coming—you see?" +</P> + +<P> +"He might have thought it better to—to strike while the striking was +good? Yes, I see." She took her eyes from the road long enough to +give him a quick look. "You think of things very quickly, Mr. +Creighton!" +</P> + +<P> +"Practice makes perfect," he murmured. "Who is Norvallis?" +</P> + +<P> +"Assistant County Attorney, or something like that. Murders are rather +too complicated to be handled by the local police, evidently." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the County takes hold usually—sometimes the State, if the County +can't make the grade. You spoke of a doctor—was that the County +Physician? Has the body been moved yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—thank goodness! I wasn't a great admirer of Simon's, but it +wasn't nice to think of him lying out there in a tomato-patch! +However, I suppose you're disappointed." +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Oh, I see! You're assuming that I might be interested in the +investigation. That doesn't seem likely. I came here on some matter +of burglary—and quite possibly that has ceased to be of importance +now. I must talk to Norvallis, though." +</P> + +<P> +"If you investigate the robbery, you will be investigating the murder," +said Miss Ocky quietly. "When Simon's notebook was stolen, his desk +was forced open by a Persian dagger, belonging to me, that happened to +be lying handy. That was missing with the notebook—and it was found +again this morning in—in Simon!" +</P> + +<P> +"Golly!" Creighton looked at her with renewed interest. "Not pleasant +for you, that!" +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to link the two crimes, doesn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly. Here we are, I see." +</P> + +<P> +A small crowd of curiosity-seekers was gathered at the gate which gave +access to the driveway from the highroad, and a policeman in uniform +was chatting with them amiably while barring their closer approach. He +saluted as Miss Ocky waved her hand to him and vigorously honked her +way through the staring crowd. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll drop this bag in the hall for the time being," said the detective +as they mounted the piazza steps and entered the house. "Will you put +me deeper in debt to you by finding Mr. Krech for me?" +</P> + +<P> +She said she would, and departed on the errand while he lingered in the +hall. The sight of no less than twelve automobiles of various sizes +and sorts parked in front of the house had prepared him for a mob +inside. A hum of voices reached him from a room on his left, the door +of which was discreetly closed, and another hum came from one on the +right, which he could see was a dining-room. Farther back in the hall, +three solid-looking gentlemen had their gray heads together in a +serious confab. For some reason they appeared to regard his entrance +with considerable interest, and seemed to be discussing him while he +waited. He put it down to the fact that he was a stranger where it was +the custom for every one to know every one else. Then Herman Krech +came out of some room in the rear and swept down upon him, accompanied +by a short, stout, worried-looking individual. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Creighton. This is Mr. Bolt, Mr. Varr's partner." +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bolt." Creighton barely acknowledged the +introduction as he searched his friend's face. "Krech, how did this +happen? I wouldn't have had it—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know." The big man broke in quickly, earnestly. "I know what you +are thinking. Forget it! It isn't your fault, nor mine. I warned him +yesterday morning on my own account, and again in the afternoon after I +had talked with you. He simply disregarded it." +</P> + +<P> +"A pity!" muttered the detective. His face had cleared somewhat at +Krech's statement. "Thank goodness, I haven't got that negligence on +my conscience! It has been worrying me ever since I heard the news. +So he wouldn't listen to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nary a bit. Let's go out on the piazza. There's a place around the +corner that this merry throng hasn't discovered." +</P> + +<P> +He led the way with his easy self-assurance and they followed at his +heels. He was right about the privacy of the retreat to which he took +them; a few men were standing around the front piazza, but no one had +turned the corner. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad to have a chance to speak to you, Mr. Bolt," said the +detective when they had found seats. "This is a shockingly different +state of affairs than I expected to find. What of the burglary that +Mr. Varr had on his mind? Has that any importance now apart from its +obvious connection with the crime?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed, great importance for me and a number of other people who +may suffer from the theft of Simon's notebook." Jason looked ten years +older than when he had risen that morning. "If that has gone it will +be a serious blow to our tanning business—and a gold-mine to any +competitor who might get his hands on it and not be honest enough to +return it." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Secret formulas—that sort of thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. On my own behalf, and out of respect for my partner's +wishes—his last wish, practically,—I would be very glad to have you +take a hand in the affair and see if you can locate that notebook." +</P> + +<P> +"The theft and the murder are linked by the dagger. If the police have +their eye on the murderer, the notebook should be recovered when he is +arrested." +</P> + +<P> +"That's only a possibility, Mr. Creighton—and—oh, frankly, I want you +to take the case anyway! Mr. Krech and I must try to tell you the +whole story as we heard it from Simon yesterday. He was the victim of +an unknown enemy. Threats—robbery—arson—murder! I won't be +satisfied until that scoundrel is well and truly—<I>hanged</I>! As for the +police—well, I think better of them than Simon, perhaps, but I'd still +be glad of another string to my bow. It's proper for me to employ +extra assistance if I wish, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly. I quite understand how you feel—and I will be glad to do +what I can. The family won't object, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a scrap," said a woman's voice behind him. They started to their +feet at the sight of Miss Ocky, who had come upon them unawares. "I +can answer for the family. Please sit down again. I'll take this +sofa—unless you're talking secrets," she added, with a faint smile for +Herman Krech. "I tried to stay quiet in my room upstairs, +but—nerves!" She lifted her shoulders and looked apologetic. +</P> + +<P> +They assured her they had no secrets from her. She sat down and +listened attentively as Jason Bolt, at Creighton's request, gave a +careful account of the events preceding Varr's death as he had heard +them from his partner, appealing to Krech from time to time for +corroboration. His voice shook with emotion as he described his horror +that morning when the news of Simon's fate was brought to him. +</P> + +<P> +"A rotten business," he ended huskily. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky eased the tension by suddenly producing her cigarette case +and passing it around; Creighton accepted one and lighted it, a thought +surprised at this touch of outer-worldliness in a demure, middle-aged, +country lady. It might be, he mused, that she called herself not an +old maid, but a bachelor girl. He liked her, though; liked the bright +eyes that lost nothing that passed, the alert brain that missed no +trick, the strength of character revealed in the finely-modeled mouth +and chin that were still invested with feminine charm. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's tackle this business at once," he suggested. "Sooner the +better. In a murder, look for the motive. Miss Copley—Mr. Bolt—can +either of you tell me who might have wanted to kill Simon Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +They looked uncomfortable. It was Krech who took the bull by the horns. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>De mortuis ml nisi bonum</I>," he said gravely. "Otherwise, I should +say that it would be simpler to give you a list of the people who +didn't." He spared a regretful glance for Bolt's hurt little +exclamation. "I know it jars on you just now, but truth is truth. +I've seen enough in the last three days to know that Varr must have had +a host of enemies." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Miss Ocky. "A notable collection." +</P> + +<P> +"That won't do," objected the detective. "To dislike a man is one +thing, to hate him to the point of murdering him is another." +</P> + +<P> +"Greed is a motive for murder," said Krech. "Who stood to profit +financially by his death?" +</P> + +<P> +Jason Bolt stirred uneasily in his seat. Miss Ocky looked +uncomfortable. Krech glanced from one to the other, then nodded to +Creighton. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the same answer," he said. "A lot of people." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither the question nor answer are pertinent," commented the +detective. "This murderer did not kill for money." +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you so sure?" demanded Krech stubbornly. +</P> + +<P> +"If he made up his mind that it would pay him to kill Simon Varr, he +would have gone to work and done it out-of-hand, skillfully or clumsily +as his limitations might permit. He wouldn't have wasted a lot of time +with ineffective fires, bugaboo masquerading—and, above all, he never +would have been so gracious as to send a warning note!" Creighton had +the satisfaction of seeing his argument score a grand slam; there was +conviction in the eyes of Krech and Jason Bolt, and something like +admiration in Miss Ocky's. "No, the motive was not mercenary whatever +else it may have been." +</P> + +<P> +"There's this strike we've had on our hands," offered Jason. "I'll +swear most of the men are decent fellows, but there are always some +exceptions. They knew pretty well that Varr was the man who was +fighting them—in other words, locking them out. With him out of the +way, they knew they could count on better terms from me." He added +diffidently, "Mightn't one of them have done it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I spoke of the fires just now as being ineffective," replied +Creighton. "I have gathered that they were. The second was the more +serious of the two, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, was it serious enough to cripple the business? Was it a vital +blow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. The contents of the two buildings burned were worth +money, of course, but they were only reserve stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"But there are buildings in the yard whose loss might have hit you +hard?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. Several." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, if one of the striking workmen had set the fire, he would have +selected one or more of them. I think we may safely assume that the +incendiary was unfamiliar with the tannery and consequently was not one +of the strikers." +</P> + +<P> +"You win," said Jason Bolt, after a pause. "I've wondered why the +scoundrel didn't touch off something more important, but the +significance of his failure to do so never occurred to me. Go on, Mr. +Creighton; I'm getting a lesson in straight thinking." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so very straight," smiled the detective. "Given a fact, you have +to think over and under and all around it before you can grasp its +every implication. It's only because I've had a lot of experience that +I can draw inferences a shade faster than the average man—and often +quite as inaccurate!" +</P> + +<P> +"If it wasn't either a striker or a person actuated by the desire for +gain," said Krech, "who is left? What other motives are there for +murder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Revenge. Jealousy. What about the last, Miss Copley? Was he +interested in any other woman than his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Miss Ocky, "and remarkably little in her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Friction?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—not friction." +</P> + +<P> +He saw her reluctance to answer this line of questioning and took it +for granted that the presence of the others embarrassed her. He +dropped the topic, intending to pursue it at a later, more favorable +moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Revenge," he continued. "Did Varr ever wrong any one to the extent of +driving them to murder him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Jason Bolt. "Simon was a hard man but not as bad as that." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Miss Ocky—but she had gasped, and Creighton had heard her. +He made a mental note of that. +</P> + +<P> +"We're getting along nicely," said Herman Krech, who never liked to be +out of the limelight too long. "It wasn't for money, it wasn't for +revenge, it wasn't jealousy; by the time we've eliminated a few more +motives we'll have only the correct one left." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanwhile," said Creighton, "what's going on in the house? Who is +running the police show?" +</P> + +<P> +"Chap named Norvallis," answered the big man. "The Sheriff, the County +Physician and a few plainclothes sleuths are in attendance, but +Norvallis is the real leader of the gang. He has been going through +the usual motions—asking everybody about everything—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" broke in Jason. "I don't know that I agree with you. +Seemed to me his questions were mighty casual and indifferent. Did it +strike you that he had a sort of a pleased-with-himself air? I got the +impression that he might already have made up his mind as to who was +the guilty man and considered everything else relatively unimportant." +</P> + +<P> +"It's not impossible that you're right," suggested Creighton. "The +murderer may have left some glaring clue to his identity. Naturally, +the police wouldn't talk about it until they got their hands on him." +He turned to Krech. "You told him about this monk business, didn't +you? How did he take it?" +</P> + +<P> +"His first attitude," said Krech, "was that of a polite but skeptical +child listening to a bedtime story. I soon convinced him of its +importance, though. He says it simplifies things." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. He must be even quicker at inferences than I am!" +</P> + +<P> +"By the way, I told him about you and he said he wanted to see you the +moment you got here." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, this is a nice time to tell me!" laughed Creighton. He stood +up. "I'd better take my place in line." +</P> + +<P> +"I can count on you, then, to help us in the matter of locating that +notebook?" asked Jason Bolt. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," the detective assured him for the second time. "I can +promise to take a personal as well as a professional interest in this +case. I feel deeply the fact that Mr. Varr should have met death in +such a fashion after he became my client." +</P> + +<P> +"You did what you could to warn him." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, about my headquarters; there's a hotel in the town?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but I've been hoping you would let us put you up." Bolt wrinkled +his brows thoughtfully. "Mr. and Mrs. Krech are staying with us, but +there's always room for one more." +</P> + +<P> +"You're both talking nonsense," interrupted Miss Ocky. "The logical +place for Mr. Creighton is right <I>here</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of you, Miss Copley, but I hardly think I'll add to your +problems. Let us agree that the hotel is the best for the time being. +It is too soon yet to say where my activities will center." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XIV: Lucy Varr</I> +</H3> + +<P> +There were four men in the living-room when Creighton tapped on the +door and entered in response to a command. Two of them were standing +by a French window which they appeared to be examining and discussing, +and as Creighton knew that the theft of the notebook had been prefaced +by the breaking of one of the windows in this room, he had no +difficulty in deducing that this was the one and that the two men were +plainclothes detectives of the county staff. +</P> + +<P> +The other two were seated at the table in the center of the room, a +litter of papers scattered in front of them. They looked up +inquisitively as Creighton advanced and laid his card on the pile of +memoranda before the more important gentleman of the pair. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes. Glad to meet you, Mr. Creighton. Very glad, indeed. My +name's Norvallis—County Attorney's office. This is Sheriff Andrews, +of Wayne County. Andrews, this is Mr. Peter Creighton of New York." +</P> + +<P> +"Your name's familiar to me, Mr. Creighton," said Andrews, and +stretched forth a long, bony arm with a calloused hand at the end of +it. He was a mild-eyed individual with a soft, sweeping, +tobacco-stained mustache. "I read the New York papers pretty reg'lar +and I've followed one or two of your cases." +</P> + +<P> +Norvallis was a stout, prosperous-looking man of forty-odd, a typical +product of country politics. His manner was carefully bluff and hearty +and characterized by a sort of <I>bonhommie</I> that was useful in +impressing voters with the fact that he was a pretty good fellow, his +close-set eyes sparkled with intelligence that his low brow defined as +cunning rather than wisdom, and there were puffy semicircles beneath +them that told of parties not entirely political. +</P> + +<P> +"Your friend Krech told us the circumstances under which you were sent +for," broke in Norvallis before Creighton could find some polite +acknowledgment of the Sheriff's interest. "Must have been quite a +shock to you to learn of Mr. Varr's death." +</P> + +<P> +"It certainly was. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I took care +yesterday to warn him against taking undue risks. He disregarded the +advice." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. You warned him? You had some reason to believe his life was in +danger?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing so definite as that, but it was apparent that he had some sort +of a queer, tough customer on his trail and it's always in order to +take reasonable precautions." +</P> + +<P> +"A queer customer, eh? This monk we've been hearing so much about! +What opinion have you formed about that?" +</P> + +<P> +"None at all," replied Creighton promptly. +</P> + +<P> +Norvallis did not quite conceal the disappointment he felt at the flat +negative. He changed the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you have a piece of evidence that should properly be turned +over to me. Didn't Mr. Krech send you an anonymous note that Mr. Varr +received from his enemy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Creighton took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to +Norvallis. "There it is, in good order. I had it tested for +fingerprints this morning before I left the city." +</P> + +<P> +"Find any?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only those made by Mr. Varr himself. Further than that, the +microscope showed that the surface of the paper had been uniformly +abraded before it was written on, as if the crook had taken a rubber +eraser and removed all traces of any prints that might have been there +already." +</P> + +<P> +"Cautious devil, wasn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton did not answer. His eye had suddenly fallen on an object +imperfectly concealed beneath a blank sheet of paper at Norvallis' +elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the knife that was used?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." The county official rather reluctantly uncovered the exhibit. +"Don't touch!" +</P> + +<P> +"No fear!" Creighton reassured him. +</P> + +<P> +He moved nearer to the ghastly souvenir and bent over it. A fine bit +of Oriental workmanship that any museum might have valued; the haft was +of silver, exquisitely chased, the blade was straight and slender, +narrowing to a needlelike point, so that it belonged rather to the +stiletto type than the dagger. An inscription ran lengthwise down the +steel, which was of a distinct bluish tinge where it was not darkly +stained. About an inch from the tip a tiny triangular nick had been +made in one of the sharp edges, the only flaw in the weapon's +perfection. Creighton looked up from it to meet the Sheriff's +speculative eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you read what it says on the blade, Mr. Creighton?" +</P> + +<P> +"No! I have my limitations." +</P> + +<P> +"It means, 'I bring peace'!" The officer tugged at his mustache and +smiled. "Miss Copley told us that. It belongs to her." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I expect she won't want it back." +</P> + +<P> +Norvallis put down the anonymous letter which he had been reading. His +eyes were alight with satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"This case will make people talk when it gets into the papers, Mr. +Creighton!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure to." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any other information, or evidence, or exhibit, for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a scrap." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Varr's death must alter your plans, of course. May I ask if you +are returning to New York this afternoon or evening?" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton knew perfectly well that Norvallis had been eager to put that +question since the moment he had come into the room. He shook his head +smilingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Bolt has invited me to do what I can to recover the notebook that +was stolen from Mr. Varr's desk." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh." Norvallis exchanged a quick glance with the Sheriff. "Then, in +a sense, we'll be working together. Possibly it hasn't occurred to Mr. +Bolt that when the murderer is found, the thief will be found." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he knows that. But my inquiry may diverge from yours, Mr. +Norvallis. It may have to go farther than yours. Of course, you +realize that yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? Ah—yes, yes!" said the other blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"I expect our relations will be both amicable and of mutual benefit," +continued Creighton cheerfully. "If I turn up anything good I'll let +you know, and I can hope for as much from you, can't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Er—well, I don't know about that." Norvallis looked pink and +uncomfortable as he began to fidget with the papers on the table. "I +don't know about that, Mr. Creighton. I may not feel free—er—no, on +the whole I think it would be preferable if we conducted our +investigations independently of each other. Yes, that would be +better!" He had an air of relief as he got that dictum off his chest. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," agreed Creighton, still cheerfully. He surmised the +reason for the official's embarrassment, the police already knew, or +thought they knew, the identity of the murderer, and it was a secret +they proposed to guard jealously until they could cover themselves with +glory by making an arrest. He did not blame them in the least, and +accepted the rebuff good-humoredly. "As you please, Mr. Norvallis." +</P> + +<P> +The two men by the window apparently had concluded their examination. +One of them sauntered over to the table and reported. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing much there, sir. There's a few prints made by the butler +opening and shutting the doors." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as I expected," said Norvallis composedly. "Lucky we don't have +to rely on fingerprints in this case, Mr. Creighton." +</P> + +<P> +"Found none at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one. I'll make you a present of that bit of news." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you for nothing," grinned Creighton, then added mischievously, +"Of course, before you can find fingerprints you have to know where to +look for them." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You stick to that window and Varr's desk and the hilt of this +dagger—and leave the less obvious places to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed. I suppose it would be useless for me to ask you to designate +some of those less obvious places?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite useless," answered Creighton truthfully. +</P> + +<P> +He was smiling over that as he excused himself and left the room. He +could not have answered the hypothetical question on a bet, for his +remark had been a chance shot simply intended to annoy. No one would +have been more surprised than himself to learn that this same shot +would develop the qualities of a boomerang. +</P> + +<P> +He was stopped in the hall by a pale, gray-haired man whose trembling +hands betrayed the strain under which he labored. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it, sir? Miss Copley told me to fix up some +sandwiches and coffee in the butler's pantry. There's so many coming +and going through the house she thought it would be quieter there. Mr. +Krech is there already, waiting for you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Very thoughtful of her. What is your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Edward Bates, sir. I'm the butler." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, Miss Copley spoke of you. She tells me you handled things +very well this morning after Mr. Varr was found." +</P> + +<P> +"I did what I could, sir. I knew the body mustn't be moved, so I kept +the news from Miss Lucy—that's Mrs. Varr, sir—until the police and +the doctor got here." +</P> + +<P> +"Knew that, did you? Been with the family long, Bates?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thirty-five years, sir. I worked for old Mr. Copley before his +daughter married Mr. Varr. This is a shocking business, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The conversation carried them to the pantry door, whither Bates had led +them. His hand was on the knob when Creighton checked him with a touch +on his elbow, at which the old man jumped nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"One moment. A butler who keeps his ears open often knows a lot that +other people don't. What is your idea about this? Can you guess who +murdered Mr. Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir!" His voice was almost panicky. "Indeed I can't, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," said Creighton easily. Was the old fellow suffering from +frazzled nerves or from hidden knowledge? Another little matter for +future examination. "By the way, how is Mrs. Varr standing the shock?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not too well, sir. She bore up like the brave lady she is until Mr. +Norvallis was through with her, then broke down. She's in bed. The +doctor says she must keep quiet and that she'll be all right, but he's +coming again this afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"Get him to give you something for yourself," was Creighton's kindly +admonition. "You're trembling like a leaf. The family will be +depending on you a lot these next few days. Don't let them down by +getting sick." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't, sir. Thank you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton permitted him to escape, well satisfied with the new tone in +the man's voice as he acknowledged his appreciation of the detective's +interest. Creighton was never harsh with a witness, never tried to +bulldoze or rattle him, until all else had failed. His policy was to +put people at their ease and gentle them into talking freely, a course +that was all the more facile for him by reason of his genuine sympathy +and understanding and his native kindliness. +</P> + +<P> +Krech was waiting patiently behind a plate piled high with sandwiches. +There was coffee, too, and before the butler left them alone, he stood +an interesting decanter on the table. A shadow of gloom that +overspread the big man's extensive countenance was visibly lightened by +this. +</P> + +<P> +"Bolt's gone home," he announced. "Mrs. Bolt and Jean must be +suffering agonies of curiosity. I stayed here because I felt I might +be able to help you." +</P> + +<P> +"Stout fellow," said Creighton with a grin, and selected a huge +sandwich. "Where do you think we'd better begin?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's no use adopting that superior attitude with me. You know +perfectly well I come in handy at times. Say—I'm sore at Bolt! He +did you out of a good job." +</P> + +<P> +"Me? How come?" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you notice three solid-looking citizens in the hall when you +arrived? Well, that was the Board of Selectmen of Hambleton, yes, +sirree, b'gosh. Bolt had told 'em you were coming and they were all +het up. They don't get along with the county crowd too well, and for +that reason they'd about decided to retain your services just to show +they were ready to hold up their end. Then Bolt came along and blurted +out that he had commissioned you to investigate the matter and they +pulled their horns in like a bunch of frightened snails. If he had +only kept still you could have made a deal with them." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. And what makes you think I'd be guilty of the indelicacy of +letting two outfits pay me for the same job?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Thnot 'n 'ndelicathy," said Mr. Krech vigorously through a sandwich. +"If Bolt can have a second string to his bow, why can't you have a +couple of employers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Krech, you're a nice fellow with all the instincts of a crook." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh. I suppose nothing could ever lead you from the narrow path of +rectitude?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," laughed Creighton, "nothing ever could!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it won't be the Hambleton Selectmen, anyway. The three of them +were pale when they discovered how close they'd been to spending a +bunch of money unnecessarily." +</P> + +<P> +They finished their lunch without the loss of much time, the detective +setting the pace. Once into a case, he could be as patient and +plodding as an ox, but the preliminaries found him restless and +impatient. He detested the inevitable gathering of masses and masses +of information that must subsequently be pulled to pieces and mulled +over until the most of it had been discarded and the important residue +determined. It all took so much time—precious time that the criminal +might be using to strengthen his own position. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's have a look at the place marked 'X' in the picture," he +suggested, rising. "Kitchen garden, wasn't it? That means the rear of +the house. Let's go out this back way, through the kitchen. Sometimes +it pays to look the servants over in a casual fashion before having +them on the mat. They're less apt to be on guard." +</P> + +<P> +He bustled cheerfully into the kitchen, asked a question or two about +the exact location of the crime, and left the house by the rear door, +Krech close behind. +</P> + +<P> +"One Irish cook," summarized the detective when they were safely out of +hearing. "Fat and fifty, good-natured and violent by turns. One +rather pretty girl, a housemaid from the white cap, frightened, been +crying, inclined to be hysterical. Old Bates, the butler. Last, one +gaunt, tall, vinegary, nondescript female. Who's the nondescript, +Krech?" +</P> + +<P> +"Search me. Here's the place." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton took one look and groaned. Whatever precautions the police +might have taken in the first stages of their investigation had +evidently been relaxed thereafter. The garden might have been the +scene of a recent rodeo. A mob of curious Hambletonians had held high +revel in it from one end to the other. +</P> + +<P> +"That ought to be classed as criminal negligence," snorted the +detective, turning away. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no use to you?" asked his friend disappointedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for the moment. If I were nature-faking a book on Africa I could +run a picture of it as an elephant's playground, but that's all." He +stopped and gazed at the house long enough to memorize the windows that +commanded a view of the garden. "No use going back there, now," he +decided. "Chuck full of a man named Norvallis. Suppose we drop down +to the tannery. Not far, is it? Where's that short cut through the +woods in which Varr first saw his monk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Right over here." The big man had gleaned that piece of information +earlier in the day. The two men crossed the garden by its path, +passing the very spot where Simon Varr had met his tragic end, and +plunged into the trail. Like the garden, this had been trampled by a +multitude of feet. "What are you going to do at the tannery?" asked +Krech, yielding to his favorite weakness, curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"Talk to whoever is in charge. Poke around the premises. We know the +crook was there twice, on the occasions of the fires, and where a man +has been he may leave a trace. It's an off-chance, but we can't +neglect it." +</P> + +<P> +In default of any orders to the contrary, the watchman, Nelson, was at +his post behind the office building door, though he shrewdly suspected +that the chief necessity for guarding the premises had ceased with +their owner's death. He willingly admitted Krech, whom he recognized +afar, and nodded comprehension when Creighton introduced himself and +his present mission. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, I've been wondering when you would get here." +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce you have! You knew I was coming?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. I heard Mr. Bolt and this gentleman mentioning you +yesterday as they went out of here." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton turned and looked at his friend sardonically. Beneath that +fixed regard Mr. Krech reddened, but stoutly defended himself. +</P> + +<P> +"That was Jason Bolt," he averred. "He was full of the subject and I +remember his chattering about it as we left." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Can't be helped now." He shifted his gaze to the watchman. "Do +you remember if you mentioned it to any one?" Nelson hesitated, and +the detective was on him in a flash. "You did! Speak out. Tell the +truth, and you'll have no reason to be afraid of me or any one else. +This is a murder case, you know. It's an awful mistake to hold +anything back. Who did you tell?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only one person sir. A woman. It just slipped out—" +</P> + +<P> +"And probably did no harm. Don't get worried. Who was she?" +</P> + +<P> +"A girl named Jones, sir, Drusilla Jones." An expression akin to +horror dawned in Nelson's eyes as he grasped for the first time the +significance of what he was about to add. "She had been keeping +company with a fellow named Charlie Maxon, who was put in jail a few +days ago by Mr. Varr—and last evening Charlie drugged his keeper and +never was missed until this morning!" +</P> + +<P> +"My sainted aunt! What time did he break jail?" +</P> + +<P> +"Moody—the keeper—says the last thing he remembers was the clock +strikin' ten." +</P> + +<P> +"Krech, do they know what time Varr was murdered?" +</P> + +<P> +"Approximately at eleven." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's hope for his sake that Charles has a whacking good alibi! Have +you told the police about your talk with Drusilla Jones?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, they haven't been near me yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Well, eventually you will find yourself having a heart-to-heart +talk with a man named Norvallis. Don't fail to tell him about your +chat with the lady—and you might just say that I advised you to repeat +it to him, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, sir. Do you think that Charlie Maxon—?" +</P> + +<P> +"No embarrassing questions, please! Now I'd like to have a look about, +if I may." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." Painfully anxious to escape any suspicion of withholding +more information, Nelson hurriedly related the incident of the previous +afternoon when he and Simon Varr had examined the tracks left by the +incendiary. "There was some light rain last night, sir, but those I +put the box over will be plain enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Good. Show us where they are at once." +</P> + +<P> +The watchman obeyed with alacrity. +</P> + +<P> +Together the three men stood by the edge of the sluggish little brook +and contemplated the tracks that Nelson indicated. The detective did +not even take his eyes from them as he accepted and mechanically +lighted one of the cigars that Krech offered his companions. +</P> + +<P> +"Big feet!" said Krech presently. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what Mr. Varr remarked yesterday, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Um." Creighton slowly came out of his trance. He pointed to a small +piece of wood that lay down by the water's edge. "Krech, will you step +down there and get that for me? I want to look at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure." Astonished but amiable, the detective's willing assistant +strode to the object indicated and retrieved it handsomely. His +astonishment increased when Creighton, after turning it over two or +three times in his hands, suddenly pitched it into the water. "Don't +like it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. That's all I want here just now." +</P> + +<P> +They returned to the office building, where Creighton patiently +questioned Nelson at some length about the various phases of the +strike. It was not until they had left the tannery and were walking +back up the hill that Krech was able to put an eager question. +</P> + +<P> +"What was the racket with that piece of wood?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was a stunt to cover my real interest from the watchman. No use +letting the whole world in on what I'm thinking about." +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't fool him any more than you did me. Please explain why I'm +going home with over an inch of mud on my expensive shoes." +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted you to make a set of tracks alongside those of the +incendiary. I didn't want to ask you right out loud to do it, so I +asked you to get me that bit of wood. When you did so, you left a very +nice set of footprints parallel with his. Thus I was enabled to +compare them, as were you, if you happened to think of doing so." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't! Why should I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you were a small man about to commit a crime and wished to +disguise yourself past recognition. What would you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Make myself look like a large man," said Krech slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. Suppose again that you were an educated man about to write +an anonymous, threatening letter. How would you go about doing that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd use a typewriter to conceal my handwriting. I'd sign the thing in +an awkward scrawl." Krech saw the drift of it now. "And I'd take good +care to misspell a bunch of words!" he concluded triumphantly. +</P> + +<P> +"That he faked illiteracy was a pure surmise, a mere possibility, until +now, when it gains color from the evidence of the footprints. A mental +twist that would make a small man disguise himself as a large one would +make an educated man resort to illiteracy. Logical, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Very likely. But how did you get this from footprints?" +</P> + +<P> +"They were too shallow. I noticed that at once, and proved it by +parading yours alongside them. That fellow wore shoes as big as yours +and was running to boot, but his tracks were scarcely half the depth of +those you made. Get it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Krech rather mournfully. "Two and two always make four +when you add them up. They never run to more than three and a half for +me." He sighed. "Creighton, I'd like once—just for <I>once</I>—to score +a beat over you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you may do it in this very case," remarked his friend +encouragingly. "You never can tell." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XV: Treasure Trove</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The instant they stepped into the house they knew that the police had +left it. A calm, almost holy, peace seemed to have settled upon the +place, a far more fitting atmosphere considering the motionless form +that lay in a room upstairs, its eyes closed and its face more +reposeful than ever it had been in life. "I bring peace," wrote some +long-forgotten craftsman on the blade of the dagger he had just +fashioned, and in some measure wrote the truth. +</P> + +<P> +"And I've got to stir them all up again," said Creighton half +regretfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't make omelets without breaking eggs," was the responsive +platitude from Herman Krech. "I suppose you mean you're going to start +in asking questions." +</P> + +<P> +"Millions of 'em. I've been here just a few hours and I've barely +scratched the surface of this case, yet I've learned already that Mr. +Varr had a fine bunch of evil-wishers. Where is that desk which was +broken open? Do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It's in a small study in the back of the house that he used as a +sort of office, I guess. Come along and I'll show you. There's not a +soul in sight and we may as well make ourselves at home." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton agreed, but before they reached the study a light step on the +stairs warned them that their privacy was to be invaded. Miss Ocky +advanced upon them with determination, and instantly revealed that she +had at least one quality in common with the inquisitive Mr. Krech. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been?" she demanded. "What have you been doing? I +sent Bates to look for you a while ago and he reported you missing." +</P> + +<P> +"Anything special, Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly curiosity," she confessed shamelessly. "I've never seen a +detective at work and I've always wanted to. I think yours must be the +most fascinating profession in the world even if it's a rather sad one. +Don't you find after looking into the hearts of people and dissecting +their mean little minds and motives that you grow cynical on the +subject of humanity?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I do not," he answered earnestly. "Your question makes you +sound more cynical that I ever dreamed of being. My experience is that +very few persons have mean minds and motives, and they are often +victims of some pressure of circumstance they can't control or resist. +I've put handcuffs on more than one poor devil for whom I've had +nothing but sympathy." +</P> + +<P> +"You put them on just the same, though?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I'm supposed to, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems very hard-hearted. If you knew that 'poor devil' was morally +justified in committing his crime, wouldn't you be tempted to—leave +the key of the handcuffs where he could get it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tempted, perhaps; that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose it was some one who had a claim on you—a sister or brother or +child?" +</P> + +<P> +"You must ask that of some unfortunate sleuth with a family. My +nearest relative is a third cousin who lives in Chicago but has +nevertheless shown no criminal tendency to date. I'm remarkably +well-protected from any potential struggle between duty and +inclination." He smiled, and added apologetically, "Detective ethics +is a pretty complicated subject to discuss, and I'm afraid it isn't +getting on with the problem of who stole a notebook from Simon Varr's +desk." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it isn't—and I'm much more interested in seeing you attack +that! But I warn you our conversation is only postponed!" +</P> + +<P> +They entered the study, where Creighton went straight to the window and +stood looking out at the now devastated garden where Simon Varr had +been found. +</P> + +<P> +"Who <I>did</I> find him, by the way?" he voiced a sudden thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Katie, the cook. She came down first, as usual, and saw a man lying +flat on his back in the tomato patch. Her first idea was that some one +had taken a drop too much and had strayed there and gone to sleep, so +she went up to Bates' room and routed him out. He came down and +discovered the awful truth—and he behaved wonderfully. He seemed to +know just what had to be done, and he actually managed to keep the news +from the family until official permission had been received to bring +the body into the house. Poor Lucy—my sister—was at least spared the +thought of his lying out there." +</P> + +<P> +"Who saw him last—in the house, I mean, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bates, who brought him a decanter of whisky here to the study, wished +him good-night and left him." +</P> + +<P> +"What time was that? Did the butler notice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, because he was interested in getting to bed. It was about +ten-thirty." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. He was left here—alone—with a decanter of whisky and a troubled +mind. It's safe to assume that he took a drink or so. Tell me, was +your brother-in-law an impulsive sort of person—liable to outbursts of +passion—inclined to do things in a headlong, reckless way?" +</P> + +<P> +"A very good description indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been wondering how he happened to be out in the garden so +opportunely for the murderer. If he was sitting in this room, looked +out the window and spotted the fellow hanging around, his first impulse +might have been to rush from the house and tackle him. Does that +impress you as being a likely scenario, Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very. To tell you the truth, when he was really angry I'm inclined to +think he was scarcely responsible for his actions." +</P> + +<P> +"His enemy knew that, you may be sure, and counted on it to his own +advantage. Now, another question about the matter of time. You told +me, Krech, that the hour of the murder had been approximately set at +eleven. Do you know how that was determined?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was the doctor's opinion, for one thing. Then it was pretty +plausibly substantiated by a trick of the weather. There was a shower +at eleven-thirty last night from which the ground was still wet early +this morning. The local Chief of Police covered himself with glory by +noticing that the earth beneath Varr's body was as dry as a bone when +they took him up." +</P> + +<P> +"Good enough. I must have a chat with that lad. I wonder if he +noticed anything else that was useful." +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody did," commented Miss Ocky thoughtfully. "There was a man out +there making a plaster cast of some footprints. Why do you suppose he +was doing that, Mr. Creighton?" +</P> + +<P> +"My golly!" The detective's eyes flashed with excitement. "Did you see +them, Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but they meant nothing to me." +</P> + +<P> +"How large were they, do you remember?" He waved a hand at Mr. Krech's +extremities. "Large as those?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my, no," said Miss Ocky, glancing at the objects indicated. "Not +nearly as large as those." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to interrupt these proceedings," declared Krech in an injured +voice, "long enough to remark that any sculptor would tell you they are +beautifully proportioned to my size." +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't criticizing their—architecture," said the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"Second time to-day he's called attention to them!" +</P> + +<P> +"Shameful. What was the first?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that was rather interesting. I'll tell you about it if he'll let +me." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me anyway. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us at +all. What <I>is</I> he doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush! he's thinking," said the big man vindictively after a brief +inspection of his friend. "He always looks like that when he thinks. +Scientists aver the eye reflects the mind; note the perfect blankness +of his?" +</P> + +<P> +That effectively aroused Creighton from his momentary abstraction. He +grinned at the two of them. +</P> + +<P> +"Pay no attention to him, Miss Copley. Yes, you can tell her what we +found at the tannery, Krech." He looked at Miss Ocky. "That is in +deference to your interest in the art of detection; may I count on you +not to breathe a word of what I tell you to any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"You may." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a bargain. Go ahead, Krech, while I amuse myself looking over +his desk." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky listened eagerly to Krech's somewhat embroidered account of +their activities at the tannery, but managed to keep an eye on Peter +Creighton the while. He was going over the desk and its roll-top cover +inch by inch, peering at its surface, trailing his fingertips over the +polished wood in case touch might find something that vision hadn't. +Once he interrupted Krech by asking him to bring a magnifying glass +from his bag in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you looking for?" asked Miss Ocky in the interim. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—anything. I expect the first and may chance on the second. +This is just routine, Miss Copley. When I know a crook has been in a +certain spot, I go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. You'd be +surprised to know the number of microscopic bits of evidence a man can +leave behind him in spite of every precaution." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you found anything here?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." He accepted the glass that Krech handed him and went back to his +task. "This fellow was careful, sure enough." +</P> + +<P> +The big man resumed his story. She interrupted him with a quick little +exclamation when she heard of Charlie Maxon's escape. Her interest +brought a question from the detective. +</P> + +<P> +"Know him, Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've spoken to him once or twice. Casually." +</P> + +<P> +"How did that happen? Where did you meet him?" +</P> + +<P> +"In a grocery store in the town. He came in for something while I was +there. Of course he knew who I was, and he started talking to me about +the strike and how hard it was on the men." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. What sort of a chap is he? Capable of—murder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good gracious, I don't think so!" Miss Ocky straightened in her chair +and shot a quick glance at the detective. "He's the agitator +type—more bark than bite. I don't believe he'd have the courage to +kill a man. Is—is he suspected?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't tell you. We may know more about that after the +inquest—unless Norvallis gets it adjourned, which he may. I don't +think he'll want to show his hand so soon." +</P> + +<P> +"This will be a spicy bit of gossip for Janet," mused Miss Ocky half to +herself, then caught Creighton's raised eyebrow and explained her +remark. "Janet Mackay is my maid, and she used to know Maxon in +Scotland when he was a youngster." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Have they seen anything of each other lately?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Janet has no use for him. She says he was always getting into +trouble as a boy." +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't seem to have lost the habit. Is Janet a tall thin woman +who wears steel-rimmed glasses?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You noticed her in the kitchen this morning, didn't you? She +told me you went through that way." +</P> + +<P> +"Has she been with you long?" +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-five years. She came here as a sort of companion-maid to my +sister and me a few years before my father's death. She was very fond +of Lucy, but she didn't care so much for Simon, so when I went East I +took her with me. We've been together ever since." +</P> + +<P> +"No need to ask, then, if you trust her." +</P> + +<P> +"Trust her! Trust Janet?" Miss Ocky's voice was warm. "I'd trust her +with my life!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton dropped the subject, but added another fragment to the data +he was compiling. Janet, the nondescript lady, didn't care much for +Varr, and was acquainted with Charlie Maxon. Important? Um—too soon +to say. He concentrated his attention once more on his search. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," he finally announced briefly. He rose as he spoke—he had +been on his hands and knees the better to examine the floor in front of +the desk—and shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Said I expected +as much, didn't I? Now for that window in the living-room." +</P> + +<P> +Krech had finished his story and Miss Ocky was looking at the detective +with considerable interest and some respect. +</P> + +<P> +"That was clever of you to notice the shallowness of the footprints," +she said. "And your deductions from them and the note are quite +shrewd. A small educated man instead of a large illiterate one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Not that I'd advise you to bet on it. Quite often the brilliant +deduction falls by the wayside and leaves the obvious conclusion to jog +home a winner. You had a good look at the fellow didn't you? You got +the impression that he was tall? How tall?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, six feet perhaps. It was dusk, you know, and he brushed by me +very quickly. I was too scared to do much observing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Uncomfortable experience," said Krech, "having a masked monk pop out +at you from a peaceful countryside. What did you think about it? Did +you know the fool legend?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no. I learned about that next day from Sheila Graham. I was +telling her my experience and she remembered the story and went and got +the book." +</P> + +<P> +"She's the daughter of Billy Graham, the manager whom Varr had decided +to get rid of?" Creighton's face was serious. +</P> + +<P> +"How in the world did you know <I>that</I>!" cried Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"Gossip. I love to listen to it. Ever talk to a chap named Nelson, a +watchman at the tannery? He's full of it." It was a trick of Peter +Creighton's to sound most flippant when he was soberest inside, and +Krech, who knew it, fell to watching him sharply. But the detective's +face was inscrutable. "So Graham's daughter had a book containing the +legend of the monk, eh? Just what was the trouble between him and Mr. +Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—I suppose I may as well tell you," said Miss Ocky reluctantly. +"It wouldn't be right to keep anything back from you, especially as +you'd be bound to hear about it anyway. The trouble between them was +mostly started by my brother-in-law, who objected to the interest his +son was showing in Sheila Graham. They considered themselves engaged—" +</P> + +<P> +"What? Varr had a son?" Creighton broke in on her abruptly, +unconsciously raising his voice in his surprise. "Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"His father drove him from the house!" cried a hoarse voice from the +door. "I don't know where he is. He ought to be with me now—-<I>and I +don't know where he is</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton wheeled swiftly toward the speaker, Krech shot out of his +chair as though a powerful spring had been released beneath him, and +Miss Ocky darted, birdlike, to the side of a slender figure which +swayed in the doorway, gripping the woodwork for support. It was Lucy +Varr. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy! What are you doing down here?" Miss Ocky circled her sister's +slender waist with a gently compelling arm. "Come with me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I rang and rang and nobody came. I wanted water. I was <I>so</I> +thirsty!" She muttered the words feverishly and the brightness of her +big eyes told its own story of a tortured brain. "I heard somebody +talking in here—" +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Lucy! I'll bring you the water." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it you who was asking for my son?" Her gaze passed over Krech, +whom she appeared vaguely to recognize, and fixed itself on the grave, +sympathetic face of the detective. "You're Mr. Creighton, aren't you? +They tell me you have come to find out who killed my husband—" +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy, dear! Please—" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm sure I wish you luck!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Mrs. Varr," said Creighton quietly, choosing to ignore the +irony in her tone. "I'll do my very best, I promise you." +</P> + +<P> +His promise was made to her retreating figure as she finally permitted +her sister to lead her away. Left alone, the two men exchanged a quick +glance and were silent for a minute. Then Krech jerked his head toward +the door significantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Could it be—her?" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Not grammatically!" retorted Creighton with a grin, much as if his +friend's query had freed him from a spell. "Piffle, Krech. If a woman +like that—high-strung, nervous—were to kill a man it would be in some +swift fit of passion. Varr's death came as the climax of a deliberate +campaign of persecution. She isn't capable of that." +</P> + +<P> +"If you can tell me what any woman can or can't do—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I grant them an infinite capacity for surprising a man! However, +this interesting little interlude isn't getting us anywhere. Come into +the living-room. I want a look at that window before daylight goes." +</P> + +<P> +"The police have probably mucked that all up," said Mr. Krech gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard one of the detectives tell Norvallis they had found nothing. +Anyway, if I don't miss my guess, they were so satisfied with something +they're keeping up their sleeve that I don't believe they paid more +than cursory attention to other details. Just gave everything a +perfunctory once-over and let it go at that." +</P> + +<P> +"What have they got, Creighton? Do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon seems an attractive prospect," replied the detective. +They had gone to the window in the living-room and he was busily +engaged upon the same eager scrutiny that he had given the desk. "They +may have discovered something that links him with the murder—that +business of taking plaster casts of footprints is very suggestive. +Maxon could have reached here after breaking jail in plenty of time to +knife Varr in keeping with the schedule as we know it. He's an ugly +customer by reputation, and he certainly had no reason to love Simon +Varr." +</P> + +<P> +"How did he get the dagger? He didn't steal it, because the evening it +was stolen he was safe in the hoosgow." +</P> + +<P> +"Correct, Krech, absolutely correct." The detective was intently +studying the brass lock of the door through his powerful glass. "Now +you've started thinking, persevere! If Maxon committed the murder but +didn't steal the knife, what's the answer?" +</P> + +<P> +"An accomplice!" cried Krech. "A whole gang, perhaps!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't be extravagant. One accomplice will do for the time being." +Creighton dropped to his knees and transferred his interest to the +flooring of the piazza outside the window and the carpet within. "<I>By +golly!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +The phrase fairly exploded from his lips. Krech, abandoning his +cogitations, came quickly to his side, eager to learn what this +exclamation portended. +</P> + +<P> +Creighton, with his habitual care to miss nothing, had not contented +himself with exploring the surface of the veranda or the surface of the +heavy gray carpet that covered the floor of the room from edge to edge. +That finished, he had thrust his fingers between the carpet and the +wood of the window-sill, holding it back with one hand while he passed +his magnifying glass over the accumulation of dust and dirt and +sweepings that lay in the crack. His pains were rewarded. A tiny +scrap of something that glittered in its nest of dirt caught his eye, +but it was not until it lay on the tip of one finger beneath his glass +that he realized the importance of his treasure trove. It was then he +exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" asked Krech, craning for a better look. +</P> + +<P> +"See for yourself!" Very carefully the detective pushed the object +from his finger on to one of his friend's. "Don't drop it. What do +<I>you</I> think it is? Here—take the glass." +</P> + +<P> +"A chip of metal, I should say. Steel. Blue steel." +</P> + +<P> +"Blue steel! Where have you seen blue steel before to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph! That dagger!" +</P> + +<P> +"Right. Did you notice the nick in it near the point?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no. They wouldn't let me really look at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there was one! And this piece will fit that nick, or I'm a +dumb-bell!" His eyes were dancing with delight. "Know what this +means?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-yes. When the fellow slipped back the catch of this window he +nicked the blade. Probably never noticed it. This piece fell to the +floor and has been there ever since." +</P> + +<P> +"Fell to the floor—yes. It isn't likely that it went neatly into the +crack. It was swept there. Ever stop to think that the detective's +best friend is the housemaid who scamps her work? Bless their little +souls, they will sweep into cracks! But that isn't what I had in mind +when I asked you if you knew what this means?" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I could dope it out in time—" +</P> + +<P> +"He opened this window with the dagger! Don't you get it?" +</P> + +<P> +"My brain isn't hitting on all sixteen cylinders—" +</P> + +<P> +"Listen. The assumption has been that he broke in here, took the +dagger from the table where it lay handy, and forced Varr's desk. If +he got the dagger after he entered the house, why did he then force the +window with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph! It's a blind! He faked the breaking and entering to make +it appear an outside job!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Creighton's face was solemn as he reclaimed his chip of steel +and added the obvious corollary to Krech's deduction. "If it's not an +outside job it must be an inside one. Somebody in this house took that +dagger and notebook." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet it was—!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" whispered the detective sharply. "Some one coming!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XVI: A Woman of Note</I> +</H3> + +<P> +At the warning sound of approaching footsteps, Creighton whipped an +envelope from his pocket and dropped into it the precious bit of blue +steel he had recovered from the crack beneath the French window; he +smoothed down the carpet with a quick sideways flirt of his foot, +thrust the envelope into his coat, and had barely time to hiss one +further admonition into Krech's attentive ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word of this to a soul!" +</P> + +<P> +"My lips are sealed," declared the big man. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky entered the room to find two gentlemen engaged in +conversation close by an open window out of which they were looking +while their backs were tranquilly turned to the apartment. When she +said, "Excuse me!" they pivoted about as one, and the synchronic +promptitude with which they uttered the same question did credit to +their bringing up. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Mrs. Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"Much quieter—much better, thank you." Miss Ocky lighted a cigarette +with the air of one who has earned it, and dropped wearily into a +chair. "I was as much upset as you must have been when she turned up +there in the study. Hardly necessary to make excuses for her, is it? +She is not very strong, and she has been through enough in the last two +days to wreck an Amazon." +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor worried about her?" asked Krech. "Is there anything Mrs. Bolt +or my wife can do? I know that's the first thing they'll ask." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a thing. Please thank them both for me. I'm not a bit diffident +about asking favors of people and they can be sure I'll call for help +if I need it. No, the doctor isn't alarmed; he just wants her to sleep +as much as possible until the worst of the mental strain is over." +</P> + +<P> +A faint clatter of silverware from the dining-room aroused Krech to the +passage of time. He looked at his watch and started as if he had been +stung. +</P> + +<P> +"Nearly seven! I'm a ruined man! Where on earth is Jason Bolt? He +was to call for me long before this." +</P> + +<P> +"That's true—you're stranded, aren't you? I'd forgotten you came with +him." Miss Ocky reflected briefly. "I simply can't leave here myself +just now, but I'll have Janet take the car and drive you home." +</P> + +<P> +"Janet?" inquired Creighton. "Drives a car, does she? Quite an +accomplished lady's-maid!" +</P> + +<P> +"She's a remarkable person," said Miss Ocky. "I'll tell you about her +some other time. Now—about yourself! Will you let me save you from +the horrors of the local hotel?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was going to ask you if your invitation was still open," answered +the detective hesitantly. "But under the circumstances—with your +sister ill—haven't you enough trouble on your hands?" +</P> + +<P> +"This house runs itself, thank to Bates," she replied quickly. She met +his eye frankly. "You won't inconvenience us in the least, and I'd +really be grateful if you would stay. So would my sister. With only +old Bates in the house she is inclined to be nervous while—while that +man is still at large." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very gracious of you to put it that way," he murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"That's settled," she said briskly, and stood up. "Now I'll go find +Janet." +</P> + +<P> +"So Janet's a remarkable person, is she?" muttered Krech when Miss Ocky +had left the room. "Hers was the name I was about to mention when you +stopped me. Janet Mackay knows Charlie Maxon!" +</P> + +<P> +"Easy! Don't let your imagination run away with you. What conceivable +motive could she have had to conspire against Varr's life?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." Krech grinned. "If I lay the foundation, it's up to +you to erect the edifice. Brain-work, not manual labor, is my forte." +Then he added more seriously, "I've thought of something; instead of +the accomplice being actually a member of the household, mightn't he be +just some one who has the entrée—the run of the house? Some one who +could carry off the situation if he had been discovered in the +living-room or study by the servants?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's a good point, Krech; a very good point. I'll inquire into that +possibility." +</P> + +<P> +"So you're going to make this your headquarters?" +</P> + +<P> +"Assuredly." Creighton tapped his pocket. "This decided it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—take care of yourself, won't you?" There was genuine concern in +the big man's voice as he went on with specious flippancy. "Miss +Copley left a dagger kicking around; let's hope she hasn't dropped an +automatic or a machine-gun here and there. If Mr. Monk got the idea +that you knew too much—" +</P> + +<P> +"All right." Creighton reached out and gave Krech's arm an +affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry; I'm an artist at taking care of +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I know a darn' sight better!" growled Krech, and the honking of a horn +from the driveway ended their talk. "Good-by. I'm going to pump Jason +Bolt and if I glean anything I'll let you know in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton waved good-night to him from the veranda and stepped back +into the house to find the maid awaiting him in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Your bag has gone up, sir. Shall I show you your room?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. By the way, what is your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Betty, sir. Betty Blake." +</P> + +<P> +"Very pretty name, too." He motioned her to precede him up the stairs. +"Been with Mrs. Varr long?" +</P> + +<P> +"About four months, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a Hambleton girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, born and bred." +</P> + +<P> +The room assigned to him was one of the best in the house. It was next +to Miss Ocky's own, he was to discover later, and like hers it had a +small rounded balcony outside the tall windows. He glanced about him +appreciatively. He could rough it with any man, but he vastly +preferred to be comfortable. Here he would be, if his eye didn't +deceive him. +</P> + +<P> +"Native, eh?" he continued conversationally as the girl made to leave +him. "Then you must know every one in these parts. For instance—do +you know a young man called Maxon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon?" She tossed her head. "Yes, I know <I>him</I>!" Her +accent was richly scornful. "Pity they couldn't keep him in jail!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a writing table with note paper on it in one corner of the +room, and as she finished speaking a scrap of crumpled paper on the +floor beneath it caught her eye. With instinctive neatness she went +across the room and picked it up, steadying herself as she stooped by +resting her fingertips lightly on the pile of paper. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything more, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, no," replied Creighton absently. +</P> + +<P> +When she had closed the door behind her he went over by the writing +table and stood looking down at the topmost sheet of paper. The maid's +orderly spirit had given him a hint that he thought he might profitably +employ. He picked up the paper and held it slantwise to the light of +the window while he peered at its surface. Then he nodded contentedly. +</P> + +<P> +He drew forth his pencil and made a neat number one at the top of the +sheet, which he then dropped in a drawer of the desk. He found a clean +page in a small memo-book that he carried and made a careful entry, "1. +Betty Blake." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll get 'em all before I finish," he promised himself. +</P> + +<P> +He went downstairs a few minutes later to meet the butler on his way up +with the announcement that dinner was served; a welcome piece of news +to a man who had had a long day on sandwiches only. +</P> + +<P> +"Just the two of us," Miss Ocky greeted him as he entered the +dining-room. "I'll pay you the compliment of admitting that the +arrangement suits me perfectly. A crowd would have been terrible, but +to have dined by myself would have been ghastly." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing could have pleased me better," said the detective as they +seated themselves. "It has been growing increasingly clear to me that +I must look to you for a great deal of information. Yours is the most +authoritative voice around here." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll play oracle within reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Don't let's start off with a reservation like that, Miss Copley. +You made a naïve, but very wise, remark this afternoon when you said +you might just as well tell me something, especially as I was bound to +find it out anyway. Stick to that maxim. It will save me time and you +trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"About there only being two of us for dinner," continued the detective, +blandly ignoring the sniff, "there's a matter I'd like to clear up. +Where is Mr. Varr's son? Was the trouble between them so bitter that +it is to be perpetuated after death?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't bring myself to speak about that until we were by +ourselves," said Miss Ocky. She looked up at Bates with a friendly +glance. "I know you won't repeat anything, Bates! The trouble between +Simon and his son grew out of Copley's attachment for Sheila Graham. I +like her extremely, so I found myself in opposition to Simon. I cast +myself in the role of the heavy fairy godmother and took a hand in +shaping the destinies of the young couple—a fond aunt has an +inalienable right to barge into her nephew's affairs, hasn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Second only to a grandmother's," he assured her. +</P> + +<P> +"I persuaded them to elope," confessed Miss Ocky. "No date was set for +it that I heard of. Yesterday Copley succeeded in finding a job on the +Hambleton <I>News</I> as a reporter—and the editor, Mr. Barlow, when he +arrived here this morning to cover this story told me that the boy had +immediately celebrated his getting a job by asking for a two-week +vacation to attend to some personal business. He left Hambleton last +night for parts unknown. Meanwhile, Sheila Graham had gone to visit +friends in New York for a fortnight. If you're a good detective, Mr. +Creighton, you may make the right deduction." +</P> + +<P> +"He started off on a honeymoon the very day his father was murdered. +Rather—unpleasant coincidence." +</P> + +<P> +"It struck me that way. I've been keeping mum just on that account. +Norvallis was apparently satisfied with a statement that Copley is +temporarily absent and that we are trying to get in touch with him." +</P> + +<P> +"Norvallis is a very amiable gentleman; he has his reasons for being +so, I think. As for Copley—well, a good many newspapers will carry +the story of what happened last night and he will undoubtedly read it +by to-morrow morning—possibly this evening. Then he will come home." +</P> + +<P> +"Keeping his marriage—if there was one—dark, I trust. With the +opposition—er—removed, I think it would be more suitable to have a +public ceremony after a decent interval." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. A matter of taste, perhaps. Personally, I've seen so much +trouble caused by secret marriages that I'm inclined to eye them +doubtfully. But—may I ask you a few questions about the less romantic +adventures of the young man? Mrs. Varr declared this afternoon that +her husband had driven him from the house. Was their +disagreement—violent?" +</P> + +<P> +"You must make allowances for my sister's nervous condition," answered +Miss Ocky quickly. Her perceptions were instantly alive to whither +this shift in the conversation might lead, and she resolved to limit +the information she gave him as much as possible to the facts he would +surely discover for himself. "Simon and Copley talked over the +situation, night before last; Lucy naturally exaggerates the affair." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Varr and his son quarreled. Isn't that the plain truth?" +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't a quarrel depend somewhat on the natures of the two people +involved, Mr. Creighton? Simon was fearfully obstinate, and Copley is +a little high-tempered—just to the extent that is becoming to a young +man with any spirit—and I suppose that what might be merely a normal +discussion between two such natures might—might seem like a quarrel to +other people. Mightn't it?" she added, not very hopefully. +</P> + +<P> +Despite himself, the detective was forced to grin at this ingenuous, or +ingenious, argument. +</P> + +<P> +"They quarreled," he summed it up, regaining his gravity. "If you will +recollect, Miss Copley, when you came into the sitting-room a while ago +you excused your sister's indisposition on the plea that she had been +through enough the last <I>two</I> days to wreck an Amazon. Why <I>two</I> days, +unless it was the quarrel between her husband and her son that worried +her all of yesterday?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, heavens! You're worse than a dictaphone!" Miss Ocky made a face +at him. "There's no help for it—I must go into a silence." +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't, until I've asked one more thing. You can answer freely, +or the station master will. If Copley went to town last night, what +trains were available?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only one," she admitted slowly. "There's a through train from the +West that stops at Hambleton for water—at midnight!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Peter Creighton, then wished he hadn't. +</P> + +<P> +A high-tempered youth—a pig-headed father—a balked romance—a +quarrel—a murder at eleven and a train away at midnight. These facts +paraded through Creighton's brain and to a certain extent got ready to +parade right on out of it. He could think all around a given subject, +as he had described the process to Jason Bolt, and he was no fool to +commit himself to half-baked hypotheses. Any theory of Copley's guilt +could be countered with the same objection he made to Krech's hasty +indictment of Mrs. Varr; a boy like that might strike down a man in the +heat of passion but he would hardly set himself to calculated +murder—or if he did, he would certainly arrange a better finish than a +clumsy attempt at flight. +</P> + +<P> +He became aware that Miss Copley was watching him anxiously while he +meditated. He met her eyes—very nice eyes they were, he +reflected—and it was too bad they should reveal fear, as they had +since his monosyllabic exclamation. +</P> + +<P> +"Are—are you suggesting—" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, Miss Copley—nothing! Frankly and honestly! If you will +permit me to say so, I think you are trying to make a mountain out of +this molehill yourself. I haven't a doubt in the world that your +nephew will turn up with every minute of last evening properly +accounted for." He welcomed the slow reversion to normal of her +expression. "Come, if I'm a dictaphone, let's pretend I'm turned off! +Shall we talk of something else than murder? One might as well dine to +jazz!" +</P> + +<P> +That brought a smile to her lips—a quavery, uncertain little smile but +an augury of better ones to come. +</P> + +<P> +"With all my heart," she agreed. "What are your conversational +preferences?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anything but shop. May I ask you a personal question?" +</P> + +<P> +"Personal questions are always the most interesting." +</P> + +<P> +"I've heard you addressed once or twice as 'Miss Ocky,' and I've been +wondering just what the abbreviation stands for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! You've landed squarely on a sore spot, but no matter. My father, +bless him, was one of the dearest men that ever lived, but now and then +he would get some particularly quaint idea into his head and proceed to +carry it out in spite of every opposition. I arrived in this world on +a chilly autumn day and was duly presented to my father's gaze. He was +quite inexperienced about babies and it's recorded of him that he +stared at me aghast and said: 'My gad, what a bleak-looking object!' +That inspired some by-standing lunatic to observe that I doubtless took +after the month, and my father promptly exclaimed: 'October! What a +jolly fine name for her. We'll call her October!'" Miss Ocky sighed +resignedly. "They let him get away with it. I was christened October. +It has the sole merit of being distinctive!" +</P> + +<P> +"My golly!" Creighton had listened to the concluding phrases of her +anecdote with wonderment writ large on his face. He carefully put his +knife and fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair while he +continued to regard her with a rapt expression. "Are <I>you</I> October +Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" laughed the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>The</I> October Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm quite unique, I believe," said Miss Ocky cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Did <I>you</I> write 'Thibetan Trails,' 'Passages from Persia' and those +bully Chinese things with the queer title?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Chiliads of China.' Yes, I wrote 'em. Don't sit there and tell me +you've read them!" +</P> + +<P> +"Read them—I've <I>loved</I> them! It's a wonder I didn't connect your +name with them at once. My wits have been woolgathering. But, hang +it! Who could have expected to find an internationally famous writer +and traveler stuck away in this corner of the world? Why haven't +seventeen or ninety people <I>told</I> me who you were?" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed at his eager interest. +</P> + +<P> +"A prophet is without honor in his own country," she said. "To my +family I'm just Ocky; to the natives of Hambleton I'm only 'that Copley +girl with the queer name who's come back from furrin parts'." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed again, half surprised and half embarrassed, as he suddenly +rose from his chair, marched around the table, shook hands with her and +solemnly marched back again to his seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Meeting a stray Miss Copley is one thing," he assured her. "Meeting +October Copley is quite another matter." +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible for her not to be touched by such sincere, +whole-hearted enthusiasm. Her throat tightened queerly. Bates, too, +an astonished spectator of the scene, was discreetly impressed. A +stand-offishness that he had felt toward Peter Creighton, the +detective, was weakened in favor of a man who thus appreciated his own +Miss Ocky. An artist in simple gestures, he testified to his new +approbation by refilling the wineglass beside Creighton's plate. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, tell me what you are doing here. I can't believe it is really +you sitting opposite me, there! If any one had asked me ten minutes +ago where I supposed you might be, I would have answered that you were +probably hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas or—or—" +</P> + +<P> +"Tigers in Africa!" suggested Miss Ocky. "No, here I really am." +Creighton had already noticed that she was usually divided between two +moods, an amused, faintly mocking one, and another that had somehow an +undercurrent of sadness. This last seemed to hold her as she added, +"Here to stay, I think. My wanderings are done and now I must—settle +down." +</P> + +<P> +"Another great light has just burst on me," exclaimed Creighton. +"Janet Mackay! She must be the companion you refer to so often in your +travel books. By golly, was it she who dove beneath an ice-pack and +brought you back to the air-hole through which you had fallen?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was indeed Janet! I repaid the favor later by valiantly dashing +into a burning hotel and releasing her from a beam that had dropped +across her—well, she'd call 'em limbs! Regular movie stuff. Yes, +Janet and I are now fearfully responsible for each other." +</P> + +<P> +"There was no mention of the fire in any of your books." +</P> + +<P> +"Mmph. I'd be apt to bust into print with that, wouldn't I? But I +don't mind informing you—just between us girls, as your friend Mr. +Krech would say—that you're in the presence of an honest-to-goodness +heroine!" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew that," said Peter Creighton simply. +</P> + +<P> +There followed for him a somewhat curious evening. No detective worth +his salt will permit extraneous matters to thrust themselves between +his mind and the immediate problem with which it should be occupied, +and Creighton really had a very high sense of duty. When they had +taken themselves out of the house and settled down in the cozy corner +of the big veranda, he punctiliously strove to concentrate on a dagger +and a notebook and a murder, but ever and anon, as he tried to post +himself on the manifold ramifications of the affair to date, the +conversation would persist in taking unexpected trips to the Orient. +His interest in this topic was so keen that he blamed these divagations +on himself, and since a clever woman is cleverer than the cleverest +man, it never once occurred to him that the guiding-reins of their talk +lay in a pair of slender, capable, sun-browned hands. Miss Ocky +preferred almost any subject that evening to the one of paramount +importance. +</P> + +<P> +He sat a while after she bade him good-night and left him, his thoughts +a medley of vague impressions, confused, half-formed, inchoate. He +tried to fix his mind on Simon Varr and ended by surrendering it to the +vivid, vital personality of Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +When he went upstairs to his room the first object that caught his +attention was a slender volume, beautifully bound, that lay on his +dressing-table. "The Mystery of Lhasa." He had not heard of that one. +A glance at the title-page accounted for that. Privately printed. On +the flyleaf, inscribed in a bold, dashing hand, were the words, "For +Peter Creighton—a master of mysteries—from October Copley." +</P> + +<P> +"That's mighty nice of her," he told himself, putting it down. "Golly, +what a woman! She has packed more life into each of her years than +most men get in their three-score-and-ten." +</P> + +<P> +The hour was early for his metropolitan standards. He thought of the +balcony outside his window, and forthwith carried a comfortable chair +to that cool retreat. He had lighted a cigar and established himself +contentedly before a low voice challenged him from the darkness to the +right. +</P> + +<P> +"So you have found your little veranda!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Miss Copley! You got one too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I come out here nearly every evening for an hour before going to +bed. I love to watch the stars." +</P> + +<P> +"No dearth of them in these skies." +</P> + +<P> +"If we could look beyond them we might read the Riddle of the Universe. +I think we could—I think so!" Here was the undercurrent of sadness +again, sounding through an odd intensity of tone. "Surely, there is +something beyond them. There must be! What do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know there is. If you sat here long enough, Miss Copley, I believe +your doubts would be set at rest." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean? What is behind the stars?" +</P> + +<P> +"The dawn," he told her seriously. "These windows must face due East." +He mused briefly. "They also command a partial view of that kitchen +garden, come to think of it! You didn't happen to see or hear +any—last evening—" +</P> + +<P> +"What a one-track mind!" lamented Miss Ocky. "<I>No!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +They talked until very late. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XVII: An Arrest is Made</I> +</H3> + +<P> +At eleven o'clock the next morning, the ground-floor of the big house +was again invaded by a heterogeneous collection of people drawn thither +by the coroner's inquest into the death of Simon Varr. Some were there +as witnesses or because they had a personal interest in the +proceedings, some because they were part of the legal machinery, and +many because they were driven by morbid curiosity. The Coroner, an +alert, bewhiskered old gentleman named Merton, took possession of the +big living-room and had one end of it fenced off with chairs the better +to mark the dignified exclusiveness of his court. +</P> + +<P> +As on the previous day, the end of the veranda around the corner from +the front of the house escaped the notice of the invading horde. +Creighton spent the early part of the morning there, after a solitary +breakfast, reading the morning paper attentively. Barlow, the editor, +had covered the story of the murder with a competent pencil. The +account was graphic, lucid and comprehensive, a credit to himself and +his paper. When Creighton had finished its careful perusal he was +posted on many details of the case that sheer lack of time had +prevented him from learning the day before. With a considerable degree +of satisfaction, however, he noted that he had unearthed a fair amount +of information that the industrious scribe had missed. +</P> + +<P> +Only second in interest to the big story itself was the half-column on +an inner page devoted to the jail-breaking exploit of Mr. Charles +Maxon—which would certainly have been largely featured at any other +time. Some lesser scribe on Barlow's staff had been assigned to this +minor item of news. He had gotten hold of the unfortunate Moody, and +under the caption, "Der Jail Is Oudt" he had written a racy, humorous +account of a Lady-Fair with Knockout Drops, a Resourceful Romeo and a +hoodwinked Jailer. It ended with the statement that Romeo and the Lady +were still missing, and that a ticket agent on night duty at the +railroad station had seen two muffled figures unostentatiously board +the last car of the midnight train without the formality of buying +tickets. +</P> + +<P> +"That means they'll have had to pay on the train," mused Creighton, +"and of course the conductor will remember to what point they bought +transportation when the police get around to asking him. Um. Would a +murderer leave a trail as clear as that? I think not!" +</P> + +<P> +It still lacked half-an-hour of the time set for the inquest. +Creighton was smoking a cigarette and mentally digesting the +information gleaned from the newspaper when Jason Bolt, accompanied by +Krech and Miss Ocky, came swooping down upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"Developments!" said Jason, his face wreathed in smiles. "I've found +out what Norvallis has up his sleeve. Want to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly do," said Creighton. "How did you find out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Small-town stuff," declared Bolt cheerfully. "You can't keep a thing +dark in the country. Our local Chief of Police is sore as a pup +because Norvallis, when he gave the paper the story yesterday, failed +to give him credit for fixing the hour of the murder by the dry ground +beneath the body. Steiner—that's the chief—came to see me this +morning at the office to make some inquiries about the fire the other +night. He accepted a cigar, got to talking about his troubles—and +didn't hesitate to tell me the county officers' theory when I asked him +what it was." +</P> + +<P> +"Charlie Maxon?" asked Creighton when Bolt paused for breath—and from +the corner of his eye saw Miss Ocky give a little start. +</P> + +<P> +"You've guessed it," admitted Jason a trifle disappointedly. "I confess +I don't think much of their case, but Charlie Maxon is their choice. +He broke jail just after ten o'clock and came up here. That is +definitely proved to their satisfaction, at least, by footprints +recognized as his in the soft earth beside Simon's body. They were +identical with some he'd left when he came up here on an earlier +tomato-swiping raid. Norvallis swore out a warrant yesterday afternoon +and started a couple of sleuths on the trail of Maxon and his lady +friend, and they were arrested early this morning in the village of +Chiswick, about fifty miles down the line. What do you think of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is the charge?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indefinite. They're to be held on suspicion of being concerned in the +murder. That's why I say it sounds like a weak case." +</P> + +<P> +"How do they trace the dagger to Maxon?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is supposed to have an accomplice." Bolt looked a little more +serious. "Steiner was more cautious on that point—or else he was not +so much in the know. There was a discharged clerk named Langhorn who +accompanied Billy Graham to this house on the night of the robbery. +Langhorn must have recognized the notebook in Simon's hand during that +interview, and it was common knowledge among the clerks in the tannery +that it contained valuable matter. The police theory is that he took +advantage of Simon's absence at the fire to sneak back to the house, +enter the study and steal the book—using the dagger and carrying it +off with him afterward. He was seen talking to a man on the evening of +the murder at the corner of an alley behind the lock-up. The county +crowd think that man was Maxon, that Maxon was two-thirds drunk at +least, and that Langhorn gave him the knife and egged him on to kill +Simon. That's the gist of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Why should Langhorn flirt with the hangman? Discharged clerks +don't necessarily revenge themselves to that extent!" +</P> + +<P> +"He wouldn't tell me if he could—and I don't believe he can!" +</P> + +<P> +"There is something I don't understand," broke in Miss Ocky, frowning +thoughtfully. "Can a possibly innocent man be held just on suspicion +like that? Surely, Norvallis must have strong proofs." +</P> + +<P> +"I may be doing him an injustice," answered Creighton quietly, "but I +think I have discovered the reason for Mr. Norvallis' activities. I +rather wondered why he was thrusting himself so eagerly into the +investigation instead of leaving it to the detectives. Yesterday I saw +a poster on a fence by the tannery and learned that he is up for +County-Attorney at the coming State election!" He caught a flicker of +comprehension in Jason's eye, but Miss Ocky and Krech looked blank. +"Don't you see? Here's a murder—a notable murder—committed in his +county a few weeks before election. He has to do something. Maxon +obligingly implicates himself enough to warrant his being held. +Norvallis arrests him. He can easily juggle things along until the +ballots have dropped in the box—meanwhile demonstrating that he's an +active, zealous and conscientious officer!" +</P> + +<P> +"You've hit it," declared Bolt. "He's that kind." +</P> + +<P> +"But that's—<I>vile</I>!" cried Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll give him the benefit of one doubt," said Creighton. "He +probably would not do that to a man he believed innocent; undoubtedly +he is convinced that Maxon is guilty and will fight tooth-and-nail to +convict." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—is he right?" asked Bolt slowly. A dull red flushed his cheeks. +"Did Maxon do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm confident that he did not," said Creighton. A pressure of his arm +against his breast brought a crackle of paper and the comfortable +assurance that his chip from the blade of the dagger was safe. "Don't +press me for reasons yet, Mr. Bolt." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't." Jason rose as Bates came around the corner to say the +inquest had opened. "Take your time, sir, but get me that notebook!" +</P> + +<P> +The proceedings went swiftly and smoothly from beginning to end. +Whether or not he was a particularly good coroner—and Creighton felt +some doubt of that—Merton was certainly expert in the technique of his +job. He handled his witnesses capably, with deftness and dispatch, +extracting facts from them with the easy grace of a headwaiter pulling +corks, and each time a fact popped out he beamed benignly at his jury. +</P> + +<P> +No mention was made of the police theory, and from the way Merton +neatly headed off one or two witnesses who came close to trespassing on +that forbidden ground, Creighton reckoned that Norvallis had persuaded +him to mark time "in the interests of justice." The crowd that had +come for a thrill were rewarded by the tale of the black monk, most of +which was told by Miss Ocky. Her soft, clear voice carried to every +ear, and her cool, matter-of-fact tones seemed rather to accentuate the +dramatic values of her testimony than otherwise. It was the highlight +of the whole picture, more interesting even than the verdict with its +orthodox tag of "person or persons unknown." +</P> + +<P> +"Norvallis hasn't shown his hand," murmured Jason Bolt, who was sitting +next to Creighton. +</P> + +<P> +"It'll make a louder splash in the papers to-morrow," retorted the +detective cynically. +</P> + +<P> +He had taken care to seat himself at the beginning of the inquest in +such a way that he could watch the faces of the spectators who had come +to this macabre entertainment. There was so much to the case that was +hopelessly dark to him that he dared miss no opportunity to seek +something or somebody who might inject even a single ray of light into +the murk. He knew that the crowd at any inquest was quite likely to +include the very person or persons unknown mentioned in the verdict. +He watched the crowd here with a sharp eye for any one who might +display a deeper interest than that of the casual ambulance-chaser +brand. +</P> + +<P> +He spotted just one among those present who seemed worthy of closer +attention. This was a strikingly handsome blond man, middle-aged and +well-dressed, who occupied an inconspicuous seat in the farthest corner +of the long room. He had about him an air of strained intensity as he +leaned forward to follow every word of the testimony, particularly when +Miss Ocky was giving hers, and he tugged nervously and continuously at +a close-cropped mustache. Creighton could see that his face was +haggard and bore lines of worry—and he could see that an unmistakable +look of relief came into his eyes as the jury returned its open verdict. +</P> + +<P> +"Interesting," said the detective to himself, and touched Bolt on the +arm as the man hurried from the room at the conclusion of the +proceedings. "Who is that fair-haired chap just going out?" +</P> + +<P> +"His name is Leslie Sherwood," answered Jason promptly. "He's a native +of these parts but he has been out in the great world making lots of +money. He has just returned and opened up the old Sherwood place, +which has been closed since his father's death a few months ago. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton was spared a reply by the appearance of a dapper, sharp +little old gentleman who came up and greeted Bolt by his first name. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Judge!" Jason turned with a gesture of his hand. "I want you +to meet Mr. Peter Creighton, of New York. This is Judge Taylor, Mr. +Creighton, who has always handled our legal affairs and managed somehow +to keep us out of jail! Judge, Creighton is here to investigate that +robbery of the other evening when Simon's notebook was stolen." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>And</I> the dagger that killed him!" added Taylor significantly. "Glad +to meet you, Mr. Creighton. I trust your inquiry will be successful." +He jerked his head backward. "What did you think of this inquest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nicely stage-managed," said the detective, and an appreciative twinkle +lit the lawyer's eyes. "May I have a chat with you sometime, Judge?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whenever you please. Jason will show you my office." +</P> + +<P> +"Hello! Who is this?" Creighton was facing the door from the hall, to +which the other two men had their backs, and he was the first of them +to notice a tall, prepossessing young man who hurried into the room. +Behind him came Miss Ocky, looking pleased, and after her Krech, +hunting for the detective from whom he had become separated. "Is it—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Copley!" cried Jason Bolt and Judge Taylor with one voice. They +greeted the newcomer warmly, but with the subdued sympathy suitable to +the occasion. "When did you learn about this?" added Bolt. +</P> + +<P> +"This morning's papers. I came as fast as I could." He spun around +toward Miss Ocky. "My mother—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sleeping," answered his aunt. "It has been a shock, but you have no +need to worry about her. Don't think of waking her up; I know you must +want to go to her, but wait." +</P> + +<P> +"This is a terrible business," said the young man to Bolt and the +lawyer. He was yet unaware of Creighton, who had withdrawn slightly +into the background. "I only know what I've read in the papers. As I +came in just now I heard somebody say the inquest had drawn a blank. +Is that so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It is a complicated affair, Copley," answered Bolt. "It will +take some time to tell you everything that has happened—" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll go into it later, then. Just tell me now if everything possible +is being done to identify the man who killed my father. That is the +most important business before us. Have the police any clues?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe so, but they are saying little. On our own account, I have +engaged this gentleman here—Mr. Creighton—to conduct an independent +inquiry. Creighton, this is Mr. Varr's son, of whom you have heard." +</P> + +<P> +Copley sent a keen look at the detective, then held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to meet you—and very glad that Mr. Bolt has engaged your +services. It is the very thing I would have wished. I have no +confidence in the local authorities." +</P> + +<P> +"That appears to make it unanimous," said Creighton, grinning. +"Really, I'm beginning to wonder if these county fellows can be as +stupid as they're reputed." He glanced at Jason Bolt. "Suppose I take +Mr. Varr into the study here and give him a résumé of events to date? +Somebody must, and I know the details better than any one else, +perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +There was a chorus of relieved approval from Bolt, Taylor and Miss Ocky +and a quick nod of assent from Copley. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have a talk with you, too, Copley, as soon as possible," added +Jason Bolt. "It's hard to have to intrude business—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" interrupted the young man, and suddenly ran his fingers through +his hair with a distraught gesture. "I'm in the deuce of a jam—! +Aunt Ocky, when is the funeral?" +</P> + +<P> +"We were waiting to hear from you. Now that you're here—shall we say +to-morrow noon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. After that I must catch the one-thirty to New York." He +shrugged his shoulders at Bolt's disappointed grunt. "It can't be +helped, sir! And I'll be busy every minute until I leave. Are you +sure that you need me after all?" He looked at the old lawyer who was +eyeing him thoughtfully. "Judge Taylor, you had charge of my father's +will, didn't you? Would it be improper for you to tell me whether or +not I've inherited his interest in the tannery?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll risk the impropriety under the circumstances," said Taylor +slowly, breaking a little silence that followed the question. "Yes, +you have inherited a controlling interest without any restriction." He +hesitated cautiously. "I'm assuming that no other will exists—I +cannot believe there is any." +</P> + +<P> +"In that case—you and I are partners, Mr. Bolt." Copley held out his +hand rather bashfully. "You'll have a fearful lot to teach me, but +you'll find me willing to learn." He continued more incisively. "I +believe the first thing to do is to get that strike settled and the men +to work. They'll listen to you, Mr. Bolt, if you ask them to return +pending our decision to raise wages and improve conditions. Another +thing—can you persuade Graham to stay with us?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe so—now," said Bolt slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"The tannery must remain closed to-morrow, the day of the funeral. I'd +like to see it open up the morning after at the usual hour." +</P> + +<P> +"It will," said Jason flatly. "Leave it to me." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I want to do, for a fortnight anyway. After that you will +find me ready to pull my weight in the boat." The young man turned to +the others. "Aunt Ocky, you'll let me know, won't you, as soon as my +mother wakes up? Come on, Mr. Creighton; I'm anxious to hear all you +can tell me." He walked off to the study without waiting to see if the +detective followed. +</P> + +<P> +Creighton did not, for the moment. Bolt and Krech were leaving, and so +was Judge Taylor. The detective had a few words with his friend as +they followed the other two along the hall to the piazza, while Miss +Ocky went up to her sister's room. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you think of him?" asked Krech. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't thought much yet." +</P> + +<P> +"He ought to be a pleasant change for Jason. He'll be open to reason, +yet he'll have ideas of his own. Did you notice how he snapped into +the business of getting work started again?" +</P> + +<P> +"I noticed it." +</P> + +<P> +"An up-and-coming lad," said Krech. "He couldn't have done it better +if he'd been expecting the job." +</P> + +<P> +Creighton glanced at the speaker quickly, but the big man's face was as +ingenuous as a child's. They dropped the subject as they came up with +the others. +</P> + +<P> +When he had bidden them <I>au revoir</I>, the detective went to the small +study, where he found Copley Varr restlessly pacing the short fairway +between the door and his father's desk. The young man welcomed him +with a gesture of relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you were never coming," he said, though not rudely. "If I +can't see my mother yet, I'm in a hurry to—to attend to some other +matters." +</P> + +<P> +"Is an interview with William Graham one of them?" asked Creighton +quietly as they sat down. He caught the sharp look that Copley sent +him. "While digging into the history of this case it was inevitable +that I should discover something of your private affairs. I will ask +you to believe that I do not violate confidences—even though I have to +force them at times." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. You're a detective, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I try to be!" smiled Creighton. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's no use employing a detective and then cramping his style by +refusing him information. I understand that." +</P> + +<P> +"Good. We'll get along beautifully. Will you tell me, please, why you +are obliged to return to New York? Is the reason—Miss Graham?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not any more." For the first time since he had entered the house, +Copley smiled a little. "It is Mrs. Varr, now. We were married +yesterday morning in New York." The smile vanished abruptly. "And my +father—scarcely cold! I won't forget the shock I got from the papers +this morning if I live to be a hundred." +</P> + +<P> +"Got a shock, did you?" repeated Creighton to himself, yet the boy's +words had rung true. "If you're ready, Mr. Varr, I'll give you the +story of what happened up to your father's death. I'll be brief." +</P> + +<P> +At that, it was a lengthy narrative. It took more than an hour to +relate, an hour in which Copley Varr did not once take his eyes from +the detective's face. His gaze was expressionless; Creighton, +returning it with interest, strove vainly to pierce that inscrutable +veil to see what lay behind. +</P> + +<P> +"And there is no definite clue to the murderer?" asked, Copley when +Creighton finished. "Is the Maxon theory sound?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not. As for clues—well, such indications as I have turned up +are too vague to be termed that." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suspect any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"That question is out of order, Mr. Varr." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Will you tell me then, in a general way, where those indications +you mention seem to point?" +</P> + +<P> +"In a general way, yes." Creighton meditated. "They point to a person +who hated your father, who sympathized with the striking tanners, who +was wealthy enough to supply them with money, either from sympathy or +to further his grudge, a person of some education, familiar with local +history and imaginative enough to adapt the costume of a legendary monk +to a perfect disguise. Last, a person who was sufficiently familiar +with this house to stage a burglary as bold as it was successful." +</P> + +<P> +Copley Varr was pale as this hypothetical portrait was limned. His +eyes now avoided the detective's. +</P> + +<P> +"That description might fit a—a number of people," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. It's very vague. Now, I can ask a question that you +mustn't, do <I>you</I> suspect any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no." +</P> + +<P> +"Come! are you weakening already about giving me information?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suspicion—if I had any—is not fact!" +</P> + +<P> +"Quibbles won't get us anywhere. I won't press you further to voice +your suspicion—right now. In the meantime, I'll plod along with my +investigation on the obvious lines." +</P> + +<P> +"Obvious? I suppose they are to you, Mr. Creighton, but I do not see +a single point of attack. Will you tell me what you plan to do, or is +that also taboo?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to make a list of all the people that description might fit +and then eliminate them one by one as circumstances dictate. I suppose +competent alibis will let most of 'em out. Yes, I guess I'll have +quite a fine assortment of alibis at the end." The detective was +speaking easily, good-humoredly, and his voice was elaborately casual +as he added: +</P> + +<P> +"By the way, where were you the night of the burglary from ten to +twelve?" +</P> + +<P> +Copley Varr started violently and his face crimsoned. For a long +minute he did not speak but sat staring angrily at his inquisitor. He +clenched his hands as though ready to leap on the detective. Then, +slowly, his fingers relaxed, the color faded from his cheeks and the +anger from his eyes. Creighton watched the metamorphosis with +approval; if he could get the best of his temper like that, would he +have been likely to lose it to the extent of committing murder? +Improbable! +</P> + +<P> +"I was in the editorial rooms of the <I>News</I> from ten-thirty until +quarter to twelve, when I left to catch the midnight train to New York. +At least three men connected with the paper will bear me out." +</P> + +<P> +"That's bully!" said Creighton. "The crowd on my list will be in luck +if they do half as well. One thing more, Mr. Varr, and then I'm off to +real work. Was William Graham in the habit of coming to this house?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Copley jumped, but this time with the air of shrinking from a +blow rather than delivering one. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask me that—now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Yes, it's rather a tough question—new father-in-law, new bride +and all that! You needn't answer it, Mr. Varr!" +</P> + +<P> +"Plainer than you have already, my son!" he added to himself as he left +the room. "William Graham—to the bar!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton was light on his feet and invariably wore rubber-soled +shoes—not, as he had been obliged to explain to Krech aforetime, +because he was trying to be the complete pussy-footed sleuth, but +because he really preferred them to leather. The result, however, +whether designed or not, was to make him as soundless in his movements +as a panther. +</P> + +<P> +He slipped noiselessly along the hall to the front door, his thoughts +busy with what he had just learned, his immediate intention to go to +town for the talk he had promised himself with Judge Taylor. Lawyers +often could throw light on an affair of this kind if they chose to; +what if there were some secret, unsuspected page in Simon Varr's life—? +</P> + +<P> +As he put on his hat and stepped out of the front door, he heard the +low hum of voices from the cozy corner at the end of the piazza. He +wondered who it might be, and curiosity turned his steps in that +direction. Instead of turning the corner, however, he halted abruptly +when he heard his own name spoken by unmistakable accents. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mr. Creighton, do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's in the study with Master Copley. Do you wish to speak to him, +Miss Ocky?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Has he had any conversation with you yet, Bates?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Miss Ocky; nothing special." +</P> + +<P> +"He probably will, though. It struck me, Bates, that you might +inadvertently mention our little talk of the other day if I didn't warn +you. I don't think that would be advisable." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor do I, Miss Ocky! I was only afraid you might let it out yourself!" +</P> + +<P> +"It would be a pity to put notions in his head," continued Miss Ocky +calmly. "I must say, Mr. Creighton seems to be unusually sensible, but +you can never tell which way a detective will jump." +</P> + +<P> +"They're worse'n cats!" agreed the old butler. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XVIII: Some Old Men Are Out</I> +</H3> + +<P> +There was a tinkle of silver and china suggestive of the butler picking +up a tray and preparing to depart, so Creighton fled from the vicinage +as softly as the furry felines to which Bates had spitefully compared +him. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. Utterly +shameless, he reminded himself that if listeners hear no good of +themselves, they also occasionally hear much that is valuable. So +Bates and Miss Ocky were in conspiracy to conceal from him some +conversation they had had! Um. It would be funny if he couldn't pry +the truth out of one of them; mentally, he girded up his loins for the +fray. +</P> + +<P> +The immediate effect of what he had overheard was an alteration in his +plans for the balance of the afternoon. He wanted to see Judge Taylor +for more than one reason, but his brief essay in eavesdropping had +served to remind him of a chore neglected nearer home. The servants. +He must question them, painstakingly and at length, on the chance that +one or more of them might have heard or noticed something that would +bring him a step closer to the truth. +</P> + +<P> +Copley Varr had gone upstairs, summoned to his mother's bedside by +Janet Mackay who was temporarily in attendance on the stricken Lucy. +That left the study clear for Creighton who immediately possessed +himself of it and touched the bell for Bates. The old man appeared +presently, gave an attentive ear to the detective's brief statement of +his intentions, and answered on behalf of himself and the staff that +all would be glad to assist Mr. Creighton in every possible way. +</P> + +<P> +"The main essential is perfect frankness," said the detective. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed, sir, I quite understand that," said the butler, a trifle +too promptly. "It's wrong to hold anything back." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll begin with the cook. I had a few words with her yesterday, just +enough to learn she's nobody's fool. She's good-hearted, too—you can +tell it by the layer of fat on the ribs of that Angora I've seen +about." Creighton's eyes were laughing behind the shell-rimmed +glasses. "Did it ever occur to you, Bates, that you can learn a lot +about the cook by looking at the cat?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, it never did," said Bates, smiling faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"It never did to me, either, until just this minute," admitted the +detective frankly, "but I dare say there's a lot in it. Anyway, ask +her to come here, please, and tell her I won't keep her long from her +work." +</P> + +<P> +Thus he played upon the sensibilities of his witnesses after a fashion +whose worth he had demonstrated frequently in the past. He had put +Bates a little more at his ease and to that extent weakened his +defenses if it became necessary to startle him into speaking the truth, +and he had sent a bouquet of flattering phrases to the cook which he +confidently counted on Bates to deliver with his summons. That the +butler had indeed done so was apparent the moment the cook appeared, +her fat red face wreathed in smiles. A cross, recalcitrant woman who +had sorely tried the patience of Mr. Norvallis the day before was an +angel of sweetness as she responded to Creighton's inquisition. +</P> + +<P> +Unfortunately, she did not have anything of value to offer in repayment +for his studied politeness. Hers was the most prosaic of lives. She +rose in the morning, cooked all day and went to bed, to rise and cook +again. She knew nothing of what went on in the front part of the +house, and Bates was the most close-mouthed butler she had ever worked +with, he never opened his head about what he heard in the dining-room. +</P> + +<P> +That let her out, and Creighton dismissed her with a request that she +send in Betty Blake. +</P> + +<P> +When she had recovered from a preliminary attack of nervousness, the +pretty young housemaid unexpectedly produced information that gave +Creighton furiously to think, for he reawakened an idea that had been +present, but dormant, in his brain since his talk with Copley. It +reminded him of a chance remark made by Jason Bolt to the effect that +Langhorn had accompanied Graham when the latter came to see Varr, for +Betty described how in passing through the hall on her way to bed she +had seen the tannery manager "quarreling with Mr. Varr in his study." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure they were quarreling, Betty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, sir. They were both angry and excited." +</P> + +<P> +"That was the night of the fire? The night of the robbery?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"You were on your way to bed—do you know what time it was?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just past ten, sir,—or maybe half-past." +</P> + +<P> +"That's near enough." +</P> + +<P> +After a few more questions he let her go, telling her to ask Janet +Mackay to join him in the study at her first opportunity. While he +waited for the "tall, gaunt nondescript" to appear he contemplated the +case of William Graham, and sitting in Varr's chair he came slowly to +the same dark suspicions that Varr had entertained. +</P> + +<P> +"Graham saw the notebook here, and knew what it was. He could use what +was in it—none better. According to the watchman, Nelson, Graham +sympathized with the strikers even if he ranked with the bosses. He +was a bit the worse for liquor when he was here that evening, in the +mood to think of some wild act and perhaps drunk enough to carry out +the thought. He had time to slip down and set that fire, then come +back when it was under way and sneak into the house. Granting that he +used the dagger because it was handy, why did he carry it away with +him? Was he thinking of murder already? Was he cool enough to figure +that a weapon taken from Varr's own house would not readily be traced +to him? Can't answer these questions—now!" Creighton lighted a +cigarette and wrinkled his brow. "Graham has plenty of intelligence, +from all accounts. He is clever enough to have thought of an effective +disguise, and he probably knew the legend of the monk, since his +daughter showed it to Miss Copley in a book belonging to them. Um. Is +he the man I'm looking for?" +</P> + +<P> +He did not have time for further reflection before the entrance of Miss +Janet Mackay, once of Aberdeen, now a citizen of the world and the +devoted henchwoman of Miss October Copley. She inclined her head +stiffly in reply to his pleasant greeting, refused a chair, and +remained standing in front of him, hands folded across her flat +stomach, her cold eyes fixed on him through her cheap, steel +spectacles. She was taller and gaunter and more angular than ever. +Creighton chuckled inwardly. If Miss Copley was October, then this was +January, or at best late December! +</P> + +<P> +It did not take him long to discover that he had drawn another perfect +blank. Trying to extract information from Janet Mackay was about as +profitable as trying to squeeze water from a handful of Sahara sand. +She knew nothing, and said less. After ten minutes of fruitless effort +he gave it up. +</P> + +<P> +"It's clear you know nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know the world is well rid of a selfish deevil." +</P> + +<P> +"Tut, tut! Have you no respect for the dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a whit for him, dead or alive." +</P> + +<P> +"How is Mrs. Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"Resting easier." +</P> + +<P> +"Is her son with her still?" +</P> + +<P> +"He went off somewhere an hour ago." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all, then. Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +She stalked away, head in air, stiff as any ramrod. +</P> + +<P> +"Now for Bates," muttered the detective, and touched the bell. "I'll +swear he's got something on his mind!" +</P> + +<P> +In this surmise he was perfectly correct. The old butler did have +something that was troubling him—a matter so grave and serious that +they did not finish discussing it until the study was dusk and sounds +from the dining-room indicated that Betty Blake was helpfully setting +the table in the unduly prolonged absence of its regular attendant. +When their talk was ended, it was the detective who wore a perplexed +expression, while Bates had lost the troubled, almost haunted look that +had been in his eyes since the death of Simon Varr. +</P> + +<P> +Creighton hurried to his room to prepare for dinner, and when he +glanced from his window he observed for the first time that the weather +was about to exhibit itself in a petulant, ill-humored mood. Black +storm-clouds were rolling up, a chill, gusty wind was rattling the +windows and a heavy spat of rain dashed against the glass as he turned +away. It would be a nasty night. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky remarked on the fact when she joined him in the dining-room. +She looked unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +"I hate cold," she told him. "Had enough of it in my life. I am going +to have a fire lighted in the living-room. If you want to talk to me +this evening you'll have to put up with having your toes toasted." +</P> + +<P> +He assured her that toasted toes were his favorite delicacy. Then he +nodded to a third place set at the table and raised his eyebrows. +</P> + +<P> +"For Copley, but he hasn't turned up." +</P> + +<P> +"He may be dining with his new father-in-law," suggested the detective. +"Or with Jason Bolt, talking business." +</P> + +<P> +She did not pursue the subject, but later, when they were seated before +a crackling fire in the living-room, she attacked him briskly. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't talked with either you or him since your interview in the +library. Was—was it satisfactory? Please tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"With all the pleasure in the world. The interview was +satisfactory—and I think I know what you mean by that! He accounted +for his movements on the night before last with unimpeachable accuracy." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank heaven!" said Miss Ocky. "I don't mean that I had any suspicion +of him, but I'm glad if he has cleared himself in your eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"He has, perfectly." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I knew what your plan of campaign is to be! You half promised +to let me see just how a detective works, you know. What are you going +to do first?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose I don't know myself?" He paused to light her cigarette and +one for himself, then added deliberately: "You can't always tell which +way a detective will jump; they're worse'n cats." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" cried Miss Ocky, and choked on a puff of smoke. "Eavesdropper!" +she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't go for to do it. But if you <I>will</I> have these little +intimate chats on a piazza without looking around the corner—! Now, +you can tell me what it was all about." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you first that it's a mistake to take overheard remarks too +seriously." Miss Ocky, recovered from smoke and emotion, smiled at the +fire. "Once, when I was a little girl of seven, I got an awful scare +that way—right in this very room, on a wild stormy night like this! I +had come in to say good night to my father and mother, who were sitting +before a fire as we are now. Just as I left the room, I heard my +mother say to him, 'The old man is out to-night!' Unless you were a +nervous, high-strung brat yourself, you can't imagine the effect of +that on me. I crept off to bed shivering, and lay awake half the +night. Every time the wind shook my windows, I pictured some +monstrous, hoary-headed creature trying to get in and gobble me up!" +She laughed a little. "It gives me a grue to think of it even yet. I +discovered the explanation of the phrase the next day. Can you guess +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Another local legend, perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing half so thrilling." She pointed to a high shelf above the +mantelpiece. "There is the answer!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton followed the direction of her finger and smiled. On the +shelf stood one of those miniature Swiss chalets so popular in +drawing-rooms a generation ago. Two little figurines, a young woman +and an old man, operating on barometric principles, emerged from the +front door in turn as the weather indications were fair or stormy. At +this moment the old man was well out. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to scare any child to death," he admitted. "Now—" +</P> + +<P> +"But tame when explained, like lots of overheard things. Once when I +was staying with a Chinese family in Pekin—" +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get the idea," inquired Creighton mildly, "that I was +fond of red-herring? As a matter-of-fact, I've always hated it." +</P> + +<P> +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky, and made a face at him. "Well, what do you +want to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are probably aware that I had a long talk with Bates this +afternoon. He told me much that was interesting—but I'd like <I>your</I> +version of that conversation which you felt shouldn't be repeated to +me." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I'd kept still about it," sighed Miss Ocky repentantly. "Now +you'll probably magnify it out of all proportion. You see, I've known +old Bates ever since I was a youngster, and we've always been good +friends. He got in the habit years ago of bringing his troubles to me +and talking them over—'blowing off steam,' he always called it! That +was how we happened to have that talk a few days ago. Simon had been +unusually querulous even for him—and he could be very trying at times. +Bates had suffered a long while in silence, and when he got a chance to +air his grievance to me he—he blew off quite a lot of steam first and +last! He chiefly resented Simon's attitude toward Lucy, and I couldn't +blame him there. One thing led to another, and that's how we came +finally to agree that the world would be a brighter little planet if +Simon no longer lived on it." Miss Ocky shrugged her shoulders. "The +sort of thing that means nothing at the time but sounds like the very +devil after a man is found murdered!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it does," answered Creighton gravely. "I had no idea you two had +been contemplating the possible death of Simon Varr. That is not at +all a pleasant bit of news." +</P> + +<P> +"You—you had no idea! You had no—!" Miss Ocky sat up very straight. +"Didn't Bates tell you that?" she demanded crisply. +</P> + +<P> +"No. He told me much, but he wouldn't tell me the subject of your +conversation with him because he'd promised you he wouldn't. He was +adamant. That's why I've had to get it out of you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" She slumped again into her chair. "You—you <I>creature</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know," he said apologetically. "But what's a man to do if people +hold out on him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," said Miss Ocky in a small voice, "this is a judgment on me +for wondering how a detective works!" +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly. Did he make any threats?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>No!</I>" said Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"Um. Would you tell me if he did?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no," said the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"It makes a fellow long for the days of the Spanish Inquisition," said +Creighton, addressing the fireplace. He added darkly, "There are +several persons around that I could enjoy putting on a cozy little +rack!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's no use being bloodthirsty," she informed him. "As for Bates—! +Oh, I do wish you'd stop getting ideas into your head!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't. It's the sort of head that gets 'em!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I wish you'd draw the line at Bates! Why, I've known him all my +life!" +</P> + +<P> +"There is always some one to say that about any criminal. Always some +one to say it isn't possible. The awful thing is, it is possible." +</P> + +<P> +"But—Bates! How could any one associate the idea of murder with that +gentle, harmless old man? Ridiculous!" +</P> + +<P> +"He was devoted to your father because Mr. Copley stood by him when he +didn't know where to turn. He had been in trouble. Did you know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Vaguely—from Bates himself. Why? What trouble was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Starvation. He had difficulty finding work because no one wished to +employ a man who had just been pardoned out of a penitentiary where he +was serving a life sentence for murder." +</P> + +<P> +There was a brief silence. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't be!" she whispered at length. "Not Bates! It can't be +<I>true</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"He was married in those days, and the other man was guilty of breaking +up the home. Extenuating circumstances, you see. He was lucky enough +to have a lawyer who didn't lose interest when the prison swallowed +him, and he brought the matter to the attention of a new Governor who +pardoned Bates after he had served five years. Your father happened on +him when he was near the end of his rope, gave him sanctuary and helped +him bury the past. That is his story." +</P> + +<P> +"How did he come to tell you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I persuaded him to. I've noticed ever since I've been in the house +that he was shaky, nervous—<I>worried</I>. Three times out of five, when +you see a servant in that condition following a mysterious crime, you +can look for the explanation in a shady past. I tackled him from that +basis. He didn't need much urging—in fact, he told me he had half +made up his mind to come to me with the story of his own accord. I +believe him. He had been in mortal terror lest the police discover +it." Creighton paused in order to study her serious, thoughtful face. +"He asked me to tell you this." +</P> + +<P> +"He did!" +</P> + +<P> +"He seems devoted to you. He had wanted to tell you himself, but could +never quite find the courage. He has wanted you to know the truth +about him, but has never been able to forget the way others used to +receive it. He has taken some hard knocks." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor soul. Poor lonely soul!" Her voice was tender. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd feel that way about it! You'll find an opportunity to +make him understand, I suppose? Probably he won't want to talk much +about it, but you—you could give him a friendly pat on the arm or—or +something like that, couldn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky suddenly turned and looked at him with eyes that were shining +through unshed tears. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a queer man! You can sit there suspecting him of murder and +still want me to be kind to him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have I said anything about suspecting him?" demanded the detective +with almost a touch of asperity. +</P> + +<P> +"You accused me of suspecting Copley last evening and I had to remind +you that he'd probably turn up with a perfectly good alibi—and he did! +If there's a pessimist in human nature sitting around here, it isn't I!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mmph. All right, little sunshine!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care anything about suspicion. I want proof. Until I get it, +I try to preserve an open mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Well, that's an improvement over Mr. Norvallis, I must admit!" +Miss Ocky turned her eyes back to the fire. "What you've told me about +Bates has given me quite a—a shock, Mr. Creighton. I won't drag any +more red-herrings around, but can't we <I>please</I> talk of something else?" +</P> + +<P> +He cheerfully and promptly consented. They talked a while on every +subject under the sun except the death of Simon Varr, and they were +both a trifle disconcerted when a wild shrieking of brakes and a heavy +step on the veranda announced the arrival of Herman Krech, who would +tolerate no other topic until he left at eleven. +</P> + +<P> +It was just short of midnight when Creighton, sound asleep, was roused +by a discreet but persistent tapping on his door. He rolled out of +bed, struck a match, opened the door and discovered Copley Varr, +grinning broadly. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got my father-in-law's blessing!" he announced. +</P> + +<P> +"I congratulate you." The detective blinked. "Excuse me, but I was +with the angels! Did you call me back just to tell me this?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I thought you ought to know that we were a pair of nuts this +noon. Mr. Graham was holding pat hands in a poker game during the fire +and robbery, and he was presiding at a lodge-meeting in Hambleton the +night—the night before last!" +</P> + +<P> +"With umpty-umph fellow-lodgers to prove it. Um. Touch 'em and they +vanish!" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean, I'd like to find a prospect that would stay put for a while at +least. As it is now, the moment I look sideways at any one he promptly +trots out an alibi." +</P> + +<P> +"Like I did to-day! I see. Trying for a detective, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very trying," said Peter Creighton. "Good night!" +</P> + +<P> +He shut the door, and presently rejoined the angels. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XIX: Among Those Present</I> +</H3> + +<P> +After that midnight report from Copley Varr, ten days passed without +the occurrence of a single distinctive event. They were not empty +days, however, for Peter Creighton, who continued patiently to cast +hither and yon very much like an Indian brave seeking the trail of an +enemy warrior. +</P> + +<P> +The full scope of his investigation was not apparent to the naked eye, +as Krech, who was chafing at the lack of developments and inclined to +accuse his friend of masterly inactivity, discovered one afternoon. +They were taking a stroll in the twilight at the detective's +insistence, and met a roughly-dressed individual with a cap on the back +of his head and a short pipe stuck in his mouth. He was loitering by +the side of the road, and to Krech's surprise, Creighton excused +himself and joined the man for a brief chat. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's your rough-neck pal?" he demanded curiously as the detective +came back and suggested a return home. "His face is familiar but I +can't just place him." +</P> + +<P> +"You once bought a painting from him when he was posing as an artist!" +Creighton chuckled. "He reminded me of it just now; said you're the +only connoisseur who ever really appreciated his work!" +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph! One of your men!" +</P> + +<P> +"Fellow named Latimer." +</P> + +<P> +"What is he doing around here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Covering the tannery end of this affair. Latimer's an artist in more +ways than one. When I told him what I wanted, he got two books on +modern methods in tanning from the New York Public Library, studied +them on the train coming up, and landed a job as easy as you please +when Graham and Bolt started to replace the old hands who had left. +Snappy work!" +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh. And I thought you were investigating this case single-handed! +You're a foxy guy at times, Creighton. Has Latimer learned anything +useful?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not to me, I'm sorry to say. The few facts he has turned up seem +merely to darken the outlook for Charlie Maxon, that unfortunate +prisoner-pent. He appears to be quite as bad an egg as Mr. Norvallis +believes." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose Norvallis is making any progress with <I>his</I> case?" +inquired Krech. +</P> + +<P> +"He's sitting pretty with the voters!" said Creighton shortly. "By the +way, neither Bolt nor Graham knows who Latimer is. Don't tell 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't," promised the big man. +</P> + +<P> +He did, however, after the fashion of husbands, tell his wife that +evening after dinner. They were standing together on the front steps +of their host's house, having been persuaded with no great difficulty +to lengthen their stay by at least another week, and Krech had just +lighted a cigar to keep him company while he strolled over to the Varr +home. +</P> + +<P> +"You might have known Peter Creighton is never as idle as he looks," +commented Jean Krech, when she had listened to the tale of Latimer. +"He probably has a dozen more irons in the fire that you don't dream +of. I suppose you're going over there now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. There's always a chance he may have some news." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's all right for you to drop in and ask," said Jean calmly. +"But—don't linger, melove, don't linger!" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh? What do you mean, don't linger? Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"You blind old goose! Has it ever struck you that Creighton is a +rather lonely man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lonely?" Then the significance of her question suddenly hit him +between the eyes. "Gee Joseph! Are you trying to promote a romance +between him and Miss Ocky?" +</P> + +<P> +"Precious little promotion is required," she corrected him. "It's as +plain as the nose on your face how things are going." She laughed when +her husband in his bewilderment reached up and felt of the promontory +indicated. "Yes, it's very plain!" +</P> + +<P> +"But they've only known each other a week or so!" +</P> + +<P> +"What of it? They're old enough to know their own minds—both in the +early forties. Neither of them has ever had a love-affair as far as we +know; probably it hits them harder and quicker when they're like that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you're right." Krech reflected deeply, and then nodded his +head. "Suits me! I like her immensely, and of course he'd be a whole +lot happier if he were married. Any man is." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, <I>thank</I> you!" cried his beautiful wife softly. She slipped a hand +beneath his elbow and gave his massive arm an affectionate squeeze +while her blue eyes twinkled up at his. "Is um itty-witty baby happy, +then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shut up," commanded Mr. Krech with intense dignity. "Don't go cooing +at me—not where any one might hear you, anyway!" +</P> + +<P> +An unprejudiced observer of the trend of events at the house on the +hill must have admitted that Mrs. Krech had considerable grounds for +her romantic suspicions. Twice during the ten days aforementioned +Creighton was obliged to go to New York and spend half a day on +business that would not be denied, and each time he returned bearing +books and candy and a vast quantity of assorted and exotic fruits for +which Miss Ocky had expressed a casual longing and which the marts of +Hambleton could not provide. On the first occasion he pretended they +were for Lucy Varr, still confined to her room, but on the second he +abandoned pretense. +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the incident of the picnic, sponsored by Miss Ocky. +They took their lunch and plunged into the wilderness of hills that lay +to the north of Hambleton, their destination the cave that was reputed +to have sheltered the legendary monk. It was Miss Ocky's suggestion +that in the haunts of the old monk they might come upon some traces of +the new, if that imaginative imitator had carried his masquerade to the +extent of using his predecessor's quarters, and Creighton, without the +flutter of an eyelash, agreed that nothing was more likely. They found +the cave—or some cave—but nothing else. Their disappointment weighed +lightly upon them, and the detective enjoyed the day with all the +artless abandon of a schoolboy playing hooky. +</P> + +<P> +Even more significant than the picnic was the <I>pilau</I>. Miss Ocky had +described this supposedly delectable dish to Creighton at some length, +and the next day was impelled to possess herself of the kitchen and +compose a <I>pilau</I> such as she swore appeared daily on the tables of the +first epicures of Constantinople. However that might be, affairs are +approaching a crisis when a woman is seized with a desire to +demonstrate her culinary accomplishments to a man. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>pilau</I> was an amazing dish. At table with them during those days +was a very pale, very thin young man with gold pince-nez, fair hair and +a painfully self-effacing manner, who had been quartered on the house +by Judge Taylor for the purpose of documenting a vast accumulation of +papers in Simon Varr's study. He took a mouthful of the pilau, started +slightly, and took a second to make sure his senses had not deceived +him about the first. Ten minutes later, the closest approach to any +emotion that he ever revealed was visible on his face as Creighton sent +back his plate for a third helping. +</P> + +<P> +If Miss Ocky noticed his tactless expression of awe—and she rarely +missed anything so obvious—it probably did nothing to raise the young +man in her esteem. She frankly disliked him. +</P> + +<P> +"That Merrill!" she grumbled to Creighton when they were by themselves +after dinner. "A perfect imposition on the part of Judge Taylor! Of +course I couldn't very well refuse under the circumstances, but I'll be +glad when we lose him!" +</P> + +<P> +"He must have nearly finished his work," Creighton consoled her. +"After all, he's harmless. Why does he annoy you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," was the conclusively feminine reply. "He just does." +</P> + +<P> +On the afternoon of the eleventh day after the death of Simon Varr, +Creighton had a chat with Jason Bolt in the office of the tannery that +was in no-wise remarkable except for the odd timeliness of the +detective's farewell observation. Jason had asked him if he was +satisfied with the progress made to date or whether he was discouraged +by the present lull which so closely resembled stagnation. Could he +say when the mystery might take some definite turn toward solution? +</P> + +<P> +"Ask me when the millennium is coming and be done with it," said +Creighton rather plaintively, wondering why so many people seemed to +credit detectives with oracular powers. "If Norvallis has the right +pig by the ear, Maxon may break down, turn State's evidence and hang +his accomplice. That's one possibility. Another—we may as well face +it—is that this case will go to swell the great army of unsolved +mysteries." He hesitated, then added, "There's a third possibility, of +course." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The chance that a break will come from some totally unexpected quarter +when we've all but given up hope. I've seen that happen a score of +times. There's no predicting it—no counting on it. But when it +comes—then look out! A case that has been placid and smooth as a mill +pond will suddenly develop the characteristics of a maelstrom!" He +smiled encouragement at the troubled Jason. "If one starts in this +case, we may reasonably expect that its gurgitations will yield us that +missing notebook if nothing more." +</P> + +<P> +He was on foot that afternoon by choice, for he had long held that a +daily walk is the best exercise for a man whose profession does not in +itself provide him with much physical activity. He preferred it to +gymnasium stuff, too; a man can think deeply while walking with perfect +safety, if he avoids traffic, whereas the hospitals are full of +misguided gentlemen who have committed the error of thinking deeply on +some other subject while engaged, say, in "skinning the cat." +</P> + +<P> +He had much to make him thoughtful these days. He was not at all +satisfied with the situation in this Varr case, though he refrained +from revealing his pessimism to others, and was reluctantly coming to +fear that Norvallis had indeed gotten the jump on him—and jumped in +the right direction. The possibility irritated him. He wished to +clear up this murder himself more than he had ever wished for anything +in his life. Wasn't Miss Ocky waiting confidently for him to do just +that? +</P> + +<P> +The intrusion of her name into his thoughts turned them into a new +channel. He knew now that before he dropped his personal supervision +of this case, before he left Hambleton for New York to attend to +matters which were pressing there, he would have to ask Miss October +Copley one of the most important questions he had ever asked in the +course of a career devoted mostly to inquisitions. The prospect gave +him a shivery feeling up and down his spine! +</P> + +<P> +He walked briskly up the short-cut through the woods and came out at +the end of the kitchen garden, now associated with a grimmer business +than the growing of vegetables. It was due to his swift pace that he +was in the open, in plain view, before he noticed two figures seated on +the big granite bowlder near the tomato-patch. He would have retreated +to the obscurity of the trees and watched that interview if Miss Ocky +had not spied him and risen instantly from her seat on the rock. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here!" she called. "The very man we want!" +</P> + +<P> +He walked over to them, and Miss Ocky's companion, a tall, handsome, +fair-haired man, stood up to acknowledge the impending introduction. +He looked pale and worn, more haggard even than that morning at the +inquest. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Creighton—Mr. Leslie Sherwood," said Miss Ocky quickly. "You +haven't met each other yet, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I haven't <I>met</I> Mr. Sherwood," acknowledged the detective, +accenting the verb very slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"But you've been on my track!" said Sherwood, smiling rather nervously. +"My valet was shrewd enough to suspect the man who scraped an +acquaintance with him and showed so much interest in discovering my +whereabouts on the night of Simon Varr's murder! He followed his new +acquaintance one afternoon and saw him report to you." +</P> + +<P> +"You appear to be more fortunate than I in the intelligence of your +followers," said Creighton rather glumly. "I'm glad, though, to have +this matter brought into the open." He glanced at Miss Ocky and back +to Sherwood. "May I speak frankly, or shall we adjourn to the house by +our two selves?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing to conceal from Miss Copley," answered Sherwood, +flushing slightly. "As a matter of fact, I've just been making a full +statement to her of my actions that evening and she had just advised me +strongly to consult you when you suddenly appeared." +</P> + +<P> +"Excellent advice. I'll explain my curiosity first, though. During +the course of my investigation I've had to poke up a lot of gossip and +more or less ancient history, and some of it related to you. According +to my information you were once—attentive—to Miss Lucy Copley. You +left, and she married Simon Varr. You returned, and Simon Varr, who +had not proved a kind husband, is presently murdered. I had already +noted your agitation at the inquest, and without entertaining definite +views, I still thought it advisable to learn what I could about you." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite naturally," admitted Sherwood with a certain urbanity, though +his color deepened. "I can see now that you had some reason to regard +me askance. However, the fact that you are already so well posted in +my affairs has its consoling virtues—it makes it easier for me to tell +you more." He hesitated, looked toward Miss Ocky as if for +encouragement, received it in a short nod and added slowly, "I may as +well begin with a circumstance that would probably have crystallized +your suspicions of me if you had learned it for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"What was that?" asked the detective a bit impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"I was present at the murder," said Sherwood. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XX: H. Antaeus Krech</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Miss Ocky, who had heard the story already, sat down on the rock and +calmly waited its continuance, but Creighton's eyes narrowed. +</P> + +<P> +"You were present! At the murder!" +</P> + +<P> +"In the background only, I assure you," amended Sherwood, and plunged +rather desperately into his account. "It is a habit of mine to grab my +hat and stick and take a short walk every evening before going to bed, +and that was how I came to be out that night. I had no special +objective, and—and because old memories had been stirred by my return +I almost unconsciously cut across the fields near my house and headed +for that path which leads to this garden. I used to do that twenty-two +years ago when—when there used to be some one to meet me right by this +rock! Somehow, I felt as if I wanted to—to look at a certain lighted +window before I turned in. I don't expect you to understand—" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, however! What time was all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Half-past ten, roughly. When I got here, the only light burning was +in Simon's study—otherwise the house was in darkness, which seemed to +me an ironic commentary on my foolish gesture! The study light went +out almost immediately, but I lingered on. I sat down on a fallen log +in the deep shadow of those trees—there, to the right of the path—and +began to think back to old times. One discovery I made was that I +hated Simon Varr more than ever after all these years. Damaging +confession, I suppose? +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty or thirty minutes must have passed. Then I heard a cautious +step on the trail—and nearly fell off my log when a figure in the garb +of a monk glided into the open. Rather weird! Sounds silly here, of +course, but for a moment my hair stood on end. I had a notion that I +was seeing a ghost! +</P> + +<P> +"Before I recovered my wits, it—it happened! I had supposed Simon had +gone to bed when his light went out, but now he appeared from around +the corner of the house. It was obvious that he was stalking the monk. +It was like watching a scene in a melodrama, and I couldn't have moved +hand or foot to save my life. All of a sudden, Varr rushed him. I +thought the fellow would run, but instead of that he waited. When +Simon got close, the monk appeared to raise a sort of mask he wore. I +heard Simon cry out something in a surprised voice, and then I saw a +flash of steel as the monk threw up his arm and brought it down. Simon +dropped to the ground and lay on his back—and the monk glided off down +that trail before I realized that I had seen a murder!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you chase him—holler—do <I>something</I>!" cried Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't seem to budge," said Sherwood briefly. He looked a little +hurt. "If you think it was just cowardice you're jolly well mistaken! +I had no sensation of fear at any time. You've heard the expression, +'rooted with amazement'? Well, I was it! +</P> + +<P> +"I was still in that condition three minutes later, perhaps, when I +heard another, heavier step on the trail. A man appeared, and from the +way he walked I could tell he had been drinking. He staggered toward +the body, but he was staring at the house and shaking his fist at it. +He reeled off the cement path and almost stumbled over Simon before he +saw him. He gave a cry, and stooped to look closer—then turned and +bolted for dear life and vanished down the trail. He had been scared +sober! +</P> + +<P> +"I began to get back my senses. The first thing I thought of was my +own position and what I should do. If I were called on to account for +my presence there it would involve the mention of Lucy's name if I told +the truth—and to save my neck I couldn't think of a plausible lie! +There was none to explain my presence in Varr's kitchen garden at +eleven o'clock at night! +</P> + +<P> +"I felt under no obligation to give the alarm—it never once occurred +to me that the second man wasn't tearing hell-for-leather to the +police-station with his story! I did, however, feel that I could not +leave Simon lying there with a knife in him while there was a +possibility of his being still alive. It took all the nerve I had, but +I walked out and took a careful look at him. I knew enough about +anatomy to see at once that he had been stabbed through the heart and +must have died instantly. Then I lost no time in getting away—" +</P> + +<P> +"You kept to this cement path?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I had sense enough to leave no tracks in that soft earth. I got +home without meeting any one, and I hoped I would never be drawn into +the case. +</P> + +<P> +"It gave me a jolt when I found the crime had not been reported by that +second man. The inquest reassured me when it seemed as if everybody +was at a loss to know who had committed the murder. They could remain +at a loss for all of me, so long as I wasn't brought into the case—and +Lucy! Then, the next morning, the papers had the news of Maxon's +arrest! I haven't slept much since!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm hardly surprised," said Creighton dryly. "Your story does one +thing to the Queen's taste—it corroborates Maxon's description of his +movements that evening. He was drunk when he broke jail, he had an +hour or so to kill before meeting Drusilla Jones, and he staggered up +here with the tipsy notion of wrecking the garden to spite old Varr. +He was sobered by what he found, as you noticed, but even then didn't +have sense enough to see that his best bet was to go straight to the +police. He claims he never stopped to think how black appearances +against him would be. Would you be able to swear that he was the man +you saw here after the murder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I went to court when he was examined and remanded and I +recognized him beyond a shadow of doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm to understand you've kept silent simply out of consideration +for Mrs. Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"That weighs a good deal with me," said Sherwood quietly. "I haven't +enjoyed these past nine days, Mr. Creighton. When I couldn't stand it +any longer, I came to Miss Copley to tell her of my difficulty." +</P> + +<P> +"And I advised him to talk with you and be guided by your +instructions," threw in Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +"What had I better do?" asked Sherwood hopelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do! There's a man in the county jail with an ugly charge hanging over +him that a word from you will lift—and you ask me what to do!" +Creighton was scandalized. "Go to Norvallis—instantly! Tell him the +truth and let him decide how much publicity must attend the liberation +of Maxon. I don't think he will insist upon much!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're right, Mr. Creighton—but not helpful." +</P> + +<P> +"Helpful! What did you expect?" snorted the detective indignantly. +"Did you think I'd encourage you to let Maxon rot in jail just to humor +your quixotic notions about gossip and a woman's name? I sympathize +with your difficulty, but that's as far as I can go. There are two +things I've never done and never expect to do knowingly—let an +innocent man suffer unjustly or a guilty one escape!" +</P> + +<P> +"At this point there was loud applause from the gallery!" murmured Miss +Ocky in her soft, amused drawl, and brought him to earth. "Go on, +Leslie, and do your duty. It can't be helped." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Mr. Sherwood unhappily, and got off the rock. +"Nothing more you want to ask me, is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no," answered the detective, a bit subdued by Miss Ocky's rebuke. +"Yes—one thing. What did this confounded monk look like?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can't help you much there. I got the impression that he wore +a mask—as Miss Copley did when she saw him on the trail. He was +dressed from head to foot in black. He even wore black gloves; it was +an odd thing that made me notice that. Have you ever seen a man +straighten up from some completed task and stand looking down at it, +nodding his head and rubbing his hands together as if to say, 'Well, +there's a good job over and done with'? That's what this fellow did as +he stood above Simon—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oh!</I>" gasped Miss Ocky, and collapsed limply on the bowlder, her face +ashen. "Oh!" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" snapped Creighton, wheeling upon her. "What is the +matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's all so ghastly—so—so cold-blooded!" she managed to stammer. +"Don't mind me. I'm all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Um," said Creighton, eyeing her doubtfully. "You come into the house +and get a rest before dinner! Good-day, Mr. Sherwood!" +</P> + +<P> +He carried his point without much difficulty. He hovered over Miss +Ocky until he had her safely in the house and on her way to her room, +and for once her militant spirit seemed burned out. He reproached +himself bitterly for having let her listen to Sherwood, though nobody +could have foreseen that the noodle-pated idiot would start +embroidering his story with graphically gruesome tidbits! Why hadn't +he kept his fat head shut? Serve him right if Norvallis jumped <I>him</I> +next and put him in the jug for political prestige! For a few minutes +Creighton was almost cheerful as he pondered that possibility. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately for his peace of mind, Miss Ocky reappeared for dinner and +impressed him as having entirely regained her composure. She was her +usual gently mocking, always slightly cynical and amusing self. As the +swift conversation flashed back and forth between them—past the +apparently unconscious person of young Mr. Merrill—he gradually +recovered his own equanimity and was quite himself again by the time he +and Miss Ocky settled to coffee and cigarettes in the cozy corner of +the veranda. +</P> + +<P> +"Almost time for Mr. Krech to make his evening call," she suggested. +"They dine earlier at the Bolts' than we do here." +</P> + +<P> +"Queer thing about Krech," mused Creighton. "I've never seen him take +so little interest in a case as he does in this. Usually he is at my +heels from morning until night, spraying questions the way a +machine-gun sprays bullets. Now he just blows in—and presently blows +out." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said Miss Ocky. She sat up straight, scratched her chin +meditatively with one slim forefinger, and darted him a look that he +missed. "Mmph. Y-yes, that is queer." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course he's devoted to his wife," continued the detective, "and I +suppose that distracts a man from the pursuit of a mere hobby." +</P> + +<P> +"Briefly," said Miss Ocky. "Briefly!" +</P> + +<P> +"A charming woman ought not to be cynical—" Creighton broke off and +raised his hand. "He's coming now; you can hear that car of Bolt's six +miles on a quiet night! Shall we tell him about Leslie Sherwood?—the +poor chap hasn't had anything so nourishing for a week." +</P> + +<P> +"Swear him to secrecy," stipulated Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, when the big man appeared and dropped into a chair, he was duly +pledged to discretion and informed of the fact that an eyewitness of +the murder had turned up. +</P> + +<P> +"My gosh!" he exclaimed when the details had been told. "Why, that +just naturally blows Norvallis clean out of water! What'll he do if he +loses Mr. Vote-getter Maxon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pinch Sherwood," chuckled Creighton. "That ought to net him even +handsomer returns." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—<I>no</I>!" cried Miss Ocky, and turned white. "Oh, I think it is +simply disgraceful that such things can happen in a civilized country! +Bad enough to be the subject of gossip and suspected of a crime, but to +be actually imprisoned on mere suspicion—" +</P> + +<P> +"I was only joking," cut in the detective hastily. "Norvallis will +make no such stupid blunder. I'm sorry to say there is a wide +difference between what can be done to a mere workingman and what may +be done to a country gentleman of position." +</P> + +<P> +"So much the worse!" snapped Miss Ocky unappeased. +</P> + +<P> +"This lets out Charlie Maxon," muttered Krech, and regarded his friend +morosely. "Seems to me, Creighton, that every time this case takes one +step forward, it slides back two. Jason Bolt is getting fearfully down +in the mouth. When this news reaches him it will be the finishing +touch." +</P> + +<P> +"I had a talk with him this afternoon," said the detective, and flicked +his cigarette over the veranda rail. "Reminded him that Rome wasn't +built in a day and that murderers aren't always caught in a night, that +the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and dropped a few other +comforting thoughts in similar vein. I also mentioned that one never +knew in a case of this kind when something might happen—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>It's happening now!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Krech hissed the words in a fierce whisper. His eyes had automatically +followed the detective's glowing cigarette and had been attracted by +something farther off, barely visible through the deepening dusk. +Almost before Miss Ocky and Creighton could sense the meaning of his +words, he had sprung to his feet and vaulted the veranda railing. +Thanks to a downhill slope of the ground at this point the piazza floor +was a full nine feet from the grass lawn, and they heard a hearty grunt +as Krech alighted. Then he recovered his footing and sped with +extraordinary swiftness for so large a man across the sward in the +direction of that woods that edged it. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" gasped Miss Ocky. "Oh—what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The monk!" cried Creighton. "The monk!" +</P> + +<P> +His glance, darting ahead of the speeding Krech, had discerned an +unmistakable figure outlined against a clump of white birch as though +the monk had deliberately chosen a background against which he would be +most conspicuous to the group on the piazza. He was standing there +motionless, apparently indifferent to the rushing menace of Krech, and +through the detective's brain, searing it like a flame, shot the memory +of something Sherwood had said, "I thought the fellow would run, but +instead of that he waited!" He was waiting now! +</P> + +<P> +"Krech!" cried the detective. "<I>Careful—careful!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +His hands were on the rail of the veranda. It had not taken two +seconds for him to size the situation and shout his warning, and those +same seconds were occupied in getting out of his chair and dashing to +the rail. He had one leg over this when two hands like steel clamps +circled his right arm and gripped him fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"Please—oh, <I>please</I>!" stammered a frightened voice. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ocky!</I>" he gasped in furious protest. "<I>Leggo!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +He wrenched himself free and went sprawling over the rail, a wordless +prayer in his heart that no broken legs or sprained ankles were to be +his portion. He landed unhurt in a providential flowerbed, and +struggled again to his feet to discover that both the monk and Krech +had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +There was a little-used trail which commenced near the birch-trees and +ran sharply downhill to the small house that Miss Ocky had donated to +her nephew and his bride. Creighton knew of its existence, and never +doubted now that the monk had disappeared into it at the last moment +with the impetuous Krech in full pursuit. He drew an electric torch +from his hip-pocket as he raced for the dark entrance to the path, +anxiety for his friend the paramount force that speeded his flying feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did he try to jump him like that?" he thought. "If he had only +used his head a bit! He could have sauntered into the house, out the +back door, crept through the woods and taken the fellow in the rear. +He has all the courage of a mad bull—and about as much sense." +</P> + +<P> +This unkind summary of Krech's character was no sooner complete than +Creighton himself was in the trail, plunging headlong down its sharp +declivity with quite as much recklessness as his friend had shown, save +the advantage of his flash. He played its powerful beam ahead of him +as he ran and leaped, until twenty yards from the entrance he suddenly +dug his heels hard into the rubble of the path to halt his wild career +as the light showed him the body of a man lying face downward in the +trail. Its bulk alone left no doubt of identity. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Hell!</I>" snapped the detective, and the one vicious word was the +epitome of all that he felt. +</P> + +<P> +With desperate haste he jammed the torch into a crotch of a small tree +so that its rays illuminated the scene, then dropped to his knees +beside the prone body of his friend, exerted all his strength and +rolled it over on its back. His eager fingers, pressing, prodding, +explored the still form throughout its length. +</P> + +<P> +"No wounds—no broken bones," was his first relieved diagnosis. Then +"Hello—here we are!" An angry red abrasion on the big man's forehead +had caught his attention. He touched it, and smiled as it elicited a +groan from the victim that sounded to Creighton like celestial music. +"A crack on the head—knocked him out!" he muttered, then raised his +voice. "I say, Krech—come to, old man, come to!" +</P> + +<P> +The adjuration seemed to penetrate Mr. Krech's dazed faculties. His +eyes opened, blinked once or twice, opened again and stared tranquilly +up into Creighton's. His lips moved and words issued. +</P> + +<P> +"A fall like that," he observed calmly, "would have killed an ordinary +man." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank heaven!" ejaculated the detective fervently. "Are you much +hurt? What happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tripped—came down with a dirty wallop and cracked my head on +something awfully hard." He raised himself cautiously to a sitting +position and glanced about him. "That chunk of granite there—doesn't +it look to you as if it were freshly broken?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it was only this big root!" said Creighton, and laughed aloud +in his relief. Then his mirth abruptly gave way to surprise. "Hello," +he said. "Hello—hello—hello!" +</P> + +<P> +He had been looking around too, and now he picked up a loose end of +stout wire that was attached at one extremity to a sapling. There +could be no question as to what it was doing there. Until Krech's shin +had snapped it, it had been stretched taut across the trail a foot +above the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph!" exclaimed the big man, staring at the simple apparatus of +destruction. "Clever little hellion, ain't he?" He stood up, moved +his arms and legs tentatively and gave himself a shake. +</P> + +<P> +"All right?" asked Creighton quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Never felt better in my life. Little shaking-up like that—good for a +man. Who was the ancient johnnie that used to bounce up from the earth +a bit stronger for every time he hit it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Antaeus," suggested the detective absently. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. H. Antaeus Krech—that's me." He added with more appropriate +seriousness, "What became of our little playmate?" +</P> + +<P> +"Search me," replied Creighton, still thoughtful. "I'm trying to +figure out what was back of all this. It was a prearranged trap, of +course. He showed himself deliberately, invited us to chase him, then +arranged this wire to insure his get-away. But—why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can give you a good guess, Peter, my boy," said Krech slowly. "I +think I have inadvertently saved your life." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh? What's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you are getting too close to the truth of who killed Simon +Varr—or suppose the murderer thinks you are, which comes to the same +thing. He doesn't care for the idea—not a-tall. So he has a happy +inspiration and plots this scenario as you have described it—only to +draw an anticlimax. You were supposed to do the chasing. Naturally he +couldn't foresee that your guardian angel, the unfortunate me, would +come galloping down here and spring his trap. +</P> + +<P> +"What if it had been you who was slumbering peacefully in the middle of +the path instead of me? Would you ever have awakened again? Or would +you now be sitting somewhere on a cloud talking it all over with Simon? +How's that for a theory?" +</P> + +<P> +"You think he'd have stuck a knife in me? I must admit there is a +nasty air of plausibility about your sketch." The detective mused a +moment. "There's one consolation if it's true; it's mighty +complimentary—almost flattering—to my ability!" +</P> + +<P> +He stood up and rescued his torch from its resting-place in the tree. +As he took it down, its beam was deflected briefly along the trail, and +in that instant he uttered a quick exclamation. +</P> + +<P> +"Look there!" he snapped. "What's that?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XXI: Twilight</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Krech came to attention at the detective's exclamation and his eyes +followed the ray of light from the torch as Creighton directed it to a +point on the ground scarcely two yards from their feet. An oblong, +flat package wrapped in brown paper lay in the trail. They dove for it +together and Creighton secured it, properly enough, since the +flash-light revealed his name on the face of it, scrawled in the same +uncouth writing that they had seen before on the anonymous +communication of the monk to Simon Varr. +</P> + +<P> +"What's in it?" demanded Krech, and added a trifle anxiously, "It +doesn't tick, does it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That cropper you came evidently hasn't hurt your imagination," +chuckled the detective as he loosened the coarse string about the +package. "No, it isn't a bomb. It's—well, by golly, will you look at +what it is!" +</P> + +<P> +Very gingerly, holding it in the tips of his fingers, he lifted a red +leather notebook from its nest of brown wrappings and showed it to +Krech. The big man nearly dropped the torch which he had taken from +his friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Varr's notebook!" he cried. "It must be!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is," confirmed Creighton, who had lifted one cover with the tip of +a finger nail and glanced at the contents of a page. "Now, isn't this +lovely! Who says we can't recover loot? The thief may have to hand it +to us on a tray, but it's only results that count! Say, Krech—there +goes your melodramatic theory of a plot to bump me off." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so." +</P> + +<P> +"He lured me down this trail so I'd find it, and to make sure I didn't +miss it, he strung that wire where it would throw me with my face +almost on the darn thing! You'd have seen it if you hadn't been +knocked silly, and I'd have seen it if I'd been thinking of anything +but you." +</P> + +<P> +"He went to a lot of trouble that he could have spared himself for all +of me!" grunted Krech, feeling his forehead. "I must look like the +happy end of a barroom brawl. Why didn't he mail it?" +</P> + +<P> +"By golly, I don't know. That's a mighty pertinent question, Mr. +Krech. We'll get the answer when we get the crook, I expect. I'm not +so fearfully surprised at getting back this notebook; did it ever +strike you that there might be another explanation of its disappearance +other than simple theft?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no. If there's another reason, I missed it." +</P> + +<P> +"The dagger wasn't used to further the looting of Varr's desk. Just +the contrary is the truth, I believe. The notebook was stolen to cover +the theft of the dagger." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph!" Krech whistled softly. "That checks up with the theory +of an inside job! Creighton—<I>who</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's something I hope to find out pretty soon," replied the +detective gravely. "Come on back to the house—and, listen! We lost +sight of the monk. We hunted a while until you tripped and hurt your +head, then we gave up the search and came home. Get it? Not another +word!" +</P> + +<P> +"Right," said the big man obediently. +</P> + +<P> +There was no one on the veranda when they emerged from the woods. Two +figures moved in the lamp-lit hall as they entered the house. Bates +came up to greet them nervously, and young Merrill lurked in the offing +looking curious. +</P> + +<P> +"Is everything all right, sir?" asked the butler timidly. +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly all right. Where is Miss Copley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Retired, sir. She left word for you that she would not be down again +this evening." +</P> + +<P> +The news that she had left a message for him was welcome. He had been +troubled by the recollection of the cavalier fashion in which he had +shaken off her hand on his arm, and he was uncomfortably certain that +in his haste he had addressed her, as he thought of her, by her family +nickname. +</P> + +<P> +"Go tap on her door, please, Bates, and tell her that I am back with +nothing to report. Wait—take Mr. Krech up with you and show him my +room. He has a forehead he wants to bathe." +</P> + +<P> +The butler went off, and Krech, after a mild protest, accompanied him. +Creighton, when they were out of sight, beckoned Merrill to follow and +went swiftly into the living-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Find out at once if any one has been absent from the house during the +past hour. Let me know." +</P> + +<P> +"Done it already, sir. Thought you'd want it. Only one person I +haven't had my eye on." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Who?</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Janet Mackay, sir. She went to town immediately after dinner to a +movie." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Janet Mackay</I>! There is only one motion-picture theater?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Go there at once. Check up on her. She's a regular patron—the +ticket-girl should be able to tell you if she's been there. When you +come back, signal to me, yes or no. Understand? <I>Beat it</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +When Krech came down again he found Creighton sitting on the veranda, +smoking a cigar and apparently more in the mood to think than to talk. +It was nearly ten o'clock when a step sounded on the porch and Merrill +sauntered into view. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon!" he said promptly, and vanished again. +</P> + +<P> +But he had obeyed his instructions and sent Creighton a sign that +started the detective's heart to thumping. Janet Mackay had not been +to the theater. Here was a coil with collateral complications that +were not pleasant to contemplate. His heart stopped thumping and made +a dive for his boots as he wondered what Miss Ocky would say when she +learned of his interest in Janet. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to New York on the midnight," he said abruptly. "Will you +run me to the station on your way home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure. Unexpected, isn't it? What are you going for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly on account of this notebook." Creighton tapped the side-pocket +of his coat in which he had placed his treasure, rewrapped and tied. +"It must go to the chap in Brooklyn who does my finger-print work, and +I don't care to trust it to the mail. I've another reason for going +which I don't propose to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Sus domesticus</I>!" cried Mr. Krech proudly, then obligingly translated +for his astonished companion. "Pig!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Well, if you feel so deeply about it I suppose I might toss you a +hint. I'm going to New York to give something a chance to happen that +might not happen if I stayed here. I'll be back to-morrow evening, +late—which reminds me that I'd better catch young Merrill and leave a +message for Miss Ocky. Bates has probably gone to bed." +</P> + +<P> +He spent the night at his apartment in the city and surprised his staff +by entering his office the next morning at nine sharp—surprised them +pleasantly, it may be added, for they had come to be loyal friends no +less than faithful helpers. He exchanged cheerful greetings with a +very pretty young woman who left her typewriter and accompanied him +into his private room. +</P> + +<P> +"Something didding, Rose, I do believe." He seated himself at his +handsome, flat-top desk. "Send Jimmy here. Get Kitty Doyle on the +wire, tell her to pack a bag and stand by the telephone in case I need +her." +</P> + +<P> +A minute later he was smiling at the homely face of Jimmy Horton, his +chief of staff. +</P> + +<P> +"Got that notebook, Jimmy!" He slapped the brown package on his desk. +"The story will have to wait. I want you to take this over to Martin +yourself. Leave it there. Ask him to make every effort to bring out +such prints as there may be on the covers. If he finds any, tell him +to compare them with the assortment I sent him from Hambleton last week +and see if any of them check. He is to telephone me his findings here, +or wire them to me at Hambleton if I've gone back. Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly. Does he mail you the book?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. When he's through with it, you go back and get it. Be careful of +it, Jimmy. If it comes to a choice of losing that book or losing your +life, you hang on to the book." +</P> + +<P> +"I get you!" grinned Jimmy. "Doesn't the recovery of this notebook +technically end your commission? We're up to our ears in work here. +Why are you going back to Hambleton?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because—because I darn well choose to!" Creighton writhed inwardly +as he felt his cheeks growing hot. "On your way, young man—you ought +to be under the East River by this time!" +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, a certain compunction helped him to put the Varr case, +and even Miss Ocky, out of his mind for the balance of the morning +while he laboriously worked through an accumulation of other matters +that had been waiting for his personal attention. At one o'clock he +went to the basement of the building for a hurried lunch in the +rathskeller, leaving word of his whereabouts with Rose. +</P> + +<P> +It was well that he did so. With the coffee came an extension +telephone that was plugged in at his elbow, and a distant voice spoke +clearly in his ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Merrill speaking. I'm telephoning from the railroad station. You +guessed right, sir. The woman has just left for New York. Seemed a +bit low in her mind—been crying and was still sniffling. She's +wearing a dark-gray cloth dress—black oxfords—small black hat with a +green feather—black fur neck-piece—brown leather suit-case— What's +that, sir? No, sir!" Mr. Merrill's voice was gently reproachful. +"She's not wearing the suit-case; she's carrying it. Yes, sir. I +thought she acted rather queer—nervous, unhappy and fidgety." +</P> + +<P> +"And no doubt she is! Thank you, Merrill. Good work!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton hung up the receiver, shook his head at the waiter who came +for the instrument, then called an uptown number. A woman's voice +answered—bright, alert, faintly tinged with a soft brogue. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Doyle speaking." +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Kitty! Did you pack that bag? Good. I want you to meet the +train from Hambleton arriving four-thirty. Janet Mackay is on it. You +can't miss her—listen!" He rattled off Merrill's description of the +woman's dress. "Shadow her, Kitty; follow her to Kamchatka if you have +to. Keep your eyes and ears open. Use your own judgment in regard to +scraping up an acquaintance if an opportunity offers. She's dour, and +probably a bit suspicious. I can give you one useful tip about +her—she talks in her sleep. <I>Huh</I>! That will be all from you, Miss +Doyle; it doesn't matter how I know. Wire me any news as you get it to +Hambleton. Have you plenty of money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Couple of hundred, I'll telegraph if I need more." +</P> + +<P> +"Right. Whatever happens, Kitty—stay with her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Like a Siamese twin," the bright voice assured him. "Is there +anything special I'm to try and find out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you know the nature of this case." Creighton hesitated. "A +confession would be very useful—if you could get it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Crumbs!" gasped Miss Doyle. "Did <I>she</I> do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no definite proof—yet. There's just enough evidence to +warrant our taking a warm interest in her. This sudden departure from +Hambleton may be—flight!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh-ho. And she chose her time while you were here, thus avoiding any +embarrassing farewell scene with you! Quite so. Leave her to me, Mr. +Creighton. I'll wire you from Liverpool or Buenos Aires or Paris—" +</P> + +<P> +"Or Hoboken or Harlem!" he corrected her. +</P> + +<P> +"Much more likely." +</P> + +<P> +He sent away the telephone, ordered fresh coffee, lighted a cigarette +and glanced at his watch. Two courses were open to him. He could put +in the afternoon at the office and thereby clear up a lot of stuff for +Rose and Jimmy, returning late to Hambleton as he had planned, or he +could catch a train that would get him there just in time for dinner. +Um. +</P> + +<P> +He caught the train that was to get him there just in time for dinner. +Bates, meeting him in the hall and relieving him of his bag, dashed his +hopes forthwith. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid we weren't expecting you, sir," said the butler +apologetically. "Miss Ocky is dining at Mrs. Bolt's. I'll have +something ready for you in about half-an-hour, sir. Will that be all +right, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fine, Bates; thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"A judgment on me for my sins of omission!" he told himself +philosophically. "I should have stayed on the job at the office." +</P> + +<P> +He went and put his head in at the dining-room door, where Merrill had +just commenced his solitary dinner. The young man signaled to him +instantly that he had a communication to make. Bates had vanished to +the upper floor with his bag, and when Creighton had assured himself +that there was no one in the pantry, he stepped quickly to Merrill's +side. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to tell you that Miss Copley and the Mackay woman had a long +talk in Miss Copley's room very late last night—or early this morning, +rather. It was nearly four o'clock when Janet went to bed. They were +talking about something very—well, <I>fiercely</I>. Almost quarreling. I +couldn't make out the words. That's all, sir; I should really have +reported this to you over the wire." +</P> + +<P> +"So you should, my boy, so you should," muttered Creighton absently. +"No harm done this time, fortunately." +</P> + +<P> +He slipped away before the butler should return, and went out to the +veranda to wait until something had been prepared for him. He was glad +of the brief opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +Merrill's latest bit of information was disturbing in the extreme—so +disturbing that he had to force his mind to consider a possibility from +which it shrank aghast. The two women had "talked fiercely." They had +"almost quarreled." <I>What about</I>? A hypothetical answer came to him +so ugly that it chilled him to the bone. +</P> + +<P> +Granted that Janet Mackay, from motives yet obscure, had killed Simon +Varr, had Miss Ocky somehow learned the truth and become an accessory +after the crime? Swayed by her dislike of Simon and her friendship for +her companion of a score of years, had she condoned a crime and helped +a murderess to escape? What was that she had once said? "Janet and I +are fearfully responsible for each other!" +</P> + +<P> +<I>Oof</I>! He took out his handkerchief and vigorously rubbed at the moist +palms of his hands. +</P> + +<P> +He had sat in this very same spot the night before and worried over +Miss Ocky's probable reaction to a theory of Janet's guilt, but he had +not dreamed of anything so terrible as this. Ocky an accessory! +Finished with his palms, he shifted the handkerchief to his brow. +</P> + +<P> +An unwelcome memory stirred in him of the scene the evening before when +he had leaped the piazza rail in pursuit of the monk. He could feel +again her grip on his arm. Had she known that the black figure was +Janet and sought to restrain him lest he catch her? Obvious! And he +had ascribed that action to timidity or even—blatant ass!—to fear for +his safety. Fear! As if October Copley knew the meaning of the word +either for herself or any one else! "Afraid for his safety?" His +cheeks were red as he spared a mirthless laugh for an egotistical idiot. +</P> + +<P> +"Dinner is served, sir," announced Bates, appearing in his silent +fashion around the corner of the house. "It is not very elaborate, I'm +afraid, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be ample," Creighton assured him, and added a trifle bitterly, +"I don't seem to have much appetite this evening." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XXII: A Cry in the Night</I> +</H3> + +<P> +During the progress of that mournful meal his discomfort was vastly +increased by the sudden reflection that he was now confronted with a +most disagreeable necessity. He bit his lip and frowned, strongly +tempted deliberately to sidestep a task so uncongenial. +</P> + +<P> +No—he couldn't shirk it! Come what might, he would see this through +and force himself to act in every respect as he would have acted were +Ocky not involved. She was clean and straight herself, even if +misguided loyalty to Janet had caused her momentarily to swerve from +the narrow path of rectitude, and it would be no compliment to her if +he were to scamp his job. Antagonists they might be in this contest of +wits, but she was too sporting ever to want him to do aught but play +the game for all that was in him. +</P> + +<P> +"What time will Miss Copley be back?" he asked the butler. +</P> + +<P> +"She said about ten, sir." +</P> + +<P> +That would give him ample time for what he proposed to do. The dreary +dinner ended, he went upstairs as though going to his room, but he did +not get quite so far. The hall was empty. The house was still. He +knew there was small chance of any one interrupting him while he worked. +</P> + +<P> +Softly, he turned the knob of Miss Ocky's door, slipped inside and +closed it again behind him. He crossed the room and drew the curtains +of the French window before taking his torch from his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Then, tight-lipped, he set to work. +</P> + +<P> +An hour passed before his search, swift, silent and sure, approached +its end. He had found nothing to incriminate Janet Mackay, nothing to +connect her departure with any guilty knowledge thereof on the part of +Miss Ocky. He smiled contentedly at the result, exulting in his +failure, then sobered suddenly as the light from his torch, playing +over her desk, discovered to him a neat, leather-bound book with the +word "Diary" stamped in gold across its top cover. +</P> + +<P> +A diary! Why in thunder did people keep 'em? Ocky had got the habit +from keeping notes for her books, he supposed. Silly things, always +getting their owners into trouble! He glared at the innocent book a +full minute before he reluctantly opened it and sought the entries for +the past few weeks. There were not many, thank goodness; she was not a +faithful diarist. He scanned them rapidly, gathering courage as it +grew plain that there was nothing here the whole world might not read. +Then he caught his breath and stood transfixed as one entry, dated +three days back, sped its message to his brain. +</P> + +<P> +"The usual talk with P. C. last night from balcony to balcony. He is +amusing and very entertaining—amazingly kind and sympathetic despite +his profession, which must tend to harden a man—though he will not +admit it!" So much was in her bold, firm writing, but underneath a +line had been added in fainter, more uncertain script. "Why couldn't +we have met twenty years ago!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton shut the book quickly, flicked off his torch, stood +motionless in the dark. His breast was a chaos of wild, conflicting +emotions. There was rejoicing at what he had found, loathing for the +way he had found it, terror of the problems it portended. That +regretful line in her diary revealed some feeling for him, he felt +sure, but what would become of that newborn sentiment when she learned +that he had— +</P> + +<P> +The raucous blare of a motor-horn from the direction of the driveway +cut sharply through his abstraction. He leaped for the door and gained +the hall in safety, then sauntered downstairs to find not one arrival +but two. Miss Ocky had returned ahead of schedule, and a messenger on +a motorcycle had come with a telegram. +</P> + +<P> +"Telegram for Creighton." +</P> + +<P> +"Right here." He scrawled a signature in the book, opened the wire and +read it by his flash-light. "No answer." +</P> + +<P> +He read it again as the boy putt-putted off into the darkness. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>We leave for Montreal to-night. Cheers. Can I have one on you? +Address General Delivery, Montreal. K. Doyle.</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He struck a match and held it to the corner of the yellow sheet. By +the time it was burned and the charred fragments crunched beneath his +heel, Miss Ocky had garaged the car and come around to the front steps. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello," she said, rather wearily. "Never dreamed you'd be back +already!" +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't stay away," he said lightly. "Have a nice time at the Bolts?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rotten," answered Miss Ocky tersely. "My own fault—I've been low in +my mind all day." She pulled off her driving gloves and waved with +them toward the veranda. "Come and give me a cigarette." +</P> + +<P> +"What has been worrying you?" he asked her quietly when they were +settled in the cozy corner. "Anything serious?" +</P> + +<P> +"Janet has gone. I shall miss her—terribly—after all these years. +She insisted, though, and I had no right to refuse her." +</P> + +<P> +"But she will miss you, too, surely." +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly." +</P> + +<P> +"She's going home to Scotland, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no." Miss Ocky hesitated, then added calmly, "She is going to a +sister in New Orleans." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said Creighton, and it seemed to him that some one else must have +uttered the word, so far away did it sound. "Very nice for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's—forget her," suggested Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<P> +There was no talk from balcony to balcony that night. Miss Ocky begged +off on the plea of fatigue, and it was fairly evident that the plea was +perfectly honest. She acted as if she were tired, she looked so, and +Creighton, grimly comparing the fiction of New Orleans with the fact of +Montreal, could no longer doubt that she had every reason to be tired, +mentally and physically. +</P> + +<P> +He was none too fit himself when he came down to breakfast the next +morning after a miserable night's rest. He could scarcely eat +anything. He rose from the table finally and sped into the front hall +at the sound of a motorcycle, and when he accepted two wires from a +messenger and dismissed him, his powers of resistance were pitifully +inadequate to withstand the greatest shock he was ever to receive in +all his life. +</P> + +<P> +The first was a night-letter from Martin, the finger-print expert. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>Numerous prints on cover of took. Freshest superimposed on others +are one of thumb top cover four of finger tips on bottom, made by +number eight in collection you sent me. Characteristics distinctive. +No possibility of error. Martin.</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Number eight of the collection he had made! Made since the death of +Simon Varr, then, and by some one in the household! Here was a +tangible clue to the truth at last! +</P> + +<P> +He took his memorandum book from his pocket and turned its pages with +fingers that trembled slightly until he found the list that he had +started with Betty Blake. Swiftly, his eyes went to number eight. +</P> + +<P> +"No. 8. October Copley." That was the entry. +</P> + +<P> +A full minute passed before he stooped and recovered the memorandum +book which had slipped from his grasp, together with the second +telegram. He shook his head impatiently in an effort to clear it of +the stupor which numbed his brain. +</P> + +<P> +Why should he be affected like this? he demanded angrily of himself. +What was there here that couldn't be explained in the light of facts +already known? It was no news to him now that Ocky was aiding Janet to +escape the consequences of her crime, and it was plain enough what must +have happened. She had found the notebook in Janet's possession, +handled it cautiously and left those prints, then insisted upon its +return to its rightful owners. That was all. His heart began to pound +less violently, and presently he was opening the second telegram, which +he saw at once was a straight wire from Kitty Doyle filed early that +morning. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>Same compartment in sleeper. She had lower berth. Was very +restless. Talked several times. Could only hear one sentence, +repeated frequently. Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it? +She wired Hotel Beauclerc Montreal for reservation. K. Doyle.</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it?" +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments that sentence written in letters of fire danced madly +before his eyes. Then it cleared away and left him gazing at the +peaceful woods beyond the patch of velvet lawn. His face was +expressionless, but his lips moved slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it. That's it, of course. It's been there all the time. I +knew it. I was just afraid to face it. Now—I've got to." +</P> + +<P> +He was standing on the veranda, but he had an odd sense that his brain +had detached itself from his body and was floating high in the air, +whence it had a comprehensive, bird's-eye view of the whole situation. +The chief actors in the drama were there, and as his brain watched them +they dissolved briefly into mist, then reformed slowly into a sort of +allegorical tableau. +</P> + +<P> +There was Miss Ocky, arrayed in the somber robes of a monk, a stained +dagger held loosely in her fingers, an illusive, faintly mocking smile +on her lips. There was a great figure in white, a bandage about its +eyes, leaning negligently on a long, two-edged sword, its calm, +sightless face turned toward the woman in black. There was Janet +Mackay, gaunt and ugly, interposing her thin body between the two, a +pitifully inadequate shield. They all appeared to be waiting for +something, and presently it was evident that the attention of the two +women was centered on the figure of a funny little man whose troubled +eyes peered out from behind a huge pair of shell-rimmed glasses as he +stood beside the goddess, hesitant, his hand stretched out to loose the +bandage from the eyes of Justice. +</P> + +<P> +The vision faded until only the funny little man was left. The watcher +on high saw him turn and enter the house, calm and composed, putting +two telegrams and a notebook into his pocket as he walked the length of +the hall and into the pantry. His voice was placid when he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Bates, fix me up a couple of sandwiches and a flask of black coffee. +I've been a bit seedy lately and I'm going to try the effects of a long +walk. I may not be back until quite late." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. I'll have them in a few minutes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +After an interminable wait of centuries, a neat package was forthcoming +and he was at length able to leave the house and plunge into the woods, +his destination the little cave in the hills where he and Miss Ocky had +shared their picnic lunch. There he could be alone, secure from +interruption, while two little devils, devised for the torment of man, +donned the gloves and staged in the squared circle of his heart the +age-old battle between love and duty. +</P> + +<P> +It was a memorable fight, that. Love went down for the count of nine +more than once, but more often it was the ugly little demon of duty +that the end of a round left hanging on the ropes. Not until dusk had +fallen was the referee able to hold up the arm of the victor. +</P> + +<P> +It was ten o'clock when he limped wearily into the quiet house and +slipped noiselessly to his room. His first glance was for his desk, +where telegrams might be found if any had come. There were none, but a +large white envelope, sealed but unaddressed, lay on the blotting-pad. +He took it up and ripped it open. Two letters, stamped and ready for +mailing, fell on the desk. He stared at them indifferently, then +picked them up and thrust them in his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down, determined to act while his decision was fresh, and drew +writing materials toward him. It was a very simple note that he +intended to write, and it was just that when he finally finished it, +but six false starts lay in the trash-basket beside his desk. He read +over the completed product. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>My dear Mr. Bolt—Pressure of business recalls me to New York early +to-morrow morning before I can have an opportunity to see you. I am +happy to say that Mr. Varr's notebook has been recovered, under +circumstances which I hereby authorize Mr. Krech to describe to you. I +will send it to you by messenger. I regret that I cannot name the +thief, whose identity, in my opinion, will never be learned. I shall +look forward to seeing you when I again visit Hambleton, which I hope +to do after a short period of work and rest. Sincerely yours, Peter +Creighton.</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He stood up, holding the open letter in his hand. His head was heavy. +Hardly conscious of what he was doing, he went to the French windows, +pulled them open and stepped out on the balcony. Instantly, a low +voice challenged him from the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Creighton! I'm so glad! I thought you must be lost! I've been +waiting here—! Please, will you do something for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm always ready for that, Miss Copley." +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to come here. The door of my room is unlocked." The low +voice grew even fainter. "I—I am very ill," said Miss Ocky. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XXIII: The Darkest Hour</I> +</H3> + +<P> +Everything else faded from his mind at the emergency suggested by her +last words. +</P> + +<P> +He was with her in five seconds. In that time she had retreated from +the balcony and was lying back in a deep, upholstered armchair near the +open window, a soft woolen lap-robe over her knees and tucked about her +feet. He leaned over her anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"You are ill? What is it?" he questioned her swiftly. "Let me go for +the doctor!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—please! It isn't a case for a doctor—yet. I must talk to you +first." There was a straight-backed chair close by, as though she had +placed it there for him, and she waved him to it. She did not continue +until he had reluctantly seated himself on its edge, bending forward to +watch her face in the dim light from a single lamp across the room. +"I—there is something I must tell you. Do you remember saying one +evening that a detective must occasionally be a father-confessor as +well as—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" He interrupted her, aghast, his tortured nerves rebelling +against this unexpected, fresh flagellation. "I want no confession +from you—I won't listen—!" +</P> + +<P> +"Please! You must let me have my way in this; I have a good reason for +insisting on that." Her voice was low, quiet and determined. "I want +to tell you that your search is ended. It was I who—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say it!" he broke in hoarsely. "I know it already!" +</P> + +<P> +"You—<I>what</I>?" Her eyes were large, incredulous. "You know that it +was I who—who killed Simon Varr?" Amazed, she saw him nod his head, +and flinched from the gesture as if it were a blow. "How did you learn +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A score of things pointed to it from the first," he answered +miserably. "I would have seen the truth long since if—if something +else had not blinded me to it. This morning my eyes were finally +opened—" he fumbled in his pocket with shaking fingers—"by these!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ocky took the two telegrams, held them shoulder-high to the light, +and read them wonderingly. She exclaimed sharply over the one from +Kitty Doyle. +</P> + +<P> +"'K. Doyle'! Who is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A clever woman detective accompanying Janet Mackay—not to New +Orleans, but to Montreal! I already knew her destination before you +attempted to mislead me." +</P> + +<P> +"A detective following Janet!" Her tone was a vigorous protest. "Oh, +you must call her back! It isn't fair to Janet! Promise me you will +call her back!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will, at once. Kitty Doyle's usefulness there—is ended!" +</P> + +<P> +She had raised herself slightly in her eagerness; now she relaxed again +with a sigh of relief. Creighton, a dull ache in his heart, waited for +her to resume the conversation. He would not take the lead. +</P> + +<P> +"So Janet talked in her sleep!" To his horror, Miss Ocky was speaking +in her amused, faintly mocking accents as though nothing mattered less +than this gruesome discussion of how she came to be exposed. "In a +Pullman, too; how very indiscreet! I should have foreseen that and +made her stick to day coaches. I knew her failing!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was a paragraph in one of your books that revealed it to me," +contributed Creighton gloomily. "You once described a bad night you +spent due to your companion talking in her sleep. That enabled me to +give my operative a tip." +</P> + +<P> +"In one of my own books! The irony of fate, that! Please, Mr. +Creighton, tell me why you happened to have Janet shadowed in the first +place. What had she done to deserve this delicate attention? Is it +possible that you suspected <I>her</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"I most certainly did." Chin cupped in both hands, his eyes fixed on +the floor at his feet, he morosely supplied her with the salient +features of the case as he had come upon them, from the discovery of +the steel chip that pointed to an inside job to the moment when he +learned that only Janet was missing from the house on the occasion of +the monk's final appearance. "Then it developed that she hadn't been +at the theater, as she was supposed to be. I argued from the return of +the notebook that the case was drawing to a climax, so I went to New +York to see if she would take advantage of my absence to slip away. +When she did, it seemed pretty conclusive evidence of her guilt. I put +Kitty Doyle on her track. Until this morning, the worst I thought of +you was that your friendship for Janet had led you to condone her +crime." +</P> + +<P> +"Whereas the truth is exactly the reverse! Her friendship and my +crime!" She gave a little shiver. "That chip from the +dagger—interesting! It really started you on the right track, didn't +it? I never knew I'd nicked the blade. Mmph. Extraordinary what +trifles may affect our destinies! Funny, don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +Each word she uttered in that whimsical tone was like a needle pricking +his heart. He threw out his hands protestingly, suddenly groaning the +very phrase that Janet had used in her troubled dreams. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it? Why did you do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I must tell you about that." Her reply was cool, matter-of-fact, +and he did not see that she winced at the pain in his voice. "After +all, I can plead extenuating circumstances. I'll make it short as +possible; you can ask questions later if you wish. Meanwhile, please +don't interrupt me or I'll lose track of my story. +</P> + +<P> +"I had been away from here twenty-two years. When I came back ten +weeks ago I discovered a situation that I had never dreamed existed. +Lucy's letters had never been especially happy or cheerful, but neither +had they contained anything to give me even an inkling of the truth. I +did not know she was married to a human vampire, a sort of—of +spiritual leech! Words can't tell you the difference between the Lucy +I left and the Lucy I returned to! It hurt me—oh, it hurt me! +</P> + +<P> +"You won't put down all that I say about Simon to personal prejudice +because you have heard enough about him from others to realize how mean +and selfish and—and psychically cruel he could be. He never beat +Lucy, but that was simply because he specialized in a more refined type +of cruelty—and if you want to know which of the two hurts a woman +most, there are plenty of unfortunate wives who can tell you! +</P> + +<P> +"Simon owed everything he had in the world to Lucy, for it was the +money she brought to their marriage that enabled him to start his own +tannery and gave him the opportunity to develop new processes that +proved lucrative. Father disapproved of the match, but did not +actively oppose it, and when he died shortly after, Simon's feet were +on the road to fortune. Remember that, please! +</P> + +<P> +"When I came home, I found he had completely broken Lucy's spirit and +was deliberately trying to accomplish the same result in the case of +his son. He had all but succeeded, too. Money seems to be the answer +to practically every problem in this country to-day, so I was able to +come to the boy's rescue. I told you one evening how I decided to put +him on his feet, promote his elopement with Sheila Graham, who will +make him an excellent wife—and incidentally put a spoke in Simon's +wheel! +</P> + +<P> +"I began to study my brother-in-law, and the more I learned about him +the more shocked and fascinated I became. Satisfied with the lion's +share of the income from the tannery, he refused to develop the +business so that Jason's modicum might increase to reasonable +proportions. He had always hated Jason since the panic of 1907 when he +had to borrow money from him and give him a small interest in the +business. +</P> + +<P> +"He hated his manager, Graham, too, because he was beginning to be +troublesome. Graham felt that his long and faithful services deserved +some greater reward than a small raise in salary, and the one thing +Simon could not bear to do was to reward a man according to his +deserts! He decided to discharge Graham—but that did not prevent him +from threatening Copley with the ruin of Sheila's father if he did not +discontinue his attentions to the girl! Pretty? +</P> + +<P> +"I was interested in the working conditions at the tannery, conditions +that were unsanitary, primitive—obscene! I met the Maxon person in a +grocery, as I told you, but it was before the strike, not after. He +told me things, and even with a liberal discount for exaggeration, they +were pretty bad. +</P> + +<P> +"It was then I decided to take a hand in Simon's family and business +affairs! I have a queer sense of humor at times, and it rather amused +me to think of myself as a deputy of Destiny! And—and it just so +happened that I was in a position to play fast and loose with no regard +for possible consequences to myself. +</P> + +<P> +"I opened my campaign by promoting that strike! I persuaded Maxon, a +born agitator, to talk the men into doing it, and I provided him with +money so they should not be broken by hardship. Afterwards I found he +hypothecated this fund and spent it on a dance-hall girl, so I was +obliged to send more money later, in a letter signed by the monk, to a +more responsible treasurer! I was a little shocked when Maxon was +accused of murder, but my spirit rejoiced at the thought of him in +jail! <I>Snake</I>! +</P> + +<P> +"The strike only brought out Simon's worst qualities of stubbornness +and vindictiveness. He ordered a closed shop, and suspended a lot of +innocent, needy clerks without pay. Except that it goaded him to fury, +a pleasant achievement to contemplate, I had to write off my strike as +a flash in the pan. +</P> + +<P> +"I chanced to discover that Simon's heel of Achilles was his fear of +death, so my next scheme was a pious plot to frighten him into behaving +like a human being and a good citizen. I had known the legend of the +monk all my life, of course, and it was while telling it to Janet one +day that I was struck with the idea of employing it to my own +ends—though I afterwards pretended to Simon that I first heard of it +from Sheila Graham. +</P> + +<P> +"The next time I went to New York I purchased the costume and a pair of +large boots from a theatrical supply store. I made a mask myself, and +wired the cowl to stay up so that it would give the impression of a +tall man. The large boots, of course, were to give a wrong idea of the +man's size in case I left tracks. +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes I kept the outfit in the bottom of a trunk in that closet, +there, but more often it was hidden in a cubbyhole of my little house +down the hill. There is a very ancient and disreputable typewriter in +the attic, there, too, and I used that to write my messages on. I +concealed that, by the way, under a loose piece of flooring just as a +precaution, though I did not think then that a police case would ever +grow out of what I was doing! +</P> + +<P> +"I set the first fire in the tannery, and it fizzled out. Then I wrote +my first note to Simon and waylaid him in the trail. I slipped off the +disguise in the woods, ran to overtake him and pretended I, too, had +seen a 'ghost'. The next day I brought him that historical book and +read him the legend, and I had real hopes of humanizing him when I saw +how scared he was! +</P> + +<P> +"I followed up this jolt by firing the tannery again, hoping that its +destruction would necessitate the building of modern and proper +quarters for the men to work in. I was nearly caught that time—Simon +had the cunning to order his watchman to make double rounds! +</P> + +<P> +"That night brought things to a sudden head. I had escaped from the +tannery yard, run up into the woods and shed my disguise, and came back +to stand on the hill and watch the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"It was than that Leslie Sherwood spoke to me and made no bones about +expressing his hatred of Simon Varr. I was curious to know why he was +so bitter, and I had a sneaking notion that it might have something to +do with the way Leslie had suddenly deserted Hambleton and abandoned my +sister to his only admitted rival. It did! I asked him to tell me the +story back of it and he willingly complied. +</P> + +<P> +"It appears that Simon clerked for a time in a local bank of which +Leslie's father was the president, and while there had discovered old +Mr. Sherwood guilty of serious defalcations. Sherwood was too deeply +involved to extricate himself short of stupendous good luck and years +of effort, so Simon cunningly stored away his knowledge against a day +when it might come in useful. Blackmail. +</P> + +<P> +"The occasion arrived quickly. Lucy was obviously attached to Leslie, +if not secretly engaged to him. Simon went to Leslie and told him he +must withdraw with no word of explanation to Lucy under penalty of +having his father exposed as a thief! Leslie was knocked galley-west, +of course. He went to his father, found that Simon had told the truth, +had a row with the old gentleman and departed forthwith, stricken to +his soul. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't criticize Leslie for acting that way. He was obeying the +queer standards of behavior we have set up in the West. Actually, it +never once occurred to him that to kill a blackmailer of that type +rather than permit him to ruin a woman's life might be a very righteous +deed! I see you wince, Mr. Creighton! Please remember I have lived in +the East long enough to imbibe some of its philosophy. I don't +consider one human life so much more important than the happiness of +many other people! +</P> + +<P> +"Simon's death warrant was nearly signed that night, though he was to +have one more chance. I left Leslie and came home, and I won't even +try to describe my feelings when I realized how that monster had used +his power to sneak into this house and destroy Lucy's happiness! +</P> + +<P> +"The dagger on the table caught my eye and I remembered its +inscription. 'I Bring Peace'. Suggestive—very suggestive; I thought +of the peace it would bring to a number of persons if any one had the +courage to—to play Destiny. I thought of Leslie's expression when he +told me he still loved Lucy devotedly, and of hers when she heard the +news of his return. There were two more people who would find +happiness if Simon were removed. +</P> + +<P> +"I took the dagger, but of course that was dangerous by itself, so I +slipped into the study, pried up the roll-top cover of Simon's desk and +pouched a notebook that looked as if it must be valuable. Then I had +still another idea—it seemed a good one then! The house was still, +except for Bates snoring in the pantry. I went out on the piazza and +forced the lock of one of the living-room windows with the dagger. +Mmph! Wish I'd noticed that nick! I thought I was only leaving +evidence of a burglary! +</P> + +<P> +"The next evening I had a snappy talk with Simon. I told him that the +death of old Sherwood—who succeeded in rehabilitating his fortunes +before he died—had taken that particular curse off Leslie, and that +Leslie had told me everything. Simon merely asked me what I was going +to do about it. I suggested divorce—his last chance!—and he turned +it down. Just from meanness and malice, he turned it down. Blame me +for anything you please, but don't sympathize with Simon; he asked for +it! +</P> + +<P> +"I knew a detective was coming on the morrow and I wasn't anxious to +take more chances than I had to. The hour was striking—! +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look at me like that! I won't go on with that part of it! +Harrowing and gruesome, and not at all important. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I didn't take either the police or you very seriously. +More fool I! As I examined my position it seemed to me that I had left +absolutely no clue, that I was secure from every suspicion. Mmph. I +forgot Janet! +</P> + +<P> +"She and I never had secrets from each other until this affair of Simon +Varr. I had discussed him with her and she understood just what a blot +on society he was, but I had not confessed to playing Destiny! After +the murder, however, she learned of the monk who had been threatening +Simon. She knew I detested him, she knew all my points of view, and +her old mind began to work. Janet's mind is like the mills of the +gods; it grinds slowly but exceeding fine. +</P> + +<P> +"She watched me, questioned me slyly, and presently began a search for +proof of her suspicions. She found the notebook in the back of one of +my bureau drawers, and then she found the disguise in the house below +the hill. She knew the truth! +</P> + +<P> +"She has a Scotch conscience, which appears to be a terrible +affliction! She was horrified at her discovery, almost sickened, but +her loyalty to me rose above every other consideration. If she had +only come to me—! But she didn't; she elected to follow certain +impulses of her own conception. +</P> + +<P> +"The most important thing, according to her strict notions, was that +the stolen property should be returned to its rightful owners. In +wondering how best to do that, she evolved the crazy scheme of +appearing in the monk's costume some time when I was with you. She +could leave the notebook for you to find and at the same time provide +me with a perfect and impervious alibi in case suspicion was ever +directed my way! +</P> + +<P> +"You know how it worked out. It's a miracle she didn't kill poor Mr. +Krech! He looked very cunning in his bandage this evening! +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, Janet gave herself away to me! When she came home late +that night I had it out with her—and sent her away! I admired her +loyalty and spirit, but she was entirely too dangerous to have around! +I think Scotch consciences jump at odd angles like cats and detectives! +</P> + +<P> +"That brings the story to date, Mr. Creighton. You know everything +else, and the next move is yours." She leaned back and regarded him +quietly, her little mocking smile on her lips. "What is the usual +procedure? Do you make the arrest yourself? Or do you call the +police? What a triumph you will enjoy over Norvallis!" +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply in words. The answer lay on the floor beside his +foot, where he had dropped the note to Jason Bolt which he had brought +with him in his hurried dash to her side. He picked it up and gave it +to her. +</P> + +<P> +When she had read it, she let it drop in her lap. There was no mockery +in her expression at that moment, though she could not forego a +whimsical little taunt. +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't practicing what you preach, Mr. Creighton!" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I could not find the strength," he muttered hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +She made no verbal response to that, but her eyes blessed him. After a +moment she forced one uncertain question from trembling lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me wh-why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I've a confession to make, too, Miss Ocky." He nerved himself +to this ordeal. "I—I searched your room last evening while you were +at the Bolts. Looking for proof against Janet. Will you forgive me?" +He waited for her quick nod. "I found nothing, but I did see your +diary on that desk—and glanced at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" said Miss Ocky, her cheeks stained a deep crimson. +</P> + +<P> +"I found something there that interested me—made me—happy! A line +wishing we had met twenty years ago. Will you tell me what you meant +by that? I'm afraid to trust my own interpretation." He paused, but +she remained silent. "Anyway, I echo the wish! But twenty years is +not a lifetime. If you tell me what I want to hear, we can still have +many years—to forget Simon and think only of our own happiness—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, stop! Stop!" She flung out a hand imploringly and drew back from +him, her face ashen. "Oh, what a fool I've been—what a wicked little +fool! I saw this coming—I never should have let it happen—oh, I +should have hit you over the head—k-killed you, too!—anything but let +this go on! But I d-didn't have the s-trength either! I wanted my bit +of happiness—I wanted to be cared for like—like that by some +one—by—by <I>you</I> above all! And now—and now—!" She broke off on a +sob. +</P> + +<P> +"But, Ocky! What is it, dear? We have the future—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's just what we haven't got!" she gasped. "Oh, don't you +understand? Haven't you guessed why I have done all these things, why +I was able to play Destiny without fear of the consequences to myself, +why I called you in to-night to hear my confession?" She drew a +sobbing breath, "I told you I was very ill. Peter, I—I'm <I>dying</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Softly though it was spoken, the word crashed upon his ears like a +thunderclap. He sprang to his feet, shaken and bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +"Ocky! What are you saying? Are you telling me the truth? What is +the matter with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It's the truth. Sit down—please! Don't get silly ideas into +your head about a doctor. Give me credit for some sense!" She managed +to smile, and gallantly pitched her voice to a note of lightness. "As +for what's the matter—well, we needn't wander off into pathology, need +we? I think we'll dispense with an ante-post-mortem, if there is such +an animal! I contrived to tie some of my little innards into bowknots +once when I was h-hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas, I guess. +</P> + +<P> +"Months afterwards, I came down with a pain—a pain such as I could not +have believed a human being could experience and survive, I went to a +doctor in Paris, and he told me there was no hope. A few months later +I had a second attack. When I was able to travel, I went to a new man +in Rome. He said the next attack would be the—last. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I came home. I wanted to see Lucy again, and if this stupid +business of dying had to be gone through I wanted to do it here in this +old house. I wanted a few weeks or months of peace and quiet and +h-happiness." Her voice broke, then steadied again. "Golly—what a +fizzle!" She shivered. "This afternoon I got my—notice! How I +wished you were here! I came up to my room, burned that diary—you +snooped just in time, Peter!—and wrote two letters. I didn't dare +leave the house to mail them. I might have dropped in the—<I>ah</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Swift as a flash of lightning it had come. Beyond that one moan she +fought silently, lips tight, one hand clutching at her side, through +seconds that seemed eternities to the man watching helplessly. At last +the spasm passed and speech returned to her. +</P> + +<P> +"That's—just a preliminary twinge!" she whispered between her teeth. +"Peter—there's something beyond the stars! You believe that, don't +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"My dear—my dear!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, then." She looked at him long. "I wonder if you'll +ever forgive me for hurting you like this. Try, won't you, Peter?" +Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. "Will you get me a glass +of—water. On the table by my bed." She waited as he eagerly fetched +it, grateful that he could do even this much. "Thanks. Now, a +handkerchief—over there on the bureau." Again she waited, this time +until he was across the room by her dressing-table. Then she raised +the glass and spoke softly. "I'm glad I took this from <I>your</I> +hands—Peter!" +</P> + +<P> +She had not thought him capable of such quickness. Not a drop had +passed her lips before he was upon her with the leap of a frightened +deer. A vicious sweep of his hand sent the glass from her fingers out +the window and through the moonlit night, to fall harmless on the lawn. +</P> + +<P> +"Ocky—what were you doing?" he demanded almost furiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter—what have you <I>done</I>?" she retorted. "That was all I had—all +I had! Oh, that was a cruel of you! Why do you want me to suffer? +Could you not let me die in peace?" +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't going to die!" he cried. "Listen—how long will it be +before another of those attacks comes on?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know. Several hours, p-perhaps." She stared at him +open-eyed. "Wh-what are you going to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Local doctor, for temporary relief. To-morrow, the best +diagnosticians—and surgeons if necessary—in New York." He was alert, +now, coolly capable, free of the stupor of grief and despair. His face +was grimly defiant as he added, "We'll see how much those gentlemen in +Rome and Paris really know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—it's useless, Peter. And—and I <I>can't</I> live! They'll h-hang me! +Peter, there's something I haven't told you. I hadn't stopped to think +until lately that an unsolved crime leaves so much ugly suspicion in +its wake! Innocent people—suspected all their lives! I couldn't die +with that on my soul so—so this afternoon I wrote a full confession +and mailed it to Norvallis—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—<I>that</I>!" he said contemptuously. He reached into his pocket, +plucked forth two letters and dropped them in her lap. "There!" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter!" She stared at them. "Where on earth—? I couldn't go to +town s-so I gave them to young Merrill to post. And he—he—" +</P> + +<P> +"Is one of my men, introduced by Judge Taylor at my request! I'm glad +you picked him, Ocky! He placed them on my desk, as in duty bound." +He hesitated, eyeing her dubiously. "I'm going for that +doctor—Joliffe, the chap your sister has had. I liked his looks. +First, though, I suppose I'll have to rouse Bates to mount guard over +you!" +</P> + +<P> +"No-no—not that! Whatever happens, let that be our secret!" +</P> + +<P> +"You must promise me not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He +took one of her hands and clasped it tightly in both of his. "Ocky, +keep your nerve, dear! I'm going to get you out of this—get you out +<I>somehow</I>! Leave it to me, dear, and stop worrying. Now, promise me!" +</P> + +<P> +"There's another thing, Peter; I ought to tell you while we have this +opportunity to talk. Mr. Krech knows I—I did it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Krech! <I>Krech</I>! How in thunder—" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, but he does. It would have been funny last n-night if +it hadn't been so tragic! He got me alone for a few minutes and began +to drop hints; said you were practically certain of the criminal and +that if he were the murderer he would do almost anything desperate to +prevent himself from being caught, only he admitted he couldn't think +of anything!" +</P> + +<P> +"Will wonders never cease! However, we needn't bother our heads about +Krech—I'd trust him with my life. Can't waste any more time on him +now. Promise me, Ocky!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's—no—use—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Promise me!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I promise, Peter!" +</P> + +<P> +He bent and kissed her almost fiercely—and was gone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>XXIV: Beyond the Stars</I> +</H3> + +<P> +The next two hours for Peter Creighton were more like a nightmare than +a nightmare itself. First he aroused Bates and startled the old man +with the news of Miss Ocky's illness, and ordered him to call Lucy Varr +and suggest that she go immediately to her sister. He could not bear +the thought of Ocky sitting there alone with hideous memories of the +past and fearful doubts of the future. Then he ran to the garage, +jumped in the car and drove madly through the night to the home of +Doctor Joliffe. The physician was an elderly and experienced man +long-practiced in the art of turning out promptly for these midnight +emergencies, and he was pulling on his trousers almost before the +door-bell had ceased to ring, but to the anguished gaze of the +detective he resembled nothing more than a languid snail with white +whiskers. It seemed as if they would never get back to the house. +</P> + +<P> +They finally did, and Joliffe took competent charge of the situation. +Creighton, banished peremptorily, went into his room, extinguished the +lamp, and sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark to await a +verdict from the doctor. At each side of him his fingers gripped the +corner of the mattress tensely. +</P> + +<P> +He had not waited thus above fifteen minutes when he heard a familiar, +heavy tread in the hall outside. His door was unceremoniously flung +open and the space filled by a huge form. +</P> + +<P> +"Creighton—you in here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Krech. What are you doing here at this hour?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't been sleeping well lately. Got up to smoke a cigar, looked +out my bedroom window and saw this house lighted up. What's doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Copley is seriously ill—perhaps—dying." +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce!" ejaculated Krech, startled. He fumbled in his pocket, +produced a match and struck it. "Mind if I light the lamp?" But the +flickering flame of the match showed him a face so white and drawn that +he caught his breath in sudden realization of the truth. He abandoned +his idea of lighting the lamp and fumbled his way to a chair near the +foot of the bed. "So—you <I>know</I>!" he said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," admitted the detective wearily. "But how did <I>you</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"I tumbled to it the night you went to New York," answered Krech, his +voice anything but happy. "I didn't go home after I left you at the +station. Came back here. You hinted something might happen if you +went away and gave it a chance, and I didn't see why it shouldn't +happen right away. I hoped the monk would turn up again; had a notion +that my head would feel better if I could once get my hands on that +wire-stretching humorist. +</P> + +<P> +"I kept carefully out of sight in the woods and settled down at a point +where I could watch both the kitchen garden and the spot where we'd +last seen the monk. I waited three hours. If patience and +perseverance make a good detective I was the best in the world that +night. +</P> + +<P> +"The reason I waited so long was that I was interested in a lighted +window—Miss Ocky's. She was keeping pretty late hours, talking to +Janet Mackay, I recognized her tall, thin shadow as it occasionally +fell on the blinds, and you know I had already suggested that there was +something dubious about Janet because of her acquaintance with Charlie +Maxon. +</P> + +<P> +"That light didn't go out until three in the morning. A few minutes +later I saw some one slip out the back door of the house and hurry +across the garden to the trail. Janet! It was brilliant moonlight, +you'll remember, and I recognized her at once. +</P> + +<P> +"I followed her, keeping a cautious distance behind. Lost her once +when she vanished from the trail into the woods, but she came back a +minute or two later with a bundle under her arm that she had retrieved +from some hiding-place. After that she took a bypath leading downhill +in the direction of that poisonous little brook which runs through +those meadows after passing the tannery. +</P> + +<P> +"I watched her as she knelt down on the bank of the stream, weighted +her bundle with a couple of rocks and hove it as far out as she could +into the water. She stood watching the bubbles break above the spot +where it disappeared, then turned and marched away erect as a grenadier +and calm as a cucumber. +</P> + +<P> +"I let her go, of course. My interest was centered in that stuff she +had sunk, and I scurried around until I found a long pole. Then I +started dredging operations that would have been a credit to De Lesseps +himself—and brought ashore that bundle. +</P> + +<P> +"You've guessed what it was. The monk's disguise, complete even to the +shoes! +</P> + +<P> +"You were gone, or I'd have brought the reeking mess to you. I +couldn't smuggle it into Bolt's house without embarrassing +explanations—after a dip in that brook, those clothes advertised their +presence to a distance of a hundred yards. Finally, I threw them back +into the water, making careful note of the exact location, and went off +to where I had left Jason's car. +</P> + +<P> +"I was pretty well pleased with myself as I drove home. It seemed to +me that I had solved the mystery of who killed Simon Varr, and it +didn't injure my self-esteem any to think I had nailed the crime on the +very person I had first suspected. Great work! I finally appeared +before Jean all covered with mud and medals. +</P> + +<P> +"It was when we were talking it over that the same awful idea came to +us both. The more we thought it out, the less plausible seemed the +theory of Janet's guilt. A sharper wit than hers had planned the +murder. I told Jean about the long interview with Miss Ocky before +Janet went out to destroy the evidence, and Jean groaned. It grew +plain as a pike-staff that Janet was at worst an accomplice, and more +probably only an accessory after the crime. +</P> + +<P> +"Her abrupt departure the next day appeared to clinch this hypothesis. +She—she would not betray her mistress and friend, but the shock of the +discovery she must have made had proved too much for her. We figured +she had either left voluntarily to—to pacify her own conscience, or at +Miss Ocky's insistence because she was too dangerous to have around. +And—and that's all, Creighton!" +</P> + +<P> +It wasn't all, as no one knew better than the detective himself. There +was something yet that had to be brought into the light and discussed. +Moved to the very depths of his being, he reached out in the dark and +dropped a hand gently on the big man's knee. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you tell me this at once, Krech?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew you'd ask that! Well, it was because Jean had some notion—and +I did, for that matter—that if you learned the truth you'd—you'd get +an awful jolt. We have both come to like Miss Ocky immensely, and I +needn't tell you how we feel toward you! When it came to a choice of +hurting you or condoning a crime we—we didn't hesitate long. Jean +said if I ever let out a peep about what I'd seen that night, she'd +divorce me—and, honestly, Creighton, I think she <I>meant</I> it!" +</P> + +<P> +Some emotions do not lend themselves readily to verbal expression. +Peter Creighton was silent, but there was eloquence in the tightening +of his hand on Krech's knee. The big man spoke again, mournfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember that afternoon at the tannery when I said I'd like +just for once to find out something before you did? Well, I got my +wish the other night—and I'd have given an arm to alter the meaning of +what I'd found!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Krech. You and Jean are two of the best friends a man ever +had." The detective paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I +expect you'd like to know how I stumbled on to the truth—? All right." +</P> + +<P> +Though he was scarcely conscious of it, the telling of that story +brought him some measure of relief. It eased the ordeal of waiting for +news from the next room. He was forced to concentrate his thoughts on +what he was saying to the exclusion of anxieties and fears, and shortly +his chief concern was the clear presentation of his narrative. +</P> + +<P> +He deemed it advisable that Krech, since he knew so much, should know +all. The single incident he left untold was his dashing of the lethal +glass from Ocky's lips—that, as she had stipulated, should remain +their own secret. +</P> + +<P> +"You always manage to fool me, Creighton," said his friend as the +detective ended. "I never guessed Merrill was your man, and I never +dreamed that you knew about Janet's flight in time to wish Kitty Doyle +on her. Jean and I would have bet any amount of money that you weren't +within a hundred miles of the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"Your bet would have been safe twenty-four hours ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Now the question is—" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton suddenly sprang into activity. A door had opened and shut +softly close at hand, a light footfall sounded from the hall, and the +detective leaped to fling back his door as a set of bony knuckles was +extended to rap on it. +</P> + +<P> +Krech did not leave his chair, but his ears were strained to their +limit. He caught various illuminating phrases from a brisk, capable +little person with flowing white whiskers. +</P> + +<P> +"Resting now ... Opiates ... Careful examination ... Curious case +... Similar one ... Medical text books ... To-morrow ... +MacNaughton ... Billy MacNaughton ... Best Man ... Know Him? ... +Fine fellow ... Exquisite touch with the knife ... I will telegraph +... No complications ... No reason for excessive alarm ... Very +simple ... Expert surgeon ... Splendid constitution ... Strong as a +Shetland pony ... Better go to bed yourself ... Good-night ... +Tut-tut, don't mention it ... <I>Good</I>-night!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton shut the door quietly, turned and lighted the lamp. Krech +saw that much of the trouble had gone from his face—much, but not all. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard what he said, Krech?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's going to pull through?" +</P> + +<P> +"He thinks so." +</P> + +<P> +"That's good news. At least—I suppose it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh? What in thunder do you <I>mean</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +Krech deliberately lighted a fresh cigar before he answered, eyeing his +friend steadily as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"If she recovers, what will you do?" he asked calmly. "Hand her over +to the police—as you should?" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton stared at him. Then he suddenly swore—crisply, concisely, +and without passion. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, then!" said the big man with satisfaction. "I'll +tell Jean just what you have said. In the event of your learning the +truth, we felt some concern as to whether or not you'd be—be—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>What?</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—human!" +</P> + +<P> +"Um." The detective gave a little laugh that was totally devoid of +mirth. "Yes, I'm going to be—human! I fought that battle all day +yesterday! I find that Ocky means more to me than—than honor, to put +it bluntly and melodramatically." +</P> + +<P> +"Cheers!" cried the unscrupulous Mr. Krech. "Loud cheers!" +</P> + +<P> +"I came to another decision," continued Creighton seriously, "one that +is dictated by common decency if nothing else. This is my last case. +My shingle is coming down forthwith. I haven't met the acid test. +I've quit under fire. I'm a deserter from the ranks. I'm—<I>through</I>!" +He shook his head as Krech started to protest. "No. Whatever happens, +that is definitely settled." +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever happens," repeated the big man musingly, the phrase recalling +him to certain practical considerations. "Let's see. Jean and I know +the truth; we're mum. Janet knows it; she's safe. How about Kitty +Doyle? That young lady is sharper than a serpent's tooth, as I +remember her! Suppose she tumbles to It? Will she join the conspiracy +of silence?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe Kitty is a friend of mine," said Creighton, and added +simply, "I'm singularly fortunate in my friends, Krech." +</P> + +<P> +The next moment he jumped nervously as some one rapped gently on his +door. He glanced at the big man appealingly, and sat down again on the +edge of his bed. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," grinned Krech. "Leave it to me!" +</P> + +<P> +"A telegram for Mr. Creighton, sir," said Bates, as the door was opened +to him. "The boy just brought it this minute." +</P> + +<P> +"That must be something from Kitty now," muttered Creighton when the +butler had gone. "Open it and read it, will you? My nerve has gone to +pieces!" He shifted uneasily. "Hurry up!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's from Kitty," confirmed Krech, opening the envelope and +glancing at the signature on the message. "A long one, too. Here +goes!" He held the paper under the lamp and began to read, casually at +first, then rapidly as the import of the dispatch quickened his pulse. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"<I>Arrived hotel. Secured room adjoining Janet. Bed early. Was +restless, talkative. Unable distinguish words. Picked lock +communicating door. Listened by bed. Incoherent. Suddenly awoke. +Surprised me. I used own judgment as instructed. Made best of bad +situation. Accused her of murder. Threatened her with police. +Terrible scene. Frantic denials followed by complete collapse. Full +confession. Made lengthy synopsis. Obtained signature. Abruptly she +seemed to go mad. Raved wildly. On point summoning assistance when +violently attacked. Threw me in corner. Threw bureau on top of me. +Before interference possible ran to open window. Jumped out. Six +stories. Death instantaneous. Wire instructions. K. Doyle.</I>" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Gee Joseph!" gasped Krech, and handed the telegram to the detective, +who had sprung to his elbow long since and peered over his shoulder. +The big man walked back to his chair and dropped into it limply. "I'm +all unstarched!" he said plaintively. "Save my sanity and tell me what +it's all about! How many people killed Simon Varr?" +</P> + +<P> +"One!" answered Creighton grimly, but his eyes were shining. "Janet +Mackay! And Ocky—Ocky thought she was dying—! She tried to shield +Janet by assuming the guilt! Merciful Heaven, what a thing to do! No +wonder she insisted on my recalling Kitty Doyle at once! Threatened to +turn her sacrifice into a wasted gesture, Kitty did—and, by golly, +Kitty <I>has</I>! But it wasn't wasted as far as we're concerned—we can +always appreciate it! It was fine, Krech—fine!" +</P> + +<P> +"But foolish," grunted Krech. "Think of the unhappiness she would have +caused every one who is fond of her if she'd been allowed to roll up +her reputation into a ball and kick it away!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you suppose that thought hurt her?" cried Creighton. "If laying +down your life for a friend exemplifies the greater love, what of a +woman who lays down her reputation? Isn't that even finer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-yes. Perhaps you're right. But—she condoned a crime." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. And I think you and I are in a nice position to criticize +her, aren't we? Perhaps Jean might help us there!" +</P> + +<P> +Creighton, carried out of himself by a <I>denouement</I> almost beyond +belief, was close to laughter. Mr. Krech was not. He left his chair +and began to saunter uncertainly around the room, pausing finally at +the desk and staring down at its blotter, his back turned to his +companion. A more neutral observer than the other, he thought he could +see a question arising that had not yet occurred to the +less-unprejudiced detective. But Creighton would stumble upon it +eventually—far better to thrash it out now. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did Janet kill Simon Varr?" he opened the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—why—" Creighton stammered, at a loss for a moment, but recovered +himself swiftly as an answer came. "Don't you understand that? Her +motive was the one Ocky professed! She was playing Destiny! She knew +all about Varr—they discussed him at length—and she had always had a +distaste for the man since the old days in this house. When Ocky told +her the story of the monk, it was she who conceived the idea of the +masquerade. It was she who knew Maxon's propensity for mischief-making +and selected him as a deputy. It was she who threatened Simon, fired +the tannery—but why go on? The two women are simply interchangeable, +and Ocky had only to repeat in her own person the confession she forced +from Janet—" +</P> + +<P> +"Why was she so long suspecting Janet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh? Well—if a murder is committed are you apt to suspect a person +you've known as well as you know yourself for twenty-five years? I've +been wondering what first directed Ocky's suspicion to her companion, +and I think I have the answer. The other day when Sherwood was +describing the actions of the monk at the time of the murder, Ocky +suddenly revealed a tremendous lot of emotion; depend upon it, +something he said then must have given her a clue to the truth. And +the incident of the fingerprints on the notebook—change one woman for +the other and that is explained! It was not the cautious Janet that +found the book in Ocky's bureau—it was the heedless Ocky who found it +somewhere among Janet's things and never stopped to think that she was +leaving prints when she picked it up!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—this playing Destiny, as you call it. Ocky could do that without +fear of the consequences, since she believed her days to be numbered, +but could Janet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" Creighton's voice was still confident but he had begun to +look askance at his friend as he caught a hint of something more +serious behind this inquisition. "Haven't we an explanation for that +in Kitty's telegram? She says 'Janet seemed to go mad'. Isn't that +the whole story after all? Janet was unbalanced; she pondered the +cussedness of Varr; she fell victim to an obsession. She began to +picture herself as a scourge of the unrighteous—she probably read up +on Jael and Charlotte Corday and women like that. Her brain cracked. +I'm not romancing, either. History is full of cold-blooded murders +committed from motives of altruism. Common enough, both the cause and +effect. Anyway, we have Janet's full confession coming to us—" He +broke off short at an involuntary movement on the part of his +friend—and abruptly a fear crept into his eyes. "<I>Krech</I>—what are +you thinking of?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same thing you are, Creighton." +</P> + +<P> +"Put it into words!" commanded the detective fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"You've done it yourself. You have pointed out that the two women are +interchangeable. So they are—even to the point where each makes what +is tantamount to a dying statement! Ocky's confession was convincing +when you heard it, wasn't it? Janet's will be equally so when it +arrives. Creighton—which are we to believe?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it!" whispered Creighton. "That's it!" +</P> + +<P> +The big man came back slowly from the desk. They stared at each other +blankly. The light had gone from the detective's eyes, the new born +life from his limbs. He felt weak and beaten as he contemplated this +fresh perplexity. He moistened his lips before he could speak. +</P> + +<P> +"It—it seems to resolve itself into a problem in psychology," he said +wearily. "No definite, tangible proof either way. Janet was perhaps +the more likely of the two to commit murder—I know something of that +dour Scotch temperament and its slow-burning fire that suddenly +explodes into flame. She traveled with Ocky and imbibed her own share +of Oriental fatalism. On the other hand, Ocky was far the cleverer of +the two, there's no denying that. Hers would be the brain more apt to +conceive the masquerade of the monk, the promotion of the strike, the +concoction of that note with its queer phrases—'stiff-necked son of +Belial', 'thunderbolts of wrath'—all that stuff. Yet again, those are +just the expressions Janet might use if she were afflicted with a +semi-religious mania! But Ocky was better equipped mentally to carry +the scheme through, that took a cool head, and Janet, from Kitty's +account, was rather of the emotional, high-strung, hysterical type. +Oh—!" Creighton raised his two hands and dropped them despairingly. +"Krech—I'm just going around in circles!" +</P> + +<P> +"There's no other place <I>to</I> go," declared the big man morosely. "But +I disagree with your last description of Janet. She may have been +hysterical in Montreal but she was cool enough the last time I saw her. +The way she marched down to that brook with evidence of a first degree +murder under her arm! And the way she stood watching the bubbles, +nodding her head and rubbing her hands together as if to say, 'Well, +<I>that's</I> a good job done!'— <I>Creighton</I>! What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +The detective did not reply. Perhaps he could not trust his voice, +perhaps he wished to enjoy in silence the wave of happiness and +exquisite relief that flooded his breast. He rose abruptly, and +further to conceal his emotion he walked to the French window and flung +it open. +</P> + +<P> +The night was gone. The eastern sky was a blaze of crimson glory. +Some of its radiance was reflected from his face as he draw a deep +breath of the fresh morning air. +</P> + +<P> +"Hullo," he said huskily. "It—it's dawn!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Monk of Hambleton, by Armstrong Livingston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + +***** This file should be named 30450-h.htm or 30450-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/5/30450/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Monk of Hambleton + +Author: Armstrong Livingston + +Release Date: November 11, 2009 [EBook #30450] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's notes: Extensive research found no evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + + +_By_ + +ARMSTRONG LIVINGSTON + + + + +NEW YORK + +RAE D. HENKLE CO. Inc. Publishers + +1928 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1928, + +By RAE D. HENKLE Co. INC. + + +Manufactured in the United States + + + + +_THE AUTHOR_ + +_Armstrong Livingston was born in New York City and was educated at St. +George's School, Newport, R. I; and in Europe. He began a writing +career in 1918. He has traveled extensively and for the past two years +he and Mrs. Livingston have made their home in Algiers with occasional +trips to Paris and London. He is the author of the following +books--all mystery stories:_ + + + THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + THE MYSTERY OF THE TWIN RUBIES + THE JU-JU MAN + ON THE RIGHT WRISTS + LIGHT-FINGERED LADIES + THE GUILTY ACCUSER + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. SAYING IT WITH FRUIT + II. THE HEAD OF THE TRAIL + III. A WARNING + IV. THE LEGEND OF THE MONK + V. MISS LUCY'S MAN + VI. AN AUNT IN NEED + VII. OUT OF THE PAST + VIII. TWO VICTIMS OF THEFT + IX. SIMON SEEKS ADVICE + X. CREIGHTON TAKES THE CASE + XI. CHECKERS AND CHICANE + XII. STARLIGHT ON STEEL + XIII. A DEDUCTION OR TWO + XIV. LUCY VARR + XV. TREASURE TROVE + XVI. A WOMAN OF NOTE + XVII. AN ARREST Is MADE + XVIII. SOME OLD MEN ARE OUT + XIX. AMONG THOSE PRESENT + XX. H. ANTEUS KRECH + XXI. TWILIGHT + XXII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT + XXIII. THE DARKEST HOUR + XXIV. BEYOND THE STARS + + + + +THE MONK OF HAMBLETON + + +_I: Saying It With Fruit_ + +The weather-beaten buildings that comprised the plant of the Varr and +Bolt tannery occupied a scant five acres of ground a short half-mile +from the eastern edge of the village of Hambleton. They were of +old-type brick construction, dingy without and gloomy within, and no +one unacquainted with the facts could have guessed from their +dilapidated and defected exteriors that they represented a sound and +thriving business. It was typical of Simon Varr, that outward air of +shabbiness and neglect; it was said of him that he knew how to exact +the last ounce of efficiency from men and material without the +expenditure of a single superfluous penny. + +An eight-foot board fence surrounded the property on three sides, the +fourth being bounded by a sluggish, disreputable creek whose fetid +waters seemed to crawl onward even more slowly after receiving the +noisome waste liquor from the tan-pits. At only one point, that +nearest the village, did any of the buildings touch the encircling +fence. There its sweep was broken by the facade of a squat two-story +structure of yellow brick which contained the offices of the concern +and the big bare room in which a few decrepit clerks pursued their +uninspiring labors. Admission to this building, and through it to the +yard, was by way of a stout oaken door on which the word _Private_ was +stencilled in white paint. Just above the lettering, at the height of +a man's eyes, a small Judas had been cut--a comparatively recent +innovation to judge from the freshness of its chiselled edges. + +On the afternoon of a warm, late-summer day a number of +men--twenty-five or thirty--were loitering outside this door in various +attitudes of leisure and repose. They were a sorry, unkempt lot, +poorly clothed and unshaven, sullen of face and weary-eyed. When they +moved it was languidly, when they spoke it was with brevity, in tired, +toneless voices. All of them looked hungry and many of them were, for +it was the end of the third week of their strike. + +The faintest flicker of animation stirred them as they were presently +joined by a roughly-dressed man who sauntered up from the direction of +the village, though it is safe to suppose that some of them were moved +to interest less by the newcomer himself than by the fact that he was +carrying a huge ripe tomato in one hand. He nodded a greeting that was +returned by them in kind, and it was some moments before the most +energetic of their number crystallized their listless curiosity in a +single question. + +"Any news, Charlie?" + +"Nothin' to git excited about." + +"I seen you talkin' to Graham a while ago." + +"Uh-huh. Graham's a good sport even if he is standin' in with th' +bosses." + +"He's only lookin' out for himself," said the spokesman judicially, and +tightened his belt by one hole. There was a murmur of assent from the +others. "A man has to in this world." + +"Uh-huh. And that's why we're strikin' now for a livin' wage and +decent workin' conditions. We're just lookin' out for ourselves +because no one else will." + +"Don't see as we're gettin' 'em," ventured a pessimist mournfully. +"Graham say anythin'?" + +"Said we'd oughter give in. That's what we'd expect _him_ to say, +ain't it? But I was talkin' to one of the clerks, feller named +Stevens, and _he_ says that there's a lot of big orders on th' books +that ain't goin' to be filled if we don't go back to work. Reckon +that'll give old Varr somethin' to think about!" + +They contemplated this hopeful scrap of information in a silence broken +finally by the pessimist, who contributed a morsel of personal history +by no means as irrelevant to the subject as it sounded. + +"Wimpelheimer just shook his head when I went to him this noon for a +bit of meat. He was nice enough about it, but he says three or four +fellers left town last week owin' him money an' he can't figure noways +how we're goin' to win this strike. He's lookin' out for himself, too!" + +"Uh-huh." Charlie's favorite expression of agreement was slightly +blurred by a mouthful of tomato. "Varr owns Wimpelheimer's store. If +he catches Wimpy bein' too accommodatin' to us chaps he's fixed to make +trouble for him." He nodded portentously. "Get it?" + +"Seems as if Varr owns th' hull blame village of Hambleton, barrin' a +few things he's only got a mortgage on," drawled another speaker. He +went on musingly to quote a local aphorism. "What Varr says, _goes_!" + +"That's right," concurred the pessimist glumly. "I reckon we took on a +pretty big contract when we started to buck Simon Varr!" He wagged his +head despondently. "Why--a man might as well try to buck _Gawd_!" + +Charlie's face came out from behind the tomato and his eyes swept the +other with fiery scorn. "Gettin' cold feet, huh? Mebbe you'd like to +git down on your knees an' crawl back to th' old skinflint? The rest +of us started out to do somethin' an' I guess we'll stick. Ain't that +so, boys?" There was a low murmur of assent. "We'll win, +too--cry-baby!" + +"You'd better hope so, Charlie Maxon!" flashed the object of his +derision. "You talked us into this strike in the beginnin', more than +any one else did, an' if we have to go back to work on th' old terms +your name is goin' to be _mud_!" + +"Talked you into it, did I? All right, then--I did! What of it? +Afraid I'm goin' to quit on you, huh? Well, I'm not. If I talked you +into it, I'll get you _out_ of it--with more pay an' better +conditions." His voice hardened to a threatening note. "What's more, +we ain't goin' back on th' old terms or th' old conditions, neither. +You heard tell of th' fire that started in C buildin' t'other night, +didn't you? Said it was an accident, didn't they? Well, mebbe it was +an' mebbe it wasn't. Mebbe there's others who wouldn't be sorry to see +th' tannery go up in smoke! An' as for Simon Varr, before I'd go back +to work for him at the old scale I'd catch him by himself some night +an'--" + +"Here he comes now!" broke in somebody abruptly. + +Maxon, his harangue cut short, followed the gaze of all of them. +Coming toward them some fifty yards away, not from the direction of the +village but from a short-cut through the woods that led from the +tannery to his house on the hill, was the familiar, thickset, gray +figure of the man they had been discussing. They watched him draw near +for a moment, then quietly broke up into groups of two and three and +drifted silently away. Maxon lingered to the last from a spirit of +sullen bravado, but he had no wish to encounter his late employer face +to face and he, in turn, followed his comrades in retreat. + +Simon Varr watched them go from beneath his shaggy, scowling eyebrows, +and his thin lips relaxed their usual tightness to curve in a +contemptuous sneer. Jackals! + +He marched steadily to his objective, the door of the offices, and was +raising his hand to knock when there was the sound of an iron bar +sliding back and the door opened. Since the fire to which Maxon had +referred, it had been deemed advisable to employ a watchman by night +and a guard by day to protect the property from either accident or +sabotage. It was the day-man who had recognized his employer through +the Judas and drew the bar. + +"Good afternoon, sir," he ventured politely. + +Simon Varr was not accustomed to respect any amenity of social +intercourse and he paid no more attention now to the greeting than if +it had never been uttered. He merely glanced sharply at the man and +snapped a curt question. + +"Well, Nelson--any trouble?" + +"No, sir. There's been a bunch of them loungin' around outside and +talkin' a lot, I was listenin' to them when you came along." + +"Talking, eh? Who seemed to be doing the most of it?" + +"Well, sir, I'd say that--" + +He was not destined to say it at that moment, however, for his remarks +were interrupted by an incident as annoying as it was unexpected. He +and Varr were confronting each other in the open doorway while they +spoke, and at this point some missile hurtled past their faces and +thudded heavily against the planking of the door, where it burst with +all the enthusiasm of a hand-grenade. Startled, they sprang back; +then, recovering from the shock, they discovered themselves quite +uninjured in body if somewhat damaged in raiment. They were liberally +bespattered from head to foot with the lifeblood of an overripe tomato. + +Nelson vented his indignation in a mild oath, Varr relieved his +feelings in an angry snarl. The tanner wheeled swiftly in an effort to +detect the author of the outrage, but his eyes showed him only a small +knot of men, their hands thrust ostentatiously in their pockets, whose +snickers died away as he gazed at them grimly. He grunted +disdainfully, motioned the guard to precede him, and closed the door +behind them as they entered the building. They busied themselves +briefly with handkerchiefs. + +"I'd like to have the tannin' of their ugly hides!" muttered Nelson. + +"Charlie Maxon was eating a tomato as I came across from the path," +commented Varr, more to himself than to his companion. "He put his +hands behind his back to hide it from me, but he was too slow. Umph! +He'll wish he'd never seen that tomato, let alone thrown it at me, +before I'm through with him!" + +"Maxon, sir?" The mention of the name reminded Nelson of his +unfinished report. "Why, it was him that was doin' all the talkin'!" + +"It was, eh? Umph." + +"More than that, sir, he was makin' threats." + +"Threats! What sort of threats?" + +"Nothing very definite, sir, but it sounded to me as if he'd be glad +enough to set fire to this place if he got a good chance--and he said +he wouldn't come back to work at the old wages, not if he had to catch +you by yourself some night." + +"Catch me by myself--! And _then_ what?" + +"That was as far as he got, sir. They saw you comin' then and he +didn't say anything more." + +"Ah!" There was derision in the monosyllable, but a thoughtful +expression in the hard gray eyes indicated that Varr had found food for +reflection in Nelson's story. What direction his thoughts were taking +he did not choose to reveal at the moment, but shot another question at +the watchman instead. "Doesn't Maxon wear a dark-blue flannel shirt?" + +"Usually, sir; he had on a gray one to-day." + +"Ah!" It was a note of triumph this time. "Have you seen Steiner this +afternoon?" + +"Steiner, sir? The Chief of Police?" + +"The Chief of Police--certainly! Not the Sultan of Turkey!" + +"No, sir, I haven't. But this is about the time he turns up every day +to see that things are quiet." + +"Watch out for him. Tell him I want to speak to him. I'll be upstairs +in my office." + +"Yes, sir." + +They parted with no further remarks. Nelson made a cautious +preliminary survey of the outer world to satisfy himself that no more +tomatoes were to be apprehended, then opened the door, placed a chair +upon the threshold, and settled to the enjoyment of a freshly-filled +pipe while waiting for Steiner to put in an appearance. Varr strode to +the farther end of the hallway and climbed the flight of narrow, +rickety stairs which led to the upper floor. + +This was normally the scene of quiet and orderly activity, where the +day's work was done to the clicking of typewriters and the hum of +subdued voices, but now the rooms were empty and the only sound to be +heard was the heavy tread of Varr himself as he walked through the main +office to the small room where his own desk was located. He frowned at +the difference, and sniffed discontentedly at the stale air which +seemed already to have taken on the peculiar flat mustiness appropriate +to closed and deserted habitations. He frowned again when he drew his +finger along a desk and noted the depth of the furrow it had made in +the dust. + +A reasonable man--Simon emphatically was not--would have allocated to +himself some share of the blame while scowling at the empty chairs and +dusty furnishings of the office. It was he who was primarily +responsible. It was he who had decreed that the clerical force should +be laid off without pay for the duration of the strike. + +"They'll have nothing to do--why should we pay 'em to do it?" + +Jason Bolt, a minor partner in the business by virtue of some money he +had put into it at a critical period in its early development, had +protested mildly and ineffectually. + +"It wasn't their fault, this strike. If we do that it's going to make +them mighty sore." + +"Sore at us--but it'll make 'em _hate_ the strikers!" + +"It will work a hardship on them--they need their salaries." + +"If they don't like it let them find other jobs." + +"They can't, Simon--there aren't any in Hambleton." + +"Then let 'em move to another village--there isn't one of them who'd be +a real loss to the community." + +"They can't do that, either, they're all family men and they can't pull +up stakes and shift at a minute's notice." + +"Then they'll stay here and do the best they can until we're ready to +whistle 'em to heel again. So much the better. Nothing breaks a +strike quicker than adverse public opinion--and those clerks are going +to provide a lot of that when they begin to feel the pinch. I'm giving +you a lesson, Jason, not only in economy, but in strategy!" + +"Just the same--I don't like it." + +Simon Varr's eyebrows had gone up a full inch and dropped again. + +"You don't like it?" he retorted ironically. "Well, I _do_--and what I +say, _goes_!" + +Which had ended the debate, since he spoke the simple truth. + +He blew the dust from the finger that he had trailed along the desk and +entered the small office that was his sanctum. Seated at his ancient +roll-top, he opened and read a handful of letters that had come in the +afternoon mail--and his ready frown was active again as he noted the +tone of some of them. The clerk, Stevens, when he told Maxon that +several orders were shortly due to be filled, had in nowise exaggerated +the case. Two or three were already overdue, and irate gentlemen in +distant cities were beginning to make inquiries more pertinent than +polite. Varr threw the letters on his desk and swore at the writers. + +The light in the office suddenly became dim; Simon rose irritably and +went to the single window, where he raised the green shade to its +greatest height. Storm-clouds rolling up from the west had obscured +the descending sun so that the countryside, with its rolling fields of +grain and patches of thick woodland, which a moment since had been +laved in a golden flood, now looked grim and gray beneath the deepening +shadows. The tanner studied the gloomy prospect with angry eyes, +finding in it some reflection of his own situation, and the face which +he raised to the heavens was as black as the clouds themselves. + +His was the startled, half-uncomprehending fury of the bull at the +first stinging dart of the picador. Domineering and ever dominant, he +had been accustomed throughout his life to impose his will upon others. +Shrewd and capable in his chosen business, successful in the limited +area of his activities, he had come perilously close to believing +himself omnipotent, not only in all that pertained to his own destiny, +but in the destinies of those about him. Never until the last few +weeks had either men or events dared to march contrary to his wish, +whereas now they appeared to have entered deliberately into a +conspiracy to defy their master and defeat his plans. + +Well--conspiracies can be crushed! His jaw set, his thin lips +tightened and his powerful hands clenched until the nails on his stubby +fingers sank deep into the flesh of his palms. Let 'em match their +wits and their wills against his--he would show 'em! + +He was so rapt in thought that he did not hear a heavy step in the +outer office and was unaware that he had a visitor until a voice spoke +respectfully from the threshold of his room. + +"Mr. Varr--Nelson said you wished to see me." + +The tanner started and turned from the window. "Oh--it's you, +Steiner." He walked to his desk and seated himself solidly in his +swivel chair. "Come in." + +The Chief of Police--Chief by virtue of two subordinate +constables--obeyed a command, rather than accepted an invitation. He +was a tall man, slender of build but wiry, a little past middle-age, +with hair beginning to gray at the temples, pale blue eyes and lantern +jaws. As a policeman he was a singularly unconvincing figure, yet he +had served creditably enough for five years in the peaceful village of +Hambleton, where an occasional speeding motorist or some native exalted +by too much home-brew constituted the whole criminal calendar for a +year. A quiet job for a quiet man. + +Varr did not offer him a chair, so he stood patiently waiting, twirling +in his hands the uniform cap that he had removed in deference to his +surroundings. + +"Last night," began the tanner abruptly, "some one trespassed on my +property and committed material damage--or to put it more plainly, some +one entered my kitchen garden, picked a considerable quantity of my +best tomatoes, helped himself to a couple of dozen ears of sweet corn, +and incidentally trampled down and destroyed quite a number of plants +in the process. I strongly suspect that he did the last intentionally, +out of pure malice." + +"Why, sir, that's a singular thing to have happen," commented Steiner +as the other seemed to pause. "I don't expect it was any one in +Hambleton, sir. It might have been a tramp." + +"It might have been, but it wasn't. It was Charlie Maxon, who used to +work for me and never shall again. I want you to take the necessary +steps to effect his arrest. I intend to prosecute him and hope he will +be punished to the full extent of the law. It's time Charlie Maxon and +a few of his friends were taught that I'm a bad man to play tricks on!" + +"Maxon, sir?" Steiner seemed more thoughtful than surprised. "I think +he has been one of the more active men in agitating this strike of +yours. A bright enough chap with a queer streak running through him." + +"Umph. Well, I'm going to put him where his queer streak can't get +loose and run amuck in my garden." He caught an expression of +hesitancy in the policeman's eyes. "Eh? What's the matter?" + +"I was just thinking, sir--are we sure of proving it against him? +Mebbe we'd better go slow. If I arrest him, like you say, and the case +falls down, he'd have a cause for action--" + +"Idiot!" snapped Varr. "Don't you suppose I know that?" He thrust his +hand into his breast-pocket. "Of course I have plenty of proof." + +He produced a heavy wallet and opened it. From one of its compartments +he took a small, triangular bit of blue cloth and, with the habitual +impatience that marked his every speech and gesture, he threw it at +Steiner, who caught it deftly in his cap. + +"The man who looted my garden was afraid to use the gate for fear he'd +be seen from the house. He came and went through the barbed-wire fence +and left that as a souvenir. It's a piece of a flannel shirt, like the +one Maxon usually wears. Get his shirt and match this to the hole +you'll find in it--see? Then take his everyday shoes and fit 'em to +the footprints he left in my tomato patch--I've had two of 'em covered +with glass bells so they won't be washed away if it rains. That will +be all the evidence you need. Understand?" + +"Y-yes, sir." + +"Well--what is it now?" + +"It's this, sir--I guess I ought to tell you that there's a lot of +feeling in the village over this strike, and most of it favors the +strikers. Maxon would get a bunch of sympathy. S'pose he comes out +and says he took those tomatoes because he was hungry? It may be wrong +to steal, but there's people who will say you're persecuting him and +they'll set him up as a martyr. I--I'm looking at it from your +interest, sir--" + +"Indeed! Thank you, Steiner--thank you very much!" Varr was never +more disagreeable than on the rare occasions when he chose to be +studiously polite. "In return, let me suggest something that has to do +with your own best interests. You are employed here to preserve law +and order and this is decidedly a matter for your official +attention--unless, indeed, you are thinking of resigning from the force +on the chance that I may offer you a position as confidential adviser +to myself. Eh?" + +Cold gray eyes held and mastered pale blue ones. There was a brief +silence--a silence that lasted just long enough for Steiner to reflect +that he owed his job to the Board of Selectmen and that the Selectmen +pretty much owed theirs to Simon Varr. Then he cleared his throat +nervously. + +"Of course, you know best, sir. I'll act at once." + +"Let me know when I'm to appear in the police court." + +"Yes, sir. Is that all you want of me, sir?" + +Varr did not answer, but there was dismissal in the abrupt way that he +swivelled around to his desk and bent his head over his neglected +correspondence. + + + + +_II: The Head of the Trail_ + +The sound of the chief's subdued steps--in departing even his feet +contrived to appear deferential--had barely died away when it was +replaced by the noise of other and more determined ones ascending the +stairs. The creaking of the ancient floor-boards heralded the approach +of Jason Bolt, the junior partner, who passed by his own private office +and entered Varr's. + +He was a short, rotund little man of forty-five, smooth-shaven, +somewhat sandy in complexion, with twinkling eyes that were friendly, +and a light thatch of pinkish hair which was noticeably thinning on the +top of his head. There was a general air of cheerfulness and content +about him and his mouth, that was inclined to twitch at the corners, +seemed continually on the point of smiling. In truth, the fairy +godmother of Jason had presented him at birth with one of her choicest +gifts, a sense of humor, and it had seldom failed him since. Beyond +any possible doubt--as he had more than once pointed out to his wife +Mary--he owed to this fine characteristic the fact that he had +preserved his sanity of mind and body despite the twenty years of +intimate association with his grim, self-centered partner. + +He plopped down on a chair with a puffing sound of relief. He was +panting a bit from the stairs, and his forehead was beaded with a moist +tribute to the sultriness of the weather. He fanned himself gently +with a stiff straw hat. + +"Hello, Simon," he said presently, when returning breath permitted him +to speak. He did not expect any reply and continued without waiting +for one. "Gosh, I've just had quite a shock!" + +"Did, eh? What was it?" + +"The sight of our usually immaculate, if unpainted front door. I saw +that rich crimson stain, then observed Steiner coming out looking very +businesslike, and I made sure that some one had brained my noble +partner against his own building." + +"The shock coming when you stepped in here and discovered your mistake. +Is that it? + +"No, Simon; Nelson told me that it was only Charlie Maxon saying it +with catsup." His light voice grew more serious. "Just the same, a +man who throws tomatoes to-day may throw bricks to-morrow." + +"Not Maxon," cut in Varr. "Steiner has my orders to arrest him." + +"Arrest him! On charges of assault with a tomato? It's hardly a +deadly weapon unless it's green, and this one very obviously was not. +A slap on the wrist and a reprimand is about all he will get for that." + +Varr's chair revolved until he was facing his partner, at whom he +directed a glance of angry impatience. "If you'd listen to me instead +of chattering so much--! I'm charging him with trespass, theft and +property damage." Curtly but clearly, he described the overnight raid +on his garden and his reasons for believing Maxon the culprit. He +noted the changing expression of Bolt's face as the story progressed, +and when it was finished he asked, as he had asked the Chief of Police: +"Well--what is it?" + +"I'm thinking of the effect on public sentiment," answered the other +gravely, his thoughts turning in the same direction that Steiner's had +taken. "But of course that doesn't cut any ice with you--I know that. +You'll do as you please regardless of consequences." + +"I certainly will!" + +"Do you know, Simon, that about twenty of our best men have left town +in the last two weeks? I was talking to Billy Graham this afternoon +and he'd been checking up." + +"And making the worst of the situation, you may be sure!" Varr's face +darkened as his heavy brows came together in one of his ready scowls. +"If Graham has been watching the men, I've been watching him. I'm not +so certain that his sympathy isn't with them, instead of with us, where +it ought to be. Yesterday, I met that lanky daughter of his coming +from the direction of Brett's house with an empty basket in her hand. +I don't need three guesses to tell me what she'd been doing!" His lip +curled. "Nice bit of business, eh? We're trying to break a strike, +while our own manager rushes food to the strikers!" + +"Brett's wife has been sick and there are two kids to be looked after. +Sheila Graham probably remembered that and forgot everything else. +Billy may not have known anything about it--or have been able to stop +her if he did. Sheila is just as clever as she is pretty and generally +gets her own way in everything; since her mother died three years ago +she has been able to twist her father around her little finger. Smart +girl." + +"Entirely too smart!" + +The words were uttered with so much passion that Jason Bolt moved +uncomfortably on his chair, reproaching himself with having been +wanting in tact. There were good and sufficient reasons why Varr +should react to the mention of the girl's name like a bull to a red +rag, and here he had been stupid enough actually to praise the young +woman whom the tanner had referred to contemptuously as Graham's lanky +daughter. He opened his mouth with intent to change the subject, but +an outburst from Varr forestalled him. + +"You say she has her own way with her father. Exactly! Let me tell +you, Jason, I've no use at all for a man who can't command obedience +from his own children. That is something for my boy, Copley, to +consider before he involves himself any more deeply with Sheila +Graham--the daughter of one of my workmen of whose loyalty even I can't +be certain!" Under his sense of irritation, as his resentment against +those who were defying his wishes steadily increased, his voice grew +louder and more harsh. "If that girl wants to do her father a bad +turn, just let her continue to encourage that young fool! I was a wise +man never to give Graham a contract! He's only on salary, and for two +cents I'd give him a month's pay and throw him out!" + +"Well, I hope you won't," ventured Jason cautiously. He seemed to +spend most of his time debating whether the moment were propitious to +reason with Varr or whether he were best left alone! "It would be +awfully hard to replace Billy. You wouldn't have the satisfaction of +knowing that you had hurt him much, either. He told me recently that +the Thibault Tanneries have made him a very good offer to go to them. +He'd better himself considerably." + +"He would, eh? Why hasn't he accepted?" + +"You know as well as I do, Simon. He has been with us for years, saved +a fair bit of money, and he is hoping that some day we will see our way +to giving him an interest in the business. A laudable ambition for any +employee who wants to get on in the world. Even you can't criticize +that!" + +"Umph." Varr did not seem to think it necessary to express his views +on ambition, but appeared to be reflecting on the news Jason had just +given him. "The Thibault people, eh? In Rochester!" He raised one +hand and caressed his chin softly. "So if I throw him out of here he +will go to Rochester--taking that girl with him! Have you ever +noticed--" He broke off abruptly, leaned forward and threw his voice +into the outer office. "_Hello_! Is that you, Langhorn? What do +_you_ want?" + +They had failed to hear the approach of a thin, middle-aged man who had +come halfway across the main room from the head of the stairs before +Varr had chanced to see him. He came the rest of the way now, and the +fact that he stooped a little when walking lent him an odd air of +furtiveness, which was somehow borne out by his narrow face, weak, +irresolute chin and restless eyes. He was one of the clerks whom Varr +had summarily suspended from the payroll, and there was anxiety in the +gaze that shifted from one partner to another as he paused respectfully +in the doorway. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Varr! Good afternoon, Mr. Bolt!" + +"What do you want?" demanded Varr curtly, though a cruel light in his +eye made it apparent that he knew the answer. + +"Things are very hard, sir--" + +"And you come to me for help? The more fool you! I have made it plain +that not a single employee of this concern shall draw a dollar of +salary until those ungrateful pups who have struck come back to work on +my terms. Go tell _them_ your troubles! Tell 'em for me, too, that +their time is getting short. I'm making inquiries already with a view +to getting men to take their places." + +"I wasn't just thinking of work in the office, sir. If you had +something for me on the outside--something up at your house, perhaps--" + +"I have nothing. Good day!" + +The man waited a fraction of a second, his eyes mutely questioning +Jason Bolt, who negatived their appeal by an almost imperceptible shake +of his head. Slowly, the man withdrew. + +"A sneaking hound!" Varr did not lower his voice, indifferent to +whether the retreating clerk learned his opinion of him or not. "I +have never liked him." + +"He must have heard what you said about Graham," reflected Jason. "I'm +rather sorry for that. He's quite capable of carrying tales to Billy +that might lead him to misconstrue your attitude." + +"Let him! I guess it won't be such an awful misconstruction at that! +Graham was never farther in his life than this minute from his +partnership." + +"Well--of course--a partnership wouldn't quite march with my idea!" +Jason Bolt lighted a cigar rather nervously as he broached a subject +dear to his heart. "Not a partnership--no. But if we were to +incorporate and borrow the capital we ought to have, he might +reasonably expect a good block of stock on the most advantageous +terms----" + +"We--are--not--going--to--incorporate!" Varr's slow words carried the +emphasis of sheer exasperation. "I have told you before that I do not +intend to do so." + +"Still, Simon, our position warrants it--our increased business almost +demands it--" + +"I have said I won't!" + +"Yes--yes, I heard you. I would not have brought up the subject now +except that we will have an opportunity during the next week to get +some dope on the possibilities. Judge Taylor can tell us all about the +legal end of it, but Herman Krech can give us pointers on the practical +side--" + +"Who are you talking about?" + +"Oh--didn't I tell you?" Artful Mr. Bolt's surprise was well +simulated. "Why, he's a New York stockbroker who has made barrels of +money. He married a girl named Jean Graham, an old friend of my +wife's. Mary has tried two or three times to get them for a visit, and +they are finally coming to-morrow for a week." + +"He can stay a year for all of me." Varr brought his open hand down +with a loud smack on the arm of his chair. "Once and for all, Jason, +we are not going to incorporate!" + +"We could expand and make a lot more money." + +"We'll make more money without expanding!" + +When a youngster at school, some one had told Jason Bolt that the +constant dropping of water will in time wear away the hardest rock. He +had never forgotten this valuable piece of knowledge, possibly because +he had so frequently demonstrated its truth on the person of his +unsuspecting partner. No one could argue Varr into doing anything, +much less drive him, but Jason had more than once succeeded in +overcoming that granite obstinacy by a species of gentle, persistent +nagging. So adept had he become in this delicate accomplishment that +Simon Varr would have sworn at the end of a campaign that he had never +deviated from the original purpose that had been his in the beginning. + +"Well, anyway," tapped the drop of water, "it can't do a bit of harm to +listen to what he has to say." + +Varr shrugged his shoulders. The conversation had ceased to interest +him. So, evidently, had his letters, for he thrust them from him with +an air of finality as he rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. It +was not yet very late, but with the waning of summer the days were +growing perceptibly shorter and the light in the office where the two +men were talking was already failing. + +"I didn't see your car outside, Simon. Shall I give you a lift home? +or would you rather walk?" + +"I'll walk." Varr crossed the room and knelt before an old iron safe +in the corner near the window, peering closely at the figures on the +dial as he slowly turned the knob. In a moment the combination Was +complete and he pulled open the heavy door. "It occurred to me to-day +that this was a poor place to leave my memorandum book. If some one +succeeded in burning the building--as some one apparently wants to--it +would be none too secure even in this safe." + +Jason whistled softly. "Has that got the notes of your new formula in +it, Simon?" He stared at the small red leather notebook which Varr +took from a pigeonhole. "You're dead right to take that out of here! +By the way, did you see that letter from the Larscom Leather Company? +They say that the last order we shipped them--the batch we tanned by +your new process--is the best looking lot of leather they've ever had +in their shops." + +"I guess it was," acknowledged Varr calmly. He balanced the leather +memorandum book on his hand, his expression softening for a moment as +he regarded it and remembered the days and nights of toil represented +in its closely filled pages. A metal nameplate on the cover caught his +eye by reason of its dinginess. He breathed on it and rubbed it with +the cuff of his suit. "Yes, Jason, here is proof enough that my brains +in no way resemble a tomato. If you were capable of inventing the +processes that I have noted here, you would be running a business of +your own quite independent of me!" + +"That's very true, Simon." To this particular type of jeer Bolt had +grown accustomed, and if his eyes narrowed a trifle it was the only +hint of resentment that he showed. "As a matter of fact, it's just +because you've got such a good thing in this new formula that I'm +anxious for more elbow room." He glanced about him with an air of +dissatisfaction. "The business we're doing warrants something better +than this peanut stand!" + +"I'm ready to buy your interest for ten times what you put in!" offered +his partner dryly. "Will you accept?" + +"I will not." Jason stood up and clapped on his hat. "I must be off. +Sure you won't let me drive you home?" A shake of Varr's head answered +him. "Good night, then." + +He left the office and was halfway to the stairs when a sudden thought +occurred to him and he retraced his steps. + +"Say, Simon!" + +"Well?" + +"Where are you going to put that book?" + +"This notebook? In my library desk at home, I suppose. Why in thunder +do you want to know?" + +"Well, you might drop dead during the night! Think how awkward it would +be for me if your memoranda were missing, too!" + +He grinned cheerfully and departed, satisfied that he had scored mildly +in retaliation for some of the slights inflicted on him by Varr. He +had once discovered that Simon Varr, for all his outward strength and +ruthless nature, had an innate fear of death. This hitherto secret +weakness had revealed itself some years before when double pneumonia +had brought him dangerously close to the end of his mortal coil. + +He fell back a pace, shaken, but recovered in time to hurl an acid +comment or two at his tormentor's back. A derisive chuckle floated to +his ears from the stairway. + +Varr shut the safe and spun the dial, then picked up his hat and +prepared to leave the building. He paused for a word with Nelson, who +stood up and opened the outer door. + +"Your instructions are to allow no one in except Mr. Bolt and myself. +How does it happen that you permitted Langhorn to enter?" + +"I knew he was one of the clerks and I thought--" + +"Don't think. When does Fay relieve you?" + +"At seven, sir." + +"Tell him to keep a sharp watch. Instead of making his rounds at +regular intervals he had better vary the elapsed time between them. It +would be a good idea if he were to follow up one by another five +minutes later." + +"I see, sir. If any one is watching him, they'll begin their mischief +when he has just finished one round, and the second might catch them at +work. Is that it, sir?" + +"That is it. Keep it to yourself and Fay--no talking of it to some one +who may spread the story." + +"Certainly not, sir." + +"What became of that bunch of hot-air artists who were out here?" + +"They drifted away, sir--home, I expect. The last few of 'em left when +Mr. Graham came along." + +"Ah." Simon had asked about the men almost idly as his cold gaze swept +the clearing before the door. He had been on the point of crossing the +threshold when Nelson's casual remark stopped him short in his tracks. +"Mr. Graham was here? When was that?" + +"Not twenty minutes ago, sir." + +"Twenty minutes ago?" Varr thought back, and his calculations brought +a frown of annoyance to his brow. "Did he speak to you?" + +"No, sir. I made sure at first that he was comin' here, but Langhorn +had just left and he stopped Mr. Graham and spoke to him." + +"Humph. Did they talk together long?" + +"Five or ten minutes, sir." + +"Could you hear what they said?" + +"No, sir. They were too far away. Langhorn did most of the talkin' +and I figured he was probably tellin' Mr. Graham a hard-luck story." + +"No doubt you figured correctly," said Varr, neglecting, however, to +add that in all likelihood Graham had listened to a tale of misfortune +that concerned himself rather than the clerk. "What happened after +that? Did they leave together?" + +"N-no, sir." Nelson had begun to sense the presence of something +important underlying the surface of this inquisition and he paused +a moment to reflect before continuing. "It was Langhorn who left +first. Mr. Graham stood still a while, lookin' in this direction +as if he still meant to come over, then he turned and headed for +town." A shrewd gleam lit the watchman's eye. "While he was facin' +this way it struck me that he was lookin' red and sort of angry." + +"Ah!" + +The monosyllable served at once to express Varr's perfect apprehension +of what had passed between the two men and to bring the present +conversation to a close. He took his leave, ignoring Nelson's polite +"good evening" after his usual custom, and strode swiftly off along the +short-cut by which he had come an hour or two earlier. Irritation +quickened his step no less than the threat of rain from the banking +clouds in the western sky. + +So Jason had been right. Langhorn had overheard that portion of their +talk which concerned Graham and had promptly reported it to the man +most interested. Malicious, mischief-making little sneak! And of +course he had to walk smack into Graham just when he was in a mood to +make trouble and blow the consequences! With any luck he wouldn't have +encountered the other until resentment at the rebuff he had received +had cooled, and caution succeeded anger! + +Varr was in the humor these days to find in this trivial contretemps +yet another example of the annoyances, large and small, to which he had +been subjected lately--so persistently indeed that he was coming to +believe himself the chosen target at which some malefic Providence had +elected to discharge every arrow of misfortune in its quiver. + +Nothing seemed to go right any more; on the contrary, everything +appeared to take a fiendish delight in going wrong--which in Simon's +case meant largely that they were going in opposition to his wishes. +He briefly recapitulated a few of his major troubles as he hurried +along on his homeward way. + +First, there was dissension in his household, where his son was in +almost open rebellion against the paternal authority in the matter of +Sheila Graham, supported, Varr guessed, by the mild approval of his +mother. Second, there was the situation at the tannery, where a bunch +of incipient lunatics had gone completely mad and struck against +conditions that had previously been satisfactory to them and their +fathers before them. Last, but by no means least, was the discontent +in the office itself, what with a partner who had been bitten by the +bug of ambition--! A much-abused, sorely-tried man raised angry eyes +to Heaven and demanded of it, "What _next_?" + +And as he literally lifted his gaze from the trail, seeking an answer +in the sky, he saw something that halted him abruptly. He stood rooted +in his tracks, his head thrust slightly forward, very much as a keen +pointer freezes at the sight of game. + +The path he was following was one that ascended by gentle gradients +from the tannery to his big house on the crest of the low hill. A +narrow strip of meadowland on the edge of the town was crossed, then +the path, as it reached the rising ground, plunged into a deep belt of +heavy woods that stretched away on each side for the distance of a mile +or more; at the end, the trail crested a rather sharp acclivity before +emerging from the trees and linking up with a graveled path that +circled a kitchen garden in the rear of the house. + +Varr had just reached the foot of this last ascent at the moment he +looked up. Twenty yards ahead of him he could see the end of the path, +marked by a pale oblong of sky set in a dark frame of foliage, but it +was not that familiar sight which held him spellbound, started his +pulse to beating quickly and momentarily stopped his breath on a +painful gasp mingled of astonishment and fear. + +Silhouetted against the sky was a tall figure dressed from head to foot +in a black garment such as a monk might wear, but almost instantly Varr +recognized that there was something in this costume that was out of +keeping with the orthodox monastic habit. What the discrepancy might +be he could not determine in those seconds of bewilderment, but he knew +it existed. The outline against the light was clearcut; there were the +flowing line of the robe, and the conical shape of the hood, plain to +be seen and unmistakable. + +There were several reasons why the apparition--although he was +habitually unimaginative outside the field of barks and chemicals it +did not occur to Simon Varr in that first moment to doubt that this was +truly a specter from another world--should startle him to the verge of +sheer fright. To begin with, there was something suggestive of Death +in that somber, motionless figure, and of death he had a horror. Then +it had come so pat on his bitter question of "What _next_?" that it +seemed indubitably an answer from some Power not of earth. +Finally--there was something about the figure that wasn't _right_--! + +It spoke well for his spiritual courage that he was able to control his +nerves and conquer the trembling of his limbs within a few seconds, and +at the same time determine a course of immediate action. If this were +a human being it should be challenged; if it were a ghost, it should be +laid! He kept his eye fixed on the figure and deliberately took a step +toward it. + +Instantly, the immobility of the being ceased. A long black arm was +flung up and outward in his direction, a silent command to him to stay +his steps. + +His obedience was prompt, for now he knew what was wrong with the +apparition. Instinct had told him that the monk was confronting him, +regarding him closely, and the quick response to his attempted advance +was evidence enough that his instinct had not lied. + +His mouth went dry, his brow exuded beads of perspiration. The monk +was facing him sure enough--and that was queer, for the monk _had no +face_! + + + + +_III: A Warning_ + +From the shock of that gruesome discovery, Simon Varr reeled back both +mentally and physically. Involuntarily, he threw up a hand to shield +his eyes, then got the best of his terror and fell to rubbing them, +pretending to himself that this had been the intention behind the +gesture; doubtless their vision was blurred and had deceived him into +thinking the unthinkable-- + +He dropped his hand presently, blinked once or twice and prepared to +make a more careful scrutiny of the monk's appearance. He was balked +in this courageous essay. The apparition, if such it were, had acted +in accordance with tradition and had vanished. While his eyes were +covered it had departed, whether to left or right or merely into thin +air he could not tell. He did not debate the question, either--he +simply thanked his stars it was gone! + +It was with considerable reluctance that he resumed his way up the +path, but the daylight at the end of the trail looked inviting and +reassuring compared to the twilight in the woods and he covered the +distance to the spot where the monk had stood in a sort of a dogtrot. + +It was here that he made a fresh discovery as he collided rather +heavily with some obstruction in the path, an obstruction that gave way +as his body impinged upon it, but that nearly tripped him as it fell +between his legs. + +He picked it up, but did not pause to examine it. The light ahead +still lured and he continued his flight toward it, bearing his find +with him. + +He drew a deep breath of thankfulness as he finally emerged from the +woods into the comforting aura of the kitchen garden; his eyes rested +upon and were wonderfully soothed by a row of peaceful cabbages. Never +before had he noticed how beautiful a cabbage can be, but to a man +fresh from dalliance with a ghost there is something very steadying and +sustaining in a glimpse of that most stolid and solid of vegetables. + +There was a granite bowlder near-by on which he dropped gratefully for +a minute's rest. It was while reaching for a handkerchief to pat his +moist forehead that he was reminded of the object he had picked up and +still carried. He looked at it now, and found that it was a heavy +stick which must have been thrust firmly into the center of the path in +the woods; one end of it was split, and into the cleft had been thrust +a bit of folded paper--brown paper, he noted, of cheap quality, but +what really took his eye as he drew it free was his own name in +typewritten letters on the outside. + +Evidently this was intended for him, and he was about to open it to see +what message it might contain when the sound of hurrying steps from the +direction of the path diverted him from his purpose. Whatever the +contents of the paper might be, they were for him alone. Prompted by +an instinct for secrecy which was part of his psychological cosmos, he +thrust the missive into the breast-pocket of his coat and turned--with +a little tremor from his nerves--to see who was coming. + +It was a woman who burst from the shelter of the trees--a woman in some +haste and quite obviously in some alarm. She was panting from her +exertions, for she ceased running only when she reached the open, as +Varr had done before her. A close-fitting felt hat was slightly askew +on her head, and a once jaunty red feather that thrust up from it was +now hanging limp and dejected, broken perhaps by some low-hanging +branch she had failed to duck. She was dressed in a two-piece outing +costume of knitted wool, and she looked just now as if those garments +were too warm for comfort. + +Her face brightened as she observed Varr seated on the rock, and she +came toward him promptly. He brightened, too, welcoming any human +being of tangible flesh and blood at that moment, although there was no +living person whom he habitually detested more than he did his wife's +sister, Miss October Copley. Her evident perturbation, however, gave +him an uneasy premonition that he was about to hear more of his monk. +But he left it to her to introduce the subject. + +"Well, Ocky--reducing?" + +"Not much!" answered the lady briefly. "_Scared_!" + +She did not seat herself beside him on the bowlder, but chose instead +to drop at full length on a patch of green turf at his feet. With such +breath as remained to her she expelled a sigh of relief. + +"Scared, eh? I didn't suppose there was anything on earth that could +scare you!" + +She pounced instantly on his phraseology. "Perhaps not--on earth!" In +a smaller voice than she was wont to employ, she added timidly, "Simon, +d-do you believe in ghosts?" + +"_Ghosts_!" He fortified himself by a glance at the cabbages. "Talk +sense, Ocky!" + +"Who says it isn't sense?" snapped Miss Copley. "Anyway, I just got +the shock of my long and exciting life. See here, Simon--didn't you +come up that path a few minutes ago?" + +"I did. What of it?" + +"I was sure it was you ahead of me as we crossed the meadow. Tell me, +did you meet anything--I mean, any one?" + +"What do you mean? Did _you_?" + +"Y-yes. A figure in black--dressed something like a monk. I didn't +meet him, exactly--he dodged into the woods as I came along. That is, +I suppose he did--he just seemed to vanish!" + +"Oh--he seemed to vanish, did he?" Varr shifted nervously on his +granite throne. "You say he was dressed like a monk? Did--did you see +his _face_?" + +"No, I couldn't see that--" + +"Ah! You couldn't, eh?" He rubbed the palms of his hands on his +handkerchief as he probed a little deeper. "Too far away, I suppose." + +"No. He had on a mask." + +"A _mask_!" Comprehension came to him at once, and he inwardly cursed +himself for an imaginative fool before continuing. "Well, Ocky, to +tell you the truth, I did see him--right here at the head of the trail. +He had his back to the light so I couldn't make out any mask. Er--what +made you think of ghosts?" + +"Because I had such a creepy feeling when I saw him. Didn't you?" + +"Humph. For a moment, perhaps." + +"Did you pass each other after you met?" + +"Why--why-- Confound it--_no_! He just _disappeared_!" + +"Gosh!" said Miss Copley fervently. "Simon, it _was_ a spook! I know +it was! Have you ever seen or heard of a monk around here before?" + +"N-no. But that doesn't mean anything. There's no law that says they +can't travel if they want to." + +"But what would a monk be doing on a private path through this +property? Why should he disappear from people? Why should he wear a +mask? Monks don't wear masks." She reflected a moment. "Come to +think of it, he wasn't dressed exactly like a monk--Simon! did you +ever see a picture of those creatures of the Spanish Inquisition? +'Familiars' I think they used to call them. They dressed that way and +wore masks!" + +"Humph." Despite that skeptic snort, Varr was conscious of a nervous +chill. "You've been drinking too much coffee, Ocky! Indigestion!" + +"_Oh_!" cried Miss Copley suddenly. She raised herself on an elbow and +looked all about her on the ground. "Oh--_pshaw_!" + +"Eh? What is it?" + +"Coffee! Your mentioning it just reminded me! I was coming back from +a walk and I stopped at Wimpelheimer's to get a pound of it--I knew it +was needed at the house. Now it's gone! I must have dropped it when +that creature frightened me." She looked woebegone. "It's not very +far back, but I'm so tired!" + +"Are you?" repeated Varr restlessly. + +"You'll get it for me, won't you, Simon?" She regarded him +appealingly. "Oh--please!" + +He got up from the rock and glanced at her with marked distaste. His +gaze traveled to the dark entrance of the trail, came back to rest +briefly on the consoling cabbages, went again to the trail. He took an +irresolute, halting step--and then was struck by an inspiration that +cleared his brow as if by magic. + +"What do I keep a houseful of idle servants for?" he demanded crisply. +"Let Bates hunt it up--he'd better take a torch." + +"Simon--you're _scared_!" + +"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, it's going to storm. I felt a drop of +rain a moment ago. Come along to the house and stop your nonsense +about monks and familiars and--and ghosts!" + +Perhaps the last word came out a little uncertainly, but as he strode +through the kitchen garden and around to the front door, followed +closely by Miss Copley, he decided with pardonable pride that he had +extricated himself from an embarrassing position with his accustomed +masterful dexterity. The thought comforted him, for he vaguely +realized that he had come close to experiencing a nervous panic during +those minutes in the woods. + +A white-haired man, still lithe, erect and agile despite his years, +opened the door for them as their steps sounded on the planking of the +veranda. This was Bates, the butler, a faithful retainer who had +served the father of Lucy Varr and her sister a full decade before +passing with the house and land into the keeping of the younger +daughter and her husband. At the time of Mr. Copley's death, Varr had +tentatively suggested letting the man go, but his wife had protested +against that idea and had gained her point by shrewdly convincing her +husband that good servants were becoming increasingly difficult to find +and that Bates could never be replaced for less than twice his wages. +It was one of the very rare occasions when Simon had credited the +gentle, self-effacing lady with showing sound sense. + +The butler had just lighted the big lamp in the hall--electricity had +not yet found its way into the old house--and the warm cheerfulness of +the homely scene went far to rehabilitating Simon's convalescent nerve. +Ghosts did not fit into this atmosphere. Bates did--Bates was almost +as satisfying as a cabbage. Of course, Ocky would promptly do her best +to spoil it--! He could have dispensed willingly with the examination +to which she immediately subjected the servant. + +"Bates, has any one called?" + +"No, Miss Ocky." + +"No one at all?" + +"No, Miss Ocky." His wrinkled face showed his surprise at the +repetition. + +"How about the back door? Any one come there?" + +"No one, Miss Ocky." + +"Well, have you seen any one around the grounds? A man dressed like a +monk? Wearing a mask?" + +"A monk? In a mask?" The old man smiled indulgently at this quaint +whimsy, which might have come more suitably from the little girl with +flying pigtails whom he used to chase out of his pantry than from this +sensible, middle-aged woman who was waiting with apparent seriousness +for his answer. "A monk in a mask? Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" + +"All right." Miss Copley sent a significant glance at Varr, which he +acknowledged by wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "By the way, Bates--I +left a pound of coffee a little ways down the short-cut, you might step +out and get it before dinner." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +"You ought to find it right in the middle of the path." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +Bates waited, and when nothing further appeared to be forthcoming he +betook himself wonderingly to his usual habitat in the rear quarter of +the house. Monks in masks, indeed! And why did any one want to leave +a pound of coffee down a trail with rain commencing to fall? He shook +his head despondently over a Miss Ocky returned from foreign parts so +changed from the Miss Ocky of the old days. + +She seemed inclined to renew the ghostly topic of conversation when +left alone with her brother-in-law, but Simon gave her no chance. He +stalked off down the hall and entered his study, a small room that +opened off the comfortable, old-fashioned parlor. He closed the door +from the hall behind him, and also, for the sake of greater privacy, +the door that communicated with the living-room. Then he seated +himself at a roll-top desk and turned up the wick of the lamp that was +burning dimly in a wall bracket, close at hand. + +He had remembered, as he left Miss Ocky to her eerie fancies, the note +which he had retrieved from the cleft stick. She had driven the +recollection of it from his mind by her idle chatter about ghosts! He +took the slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. + +A few typewritten lines jumped to his eye, and he nodded as if that +were as he had expected. Before reading the text, however, he leaned +back in his chair and strove to recall the exact circumstances under +which he had discovered the missive. He had been hurrying--no, blast +it, he had been scuttling like a scared rabbit!--along the trail and +had run into the stick, which had been jabbed into the ground where he +could not fail to notice it--and at the very spot where the figure in +black had been standing! Apparition--pooh! If there was one thing +certain about the whole silly business it was that the note had been +put there by that--that creature. Simon did not profess to be versed +in the lore of spooks, but he could not vision an ambassador from +another world leaving behind him a tangible message composed on an +earthly typewriter--! Pooh, and again, _pooh_! + +He paused at this stage of his reflections to grin at the thought of +Ocky, denied the knowledge of this consolatory bit of evidence. He +hadn't mentioned it to her, and he wouldn't. Let her go on believing +in ghosts! He was hugely pleased to think that there really existed +one thing that could get under the skin of that hard-boiled human! + +He was still smiling grimly as he finally began to read the +message--but the smile had faded away before he finished. + + +"_Woe unto thee, stiff-necked son of Belial! Woe unto thee, oppresor +of the defensless! Woe unto thee, who hast ground the faces of the +poor, who hast turned the hopes of thy neighbers to ashes! Woe! Woe! +Woe! Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by +the thunderbolts of wrath!_" + + +A hand-written signature in a sprawling fist concluded the +communication; heavy, labored characters, inscribed in a crimson fluid +by a blunt pen, formed two words: "The Monk." + +Simon Varr read the thing through twice. He laid it on the desk before +him and stared at it as though it had some power to hypnotize him. A +pulse of anger beat in his temple, but it was a more subdued anger than +his quick temper usually produced. His mental processes had ceased to +function normally as they sank beneath a wave of bewilderment such as +had submerged them in the woods. Feebly, they came again to the +surface. + +This message was an event entirely outside the range of his previous +experience. He had heard of anonymous letters, naturally, and he knew +that the correct and courageous thing to do was to ignore them as if +they did not exist. But anonymous letters, as he understood them, were +brought by the postman and placed on the breakfast table with the +morning mail; they weren't planted in the middle of a lonely copse by +gentlemen attired as Spanish Inquisitioners! + +The letter on his desk seemed to leer at its recipient and challenge +him to ignore it. + +What did it mean? Who had sent it? Was it a genuine warning and +threat, or was it merely an elaborate hoax? He pondered the latter +possibility quite at length--and thanked his stars that he had not told +Ocky about it. Simon Varr was not the man to relish a jest against +himself, and if Ocky ever heard about it and it subsequently proved to +be the work of a practical joker--well, she would never let him forget +that he hadn't gone after the pound of coffee! + +But the theory that it might be a hoax grew more and more implausible +as he contemplated it. He was positive he knew no one capable of such +a prank, and to suppose that any stranger had gone to so much trouble +to play a trick on him was absurd. + +He had no lack of enemies--he knew that. Had one of them chosen this +fantastic method of declaring war on him? In that case he could +certainly afford to ignore the letter as coming from a source unworthy +of serious consideration. A worth-while enemy does not give a warning; +he strikes. The cheapest thing about a rattlesnake is its rattle. +Varr started to run over a list of recognized foemen who might have +done this ill-natured deed, but presently desisted; their name was +legion. + +He did not overlook a third, quite reasonable theory. The whole +business might have sprung from the unbalanced mind of a lunatic--some +person who believed himself appointed to right the wrongs of the +world--the victim of religious mania. That would account for the +choice of a monastic costume in which to masquerade--and it would also +account for the queer language of the letter, savoring as it did of the +Bible. Again, the type of person most likely to suffer from that form +of mental affliction would be a poorly educated person--and Simon +entertained grave doubts as to the orthography of some of the words in +the letter. + +He reached into a pigeonhole of the desk and took out a small +dictionary that he always kept at hand. He selected the dubious +spellings that had caught his attention and ran them down one by one. +"Oppresor" was wrong. "Defensless" was fearful. "Neighbor" started +out brilliantly but came a cropper at the end. And that curious +phrase, "Who hast"; what about that? Simon was a trifle hazy over +this, so he gave the writer the benefit of the doubt. It sounded +queer, though. Anyway, he had established to his satisfaction that the +fellow was illiterate--naively passing by the fact that he had himself +resorted to a dictionary to confirm his belief. + +He congratulated himself frankly on one score--he had laid the ghost! +He could admit now--though with a blush of shame--that he had been +badly shaken for just a few minutes, what with his own nerves and +Ocky's confounded chattering! A man without a face! A "familiar" from +the Spanish Inquisition! What rot a man's imagination can trick him +into crediting. But that was over and done with now; he was back on +solid ground, self-confident, secure-- + +He jumped quite half a foot in his chair at a muffled tap on the +door--and swore at Bates for announcing dinner. + + + + +_IV: The Legend of the Monk_ + +Four people sat down to dinner that evening in the big dining-room +across the hall from the parlor and Varr's study. The walls of the +dining-room were plentifully equipped with sconces bearing lamps, but +Simon, in some moment of petty economy, had once decreed that these +should be lighted only on formal occasions. The only illumination this +evening came from the candles on the table, which stood in the center +of the room, and beyond the area reached by their rays the shadows +deepened into impenetrability. At one end of the room a narrow slit of +light at top and bottom marked the position of the swinging door which +gave access to the pantry. + +From this point to the sideboard, and thence to the table, and back +again, moved Bates on noiseless feet as he busied himself with the +service of the meal. In his black clothes, the instant he slipped out +of the magic lighted circle he was swallowed completely by the shadows, +to reappear presently with spectral abruptness in another segment of +activity. Several times he startled Simon by silently materializing +from the void at his elbow, and on each occasion the tanner found some +excuse to vent his anger in a curt rebuke to the servant. + +The four who dined were of diametrically opposed temperaments. Across +the table from Varr sat his wife, Lucy, a pale, gentle soul who under +happier circumstances might have retained more of her youthful +freshness and beauty than she had. She appeared washed-out and +bloodless, so that her sister had remarked to herself that living with +Simon Varr must be not unlike associating permanently with a vampire. +His own abundant vitality sapped the life-juice from those about him, +leaving the desiccated bodies an easy prey to his appetite for +dominance. + +At Varr's left was his son, Copley, a young man who had come of age +that summer. He was tall and straight, aquiline of feature, brown-eyed +and with dark chestnut hair that persisted, to his annoyance, in a +tendency to curl. He was a likable chap, popular with young and old of +both sexes. His good looks came from his mother, together with the +equable disposition that promised to be his as he grew older and +learned better to control his emotions. When a youngster he had been +willful at times and prone to flashes of fiery temper, a heritage, +beyond doubt, from his father's chronic irascibility, but the +discipline of boarding-school and college had taught him to restrain at +least its outward manifestations. From Simon, too, he had inherited a +flair for business--an invaluable asset, thought Miss Ocky, for a man +sentenced for life to this twentieth century America. + +She was studying him now as she sat across the table from him, just as +she studied the other two when opportunity served. They were all three +practically strangers to her. The boy had not even been expected when +she went to China with the Oriental Languages committee from her +college, and in the twenty-three years that had elapsed before her +return two months ago, time had worked changes. She would never have +recognized her bright, joyous sister in this tired woman of the +listless air. As for her brother-in-law--well, perhaps it was not +quite accurate to say that he was a stranger to her; she had known +Simon Varr at the period of his courtship and marriage and he was still +Simon Varr, only a little more so! Detestable creature. She held him +accountable, quite justly, for the blight that lay upon Lucy. + +And upon Bates, too, for that matter. Miss Ocky had always had a warm +place in her heart for the faithful old man, reposing in him the trust +and confidence that her father had shown in the same quarter. Bates +was something more than the ordinary servant, he came close to being a +throw-back to the feudal retainer type of other days in his loyalty and +devotion to his house, just as his former master, Sylvester Copley, had +approximated in his time the character of a country gentleman. Bates +was getting on in years, of course, which would account for much of his +increased graveness and passivity, but not all. Unless Miss Ocky's +suspicions were wide of the mark, he, too, had come under the deadening +influence of Varr's dominance--ah! but _had_ he _entirely_? At the +very moment she was thinking about it, Simon had uttered a terse +comment, as biting as acid, upon some negligible feature of the +dinner-service. No faintest flicker of his facial muscles gave any +hint that Bates had heard the remark, but his eyes revealed that he +had, and for the fraction of a second they glinted oddly red in the +candlelight. Was there a spark of manhood in his breast that still +glowed when breathed upon? + +They dined in silence for the most part. Simon was never a brilliant +conversationalist, and to-night his thoughts were busy with matters far +afield. Young Copley was taciturn and moody, preoccupied by +reflections of no very agreeable nature, to judge by his glum manner. +Lucy Varr, helping herself but scantily from the dishes passed, +preserved her customary pose of nervous diffidence. Only Miss Ocky +tried to dispel the settled atmosphere of depression by occasionally +shooting point-blank questions at one or another of her companions--and +toward the end of the meal she did manage to stir up a little +excitement. + +"Copley," she addressed the quiet young man across the table. "You've +been out in the great world for several days, what's going on in New +York? Haven't you brought back any news to us country folk?" + +"New York?" He roused himself by a palpable effort. "No, Aunt Ocky, I +didn't pick up anything in New York that would interest you. Nothing +much good at the theaters just now. But if you want a piece of local +news I may have one for you. It would be more interesting to you three +than to me. When I got off the train this afternoon there was another +chap who swung off just ahead of me, and I noticed him particularly +because he was so different from anything you'd expect to drop off the +four-sixteen. Tall and well-set-up, dressed like the mirror of +fashion, smooth and polished--and followed by a valet, if you please, +carrying his grips and a bag of golf clubs! Imagine a sight like that +in Hambleton! I thought he'd made a mistake in his station, until I +saw him walk right across the platform to where Adams, the +baggage-master, was standing. He said something and held out his hand, +and old Adams grabbed it and shook it as if he was greeting a prodigal +son. I thought the valet looked a bit shocked! Then this chap tucked +himself and his man and his baggage into one of Brown's jitneys and +drove off like a lord!" + +"Who in the world could it have been?" wondered his mother, awakened to +a mild interest at the account of such grandeur in Hambleton. "Did you +ask, Copley?" + +"I have my share of vulgar curiosity, mother; I did. As soon as he +disappeared I pounced on old Adams and asked him the name of his swell +friend. He told me that it was Leslie Sherwood, the son of the man who +died last winter--_hullo_!" + +He broke off short and looked into the darkness behind him, whence had +come the crash of china as Bates dropped a tray of coffee cups. +Silence succeeded the tragedy, during which they could hear the +butler's muttered ejaculations of horror and distress as he bent to +retrieve the debris. + +"Confound you, Bates! You get clumsier every day you live!" + +Varr's outburst was swift, but not swift enough to deceive his +sister-in-law. Her quick eye had detected several little items of +interest, although they had occurred simultaneously and in opposite +directions. + +At the mention of Leslie Sherwood's name, Lucy Varr had straightened in +her chair and turned to her son with parted lips as if eager for more +news, while a delicate flush--the first touch of color Ocky had seen +there in two months--sprang into her pale cheeks. This was fair +enough. In the old days, Leslie Sherwood had been attentive to Lucy +Copley in such degree that their circle confidently stood by for a +formal announcement. Then he had rather abruptly departed toward a +"business career in New York," making it plain that Hambleton would see +him no more for some while to come. His departure left clear the way +to the lady's hand for a colder, less attractive, but more determined +suitor. Lucy married Simon Varr. + +She was entitled, then, to display some faint emotion at the mention of +a recreant knight, and Simon, with propriety, might have shown a +husbandly twinge of jealousy or contempt or dislike--any of a dozen +different sentiments other than the one he did reveal. At the bit of +news so casually dropped by his son, his head had jerked up sharply and +a look of fear had flashed into his eyes and out again. He had +cleverly seized upon the butler's mishap to cover his confusion, but +the ruse was too late to be effective as far as Miss Ocky was concerned. + +So Simon was afraid of Leslie Sherwood, or else he had something to +fear from the sudden reappearance of that gentleman. Which was it? and +why? Miss Ocky determined to find out eventually. In the meantime she +would accept the curious circumstance and store it in that corner of +her brain where she was collecting odds and ends of data relating to +her brother-in-law. + +"When did old Mr. Sherwood die?" she asked promptly. + +"Last February," answered her sister. "He had been very ill for +several months--a general breakdown." + +"Leslie was here at the time, I suppose." + +"N-no; he wasn't. You're not posted on local topics, Ocky! This is +the first time Leslie has been back in Hambleton since he left to go +into business in New York. No one ever knew anything definite, but we +have always assumed that father and son quarreled over something so +bitterly that reconcilement was impossible. Still, when the old man +died he left everything to Leslie--and he has turned up, now. I wonder +if he will sell the place or--or live here?" + +That was an unusually long speech for Lucy Varr, and it betrayed her +lively interest in the subject under discussion. Simon must have noted +that and perhaps resented it, for his face darkened. He made no +comment, however, but celebrated the end of dinner in his usual manner +by pushing back his chair a little, crossing his legs comfortably, and +beginning a series of excavating operations with a quill toothpick +which he drew from his vest pocket. Miss Ocky winced. This was the +postprandial habit of his that annoyed her excessively. + +She had not changed for dinner. Now she took a cigarette case from a +side pocket of her coat, extracted a cigarette and lighted it from one +of the candles. Simon did not smoke himself, and he disliked intensely +the sight of a woman using tobacco. He glanced at Ocky, and to her +deep satisfaction made a wry face at the cloud of smoke she contentedly +exhaled. Winces were easy. + +The little circle broke up after dinner. Varr went off to his study +and shut himself in, his wife pleaded a headache, and with a word of +apology to her sister departed for her bedroom. Ocky, amiably anxious +to distract her nephew's thoughts from whatever he was glooming over, +suggested a game of chess. Finding this had not been included in his +college curriculum, she announced that she would settle herself in the +living-room with some new books that had come. + +She went upstairs for one of these, and returned bearing it and a small +sheathed dagger with a highly ornamented handle. She found Copley in +the living-room, attired in a raincoat, standing and looking at the +closed door leading to Simon's study. Miss Ocky settled herself in a +chair by the lamp on the center table, drew the dagger from its worn +leather sheath and proceeded to cut the pages of Henner's "Through +Asia." She glanced up whimsically at her nephew. + +"Well, Copley, are you posing for a statue of indecision?" + +"Something like that, Aunt Ocky." He smiled ruefully. "I was going +for a tramp, then I thought I'd drop in for a chat with father--and now +I think I won't have a chat with him, but will go for a walk." + +"It's pouring, isn't it?" + +"I don't care." + +"Of course, you don't. I know that mood--and a good sloshing hike in +the rain is a splendid cure for it. I know what's the matter with you, +too." She shot a look at the closed door and lowered her voice. "Why +don't you cut the Gordian knot and be done with it?" she added quietly. + +"I--I don't get you." + +"Elope, idiot child! You and she are both of age. Consider the late +Mr. Ajax of Greece--he defied the lightning and got away with it! They +can't do more than excommunicate you with bell and book and candle." + +"But that's plenty, Aunt Ocky." A smile that had greeted her +suggestion faded away, leaving him gloomier than ever. "If I only had +to think about myself--! But I can't let Sheila in for a lot of +hardship. It costs money, these days, to live in even the most +moderate comfort, and all I could bring into the family treasury would +be just what I could earn with my two hands--supposing I was lucky +enough to find a job! It wouldn't be fair to Sheila--that's the long +and short of it." + +"Have you given her a chance to speak for herself?" His aunt sniffed +contemptuously. "Gracious goodness, Copley, isn't there something more +in life than money? Don't people think of anything else in America?" + +"Oh, yes. It's a free country and a man has a perfect right to be a +visionary and starve to death if he wants to. It just happens I +don't!" He grinned as some of her disgust went into a savage slashing +of uncut edges. "As things are, I don't believe I'll ask Sheila to +share my crust of bread." + +"Then I'll ask her for you--blessed if I don't! I intended to run over +and see her in the morning, anyway. Did it ever strike you that +matchmaking is the proper business of old maids? They atone for +celibacy through vicarious marriage!" + +"So that is the explanation of their favorite indoor sport, is it? But +I can't regard you as a confirmed old maid, Aunt Ocky." He moved to +her side and dropped a hand affectionately on her shoulder. "If you +won't think me awfully fresh for saying it--you're about the youngest +looking woman for your age that I've ever laid eyes on." + +"Oh, thank you, Copley; thank you very much. Really, I must remember +you in my will for them kind words! But about to-morrow--may I +represent myself as being your plenipotentiary?" + +"Sure thing. Go as far as you like, Aunt Ocky. Anything you start, +I'll finish." The sound of a chair being pushed back in the study +caught his ear and indicated a discreet change of subject. He stooped +to retrieve the dagger that had slipped from her lap and examined it a +moment. For all its exquisite beauty of design and workmanship, it was +a wicked little weapon. "You have a bloodthirsty taste in paper +cutters, Aunt Ocky. Where did you get this? Has it a history?" + +"Very likely, but I don't know it. It is certainly old enough to have +a lurid past. I picked it up in the bazaar at Teheran. That +inscription on the blade is Persian." + +"What does it mean? They taught me Persian when they taught me chess." + +"It reads, 'I bring Peace!'" + +"Oh. The Oriental point of view, I suppose! We would be more apt to +think of a dagger as bringing war." + +"We think backwards at times," commented Miss Ocky. She reclaimed her +colorful souvenir of the East, then glanced up as the study door +opened. "Hello, Simon. I expect you will sleep easier to-night; no +fear of fire bugs in a rain like this!" + +He grunted something unintelligible, and stared at Copley standing +there in the parlor in his raincoat. The young man returned the stare +with expressionless face. Neither he nor his father spoke, and in a +moment the tanner left the room. + +Miss Ocky was as good as her word the following morning. She marched +cross-country to the Graham house, some half-mile distant, and had a +long and enlightening conversation with Sheila. She had met the girl +several times and approved of her highly, and when she left her finally +to return home her good opinion of Miss Graham was in nowise +diminished. The young woman, if she were not mistaken, had just the +qualities needed to make a useful citizen out of a husband like Copley +whose chief defect was clearly a lack of decision. He wanted +starching, that was it. + +She bore homeward a book that she had borrowed from Sheila, and though +it only wanted twenty minutes to lunch time, she neither went to her +room to freshen up nor sought her nephew to make a hasty report on the +result of her embassy. She betook herself instead to the study, and +there was a malicious twinkle in her eye as she tapped on the closed +door. She obeyed a gruff command to enter. + +Varr had made the best of his period of enforced idleness by working on +a batch of order-books that he had brought from his office. He was +busy with them now, and he looked as displeased as he was surprised by +Ocky's interruption. + +"What do _you_ want?" he snapped irritably. + +"I've picked up some information that I thought you'd like to hear, +Simon. How is your nerve this morning? I've just been to call on +Sheila Graham and she fairly made my blood curdle." + +"Serves you right. Mine curdles when I even think of her." He +frowned. "Why did you go to see her?" + +"I promised to take her a recipe for a cous-cous I described to her the +other day. Anyway, I like her, even if you don't. But that has +nothing to do with our muttons! While I was chatting with her I +happened to mention our experience yesterday with the monk--" + +"You did! What in the world _for_?" + +"Well, Simon, when I go to call on any one I like to talk about +_something_--I can't sit like a dummy--" + +"You can't!" + +"And that was certainly the most interesting bit of news that I had. +It quite woke her up. She's something of a blue-stocking, you know, +and has read a lot about the early history of this country. When I +spoke of the monk she looked very queer and went straight to a shelf of +books and took out this one--" Miss Ocky held up the one she was +carrying, and Varr saw that she was keeping a place in it with one +forefinger. "When she showed me a certain passage in it, I put it +right under my arm and brought it--" + +"You needn't have," he told her abruptly. "I recognize the thing, +though I've never bothered to read it; Jennison's 'History of Wayne +County,' isn't it? There's a copy among your father's books in the +library." + +"Is there? I wish I'd known it!" She opened the book at her place, +steadied the heavy volume on her knees and cleared her throat. "I am +going to read this to you, Simon--it isn't long." + +"Go ahead." He had tried overnight to put the disagreeable subject out +of his mind but had not succeeded very well. He was consumed by +curiosity now to learn what she had discovered, though nothing would +have induced him to admit it. "What's it all about?" + +She began to read in a soft, well-modulated voice. + +"'Wayne County is not without its share of legends and quaint scraps of +folklore, some of them nicely calculated to chill the blood o' nights. +One fable, at least, has risen from a base of fact; I refer to the +famous Monk of Hambleton. Ancient chronicles of this town record the +arrival--in pre-Revolutionary times--of an unfortunate individual whose +face had been shockingly mutilated by accident or disease. He drifted +to Hambleton from the outer world and apparently quartered himself on +the countryside, living the life of a hermit in a small dry cave that +still shows traces of his presence. He habitually wore the garb of a +friar--a penance, perhaps, for former sins--and his disfigured face was +always concealed from curious eyes by a mask of black cloth. + +"'After his death--a lonely demise in his humble cave--a story sprang +up about him to the effect that his spirit still lingered in the +neighborhood of its passing. Several credible persons claimed at +different times to have met the Monk, and since by some unhappy chance +these victims of an optical delusion were all subsequently visited by +misfortune in greater or less degree, it soon began to be whispered +about that to encounter the specter was a sure augury of impending +calamity. A local poet, long since forgotten, was inevitably inspired +to preserve the legend in his rustic doggerel. I append a few couplets: + + "_'Who meets the monk at crack o' dawn + Shall rue the day that he was born._ + + "_'Who meets the monk in light of day, + Woe goes with him on his way.'_" + + +"Cheery little thing," grunted Simon Varr as she paused an instant. +"Is that all of it?" + +"No, there's one more verse." Miss Ocky deepened her tones a note or +two as she solemnly read it. + + "_'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh + Within the fortnight he shall die.'_" + + +She closed the book and regarded her brother-in-law with eyes +half-mocking, half-pitying. + +"Of course you wouldn't dream of treating such nonsense seriously, +Simon; I know that. But it's curious, and rather interesting, don't +you think? Jennison had his tongue in his cheek when he wrote his +account of it, but even he relates as a matter of fact the coincidence +that those persons who saw the vision were subsequently badly out of +luck." Ocky shook her head gently and glanced at him commiseratingly. +"If it _should_ come true in your case, Simon, I suppose this is an +opportune moment to offer you my condolences!" + +"Thank you," he managed to reply dryly. + +He felt very squeamish inside, though most of that was due to his +innate abhorrence of anything that brought up the subject of death. As +far as the Monk was concerned, he had found in the letter thrust into +the cleft stick and now reposing in a pigeonhole of his desk the reason +back of that masquerade--though he had to admit that the writer of the +anonymous note had certainly hit upon a sufficiently gruesome method of +transmitting it. + +"Thank you, Ocky, for your condolences," he continued after an +interval. "The same to you and many of them! We'll go together, no +doubt. Don't forget you saw the Monk at the same time I did!" + +"_Ah_!" + +The monosyllable was almost a gasp of pain. Simon stared at her, +rather startled by the effectiveness of his sardonic reminder. The +book she was holding had dropped to the floor with a crash, her cheeks +had gone white to the lips, and now she was staring straight ahead of +her with a fixed expression of horror in her eyes as though they were +truly visioning the sure approach of Death. + + + + +_V: Miss Lucy's Man_ + +It did not take Simon Varr and Miss Copley very long to recover from +the perturbation they had shown when she finished reading him the bit +of folklore relating to the Monk. Both of them were highly efficient +in the art of self-repression, or failing that, knew how to mask an +inner emotion behind their normal outward semblance. When they +presently left the study for the luncheon table, Simon wore his usual +frown above knitted brows, while Miss Ocky displayed her accustomed +placidity of countenance with its high-lights of humor about her lips +and sharp gray eyes. + +A dish of French chops annoyed the lord and master of the house. He +pointed out to his patient helpmeet that times were ripe for economy +and that French chops are economical only in respect to their nutritive +content. With the tannery closed down, an era of corned beef and +cabbage was strongly indicated--especially, she would understand, as +there now appeared to be four mouths to feed in the family instead of +the customary three. He hoped she would heed his words and exercise +greater prudence in the management of her household--and the courteous +inflection of his tones as he voiced his hope was a masterpiece of +sarcasm. It left his wife pale and resigned, his son red and +embarrassed. + +"If corned beef and cabbage ever shows up in this dining-room," +remarked the one member of his audience still undaunted, "my father +will turn in his grave." + +"Your father thought entirely too much of his stomach," said her host +coldly. + +"Yes? Well, it repaid him for all the affection he lavished on it. +His digestion was wonderful to the very end. How is yours?" + +"I could say that that is purely my own business, but if you insist on +knowing, my digestion is excellent." + +"I shouldn't have thought it. I don't agree with you as to the +essential privacy of the subject, either. It concerns all of us since +we have to live with you." + +"_Do_ you?" + +"Ah!" A touch of color in her cheeks suggested that flint was at last +beginning to spark beneath the steel. "Apropos of that and your +earlier remark, Simon--would it ease your financial straits at all if I +were to contribute something for my board and lodging? It would be a +novel experience for me in this house, but I've always been able to +adapt myself to altered circumstances." + +She did not expect a hurried and polite disclaimer from her +brother-in-law. Disclaimers of any sort were not in Simon's line. He +merely sent her a chill look as he thrust back from the table and rose +to his feet. + +"That is something you can settle with Lucy," he said coldly. "I'm +sorry I can't stay and chat with you a little longer, but I am due to +spend the afternoon at the tannery." + +"It's nice to know that you can spend something," she threw after him +sweetly. "Why don't you bring back a hide or two from the vats, Simon? +We might boil them down for soup!" + +He glared back at her over his shoulder as he stalked from the room. +Miss Ocky glanced at the faces of the two who remained with her and +gave a contented little chuckle. + +"Now, that scene was a bit of honest, downright vulgarity!" she said +cheerfully. "Refreshing once in a while, don't you think?" + +"Ocky! I wish you wouldn't poke him up like that." + +"Well! Suppose he stops poking me first! I haven't got the patience +of a saint like you, Lucy--and gracious only knows where _you_ get it +from, my poor child! Twenty years ago you'd have taken that plate of +chops and shoved it down his throat." A fleeting recollection +corollary to this thought impelled her to shoot a discontented glance +at her nephew across the table. "What in the world has become of the +Copley spirit?" she demanded bitterly. + +"You don't really understand Simon," murmured her sister. + +"No," said Miss Ocky grimly, "but I'm beginning to." + +They left it at that and withdrew from the dining-room. From his +inconspicuous post near the sideboard, Bates followed the retreating +figure of Miss Ocky with admiring and grateful eyes. Here, he told +himself, was the old Miss Ocky coming to life again, and his heart +rejoiced to think that Simon was in a fair way to get back as good as +he gave. The spirit of the Copleys--aye, they had it, every one of +them, if only they would show it now and then! + +Lucy Varr departed for the kitchen, possibly to caution the cook +against undue ostentation at dinner, and Copley, obeying an imperious +glance from a pair of gray eyes, followed his aunt to the veranda. She +led the way to one end of it, and there turned the corner into an ell +that had been screened and glassed against the mosquitoes of summer and +the frosts of winter. With comfortable wicker chairs and quantities of +soft cushions, it was a cosy nook that had become Miss Ocky's favorite +haunt for reading or writing. + +She ousted a magnificent, smoky-blue Angora who, catlike, had decided +the best was none too good for him, seated herself and waved Copley to +another chair. + +"I had a talk with Sheila this morning," she announced. + +The young man's face had been flushed and dark, but now, at the mention +of Sheila's name, it lighted quickly. He had been acutely embarrassed +during the exchange of courtesies between his father and his aunt, and +he had felt a quick resentment at the innuendo she had flung at him and +which he had by no means missed, but these passing moods vanished in +favor of happier emotions. + +"I wondered if you really would! But, say, Aunt Ocky--you surely +didn't have the nerve to mention your elopement scheme, did you?" + +"I certainly did. My nerve is a very superior article. I wish to +goodness I could graft a piece of it onto your backbone." + +"Oh. Can't a fellow be sensible, Aunt Ocky, without being accused of +spinelessness? However, for the love of Mike, tell me what she said! +She turned it down hard, of course." + +"She did not, though it was obvious that she would have preferred to +hear it from your own lips. Naturally. At any rate, when I first got +there I broached the subject tactfully--" + +"You couldn't do it any other way, Aunt Ocky." + +"Don't be impertinent. She soon made it plain that she was willing to +talk frankly and openly--was glad of the rare opportunity to discuss +matters with a person of some intelligence. She has been having a +little unpleasantness of her own; did you know that? It appears her +father has been fearfully stirred up over something yesterday and +to-day, and this morning when she spoke of you in some connection he +was quite savage. He was never keen on the idea of a match between you +two, was he?" + +"No. I'm afraid he has sense, too!" + +"Well, his daughter has a mind of her own, and she has made it up. She +has wisely concluded that a lot of our happiness in this life has to be +snatched from the Fates who dangle it before our eyes, just out of our +reach. She feels that the most practical way for you and her to grab +yours is to marry first and let the fireworks follow. Opposition to +the marriage will be curiously ineffective if the marriage has already +taken place. I thought she showed a good deal of fine logic, there." + +"You mean, she agreed with everything you suggested!" Copley made a +despairing gesture. "Aunt Ocky, come down to brass tacks. It's true +that I'm crazy about Sheila and that she cares more for me that I could +hope to deserve--" + +"Ever so much more!" + +"--but Sheila is a human being who has to _eat_! She has to have +clothes to wear. She probably has a preference for a roof over her +head. And I--I'm _bust_!" + +"Nothing saved from your allowance, I suppose?" + +"It was never magnificent. Now, it is discontinued. Father has always +put it to my credit at the bank punctually on the first of the month. +Last Tuesday I dropped in to get my balance and--found an overdraft! +He was never careless in his life, so I don't need to ask him if he +forgot to make the deposit. He has simply decided to bring it sharply +to my attention that I am in no situation to marry, so he has cut out +my allowance." + +"Humph. I expect you're right." She frowned at this new manifestation +of Simon's ruthless determination always to have his own way in +everything, then shifted a portion of her severity toward her nephew. +"In a sense, Copley, I'm rather glad that he did. If there's one thing +you need, it's a touch of adversity. Stiffen up, boy! I've done +everything this morning that I propose to do for you; now go to Sheila +and talk things over with her, as you ought to, instead of with me. +She's waiting for you!" + +He rose with decision, a new alertness in his face and manner. + +"Aunt Ocky, you're a brick." Impulsively, he took a step toward her, +thrust forth a sinewy hand and gripped the one she raised. "It makes +me feel like a new man just to listen to you--and the only thing I +can't understand is why you think me worth the trouble you take." + +"There is no mystery about that. I have always loved your mother +tenderly, and some of that affection you have inherited. Sheila is a +lovely girl who I believe will make you happy--and do you good. As for +my desire to have the business settled--well, I've my own reasons for +that which will be made clear to you in time. Have you anything else +on your infant mind? No? Then, go--for goodness' sake, go!" + +He went. + +Miss Ocky sank back in her chair and for a space stared out at the +peaceful countryside that rose and fell in gentle undulations which +finally faded away into the blue distance. The forgiving Angora leaped +to her lap and she caressed him absently, her mind centered upon her +thoughts, which were not always as cheerful as they might have been. + +So rapt was she in meditation that she was not aware of Bates' presence +until he had stood near her for a full minute. His house-shoes enabled +him to move on noiseless feet and he had never stooped to that common +subterfuge of butlers, the nervous cough. He stood patiently, in +silence, and Miss Ocky, when she noticed him at length, was stirred to +remembrance by something in his attitude. It was just so he had used +to come upon her in the old days when he was wont to bring his +difficulties to her, apparently deriving comfort from her half-mocking, +half-sympathetic comments. + +"Well, Bates--you want to speak to me?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky, I do--and I don't." + +"I understand perfectly, thanks to my exceptional cleverness and my +vast knowledge of human nature. What you want to do is blow off +steam--as you used to--but you are not certain that it's quite the +right thing to do. Isn't that it?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." + +"Well, I can set your doubts at rest. It isn't right; and now that +we've settled that," added the lady comfortably, "go ahead and blow. +After a long and very virtuous life I'm beginning to think there is +much to be said for crime! I can guess your secret sorrow, too." + +"I'm sure you can, Miss Ocky." A faint amusement that had lighted his +tired eyes at her philosophy vanished again. "You've been here two +months or more, and you've seen how it is for yourself." + +"Yes--I have. I tell you candidly, Bates, if I had dreamed how things +were going here I would never have stayed away twenty years. I was +shocked when I saw my sister--" + +"That's it, Miss Ocky, that's it!" In his eagerness he was oblivious +to his breach of good form in interrupting. "It's not myself I'm +blowing off steam about. It's Miss Lucy. You can guess how I've felt +through these years, watching her change into what she is. It has hurt +me, Miss Ocky, for when all is said and done, I'm Miss Lucy's man as I +was her father's before her--not Simon Varr's! You remember what she +was like before you went away--always bright and happy and full of fun +and singing around the house. We used to call her the Queen of +Fairyland--" + +"My memory is excellent, Bates. You needn't harrow me further." + +"And look at her now," continued the old man relentlessly. "A poor +meek woman that never dares to call her soul her own, faded and +lifeless as the flowers I throw out of the vases, looking twice her +age--" + +"I hope she's well out of earshot, Bates." + +"And it's all the fault of that man!" said the butler passionately, his +eyes shining with anger and indignation and his usual careful diction +sacrificed to the greater need of plain speech. "It's him that has +done it with his sneerin' mockin' ways that would bring an angel to +tears--his penny-savin', snivelin' meanness that grudges her every cent +she spends, just as though he'd had a dollar to call his own before she +lifted him out of the gutter where he belongs. 'Twould have been +kinder if he had up in the beginning and struck her over the head and +been done with it instead of wearin' her down to skin and bones by his +naggin' and growlin' and snarlin'. And how do you think I've felt, +Miss Ocky, while I stood by all these years and watched it goin' on +unable to lift a finger to her help? 'Tis only once and again, when he +has her near to tears at the table, that I'm able to drop a plate or +joggle his elbow and him drinkin' coffee the while, and so distract his +attention." + +He paused for breath. Ordinarily Miss Ocky would have been vastly +entertained by this sketch of Simon's attention being distracted, but +she was in no mood for amusement at the moment. Her eyes were hard, +and if she deliberately kept her comments pitched on a semi-humorous +note, it was more to pacify and soothe the old butler than anything +else. + +"I gather you don't care for Mr. Varr," she said. + +"Does any one, Miss Ocky?" he retorted more calmly. + +"You used a curious expression a moment since," she said, ignoring a +question she deemed purely rhetorical. "You spoke of yourself as 'Miss +Lucy's man.' Just what did you mean, Bates? I know you don't use +words just because you like the sound of them." + +"You don't miss anything, do you, Miss Ocky?" + +His set face softened as he regarded her with a look almost of +affection. "No, you were never one to miss anything! I'll tell you +what I meant, though I've never breathed a word of it even to Miss +Lucy, bless her!" + +"There are a lot of things you could tell me," said Miss Ocky, "and I +hope some day you will. Go ahead with this one, first." + +"It dates back. I could make a long story of it, but I won't. You +might say it goes back to the time I took service with your father and +mother. I was in trouble, mortal trouble, when they took me in, Miss +Ocky, and they gave me a home and comfort and--and security. That last +is a great thing in a hard world, as I guess you know. The only way I +could repay them was by being a 'good and faithful servant,' as the +Bible puts it, and I had reason to believe that they both came to be +glad of the day they showed kindness to a less fortunate human." + +"What was your trouble?" she asked quietly, for this was her first +intimation that his advent to the household had been marked by anything +out of the ordinary. "My father never mentioned it." + +"He wouldn't--and it doesn't belong with what I've started to tell you +now, Miss Ocky." He glanced at her apologetically. "I'm telling you +how I know they were glad to have me. When your mother was dying, Miss +Ocky, she had me called in for a word with her. She thanked me for the +service I'd given and said she hoped I would always stay with your +father as long as he needed me--'which will be to the day of his +death,' she said. + +"The same thing happened when his time came. I was in and out of his +room a dozen times a day while he was ill, and once he stopped me and +told me a few things he had on his mind. + +"'It's a queer thing, Bates,' he said. 'Here I am dying with scarce a +relative to my name, and I'm leaving two daughters to face the world +alone. They'll have money, but they won't have an older person to help +them over the rough places.' I could see he was worried. 'Of course,' +he said, 'Miss Lucy is going to marry that young fellow, Varr. I'm not +so fond of him as she is, though I've nothing against him that would +stop the match. It's her I'm thinking about. She will have this house +when I'm gone and she is married--and I want her to have you.' Well, +Miss Ocky, to tell you the truth I started to say something about +hoping that _you_ would set up housekeeping and find a place for me, +but he wouldn't listen to me for a minute. You know how quick he was. +'I'm competent to judge my own children!' he snapped at me. 'Ocky can +stand on her own two legs as long as she has 'em and will get along +nicely on crutches after that. It's Lucy that may need help.' He +looked at me very sharp--you have his eyes, Miss Ocky. 'I'm a dying +man and this is the last thing I'll ever ask of you,' he said. 'I +don't pretend that you owe me anything, but I'll ask you as a favor to +promise me you'll always stand by Miss Lucy.' + +"There couldn't be two answers to that. I promised." + +"And you've kept your promise faithfully. You've stood by." + +"That's all I have done, though," grumbled the old servant morosely. +His troubled gaze sought hers. "I've just--stood by." + +"Well, you couldn't very well do more. I think it is greatly to your +credit that you didn't leave the house long ago." + +"I've been tempted often enough, Miss Ocky, but there's been the +thought in the back of my head that some day I might really be able to +help Miss Lucy in an hour of need." His hands closed nervously. "But +for that I'd have left, no fear! I've stood so much from him that now +I _hate_ him! Do you know, Miss Ocky," his voice dropped to awed +confession, "when he was so sick of pneumonia awhile back I just hoped +and hoped and hoped our troubles were near an end!" + +"It would have been more practical to have left a window open on him, +but I suppose the nurse would have stopped that." Miss Ocky's voice +was an amused drawl. "Did you try prayer, Bates?" + +"_Prayer_! Good gracious, no, Miss Ocky!" + +"It's effective sometimes." She seemed to muse. "Of course, if you +were only practiced in witchcraft you could make a wax image of him and +then stick pins in it until he curled up and died--" + +"Good gracious, Miss Ocky, but you've brought back some terrible ideas +from those foreign parts!" He was smiling, now, to show that he had +caught her mood and understood she was poking fun at him. The ceremony +of the blowing off of steam was nearly concluded. "If you ask me, I +don't believe that even witchcraft could hurt Simon Varr. It was only +the other day I heard him tell Miss Lucy that he'd increased his life +insurance and that the doctor had told him he was good for a +century-mark." + +"Humph!" There was about her the air of one whose hopes have just been +rudely dashed. Then her face brightened and she added with determined +cheerfulness. "Never mind, Bates--you'd be amazed if you knew how +often doctors are wrong!" + +"I hope you're right, Miss Ocky!" + +"Suppose we drop the subject for the time. If you will look in the +sitting-room you'll find a book on the table called 'The Court of the +Borgias.' Bring it to me, please. I think a little quiet reading will +settle my thoughts after our conversation." + +He went off smiling to get the volume, and presently returned with it. +He lingered to produce a match for the cigarette she took from a stand +beside her. + +"Thank you for listening to me, Miss Ocky." + +"And thank you, Bates, for telling me what you did about father. I am +glad he had confidence in my ability to take care of myself, and that +he wasn't worrying over me when he had so much else to think about." + +"I wish Simon Varr was more like him!" said Bates. + +She made no reply to that, and he withdrew in his noiseless fashion. +She did not immediately dip into the sedative history of the Borgias, +but remained looking at the corner around which he had vanished with +something akin to speculative interest. She was pondering the old +man's revelation of his hatred for Varr and the curious glint she had +caught in his eye at dinner the night before. It would be amusing, she +thought, if Bates instead of handing Simon the carving-knife should +sometime so far forget himself as to slip it between his master's +shoulders. + +Amusing was the word she used to herself; perhaps, as the butler had +suggested, she had brought home some terrible ideas from the +East--ideas about Kismet and fatalism and the cheapness of human life +in comparison to human good. Wrong ideas, from the point of view of +the queer, drab, cramped and hypocritical Occidental mind. + +She contemplated the Occidental mind briefly, then dismissed it as a +negligible quantity and settled to her book. + +_VI: An Aunt in Need_ + +It was very nearly dinner-time before Copley Varr came back from his +talk with Sheila Graham. In deference to a hint from her that the +course of true love could not run smooth that afternoon in the vicinity +of her father, they had taken a long walk over the hills along quiet +country roads where hands could touch unseen by alien eyes. They were +happy, but rather nervously so, with something of the nervousness of a +young colt about to kick over the traces for the first time and who is +a little uncertain about the consequences. + +One bit of their afternoon was devoted to a ramble around the grounds +of a small, vacant house, whose exterior they viewed and discussed from +every possible angle. It stood in the center of a wooded ten-acre +tract, a long mile by winding road from Simon Varr's house but not a +quarter of that distance from it as a plane flies. It was situated, in +fact, at the bottom of the very hill on which Simon's home flaunted its +greater magnificence, and it had once formed part of the property until +severed from it by the elder Copley's will. + +They tried the front and back door, but finding them quite naturally +locked they made no further effort to effect an entrance. They +contented themselves with strolling around it once again, admiring its +shingles that were weather-beaten to a silvery gray, enthusing over the +quaintly-gabled windows of its upper story, calling each other's +attention to its palpable solidity of structure. + +"A few hundred dollars spent on these grounds!" cried Sheila, her +cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining. "Coppie, isn't it a _love_ of a +place? Did you ever in your life see a nicer?" + +Coppie admitted freely that he never had. + +It was for reasons directly connected with this desirable country +property that he sought audience of his aunt immediately upon his +return home. She was not to be found anywhere downstairs, and since +his impatience did not welcome the idea of waiting for a fortuitous +opportunity to chat with her in private, he took the stairs three at a +time and rapped eagerly on the door of her bedroom. + +This was presently opened to him by a tall, bony, angular woman of +fifty-odd who regarded him not altogether favorably through +steel-rimmed spectacles. This was Janet Mackay, whom the +prosaic-minded would have designated a lady's-maid, but who had risen +from that humble position to be no less than Chancellor of State to her +sovereign majesty, Miss Ocky. The two women had shared the +ups-and-downs, the sunshine and shadow, of that mystic, colorful Orient +through whose extent the restless curiosity of the younger had led them +to and fro. Out there the line between mistress and servant had +inevitably been supplanted by the bond of companionship; but when they +returned to the more humdrum civilization of the western world, it was +Janet whose dour Scotch rectitude had re-established the distinction. +She took her meals with old Bates at a little table in the butlery, +found her chief relaxation in the one motion-picture house that +Hambleton boasted, and for the rest, "kept herself _to_ herself." + +"Hello, Janet!" he greeted her. "Is my aunt in there? Ask her if I +can come in and speak to her." + +The woman drew aside in the doorway as Miss Ocky answered for herself. + +"That you, Copley? Come in. I'm out on the veranda. Janet, you +needn't wait." + +Miss Ocky's bedroom, like all the others on the upper floor, had a +small private balcony outside its tall French windows that made a +pleasant place to draw a comfortable chair in the late afternoon or the +cool of the evening. She was sitting there now and called to him to +bring a chair for himself, but he preferred to lounge against the heavy +wooden rail of the balcony. + +"Well, Romeo! I expect affairs have been marching with you and Juliet +or you wouldn't be hunting me up so promptly." + +"See here, Aunt Ocky, I'm just tickled pink and all that, but are you +sure you ought to have done it?" + +"Suggested the elopement?" + +"N-no, of course not. That's all right. That's lovely. We are going +to take your advice and grab our happiness. What I'm fussing about is +the house business." + +"Yes, you'd find something to fuss about, wouldn't you! I didn't +encounter any such obstinacy in Sheila, but women are much more +practical than men in every respect. When I told her I owned that +particular property and proposed to settle it on you jointly as a +wedding-gift, she yelped with joy. It's true that after that she began +to make polite gestures of remonstrance, but the yelp came first by a +good, wide margin! I'm glad one of you has some common-sense." + +"I'm just as grateful as I can be, but--" + +"Really, Copley, you're a downright nuisance. Let me tell you +something, my child. I've a great deal more money than your mother or +you or any one else around here has any idea of. I've made investments +in my time that would have turned a banker's hair gray, and never one +of them but brought me huge returns. That property is of negligible +value to me--how negligible you don't know--and yet it will be very +valuable to you and Sheila as a haven of security that you can call +your own. As a rich aunt, I have every legal and moral and ethical +right to give it to you--and as a poor but deserving nephew, it is your +cue to say 'Thank you' and accept." + +"You're a brick, Aunt Ocky," said the young man soberly, for the second +time that afternoon. "Sheila spoke of a check for a thousand--" + +"For your honeymoon. If you don't splurge too hard, there'll be some +of it left for initial expenses." + +"You bet there will." He drew a long breath. "Thank you, Aunt Ocky," +he said obediently. "I accept. But, look here--there'll be a holy row +when my father hears what you've done. He'll want your head on a +charger!" + +"Better men than he have wanted that--and it's still neatly articulated +to the end of my spinal column!" She gave a low, reminiscent chuckle. +"There was a Chinese general, once, whom it was my privilege to annoy, +and he went so far as to put quite a flattering price on it. He lost +his own! Shall I tell you the story?" + +He eagerly assented, and the gory narrative of the unlucky Chinese +head-hunter occupied them until dinner was announced. + +It was scarcely to be wondered at that Copley was exuberantly cheerful +during the meal. His aunt might really have succeeded in her wish to +graft a bit of her nerve on to his backbone, for he felt a new sense of +self-reliance and resolution. Once married to Sheila, and with the +immediate future provided for by the generosity of Miss Ocky, he had no +doubt of his ability to pluck a pearl necklace from the world that was +his oyster! He knew quite a bit about the tanning business, a +knowledge acquired casually during summer vacations, and he also +knew--from Sheila--something of Graham's disappointed ambitions in +respect to a partnership, if his prospective father-in-law elected to +seek his fortune in another field, there was no reason why he shouldn't +hitch his wagon to Graham's star as Graham had once hitched his to +Varr's. The golden sun of finance was rising in the East for him, and +he and Sheila, hand in hand, would walk into the dawn-- + +So ran his thoughts, and between them he kept up a flow of badinage +with Ocky, rallied his quiet mother into some show of life, and even +directed a few flippancies at the glum figure which graced the head of +the table. The tanner was taciturn, abstracted, and the only show of +emotion registered by his wooden countenance was a flash of uneasiness +when Copley made some casual reference to Leslie Sherwood. Miss Ocky +did not miss that, and again she wondered what lay behind. + +His son's airiness of manner distinctly jarred on Simon. A young man +just bereft of his allowance and under orders to renounce his lady-love +had no right to act like that. It wasn't natural--or else he had +something up his youthful sleeve. Humph. That might bear looking into! + +"What are you going to do this evening, Copley?" he demanded, as he +returned the quill toothpick to his pocket and rose from table. + +"Nothing special, sir. Read a while and turn in early." + +"I'm going to be busy with some work for an hour or so. I wish you +would come to my study at nine. Want to talk to you." + +Copley's heart sank as he nodded acquiescence. Then it rose again, for +his eyes had strayed across to Miss Ocky and the sight of his powerful +ally braced his courage--just as Simon, the day before, had gained +fresh confidence from the glimpse of a cabbage. Nothing could harm him +while Aunt Ocky held up his arm! + +Punctually at nine o'clock he passed through the living-room on his way +to the appointment, and paused for a word with Ocky, who was reading by +the lamp in the center of the room. She had checked him with a gesture. + +"What does he want to see you about?" + +"I don't know. Just a snappy laying down of the laws of the Medes and +the Persians, I expect." + +"Well, don't quarrel with him!" + +"You mean--he's my father, after all? Right. It takes two to make a +quarrel anyway." + +"The most ridiculous aphorism ever coined! I've made lots of them +myself, single-handed. And it was policy, not filial respect, that +dictated my caution. If you quarrel, you'll lose your temper; if you +lose your temper, you may let something slip that will reveal your +plans." + +"Yours is the sapience of the serpent! But what could he do if he did +know the truth? We're both of age." + +"Just the same, it's a good generalship to avoid risks. I have learned +to leave little to chance." + +"Aunt Ocky, will you come and live with us when we are really settled? +I've an idea I could profit a lot if I sat at your knees for a while!" + +"I wish I could accept your invitation," Miss Ocky answered gravely. +Her eyes left his face and seemed to shield her thoughts behind a film +of blankness. "I'm afraid I have other--plans," she added quietly. +"It's after nine--don't get the habit of unpunctuality." + +He knocked on the study door at the end of the room, and closed it +after him when he had entered in response to a gruff command. + +For some little time Miss Ocky tried to center her thoughts on her +book, lifting her head to listen now and again as she paused in her +reading to cut pages with her two-edged souvenir of Teheran. The +conversation in the study appeared to be flowing along smoothly. She +could not catch any words, nor did she try to; a shrewd listener can +glean a good deal merely by interpreting the vocal tones of the +different speakers. Her ear told her that Simon was certainly laying +down the law but with no more than his usual acidity, and that his son +was pleading his cause patiently and without acrimony. It was natural +enough that he should hope up to the eleventh hour for a favorable +change in his father's attitude, a foolish hope but a pardonable one-- + +Abruptly, Miss Ocky's ear cocked itself to a more alert angle. The +voices in the study had suddenly altered. Simon had said something in +his usual dictatorial accents, and Copley, instead of the soft answer +that turneth away wrath, had snapped a crisp rejoinder in louder tones +than any he had yet used. For a minute the two men were speaking at +once, discharging verbal salvos at point-blank range. Miss Ocky +shrugged her shoulders and smiled rather scornfully to herself. She +was not surprised. Lucy had told her of Copley's youthful flashes of +temper, which still persisted, though he had learned in some measure to +control them. + +She was trying to guess the probable outcome of the battle of words +when her thoughts were interrupted from another quarter. The bell of +the front door had rung violently, and Bates hurried from the pantry +and along the hallway to answer it. Miss Ocky wondered who in the +world could be calling at such an hour. + +She knew in a moment. There was the briefest of parleys with the +butler, and then, through the door of the living-room, she saw two men +hurry rearward through the hall in the direction of the study. +Evidently they proposed to present themselves before Varr without the +formality of announcing themselves through Bates. + +The first of the two she recognized instantly--it was Graham, the +manager of the tannery, whom she had met several times. And he was +Sheila's father! An awkward occasion for him to appear! The second +man she did not know at all. He was smaller and slighter than Graham, +a pale, anaemic creature. He lagged behind his companion, and as the +latter kept a grip on his arm as they proceeded, he gave the effect of +a lamb going reluctantly to the sacrifice. + +Graham's face had been deeply flushed--so much she had had time to note +as he swept past the open door. She heard him knock at the study--from +sheer force of habit, no doubt, as he could not have waited for a +summons to enter before flinging back the door. His voice carried +clear to Miss Ocky's ear as he swiftly took up some remark he had +caught from within. + +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you--!" + +Obviously, events were marching to a proper row. Miss Ocky had no +objection to rows when she could participate in them, but to sit by and +listen to others enjoying themselves was merely boresome. She put her +book on the table, marking her place with the Persian dagger, rose and +left the room. The angry voices from the study followed her upstairs +as she sought the quiet of her own room. + +Here she found Janet Mackay, seated in a corner with a dozen new +handkerchiefs of linen that she was adorning with exquisitely +embroidered initials. She looked up, but continued her work without +speaking. + +"Hello, Janet. Why aren't you at the movies this evening?" + +"They're showing a gripping picture of purple passion," replied Miss +Mackay succinctly. She snipped a thread, deftly inserted fresh thread +in her needle and added casually, "It's a small world." + +This was a sample of Janet's cautious, crab-like approach to some topic +of interest. Miss Ocky recognized it and soon had encouraged her to +persevere. + +"A great thought, Janet, but scarcely a new one. What brought it to +your mind?" + +"A piece of news that Bates was telling me over our supper. He got it +this afternoon from the postman. Did ye know that old Simon's kitchen +garden had been looted the other night?" + +"No." + +"It was. The fellow took a few tomatoes and did a wee bit damage with +his big feet. Old Simon found out who it was, and he had him arrested." + +"Humph. He would. The man was probably hungry, poor devil." + +"Aye; so they're saying in the town. No matter. Old Simon appeared +against him this morning in court and they sent him to the lock-up for +thirty days." + +"Ninety meals! It might be worse. Who was it?" + +"A young fellow named Charlie Maxon." + +"Charlie Maxon! Well, he'll be no loss to the community for a month!" + +"Aye?" Janet looked up sharply from her work. "Ye know him?" + +"He's one of the leaders of the strike. I've spoken with him once or +twice. A bad egg, I should think." + +"Aye, and his parents before him," said Janet Mackay. "They used to +live around the corner from me in Aberdeen. I can remember Charlie as +a bairn, and even then he was always into mischief. He's no whit +better now." + +"And he turns up again in this little out-of-the-way place in America! +I see now why you say the world's a small one. Queer, but it's the way +things sometimes happen. Are you sure it's the same?" + +"Aye. Three times I've seen him in town and thought his face familiar, +he looks so like his father. When Bates spoke his name, I knew." + +"Well, I take it you won't remind him of the old times in bonnie +Scotland!" + +"No fear!" said the older woman promptly. Then she looked keenly at +her mistress. "Aren't ye up early to-night?" + +"Simon is having a row with Copley in the study." Miss Ocky shrugged +her shoulders and made a grimace. "I didn't care to listen any longer." + +"He's having a row with the boy, is he?" Janet regarded her work +critically and bit off a thread neatly. "The old deevil! I'm glad I +have been with you all this time, Miss Ocky, and not around that 'un! +I've heard a few things about him from Bates." She threaded another +needle with deft fingers. "He's a rare curmudgeon. D'ye suppose he'll +go on like this to the end of his days?" + +"Can you teach an old dog new tricks?" asked Miss Ocky contemptuously. +"You should know better at your age, Janet." She got up and strolled +out on the balcony to see the brilliant stars in a sky of velvet +blackness. "Quarter past ten already. I shan't need you for anything +to-night. If you insist on ruining your eyes with that work any +longer, go off to your own room and let me get to bed!" + + + + +_VII: Out of the Past_ + +When the curtain rose on the scene of that interview between the tanner +and his son, Simon was discovered at his desk laboriously making +entries in his small, cramped handwriting in the red notebook that held +so many of his secrets. He did not look up until he had completed the +memorandum which engaged him; when he swung his chair around he still +held the closed book in his hand and occasionally pounded his knee with +it when he wished to emphasize some point in the ensuing conversation. + +He had his notions of good generalship no less than his shrewd +sister-in-law, and he did not make the mistake of pitching his +prefatory remarks on a note of hostility. He was fishing for +information. He hoped to get a clue to the reason for Copley's sudden +elevation of spirit, if a reason really existed. + +"I was a little pressed for ready money at the beginning of the month +and did not see my way to making the usual deposit to your account," he +began, utterly indifferent, so he were not caught, that he was being +deliberately untruthful. "Hope it didn't embarrass you. Things are +easier, now, and I will attend to the matter to-morrow morning." + +"Why--why, thank you, sir!" This was so unexpected that the young man +was as bewildered as if a mine had exploded at his feet. "That is very +good of you. I had no idea you were--were strapped." He flushed. "As +a matter of fact, I thought--I thought--" + +"Go on. What did you think?" + +"Well, sir, I thought you were just giving me a reminder of my absolute +dependence on you. I've been a pretty useless animal, I know." + +"Why the past tense? Are you a useful animal now?" + +"N-no, sir. I guess it would be exaggerating the facts if I claimed +that! But my intentions are good." Simon's lips lifted. "I want to +get busy at something useful right away." + +"Humph. You're just out of college and the general idea has been that +you would take a post-graduate course in the Columbia Law School; that +is your mother's wish. The tannery, if I may so express it, has always +been a stench in her nostrils. She is not the first woman to quarrel +with the honest source of her bread-and-butter." He stared at his son +from beneath level brows. "Well? Have plans changed?" + +"I want to make money, sir, and it would be years before I could hope +to do that at the Bar." + +"I will undertake to continue your allowance until you have established +yourself." + +"Thank you, father, but it's not the same thing. I want to stand on my +own feet--and as soon as possible." + +"Why?" + +"Because I wish--I intend--to marry Sheila Graham." + +"You shan't do it!" + +It was the drop of the handkerchief; steel rang upon steel, and no +buttons tipped their foils. It was careful fencing at first, thrust +and parry, parry and thrust, until Simon lost patience at length and +put all his viciousness into one deadly lunge. + +"Now, see here, Copley! If you persist in disregarding my wishes let +me tell you what will happen; I will throw Billy Graham out of his job +and I'll use every scrap of influence I possess to keep him from +getting another! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" The notebook +slapped on his knee. "Ruin your own prospects if you're fool enough to +do it; ruin Sheila's, if she's fool enough to let you; but _stop +there_! Maybe she'll help you to stop when she knows that your +stubbornness and hers will be a knife in her father's back! She _will_ +know, too, for you can't go ahead in common decency without telling her +what it will mean to him!" The tanner leaned forward, an ugly light of +triumph in his eyes, raised his free hand and slowly clenched his fist. +"I've got--you--right--_there_!" + +"Father!" The bitterest shame in the world, the shame of a son for his +father, was in that cry. The young man rose from his chair and stood +looking at Simon Varr almost incredulously. "You couldn't do _that_! +You couldn't do anything so contemptible! Do what you please to me, +but take back that threat before I--I despise you!" + +"Despise me? _You_! Ha! I'll take back nothing, and I'll use my +advantage to its full extent. Mark that! I've said you shan't marry +Sheila Graham--and what I say _goes_!" + +"Not any longer with me!" flared his son at white heat. For a full +minute they indulged in a furious exchange of half-incoherent insults +before Copley's voice rose clear above his father's. "I will marry +Sheila as soon as she'll have me, and I warn you to keep your hands off +Graham!" + +It was then that the study door was flung open and a thick, heavy voice +cut through their abusive volleys. + +"That will do, young man! I can fight my own battles with no help from +you!" + +Graham came into the study, dragging with him the shrinking figure of +the clerk, Langhorn. His intrusion was startling enough, but there was +still a deeper significance in the slight lurch that the manager gave +as he halted, glowering, before Simon Varr. His flushed face and +blurred utterance contributed their testimony to a fact that was +ominous in itself; he had been drinking, drinking heavily, though he +was notably abstemious by habit. Varr got hastily to his feet, so +threatening was his manager's attitude. + +"What do you want here?" he demanded curtly, though he knew well enough +what Langhorn's presence betokened. "What do you mean by bursting in +like that? Are you drunk?" + +Possibly the crisp question went far to sober Graham, who was plainly +trying to shake off the effect of his potations as if the sense of the +undignified figure he was cutting was just beginning to filter into his +confused brain. He straightened up, steadied himself. + +"I want a talk with you, Mr. Varr. It's overdue, I think. I've been +waiting for you to make a move in a certain direction, and it seems +I've been fooling myself nicely." He spoke slowly. "More than a score +of years I've worked for you, Mr. Varr, and not you nor any man can say +I haven't done well by you and the business. I'm entitled to something +more than the salary of a hired hand--Mr. Bolt agrees with me +there--and I've been hoping that you would give me some chance to +invest my savings in a business I've grown up with. I've earned the +right--" + +"Stop pinning medals on yourself and come to the point!" + +"I've been wondering if maybe you didn't understand how I felt and if I +oughtn't to speak straight out, but yesterday afternoon this man, +Langhorn, told me he had heard you and Mr. Bolt discussing me. He told +me you said you would never give me a partnership, that--that you were +going to throw me out so I would go to Rochester, taking Sheila with +me! It--it nearly knocked me off my feet, Mr. Varr; it's no wonder I +took a drink or so too much this evening. Now I've brought this man +here so you can say if he told me the truth--or so you can call him a +liar to his face." + +"You needn't have gone to that trouble!" snarled Simon, purple with +rage. "He's a sneaking hound, but he told you the truth this time, and +I'd have told you all you wanted to know without your bringing him +along!" + +"Then--it's true? You're going to let me out after all these years?" + +"Yes!" The word was fairly shouted. From temper and sheer +exasperation, Simon was in a towering passion. He flung the notebook +he was holding onto his desk, raised both hands above his head and +shook them in a frenzy at the two men. "_Yes_! And you can start +going by getting out of here, now, and taking your eavesdropping pal +with you! Get out--and don't either of you ever come back!" + +Langhorn wriggled free and stepped out into the hall. Graham did not +leave without a parting shot--directed via Copley, who had been a +silent witness of the scene. + +"This is your fault more than any one else's," he said, "but I know you +didn't mean it." He glanced expressively at Varr and back again. "I +hope you're proud of your father!" he added dryly, and followed the +departing clerk from the house. + +There was a brief silence in the study for a moment or two after the +thud of the closing front door came to their ears. Then Copley made to +leave the room, unchecked by his father, who stood watching him in +sullen mood. The young man paused on the threshold and turned to face +his father. + +"So," he said evenly, "you were threatening me with a course of action +that you had already determined on! Isn't that so?" + +A wave of color suffused Varr's face and answered him. + +"Come back here!" snapped Simon. "I've not finished with you!" + +"Yes, you have, father," said Copley. "Just that!" + +White to his lips, he turned and left the room. Varr listened to his +retreating steps and to a second closing of the front door as he went +out of the house into the dark night. + +Alone, Varr sank into the chair before his desk and tried to take stock +of his position. For once, it seemed, he had not only failed to have +his own way but had definitely come out at the short end of the horn. +It would be difficult to replace Graham--he could admit that to +himself. It would be impossible to replace Copley--! He did not try +to deceive himself with false hopes in that connection; there had been +a finality in his son's last utterance that rang true. + +What curse had come upon him? What malign fate had led Graham there +that evening at the very moment when he could least afford to have his +trickery revealed to his son? Why was everything going wrong? + +The solace of tobacco was denied him, since he did not smoke. His +shaken nerves cried for some attention, and the faint odor of whisky +that still lingered in the room recalled him to Graham's resource. He +stepped to the door and called Bates, who came from the rear of the +house. + +"Fetch me a glass, and that decanter of Bourbon." + +The butler returned in a minute with a tray. He placed it on a small +table near the desk and looked inquiringly at Simon. + +"Will you wish anything else, sir?" + +"No. Go to bed." + +"Thank you, sir. Everything is closed but the front door. Mr. Copley +is still out. Good night, sir." + +Varr poured himself a stiff three fingers and tossed it off at a gulp, +making a wry face as the fiery liquor stung his unaccustomed throat. +Otherwise the effect was excellent. He decanted another large drink +and was about to take a sip of it when his eyes, above the glass, +chanced to rest on a piece of brown paper in a pigeonhole of his desk. + +Abruptly, he put down his drink, drew the paper out, and read the last +lines of the message so curiously received. + + +"_Take heed to thy ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the +thunderbolts of wrath!_" + + +Bah! He flung the paper back into its hole, yet continued to eye it +with a feeling of uneasiness that required another swallow of whisky to +allay. Ah--that was better! He took a second, and new life and +courage flowed into him with the liquor. + +He threw back his head and squared his shoulders defiantly. Blast +them--blast them one and all, root and branch! Graham--Copley--this +lunatic Monk--! Threaten _him_, would they? Let 'em look out for +themselves--_he'd_ show 'em! + +He raised his clenched fist preparatory to bringing it down with a +crash upon the desk. It did not fall; it stayed aloft while a sudden +fear leaped into his eyes. He bent forward, his head turned sideways, +his ears straining to catch a sound that had come to them from a +distance. + +A siren was blowing--the siren whose raucous wail gave warning to the +people of Hambleton when fire threatened their homes. Tensely, Simon +counted the long blasts. One--two--three! A short pause. +One--two--three! + +Thirty-three! _The tannery_! + +He sprang erect. Instinct born of habit impelled him to slam down the +roll-top cover of his desk before he rushed from the room and down the +hall. He snatched his soft hat from a rack as he reached with his +other hand for the heavy latch of the front door. + +Two minutes later he was guiding his light car down the curving +hillside road, driving fast but carefully. He made such good time that +he arrived at the scene of the fire several minutes before the local +Fire Department had assembled its hats, its equipment and itself, and +had gotten its apparatus to the field of action. + +A small mob of men, women and delighted children was gathered in the +open space before the office building and the gate. They were milling +about in excited groups, eager enough to lend a hand but hopelessly +confused without the guidance of a leader. Varr thrust through them +impatiently, opened the door--that the watchman had thoughtfully left +unbarred--and hurried through the building to the rear premises. + +A column of black smoke shot with leaping crimson flames told him where +to direct his swift steps. The fire, evidently, was confined for the +moment to one, or possibly two, of the small outbuildings. These were +used largely for storage purposes; they were crammed full of packing +cases, extra carboys of acids and loose heaps of bark--a raft of stuff +that was highly combustible. A glance told Simon that they were doomed. + +Through a haze of greasy smoke he glimpsed an active figure--the only +human being in sight except himself--and he hastened to its side. It +was Fay, the night-watchman, a powerful, stocky man who clearly did not +share the tanner's pessimistic conviction. He had ransacked the +premises for every hand fire-extinguisher he could find, had brought +them to the burning buildings and, with fine optimism, was now spraying +their contents on the edges of the blaze. + +"Stop wasting that stuff!" commanded Varr. "Nothing to be done here! +All we can do is try to save the rest of the outfit." + +The watchman withdrew, reluctantly at first but then with a succession +of leaps and bounds as a muffled explosion from the interior of the +building marked the passing of some overheated container. He halted at +a safe distance, wiping his smoke-grimed face, until Varr rejoined him. +A faint cheer from beyond the boundary fence carried to them over the +roar of the blaze. + +"Guess that's the Fire Department," grunted Fay. "About time they +turned up!" + +"There's oil in that fire!" snapped the tanner, gazing at the black +smoke. "Where'd it come from?" + +"Two five-gallon tins of it, brought from D building, spilled on the +floor and a match chucked into it. I seen them lying on their side in +there at the start of it." + +"Humph. Brought from D building, eh? Then there's no doubt of _this_ +being the work of an incendiary!" + +"Doubt? Huh! I'll tell the world there ain't no doubt! I seen the +feller that did it!" + +"Ah! Could you recognize him? Who was it? Why in thunder didn't you +grab him? Where'd he get to?" + +Before Fay could even begin to sort out these questions and try to +answer the easier ones, their quick conversation was interrupted by the +appearance of a resplendent figure at their elbows. A short, stout man +was Gus Wimpelheimer, grocer and butcher by profession and in his +lighter moments Chief of the Hambleton Fire Department. His round +little body was now quivering with pleased excitement. + +"Evening, gentlemen!" he greeted them politely. He glanced at the fire +and wrinkled an expert nose. "Kerosene!" he pronounced. + +"The thought had occurred to us," retorted Simon. Marshal Wimpelheimer +trotted briskly toward the fire for a better view, and trotted briskly +back again as another carboy let go. + +"Bad business," he reported cheerfully. "Nasty wind springing up," he +added happily. "Blowing straight for the other buildings, too!" He put +a little whistle to his lips and its squeaky notes brought two +satellites of the main luminary. "Hustle out those chemicals and get +'em to work on the blaze. Rout out all the buckets you can find, and +send for more. Call on that crowd out there for volunteers and get a +chain started from the stream to these other buildings. Douse +'em--douse 'em _good_! Don't stop till I tell you to. Fay! You'll +know where there are any ladders; fetch them out!" + +"Yes, Chief!" came the admiring chorus, and the men sprang off to +execute his orders. He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and +turned brightly to the tanner. + +"Don't you worry, Mr. Varr," he said indulgently. "We'll handle this +little affair for you!" + +Worry was not exactly Varr's predominant emotion. There was small +reason to fear that the remainder of the buildings would not be kept +intact, and there was ample insurance on the property, including +contents. The blaze could cause him inconvenience when business was +resumed, that was all. + +The real significance of the affair lay in the fact that the fire had +been of incendiary origin. His face was stormy as he contemplated that +angle of the situation. Who was his enemy? Who had made this second +determined effort to burn the tannery? Second, for he could no longer +consider the first an accident in the light of this new attempt. In +his mind he had always held the thought that Charlie Maxon might have +been the perpetrator of the earlier outrage, but Maxon was now in jail +and could not be guilty of this. Had he a confederate? Was this fire +a token of resentment on the part of his friends for the way he had +been treated? + +He fumed with angry impotence. How would he fight this unseen, unknown +foe? He could take his suspicions to Steiner--but what could that +futile fellow do? He would fiddle around and scratch his head and +mumble inanities! Varr gritted his teeth in helpless rage as he +watched the men fighting their slow but certain battle to victory over +the flames. + +The crowd outside the premises speedily discovered that this drama was +hidden from them by the high fence, and they were forbidden to pass the +guard stationed at the office door by the ubiquitous Wimpelheimer. The +nimbler-witted among them reflected that they might obtain a good view +of the proceedings from the rising ground to the left of the tannery, +and they drifted there by twos and threes until quite a respectable +number of people were sprinkled over the field through which the +shortcut ran to Simon's house. From this vantage point they could look +down into the tannery and watch the performance to their hearts' +content. + +A little to one side of the crowd stood a woman alone, her gaze turned +steadily on the burning buildings. Several passers-by spoke to her by +name, and she answered them mechanically without turning her head. +Finally, one of these greetings was overheard by a man who was standing +a few yards distant; he turned sharply to look at the woman addressed, +then approached her rather hesitatingly. He took off his hat and bowed. + +"I beg pardon," he said pleasantly. "Is this Miss Copley?" + +"Yes." Miss Ocky peered at him through the dark, then gave a little +exclamation. "Leslie Sherwood!" + +"Correct. How are you, Ocky? It seems like a lifetime since I last +saw you." + +"Twenty-odd years. I heard you were back for the first time since +you--since you left the parent nest!" + +"Yes," answered Sherwood quietly. Then he added casually--too casually +to be convincing to her sharp intuitions--"How is Lucy?" + +"She is--oh, pretty well." + +"Er--happy, and all that sort of thing?" + +"As happy as she could expect to be. She married Simon Varr, you know." + +"Yes--I know." He disregarded her sarcastic implication. "I hear +you've been back only a short time yourself. Staying at Lucy's?" + +"Staying at Simon's!" corrected Miss Ocky grimly. "I suppose you know +that's his beloved tannery a-fire down there?" + +"So they tell me. I saw the flames from my house and thought I'd +stroll down for the show." + +"I was just turning in myself when I heard the siren," said Miss Ocky. +"Rather pretty effect, don't you think?" + +"Beautiful," agreed Sherwood. He surveyed the scene of the fire +critically. "Beautiful--only I'm afraid they are going to save most of +the buildings." + +"Eh? What's that?" cried Miss Ocky sharply. Then she gave a chuckle. +"Did you say 'afraid'?" + +"Are you a friend of Simon's?" + +"I detest the creature," she answered promptly. "And you?" + +"It would afford me great pleasure," stated Sherwood calmly, "if that +were Simon's funeral pyre." + +Miss Ocky pursed her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whistle. She was +thinking back to the expression on her brother-in-law's face when this +man's name was mentioned. Simon had been afraid! And here was Leslie +Sherwood expressing, not fear, but--but what? + +"Any one would think you hated the poor man," she suggested at length. + +"That," said Mr. Sherwood, "exactly expresses my feeling toward him." + +"But--but, Leslie--" Miss Ocky was groping for the truth back of all +this--"I don't understand! Why do you hate a man you haven't even seen +for over twenty years?" + +"Some hates have very lasting qualities, Ocky. They endure for ever +and a day." + +"Then--whatever it was--happened before you left here?" + +"Yes. Simon came between me and something that I wanted--and did it in +a way that made a mortal enemy of me. Sounds theatrical, doesn't it? +But it's true. He contrived at the same time to cause the trouble +between me and my father that has kept me from returning to Hambleton +until now, when the old gentleman has ended with worldly cares." + +"I wish you'd tell me the whole story in words of one syllable," begged +Miss Ocky. "It's not that I'm just curious. I'm trying to learn all +that I can about Simon. He interests me as a--as a specimen." + +"I would hardly have told you as much if I weren't willing to tell you +all. I'm puzzling over a problem that might be simplified by a woman's +wit. We can't talk here, though. Too public." + +"Suppose you escort me home. I've a torch, and I'm going up this +short-cut. We can chat on the way." She glanced downhill. "This +excitement is about over; shall we start?" + +"Whenever you please." + +They were turning away side-by-side when a fitful gust of wind swept up +to them from the direction of the sinking flames. There is only one +thing more malodorous than a tannery, and that is a burning tannery. +Miss Ocky choked. + +"Pwhew!" she gasped. "It smells like--like--" + +"Like the soul of Simon Varr," supplied Sherwood promptly. + + + + +_VIII: Two Victims of Theft_ + +Varr remained at the tannery until the last dying ember had been +extinguished. Not till then did Marshal August Wimpelheimer come gayly +up to him, his regalia a trifle the worse for wear and his breath +coming a little short from his exertions but his expression that of one +who has been hugely enjoying himself. He saluted with a flourish. + +"All over, Mr. Varr! I told you we'd handle it. I'm sorry we couldn't +save those first two buildings, but they had too much of a start. Full +of that inflammable stuff and with a breeze like this blowing sparks as +big as my helmet"--the article of attire referred to was nearly as +large as himself--"We were lucky to get control--" + +"Have you seen anything of Fay about?" + +"Your watchman? Yes, sir, he was in the thick of everything! I'd like +to add him to my Department. But the boys all did +splendidly--smoke-eaters, Mr. Varr, every mother's son of 'em! I hope +you noticed, sir, that when it came to volunteers for the bucket-gang a +lot of your workmen stepped up. They forgot about the strike and +pitched in with both hands! It shows there's a heap of good in human +nature." + +"It shows they know which side their bread is buttered!" grunted the +tanner. "How would they get their jobs back if they let the whole +outfit burn? Eh?" + +The Fire Marshal flushed, but the grocer bit back the words that +trembled on his lips. Little Wimpy had gallantry to spare when it came +to facing fire, which is a clean foe and a clean fighter, but his +courage stopped there. Varr owned his store, Varr held a chattel +mortgage on his fixtures--and there were the little Wimpies to be +thought of! + +"Good night, sir!" he said, and went sadly home. + +Simon Varr joined the stragglers who were leaving by way of the hall +through the office building, but he did not go with them as far as the +exit. He ascended the creaky stairs, went into his office and snapped +on the electric light. He had seen nothing of Fay, but he confidently +expected the watchman to seek him out as soon as possible. + +In this he was not disappointed. The man had only paused to remove +some of the traces of his activities before presenting himself for +Simon's inquisition. + +"Well, Fay, what can you tell me about this? Where were you when you +discovered the fire?" + +"I was making my second round at twenty-five minutes to eleven. You'll +remember, sir, you left orders that I should make another trip about +the premises five minutes after my regular round, which was ten-thirty +in this case. That was a good idea, sir, if you'll let me say so; it +certainly led to my seeing the fire right after it started." + +"That scoundrelly fire bug was watching you, depend on that!" + +"Yes, sir; there's dozens of places he could keep a look-out from, once +he got inside. Soon as he saw me finish one round and go out front, he +commenced his dirty work." + +"You say you caught a glimpse of him?" + +"A poor one, sir. I was just quietly passing one of those storage +buildings when I saw a flicker of light beneath the doorsill. It was +too soon to hear the crackle of burning wood or smell any smoke, but I +knew what was up. I pushed open the door. That was when I saw the two +oil-tins lying on their sides and the whole floor flooded with the +stuff. There was smoke enough, then, sir! That's why I could only get +a poor look through it at the feller." + +"He was in the building when you saw him?" + +"Yes, sir--and out of it again like a deer, by the door at the other +end, as soon as he saw me. I couldn't run through the flames, and by +the time I'd jumped back and cut around the building, he was lost in +the darkness. I swept my torch this way and that, but never a sign of +him. I heard him, though," he added significantly. + +"Yes? Where?" + +"He stumbled over something near the left-hand corner of the yard where +the fence runs down to the brook. That tells us what we didn't know +before, sir. He doesn't come over the fence, nor under it; he either +wades the brook around the end of it, or else scrambles around by way +of the bank. Unless I'm all wrong, sir, we'll find his footprints +there in the morning." + +"We'll find them there now," Varr corrected him curtly. "You have your +torch? Come along, then." + +He extinguished the light in the office and led the way downstairs and +out into the yard. They passed the smoking ruins of the two destroyed +buildings and came in a few seconds to the spot described by Fay. Varr +took the torch from him and played its beam on the ground near the +juncture of fence and brook. + +"You're right!" he exclaimed. "Here are footprints--and that piece of +wire is what you heard him trip over. Take a close look at those +prints, Fay, while I hold the light. Don't muck 'em up with your own +dainty feet! Anything noticeable about them?" + +The conscientious watchman dropped on his hands and knees and seemed to +fairly sniff at the marks like a bloodhound. + +"No, sir," he reported regretfully. "They're just footprints." + +Varr corroborated the truth of this when he bent to make his own +examination. The prints were sharp and distinct, but their very +clearness only added to the general obscurity. They were large and +clumsy, rude of outline, and had obviously been made by a pair of heavy +shoes such as workmen wear--and they might have been worn by any one of +a million workmen! Varr grunted his disgust as he sought in vain for +some little mark by which they might be distinguished from two million +like them. + +"A big man," was the extent of his deductions. + +"Yes, sir, that was what he looked like to me. I wish I could have +seen his face--though I've a notion he might have been masked." + +"_Masked_!" Varr fell back a step. "_Masked_?" + +"Why--yes, sir. That wouldn't be so unlikely, considering the errand +he come on! But I'm not sure--I had just that moment's look at him +through a swirl of smoke." + +"Could you tell how he was dressed?" + +"He was in black, sir. I thought so at first, and the way he got out +of sight in the darkness makes it seem likely. What, sir?" + +Varr had muttered an oath. A figure dressed in black, with a mask! +That was circumstantial enough, the Monk had been busy--launching a +thunderbolt of wrath, presumably! Simon's lip curled; Ocky's familiar +of the Spanish Inquisition was a pretty scurvy knave if he would stoop +to firebrands by night--! + +"Fay," he commanded abruptly. "Keep a close tongue in your head about +this. I've my reasons for it. Don't tell any one of these footprints +until I give you permission. Understand?" + +"Yes, sir," replied the watchman dutifully and dolefully. He had +rather been looking forward to public kudos and acclaim. "You'll tell +Steiner, sir, I suppose?" + +"Do as I tell you, and leave the rest to me!" Varr returned sharply. +He handed back the borrowed torch, first glancing at his watch by its +light. "Only half-past one! I could have sworn I'd been down here the +best part of the night. Come along!" + +They returned to the office building, Varr leaving a few more +directions for increased and unceasing watchfulness as the exhausted +Fay dropped into his chair in the front hall. Then Simon betook +himself to his car and drove slowly homeward. + +His bad temper had largely worn itself out on the various irritations +that had kept it jumping, and in sooth the time had come for anger to +give way to calculation. There were so many things to be thought of! +Enough to make a man's head spin! + +The matter of Copley by itself--! He did not know yet just what was +back of the boy's angry declaration that his father was "finished" with +him. Was he planning to leave home? A nice row there'd be with a +wounded mother! And Copley--Simon judged others by himself--would be +sure to make the most of his grievance with her over a parental +stratagem that had miscued! + +The thought of that nasty few minutes in the study reminded him of +Graham. Another coil. Jason Bolt would have some bitter comment on +the wisdom of firing a useful man with no substitute in sight; Jason +had a rough tongue at times for all his good-nature. That would be +still another quarrel--and he couldn't fire Jason! + +And this blasted Monk, with his anonymous letters and talk of +thunderbolts! He must be taken seriously after this night's work. +True, there was no definite proof to connect him with the fire but it +was too probable a hypothesis to be lightly dismissed. What had he +better do to cut that fellow's claws? There was hope, of course, that +he had worked off his spleen in firing the tannery, and also that a +wholesome fear of being caught and convicted of arson might cool his +spirit! Unless he was mad--! + +He left his car in the garage and locked the sliding-door behind him +with a feeling of relief that the balance of the night was likely to +pass without further incident. As he walked from the garage to the +house, he remembered the decanter and glass still standing on the study +table and welcomed the idea of another bracer before bed. He had +earned it. + +The darkened house, as he approached it, provided him with a new +grievance. Every one asleep! What did they care if the tannery went +up in smoke? More than likely they'd be _glad_! + +It was not in him to feel a sense of shame when he presently learned +that his assumption of their indifference was unjustified. As he let +himself in with his key, a slippered step shuffled from the rear to +greet him. It was Bates, sleepy but inquisitive. + +"The fire's out. Yes, it was the work of an incendiary. The actual +damage is immaterial." Varr's answers were curt. "Every one asleep, I +suppose?" + +"I expect so, sir. Miss Ocky went down to the fire, but she came home +long ago and told us it was under control. Miss Lucy came downstairs +and waited until she heard that, then she went to bed. She wanted you +to wake her when you came in and tell her all that happened." + +"Humph. I'll go up in a few minutes. And--my son?" + +"He's not in, sir. I haven't seen him all evening." + +"Very well. Go to bed. Leave the door unlatched." + +The old butler wished him good night and padded softly up the front +stairs. Simon struck a match and went along the darkened hall to his +study, where he struck another and lighted the wall-lamp near his desk. +It was then he noticed something that caused him to fall back a pace +and utter a sharp exclamation. The roll-top cover had been thrust up +to its fullest extent--and the same glance showed him that his +red-leather notebook, which he distinctly remembered tossing on to the +desk, was gone! With a cry of pure rage, he darted to the door of the +study. + +"Bates!" he shouted. "Bates! Come down here! At once!" + +The butler heard, and hurried to obey the urgency in Simon's voice. He +found the tanner standing before his desk and examining its rather +inadequate lock. + +"We've been burgled," announced the victim grimly. "It just needed +that to round the night off nicely." + +"Burgled! Robbed! Surely not, sir!" + +"Don't talk like an idiot! Get your torch. We'd best have a look +around, though there's no doubt the dirty devil got what he came for! +Where were you while--" + +"What is it _now_?" interrupted a plaintive and sleepy voice from the +doorway. "Another fire?" + +Varr wheeled toward the speaker and saw Miss Ocky regarding him with +wondering eyes. She had slipped on a vivid negligee, a trophy from +some Eastern bazaar, and she made a most attractive picture in the +soft, kindly light from the lamp as she stood there looking her inquiry +at one and the other of the two men. Simon was somehow glad to see +her, for much as he disliked her, he admitted her level-headed +shrewdness and welcomed the help of another brain in coping with a +situation that was rapidly getting beyond him. + +"Some one has broken open my desk and taken the notebook in which I +keep memoranda of formulas and experiments," he explained gruffly. "I +don't miss anything else. It must have been done within the last few +hours." + +"I see. I thought I detected a note of tragedy in the way you hollered +for Bates just now." She eyed the butler reflectively as she drew a +silver case from a pocket of the negligee and lighted a cigarette. +"Bates--I see you are still dressed! Where have you been for the past +few hours?" + +"Right in the pantry, Miss Ocky, except when I came out to let you in a +while back. I heard nothing, nor no one." + +She turned, as if to measure distances with her eye. "Right in the +pantry," she repeated. "Fifteen yards--and two closed doors--away. +Still, it's queer you heard nothing." + +"I was reading a paper, Miss Ocky, and I dozed once or twice." + +"Ah. That probably accounts for it. Have you found out yet how he got +into the house?" She moved her shoulders slightly as she put the +question. "I can feel a draught on the back of my neck, now. +Something is open--in the living-room, perhaps. Did you lock up as +carefully as usual this evening, Bates? Things were rather upset!" + +"That didn't make any difference, Miss Ocky," he protested eagerly. "I +had closed everything as usual--I had even started for bed--before the +siren blew and I heard Mr. Varr hurrying out to the garage. Nothing +was left unlocked." + +At the first mention of the living-room, Simon had secured a small +torch from a nearby stand. Together, they trooped through the door +leading to the parlor, where he flashed the light on the two sets of +tall French windows that gave on to a side veranda. They exclaimed in +chorus at the sight of one pair ajar. + +"That's that," said Miss Ocky. She took the flash from Simon, opened +the window wide and turned the light on the planking of the piazza. +"Nothing to be seen by this light!" She directed the beam at the +fastenings of the window. "Huh! Didn't take much to force this +affair! Your defenses are pretty flimsy, Simon!" + +"You're not in the heart of Asia, Ocky. We don't go in much for +fortifications in this country." + +"Well, I could wish you did. I don't want to wake up some night and +find a burglar going off with my treasures. What did you say this one +took--a notebook?" + +"Yes." + +"What's the idea? Who wants an old notebook?" + +"Exactly what I'm asking myself, Ocky." Simon sent a sideways look at +the old butler as if reluctant to speak too openly. "It was full of +important data relative to tanning processes. Not much of a loss to +me, for I know 'em all by heart--but it might be extremely useful to +any one else in the business or--or to any one who might be expecting +to go into it--" His voice trailed off as if he were lost in some +thought that had just struck him. "Humph!" he grunted. + +"What is it?" demanded Ocky alertly. + +"Nothing--nothing to be discussed now, anyway. Bates!" + +"Sir?" The butler had just finished lighting the lamp on the center +table and he glanced at Varr with expressionless face. "Yes, sir?" + +"Stop fiddling with that lamp. There's nothing to be done to-night. +And look here--I don't want this business mentioned to the other +servants or any one else until I have decided just what action I shall +take. Understand? Go to bed, then,--and I hope you stay there this +time!" + +"One moment, Bates." Miss Ocky had moved over to the table and was +contemplating it with thoughtful gaze. "Simon--what sort of an +implement would have forced that desk of yours? A knife, for instance?" + +"Yes, that would have done the trick. It could have been slipped under +the top near the lock; a slight pressure would have done the rest." + +"I like a lock that is a lock," sniffed Miss Ocky. + +"A matter of taste, I suppose. Bates, you know that Persian dagger of +mine I've been using here lately for a paper-cutter? When did you see +it last?" + +"This evening, Miss Ocky." + +"Sure?" + +"Yes, Miss Ocky. I was straightening up in here just after you went to +your room the first time, and I knocked the book you had been reading +on to the floor. When I picked it up, the dagger fell out. I knew I'd +lost your place and was sorry, but I couldn't do anything to find it +again so I just laid the dagger down beside the book--right here." He +indicated a perfectly blank spot on the table and looked mystified. + +"I came down for the book just before one o'clock--couldn't seem to get +to sleep," explained Miss Ocky musingly. "The dagger was not here +then--but it didn't occur to me to raise the house about it. I took it +for granted there was some simple reason for its being gone, and I +didn't stop to look for it, as I was only striking matches to find what +I wanted." She made a face. "For all I know, the burglar was right in +this room at that very minute!" + +"Pity you didn't run on to him," grunted Simon. "What are you +suggesting, anyway?" + +"I think your burglar came in here and noticed the dagger--he probably +had a flash--and decided it was just what he needed in his business! +He opened the desk with it, and unless he dropped it around somewhere +when he was finished with it, I guess _I've_ been robbed, _too_." + +"Huh. Wasn't valuable, was it?" asked Simon impatiently. + +"Well, I don't care about losing it--thanks for your kind and +sympathetic interest!" retorted his sister-in-law tartly. "Thank you, +Bates, that's all." + +"Yes, Miss Ocky." The old man bowed. "Good night, sir," he said, for +the third time that night. + +"I'll be off, too," said Miss Ocky, moving toward the door, where she +lingered for a parting shot. "If I were you, Simon, I'd either have my +locks seen to or else have my more valuable possessions nailed down. +Good morning!" + +She was gone before he could think of an effective retort. He occupied +himself briefly in dragging a heavy chair against the broken window, +then put out the lamp and went into his study. Bed seemed to make no +appeal, though there was a suggestion of weariness in the way he +dropped into his chair before the desk. He was mentally tired. + +Who had dealt him this latest blow--a shrewder one than he had +confessed to Ocky. That notebook full of formulas, the results of a +lifetime of experiment and research, would be worth more than a gold +mine to a competitor. There were men in the business who would pay +handsomely for the picking of Simon Varr's brain! But who had known +that, and turned his knowledge to advantage by the crooked way of +burglary? + +Two names kept bobbing up in the back of his brain. Copley was one; +Graham the other. Either might have done it, or they might have +entered into an unholy partnership of crime. Both knew the value of +the notebook, and both had seen it in his desk that evening. Where had +they been since? He had not noticed either of them at the fire; had +they been robbing his desk while they knew him safely absent? + +No sentiment played any part in these cogitations. He measured the +possibility of his son's guilt as coldly as if the young man had been a +complete stranger--or an ex-convict. Measured it, perhaps, +unconsciously, by his own standards of behavior. He had done things in +his time that would have made a self-respecting burglar blush. + +There was a third possibility. The Monk. Simon tried to shake off +that thought. There was no sense in it. Queer how anything like that +masquerader's mischief-making could get under a sensible man's +skin--dig its way into his brain until it became an obsession! Suppose +he _had_ set fire to the tannery--was that any reason to believe he had +proceeded to further activities the same night? There was not a shred +of proof connecting him with the burglary. + +He yielded to the fascination that the scrap of brown paper was +beginning to exercise over him and drew it from the pigeonhole. He +opened it and let his eye travel over the illiterate text to the threat +at the end that was already known to him by heart: "Take heed to thy +ways and mend them, lest thou be destroyed by the thunderbolts of +wrath!" Then he started violently in his chair, for he had come upon +the very proof he had thought lacking. + +Beneath the last line of the message a few words had been scrawled with +a blunt, blue crayon and then deeply underscored for emphasis. He +stared at them, his face flushing and paling by turns, his lips +soundlessly shaping the ill-formed characters. + +"_Behold, the bolts are loosed!_" + + + + +_IX: Simon Seeks Advice_ + +The discovery that his unknown enemy after first firing the tannery had +then rounded off a perfect evening by burglarizing his house threw +Simon Varr into a state of mental confusion. Here was a saturnalia of +crime condensed into the space of a few hours. And the man's audacity +was no less bewildering than his swift efficiency! Who, in this +hitherto quiet township of Hambleton, had suddenly developed a brand of +vicious courage that nerved him to commit arson and burglary? Simon +reviewed an imposing procession of possible suspects until his brain +wearied, and his wits, seeking vainly for light, were hopelessly at +fault in a fog of conjecture. + +It was nearly three o'clock before he laid an aching head on his +pillow, it was nearly five before sleep came to him, but he was up at +his usual hour and downstairs in his study by eight. Physically he was +still tired, but the brief spell of slumber had at least rested his +brain and cleared it against the problems of a new day. + +However undeserving he might be of sympathy, mere humanity would +suggest that it would be pleasanter, far pleasanter, to record that +this day of all days in Simon Varr's life was peaceful and calm, but +the truth is exactly the reverse. It was destined to be a day of +bitterness and strife, terminating in actual violence. + +The trouble began with Jason Bolt. + +Lucy Varr did not descend for breakfast, nor did Ocky, who elected to +depart from custom and have a tray brought up by Janet to her bedroom +balcony. Simon ate his usual hearty meal with more deliberation than +appetite, and had barely returned to his desk when he heard the squeal +of brakes that distinguished Jason's car from its numerous fellows. + +He came straight back to the study and threw himself into a chair, his +round, good-humored face unwontedly grave. + +"Well, Simon, here's a pretty kettle of fish!" + +"There are several kettles of fish. Which do you mean?" + +"Well--Billy Graham's, to commence with. He was around to see me an +hour ago--" + +"Was he sober?" + +"Of course he was, don't be too unjust, Simon! Graham doesn't make a +practice of drinking, and if he took one or two too many last evening, +as he admits he did, I for one don't blame him. That confounded pup +Langhorn told him what he overheard--" + +"I know--I know all that. I have fired Langhorn and I have fired +Graham." Simon's jaw tilted truculently. "What about it?" + +"That's what I've come to ask. What about it? If you keep on at this +rate, another week will see you down to bed-rock--reduced to one +partner and one idle tannery. And some one seems determined to burn +that up piecemeal!" + +"I didn't see you there last night." + +"No, thank goodness, I was in blissful ignorance of our latest trouble. +We have guests, you know. Mary and I took the Krechs to Barney's road +house just to give them a taste of night-life in Hambleton. Mr. Krech +and Barney spent the evening extemporizing cocktails--" + +"I'm not interested in your orgies. What did Graham have to say this +morning?" + +"Nothing that wasn't mighty decent, all things considered. He is sorry +to go after all these years, but he doesn't question your right to fire +him. He prefers to discuss the details attendant on his quitting with +me--you have no objection?--and he is writing to Rochester to tell the +Thibault crowd he accepts their offer." + +"That doesn't break my heart. The sooner he gets to Rochester the +better pleased I'll be." + +"Oh, yes--because of Copley, I suppose, and the girl. Well--I guess +Billy Graham isn't in the market for sympathy. He tells me that he is +fairly familiar with the Thibault tanneries from hearsay and he is +confident that he is taking them some tips that will make him solid +with them from the start." + +"Eh? What's that?" Suddenly intent, Simon Varr leaned forward and +fixed a sharp gaze on the speaker. "What is he taking them? What did +he refer to?" + +"Why--nothing specific, Simon! No doubt he has picked up a score of +useful tips during the time he has been associated with us. We can't +stop him from giving them the benefit of his experience; that's the +sort of thing you must expect when you fire a good man without any +reason except that he has a pretty daughter whom you can't keep your +only son away from. I must say, Simon--" + +"Must you? Please try not to!" + +Jason complied with a shrug of his shoulders; why waste his breath on +this human lump of obstinacy? + +Varr relaxed in his chair again, thinking. He ran over the events of +the previous night. Graham had drunk at least enough to render him +irresponsible for his impulses and actions. He had seen the notebook +lying on the desk. Enough time had elapsed between his departure and +the alarm of fire to have enabled him to slip down the hill and fire +the tannery. He might then have returned and watched his opportunity +to break into the house. Yes--it was possible, physically, for him to +be the guilty man. "Taking something valuable to Thibault?" The +notebook? Would he have the brazen nerve to make such a remark if he +were the thief? Yes! If Graham were the man, that identified him with +the masquerading monk, and _he_ had nerve enough for anything! + +It struck Simon--while his partner waited in glum silence--that it +would be interesting to learn where Graham had been on the night before +after leaving him in the study. To put it more bluntly--had the man an +alibi? How did one go to work to learn such things, short of asking +open questions? Varr shelved the problem temporarily, though an idea +in the back of his head was slowly shaping itself into the answer. He +would do nothing decisive until he had weighed things more carefully +and was sure-- + +"How shall we replace Billy Graham?" said Jason Bolt, having fidgeted +in silence to the limit of his patience. "Have you any one in mind?" + +"Certainly I have!" snapped his partner, who had given not a thought to +the matter until that moment. "D'you suppose I'd fire a man unless I +saw my way free of that difficulty? There's old Maple; let him take +hold when he is hungry enough to come back to work." + +"Maple? A good, steady man, Simon, but not the sort I'd pick. Not a +scrap of initiative. He knows enough to do just what he's told to do, +but--" + +"That's the sort of man I want." + +"And what you say goes! Don't trouble to point that out; I have heard +it before. Do you mind, however, if I mention another man whom I've +been thinking might fit in?" + +"Well--who?" + +"Copley. Your son. Don't look as if a snake had bit you! I think he +would make up in intelligence anything he lacks in experience. He is +quick to learn--" + +"You may leave him out of your calculations." + +Jason started at the tone of the remark, glanced at Varr's set face and +shot at him an impulsive question. + +"Simon! You haven't gone and quarreled with him _too_, have you?" + +"Never mind that." + +"By thunder, you _have_!" Jason Bolt regarded his partner +open-mouthed. Then he added, half to himself: "'Whom the gods would +destroy they first make mad!'" + +"What's that?" snapped Simon. The quotation had jarred on him, +something in its phraseology savoring unpleasantly of the anonymous +message he had received. "I'm a long way from being mad!" + +"You can't prove it by me," said Jason rudely. He came to his feet. +"I'll be getting back home; only blew in to talk with you about Billy." +He hesitated before continuing. "By the way, Simon, are you going to +be at the office this morning?" + +"Very likely--yes, I shall. Why?" + +"This chap who's staying with me--Herman Krech--very nice fellow--he's +the broker I was speaking of to you the other day. I thought I might +bring him in and introduce him to you." + +"Listen to me, Jason!" Varr's face was slowly flushing with anger. +"We are _not_ going to incorporate!" + +"Oh--bless me, I'd practically abandoned that notion myself," said Mr. +Bolt, airily mendacious. "Nothing was farther from my thoughts; I just +thought I'd show him around and introduce him to you--let him see all +the sights, huh? You may as well meet him; we're bound to be dining +together either here or at my house as soon as our wives get their +heads--" + +"Bring him in by all means," interrupted Varr. The idea in the back of +his head had suddenly burgeoned while his partner rambled on. "If +either of you mentions the word incorporate I'll have you thrown out, +but there is another matter in which he may be of service to me." + +"Krech? Why, you don't even know him!" + +"Well, you're going to fix that difficulty, aren't you?" Varr turned +to his desk in his usual gesture of dismissal. "I'll be there at +eleven." + +True to his word, at a few minutes past ten Simon left home for the +tannery. He would have a busy day, there, what with insurance data and +other matters relative to the fire. The prospect fretted him--and it +steeled his resolution to leave no stone unturned to bring the author +of his troubles to book. Blast him! He'd learn that it was safer to +monkey with a buzz-saw than with Simon Varr! + +He stopped at the door of the office-building for a word with Nelson, +who was already yawning at his post. Without any suggestion other than +the promptings of good-nature, he had turned out long before daybreak +to relieve the tired Fay. + +"Mr. Bolt and another gentleman are in back, sir," he reported. "Just +looking around. A young man was in about the insurance--said he'd be +back later. Steiner was here, very curious about the fire, but I told +him he'd have to see you." + +"Right. You can tell Mr. Bolt that I'm upstairs. Did you or Fay look +around any more in the neighborhood of those footprints?" + +"Footprints? He said nothing to me--" + +"True; I told him to keep his head shut. I will talk to you about that +later, Nelson. There hasn't been any trouble from the strikers?" + +"I haven't seen a soul, sir, but I've heard they are having a sort of a +meeting this morning. There's been talk of appointing a committee to +call on you and discuss things." + +"There's nothing to discuss. However, I'm perfectly willing to meet a +committee from them and tell them again that they'll gain nothing by +their strike but trouble for themselves. You have to tell a fool the +same thing over and over again before he'll believe it. Send 'em up +when they come--but not more than three of 'em, I don't want a whole +mob mucking up my office." + +"Yes, sir. There's been a young woman askin' for you, too, sir. A +girl named Drusilla Jones." + +"Never heard of her." Simon, on the point of turning away, paused and +looked curious. "What does she want?" + +"She's been goin' around pretty steady with Charlie Maxon, sir. I +guess she'll want to see you about lettin' him out." + +"Humph. He's where he belongs, and I wouldn't do anything to get him +out even if I could. Tell her that, and say I won't see her. Make it +clear, Nelson, I've no time to waste on Maxon's women." + +"Yes, sir." + +The watchman had nothing further to offer, and Varr went up to his +office and busied himself with the morning mail. There were more +indignant demands from aggrieved customers, and the fact that Simon had +expected them did not lessen their power to annoy. His face grew +steadily redder and redder as he worked through the pile of +correspondence. + +A clock in the outer office struck eleven, and as the last loud stroke +thinned to silence there came the sound of heavy footsteps ascending +the stairs. Jason Bolt believed in punctuality. + +He entered with a cheerful greeting that suggested he had recovered +some of his equanimity since his earlier talk with his partner. On his +heels came his friend, a genial-looking, red-faced, smooth-shaven +gentleman whose personal dimensions and displacement were such that +they seemed to dwarf the small office to the proportions of a room in a +doll's house. He stood well over six feet, was broad, deep-chested and +bulky, but moved with a light-footed agility that argues muscle rather +than fat. Simon was not a small man himself, but he felt like a pigmy +as his hand disappeared into one that opened like a suitcase. + +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Varr," said the newcomer pleasantly, in a voice +that was deep but agreeably pitched. "Bolt has been showing me the +whole works, here. You have a fine proposition." + +"I think so," concurred Simon with mild gruffness. "Jason is +dissatisfied with it, but it suits me very well." + +"So I have gathered from talking with him," said Mr. Krech, genially. +"No doubt you are right--at any rate, I seldom try to advise other men +in respect to their own business." He took a huge cigar-case from his +pocket and opened it, then offered it to Varr and Jason Bolt. "No? +You don't mind if I do, though?" He carefully lighted a mammoth cigar +and sat down on a chair toward which Simon had waved. "I see that some +one else is dissatisfied with the tannery, too. You must have had a +narrow escape from being burned out last night." + +"Ah, yes! We have had some little trouble with a number of malcontent +employees. I am gradually weeding out the more noxious of them--eh, +Jason?" Mr. Bolt palpably winced. "In fact, Mr. Krech, there have +been developments in connection with that fire, and certain other +occurrences, that put it in my mind to ask something of you." + +"Bolt told me that you wanted to see me about something," said the big +man heartily as the tanner paused to choose his words. "If I can be of +service to you I'll be delighted." + +"Thanks. It's really a very simple matter. You see, I have decided to +have this fire--and those other occurrences--investigated, competently +investigated, and their perpetrator punished to the full extent of the +law. Unfortunately, the local police are utterly incompetent to handle +a case of this kind, and I don't think much more of the County +officials. It finally struck me that a private detective agency might +do the trick. But I don't know any such concern and I don't feel like +employing one blindly, so I thought I'd take advantage of your coming +from New York and ask you to hunt up a responsible agency for me." + +"A private detective!" exclaimed Jason Bolt. "Why, Simon, what has +happened to require any such critter as that? What are those other +occurrences you speak of?" + +"I'll tell you--I'll tell you in good time. First, I want to hear if +Mr. Krech is disposed to assist me. He has facilities in New York for +locating a reputable agency, no doubt." + +"I don't have to go to New York for that," answered the big man +promptly. "You've come to the right place for information, Mr. Varr. +I know a very capable chap." He turned to Jason, and added slowly: "We +don't talk much about it, as you can imagine, but possibly you have +heard that my wife's brother was murdered under rather curious +circumstances; a cold-blooded crime if ever there was one." + +"I've heard Mary speak of it," admitted Bolt. + +"Well, the detective I have in mind is the man who cleared up that +mystery." His gaze shifted back to Simon. "Of course, knowing him and +getting him are two different things. He's usually up to his ears in +one thing or another. If it's not too confidential, and you want to +give me an idea of your problem, perhaps it would help me interest him. +At least, if it is out of his line, he will recommend some one else +who'll be competent to handle it for you." + +The tanner gagged a bit over the idea of any private detective +rejecting his patronage, but after all he wanted a good man and not the +first Tom, Dick or Harry to offer his services so he gulped down the +tart comment that had sprung to his lips. + +"There's nothing confidential about it--short of its getting into the +papers and giving my show away. I've got to tell Jason about it, and +if you care to listen I'll be glad of your opinion on the whole crazy +business. It began with--" + +He got no farther for the moment. There was a scuffling and shuffling +of feet from the direction of the stairs, and Nelson appeared in +advance of three rather ill-at-ease visitors. They were dressed in +workmen's clothing and carried their caps respectfully in their hands. + +"A committee from our strikers," explained Varr curtly to his partner. +He stood up. "Don't bother, Jason, stay here with Mr. Krech while I +talk to them in the outer room. It'll take me about two minutes to get +rid of 'em!" he added grimly. + +He strode from the room and met the approaching delegation halfway +across the main office. From where they sat, Jason Bolt and his friend +could watch the ensuing proceedings and hear every word that was spoken. + +Varr was instantly wrathful at discovering in the gray-haired +individual who turned out to be their spokesman an old employee whose +name was Maple, the very man he had spoken of to Bolt as possibly +replacing Graham as manager. He could almost hear Jason chuckling over +the fact as he snapped a curt command at the fellow to state his +business. + +"We've come for a talk with you, Mr. Varr," began Maple soberly, +"because there's some of us who feel that this strike has gone on too +long as it is. It's bad for us, sir, and it must be bad for you and +Mr. Bolt. We three have been appointed to call on you gentlemen and +ask you to look into the whole situation with us. There's points on +which we've been unreasonable, maybe, and there's others where we think +you've been unreasonable. If we give in a bit and you give in a bit +perhaps we can reach some sort of a compromise that'll let us all go to +work--" + +"Stop! I've been waiting for that word compromise! You can go back +and tell your crowd that this strike isn't going to be settled--it's +going to be _broken_!" Varr smashed one fist into the other as he +roared his defiance. "Go back and tell 'em! Tell 'em I'll watch every +man of you starving in the gutters before I'll be driven into doing +what I've said I won't do. Go set some more fires in the tannery; +you'll soon find that'll get you nowhere but in jail!" + +"We've set no fires, Mr. Varr," answered Maple with dignity. "On the +contrary, sir, the three of us here now were amongst them who helped to +put out the fire last night. You've no call to blackguard honest men. +As for starving in the gutter, sir--" + +He stopped speaking to reach in his pocket and draw out a few small +bills, which he held up for Varr's inspection, and at a nod of his +head, his two companions also produced money from their trousers. +Simon glanced at it and sneered. + +"Found a union to support you, eh?" + +"No, sir, not that. To tell the truth, Mr. Varr, there don't seem to +be any good reason to tell you where this came from, or how it came, +but we feel in duty bound to say it brought with it a message for you." + +"A message? For me?" Simon repeated the phrases quickly, his mind +alert for new alarms. "Well, what was it? Get it out!" + +"We were told to tell you that while we held out against you we could +count on getting money for our needs from the 'Black Monk'." + +"The Black Monk!" Simon fell back a pace as he whispered the words. +"The Black Monk! What--what do you mean?" + +"That's all we can tell you, sir." Maple fumbled with his cap and +coughed nervously. "We'll ask you again, sir, as in duty bound to our +comrades, if you'll help us come to a compromise--" + +"_No_!" + +The committee shrank back from the explosive quality of the +monosyllable that was like a door slammed in their faces. + +"Very well, sir, then we'll wish you good day--and a kinder heart for +your fellowmen." + +"Stop!" + +Sheer anger at this latest evidence of his enemy's activity had swept +Simon Varr beyond self-control, beyond reasoning and beyond decency. +He launched upon the stolid committee a rushing torrent of insult and +invective. The veneer of dignity that had come to him with wealth and +position slipped from him, as the old skin slips from a snake, and he +went back to the vocabulary of his youth for terms sufficiently +blasphemous and obscene to express his opinion of the strike, the +strikers, the committee and its sponsors. He did not stop until his +breath failed and left him panting. + +The two men in the small office listened to that tirade in embarrassed +silence. Jason Bolt fidgeted in his chair and grew pink to the tips of +his ears. Herman Krech, as became a tactful bystander, gazed at the +floor, stared at the ceiling, studied the glowing tip of his cigar, +peered through the grimy window at the uninspiring view of Hambleton +and generally comported himself with discretion and _savoir faire_. +Inwardly, he was wondering if he had any right to inflict this +termagant tanner on his unsuspecting friend, the detective. Not by a +jugful, unless the mutt had a mighty interesting case-- + +"I think," said Simon Varr, reentering his office, "I think I have now +made my position clear to those fellows!" A grim satisfaction was +apparent in his voice and bearing, the usual aftermath with him of an +outburst of temper. "Now we can resume where we left off." + +"What was that stuff about a monk?" demanded Jason. + +"That's part of my story. When Mr. Krech has heard it, he will tell us +if it is likely to interest his friend." He sent a questioning glance +at the big man. "By the way, what is his name?" + +"Peter Creighton," said Mr. Krech. + + + + +_X: Creighton Takes the Case_ + +Jason Bolt and Herman Krech listened to Varr's narrative in rapt +silence. The former's interest was mixed with amazement, the latter's +with enthusiasm. As the tale progressed the big man hitched farther +and farther forward in his chair, his expression that of a little child +who proposes to miss no syllable of a fascinating fairy story. He +considered himself something of a connoisseur in crime, did Mr. Krech, +thanks to a few experiences with his friend Creighton, and a subject +that had always made an appeal to his imagination was now become the +hobby of his every idle moment. Although he would not have abandoned a +lucrative business to take a position on Creighton's staff of +operatives, it was his secret grief that the detective had never +recognized his ability to the extent of offering him one. + +He was beaming with delight by the time Varr had ended his curt account +of his tribulations, and his distaste of the tanner's personality had +been temporarily forgotten. + +"Gee Joseph, Mr. Varr!" he burst out. "You really ought to +congratulate yourself! You've been the victim of the prettiest piece +of persecution I've ever heard of!" + +"Thanks," returned Simon without enthusiasm. + +"He seems to be waltzing all around you and jabbing you just where it +will hurt the most, and yet he's clever enough to evade capture and +even to keep you from guessing his identity. Why not make a list of +your known enemies and check them off one by one?" + +"Too many of 'em," retorted Simon briefly. + +"Ah, yes--I should have thought of that!" A muffled snort from Jason +marked his appreciation of the seemingly ingenuous jibe. "If a man's +known by the enemies he makes, I should say this fellow was a lasting +credit to you. You'll miss him when he's gone." + +"I'll miss him with pleasure. But when is he going? D'you think this +is a problem that will appeal to Mr. Creighton's critical taste?" + +"It will have my hearty endorsement, anyway, when I submit it to him. +He likes crooks with imagination, I know, and this bird has it. I wish +you had brought along that note you got from him." + +"I did." The tanner reached into his pocket and drew forth the message +that he had found in the deft stick. "I decided to fetch it as long as +I intended to tell you the story." + +Krech accepted the bit of brown paper, carefully taking it by the tip +of one corner and opening it with a shake. He held it out for Jason to +read, but drew it back from the other's outstretched hand. + +"Naughty, naughty, mustn't touch!" + +"Fingerprints?" grunted Varr skeptically. + +"It's a possibility we must consider," insisted the big man firmly. "I +don't believe there are any, sort of pity if there were." + +"Pity, eh? What do you mean, pity?" + +"It would cheapen our crook. I don't believe he's the lad to leave +clues." He added calmly, "Hush, now, and let me read this carefully." + +Simon gasped and hushed. He consoled himself with the reflection that +this human mastodon probably knew what it was about. + +"Well, I'm hanged!" blurted Jason Bolt, when he had perused the +missive. "What do you make of it, Krech?" + +"Why, there are a number of curious features about it that leap to the +eye," said Mr. Krech blandly. "I will call them to Creighton's +attention, of course." He stepped to Varr's desk, helped himself to an +unused envelope and inserted the note. "How many other people have +touched this paper besides yourself, Mr. Varr?" + +"Not a soul. I've shown it to no one." + +"Oh, that's fine." He picked up a clean letterhead and held it out to +the tanner. "Ink your thumbs and forefingers on that pad there and +then press them on this." He waited until Simon had gruntingly obeyed. +"Good. These will identify your marks on the message, and if there are +any others they will be the sign manual of our crook." + +"How can you be sure?" argued Jason. "It's obviously an old scrap of +paper and a dozen people may have handled it before the crook got hold +of it." + +Mr. Krech regarded his friend with a look of dignified annoyance. + +"There's always some one around to make difficulties," he said +severely. "You're a fly on the wheel of progress." + +"Excuse me for living," begged the fly meekly. Then he looked at his +watch and exclaimed, "Hello. Our wives, Krech, our wives--! We're +late for lunch already! Drop you anywhere, Simon?" + +"I have my car." The tanner glanced at Krech. "You'll notify +Creighton?" + +"With pleasure. I'll keep these for him, too." + +He placed the envelope containing the message and the fingerprints in +his pocket, then moved to follow his friend, already on his way to the +stairs. He paused at the door, however, and came back rather +hesitatingly. "Say--just how did that couplet run?" + +Simon made a wry face, but obligingly recited: + + "_'Who meets the monk when dusk is nigh + Within the fortnight he shall die.'_" + + +"Do you take that seriously?" asked the big man. + +"Do you take me for a blasted fool?" snapped Simon irritably. + +"Yes," said Mr. Krech simply. "Just the sort of blasted fool I would +be in your place, or that nine out of ten men would be. Because the +threat is directed at _you_, you scoff at it and ignore it." + +"What are you getting at?" + +"This: the fellow who wrote that note and does his stuff in a monk's +costume has all the earmarks of a maniac. Maniacs are dangerous. If +he has made use of this old local legend to further his purpose, he may +go ahead with it to the bitter end--your bitter end! Until he is laid +by the heels, why not play safe and stay home after dark?" + +"Humph. I'm likely to, aren't I?" jeered Simon. + +"No, you aren't, because, to use your own expression, you're 'a blasted +fool,'" conceded Mr. Krech cheerfully. "Anyway, if you happen to get +bumped off, don't come around haunting me on the score that I didn't +warn you!" He smiled benignly. "Ta-ta!" + +The tanner choked back an oath. For some time after the loud groaning +of the stairs beneath his visitor's tread had died away, he sat at his +desk and scratched his chin gently as he meditated. The striking of +the clock in the outer office recalled him to more present matters. It +was understood that if he did not return home by a certain hour in the +middle of the day he would lunch downtown, and the hour was now past. +On these occasions he usually walked to the Hambleton Hotel, the town's +one hostelry, where he could regale himself on a couple of heavy +sandwiches and a cup of doubtful coffee. + +Thither he now betook himself, frowning on the way as he noted some +condemnatory expressions on the faces of those he passed on the street. +He knew that public opinion was antagonistic to him in the matter of +the strike and his treatment of Maxon--the Hambleton _News_ had run a +nasty paragraph about the last--and the censure irritated, if it did +not move him. + +He had no sooner entered the dingy lobby of the hotel than his eye +rested on his son, Copley, seated at a rickety writing table and +industriously scribbling on a pad of cheap paper. Varr strode across +to his side and addressed him curtly. + +"What are you doing here?" + +"Living here," returned the young man, glancing up but making no move +to rise. He met his father's angry glare coolly. "More convenient to +my job." + +"Your job!" echoed Simon derisively. "What mental incompetent has +employed _you_?" + +"Barlow, the editor of the _News_. I'm a reporter now." + +"Humph. Why?" + +"For ready money, naturally, until I can get something good." + +"Am I to understand you have left my roof?" + +"Absolutely. Left it last night, and returned for clothes and a few +personal belongings this morning. You piled it on a bit thick last +evening--too thick. I've quit." + +"Saved me the trouble of throwing you out!" said Simon between his +teeth. "What did you tell your mother?" + +"The truth. I didn't intend to, but I found Aunt Ocky had overheard +our little chat and had told her we'd had a holy row. Sorry." + +"Blast your Aunt Ocky!" + +That did not seem to call for a reply and Copley made none. After a +few seconds of silence he raised his pencil suggestively. + +"Speaking as a prominent citizen, Mr. Varr, what have you to say +regarding the opening of the new sewer in State Street?" + +"Nothing--except that I hope you'll fall into it!" said his father with +asperity, and walked away. + +Copley wrote an item on another sheet of paper. "Among those lunching +at the Hambleton Hotel yesterday was Mr. Simon Varr, of the Varr-Bolt +Tanneries. He did not tip the waiter." He cocked his head at a +critical angle and contemplated the last six words before reluctantly +obliterating them. Discretion must be his watchword, he told himself, +and a job is better than a jest. + +Simon finished his meal and returned to the office, noticing already +the premonitory symptoms of the mild indigestion that habitually +followed the greasy cooking of the hotel chef. He found his insurance +man waiting for him and spent two tedious hours over an inventory and +proofs of loss before he could rid himself of the fellow--and sped his +going with a curse because the broker warned him the insurance company +would certainly cancel their existing policies if they got wind of an +incendiary. + +That reminded Simon of the footprints in the tannery yard which he had +wished to examine by daylight. He had intended to show them to that +chap Krech, but Jason had spoiled things by hurrying him off to his +silly lunch. He descended the stairs, called Nelson to join him, and +went to the end of the fence around which the fire bug had fled. + +He gave the watchman a brief account of Fay's experience at the +commencement of the fire, when he had actually obtained a glimpse of +the incendiary at his evil work. He discussed with Nelson, a shrewd +man, the possible identity of the miscreant, but they arrived at no +conclusion. Together they traced the footprints from the yard around +the fence and up the muddy bank of the little stream until they +vanished on the firmer ground outside the premises. + +"Make anything of them?" asked Varr. + +"Nothing more than you do, sir; they seem to be the tracks of a large +man. That friend of Mr. Bolt's could have made 'em nicely." + +"Get a couple of empty boxes," directed Simon, mindful of the +protective device he had used in his kitchen garden to preserve the +marks left by Charlie Maxon. "Cover up two good sets of these; they +may come in handy later." He studied the skies. "We'll probably have +rain before morning." + +"Fay won't object to that," declared the watchman, grinning. "If he +had his wish, it would rain chemical fire-extinguishing fluid!" + +Simon lingered to see that the work of covering the tracks was properly +done, and hoped that Mr. Krech and his detective would appreciate his +thoughtfulness. Then he left the tannery, climbed into his car and +drove home. The strain of the night before had told on even his iron +physique--and there was the mute appeal of a decanter of Bourbon that +he knew would freshen his nagging spirit. + +Jason's dilapidated little touring car greeted his gaze as he drove +past the front of the house to the garage, and a sound of light voices +came to him from the side veranda. Easy enough to guess the meaning of +that, the Bolts had dropped in with their friends for tea and a chat +with Lucy, who counted Mary Bolt her closest friend. + +He joined them a moment later. Lucy, he saw at once, had been crying. +No amount of powder or superficial gayety could conceal that fact from +him. She did not look at him directly, and her voice was frigid as she +introduced him to the one member of the party he had not met. + +"Mrs. Krech--my husband." + +Varr bowed to a tall, slender, strikingly handsome young woman with +deep-blue eyes and a mass of dark red hair, who was seated beside his +sister-in-law on a couch. The two were talking earnestly together +until he interrupted them, as though they had taken an instant liking +to each other. + +"Excuse me if I don't get up," apologized Krech from the deep chair in +which he was sitting. "I'm anchored." + +The handsome Angora had found him, and as though to mark his +approbation of another animal as fine as himself, had leaped into his +lap and curled up contentedly beneath his caressing hand. Despite his +words, Krech put him down and rose immediately when Simon indicated +that he did not propose to join them. He followed the tanner into the +house and accosted him in the hall. + +"I'd like to see the window where that burglar got in last night," he +said. "Got a minute to show me?" + +"Very well. In this way." They went into the sitting room and Varr +spoke on the way of his recent activities in the tanning yard, a piece +of foresight that Krech instantly applauded. "This is the window; it +was either pushed open by main force, or the catch was pressed back by +some tool." + +"The last is it," announced the big man promptly. "See here where the +paint has been broken near the lock and the brass of the bolt is +scratched? It's a cinch to open these things--a child could do it with +a penknife." + +"You have sharp eyes," admitted Varr grudgingly. "I hadn't noticed +those scratches on the brass." + +"Oh, I've helped Creighton on his cases any number of times, and of +course a man soon gets the trick of observing the least thing out of +the ordinary. Smaller marks than those scratches have hanged many a +man, Mr. Varr." + +"What a cheerful thought!" exclaimed a laughing voice behind them. +They turned and found Mrs. Krech, with Miss Ocky at her elbow. "What +are you two talking about hanging for? Herman, I came in to look for +you; we're just leaving." + +"All right, Jean; I was just giving Mr. Varr my celebrated imitation of +an expert criminologist!" He did not proceed further until he had +glanced questioningly at his host, who gave permission with a nod and a +shrug. "Some one broke in here last night and staged a burglary; I +didn't tell you before because I didn't know how far it was being kept +secret." + +"Can't keep secrets in this place," grunted Simon. "I gave up trying +long ago." + +"Have the police any idea who did it?" + +"The police! My dear Mrs. Krech, it's evident that you don't know much +about country constabulary. I wasted no time telling them of my +troubles. Your husband is going to place them in the hands of a friend +of his." + +"Peter Creighton! Is he coming here? Lovely!" She turned impulsively +to Miss Ocky. "He's just the nicest man you ever met!" + +"Who is he?" demanded Miss Ocky, but before she could get her answer, +Varr had interrupted. + +"We don't know yet that he is coming. You will surely write to him +to-night, Mr. Krech?" + +It was the very question the big man had been waiting for, but no one +could have guessed it from his perfectly simulated surprise. His +eyebrows were delicately arched as he made bland reply. + +"You don't realize the value of time in these matters, Mr. Varr. Write +to him! To-night! He'd have my life! No, sir, as soon as I left you +this morning I went straight to the village and telephoned him. Bolt +was fearfully annoyed about his lunch--he doesn't understand urgency, +either." + +"You got Creighton? What did he say?" + +"He will handle it. He can't get here until the first train in the +morning, but of course he is working on the case already." + +"Working on the case?" repeated Simon impatiently. "How in thunder +_can_ he? He doesn't know anything about it yet." + +"Oh, yes, he does. You forget that I was able to give him a lot of +information. We had a long talk--ask Bolt." + +"But, what can he do in New York?" + +"Plenty," said the big man airily. "You don't know him." + +"May I ask again," said Miss Ocky plaintively, "who is this Peter +Creighton? And what?" + +"He's a dear!" said Mrs. Krech. + +"He's a wonder!" said her husband. + +"He's a detective," said Simon grimly. + +"A detective! Coming here!" cried Miss Ocky, her eyes bright with +interest. "My word, won't _that_ be jolly!" + + + + +_XI: Checkers and Chicane_ + +Miss Drusilla Jones, whose fortunes were temporarily bound up with +those of Charlie Maxon, was a rather tall and shapely young woman, +handsome in a coarse sort of way when her face was in a state of +animation; in repose, its expression was marred by a too-great boldness +in the big dark eyes and a suggestion of sullenness about the heavy, +full-lipped mouth. She dressed well--"too well for an honest woman," +was the dark verdict of ladies more reputable and less attractive--and, +with a shrewdness surprising in one of her type, avoided the cheapening +allure of cosmetics. She spent most of her days in bed, and earned her +living, at least ostensibly, by spending most of the night at Tom +Martin's dance hall, where she was kept on the payroll as an +"entertainer." It was there she had first met Charlie Maxon. + +In accordance with her promise to return at a later hour, she left her +small house on the edge of the town shortly after four o'clock and +turned her steps in the direction of the tannery, where she hoped to +catch Simon Varr in his office. Her natural sullenness of expression +was intensified as she walked slowly along her way, for certain friends +of hers had pointed out to her that she was wasting her time. Simon +could do nothing if he would, and would do less than that if he could, +for the lover languishing in jail. + +"Then I'll give him a piece of my mind!" she retorted. "I'm not afraid +of old Varr nor any other man." + +Her course led her through the heart of the town, and her exact social +status could have been nicely determined by the glances of disfavor she +received from certain thin-nosed, pursed-lipped matrons of Hambleton +whom she passed en route. She could pretend to ignore these glances, +and she did, but they aroused a fierce resentment in her breast and +hardened a resolution already half formed--she was sick of this place, +she was sick of these people, she was sick of her undue prominence in a +small town where every one knew all about every one else, and she +proposed to shake its dust from her high heels at the first opportunity +that offered. + +At the tannery, Nelson opened the door when he recognized her through +the peephole and greeted her with a shake of the head. + +"No use, Drusilla. He isn't here, and he wouldn't talk to you if he +was. Said to tell you he'd no time to waste on Maxon's women." + +"He did, did he!" flared the girl. "Then you can tell him for me that +he's goin' to get into a peck of trouble if he don't look out!" + +"I wouldn't say things like that if I was you, Drusilla," admonished +the watchman. He had always liked the girl and regarded her with as +much kindly tolerance as was fitting to a respectable family man. +"There's talk around town already that your Charlie knows more about +the fires we've had than he ought to." + +"Sort of thing this town would say! How could he start a fire when he +was locked up in jail? Answer me that." + +"He's got friends, ain't he?" + +"That's neither here nor there. You can take it from me, he don't know +anything about those fires." + +"You may be wrong, Drusilla, a man don't have to tell a woman all he +knows. Anyway, it will be best for you and best for him if you keep +your mouth shut." He looked around them cautiously. "I know what I'm +talking about. Take my tip and watch your step." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Varr's sending to New York for a detective." + +"A detective!" Miss Jones was startled, and made no effort to conceal +the fact. "How do you know?" + +"Mr. Bolt was here this morning with a friend of his from New York, and +I heard them speakin' about it as they went out. So you tell Charlie +Maxon to be a good little boy and put away his box of matches." + +"He had nothing to do with those fires," reiterated Drusilla +mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere. She had met country detectives +and done business with them on terms satisfactory to both sides, and +she held them consequently in contempt, but a detective from New York +was an unknown and possibly ominous quantity. "When's he comin'?" + +"Dunno. To-morrow, I'd say likely." + +"Well, to-morrow's another day," remarked Drusilla easily, recovering +something of her poise. "I guess he won't amount to so much! I'm +obliged to you just the same for tipping me off. Drop in at Martin's +one of these evenings and have one on me--he's serving a pretty good +brand just now." + +"Don't you try to vamp me, Drusilla," grinned Nelson. "I'm a decent +married man." + +Miss Jones tossed her head and strolled away. + +She quickened her step presently as she decided on a course of action +that appealed to her restless, rather adventurous nature. She had +played with this same idea previously, but had lacked the animus to put +it through. Nelson, with his good-natured hint about a detective from +the city, had supplied that. + +She went straight to the dance hall, closed at this hour to its +nocturnal patrons, where she knew she would find Tom Martin in the +office back of the main room. He was there as she expected--a +keen-eyed, sharp-featured little cockney whose history from the time he +disappeared from London in a fog to the day when he emerged in this +unlikely corner of the great United States would have made a thrilling +story--particularly to the English police! Through the open door of +his office he was keeping an eye on the activities of several waiters +who were cleaning up the dance hall and straightening the small round +tables where "only soft drinks" were served, and he looked up to +welcome his visitor with a nod of surprised recognition. + +"'Ello, Drusilla. Wotcher doin' 'ere at this time o' dye?" + +Miss Jones had two wants and voiced them promptly. + +"Give me a quart of rye, Tom, and a couple of knock-out drops." + +Mr. Martin jumped in his chair and shot a nervous glance at the men in +the outer room. "The rye's all right--you've got some wiges comin' ter +yer an' I'll take it out o' them. But I don't know nothin' about them +other things, Drusilla. Wot are they?" + +"Don't try the baby-innocent act on me, Tom! I want some knock-out +drops, same's you put in the beer of that drummer from the city last +Tuesday night--and I mean to have 'em!" + +Hers was a carrying voice, and she was speaking with fearful +distinctness. A visible shudder ran through Mr. Martin's slender frame +as he sprang to his feet and hurriedly shut the door. + +"All right, Drusilla, you can have 'em--but fer the luv o' Mike don't +tell th' blinkin' world abaht it! Wotcher want 'em for?" + +"What you don't know won't hurt you," responded the girl. + +That gave him pause, but in the end she had her way after some cajolery +and a few loud threats. She left the premises with a paper parcel in +her hand and the wished-for pellets in her bag. + +Her house was not far removed from the police station, in the rear of +which was the small square building that served as a lockup for such +casual unfortunates as were not of a quality to be sent to the county +jail. Here Charlie Maxon was incarcerated, his quarters consisting of +a small room with a grille door and a barred window too high for +anything but light and ventilation. The only additional deterrent to +his escape was to be found in the person of a nondescript elderly man +who received a dollar a day from the town funds to act as jailer when +the lockup was in use. His name was Moody, his chief characteristic +the determined grouch he had cherished since the advent of prohibition. + +He was seated on the stone steps of the jail, smoking a small but +powerful pipe, when Drusilla Jones appeared from the direction of her +house. She bore a basket in one hand, its contents scrupulously +covered with a white napkin. It was about six o'clock. + +"Good evening, Mr. Moody!" + +"Hullo." + +"I've brought a few things I've cooked myself for Charlie's dinner," +she informed him. "Want to look 'em over?" She put down the basket +and whipped off the napkin, replacing it when the jailer had cast a +gloomy eye over the contents and signified his satisfaction with a nod. +"Come and unlock the door so I can give it to him, there's an old dear!" + +The old dear arose grumbling and proceeded to obey, pulling the door +key from his pocket. She followed him into the building, where their +advent was hailed with joy by the prisoner, upon whose hands time was +already beginning to hang heavy. + +"That you, Drusilla? Say--that's fine! Twenty-five cents a day is the +food allowance in this jail, and nineteen of that is grafted by some +one before it turns into grub." He accepted the basket from Moody, who +promptly relocked the door of the cell. "Get a chair, Drusilla, and we +can talk while I polish off this dinner." + +"No, you don't," corrected Moody. "What do you think this is--a hotel? +You can have five minutes, young woman, an' then out you go!" + +He went back to his doorstep and resumed his pipe. He might or might +not be within earshot; Drusilla could not determine which and she dared +not take chances. Fortunately she had guarded against such a +contretemps as this by providing a second line of communication, and +after chatting loudly with her _vis-a-vis_ through the bars of his cell +she suddenly dropped her voice and whispered swiftly: + +"Bottom of the basket. A note. Read it!" + +He registered his perfect comprehension by an eloquent wink the while +he discoursed long and loudly upon more innocent topics. They +exchanged sally and quip through the forbidding grille until a warning +grumble from the doorstep marked the expiration of the five minutes and +the end of their interview. + +"'Night, Charlie. See you again soon!" + +"'Night, Drusilla--and thanks. If you run into old Varr, give him a +bust on the head for me!" + +"Hush, Charlie--you shouldn't talk that way! Should he, Mr. Moody?" +she added brightly to Cerberus as she passed him. "I'm always telling +him he talks too much and doesn't mean half what he says." + +"Every one talks too much except me," declared the disappointed +disciple of Bacchus. "I only talk when I'm drinkin', and I haven't +said a word for months and I haven't been what you might call +loquacious for some years." + +"Charlie knows where to get liquor," suggested Drusilla, quick to seize +this happy opportunity to titivate the jailer's thirst. "Make him get +you some!" + +"On your way!" said Mr. Moody virtuously--but thoughtfully. + +Charlie Maxon, hearing their voices and sure that he was unobserved, +delved rapidly into the bottom of the basket at some cost to a custard +pie that recklessly intervened. He discovered a quart of rye which he +promptly thrust into concealment beneath the single blanket on his +narrow cot, a half dozen excellent cigars that he stored in a pocket of +his vest, and an envelope that contained two white pellets and a +hastily-written note. + +The latter he carried nearer to the window and read its contents +hurriedly; a soundless whistle relieved his emotions when he had +finished its perusal. He was briefly pensive. + +"Well--why not?" he demanded of himself finally. "She's not such a bad +looker--and she's sure got a brain!" + +He secreted the letter inside his shirt, proposing to destroy it at the +first opportunity, then settled himself to the tranquil enjoyment of +Drusilla's dainties quite as if no weightier matter than her pastry +portended. A hearty eater always, he did not desist until the last +fragment of the damaged pie concluded his repast. Then he went to the +door of his cell, stuck his head between the bars and hailed the seated +figure of his personal attendant. + +"Wotcher want?" asked Moody, grudgingly coming to his call. + +"Thought you might like a cigar," explained his prisoner, poking one +through the grille. "Smoke 'em, don't you?" + +"When I c'n get 'em," admitted the jailer, and regarded this one with +the dark suspicion of a man who has been the victim of practical jokes +before. "What's the matter with it?" + +"Nothin'. Smoke up! Gimme a match, will you?" + +"You ain't supposed to smoke in your cell," objected Moody, but +produced the match and lighted both their cigars. "However, I guess +you won't tell the Chief of Police if I don't!" + +"No fear. You're a good sport, Moody. I always knew that." + +"Fine cigar," commented the jailer critically. + +"Leave it to Drusilla. You can bet she helped herself from the best +box Tom Martin has." + +"Women are useful when they provide a man with good tobacco, but in +other ways they can get you into a mortal lot of trouble. Take it from +me, Charlie, and steer clear of 'em." + +"I guess you know your way around, eh, Moody?" + +"You can tie to that. Frinstance, if you knew as much as me you never +would've got into this jail." + +"I expect you're right. You've got a head on your shoulders!" + +"Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody some good," reflected the +jailer complacently. "I'm gettin' a dollar a day because you coveted +your neighbor's tomatoes and then had no more sense than to shy one at +him. Missed him, too, they tell me." + +"I won't miss him another time if I get a shot at him, whether it's +with a tomato or something else!" snapped Maxon with sudden +viciousness. "I'd like to pitch him into one of his own vats!" + +"You don't love him much, eh?" + +Charlie Maxon thereupon expressed his exact opinion of his late +employer in studied terms to which Mr. Moody lent the attentive and +appreciative ear of a connoisseur in language. When the recitation was +ended, he nodded approval and returned to his doorstep, where he sat +down and contentedly finished his cigar. + +Maxon dropped on his cot, eased the cork from the bottle of rye and +took one satisfying drink of the invigorating liquor. More, he dared +not allow himself for the moment. + +At nine o'clock Moody rose from his doorstep and came inside, carefully +locking and double-locking the door and putting its key in his pocket. +He did the same by the rear exit, and was preparing to retire to the +privacy of his own small room when he was hailed a second time by his +charge. + +"Now, what?" Moody went to the barred door of the cell with more +alacrity on this occasion, hopeful of further largesse. "Can't you let +a man have a minute's peace?" + +"Going to bed so soon?" + +"Nothin' else to do." + +"Remember two years ago how we used to play checkers at the Workmen's +Club?" + +"What of it?" + +"You used to beat me then pretty regular, but I guess it'd be different +now. I'd beat you four out of five." + +"That's nonsense. What are you gettin' at anyway?" + +"What's the matter with letting me out of here for a while? A few +games of checkers wouldn't do any harm--help pass the time." + +"Help pass--! Say, where do you think you are? Why don't you ask me +to take you to the movies? Mebbe you'd like me to send for Drusilla +so's we could have a dance? Want me to lose my job, huh?" + +"Who's going to know anything about it except us? Slip out and get a +board--and a couple of glasses!" + +"_Glasses_? What kind of glasses?" + +"Whisky glasses." + +Moody started. He looked keenly at his prisoner. Slowly, a warm light +stole into his eye, he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. + +"Quit your kiddin'!" + +"I'm not kidding--look here!" + +Maxon knew his man. Satisfied that he had Moody quivering with +anticipation, he stepped to his cot, produced the flat bottle and shook +it invitingly. The rich gurgle was music to the jailer's ear. A more +hard-boiled, professional warder would have followed just one course +with decision and dispatch, to Moody's credit be it said, it did not +once occur to him that he might safely confiscate the treasure and +dedicate it to his own delight. + +"I'll go after those glasses," he said promptly. "Sure it's good +stuff, Charlie?" + +"Wouldn't drink it myself if I wasn't, would I? Hustle up--I'm ready +for a drink right now." + +Tempted beyond his strength, the faithless keeper of the Hambleton +lockup departed on winged feet. He was back in remarkably quick time, +a checkerboard under his coat and two bar glasses in his pockets. A +last feeble flicker of responsibility stayed his hand an instant as he +opened the cell door. + +"No tricks, Charlie!" + +"'Course not. Cross my heart and hope to die." + +With the doors locked and no windows through which they could be seen, +they sat themselves confidently at a small table, a glass at each side, +the checkerboard between them and the precious bottle on the floor +within easy reach. The proceedings opened with one apiece. + +"A-a-a-ah!" + +"Told you it was good, didn't I? Have another." + +"Thanks. This is like old times. Black moves first." + +"Teach your grandmother. Chin-chin." + +"If that's bootleg, it's good enough for me." + +"It ain't, though. He gets it from Canada himself." + +"An empty glass is a mournful sight. Thanks. Your move." + +They played and drank and drank and played. Moody won most of the +games, which suited both of them. An hour passed. There was lots of +time, Charlie told himself. He wasn't due at Drusilla's until +eleven-thirty--the rendezvous she had made in the event that all went +well. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the effect of the +whisky he was drinking. It wouldn't do to get tight himself. Better +speed things up a bit, then take a walk for half an hour or so before +going to Drusilla's-- + +"Em-py glash--mournful shight." + +Charlie's left hand hovered an instant over the mournful sight, his +fingers crumbling something; then he picked up the glass and filled it. + +"A-a-a-ah." + +Five minutes later he was half-carrying, half-dragging the inert figure +of his jailer to the cell which by rights he should have been occupying +himself. He dropped Moody on the narrow cot, relieved him of his keys +and stepped out, grinning as he locked the door behind him. It would +be a long, long time before the recreant warder awakened to discovery +and disgrace. No one from outside would come near the place until +eight or nine in the morning; he had oceans of time in which to make +good his escape before the alarm could be given. + +He possessed himself of a slouch hat that he found in Moody's room and +drew its brim well down over his eyes, then cautiously unlocked the +back door of the jail. This gave on to a narrow, unlighted alley, +which led to a quiet side-street. There was little chance of his +meeting any one at that hour of the night. After a quick survey which +assured him the alley was deserted, he left the building and locked the +door. + +The fresh night air after the stuffy atmosphere of the jail hit him +hard. It sent the potent fumes of the whisky to his head, and by the +time he had reached the end of the alley he was staggering perceptibly. +He vaguely realized his condition and the peril it implied, and paused +for an instant at the first corner to steady himself against the wall +of a building while he strove to clear his brain. He jerked off his +hat to give the air access to his head, too fuddled to note that a +street-lamp not ten yards away was shining directly on his face. + +Then a tight grip fastened on his arm and he was pushed back into the +obscurity of the alley. + +"Charlie Maxon, by glory! Who let _you_ out?" + +"Wh-who are you?" + +"Who am I? Well, that's pretty good! Mean to say you can't _see_ me? +I'm Langhorn!" + + + + +_XII: Starlight on Steel_ + +When he had finished his examination of the broken window in the +living-room, Herman Krech contrived--partly by his sheer physical bulk +and partly by the exercise of a soft assertiveness that was saved by +his bland geniality from being plain rudeness--to sequester Simon Varr +for a word in private. To accomplish this end he was obliged to shake +off his own wife, the tanner's wife, the Jason Bolts and Miss Ocky +Copley, the last lady in especial revealing the pertinacity of a +cockle-burr in her objection to being shaken off. Krech didn't succeed +in losing her until he had shut the door of the study in her face with +a courteously affected air of absent-mindedness. + +"What do you want?" inquired Varr ungraciously. + +"I've got a message for you--sorry if I'm intruding," replied the big +man, half-amused and half-resentful at his host's tone. "I'm afraid it +will annoy you--but most things do, don't they? But Creighton thought +it best to give you a tip and of course I feel obliged to pass it on as +received." + +"All right. What is it?" said the tanner less irascibly. + +"Practically a repetition of the warning I gave you this morning on my +own account. I read him that note over the telephone. He said it +sounded like the work of a nut, and added that a bad nut is often a +dangerous proposition. He thinks you should take reasonable +precautions against a personal attack at least until he gets here." + +"When peace will mantle the earth, I suppose!" + +"Possibly so," answered the big man imperturbably. "I know if I were a +crook engaged in a campaign of crime I'd be apt to desist if a +detective suddenly appeared over the horizon. Wouldn't you?" + +"Not if I thought he was scared of me!" + +"Oh--I see." Mr. Krech's face, normally pink, deepened to a delicate +shade of rose. "Rather cheap, that, isn't it, Varr? No, Creighton is +not scared of crooks so you could notice it, but he's not a darn' fool +either. Anyway, there it is. Take it or leave it." + +"I'll leave it, thank you. Does he think I'm going to wire the +Governor to turn out the militia?" + +"He'd be more likely to suggest that you wire the nearest asylum for a +competent keeper; he has a rough tongue at times." + +"Humph. When's he coming?" + +"First train in the morning. Gets here at eleven." + +"I'll drive down and meet him. Will he stop at the hotel, or will he +expect me to put him up here?" + +"You'd better settle that with him, Mr. Varr. He's not a roughneck, if +that's what you mean." Krech contemplated the tanner reflectively; +there were several things he wished to tell him but he manfully +swallowed them all. "Good-day, sir!" + +His doubts of the morning were reborn as he left the study, unattended. +Had he any right to inflict this specimen on Creighton? He could only +hope that the detective's sense of humor would prove a buffer between +him and his patron's boorishness. If not-- + +His cogitations ended abruptly as he spied Miss Ocky awaiting him in +the living-room. He had caught her with her eye so attentively fixed +on the study door as to suggest that a less refined woman might have +had an ear glued to the keyhole. He beamed on her, his customary +good-nature again in the ascendant as he left the irritating tanner +behind. + +"Hello," he greeted her cheerfully. "Others all waiting for me +outside?" + +"Yes. Your wife has apologized for you twice, I believe. I think it +was mean of you to shut yourself up like that after getting me all +excited about detectives and things! What were you two talking about?" + +"Secrets," chuckled Mr. Krech. He continued to move implacably toward +the front door as she marched with equal determination at his elbow. +"Just a girly-girly heart-to-heart talk. Delightful fellow, isn't he?" + +"Humph. You might remember he wasn't the only victim of the robbery. +If he lost a notebook, I lost a perfectly good dagger. Why can't I +know what's going on, too?" She cooed softly. "_Please_, Mr. Krech!" + +"Well, if you _must_ know! I asked him, 'Vot iss a tanner?' and he +said, '_Vat_ do you mean?', and then--" + +"_Oh!_" cried Miss Ocky, and flounced. Then her indignation gave way +to laughter. "Mr. Krech, you're a--a _sus domesticus_!"' + +"French for diplomat, I take it," he retorted amiably, and left her on +the top step as he surged across the piazza and down to the waiting +car. Nevertheless, he sought his more erudite spouse at the first +opportunity. + +"Jean, what's a _sus domesticus_?" + +"Gracious!" She wrinkled her beautiful brow for a moment, but she had +taught school for a while before acquiring wedded affluence and the +answer presently came to her. "Why--a common pig, I suppose." + +"Gosh. A _common_ pig? Not even a nice, clean, pink-and-white, +prize-winning pig?" + +"No. What _are_ you talking about?" + +"Nothing. Nothing _a_-tall! Say--what did you think of that Copley +woman?" + +"Miss Copley? Very interesting. Very attractive. I liked her +immensely. Didn't you?" + +He thought that over an instant. Then, like Miss Ocky, he surrendered +to amusement and gave one of his deep chuckles. + +"Yes," he said. "I did. Sometime I'd like to pack a dictionary with +me and drop in on her for a chat!" + +After Krech had dropped his unwelcome warning and departed, Simon Varr +turned to his desk and tried to forget some of his immediate problems +by attacking a small mass of correspondence that he had brought home +from the office after the innumerable interruptions of the morning. He +did not succeed any too well in concentrating his thoughts on the task. +They would persist in wandering to other matters, leaving him staring +blankly at a letter while his wits went the weary round of his +perplexities. With reflection came temper, and he rather welcomed the +sound of his study door being opened with no preliminary knock. That +foreboded more trouble of some sort, and he was in the humor for a +fight-- He swung his chair around and started at the sight of his wife +in the doorway. + +"Well? Come in. What is it?" + +She accepted the invitation. She came into the room slowly, but she +ignored his gesture toward a chair. She stood looking down at him, her +face all the whiter for a touch of vivid color that burned in each +cheek, her arms hanging loosely at her sides but her hands clenched in +token of restrained emotion. Her voice was calm as ever when she +spoke, but passion lent it a husky quality that smote ominously on his +ear. + +"What have you done to--my son?" + +"Done to him? Done to him? What d'you mean?" He sputtered. "I +haven't _done_ anything to him!" + +"You quarreled with him?" + +"Call it that if you choose. He forced the issue--though he probably +went cry-babying to you with some other version!" + +"He doesn't lie. And he told me just what I managed to drag out of +him--no more. I got the impression that he was--ashamed of you, that's +all." + +"Well? I'll live it down, I guess! What do you expect me to do about +it?" + +"The decent thing, just for once in your life. I want you to go to +him, or send for him, and--and make peace." + +"You can see me doing it, can't you? Ha!" + +"He has left our roof." + +"His own choice!" + +"You drove him to it." + +"That's not so! He's free, white and twenty-one; he can do as he +pleases elsewhere, but he'll do as I say while he's in my house!" + +"_My_ house, please!" + +"We've had that argument before and you've had precious little change +out of it! As for Copley--let him rustle his own living or starve +until he learns to obey my wishes!" + +"You won't consider mine?" + +"No!" The word was like a thunderclap. + +"Very well." She held herself erect to every inch of her slim height, +her steadfast gaze leveled at him from beneath straight brows. "I warn +you, Simon, that you are going too far. I don't know if you realize +all the brutalities, the ignominies, that I've suffered from you since +we were married. Much kinder if you'd beaten me. It hasn't seemed +possible to me that you can have realized--! Yours is a very curious +nature--I've had to make allowances--often--" Her voice faded into +silence. + +"_What are you going to do about it?_" + +She jumped beneath the lash of that crisp question. + +"I don't know--_yet_." Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left the +room. + +"That's that!" Simon swung back to his desk, a grim smile on his lips. +"It always boils down to the same thing--they don't know what they're +going to do about it. Let 'em rant all they please, in the end what I +say _goes_!" + +He resumed his correspondence, refreshed. + +The only aftermath of this latest squall instantly apparent was the +message Bates gave him as he announced dinner. Miss Lucy would not be +down. She was indisposed. + +"Another word for a bad disposition," Simon informed his sister-in-law, +as they seated themselves at a table laid for two, indifferent to the +fact that he was criticizing his wife within the hearing of a servant. +"She'll have recovered by morning." + +"We can't all have your sunny nature, Simon." + +"Humph. You've heard about the roekus with Copley, I suppose?" + +"Rumors have reached me." Miss Ocky peppered her soup composedly. +"Need we discuss it now?" + +"No. There's always the weather, if you prefer that." + +The topic did not seem to appeal to her. They did not talk about the +weather, nor anything else. A silence that would have been perfect but +for the sound of a subdued champing from the head of the table was +broken only once during the progress of the meal. Occupied though he +was with his food, Varr gradually became conscious of a steady scrutiny +that first puzzled, then irritated him. He glared at her angrily. + +"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" he demanded. + +"Interest, Simon. Pure, unadulterated interest." + +"Well, stop it! I don't like it!" + +For a wonder, she acceded to his insistence without a word. It cost +her no effort to avoid looking at him for the remainder of the time at +the table, after which they rose in silence and parted. Simon went +inevitably to his study, Miss Ocky in sisterly fashion to Lucy's room +to inquire the cause of her _malaise_. + +Two hours passed before she came down again. Two somewhat trying +hours, to judge from the expression on her face, which wore a look as +grim as any ever sported by Medusa. Her eyes were cold and hard as she +marched promptly to the closed study door and rapped upon it--a gesture +of icy politeness. + +"Come in! Humph. So it's you, Ocky! Dropped in to take another good +look at me?" + +"No--to have a rather serious talk with you, Simon." From the +effortless way in which she drew a heavy armchair into the position she +desired, a shrewd observer might have gleaned a hint of the muscular +strength that was her heritage from many a camp and trail. "Hope you +don't mind." + +"Quite the contrary. By a serious talk I presume you mean a row. +Well--I've gotten so I thrive on 'em!" + +"Yes. I pity you just enough, Simon, to wish you weren't so fond of +them." Miss Ocky dropped into her chair and lighted a cigarette with +pensive deliberation. "I don't know that I can offer you a real row, +my idea was to hand you a few straight-from-the-shoulder remarks and +then a couple of ultimatums. As for the brutal badinage in which you +delight, I'm in no mood for it this evening." + +"Let's have your remarks. I guess I can stand 'em." + +"First, then--I suppose you know that you have played the cat-and-banjo +with Lucy's happiness for the last twenty-odd years?" + +"Don't assume I know anything. Just tell me!" + +"Consider yourself told that, to start with. I was literally shocked +when I came back and saw the change in Lucy. She's the shadow of her +old self, nothing more. It is you who are responsible for that." + +"Humph!" + +"Now you have started on Copley--made a good start, too, if the boy's +manner is any criterion. Possibly I may be doing him an injustice. It +might have been consideration for his mother rather than fear of you +that has restrained him until now. Anyway, I'm glad he has summoned +the courage to defy you at last." + +"Indeed. May I ask you one question? How long has it been considered +good form for a woman to enter a man's house and interfere with his +domestic relations. Eh?" + +"It was my father's house first, then Lucy's. I am more at home here +this minute than you could ever be." + +"Try and prove it in a law-court!" + +"Perhaps I shall--some day." She paused to scrutinize her polished +finger-nails, brushed a speck from one of them, raised her eyes to his +and added dryly, "After all, Simon, you know you only got in here by a +trick." + +"A _trick_! Now--what do you mean by _that_?" + +"Memory gone _phut_, Simon? Perhaps I can refresh it. While I was +watching the fire last night a man came up to me and called me by name. +It was--Leslie Sherwood." + +"_Ah!_" The exclamation was wrung from him through stiff lips. The +color drained from his face as he leaned forward tensely, one hand +gripping an arm of his chair like a vise. "G-go on!" + +"That shot went home, did it?" asked Miss Ocky coolly, watching the +effect of her words. "I've several more in the locker! We had quite a +long talk together and he told me many things I didn't know. +Interesting things--very!" + +"_What?_" Simon's voice was hoarse. "He didn't tell you--he didn't +dare tell you--" He stopped, a deadly fear in his eyes. + +"Yes. He told me why he quarreled with his father. Why he left home. +Why he has come back now, freed by his father's death. Shall I go on, +Simon?" + +He sank back in his chair, shaken in all his being. He could not speak +until he moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"Have you--told Lucy?" + +"No. That is Leslie's right, I should say. No doubt he will use it. +As far as I can see, there is only one way by which you can make a +decent exit from the mess you're in." + +"If--if you're suggesting--suicide--forget it!" + +"Suicide? No! Why should I waste my breath proposing an act that +requires courage? What I meant was--divorce." + +"Divorce!" + +"It needn't cost you a penny. Make it easy for her to get--your +lawyers will arrange that. You'll have the tannery--and welcome! All +you need do is--go! Go from this house!" + +"Divorce! Stand aside--hat in hand--bow another man into my place--!" +The rage of a cornered animal swept aside his fear. "I'll see you all +in--" + +"Don't shout." + +"So _that_ is why Sherwood has come back!" He gritted his words +through set teeth. "He thinks he is going to make trouble for me, eh? +Just let him try--just let him try! If he dares to say a word to +Lucy--if he even dares to set foot on this property--" His clenched +fist crashed on the desk beside him as he abandoned himself to a very +ecstasy of fury. "If he dares try that, by Heaven, I'll kill him like +a dog!" + +"I wouldn't," advised Miss Ocky in her quiet, hard little voice. +"Everything would have to come out in court, then, and you'd have a +fearful time persuading any jury that it was justifiable." She had +finished her cigarette, and since Simon's study boasted no ash-trays, +she rose and went to the open window to toss the stub outside. She +remained there, leaning against the casement and breathing deep of the +cool night air. "Wouldn't you rather be divorced than hanged?" + +"_No!_" + +"Humph. Queer tastes, you have! Well--I've kept my promise. I've +told you a few straight facts and issued an ultimatum. The rest is up +to you. Would you like time to consider--" + +"No! Not a minute--blast you!" + +"I don't blast easily, Simon. I'm to assume, then, that you reject my +well-intentioned--_Hello! What's that!_" Her voice dropped to an +excited whisper as she bent her head and peered into the darkness. + +The alteration in her manner penetrated through the fog of temper that +had clouded his brain. He left his chair and was at her side in a +bound, surmising her answer even before he snapped a swift question. + +"What is it?" + +"That monk--! I could have sworn--! Over there by the big silver +birch--! I can't see him now. Can you make out anything?" + +Side by side they leaned from the window, striving to accustom their +eyes to the starlit night. A long minute passed. + +"I must have been mistaken." Miss Ocky drew a long breath. "A shadow +from a swaying bough--or imagination." + +"There isn't wind enough to sway a twig!" he corrected curtly. He +lingered a while longer, his angry gaze continuing to search the +darkness, before he drew back into the room. "It's quite likely you +saw him," he muttered. "No doubt he saw you, too, and heard you--and +has slunk off with his tail between his legs!" He half made to pull +down the sash, then contemptuously refrained. "I'd like to get my +hands on him!" His fingers curled longingly. + +After a moment's hesitation, she accepted his dismissal of the subject. +She stepped back and confronted him. + +"To return, then--divorce, Simon?" + +"Never!" He fairly barked it. + +"I know of just one thing to your credit, Simon," said Miss Ocky rather +sadly, rather dully. "You do mean what you say. I must accept your +decision as--final." + +"You must!" The interlude had braced him. "And--what are you going to +do about it?" + +She shrugged her shoulders, looked at him with expressionless +eyes--turned and walked quickly from the room. His sharp, sardonic +laugh followed her down the hall. + +"Another false alarm!" + +He threw himself into his chair, mopping his brow. Some ten minutes +went by before a thought occurred to him that was fortuitously +anticipated by the sudden appearance of the old butler. + +"That decanter of Bourbon, Bates! Then go to bed." + +"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." + +History repeated itself. He drank two glasses of the fiery liquor in +swift succession. As he did so it rather staggered him to reflect that +barely twenty-four hours had elapsed since he had stood there the night +before, doing the same thing. Gad--what a day! Last night that monk +had interrupted him-- + +That monk! He muttered the words. Had Ocky really seen him? Was he +loose again on some fresh errand of crime? Had he been frightened away +by their appearance at the window? Had he been frightened away +_permanently_? + +On the spur of a swift impulse, born perhaps of the whisky, he reached +up quickly and extinguished the solitary lamp. The room was instantly +plunged into darkness, through which he groped his way cautiously as he +set the stage for a game of cat-and-mouse. He pushed the chair that +Ocky had used directly in front of the open window and settled himself +in its depths, his hot eyes staring into the night and challenging it +to yield its secrets. + +He moved only once during the next half-hour. That was to pour himself +another drink, which he sipped slowly while he continued to watch the +neighborhood of the big birch that Ocky had indicated. Would he come +back? Would he? Varr waited for the answer to that, waited and waited +while a murderous rage filled his breast and grew ever more intense +with each succeeding mouthful of raw drink. Would he come? + +Yes! + +The empty glass slipped from his fingers to fall with a light thud on +the carpeted floor as he slowly rose from his seat. He rubbed his +eyes, quite unnecessarily, for they were now used to the dim starlight. +No possible doubt existed--the ominous black figure was _there_! +Straight and tall, it stood, exactly as he remembered seeing it at the +head of the trail. Now it was on a concrete path that bisected the +kitchen garden, motionless, apparently inspecting the darkened house of +the man it pursued. + +Stealthy as a cat, nearly as swiftly, Simon rushed from his room and +out of the house by the front door. His plan was to circle the +building, taking advantage of every shadow, and get as close to his +enemy as he could before revealing himself. Suppose the fellow took +alarm and got off to a running start? Could he hope to catch him? For +the first time in his life, he wished he had a revolver. + +Less than ten yards intervened between them when he finally broke cover +and hurled himself furiously forward, hatred in his heart, a deep oath +on his lips. At last! His fingers itched for the throat of his enemy. + +It was disconcerting suddenly to realize that he had not taken his foe +by surprise; his swift approach was slightly checked as he saw that the +figure was facing him, watching him--waiting for him! It was still as +any statue up to the very instant when he flung out his arms to seize +it; then it fell back a pace and its left hand went slowly up to lift +the black veil that masked its countenance. + +If another emotion as strong as his hatred existed in Simon's breast, +it was curiosity as to the identity of his relentless enemy. His +advance came to an almost involuntary halt as he thrust his head +forward the better to distinguish the features of that face so dimly +visible in the uncertain light. + +Then it was his turn to step back, his arms dropping to his sides, his +brain reeling from the shock as it apprehended the truth. + +"_You!_" he gasped chokingly. "_You!_" + +In that moment he was helpless, defenseless, mentally and physically +paralyzed from sheer amazement. It was the moment for which his crafty +foe had played--and won. The figure darted, forward, its right arm +rose and fell. One flicker of starlight on metal, then the thud of +steel driven home-- + +A single groan escaped the lips of Simon Varr before they were sealed +in death. + + + + +_XIII: A Deduction or Two_ + +The eleven o'clock train from New York was commendably punctual the +next morning. + +Its brakes had barely ceased squealing on one side of the Hambleton +platform when Miss Ocky brought her small car to a smart halt on the +other. She sprang to the planking and waited for the passengers to +alight, her face reflecting the cheerful knowledge that she was looking +her very best that morning in a becoming hat and a well-fitting coat +and skirt of gray English tweed. + +Not many people alight at Hambleton on even the liveliest occasions, +and this time a mere handful descended from the train. Among them was +a middle-aged man in a dark-blue serge, a light overcoat on one arm and +a heavy suitcase suspended from the other. He was compactly built +without being too heavy, his smooth-shaven face wore an expression of +good nature, and his eyes looked out on the world from behind +tortoise-shell glasses with a friendly twinkle that concealed something +of their sharpness. They had an inquiring expression now as he glanced +about him. + +Miss Ocky did not have to be much of a detective herself to know that +here was her search concluded, though no one in the world could have +measured up less to her expectations. She had visualized something +with large feet, a big mustache and a heavy jowl, that would descend +from a smoker with a dead cigar gripped between its teeth. Silly of +her, she admitted to herself as she walked over and accosted him +briskly. + +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it? Knew it must be. I'm Miss Copley, and if I +hadn't come down for you I don't know who would!" + +"Very good of you, Miss Copley." He looked not unnaturally mystified +by her greeting. "I was rather expecting a friend of mine--" + +"Mr. Krech? He couldn't get away from the police." + +"The police!" He was startled at first, then the twinkle in his eye +deepened. "Don't tell me that his sins have found him out at last!" + +"I have to tell you something much more serious than that," she +answered soberly. "Come along and stick that bag in the car. We can +talk while I drive you to the house. To begin with, Simon Varr was +found in his kitchen garden this morning--stabbed to the heart." + +Peter Creighton had a fashion of receiving such bits of news in a +little silence that gave him time to gather his wits. Miss Ocky saw +that the good humor was gone from his face which was now grave and +stern. He did not speak until he had deposited his bag in the tonneau +of the car and seated himself at her side in the front. + +"Murdered," he said; it was not a question. + +"The doctor says the blow could not have been self-inflicted." She +touched the starter and turned the car homeward. "Yes--murdered." + +"That is terrible, Miss Copley. I feel deeply shocked. Has the +murderer been identified?" + +"I can't say positively. He was found about six o'clock this morning +by the cook, and you can imagine that we have been simply inundated +with police and officials ever since. They've been doing a lot of +whispering and conferring and I think they _do_ suspect some one, but +of course they haven't confided in me." + +"Excuse me, Miss Copley--just who are you? I gather you are a member +of the Varr household." + +"He was my brother-in-law. He married my sister. I've been visiting +them about two months." + +"I see. Thank you. Now--what about Krech and the police?" + +"Well, they notified Jason Bolt--he was Simon's partner--and he came +right over, bringing Mr. Krech, who is staying with him. There was a +lot of talk about a mysterious monk--I know something about him, +too!--and just when it was time to go to the train, Mr. Norvallis was +questioning your friend in the living-room. So I slipped away and came +to your rescue. It's as well I did--there are no taxis in Hambleton!" + +"It was very good of you to remember me, with so much else to think +about. You--er--how did you know I was expected?" + +"Mr. Varr told us yesterday that Mr. Krech was sending for you." + +"'Us'?" He turned to look at her while she answered. "How many people +knew that I was coming, do you suppose?" + +"Oh--several, anyway! Why?" + +"I'm wondering if the news could have reached the ears of the +murderer," he explained. "Some one was persecuting Mr. Varr, we know +that. If he suddenly learned that a detective was coming--you see?" + +"He might have thought it better to--to strike while the striking was +good? Yes, I see." She took her eyes from the road long enough to +give him a quick look. "You think of things very quickly, Mr. +Creighton!" + +"Practice makes perfect," he murmured. "Who is Norvallis?" + +"Assistant County Attorney, or something like that. Murders are rather +too complicated to be handled by the local police, evidently." + +"Yes, the County takes hold usually--sometimes the State, if the County +can't make the grade. You spoke of a doctor--was that the County +Physician? Has the body been moved yet?" + +"Yes--thank goodness! I wasn't a great admirer of Simon's, but it +wasn't nice to think of him lying out there in a tomato-patch! +However, I suppose you're disappointed." + +"Why? Oh, I see! You're assuming that I might be interested in the +investigation. That doesn't seem likely. I came here on some matter +of burglary--and quite possibly that has ceased to be of importance +now. I must talk to Norvallis, though." + +"If you investigate the robbery, you will be investigating the murder," +said Miss Ocky quietly. "When Simon's notebook was stolen, his desk +was forced open by a Persian dagger, belonging to me, that happened to +be lying handy. That was missing with the notebook--and it was found +again this morning in--in Simon!" + +"Golly!" Creighton looked at her with renewed interest. "Not pleasant +for you, that!" + +"It seems to link the two crimes, doesn't it?" + +"Decidedly. Here we are, I see." + +A small crowd of curiosity-seekers was gathered at the gate which gave +access to the driveway from the highroad, and a policeman in uniform +was chatting with them amiably while barring their closer approach. He +saluted as Miss Ocky waved her hand to him and vigorously honked her +way through the staring crowd. + +"I'll drop this bag in the hall for the time being," said the detective +as they mounted the piazza steps and entered the house. "Will you put +me deeper in debt to you by finding Mr. Krech for me?" + +She said she would, and departed on the errand while he lingered in the +hall. The sight of no less than twelve automobiles of various sizes +and sorts parked in front of the house had prepared him for a mob +inside. A hum of voices reached him from a room on his left, the door +of which was discreetly closed, and another hum came from one on the +right, which he could see was a dining-room. Farther back in the hall, +three solid-looking gentlemen had their gray heads together in a +serious confab. For some reason they appeared to regard his entrance +with considerable interest, and seemed to be discussing him while he +waited. He put it down to the fact that he was a stranger where it was +the custom for every one to know every one else. Then Herman Krech +came out of some room in the rear and swept down upon him, accompanied +by a short, stout, worried-looking individual. + +"Hello, Creighton. This is Mr. Bolt, Mr. Varr's partner." + +"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bolt." Creighton barely acknowledged the +introduction as he searched his friend's face. "Krech, how did this +happen? I wouldn't have had it--" + +"I know." The big man broke in quickly, earnestly. "I know what you +are thinking. Forget it! It isn't your fault, nor mine. I warned him +yesterday morning on my own account, and again in the afternoon after I +had talked with you. He simply disregarded it." + +"A pity!" muttered the detective. His face had cleared somewhat at +Krech's statement. "Thank goodness, I haven't got that negligence on +my conscience! It has been worrying me ever since I heard the news. +So he wouldn't listen to you?" + +"Nary a bit. Let's go out on the piazza. There's a place around the +corner that this merry throng hasn't discovered." + +He led the way with his easy self-assurance and they followed at his +heels. He was right about the privacy of the retreat to which he took +them; a few men were standing around the front piazza, but no one had +turned the corner. + +"I'm glad to have a chance to speak to you, Mr. Bolt," said the +detective when they had found seats. "This is a shockingly different +state of affairs than I expected to find. What of the burglary that +Mr. Varr had on his mind? Has that any importance now apart from its +obvious connection with the crime?" + +"Yes, indeed, great importance for me and a number of other people who +may suffer from the theft of Simon's notebook." Jason looked ten years +older than when he had risen that morning. "If that has gone it will +be a serious blow to our tanning business--and a gold-mine to any +competitor who might get his hands on it and not be honest enough to +return it." + +"Um. Secret formulas--that sort of thing?" + +"Exactly. On my own behalf, and out of respect for my partner's +wishes--his last wish, practically,--I would be very glad to have you +take a hand in the affair and see if you can locate that notebook." + +"The theft and the murder are linked by the dagger. If the police have +their eye on the murderer, the notebook should be recovered when he is +arrested." + +"That's only a possibility, Mr. Creighton--and--oh, frankly, I want you +to take the case anyway! Mr. Krech and I must try to tell you the +whole story as we heard it from Simon yesterday. He was the victim of +an unknown enemy. Threats--robbery--arson--murder! I won't be +satisfied until that scoundrel is well and truly--_hanged_! As for the +police--well, I think better of them than Simon, perhaps, but I'd still +be glad of another string to my bow. It's proper for me to employ +extra assistance if I wish, isn't it?" + +"Perfectly. I quite understand how you feel--and I will be glad to do +what I can. The family won't object, I suppose?" + +"Not a scrap," said a woman's voice behind him. They started to their +feet at the sight of Miss Ocky, who had come upon them unawares. "I +can answer for the family. Please sit down again. I'll take this +sofa--unless you're talking secrets," she added, with a faint smile for +Herman Krech. "I tried to stay quiet in my room upstairs, +but--nerves!" She lifted her shoulders and looked apologetic. + +They assured her they had no secrets from her. She sat down and +listened attentively as Jason Bolt, at Creighton's request, gave a +careful account of the events preceding Varr's death as he had heard +them from his partner, appealing to Krech from time to time for +corroboration. His voice shook with emotion as he described his horror +that morning when the news of Simon's fate was brought to him. + +"A rotten business," he ended huskily. + +Miss Ocky eased the tension by suddenly producing her cigarette case +and passing it around; Creighton accepted one and lighted it, a thought +surprised at this touch of outer-worldliness in a demure, middle-aged, +country lady. It might be, he mused, that she called herself not an +old maid, but a bachelor girl. He liked her, though; liked the bright +eyes that lost nothing that passed, the alert brain that missed no +trick, the strength of character revealed in the finely-modeled mouth +and chin that were still invested with feminine charm. + +"Let's tackle this business at once," he suggested. "Sooner the +better. In a murder, look for the motive. Miss Copley--Mr. Bolt--can +either of you tell me who might have wanted to kill Simon Varr?" + +They looked uncomfortable. It was Krech who took the bull by the horns. + +"_De mortuis ml nisi bonum_," he said gravely. "Otherwise, I should +say that it would be simpler to give you a list of the people who +didn't." He spared a regretful glance for Bolt's hurt little +exclamation. "I know it jars on you just now, but truth is truth. +I've seen enough in the last three days to know that Varr must have had +a host of enemies." + +"Yes," said Miss Ocky. "A notable collection." + +"That won't do," objected the detective. "To dislike a man is one +thing, to hate him to the point of murdering him is another." + +"Greed is a motive for murder," said Krech. "Who stood to profit +financially by his death?" + +Jason Bolt stirred uneasily in his seat. Miss Ocky looked +uncomfortable. Krech glanced from one to the other, then nodded to +Creighton. + +"It's the same answer," he said. "A lot of people." + +"Neither the question nor answer are pertinent," commented the +detective. "This murderer did not kill for money." + +"Why are you so sure?" demanded Krech stubbornly. + +"If he made up his mind that it would pay him to kill Simon Varr, he +would have gone to work and done it out-of-hand, skillfully or clumsily +as his limitations might permit. He wouldn't have wasted a lot of time +with ineffective fires, bugaboo masquerading--and, above all, he never +would have been so gracious as to send a warning note!" Creighton had +the satisfaction of seeing his argument score a grand slam; there was +conviction in the eyes of Krech and Jason Bolt, and something like +admiration in Miss Ocky's. "No, the motive was not mercenary whatever +else it may have been." + +"There's this strike we've had on our hands," offered Jason. "I'll +swear most of the men are decent fellows, but there are always some +exceptions. They knew pretty well that Varr was the man who was +fighting them--in other words, locking them out. With him out of the +way, they knew they could count on better terms from me." He added +diffidently, "Mightn't one of them have done it?" + +"I spoke of the fires just now as being ineffective," replied +Creighton. "I have gathered that they were. The second was the more +serious of the two, wasn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, was it serious enough to cripple the business? Was it a vital +blow?" + +"Not at all. The contents of the two buildings burned were worth +money, of course, but they were only reserve stuff." + +"But there are buildings in the yard whose loss might have hit you +hard?" + +"Oh, yes. Several." + +"Then, if one of the striking workmen had set the fire, he would have +selected one or more of them. I think we may safely assume that the +incendiary was unfamiliar with the tannery and consequently was not one +of the strikers." + +"You win," said Jason Bolt, after a pause. "I've wondered why the +scoundrel didn't touch off something more important, but the +significance of his failure to do so never occurred to me. Go on, Mr. +Creighton; I'm getting a lesson in straight thinking." + +"Not so very straight," smiled the detective. "Given a fact, you have +to think over and under and all around it before you can grasp its +every implication. It's only because I've had a lot of experience that +I can draw inferences a shade faster than the average man--and often +quite as inaccurate!" + +"If it wasn't either a striker or a person actuated by the desire for +gain," said Krech, "who is left? What other motives are there for +murder?" + +"Revenge. Jealousy. What about the last, Miss Copley? Was he +interested in any other woman than his wife?" + +"No," said Miss Ocky, "and remarkably little in her!" + +"Um. Friction?" + +"No--not friction." + +He saw her reluctance to answer this line of questioning and took it +for granted that the presence of the others embarrassed her. He +dropped the topic, intending to pursue it at a later, more favorable +moment. + +"Revenge," he continued. "Did Varr ever wrong any one to the extent of +driving them to murder him?" + +"No," said Jason Bolt. "Simon was a hard man but not as bad as that." + +"No," said Miss Ocky--but she had gasped, and Creighton had heard her. +He made a mental note of that. + +"We're getting along nicely," said Herman Krech, who never liked to be +out of the limelight too long. "It wasn't for money, it wasn't for +revenge, it wasn't jealousy; by the time we've eliminated a few more +motives we'll have only the correct one left." + +"Meanwhile," said Creighton, "what's going on in the house? Who is +running the police show?" + +"Chap named Norvallis," answered the big man. "The Sheriff, the County +Physician and a few plainclothes sleuths are in attendance, but +Norvallis is the real leader of the gang. He has been going through +the usual motions--asking everybody about everything--" + +"Hold on!" broke in Jason. "I don't know that I agree with you. +Seemed to me his questions were mighty casual and indifferent. Did it +strike you that he had a sort of a pleased-with-himself air? I got the +impression that he might already have made up his mind as to who was +the guilty man and considered everything else relatively unimportant." + +"It's not impossible that you're right," suggested Creighton. "The +murderer may have left some glaring clue to his identity. Naturally, +the police wouldn't talk about it until they got their hands on him." +He turned to Krech. "You told him about this monk business, didn't +you? How did he take it?" + +"His first attitude," said Krech, "was that of a polite but skeptical +child listening to a bedtime story. I soon convinced him of its +importance, though. He says it simplifies things." + +"Um. He must be even quicker at inferences than I am!" + +"By the way, I told him about you and he said he wanted to see you the +moment you got here." + +"Well, this is a nice time to tell me!" laughed Creighton. He stood +up. "I'd better take my place in line." + +"I can count on you, then, to help us in the matter of locating that +notebook?" asked Jason Bolt. + +"Yes, sir," the detective assured him for the second time. "I can +promise to take a personal as well as a professional interest in this +case. I feel deeply the fact that Mr. Varr should have met death in +such a fashion after he became my client." + +"You did what you could to warn him." + +"Now, about my headquarters; there's a hotel in the town?" + +"Yes, but I've been hoping you would let us put you up." Bolt wrinkled +his brows thoughtfully. "Mr. and Mrs. Krech are staying with us, but +there's always room for one more." + +"You're both talking nonsense," interrupted Miss Ocky. "The logical +place for Mr. Creighton is right _here_." + +"Kind of you, Miss Copley, but I hardly think I'll add to your +problems. Let us agree that the hotel is the best for the time being. +It is too soon yet to say where my activities will center." + + + + +_XIV: Lucy Varr_ + +There were four men in the living-room when Creighton tapped on the +door and entered in response to a command. Two of them were standing +by a French window which they appeared to be examining and discussing, +and as Creighton knew that the theft of the notebook had been prefaced +by the breaking of one of the windows in this room, he had no +difficulty in deducing that this was the one and that the two men were +plainclothes detectives of the county staff. + +The other two were seated at the table in the center of the room, a +litter of papers scattered in front of them. They looked up +inquisitively as Creighton advanced and laid his card on the pile of +memoranda before the more important gentleman of the pair. + +"Ah, yes. Glad to meet you, Mr. Creighton. Very glad, indeed. My +name's Norvallis--County Attorney's office. This is Sheriff Andrews, +of Wayne County. Andrews, this is Mr. Peter Creighton of New York." + +"Your name's familiar to me, Mr. Creighton," said Andrews, and +stretched forth a long, bony arm with a calloused hand at the end of +it. He was a mild-eyed individual with a soft, sweeping, +tobacco-stained mustache. "I read the New York papers pretty reg'lar +and I've followed one or two of your cases." + +Norvallis was a stout, prosperous-looking man of forty-odd, a typical +product of country politics. His manner was carefully bluff and hearty +and characterized by a sort of _bonhommie_ that was useful in +impressing voters with the fact that he was a pretty good fellow, his +close-set eyes sparkled with intelligence that his low brow defined as +cunning rather than wisdom, and there were puffy semicircles beneath +them that told of parties not entirely political. + +"Your friend Krech told us the circumstances under which you were sent +for," broke in Norvallis before Creighton could find some polite +acknowledgment of the Sheriff's interest. "Must have been quite a +shock to you to learn of Mr. Varr's death." + +"It certainly was. Fortunately for my peace of mind, I took care +yesterday to warn him against taking undue risks. He disregarded the +advice." + +"Oh. You warned him? You had some reason to believe his life was in +danger?" + +"Nothing so definite as that, but it was apparent that he had some sort +of a queer, tough customer on his trail and it's always in order to +take reasonable precautions." + +"A queer customer, eh? This monk we've been hearing so much about! +What opinion have you formed about that?" + +"None at all," replied Creighton promptly. + +Norvallis did not quite conceal the disappointment he felt at the flat +negative. He changed the subject. + +"I think you have a piece of evidence that should properly be turned +over to me. Didn't Mr. Krech send you an anonymous note that Mr. Varr +received from his enemy?" + +"Yes." Creighton took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to +Norvallis. "There it is, in good order. I had it tested for +fingerprints this morning before I left the city." + +"Find any?" + +"Only those made by Mr. Varr himself. Further than that, the +microscope showed that the surface of the paper had been uniformly +abraded before it was written on, as if the crook had taken a rubber +eraser and removed all traces of any prints that might have been there +already." + +"Cautious devil, wasn't he?" + +Creighton did not answer. His eye had suddenly fallen on an object +imperfectly concealed beneath a blank sheet of paper at Norvallis' +elbow. + +"Is that the knife that was used?" he asked. + +"Yes." The county official rather reluctantly uncovered the exhibit. +"Don't touch!" + +"No fear!" Creighton reassured him. + +He moved nearer to the ghastly souvenir and bent over it. A fine bit +of Oriental workmanship that any museum might have valued; the haft was +of silver, exquisitely chased, the blade was straight and slender, +narrowing to a needlelike point, so that it belonged rather to the +stiletto type than the dagger. An inscription ran lengthwise down the +steel, which was of a distinct bluish tinge where it was not darkly +stained. About an inch from the tip a tiny triangular nick had been +made in one of the sharp edges, the only flaw in the weapon's +perfection. Creighton looked up from it to meet the Sheriff's +speculative eye. + +"Can you read what it says on the blade, Mr. Creighton?" + +"No! I have my limitations." + +"It means, 'I bring peace'!" The officer tugged at his mustache and +smiled. "Miss Copley told us that. It belongs to her." + +"Well, I expect she won't want it back." + +Norvallis put down the anonymous letter which he had been reading. His +eyes were alight with satisfaction. + +"This case will make people talk when it gets into the papers, Mr. +Creighton!" + +"Sure to." + +"Have you any other information, or evidence, or exhibit, for me?" + +"Not a scrap." + +"Mr. Varr's death must alter your plans, of course. May I ask if you +are returning to New York this afternoon or evening?" + +Creighton knew perfectly well that Norvallis had been eager to put that +question since the moment he had come into the room. He shook his head +smilingly. + +"Mr. Bolt has invited me to do what I can to recover the notebook that +was stolen from Mr. Varr's desk." + +"Oh." Norvallis exchanged a quick glance with the Sheriff. "Then, in +a sense, we'll be working together. Possibly it hasn't occurred to Mr. +Bolt that when the murderer is found, the thief will be found." + +"Yes, he knows that. But my inquiry may diverge from yours, Mr. +Norvallis. It may have to go farther than yours. Of course, you +realize that yourself." + +"Eh? Ah--yes, yes!" said the other blankly. + +"I expect our relations will be both amicable and of mutual benefit," +continued Creighton cheerfully. "If I turn up anything good I'll let +you know, and I can hope for as much from you, can't I?" + +"Er--well, I don't know about that." Norvallis looked pink and +uncomfortable as he began to fidget with the papers on the table. "I +don't know about that, Mr. Creighton. I may not feel free--er--no, on +the whole I think it would be preferable if we conducted our +investigations independently of each other. Yes, that would be +better!" He had an air of relief as he got that dictum off his chest. + +"All right," agreed Creighton, still cheerfully. He surmised the +reason for the official's embarrassment, the police already knew, or +thought they knew, the identity of the murderer, and it was a secret +they proposed to guard jealously until they could cover themselves with +glory by making an arrest. He did not blame them in the least, and +accepted the rebuff good-humoredly. "As you please, Mr. Norvallis." + +The two men by the window apparently had concluded their examination. +One of them sauntered over to the table and reported. + +"Nothing much there, sir. There's a few prints made by the butler +opening and shutting the doors." + +"Just as I expected," said Norvallis composedly. "Lucky we don't have +to rely on fingerprints in this case, Mr. Creighton." + +"Found none at all?" + +"Not one. I'll make you a present of that bit of news." + +"Thank you for nothing," grinned Creighton, then added mischievously, +"Of course, before you can find fingerprints you have to know where to +look for them." + +"Oh." + +"Yes. You stick to that window and Varr's desk and the hilt of this +dagger--and leave the less obvious places to me." + +"Indeed. I suppose it would be useless for me to ask you to designate +some of those less obvious places?" + +"Quite useless," answered Creighton truthfully. + +He was smiling over that as he excused himself and left the room. He +could not have answered the hypothetical question on a bet, for his +remark had been a chance shot simply intended to annoy. No one would +have been more surprised than himself to learn that this same shot +would develop the qualities of a boomerang. + +He was stopped in the hall by a pale, gray-haired man whose trembling +hands betrayed the strain under which he labored. + +"Mr. Creighton, isn't it, sir? Miss Copley told me to fix up some +sandwiches and coffee in the butler's pantry. There's so many coming +and going through the house she thought it would be quieter there. Mr. +Krech is there already, waiting for you, sir." + +"Very thoughtful of her. What is your name?" + +"Edward Bates, sir. I'm the butler." + +"Oh, yes, Miss Copley spoke of you. She tells me you handled things +very well this morning after Mr. Varr was found." + +"I did what I could, sir. I knew the body mustn't be moved, so I kept +the news from Miss Lucy--that's Mrs. Varr, sir--until the police and +the doctor got here." + +"Knew that, did you? Been with the family long, Bates?" + +"Thirty-five years, sir. I worked for old Mr. Copley before his +daughter married Mr. Varr. This is a shocking business, sir." + +The conversation carried them to the pantry door, whither Bates had led +them. His hand was on the knob when Creighton checked him with a touch +on his elbow, at which the old man jumped nervously. + +"One moment. A butler who keeps his ears open often knows a lot that +other people don't. What is your idea about this? Can you guess who +murdered Mr. Varr?" + +"No, sir!" His voice was almost panicky. "Indeed I can't, sir!" + +"Uh-huh," said Creighton easily. Was the old fellow suffering from +frazzled nerves or from hidden knowledge? Another little matter for +future examination. "By the way, how is Mrs. Varr standing the shock?" + +"Not too well, sir. She bore up like the brave lady she is until Mr. +Norvallis was through with her, then broke down. She's in bed. The +doctor says she must keep quiet and that she'll be all right, but he's +coming again this afternoon." + +"Get him to give you something for yourself," was Creighton's kindly +admonition. "You're trembling like a leaf. The family will be +depending on you a lot these next few days. Don't let them down by +getting sick." + +"I won't, sir. Thank you, sir." + +Creighton permitted him to escape, well satisfied with the new tone in +the man's voice as he acknowledged his appreciation of the detective's +interest. Creighton was never harsh with a witness, never tried to +bulldoze or rattle him, until all else had failed. His policy was to +put people at their ease and gentle them into talking freely, a course +that was all the more facile for him by reason of his genuine sympathy +and understanding and his native kindliness. + +Krech was waiting patiently behind a plate piled high with sandwiches. +There was coffee, too, and before the butler left them alone, he stood +an interesting decanter on the table. A shadow of gloom that +overspread the big man's extensive countenance was visibly lightened by +this. + +"Bolt's gone home," he announced. "Mrs. Bolt and Jean must be +suffering agonies of curiosity. I stayed here because I felt I might +be able to help you." + +"Stout fellow," said Creighton with a grin, and selected a huge +sandwich. "Where do you think we'd better begin?" + +"There's no use adopting that superior attitude with me. You know +perfectly well I come in handy at times. Say--I'm sore at Bolt! He +did you out of a good job." + +"Me? How come?" + +"Did you notice three solid-looking citizens in the hall when you +arrived? Well, that was the Board of Selectmen of Hambleton, yes, +sirree, b'gosh. Bolt had told 'em you were coming and they were all +het up. They don't get along with the county crowd too well, and for +that reason they'd about decided to retain your services just to show +they were ready to hold up their end. Then Bolt came along and blurted +out that he had commissioned you to investigate the matter and they +pulled their horns in like a bunch of frightened snails. If he had +only kept still you could have made a deal with them." + +"I see. And what makes you think I'd be guilty of the indelicacy of +letting two outfits pay me for the same job?" + +"'Thnot 'n 'ndelicathy," said Mr. Krech vigorously through a sandwich. +"If Bolt can have a second string to his bow, why can't you have a +couple of employers?" + +"Krech, you're a nice fellow with all the instincts of a crook." + +"Huh. I suppose nothing could ever lead you from the narrow path of +rectitude?" + +"No," laughed Creighton, "nothing ever could!" + +"Well, it won't be the Hambleton Selectmen, anyway. The three of them +were pale when they discovered how close they'd been to spending a +bunch of money unnecessarily." + +They finished their lunch without the loss of much time, the detective +setting the pace. Once into a case, he could be as patient and +plodding as an ox, but the preliminaries found him restless and +impatient. He detested the inevitable gathering of masses and masses +of information that must subsequently be pulled to pieces and mulled +over until the most of it had been discarded and the important residue +determined. It all took so much time--precious time that the criminal +might be using to strengthen his own position. + +"Let's have a look at the place marked 'X' in the picture," he +suggested, rising. "Kitchen garden, wasn't it? That means the rear of +the house. Let's go out this back way, through the kitchen. Sometimes +it pays to look the servants over in a casual fashion before having +them on the mat. They're less apt to be on guard." + +He bustled cheerfully into the kitchen, asked a question or two about +the exact location of the crime, and left the house by the rear door, +Krech close behind. + +"One Irish cook," summarized the detective when they were safely out of +hearing. "Fat and fifty, good-natured and violent by turns. One +rather pretty girl, a housemaid from the white cap, frightened, been +crying, inclined to be hysterical. Old Bates, the butler. Last, one +gaunt, tall, vinegary, nondescript female. Who's the nondescript, +Krech?" + +"Search me. Here's the place." + +Creighton took one look and groaned. Whatever precautions the police +might have taken in the first stages of their investigation had +evidently been relaxed thereafter. The garden might have been the +scene of a recent rodeo. A mob of curious Hambletonians had held high +revel in it from one end to the other. + +"That ought to be classed as criminal negligence," snorted the +detective, turning away. + +"It's no use to you?" asked his friend disappointedly. + +"Not for the moment. If I were nature-faking a book on Africa I could +run a picture of it as an elephant's playground, but that's all." He +stopped and gazed at the house long enough to memorize the windows that +commanded a view of the garden. "No use going back there, now," he +decided. "Chuck full of a man named Norvallis. Suppose we drop down +to the tannery. Not far, is it? Where's that short cut through the +woods in which Varr first saw his monk?" + +"Right over here." The big man had gleaned that piece of information +earlier in the day. The two men crossed the garden by its path, +passing the very spot where Simon Varr had met his tragic end, and +plunged into the trail. Like the garden, this had been trampled by a +multitude of feet. "What are you going to do at the tannery?" asked +Krech, yielding to his favorite weakness, curiosity. + +"Talk to whoever is in charge. Poke around the premises. We know the +crook was there twice, on the occasions of the fires, and where a man +has been he may leave a trace. It's an off-chance, but we can't +neglect it." + +In default of any orders to the contrary, the watchman, Nelson, was at +his post behind the office building door, though he shrewdly suspected +that the chief necessity for guarding the premises had ceased with +their owner's death. He willingly admitted Krech, whom he recognized +afar, and nodded comprehension when Creighton introduced himself and +his present mission. + +"Yes, sir, I've been wondering when you would get here." + +"The deuce you have! You knew I was coming?" + +"Yes, sir. I heard Mr. Bolt and this gentleman mentioning you +yesterday as they went out of here." + +Creighton turned and looked at his friend sardonically. Beneath that +fixed regard Mr. Krech reddened, but stoutly defended himself. + +"That was Jason Bolt," he averred. "He was full of the subject and I +remember his chattering about it as we left." + +"Um. Can't be helped now." He shifted his gaze to the watchman. "Do +you remember if you mentioned it to any one?" Nelson hesitated, and +the detective was on him in a flash. "You did! Speak out. Tell the +truth, and you'll have no reason to be afraid of me or any one else. +This is a murder case, you know. It's an awful mistake to hold +anything back. Who did you tell?" + +"Only one person sir. A woman. It just slipped out--" + +"And probably did no harm. Don't get worried. Who was she?" + +"A girl named Jones, sir, Drusilla Jones." An expression akin to +horror dawned in Nelson's eyes as he grasped for the first time the +significance of what he was about to add. "She had been keeping +company with a fellow named Charlie Maxon, who was put in jail a few +days ago by Mr. Varr--and last evening Charlie drugged his keeper and +never was missed until this morning!" + +"My sainted aunt! What time did he break jail?" + +"Moody--the keeper--says the last thing he remembers was the clock +strikin' ten." + +"Krech, do they know what time Varr was murdered?" + +"Approximately at eleven." + +"Let's hope for his sake that Charles has a whacking good alibi! Have +you told the police about your talk with Drusilla Jones?" + +"No, sir, they haven't been near me yet." + +"Oh. Well, eventually you will find yourself having a heart-to-heart +talk with a man named Norvallis. Don't fail to tell him about your +chat with the lady--and you might just say that I advised you to repeat +it to him, will you?" + +"Why, yes, sir. Do you think that Charlie Maxon--?" + +"No embarrassing questions, please! Now I'd like to have a look about, +if I may." + +"Yes, sir." Painfully anxious to escape any suspicion of withholding +more information, Nelson hurriedly related the incident of the previous +afternoon when he and Simon Varr had examined the tracks left by the +incendiary. "There was some light rain last night, sir, but those I +put the box over will be plain enough." + +"Good. Show us where they are at once." + +The watchman obeyed with alacrity. + +Together the three men stood by the edge of the sluggish little brook +and contemplated the tracks that Nelson indicated. The detective did +not even take his eyes from them as he accepted and mechanically +lighted one of the cigars that Krech offered his companions. + +"Big feet!" said Krech presently. + +"That's what Mr. Varr remarked yesterday, sir." + +"Um." Creighton slowly came out of his trance. He pointed to a small +piece of wood that lay down by the water's edge. "Krech, will you step +down there and get that for me? I want to look at it." + +"Sure." Astonished but amiable, the detective's willing assistant +strode to the object indicated and retrieved it handsomely. His +astonishment increased when Creighton, after turning it over two or +three times in his hands, suddenly pitched it into the water. "Don't +like it?" + +"No. That's all I want here just now." + +They returned to the office building, where Creighton patiently +questioned Nelson at some length about the various phases of the +strike. It was not until they had left the tannery and were walking +back up the hill that Krech was able to put an eager question. + +"What was the racket with that piece of wood?" + +"That was a stunt to cover my real interest from the watchman. No use +letting the whole world in on what I'm thinking about." + +"You didn't fool him any more than you did me. Please explain why I'm +going home with over an inch of mud on my expensive shoes." + +"I wanted you to make a set of tracks alongside those of the +incendiary. I didn't want to ask you right out loud to do it, so I +asked you to get me that bit of wood. When you did so, you left a very +nice set of footprints parallel with his. Thus I was enabled to +compare them, as were you, if you happened to think of doing so." + +"Well, I didn't! Why should I?" + +"Suppose you were a small man about to commit a crime and wished to +disguise yourself past recognition. What would you do?" + +"Make myself look like a large man," said Krech slowly. + +"Exactly. Suppose again that you were an educated man about to write +an anonymous, threatening letter. How would you go about doing that?" + +"I'd use a typewriter to conceal my handwriting. I'd sign the thing in +an awkward scrawl." Krech saw the drift of it now. "And I'd take good +care to misspell a bunch of words!" he concluded triumphantly. + +"That he faked illiteracy was a pure surmise, a mere possibility, until +now, when it gains color from the evidence of the footprints. A mental +twist that would make a small man disguise himself as a large one would +make an educated man resort to illiteracy. Logical, I think." + +"Very likely. But how did you get this from footprints?" + +"They were too shallow. I noticed that at once, and proved it by +parading yours alongside them. That fellow wore shoes as big as yours +and was running to boot, but his tracks were scarcely half the depth of +those you made. Get it?" + +"Oh, yes," said Krech rather mournfully. "Two and two always make four +when you add them up. They never run to more than three and a half for +me." He sighed. "Creighton, I'd like once--just for _once_--to score +a beat over you!" + +"Well, you may do it in this very case," remarked his friend +encouragingly. "You never can tell." + + + + +_XV: Treasure Trove_ + +The instant they stepped into the house they knew that the police had +left it. A calm, almost holy, peace seemed to have settled upon the +place, a far more fitting atmosphere considering the motionless form +that lay in a room upstairs, its eyes closed and its face more +reposeful than ever it had been in life. "I bring peace," wrote some +long-forgotten craftsman on the blade of the dagger he had just +fashioned, and in some measure wrote the truth. + +"And I've got to stir them all up again," said Creighton half +regretfully. + +"Can't make omelets without breaking eggs," was the responsive +platitude from Herman Krech. "I suppose you mean you're going to start +in asking questions." + +"Millions of 'em. I've been here just a few hours and I've barely +scratched the surface of this case, yet I've learned already that Mr. +Varr had a fine bunch of evil-wishers. Where is that desk which was +broken open? Do you know?" + +"Yes. It's in a small study in the back of the house that he used as a +sort of office, I guess. Come along and I'll show you. There's not a +soul in sight and we may as well make ourselves at home." + +Creighton agreed, but before they reached the study a light step on the +stairs warned them that their privacy was to be invaded. Miss Ocky +advanced upon them with determination, and instantly revealed that she +had at least one quality in common with the inquisitive Mr. Krech. + +"Where have you been?" she demanded. "What have you been doing? I +sent Bates to look for you a while ago and he reported you missing." + +"Anything special, Miss Copley?" + +"Mostly curiosity," she confessed shamelessly. "I've never seen a +detective at work and I've always wanted to. I think yours must be the +most fascinating profession in the world even if it's a rather sad one. +Don't you find after looking into the hearts of people and dissecting +their mean little minds and motives that you grow cynical on the +subject of humanity?" + +"Indeed I do not," he answered earnestly. "Your question makes you +sound more cynical that I ever dreamed of being. My experience is that +very few persons have mean minds and motives, and they are often +victims of some pressure of circumstance they can't control or resist. +I've put handcuffs on more than one poor devil for whom I've had +nothing but sympathy." + +"You put them on just the same, though?" + +"Certainly. I'm supposed to, you know." + +"It seems very hard-hearted. If you knew that 'poor devil' was morally +justified in committing his crime, wouldn't you be tempted to--leave +the key of the handcuffs where he could get it?" + +"Tempted, perhaps; that's all." + +"Suppose it was some one who had a claim on you--a sister or brother or +child?" + +"You must ask that of some unfortunate sleuth with a family. My +nearest relative is a third cousin who lives in Chicago but has +nevertheless shown no criminal tendency to date. I'm remarkably +well-protected from any potential struggle between duty and +inclination." He smiled, and added apologetically, "Detective ethics +is a pretty complicated subject to discuss, and I'm afraid it isn't +getting on with the problem of who stole a notebook from Simon Varr's +desk." + +"Of course it isn't--and I'm much more interested in seeing you attack +that! But I warn you our conversation is only postponed!" + +They entered the study, where Creighton went straight to the window and +stood looking out at the now devastated garden where Simon Varr had +been found. + +"Who _did_ find him, by the way?" he voiced a sudden thought. + +"Katie, the cook. She came down first, as usual, and saw a man lying +flat on his back in the tomato patch. Her first idea was that some one +had taken a drop too much and had strayed there and gone to sleep, so +she went up to Bates' room and routed him out. He came down and +discovered the awful truth--and he behaved wonderfully. He seemed to +know just what had to be done, and he actually managed to keep the news +from the family until official permission had been received to bring +the body into the house. Poor Lucy--my sister--was at least spared the +thought of his lying out there." + +"Who saw him last--in the house, I mean, of course?" + +"Bates, who brought him a decanter of whisky here to the study, wished +him good-night and left him." + +"What time was that? Did the butler notice?" + +"Yes, because he was interested in getting to bed. It was about +ten-thirty." + +"Um. He was left here--alone--with a decanter of whisky and a troubled +mind. It's safe to assume that he took a drink or so. Tell me, was +your brother-in-law an impulsive sort of person--liable to outbursts of +passion--inclined to do things in a headlong, reckless way?" + +"A very good description indeed." + +"I've been wondering how he happened to be out in the garden so +opportunely for the murderer. If he was sitting in this room, looked +out the window and spotted the fellow hanging around, his first impulse +might have been to rush from the house and tackle him. Does that +impress you as being a likely scenario, Miss Copley?" + +"Very. To tell you the truth, when he was really angry I'm inclined to +think he was scarcely responsible for his actions." + +"His enemy knew that, you may be sure, and counted on it to his own +advantage. Now, another question about the matter of time. You told +me, Krech, that the hour of the murder had been approximately set at +eleven. Do you know how that was determined?" + +"It was the doctor's opinion, for one thing. Then it was pretty +plausibly substantiated by a trick of the weather. There was a shower +at eleven-thirty last night from which the ground was still wet early +this morning. The local Chief of Police covered himself with glory by +noticing that the earth beneath Varr's body was as dry as a bone when +they took him up." + +"Good enough. I must have a chat with that lad. I wonder if he +noticed anything else that was useful." + +"Somebody did," commented Miss Ocky thoughtfully. "There was a man out +there making a plaster cast of some footprints. Why do you suppose he +was doing that, Mr. Creighton?" + +"My golly!" The detective's eyes flashed with excitement. "Did you see +them, Miss Copley?" + +"Yes, but they meant nothing to me." + +"How large were they, do you remember?" He waved a hand at Mr. Krech's +extremities. "Large as those?" + +"Oh, my, no," said Miss Ocky, glancing at the objects indicated. "Not +nearly as large as those." + +"I'd like to interrupt these proceedings," declared Krech in an injured +voice, "long enough to remark that any sculptor would tell you they are +beautifully proportioned to my size." + +"I wasn't criticizing their--architecture," said the lady. + +"Second time to-day he's called attention to them!" + +"Shameful. What was the first?" + +"Oh, that was rather interesting. I'll tell you about it if he'll let +me." + +"Tell me anyway. He doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us at +all. What _is_ he doing?" + +"Hush! he's thinking," said the big man vindictively after a brief +inspection of his friend. "He always looks like that when he thinks. +Scientists aver the eye reflects the mind; note the perfect blankness +of his?" + +That effectively aroused Creighton from his momentary abstraction. He +grinned at the two of them. + +"Pay no attention to him, Miss Copley. Yes, you can tell her what we +found at the tannery, Krech." He looked at Miss Ocky. "That is in +deference to your interest in the art of detection; may I count on you +not to breathe a word of what I tell you to any one?" + +"You may." + +"It's a bargain. Go ahead, Krech, while I amuse myself looking over +his desk." + +Miss Ocky listened eagerly to Krech's somewhat embroidered account of +their activities at the tannery, but managed to keep an eye on Peter +Creighton the while. He was going over the desk and its roll-top cover +inch by inch, peering at its surface, trailing his fingertips over the +polished wood in case touch might find something that vision hadn't. +Once he interrupted Krech by asking him to bring a magnifying glass +from his bag in the hall. + +"What are you looking for?" asked Miss Ocky in the interim. + +"Nothing--anything. I expect the first and may chance on the second. +This is just routine, Miss Copley. When I know a crook has been in a +certain spot, I go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. You'd be +surprised to know the number of microscopic bits of evidence a man can +leave behind him in spite of every precaution." + +"Have you found anything here?" + +"No." He accepted the glass that Krech handed him and went back to his +task. "This fellow was careful, sure enough." + +The big man resumed his story. She interrupted him with a quick little +exclamation when she heard of Charlie Maxon's escape. Her interest +brought a question from the detective. + +"Know him, Miss Copley?" + +"I've spoken to him once or twice. Casually." + +"How did that happen? Where did you meet him?" + +"In a grocery store in the town. He came in for something while I was +there. Of course he knew who I was, and he started talking to me about +the strike and how hard it was on the men." + +"Um. What sort of a chap is he? Capable of--murder?" + +"Good gracious, I don't think so!" Miss Ocky straightened in her chair +and shot a quick glance at the detective. "He's the agitator +type--more bark than bite. I don't believe he'd have the courage to +kill a man. Is--is he suspected?" + +"I can't tell you. We may know more about that after the +inquest--unless Norvallis gets it adjourned, which he may. I don't +think he'll want to show his hand so soon." + +"This will be a spicy bit of gossip for Janet," mused Miss Ocky half to +herself, then caught Creighton's raised eyebrow and explained her +remark. "Janet Mackay is my maid, and she used to know Maxon in +Scotland when he was a youngster." + +"Um. Have they seen anything of each other lately?" + +"No. Janet has no use for him. She says he was always getting into +trouble as a boy." + +"He doesn't seem to have lost the habit. Is Janet a tall thin woman +who wears steel-rimmed glasses?" + +"Yes. You noticed her in the kitchen this morning, didn't you? She +told me you went through that way." + +"Has she been with you long?" + +"Twenty-five years. She came here as a sort of companion-maid to my +sister and me a few years before my father's death. She was very fond +of Lucy, but she didn't care so much for Simon, so when I went East I +took her with me. We've been together ever since." + +"No need to ask, then, if you trust her." + +"Trust her! Trust Janet?" Miss Ocky's voice was warm. "I'd trust her +with my life!" + +Creighton dropped the subject, but added another fragment to the data +he was compiling. Janet, the nondescript lady, didn't care much for +Varr, and was acquainted with Charlie Maxon. Important? Um--too soon +to say. He concentrated his attention once more on his search. + +"Nothing," he finally announced briefly. He rose as he spoke--he had +been on his hands and knees the better to examine the floor in front of +the desk--and shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Said I expected +as much, didn't I? Now for that window in the living-room." + +Krech had finished his story and Miss Ocky was looking at the detective +with considerable interest and some respect. + +"That was clever of you to notice the shallowness of the footprints," +she said. "And your deductions from them and the note are quite +shrewd. A small educated man instead of a large illiterate one?" + +"Yes. Not that I'd advise you to bet on it. Quite often the brilliant +deduction falls by the wayside and leaves the obvious conclusion to jog +home a winner. You had a good look at the fellow didn't you? You got +the impression that he was tall? How tall?" + +"Oh, six feet perhaps. It was dusk, you know, and he brushed by me +very quickly. I was too scared to do much observing!" + +"Uncomfortable experience," said Krech, "having a masked monk pop out +at you from a peaceful countryside. What did you think about it? Did +you know the fool legend?" + +"N-no. I learned about that next day from Sheila Graham. I was +telling her my experience and she remembered the story and went and got +the book." + +"She's the daughter of Billy Graham, the manager whom Varr had decided +to get rid of?" Creighton's face was serious. + +"How in the world did you know _that_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"Gossip. I love to listen to it. Ever talk to a chap named Nelson, a +watchman at the tannery? He's full of it." It was a trick of Peter +Creighton's to sound most flippant when he was soberest inside, and +Krech, who knew it, fell to watching him sharply. But the detective's +face was inscrutable. "So Graham's daughter had a book containing the +legend of the monk, eh? Just what was the trouble between him and Mr. +Varr?" + +"Well--I suppose I may as well tell you," said Miss Ocky reluctantly. +"It wouldn't be right to keep anything back from you, especially as +you'd be bound to hear about it anyway. The trouble between them was +mostly started by my brother-in-law, who objected to the interest his +son was showing in Sheila Graham. They considered themselves engaged--" + +"What? Varr had a son?" Creighton broke in on her abruptly, +unconsciously raising his voice in his surprise. "Where is he?" + +"His father drove him from the house!" cried a hoarse voice from the +door. "I don't know where he is. He ought to be with me now---_and I +don't know where he is_!" + +Creighton wheeled swiftly toward the speaker, Krech shot out of his +chair as though a powerful spring had been released beneath him, and +Miss Ocky darted, birdlike, to the side of a slender figure which +swayed in the doorway, gripping the woodwork for support. It was Lucy +Varr. + +"Lucy! What are you doing down here?" Miss Ocky circled her sister's +slender waist with a gently compelling arm. "Come with me!" + +"I rang and rang and nobody came. I wanted water. I was _so_ +thirsty!" She muttered the words feverishly and the brightness of her +big eyes told its own story of a tortured brain. "I heard somebody +talking in here--" + +"Come, Lucy! I'll bring you the water." + +"Was it you who was asking for my son?" Her gaze passed over Krech, +whom she appeared vaguely to recognize, and fixed itself on the grave, +sympathetic face of the detective. "You're Mr. Creighton, aren't you? +They tell me you have come to find out who killed my husband--" + +"Lucy, dear! Please--" + +"I--I'm sure I wish you luck!" + +"Thank you, Mrs. Varr," said Creighton quietly, choosing to ignore the +irony in her tone. "I'll do my very best, I promise you." + +His promise was made to her retreating figure as she finally permitted +her sister to lead her away. Left alone, the two men exchanged a quick +glance and were silent for a minute. Then Krech jerked his head toward +the door significantly. + +"Could it be--her?" he whispered. + +"Not grammatically!" retorted Creighton with a grin, much as if his +friend's query had freed him from a spell. "Piffle, Krech. If a woman +like that--high-strung, nervous--were to kill a man it would be in some +swift fit of passion. Varr's death came as the climax of a deliberate +campaign of persecution. She isn't capable of that." + +"If you can tell me what any woman can or can't do--" + +"Oh, I grant them an infinite capacity for surprising a man! However, +this interesting little interlude isn't getting us anywhere. Come into +the living-room. I want a look at that window before daylight goes." + +"The police have probably mucked that all up," said Mr. Krech gloomily. + +"I heard one of the detectives tell Norvallis they had found nothing. +Anyway, if I don't miss my guess, they were so satisfied with something +they're keeping up their sleeve that I don't believe they paid more +than cursory attention to other details. Just gave everything a +perfunctory once-over and let it go at that." + +"What have they got, Creighton? Do you know?" + +"Charlie Maxon seems an attractive prospect," replied the detective. +They had gone to the window in the living-room and he was busily +engaged upon the same eager scrutiny that he had given the desk. "They +may have discovered something that links him with the murder--that +business of taking plaster casts of footprints is very suggestive. +Maxon could have reached here after breaking jail in plenty of time to +knife Varr in keeping with the schedule as we know it. He's an ugly +customer by reputation, and he certainly had no reason to love Simon +Varr." + +"How did he get the dagger? He didn't steal it, because the evening it +was stolen he was safe in the hoosgow." + +"Correct, Krech, absolutely correct." The detective was intently +studying the brass lock of the door through his powerful glass. "Now +you've started thinking, persevere! If Maxon committed the murder but +didn't steal the knife, what's the answer?" + +"An accomplice!" cried Krech. "A whole gang, perhaps!" + +"Oh, don't be extravagant. One accomplice will do for the time being." +Creighton dropped to his knees and transferred his interest to the +flooring of the piazza outside the window and the carpet within. "_By +golly!_" + +The phrase fairly exploded from his lips. Krech, abandoning his +cogitations, came quickly to his side, eager to learn what this +exclamation portended. + +Creighton, with his habitual care to miss nothing, had not contented +himself with exploring the surface of the veranda or the surface of the +heavy gray carpet that covered the floor of the room from edge to edge. +That finished, he had thrust his fingers between the carpet and the +wood of the window-sill, holding it back with one hand while he passed +his magnifying glass over the accumulation of dust and dirt and +sweepings that lay in the crack. His pains were rewarded. A tiny +scrap of something that glittered in its nest of dirt caught his eye, +but it was not until it lay on the tip of one finger beneath his glass +that he realized the importance of his treasure trove. It was then he +exclaimed. + +"What is it?" asked Krech, craning for a better look. + +"See for yourself!" Very carefully the detective pushed the object +from his finger on to one of his friend's. "Don't drop it. What do +_you_ think it is? Here--take the glass." + +"A chip of metal, I should say. Steel. Blue steel." + +"Blue steel! Where have you seen blue steel before to-day?" + +"Gee Joseph! That dagger!" + +"Right. Did you notice the nick in it near the point?" + +"N-no. They wouldn't let me really look at it." + +"Well, there was one! And this piece will fit that nick, or I'm a +dumb-bell!" His eyes were dancing with delight. "Know what this +means?" + +"Y-yes. When the fellow slipped back the catch of this window he +nicked the blade. Probably never noticed it. This piece fell to the +floor and has been there ever since." + +"Fell to the floor--yes. It isn't likely that it went neatly into the +crack. It was swept there. Ever stop to think that the detective's +best friend is the housemaid who scamps her work? Bless their little +souls, they will sweep into cracks! But that isn't what I had in mind +when I asked you if you knew what this means?" + +"Maybe I could dope it out in time--" + +"He opened this window with the dagger! Don't you get it?" + +"My brain isn't hitting on all sixteen cylinders--" + +"Listen. The assumption has been that he broke in here, took the +dagger from the table where it lay handy, and forced Varr's desk. If +he got the dagger after he entered the house, why did he then force the +window with it?" + +"Gee Joseph! It's a blind! He faked the breaking and entering to make +it appear an outside job!" + +"Yes." Creighton's face was solemn as he reclaimed his chip of steel +and added the obvious corollary to Krech's deduction. "If it's not an +outside job it must be an inside one. Somebody in this house took that +dagger and notebook." + +"I'll bet it was--!" + +"Hush!" whispered the detective sharply. "Some one coming!" + + + + +_XVI: A Woman of Note_ + +At the warning sound of approaching footsteps, Creighton whipped an +envelope from his pocket and dropped into it the precious bit of blue +steel he had recovered from the crack beneath the French window; he +smoothed down the carpet with a quick sideways flirt of his foot, +thrust the envelope into his coat, and had barely time to hiss one +further admonition into Krech's attentive ear. + +"Not a word of this to a soul!" + +"My lips are sealed," declared the big man. + +Miss Ocky entered the room to find two gentlemen engaged in +conversation close by an open window out of which they were looking +while their backs were tranquilly turned to the apartment. When she +said, "Excuse me!" they pivoted about as one, and the synchronic +promptitude with which they uttered the same question did credit to +their bringing up. + +"How is Mrs. Varr?" + +"Much quieter--much better, thank you." Miss Ocky lighted a cigarette +with the air of one who has earned it, and dropped wearily into a +chair. "I was as much upset as you must have been when she turned up +there in the study. Hardly necessary to make excuses for her, is it? +She is not very strong, and she has been through enough in the last two +days to wreck an Amazon." + +"Doctor worried about her?" asked Krech. "Is there anything Mrs. Bolt +or my wife can do? I know that's the first thing they'll ask." + +"Not a thing. Please thank them both for me. I'm not a bit diffident +about asking favors of people and they can be sure I'll call for help +if I need it. No, the doctor isn't alarmed; he just wants her to sleep +as much as possible until the worst of the mental strain is over." + +A faint clatter of silverware from the dining-room aroused Krech to the +passage of time. He looked at his watch and started as if he had been +stung. + +"Nearly seven! I'm a ruined man! Where on earth is Jason Bolt? He +was to call for me long before this." + +"That's true--you're stranded, aren't you? I'd forgotten you came with +him." Miss Ocky reflected briefly. "I simply can't leave here myself +just now, but I'll have Janet take the car and drive you home." + +"Janet?" inquired Creighton. "Drives a car, does she? Quite an +accomplished lady's-maid!" + +"She's a remarkable person," said Miss Ocky. "I'll tell you about her +some other time. Now--about yourself! Will you let me save you from +the horrors of the local hotel?" + +"I was going to ask you if your invitation was still open," answered +the detective hesitantly. "But under the circumstances--with your +sister ill--haven't you enough trouble on your hands?" + +"This house runs itself, thank to Bates," she replied quickly. She met +his eye frankly. "You won't inconvenience us in the least, and I'd +really be grateful if you would stay. So would my sister. With only +old Bates in the house she is inclined to be nervous while--while that +man is still at large." + +"It is very gracious of you to put it that way," he murmured. + +"That's settled," she said briskly, and stood up. "Now I'll go find +Janet." + +"So Janet's a remarkable person, is she?" muttered Krech when Miss Ocky +had left the room. "Hers was the name I was about to mention when you +stopped me. Janet Mackay knows Charlie Maxon!" + +"Easy! Don't let your imagination run away with you. What conceivable +motive could she have had to conspire against Varr's life?" + +"I don't know." Krech grinned. "If I lay the foundation, it's up to +you to erect the edifice. Brain-work, not manual labor, is my forte." +Then he added more seriously, "I've thought of something; instead of +the accomplice being actually a member of the household, mightn't he be +just some one who has the entree--the run of the house? Some one who +could carry off the situation if he had been discovered in the +living-room or study by the servants?" + +"That's a good point, Krech; a very good point. I'll inquire into that +possibility." + +"So you're going to make this your headquarters?" + +"Assuredly." Creighton tapped his pocket. "This decided it." + +"Well--take care of yourself, won't you?" There was genuine concern in +the big man's voice as he went on with specious flippancy. "Miss +Copley left a dagger kicking around; let's hope she hasn't dropped an +automatic or a machine-gun here and there. If Mr. Monk got the idea +that you knew too much--" + +"All right." Creighton reached out and gave Krech's arm an +affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry; I'm an artist at taking care of +myself." + +"I know a darn' sight better!" growled Krech, and the honking of a horn +from the driveway ended their talk. "Good-by. I'm going to pump Jason +Bolt and if I glean anything I'll let you know in the morning." + +Creighton waved good-night to him from the veranda and stepped back +into the house to find the maid awaiting him in the hall. + +"Your bag has gone up, sir. Shall I show you your room?" + +"Thank you. By the way, what is your name?" + +"Betty, sir. Betty Blake." + +"Very pretty name, too." He motioned her to precede him up the stairs. +"Been with Mrs. Varr long?" + +"About four months, sir." + +"Are you a Hambleton girl?" + +"Yes, sir, born and bred." + +The room assigned to him was one of the best in the house. It was next +to Miss Ocky's own, he was to discover later, and like hers it had a +small rounded balcony outside the tall windows. He glanced about him +appreciatively. He could rough it with any man, but he vastly +preferred to be comfortable. Here he would be, if his eye didn't +deceive him. + +"Native, eh?" he continued conversationally as the girl made to leave +him. "Then you must know every one in these parts. For instance--do +you know a young man called Maxon?" + +"Charlie Maxon?" She tossed her head. "Yes, I know _him_!" Her +accent was richly scornful. "Pity they couldn't keep him in jail!" + +There was a writing table with note paper on it in one corner of the +room, and as she finished speaking a scrap of crumpled paper on the +floor beneath it caught her eye. With instinctive neatness she went +across the room and picked it up, steadying herself as she stooped by +resting her fingertips lightly on the pile of paper. + +"Is there anything more, sir?" + +"Thank you, no," replied Creighton absently. + +When she had closed the door behind her he went over by the writing +table and stood looking down at the topmost sheet of paper. The maid's +orderly spirit had given him a hint that he thought he might profitably +employ. He picked up the paper and held it slantwise to the light of +the window while he peered at its surface. Then he nodded contentedly. + +He drew forth his pencil and made a neat number one at the top of the +sheet, which he then dropped in a drawer of the desk. He found a clean +page in a small memo-book that he carried and made a careful entry, "1. +Betty Blake." + +"I'll get 'em all before I finish," he promised himself. + +He went downstairs a few minutes later to meet the butler on his way up +with the announcement that dinner was served; a welcome piece of news +to a man who had had a long day on sandwiches only. + +"Just the two of us," Miss Ocky greeted him as he entered the +dining-room. "I'll pay you the compliment of admitting that the +arrangement suits me perfectly. A crowd would have been terrible, but +to have dined by myself would have been ghastly." + +"Nothing could have pleased me better," said the detective as they +seated themselves. "It has been growing increasingly clear to me that +I must look to you for a great deal of information. Yours is the most +authoritative voice around here." + +"I'll play oracle within reason." + +"Um. Don't let's start off with a reservation like that, Miss Copley. +You made a naive, but very wise, remark this afternoon when you said +you might just as well tell me something, especially as I was bound to +find it out anyway. Stick to that maxim. It will save me time and you +trouble." + +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky. + +"About there only being two of us for dinner," continued the detective, +blandly ignoring the sniff, "there's a matter I'd like to clear up. +Where is Mr. Varr's son? Was the trouble between them so bitter that +it is to be perpetuated after death?" + +"I couldn't bring myself to speak about that until we were by +ourselves," said Miss Ocky. She looked up at Bates with a friendly +glance. "I know you won't repeat anything, Bates! The trouble between +Simon and his son grew out of Copley's attachment for Sheila Graham. I +like her extremely, so I found myself in opposition to Simon. I cast +myself in the role of the heavy fairy godmother and took a hand in +shaping the destinies of the young couple--a fond aunt has an +inalienable right to barge into her nephew's affairs, hasn't she?" + +"Second only to a grandmother's," he assured her. + +"I persuaded them to elope," confessed Miss Ocky. "No date was set for +it that I heard of. Yesterday Copley succeeded in finding a job on the +Hambleton _News_ as a reporter--and the editor, Mr. Barlow, when he +arrived here this morning to cover this story told me that the boy had +immediately celebrated his getting a job by asking for a two-week +vacation to attend to some personal business. He left Hambleton last +night for parts unknown. Meanwhile, Sheila Graham had gone to visit +friends in New York for a fortnight. If you're a good detective, Mr. +Creighton, you may make the right deduction." + +"He started off on a honeymoon the very day his father was murdered. +Rather--unpleasant coincidence." + +"It struck me that way. I've been keeping mum just on that account. +Norvallis was apparently satisfied with a statement that Copley is +temporarily absent and that we are trying to get in touch with him." + +"Norvallis is a very amiable gentleman; he has his reasons for being +so, I think. As for Copley--well, a good many newspapers will carry +the story of what happened last night and he will undoubtedly read it +by to-morrow morning--possibly this evening. Then he will come home." + +"Keeping his marriage--if there was one--dark, I trust. With the +opposition--er--removed, I think it would be more suitable to have a +public ceremony after a decent interval." + +"Um. A matter of taste, perhaps. Personally, I've seen so much +trouble caused by secret marriages that I'm inclined to eye them +doubtfully. But--may I ask you a few questions about the less romantic +adventures of the young man? Mrs. Varr declared this afternoon that +her husband had driven him from the house. Was their +disagreement--violent?" + +"You must make allowances for my sister's nervous condition," answered +Miss Ocky quickly. Her perceptions were instantly alive to whither +this shift in the conversation might lead, and she resolved to limit +the information she gave him as much as possible to the facts he would +surely discover for himself. "Simon and Copley talked over the +situation, night before last; Lucy naturally exaggerates the affair." + +"Mr. Varr and his son quarreled. Isn't that the plain truth?" + +"Doesn't a quarrel depend somewhat on the natures of the two people +involved, Mr. Creighton? Simon was fearfully obstinate, and Copley is +a little high-tempered--just to the extent that is becoming to a young +man with any spirit--and I suppose that what might be merely a normal +discussion between two such natures might--might seem like a quarrel to +other people. Mightn't it?" she added, not very hopefully. + +Despite himself, the detective was forced to grin at this ingenuous, or +ingenious, argument. + +"They quarreled," he summed it up, regaining his gravity. "If you will +recollect, Miss Copley, when you came into the sitting-room a while ago +you excused your sister's indisposition on the plea that she had been +through enough the last _two_ days to wreck an Amazon. Why _two_ days, +unless it was the quarrel between her husband and her son that worried +her all of yesterday?" + +"Oh, heavens! You're worse than a dictaphone!" Miss Ocky made a face +at him. "There's no help for it--I must go into a silence." + +"Please don't, until I've asked one more thing. You can answer freely, +or the station master will. If Copley went to town last night, what +trains were available?" + +"Only one," she admitted slowly. "There's a through train from the +West that stops at Hambleton for water--at midnight!" + +"Ah," said Peter Creighton, then wished he hadn't. + +A high-tempered youth--a pig-headed father--a balked romance--a +quarrel--a murder at eleven and a train away at midnight. These facts +paraded through Creighton's brain and to a certain extent got ready to +parade right on out of it. He could think all around a given subject, +as he had described the process to Jason Bolt, and he was no fool to +commit himself to half-baked hypotheses. Any theory of Copley's guilt +could be countered with the same objection he made to Krech's hasty +indictment of Mrs. Varr; a boy like that might strike down a man in the +heat of passion but he would hardly set himself to calculated +murder--or if he did, he would certainly arrange a better finish than a +clumsy attempt at flight. + +He became aware that Miss Copley was watching him anxiously while he +meditated. He met her eyes--very nice eyes they were, he +reflected--and it was too bad they should reveal fear, as they had +since his monosyllabic exclamation. + +"Are--are you suggesting--" + +"Nothing, Miss Copley--nothing! Frankly and honestly! If you will +permit me to say so, I think you are trying to make a mountain out of +this molehill yourself. I haven't a doubt in the world that your +nephew will turn up with every minute of last evening properly +accounted for." He welcomed the slow reversion to normal of her +expression. "Come, if I'm a dictaphone, let's pretend I'm turned off! +Shall we talk of something else than murder? One might as well dine to +jazz!" + +That brought a smile to her lips--a quavery, uncertain little smile but +an augury of better ones to come. + +"With all my heart," she agreed. "What are your conversational +preferences?" + +"Anything but shop. May I ask you a personal question?" + +"Personal questions are always the most interesting." + +"I've heard you addressed once or twice as 'Miss Ocky,' and I've been +wondering just what the abbreviation stands for?" + +"Oh! You've landed squarely on a sore spot, but no matter. My father, +bless him, was one of the dearest men that ever lived, but now and then +he would get some particularly quaint idea into his head and proceed to +carry it out in spite of every opposition. I arrived in this world on +a chilly autumn day and was duly presented to my father's gaze. He was +quite inexperienced about babies and it's recorded of him that he +stared at me aghast and said: 'My gad, what a bleak-looking object!' +That inspired some by-standing lunatic to observe that I doubtless took +after the month, and my father promptly exclaimed: 'October! What a +jolly fine name for her. We'll call her October!'" Miss Ocky sighed +resignedly. "They let him get away with it. I was christened October. +It has the sole merit of being distinctive!" + +"My golly!" Creighton had listened to the concluding phrases of her +anecdote with wonderment writ large on his face. He carefully put his +knife and fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair while he +continued to regard her with a rapt expression. "Are _you_ October +Copley?" + +"Yes!" laughed the lady. + +"_The_ October Copley?" + +"I'm quite unique, I believe," said Miss Ocky cheerfully. + +"Did _you_ write 'Thibetan Trails,' 'Passages from Persia' and those +bully Chinese things with the queer title?" + +"'Chiliads of China.' Yes, I wrote 'em. Don't sit there and tell me +you've read them!" + +"Read them--I've _loved_ them! It's a wonder I didn't connect your +name with them at once. My wits have been woolgathering. But, hang +it! Who could have expected to find an internationally famous writer +and traveler stuck away in this corner of the world? Why haven't +seventeen or ninety people _told_ me who you were?" + +She laughed at his eager interest. + +"A prophet is without honor in his own country," she said. "To my +family I'm just Ocky; to the natives of Hambleton I'm only 'that Copley +girl with the queer name who's come back from furrin parts'." + +She laughed again, half surprised and half embarrassed, as he suddenly +rose from his chair, marched around the table, shook hands with her and +solemnly marched back again to his seat. + +"Meeting a stray Miss Copley is one thing," he assured her. "Meeting +October Copley is quite another matter." + +It was impossible for her not to be touched by such sincere, +whole-hearted enthusiasm. Her throat tightened queerly. Bates, too, +an astonished spectator of the scene, was discreetly impressed. A +stand-offishness that he had felt toward Peter Creighton, the +detective, was weakened in favor of a man who thus appreciated his own +Miss Ocky. An artist in simple gestures, he testified to his new +approbation by refilling the wineglass beside Creighton's plate. + +"Now, tell me what you are doing here. I can't believe it is really +you sitting opposite me, there! If any one had asked me ten minutes +ago where I supposed you might be, I would have answered that you were +probably hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas or--or--" + +"Tigers in Africa!" suggested Miss Ocky. "No, here I really am." +Creighton had already noticed that she was usually divided between two +moods, an amused, faintly mocking one, and another that had somehow an +undercurrent of sadness. This last seemed to hold her as she added, +"Here to stay, I think. My wanderings are done and now I must--settle +down." + +"Another great light has just burst on me," exclaimed Creighton. +"Janet Mackay! She must be the companion you refer to so often in your +travel books. By golly, was it she who dove beneath an ice-pack and +brought you back to the air-hole through which you had fallen?" + +"That was indeed Janet! I repaid the favor later by valiantly dashing +into a burning hotel and releasing her from a beam that had dropped +across her--well, she'd call 'em limbs! Regular movie stuff. Yes, +Janet and I are now fearfully responsible for each other." + +"There was no mention of the fire in any of your books." + +"Mmph. I'd be apt to bust into print with that, wouldn't I? But I +don't mind informing you--just between us girls, as your friend Mr. +Krech would say--that you're in the presence of an honest-to-goodness +heroine!" + +"I knew that," said Peter Creighton simply. + +There followed for him a somewhat curious evening. No detective worth +his salt will permit extraneous matters to thrust themselves between +his mind and the immediate problem with which it should be occupied, +and Creighton really had a very high sense of duty. When they had +taken themselves out of the house and settled down in the cozy corner +of the big veranda, he punctiliously strove to concentrate on a dagger +and a notebook and a murder, but ever and anon, as he tried to post +himself on the manifold ramifications of the affair to date, the +conversation would persist in taking unexpected trips to the Orient. +His interest in this topic was so keen that he blamed these divagations +on himself, and since a clever woman is cleverer than the cleverest +man, it never once occurred to him that the guiding-reins of their talk +lay in a pair of slender, capable, sun-browned hands. Miss Ocky +preferred almost any subject that evening to the one of paramount +importance. + +He sat a while after she bade him good-night and left him, his thoughts +a medley of vague impressions, confused, half-formed, inchoate. He +tried to fix his mind on Simon Varr and ended by surrendering it to the +vivid, vital personality of Miss Ocky. + +When he went upstairs to his room the first object that caught his +attention was a slender volume, beautifully bound, that lay on his +dressing-table. "The Mystery of Lhasa." He had not heard of that one. +A glance at the title-page accounted for that. Privately printed. On +the flyleaf, inscribed in a bold, dashing hand, were the words, "For +Peter Creighton--a master of mysteries--from October Copley." + +"That's mighty nice of her," he told himself, putting it down. "Golly, +what a woman! She has packed more life into each of her years than +most men get in their three-score-and-ten." + +The hour was early for his metropolitan standards. He thought of the +balcony outside his window, and forthwith carried a comfortable chair +to that cool retreat. He had lighted a cigar and established himself +contentedly before a low voice challenged him from the darkness to the +right. + +"So you have found your little veranda!" + +"Hello, Miss Copley! You got one too?" + +"Yes. I come out here nearly every evening for an hour before going to +bed. I love to watch the stars." + +"No dearth of them in these skies." + +"If we could look beyond them we might read the Riddle of the Universe. +I think we could--I think so!" Here was the undercurrent of sadness +again, sounding through an odd intensity of tone. "Surely, there is +something beyond them. There must be! What do you think?" + +"I know there is. If you sat here long enough, Miss Copley, I believe +your doubts would be set at rest." + +"What do you mean? What is behind the stars?" + +"The dawn," he told her seriously. "These windows must face due East." +He mused briefly. "They also command a partial view of that kitchen +garden, come to think of it! You didn't happen to see or hear +any--last evening--" + +"What a one-track mind!" lamented Miss Ocky. "_No!_" + +They talked until very late. + + + + +_XVII: An Arrest is Made_ + +At eleven o'clock the next morning, the ground-floor of the big house +was again invaded by a heterogeneous collection of people drawn thither +by the coroner's inquest into the death of Simon Varr. Some were there +as witnesses or because they had a personal interest in the +proceedings, some because they were part of the legal machinery, and +many because they were driven by morbid curiosity. The Coroner, an +alert, bewhiskered old gentleman named Merton, took possession of the +big living-room and had one end of it fenced off with chairs the better +to mark the dignified exclusiveness of his court. + +As on the previous day, the end of the veranda around the corner from +the front of the house escaped the notice of the invading horde. +Creighton spent the early part of the morning there, after a solitary +breakfast, reading the morning paper attentively. Barlow, the editor, +had covered the story of the murder with a competent pencil. The +account was graphic, lucid and comprehensive, a credit to himself and +his paper. When Creighton had finished its careful perusal he was +posted on many details of the case that sheer lack of time had +prevented him from learning the day before. With a considerable degree +of satisfaction, however, he noted that he had unearthed a fair amount +of information that the industrious scribe had missed. + +Only second in interest to the big story itself was the half-column on +an inner page devoted to the jail-breaking exploit of Mr. Charles +Maxon--which would certainly have been largely featured at any other +time. Some lesser scribe on Barlow's staff had been assigned to this +minor item of news. He had gotten hold of the unfortunate Moody, and +under the caption, "Der Jail Is Oudt" he had written a racy, humorous +account of a Lady-Fair with Knockout Drops, a Resourceful Romeo and a +hoodwinked Jailer. It ended with the statement that Romeo and the Lady +were still missing, and that a ticket agent on night duty at the +railroad station had seen two muffled figures unostentatiously board +the last car of the midnight train without the formality of buying +tickets. + +"That means they'll have had to pay on the train," mused Creighton, +"and of course the conductor will remember to what point they bought +transportation when the police get around to asking him. Um. Would a +murderer leave a trail as clear as that? I think not!" + +It still lacked half-an-hour of the time set for the inquest. +Creighton was smoking a cigarette and mentally digesting the +information gleaned from the newspaper when Jason Bolt, accompanied by +Krech and Miss Ocky, came swooping down upon him. + +"Developments!" said Jason, his face wreathed in smiles. "I've found +out what Norvallis has up his sleeve. Want to know?" + +"I certainly do," said Creighton. "How did you find out?" + +"Small-town stuff," declared Bolt cheerfully. "You can't keep a thing +dark in the country. Our local Chief of Police is sore as a pup +because Norvallis, when he gave the paper the story yesterday, failed +to give him credit for fixing the hour of the murder by the dry ground +beneath the body. Steiner--that's the chief--came to see me this +morning at the office to make some inquiries about the fire the other +night. He accepted a cigar, got to talking about his troubles--and +didn't hesitate to tell me the county officers' theory when I asked him +what it was." + +"Charlie Maxon?" asked Creighton when Bolt paused for breath--and from +the corner of his eye saw Miss Ocky give a little start. + +"You've guessed it," admitted Jason a trifle disappointedly. "I confess +I don't think much of their case, but Charlie Maxon is their choice. +He broke jail just after ten o'clock and came up here. That is +definitely proved to their satisfaction, at least, by footprints +recognized as his in the soft earth beside Simon's body. They were +identical with some he'd left when he came up here on an earlier +tomato-swiping raid. Norvallis swore out a warrant yesterday afternoon +and started a couple of sleuths on the trail of Maxon and his lady +friend, and they were arrested early this morning in the village of +Chiswick, about fifty miles down the line. What do you think of that?" + +"What is the charge?" + +"Indefinite. They're to be held on suspicion of being concerned in the +murder. That's why I say it sounds like a weak case." + +"How do they trace the dagger to Maxon?" + +"He is supposed to have an accomplice." Bolt looked a little more +serious. "Steiner was more cautious on that point--or else he was not +so much in the know. There was a discharged clerk named Langhorn who +accompanied Billy Graham to this house on the night of the robbery. +Langhorn must have recognized the notebook in Simon's hand during that +interview, and it was common knowledge among the clerks in the tannery +that it contained valuable matter. The police theory is that he took +advantage of Simon's absence at the fire to sneak back to the house, +enter the study and steal the book--using the dagger and carrying it +off with him afterward. He was seen talking to a man on the evening of +the murder at the corner of an alley behind the lock-up. The county +crowd think that man was Maxon, that Maxon was two-thirds drunk at +least, and that Langhorn gave him the knife and egged him on to kill +Simon. That's the gist of it." + +"Um. Why should Langhorn flirt with the hangman? Discharged clerks +don't necessarily revenge themselves to that extent!" + +"He wouldn't tell me if he could--and I don't believe he can!" + +"There is something I don't understand," broke in Miss Ocky, frowning +thoughtfully. "Can a possibly innocent man be held just on suspicion +like that? Surely, Norvallis must have strong proofs." + +"I may be doing him an injustice," answered Creighton quietly, "but I +think I have discovered the reason for Mr. Norvallis' activities. I +rather wondered why he was thrusting himself so eagerly into the +investigation instead of leaving it to the detectives. Yesterday I saw +a poster on a fence by the tannery and learned that he is up for +County-Attorney at the coming State election!" He caught a flicker of +comprehension in Jason's eye, but Miss Ocky and Krech looked blank. +"Don't you see? Here's a murder--a notable murder--committed in his +county a few weeks before election. He has to do something. Maxon +obligingly implicates himself enough to warrant his being held. +Norvallis arrests him. He can easily juggle things along until the +ballots have dropped in the box--meanwhile demonstrating that he's an +active, zealous and conscientious officer!" + +"You've hit it," declared Bolt. "He's that kind." + +"But that's--_vile_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"We'll give him the benefit of one doubt," said Creighton. "He +probably would not do that to a man he believed innocent; undoubtedly +he is convinced that Maxon is guilty and will fight tooth-and-nail to +convict." + +"Well--is he right?" asked Bolt slowly. A dull red flushed his cheeks. +"Did Maxon do it?" + +"I'm confident that he did not," said Creighton. A pressure of his arm +against his breast brought a crackle of paper and the comfortable +assurance that his chip from the blade of the dagger was safe. "Don't +press me for reasons yet, Mr. Bolt." + +"I won't." Jason rose as Bates came around the corner to say the +inquest had opened. "Take your time, sir, but get me that notebook!" + +The proceedings went swiftly and smoothly from beginning to end. +Whether or not he was a particularly good coroner--and Creighton felt +some doubt of that--Merton was certainly expert in the technique of his +job. He handled his witnesses capably, with deftness and dispatch, +extracting facts from them with the easy grace of a headwaiter pulling +corks, and each time a fact popped out he beamed benignly at his jury. + +No mention was made of the police theory, and from the way Merton +neatly headed off one or two witnesses who came close to trespassing on +that forbidden ground, Creighton reckoned that Norvallis had persuaded +him to mark time "in the interests of justice." The crowd that had +come for a thrill were rewarded by the tale of the black monk, most of +which was told by Miss Ocky. Her soft, clear voice carried to every +ear, and her cool, matter-of-fact tones seemed rather to accentuate the +dramatic values of her testimony than otherwise. It was the highlight +of the whole picture, more interesting even than the verdict with its +orthodox tag of "person or persons unknown." + +"Norvallis hasn't shown his hand," murmured Jason Bolt, who was sitting +next to Creighton. + +"It'll make a louder splash in the papers to-morrow," retorted the +detective cynically. + +He had taken care to seat himself at the beginning of the inquest in +such a way that he could watch the faces of the spectators who had come +to this macabre entertainment. There was so much to the case that was +hopelessly dark to him that he dared miss no opportunity to seek +something or somebody who might inject even a single ray of light into +the murk. He knew that the crowd at any inquest was quite likely to +include the very person or persons unknown mentioned in the verdict. +He watched the crowd here with a sharp eye for any one who might +display a deeper interest than that of the casual ambulance-chaser +brand. + +He spotted just one among those present who seemed worthy of closer +attention. This was a strikingly handsome blond man, middle-aged and +well-dressed, who occupied an inconspicuous seat in the farthest corner +of the long room. He had about him an air of strained intensity as he +leaned forward to follow every word of the testimony, particularly when +Miss Ocky was giving hers, and he tugged nervously and continuously at +a close-cropped mustache. Creighton could see that his face was +haggard and bore lines of worry--and he could see that an unmistakable +look of relief came into his eyes as the jury returned its open verdict. + +"Interesting," said the detective to himself, and touched Bolt on the +arm as the man hurried from the room at the conclusion of the +proceedings. "Who is that fair-haired chap just going out?" + +"His name is Leslie Sherwood," answered Jason promptly. "He's a native +of these parts but he has been out in the great world making lots of +money. He has just returned and opened up the old Sherwood place, +which has been closed since his father's death a few months ago. Why?" + +Creighton was spared a reply by the appearance of a dapper, sharp +little old gentleman who came up and greeted Bolt by his first name. + +"Hello, Judge!" Jason turned with a gesture of his hand. "I want you +to meet Mr. Peter Creighton, of New York. This is Judge Taylor, Mr. +Creighton, who has always handled our legal affairs and managed somehow +to keep us out of jail! Judge, Creighton is here to investigate that +robbery of the other evening when Simon's notebook was stolen." + +"_And_ the dagger that killed him!" added Taylor significantly. "Glad +to meet you, Mr. Creighton. I trust your inquiry will be successful." +He jerked his head backward. "What did you think of this inquest?" + +"Nicely stage-managed," said the detective, and an appreciative twinkle +lit the lawyer's eyes. "May I have a chat with you sometime, Judge?" + +"Whenever you please. Jason will show you my office." + +"Hello! Who is this?" Creighton was facing the door from the hall, to +which the other two men had their backs, and he was the first of them +to notice a tall, prepossessing young man who hurried into the room. +Behind him came Miss Ocky, looking pleased, and after her Krech, +hunting for the detective from whom he had become separated. "Is it--?" + +"Copley!" cried Jason Bolt and Judge Taylor with one voice. They +greeted the newcomer warmly, but with the subdued sympathy suitable to +the occasion. "When did you learn about this?" added Bolt. + +"This morning's papers. I came as fast as I could." He spun around +toward Miss Ocky. "My mother--?" + +"Sleeping," answered his aunt. "It has been a shock, but you have no +need to worry about her. Don't think of waking her up; I know you must +want to go to her, but wait." + +"This is a terrible business," said the young man to Bolt and the +lawyer. He was yet unaware of Creighton, who had withdrawn slightly +into the background. "I only know what I've read in the papers. As I +came in just now I heard somebody say the inquest had drawn a blank. +Is that so?" + +"Yes. It is a complicated affair, Copley," answered Bolt. "It will +take some time to tell you everything that has happened--" + +"We'll go into it later, then. Just tell me now if everything possible +is being done to identify the man who killed my father. That is the +most important business before us. Have the police any clues?" + +"I believe so, but they are saying little. On our own account, I have +engaged this gentleman here--Mr. Creighton--to conduct an independent +inquiry. Creighton, this is Mr. Varr's son, of whom you have heard." + +Copley sent a keen look at the detective, then held out his hand. + +"Glad to meet you--and very glad that Mr. Bolt has engaged your +services. It is the very thing I would have wished. I have no +confidence in the local authorities." + +"That appears to make it unanimous," said Creighton, grinning. +"Really, I'm beginning to wonder if these county fellows can be as +stupid as they're reputed." He glanced at Jason Bolt. "Suppose I take +Mr. Varr into the study here and give him a resume of events to date? +Somebody must, and I know the details better than any one else, +perhaps." + +There was a chorus of relieved approval from Bolt, Taylor and Miss Ocky +and a quick nod of assent from Copley. + +"I must have a talk with you, too, Copley, as soon as possible," added +Jason Bolt. "It's hard to have to intrude business--" + +"Oh!" interrupted the young man, and suddenly ran his fingers through +his hair with a distraught gesture. "I'm in the deuce of a jam--! +Aunt Ocky, when is the funeral?" + +"We were waiting to hear from you. Now that you're here--shall we say +to-morrow noon?" + +"Very well. After that I must catch the one-thirty to New York." He +shrugged his shoulders at Bolt's disappointed grunt. "It can't be +helped, sir! And I'll be busy every minute until I leave. Are you +sure that you need me after all?" He looked at the old lawyer who was +eyeing him thoughtfully. "Judge Taylor, you had charge of my father's +will, didn't you? Would it be improper for you to tell me whether or +not I've inherited his interest in the tannery?" + +"I'll risk the impropriety under the circumstances," said Taylor +slowly, breaking a little silence that followed the question. "Yes, +you have inherited a controlling interest without any restriction." He +hesitated cautiously. "I'm assuming that no other will exists--I +cannot believe there is any." + +"In that case--you and I are partners, Mr. Bolt." Copley held out his +hand rather bashfully. "You'll have a fearful lot to teach me, but +you'll find me willing to learn." He continued more incisively. "I +believe the first thing to do is to get that strike settled and the men +to work. They'll listen to you, Mr. Bolt, if you ask them to return +pending our decision to raise wages and improve conditions. Another +thing--can you persuade Graham to stay with us?" + +"I believe so--now," said Bolt slowly. + +"The tannery must remain closed to-morrow, the day of the funeral. I'd +like to see it open up the morning after at the usual hour." + +"It will," said Jason flatly. "Leave it to me." + +"That's what I want to do, for a fortnight anyway. After that you will +find me ready to pull my weight in the boat." The young man turned to +the others. "Aunt Ocky, you'll let me know, won't you, as soon as my +mother wakes up? Come on, Mr. Creighton; I'm anxious to hear all you +can tell me." He walked off to the study without waiting to see if the +detective followed. + +Creighton did not, for the moment. Bolt and Krech were leaving, and so +was Judge Taylor. The detective had a few words with his friend as +they followed the other two along the hall to the piazza, while Miss +Ocky went up to her sister's room. + +"What did you think of him?" asked Krech. + +"Haven't thought much yet." + +"He ought to be a pleasant change for Jason. He'll be open to reason, +yet he'll have ideas of his own. Did you notice how he snapped into +the business of getting work started again?" + +"I noticed it." + +"An up-and-coming lad," said Krech. "He couldn't have done it better +if he'd been expecting the job." + +Creighton glanced at the speaker quickly, but the big man's face was as +ingenuous as a child's. They dropped the subject as they came up with +the others. + +When he had bidden them _au revoir_, the detective went to the small +study, where he found Copley Varr restlessly pacing the short fairway +between the door and his father's desk. The young man welcomed him +with a gesture of relief. + +"Thought you were never coming," he said, though not rudely. "If I +can't see my mother yet, I'm in a hurry to--to attend to some other +matters." + +"Is an interview with William Graham one of them?" asked Creighton +quietly as they sat down. He caught the sharp look that Copley sent +him. "While digging into the history of this case it was inevitable +that I should discover something of your private affairs. I will ask +you to believe that I do not violate confidences--even though I have to +force them at times." + +"That's all right. You're a detective, aren't you?" + +"I try to be!" smiled Creighton. + +"Well, it's no use employing a detective and then cramping his style by +refusing him information. I understand that." + +"Good. We'll get along beautifully. Will you tell me, please, why you +are obliged to return to New York? Is the reason--Miss Graham?" + +"Not any more." For the first time since he had entered the house, +Copley smiled a little. "It is Mrs. Varr, now. We were married +yesterday morning in New York." The smile vanished abruptly. "And my +father--scarcely cold! I won't forget the shock I got from the papers +this morning if I live to be a hundred." + +"Got a shock, did you?" repeated Creighton to himself, yet the boy's +words had rung true. "If you're ready, Mr. Varr, I'll give you the +story of what happened up to your father's death. I'll be brief." + +At that, it was a lengthy narrative. It took more than an hour to +relate, an hour in which Copley Varr did not once take his eyes from +the detective's face. His gaze was expressionless; Creighton, +returning it with interest, strove vainly to pierce that inscrutable +veil to see what lay behind. + +"And there is no definite clue to the murderer?" asked, Copley when +Creighton finished. "Is the Maxon theory sound?" + +"I think not. As for clues--well, such indications as I have turned up +are too vague to be termed that." + +"Do you suspect any one?" + +"That question is out of order, Mr. Varr." + +"Oh. Will you tell me then, in a general way, where those indications +you mention seem to point?" + +"In a general way, yes." Creighton meditated. "They point to a person +who hated your father, who sympathized with the striking tanners, who +was wealthy enough to supply them with money, either from sympathy or +to further his grudge, a person of some education, familiar with local +history and imaginative enough to adapt the costume of a legendary monk +to a perfect disguise. Last, a person who was sufficiently familiar +with this house to stage a burglary as bold as it was successful." + +Copley Varr was pale as this hypothetical portrait was limned. His +eyes now avoided the detective's. + +"That description might fit a--a number of people," he said. + +"Oh, yes. It's very vague. Now, I can ask a question that you +mustn't, do _you_ suspect any one?" + +"N-no." + +"Come! are you weakening already about giving me information?" + +"Suspicion--if I had any--is not fact!" + +"Quibbles won't get us anywhere. I won't press you further to voice +your suspicion--right now. In the meantime, I'll plod along with my +investigation on the obvious lines." + +"Obvious? I suppose they are to you, Mr. Creighton, but I do not see +a single point of attack. Will you tell me what you plan to do, or is +that also taboo?" + +"I'm going to make a list of all the people that description might fit +and then eliminate them one by one as circumstances dictate. I suppose +competent alibis will let most of 'em out. Yes, I guess I'll have +quite a fine assortment of alibis at the end." The detective was +speaking easily, good-humoredly, and his voice was elaborately casual +as he added: + +"By the way, where were you the night of the burglary from ten to +twelve?" + +Copley Varr started violently and his face crimsoned. For a long +minute he did not speak but sat staring angrily at his inquisitor. He +clenched his hands as though ready to leap on the detective. Then, +slowly, his fingers relaxed, the color faded from his cheeks and the +anger from his eyes. Creighton watched the metamorphosis with +approval; if he could get the best of his temper like that, would he +have been likely to lose it to the extent of committing murder? +Improbable! + +"I was in the editorial rooms of the _News_ from ten-thirty until +quarter to twelve, when I left to catch the midnight train to New York. +At least three men connected with the paper will bear me out." + +"That's bully!" said Creighton. "The crowd on my list will be in luck +if they do half as well. One thing more, Mr. Varr, and then I'm off to +real work. Was William Graham in the habit of coming to this house?" + +Again Copley jumped, but this time with the air of shrinking from a +blow rather than delivering one. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. + +"Don't ask me that--now!" + +"Um. Yes, it's rather a tough question--new father-in-law, new bride +and all that! You needn't answer it, Mr. Varr!" + +"Plainer than you have already, my son!" he added to himself as he left +the room. "William Graham--to the bar!" + +Creighton was light on his feet and invariably wore rubber-soled +shoes--not, as he had been obliged to explain to Krech aforetime, +because he was trying to be the complete pussy-footed sleuth, but +because he really preferred them to leather. The result, however, +whether designed or not, was to make him as soundless in his movements +as a panther. + +He slipped noiselessly along the hall to the front door, his thoughts +busy with what he had just learned, his immediate intention to go to +town for the talk he had promised himself with Judge Taylor. Lawyers +often could throw light on an affair of this kind if they chose to; +what if there were some secret, unsuspected page in Simon Varr's life--? + +As he put on his hat and stepped out of the front door, he heard the +low hum of voices from the cozy corner at the end of the piazza. He +wondered who it might be, and curiosity turned his steps in that +direction. Instead of turning the corner, however, he halted abruptly +when he heard his own name spoken by unmistakable accents. + +"Where is Mr. Creighton, do you know?" + +"He's in the study with Master Copley. Do you wish to speak to him, +Miss Ocky?" + +"No. Has he had any conversation with you yet, Bates?" + +"No, Miss Ocky; nothing special." + +"He probably will, though. It struck me, Bates, that you might +inadvertently mention our little talk of the other day if I didn't warn +you. I don't think that would be advisable." + +"Nor do I, Miss Ocky! I was only afraid you might let it out yourself!" + +"It would be a pity to put notions in his head," continued Miss Ocky +calmly. "I must say, Mr. Creighton seems to be unusually sensible, but +you can never tell which way a detective will jump." + +"They're worse'n cats!" agreed the old butler. + + + + +_XVIII: Some Old Men Are Out_ + +There was a tinkle of silver and china suggestive of the butler picking +up a tray and preparing to depart, so Creighton fled from the vicinage +as softly as the furry felines to which Bates had spitefully compared +him. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. Utterly +shameless, he reminded himself that if listeners hear no good of +themselves, they also occasionally hear much that is valuable. So +Bates and Miss Ocky were in conspiracy to conceal from him some +conversation they had had! Um. It would be funny if he couldn't pry +the truth out of one of them; mentally, he girded up his loins for the +fray. + +The immediate effect of what he had overheard was an alteration in his +plans for the balance of the afternoon. He wanted to see Judge Taylor +for more than one reason, but his brief essay in eavesdropping had +served to remind him of a chore neglected nearer home. The servants. +He must question them, painstakingly and at length, on the chance that +one or more of them might have heard or noticed something that would +bring him a step closer to the truth. + +Copley Varr had gone upstairs, summoned to his mother's bedside by +Janet Mackay who was temporarily in attendance on the stricken Lucy. +That left the study clear for Creighton who immediately possessed +himself of it and touched the bell for Bates. The old man appeared +presently, gave an attentive ear to the detective's brief statement of +his intentions, and answered on behalf of himself and the staff that +all would be glad to assist Mr. Creighton in every possible way. + +"The main essential is perfect frankness," said the detective. + +"Yes, indeed, sir, I quite understand that," said the butler, a trifle +too promptly. "It's wrong to hold anything back." + +"I'll begin with the cook. I had a few words with her yesterday, just +enough to learn she's nobody's fool. She's good-hearted, too--you can +tell it by the layer of fat on the ribs of that Angora I've seen +about." Creighton's eyes were laughing behind the shell-rimmed +glasses. "Did it ever occur to you, Bates, that you can learn a lot +about the cook by looking at the cat?" + +"No, sir, it never did," said Bates, smiling faintly. + +"It never did to me, either, until just this minute," admitted the +detective frankly, "but I dare say there's a lot in it. Anyway, ask +her to come here, please, and tell her I won't keep her long from her +work." + +Thus he played upon the sensibilities of his witnesses after a fashion +whose worth he had demonstrated frequently in the past. He had put +Bates a little more at his ease and to that extent weakened his +defenses if it became necessary to startle him into speaking the truth, +and he had sent a bouquet of flattering phrases to the cook which he +confidently counted on Bates to deliver with his summons. That the +butler had indeed done so was apparent the moment the cook appeared, +her fat red face wreathed in smiles. A cross, recalcitrant woman who +had sorely tried the patience of Mr. Norvallis the day before was an +angel of sweetness as she responded to Creighton's inquisition. + +Unfortunately, she did not have anything of value to offer in repayment +for his studied politeness. Hers was the most prosaic of lives. She +rose in the morning, cooked all day and went to bed, to rise and cook +again. She knew nothing of what went on in the front part of the +house, and Bates was the most close-mouthed butler she had ever worked +with, he never opened his head about what he heard in the dining-room. + +That let her out, and Creighton dismissed her with a request that she +send in Betty Blake. + +When she had recovered from a preliminary attack of nervousness, the +pretty young housemaid unexpectedly produced information that gave +Creighton furiously to think, for he reawakened an idea that had been +present, but dormant, in his brain since his talk with Copley. It +reminded him of a chance remark made by Jason Bolt to the effect that +Langhorn had accompanied Graham when the latter came to see Varr, for +Betty described how in passing through the hall on her way to bed she +had seen the tannery manager "quarreling with Mr. Varr in his study." + +"Sure they were quarreling, Betty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. They were both angry and excited." + +"That was the night of the fire? The night of the robbery?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You were on your way to bed--do you know what time it was?" + +"Just past ten, sir,--or maybe half-past." + +"That's near enough." + +After a few more questions he let her go, telling her to ask Janet +Mackay to join him in the study at her first opportunity. While he +waited for the "tall, gaunt nondescript" to appear he contemplated the +case of William Graham, and sitting in Varr's chair he came slowly to +the same dark suspicions that Varr had entertained. + +"Graham saw the notebook here, and knew what it was. He could use what +was in it--none better. According to the watchman, Nelson, Graham +sympathized with the strikers even if he ranked with the bosses. He +was a bit the worse for liquor when he was here that evening, in the +mood to think of some wild act and perhaps drunk enough to carry out +the thought. He had time to slip down and set that fire, then come +back when it was under way and sneak into the house. Granting that he +used the dagger because it was handy, why did he carry it away with +him? Was he thinking of murder already? Was he cool enough to figure +that a weapon taken from Varr's own house would not readily be traced +to him? Can't answer these questions--now!" Creighton lighted a +cigarette and wrinkled his brow. "Graham has plenty of intelligence, +from all accounts. He is clever enough to have thought of an effective +disguise, and he probably knew the legend of the monk, since his +daughter showed it to Miss Copley in a book belonging to them. Um. Is +he the man I'm looking for?" + +He did not have time for further reflection before the entrance of Miss +Janet Mackay, once of Aberdeen, now a citizen of the world and the +devoted henchwoman of Miss October Copley. She inclined her head +stiffly in reply to his pleasant greeting, refused a chair, and +remained standing in front of him, hands folded across her flat +stomach, her cold eyes fixed on him through her cheap, steel +spectacles. She was taller and gaunter and more angular than ever. +Creighton chuckled inwardly. If Miss Copley was October, then this was +January, or at best late December! + +It did not take him long to discover that he had drawn another perfect +blank. Trying to extract information from Janet Mackay was about as +profitable as trying to squeeze water from a handful of Sahara sand. +She knew nothing, and said less. After ten minutes of fruitless effort +he gave it up. + +"It's clear you know nothing!" + +"I know the world is well rid of a selfish deevil." + +"Tut, tut! Have you no respect for the dead?" + +"Not a whit for him, dead or alive." + +"How is Mrs. Varr?" + +"Resting easier." + +"Is her son with her still?" + +"He went off somewhere an hour ago." + +"That's all, then. Thank you." + +She stalked away, head in air, stiff as any ramrod. + +"Now for Bates," muttered the detective, and touched the bell. "I'll +swear he's got something on his mind!" + +In this surmise he was perfectly correct. The old butler did have +something that was troubling him--a matter so grave and serious that +they did not finish discussing it until the study was dusk and sounds +from the dining-room indicated that Betty Blake was helpfully setting +the table in the unduly prolonged absence of its regular attendant. +When their talk was ended, it was the detective who wore a perplexed +expression, while Bates had lost the troubled, almost haunted look that +had been in his eyes since the death of Simon Varr. + +Creighton hurried to his room to prepare for dinner, and when he +glanced from his window he observed for the first time that the weather +was about to exhibit itself in a petulant, ill-humored mood. Black +storm-clouds were rolling up, a chill, gusty wind was rattling the +windows and a heavy spat of rain dashed against the glass as he turned +away. It would be a nasty night. + +Miss Ocky remarked on the fact when she joined him in the dining-room. +She looked unhappy. + +"I hate cold," she told him. "Had enough of it in my life. I am going +to have a fire lighted in the living-room. If you want to talk to me +this evening you'll have to put up with having your toes toasted." + +He assured her that toasted toes were his favorite delicacy. Then he +nodded to a third place set at the table and raised his eyebrows. + +"For Copley, but he hasn't turned up." + +"He may be dining with his new father-in-law," suggested the detective. +"Or with Jason Bolt, talking business." + +She did not pursue the subject, but later, when they were seated before +a crackling fire in the living-room, she attacked him briskly. + +"I haven't talked with either you or him since your interview in the +library. Was--was it satisfactory? Please tell me." + +"With all the pleasure in the world. The interview was +satisfactory--and I think I know what you mean by that! He accounted +for his movements on the night before last with unimpeachable accuracy." + +"Thank heaven!" said Miss Ocky. "I don't mean that I had any suspicion +of him, but I'm glad if he has cleared himself in your eyes." + +"He has, perfectly." + +"I wish I knew what your plan of campaign is to be! You half promised +to let me see just how a detective works, you know. What are you going +to do first?" + +"Suppose I don't know myself?" He paused to light her cigarette and +one for himself, then added deliberately: "You can't always tell which +way a detective will jump; they're worse'n cats." + +"Oh!" cried Miss Ocky, and choked on a puff of smoke. "Eavesdropper!" +she gasped. + +"I didn't go for to do it. But if you _will_ have these little +intimate chats on a piazza without looking around the corner--! Now, +you can tell me what it was all about." + +"I'll tell you first that it's a mistake to take overheard remarks too +seriously." Miss Ocky, recovered from smoke and emotion, smiled at the +fire. "Once, when I was a little girl of seven, I got an awful scare +that way--right in this very room, on a wild stormy night like this! I +had come in to say good night to my father and mother, who were sitting +before a fire as we are now. Just as I left the room, I heard my +mother say to him, 'The old man is out to-night!' Unless you were a +nervous, high-strung brat yourself, you can't imagine the effect of +that on me. I crept off to bed shivering, and lay awake half the +night. Every time the wind shook my windows, I pictured some +monstrous, hoary-headed creature trying to get in and gobble me up!" +She laughed a little. "It gives me a grue to think of it even yet. I +discovered the explanation of the phrase the next day. Can you guess +it?" + +"No. Another local legend, perhaps?" + +"Nothing half so thrilling." She pointed to a high shelf above the +mantelpiece. "There is the answer!" + +Creighton followed the direction of her finger and smiled. On the +shelf stood one of those miniature Swiss chalets so popular in +drawing-rooms a generation ago. Two little figurines, a young woman +and an old man, operating on barometric principles, emerged from the +front door in turn as the weather indications were fair or stormy. At +this moment the old man was well out. + +"Enough to scare any child to death," he admitted. "Now--" + +"But tame when explained, like lots of overheard things. Once when I +was staying with a Chinese family in Pekin--" + +"Where did you get the idea," inquired Creighton mildly, "that I was +fond of red-herring? As a matter-of-fact, I've always hated it." + +"Mmph!" said Miss Ocky, and made a face at him. "Well, what do you +want to know?" + +"You are probably aware that I had a long talk with Bates this +afternoon. He told me much that was interesting--but I'd like _your_ +version of that conversation which you felt shouldn't be repeated to +me." + +"I wish I'd kept still about it," sighed Miss Ocky repentantly. "Now +you'll probably magnify it out of all proportion. You see, I've known +old Bates ever since I was a youngster, and we've always been good +friends. He got in the habit years ago of bringing his troubles to me +and talking them over--'blowing off steam,' he always called it! That +was how we happened to have that talk a few days ago. Simon had been +unusually querulous even for him--and he could be very trying at times. +Bates had suffered a long while in silence, and when he got a chance to +air his grievance to me he--he blew off quite a lot of steam first and +last! He chiefly resented Simon's attitude toward Lucy, and I couldn't +blame him there. One thing led to another, and that's how we came +finally to agree that the world would be a brighter little planet if +Simon no longer lived on it." Miss Ocky shrugged her shoulders. "The +sort of thing that means nothing at the time but sounds like the very +devil after a man is found murdered!" + +"Yes, it does," answered Creighton gravely. "I had no idea you two had +been contemplating the possible death of Simon Varr. That is not at +all a pleasant bit of news." + +"You--you had no idea! You had no--!" Miss Ocky sat up very straight. +"Didn't Bates tell you that?" she demanded crisply. + +"No. He told me much, but he wouldn't tell me the subject of your +conversation with him because he'd promised you he wouldn't. He was +adamant. That's why I've had to get it out of you." + +"Oh!" She slumped again into her chair. "You--you _creature_!" + +"I know," he said apologetically. "But what's a man to do if people +hold out on him?" + +"I suppose," said Miss Ocky in a small voice, "this is a judgment on me +for wondering how a detective works!" + +"Possibly. Did he make any threats?" + +"_No!_" said Miss Ocky. + +"Um. Would you tell me if he did?" + +"N-no," said the lady. + +"It makes a fellow long for the days of the Spanish Inquisition," said +Creighton, addressing the fireplace. He added darkly, "There are +several persons around that I could enjoy putting on a cozy little +rack!" + +"It's no use being bloodthirsty," she informed him. "As for Bates--! +Oh, I do wish you'd stop getting ideas into your head!" + +"I can't. It's the sort of head that gets 'em!" + +"Well, I wish you'd draw the line at Bates! Why, I've known him all my +life!" + +"There is always some one to say that about any criminal. Always some +one to say it isn't possible. The awful thing is, it is possible." + +"But--Bates! How could any one associate the idea of murder with that +gentle, harmless old man? Ridiculous!" + +"He was devoted to your father because Mr. Copley stood by him when he +didn't know where to turn. He had been in trouble. Did you know that?" + +"Vaguely--from Bates himself. Why? What trouble was it?" + +"Starvation. He had difficulty finding work because no one wished to +employ a man who had just been pardoned out of a penitentiary where he +was serving a life sentence for murder." + +There was a brief silence. + +"It can't be!" she whispered at length. "Not Bates! It can't be +_true_!" + +"He was married in those days, and the other man was guilty of breaking +up the home. Extenuating circumstances, you see. He was lucky enough +to have a lawyer who didn't lose interest when the prison swallowed +him, and he brought the matter to the attention of a new Governor who +pardoned Bates after he had served five years. Your father happened on +him when he was near the end of his rope, gave him sanctuary and helped +him bury the past. That is his story." + +"How did he come to tell you?" + +"I persuaded him to. I've noticed ever since I've been in the house +that he was shaky, nervous--_worried_. Three times out of five, when +you see a servant in that condition following a mysterious crime, you +can look for the explanation in a shady past. I tackled him from that +basis. He didn't need much urging--in fact, he told me he had half +made up his mind to come to me with the story of his own accord. I +believe him. He had been in mortal terror lest the police discover +it." Creighton paused in order to study her serious, thoughtful face. +"He asked me to tell you this." + +"He did!" + +"He seems devoted to you. He had wanted to tell you himself, but could +never quite find the courage. He has wanted you to know the truth +about him, but has never been able to forget the way others used to +receive it. He has taken some hard knocks." + +"Poor soul. Poor lonely soul!" Her voice was tender. + +"I thought you'd feel that way about it! You'll find an opportunity to +make him understand, I suppose? Probably he won't want to talk much +about it, but you--you could give him a friendly pat on the arm or--or +something like that, couldn't you?" + +Miss Ocky suddenly turned and looked at him with eyes that were shining +through unshed tears. + +"You're a queer man! You can sit there suspecting him of murder and +still want me to be kind to him!" + +"Have I said anything about suspecting him?" demanded the detective +with almost a touch of asperity. + +"You accused me of suspecting Copley last evening and I had to remind +you that he'd probably turn up with a perfectly good alibi--and he did! +If there's a pessimist in human nature sitting around here, it isn't I!" + +"Mmph. All right, little sunshine!" + +"I don't care anything about suspicion. I want proof. Until I get it, +I try to preserve an open mind." + +"Oh. Well, that's an improvement over Mr. Norvallis, I must admit!" +Miss Ocky turned her eyes back to the fire. "What you've told me about +Bates has given me quite a--a shock, Mr. Creighton. I won't drag any +more red-herrings around, but can't we _please_ talk of something else?" + +He cheerfully and promptly consented. They talked a while on every +subject under the sun except the death of Simon Varr, and they were +both a trifle disconcerted when a wild shrieking of brakes and a heavy +step on the veranda announced the arrival of Herman Krech, who would +tolerate no other topic until he left at eleven. + +It was just short of midnight when Creighton, sound asleep, was roused +by a discreet but persistent tapping on his door. He rolled out of +bed, struck a match, opened the door and discovered Copley Varr, +grinning broadly. + +"I've got my father-in-law's blessing!" he announced. + +"I congratulate you." The detective blinked. "Excuse me, but I was +with the angels! Did you call me back just to tell me this?" + +"No. I thought you ought to know that we were a pair of nuts this +noon. Mr. Graham was holding pat hands in a poker game during the fire +and robbery, and he was presiding at a lodge-meeting in Hambleton the +night--the night before last!" + +"With umpty-umph fellow-lodgers to prove it. Um. Touch 'em and they +vanish!" + +"What?" + +"I mean, I'd like to find a prospect that would stay put for a while at +least. As it is now, the moment I look sideways at any one he promptly +trots out an alibi." + +"Like I did to-day! I see. Trying for a detective, eh?" + +"Very trying," said Peter Creighton. "Good night!" + +He shut the door, and presently rejoined the angels. + + + + +_XIX: Among Those Present_ + +After that midnight report from Copley Varr, ten days passed without +the occurrence of a single distinctive event. They were not empty +days, however, for Peter Creighton, who continued patiently to cast +hither and yon very much like an Indian brave seeking the trail of an +enemy warrior. + +The full scope of his investigation was not apparent to the naked eye, +as Krech, who was chafing at the lack of developments and inclined to +accuse his friend of masterly inactivity, discovered one afternoon. +They were taking a stroll in the twilight at the detective's +insistence, and met a roughly-dressed individual with a cap on the back +of his head and a short pipe stuck in his mouth. He was loitering by +the side of the road, and to Krech's surprise, Creighton excused +himself and joined the man for a brief chat. + +"Who's your rough-neck pal?" he demanded curiously as the detective +came back and suggested a return home. "His face is familiar but I +can't just place him." + +"You once bought a painting from him when he was posing as an artist!" +Creighton chuckled. "He reminded me of it just now; said you're the +only connoisseur who ever really appreciated his work!" + +"Gee Joseph! One of your men!" + +"Fellow named Latimer." + +"What is he doing around here?" + +"Covering the tannery end of this affair. Latimer's an artist in more +ways than one. When I told him what I wanted, he got two books on +modern methods in tanning from the New York Public Library, studied +them on the train coming up, and landed a job as easy as you please +when Graham and Bolt started to replace the old hands who had left. +Snappy work!" + +"Gosh. And I thought you were investigating this case single-handed! +You're a foxy guy at times, Creighton. Has Latimer learned anything +useful?" + +"Not to me, I'm sorry to say. The few facts he has turned up seem +merely to darken the outlook for Charlie Maxon, that unfortunate +prisoner-pent. He appears to be quite as bad an egg as Mr. Norvallis +believes." + +"Do you suppose Norvallis is making any progress with _his_ case?" +inquired Krech. + +"He's sitting pretty with the voters!" said Creighton shortly. "By the +way, neither Bolt nor Graham knows who Latimer is. Don't tell 'em." + +"I won't," promised the big man. + +He did, however, after the fashion of husbands, tell his wife that +evening after dinner. They were standing together on the front steps +of their host's house, having been persuaded with no great difficulty +to lengthen their stay by at least another week, and Krech had just +lighted a cigar to keep him company while he strolled over to the Varr +home. + +"You might have known Peter Creighton is never as idle as he looks," +commented Jean Krech, when she had listened to the tale of Latimer. +"He probably has a dozen more irons in the fire that you don't dream +of. I suppose you're going over there now?" + +"Uh-huh. There's always a chance he may have some news." + +"Well, it's all right for you to drop in and ask," said Jean calmly. +"But--don't linger, melove, don't linger!" + +"Huh? What do you mean, don't linger? Why not?" + +"You blind old goose! Has it ever struck you that Creighton is a +rather lonely man?" + +"Lonely?" Then the significance of her question suddenly hit him +between the eyes. "Gee Joseph! Are you trying to promote a romance +between him and Miss Ocky?" + +"Precious little promotion is required," she corrected him. "It's as +plain as the nose on your face how things are going." She laughed when +her husband in his bewilderment reached up and felt of the promontory +indicated. "Yes, it's very plain!" + +"But they've only known each other a week or so!" + +"What of it? They're old enough to know their own minds--both in the +early forties. Neither of them has ever had a love-affair as far as we +know; probably it hits them harder and quicker when they're like that!" + +"Maybe you're right." Krech reflected deeply, and then nodded his +head. "Suits me! I like her immensely, and of course he'd be a whole +lot happier if he were married. Any man is." + +"Oh, _thank_ you!" cried his beautiful wife softly. She slipped a hand +beneath his elbow and gave his massive arm an affectionate squeeze +while her blue eyes twinkled up at his. "Is um itty-witty baby happy, +then?" + +"Shut up," commanded Mr. Krech with intense dignity. "Don't go cooing +at me--not where any one might hear you, anyway!" + +An unprejudiced observer of the trend of events at the house on the +hill must have admitted that Mrs. Krech had considerable grounds for +her romantic suspicions. Twice during the ten days aforementioned +Creighton was obliged to go to New York and spend half a day on +business that would not be denied, and each time he returned bearing +books and candy and a vast quantity of assorted and exotic fruits for +which Miss Ocky had expressed a casual longing and which the marts of +Hambleton could not provide. On the first occasion he pretended they +were for Lucy Varr, still confined to her room, but on the second he +abandoned pretense. + +Then there was the incident of the picnic, sponsored by Miss Ocky. +They took their lunch and plunged into the wilderness of hills that lay +to the north of Hambleton, their destination the cave that was reputed +to have sheltered the legendary monk. It was Miss Ocky's suggestion +that in the haunts of the old monk they might come upon some traces of +the new, if that imaginative imitator had carried his masquerade to the +extent of using his predecessor's quarters, and Creighton, without the +flutter of an eyelash, agreed that nothing was more likely. They found +the cave--or some cave--but nothing else. Their disappointment weighed +lightly upon them, and the detective enjoyed the day with all the +artless abandon of a schoolboy playing hooky. + +Even more significant than the picnic was the _pilau_. Miss Ocky had +described this supposedly delectable dish to Creighton at some length, +and the next day was impelled to possess herself of the kitchen and +compose a _pilau_ such as she swore appeared daily on the tables of the +first epicures of Constantinople. However that might be, affairs are +approaching a crisis when a woman is seized with a desire to +demonstrate her culinary accomplishments to a man. + +The _pilau_ was an amazing dish. At table with them during those days +was a very pale, very thin young man with gold pince-nez, fair hair and +a painfully self-effacing manner, who had been quartered on the house +by Judge Taylor for the purpose of documenting a vast accumulation of +papers in Simon Varr's study. He took a mouthful of the pilau, started +slightly, and took a second to make sure his senses had not deceived +him about the first. Ten minutes later, the closest approach to any +emotion that he ever revealed was visible on his face as Creighton sent +back his plate for a third helping. + +If Miss Ocky noticed his tactless expression of awe--and she rarely +missed anything so obvious--it probably did nothing to raise the young +man in her esteem. She frankly disliked him. + +"That Merrill!" she grumbled to Creighton when they were by themselves +after dinner. "A perfect imposition on the part of Judge Taylor! Of +course I couldn't very well refuse under the circumstances, but I'll be +glad when we lose him!" + +"He must have nearly finished his work," Creighton consoled her. +"After all, he's harmless. Why does he annoy you?" + +"I don't know," was the conclusively feminine reply. "He just does." + +On the afternoon of the eleventh day after the death of Simon Varr, +Creighton had a chat with Jason Bolt in the office of the tannery that +was in no-wise remarkable except for the odd timeliness of the +detective's farewell observation. Jason had asked him if he was +satisfied with the progress made to date or whether he was discouraged +by the present lull which so closely resembled stagnation. Could he +say when the mystery might take some definite turn toward solution? + +"Ask me when the millennium is coming and be done with it," said +Creighton rather plaintively, wondering why so many people seemed to +credit detectives with oracular powers. "If Norvallis has the right +pig by the ear, Maxon may break down, turn State's evidence and hang +his accomplice. That's one possibility. Another--we may as well face +it--is that this case will go to swell the great army of unsolved +mysteries." He hesitated, then added, "There's a third possibility, of +course." + +"What is it?" + +"The chance that a break will come from some totally unexpected quarter +when we've all but given up hope. I've seen that happen a score of +times. There's no predicting it--no counting on it. But when it +comes--then look out! A case that has been placid and smooth as a mill +pond will suddenly develop the characteristics of a maelstrom!" He +smiled encouragement at the troubled Jason. "If one starts in this +case, we may reasonably expect that its gurgitations will yield us that +missing notebook if nothing more." + +He was on foot that afternoon by choice, for he had long held that a +daily walk is the best exercise for a man whose profession does not in +itself provide him with much physical activity. He preferred it to +gymnasium stuff, too; a man can think deeply while walking with perfect +safety, if he avoids traffic, whereas the hospitals are full of +misguided gentlemen who have committed the error of thinking deeply on +some other subject while engaged, say, in "skinning the cat." + +He had much to make him thoughtful these days. He was not at all +satisfied with the situation in this Varr case, though he refrained +from revealing his pessimism to others, and was reluctantly coming to +fear that Norvallis had indeed gotten the jump on him--and jumped in +the right direction. The possibility irritated him. He wished to +clear up this murder himself more than he had ever wished for anything +in his life. Wasn't Miss Ocky waiting confidently for him to do just +that? + +The intrusion of her name into his thoughts turned them into a new +channel. He knew now that before he dropped his personal supervision +of this case, before he left Hambleton for New York to attend to +matters which were pressing there, he would have to ask Miss October +Copley one of the most important questions he had ever asked in the +course of a career devoted mostly to inquisitions. The prospect gave +him a shivery feeling up and down his spine! + +He walked briskly up the short-cut through the woods and came out at +the end of the kitchen garden, now associated with a grimmer business +than the growing of vegetables. It was due to his swift pace that he +was in the open, in plain view, before he noticed two figures seated on +the big granite bowlder near the tomato-patch. He would have retreated +to the obscurity of the trees and watched that interview if Miss Ocky +had not spied him and risen instantly from her seat on the rock. + +"Come here!" she called. "The very man we want!" + +He walked over to them, and Miss Ocky's companion, a tall, handsome, +fair-haired man, stood up to acknowledge the impending introduction. +He looked pale and worn, more haggard even than that morning at the +inquest. + +"Mr. Creighton--Mr. Leslie Sherwood," said Miss Ocky quickly. "You +haven't met each other yet, have you?" + +"No, I haven't _met_ Mr. Sherwood," acknowledged the detective, +accenting the verb very slightly. + +"But you've been on my track!" said Sherwood, smiling rather nervously. +"My valet was shrewd enough to suspect the man who scraped an +acquaintance with him and showed so much interest in discovering my +whereabouts on the night of Simon Varr's murder! He followed his new +acquaintance one afternoon and saw him report to you." + +"You appear to be more fortunate than I in the intelligence of your +followers," said Creighton rather glumly. "I'm glad, though, to have +this matter brought into the open." He glanced at Miss Ocky and back +to Sherwood. "May I speak frankly, or shall we adjourn to the house by +our two selves?" + +"I have nothing to conceal from Miss Copley," answered Sherwood, +flushing slightly. "As a matter of fact, I've just been making a full +statement to her of my actions that evening and she had just advised me +strongly to consult you when you suddenly appeared." + +"Excellent advice. I'll explain my curiosity first, though. During +the course of my investigation I've had to poke up a lot of gossip and +more or less ancient history, and some of it related to you. According +to my information you were once--attentive--to Miss Lucy Copley. You +left, and she married Simon Varr. You returned, and Simon Varr, who +had not proved a kind husband, is presently murdered. I had already +noted your agitation at the inquest, and without entertaining definite +views, I still thought it advisable to learn what I could about you." + +"Quite naturally," admitted Sherwood with a certain urbanity, though +his color deepened. "I can see now that you had some reason to regard +me askance. However, the fact that you are already so well posted in +my affairs has its consoling virtues--it makes it easier for me to tell +you more." He hesitated, looked toward Miss Ocky as if for +encouragement, received it in a short nod and added slowly, "I may as +well begin with a circumstance that would probably have crystallized +your suspicions of me if you had learned it for yourself." + +"What was that?" asked the detective a bit impatiently. + +"I was present at the murder," said Sherwood. + + + + +_XX: H. Antaeus Krech_ + +Miss Ocky, who had heard the story already, sat down on the rock and +calmly waited its continuance, but Creighton's eyes narrowed. + +"You were present! At the murder!" + +"In the background only, I assure you," amended Sherwood, and plunged +rather desperately into his account. "It is a habit of mine to grab my +hat and stick and take a short walk every evening before going to bed, +and that was how I came to be out that night. I had no special +objective, and--and because old memories had been stirred by my return +I almost unconsciously cut across the fields near my house and headed +for that path which leads to this garden. I used to do that twenty-two +years ago when--when there used to be some one to meet me right by this +rock! Somehow, I felt as if I wanted to--to look at a certain lighted +window before I turned in. I don't expect you to understand--" + +"I do, however! What time was all this?" + +"Half-past ten, roughly. When I got here, the only light burning was +in Simon's study--otherwise the house was in darkness, which seemed to +me an ironic commentary on my foolish gesture! The study light went +out almost immediately, but I lingered on. I sat down on a fallen log +in the deep shadow of those trees--there, to the right of the path--and +began to think back to old times. One discovery I made was that I +hated Simon Varr more than ever after all these years. Damaging +confession, I suppose? + +"Twenty or thirty minutes must have passed. Then I heard a cautious +step on the trail--and nearly fell off my log when a figure in the garb +of a monk glided into the open. Rather weird! Sounds silly here, of +course, but for a moment my hair stood on end. I had a notion that I +was seeing a ghost! + +"Before I recovered my wits, it--it happened! I had supposed Simon had +gone to bed when his light went out, but now he appeared from around +the corner of the house. It was obvious that he was stalking the monk. +It was like watching a scene in a melodrama, and I couldn't have moved +hand or foot to save my life. All of a sudden, Varr rushed him. I +thought the fellow would run, but instead of that he waited. When +Simon got close, the monk appeared to raise a sort of mask he wore. I +heard Simon cry out something in a surprised voice, and then I saw a +flash of steel as the monk threw up his arm and brought it down. Simon +dropped to the ground and lay on his back--and the monk glided off down +that trail before I realized that I had seen a murder!" + +"Why didn't you chase him--holler--do _something_!" cried Miss Ocky. + +"Couldn't seem to budge," said Sherwood briefly. He looked a little +hurt. "If you think it was just cowardice you're jolly well mistaken! +I had no sensation of fear at any time. You've heard the expression, +'rooted with amazement'? Well, I was it! + +"I was still in that condition three minutes later, perhaps, when I +heard another, heavier step on the trail. A man appeared, and from the +way he walked I could tell he had been drinking. He staggered toward +the body, but he was staring at the house and shaking his fist at it. +He reeled off the cement path and almost stumbled over Simon before he +saw him. He gave a cry, and stooped to look closer--then turned and +bolted for dear life and vanished down the trail. He had been scared +sober! + +"I began to get back my senses. The first thing I thought of was my +own position and what I should do. If I were called on to account for +my presence there it would involve the mention of Lucy's name if I told +the truth--and to save my neck I couldn't think of a plausible lie! +There was none to explain my presence in Varr's kitchen garden at +eleven o'clock at night! + +"I felt under no obligation to give the alarm--it never once occurred +to me that the second man wasn't tearing hell-for-leather to the +police-station with his story! I did, however, feel that I could not +leave Simon lying there with a knife in him while there was a +possibility of his being still alive. It took all the nerve I had, but +I walked out and took a careful look at him. I knew enough about +anatomy to see at once that he had been stabbed through the heart and +must have died instantly. Then I lost no time in getting away--" + +"You kept to this cement path?" + +"Yes; I had sense enough to leave no tracks in that soft earth. I got +home without meeting any one, and I hoped I would never be drawn into +the case. + +"It gave me a jolt when I found the crime had not been reported by that +second man. The inquest reassured me when it seemed as if everybody +was at a loss to know who had committed the murder. They could remain +at a loss for all of me, so long as I wasn't brought into the case--and +Lucy! Then, the next morning, the papers had the news of Maxon's +arrest! I haven't slept much since!" + +"I'm hardly surprised," said Creighton dryly. "Your story does one +thing to the Queen's taste--it corroborates Maxon's description of his +movements that evening. He was drunk when he broke jail, he had an +hour or so to kill before meeting Drusilla Jones, and he staggered up +here with the tipsy notion of wrecking the garden to spite old Varr. +He was sobered by what he found, as you noticed, but even then didn't +have sense enough to see that his best bet was to go straight to the +police. He claims he never stopped to think how black appearances +against him would be. Would you be able to swear that he was the man +you saw here after the murder?" + +"Yes. I went to court when he was examined and remanded and I +recognized him beyond a shadow of doubt." + +"And I'm to understand you've kept silent simply out of consideration +for Mrs. Varr?" + +"That weighs a good deal with me," said Sherwood quietly. "I haven't +enjoyed these past nine days, Mr. Creighton. When I couldn't stand it +any longer, I came to Miss Copley to tell her of my difficulty." + +"And I advised him to talk with you and be guided by your +instructions," threw in Miss Ocky. + +"What had I better do?" asked Sherwood hopelessly. + +"Do! There's a man in the county jail with an ugly charge hanging over +him that a word from you will lift--and you ask me what to do!" +Creighton was scandalized. "Go to Norvallis--instantly! Tell him the +truth and let him decide how much publicity must attend the liberation +of Maxon. I don't think he will insist upon much!" + +"You're right, Mr. Creighton--but not helpful." + +"Helpful! What did you expect?" snorted the detective indignantly. +"Did you think I'd encourage you to let Maxon rot in jail just to humor +your quixotic notions about gossip and a woman's name? I sympathize +with your difficulty, but that's as far as I can go. There are two +things I've never done and never expect to do knowingly--let an +innocent man suffer unjustly or a guilty one escape!" + +"At this point there was loud applause from the gallery!" murmured Miss +Ocky in her soft, amused drawl, and brought him to earth. "Go on, +Leslie, and do your duty. It can't be helped." + +"Very well," said Mr. Sherwood unhappily, and got off the rock. +"Nothing more you want to ask me, is there?" + +"N-no," answered the detective, a bit subdued by Miss Ocky's rebuke. +"Yes--one thing. What did this confounded monk look like?" + +"Well, I can't help you much there. I got the impression that he wore +a mask--as Miss Copley did when she saw him on the trail. He was +dressed from head to foot in black. He even wore black gloves; it was +an odd thing that made me notice that. Have you ever seen a man +straighten up from some completed task and stand looking down at it, +nodding his head and rubbing his hands together as if to say, 'Well, +there's a good job over and done with'? That's what this fellow did as +he stood above Simon--" + +"_Oh!_" gasped Miss Ocky, and collapsed limply on the bowlder, her face +ashen. "Oh!" + +"What is it?" snapped Creighton, wheeling upon her. "What is the +matter?" + +"It's all so ghastly--so--so cold-blooded!" she managed to stammer. +"Don't mind me. I'm all right." + +"Um," said Creighton, eyeing her doubtfully. "You come into the house +and get a rest before dinner! Good-day, Mr. Sherwood!" + +He carried his point without much difficulty. He hovered over Miss +Ocky until he had her safely in the house and on her way to her room, +and for once her militant spirit seemed burned out. He reproached +himself bitterly for having let her listen to Sherwood, though nobody +could have foreseen that the noodle-pated idiot would start +embroidering his story with graphically gruesome tidbits! Why hadn't +he kept his fat head shut? Serve him right if Norvallis jumped _him_ +next and put him in the jug for political prestige! For a few minutes +Creighton was almost cheerful as he pondered that possibility. + +Fortunately for his peace of mind, Miss Ocky reappeared for dinner and +impressed him as having entirely regained her composure. She was her +usual gently mocking, always slightly cynical and amusing self. As the +swift conversation flashed back and forth between them--past the +apparently unconscious person of young Mr. Merrill--he gradually +recovered his own equanimity and was quite himself again by the time he +and Miss Ocky settled to coffee and cigarettes in the cozy corner of +the veranda. + +"Almost time for Mr. Krech to make his evening call," she suggested. +"They dine earlier at the Bolts' than we do here." + +"Queer thing about Krech," mused Creighton. "I've never seen him take +so little interest in a case as he does in this. Usually he is at my +heels from morning until night, spraying questions the way a +machine-gun sprays bullets. Now he just blows in--and presently blows +out." + +"Oh!" said Miss Ocky. She sat up straight, scratched her chin +meditatively with one slim forefinger, and darted him a look that he +missed. "Mmph. Y-yes, that is queer." + +"Of course he's devoted to his wife," continued the detective, "and I +suppose that distracts a man from the pursuit of a mere hobby." + +"Briefly," said Miss Ocky. "Briefly!" + +"A charming woman ought not to be cynical--" Creighton broke off and +raised his hand. "He's coming now; you can hear that car of Bolt's six +miles on a quiet night! Shall we tell him about Leslie Sherwood?--the +poor chap hasn't had anything so nourishing for a week." + +"Swear him to secrecy," stipulated Miss Ocky. + +Thus, when the big man appeared and dropped into a chair, he was duly +pledged to discretion and informed of the fact that an eyewitness of +the murder had turned up. + +"My gosh!" he exclaimed when the details had been told. "Why, that +just naturally blows Norvallis clean out of water! What'll he do if he +loses Mr. Vote-getter Maxon?" + +"Pinch Sherwood," chuckled Creighton. "That ought to net him even +handsomer returns." + +"Oh--_no_!" cried Miss Ocky, and turned white. "Oh, I think it is +simply disgraceful that such things can happen in a civilized country! +Bad enough to be the subject of gossip and suspected of a crime, but to +be actually imprisoned on mere suspicion--" + +"I was only joking," cut in the detective hastily. "Norvallis will +make no such stupid blunder. I'm sorry to say there is a wide +difference between what can be done to a mere workingman and what may +be done to a country gentleman of position." + +"So much the worse!" snapped Miss Ocky unappeased. + +"This lets out Charlie Maxon," muttered Krech, and regarded his friend +morosely. "Seems to me, Creighton, that every time this case takes one +step forward, it slides back two. Jason Bolt is getting fearfully down +in the mouth. When this news reaches him it will be the finishing +touch." + +"I had a talk with him this afternoon," said the detective, and flicked +his cigarette over the veranda rail. "Reminded him that Rome wasn't +built in a day and that murderers aren't always caught in a night, that +the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and dropped a few other +comforting thoughts in similar vein. I also mentioned that one never +knew in a case of this kind when something might happen--" + +"_It's happening now!_" + +Krech hissed the words in a fierce whisper. His eyes had automatically +followed the detective's glowing cigarette and had been attracted by +something farther off, barely visible through the deepening dusk. +Almost before Miss Ocky and Creighton could sense the meaning of his +words, he had sprung to his feet and vaulted the veranda railing. +Thanks to a downhill slope of the ground at this point the piazza floor +was a full nine feet from the grass lawn, and they heard a hearty grunt +as Krech alighted. Then he recovered his footing and sped with +extraordinary swiftness for so large a man across the sward in the +direction of that woods that edged it. + +"What is it?" gasped Miss Ocky. "Oh--what is it?" + +"The monk!" cried Creighton. "The monk!" + +His glance, darting ahead of the speeding Krech, had discerned an +unmistakable figure outlined against a clump of white birch as though +the monk had deliberately chosen a background against which he would be +most conspicuous to the group on the piazza. He was standing there +motionless, apparently indifferent to the rushing menace of Krech, and +through the detective's brain, searing it like a flame, shot the memory +of something Sherwood had said, "I thought the fellow would run, but +instead of that he waited!" He was waiting now! + +"Krech!" cried the detective. "_Careful--careful!_" + +His hands were on the rail of the veranda. It had not taken two +seconds for him to size the situation and shout his warning, and those +same seconds were occupied in getting out of his chair and dashing to +the rail. He had one leg over this when two hands like steel clamps +circled his right arm and gripped him fiercely. + +"Please--oh, _please_!" stammered a frightened voice. + +"_Ocky!_" he gasped in furious protest. "_Leggo!_" + +He wrenched himself free and went sprawling over the rail, a wordless +prayer in his heart that no broken legs or sprained ankles were to be +his portion. He landed unhurt in a providential flowerbed, and +struggled again to his feet to discover that both the monk and Krech +had vanished. + +There was a little-used trail which commenced near the birch-trees and +ran sharply downhill to the small house that Miss Ocky had donated to +her nephew and his bride. Creighton knew of its existence, and never +doubted now that the monk had disappeared into it at the last moment +with the impetuous Krech in full pursuit. He drew an electric torch +from his hip-pocket as he raced for the dark entrance to the path, +anxiety for his friend the paramount force that speeded his flying feet. + +"Why did he try to jump him like that?" he thought. "If he had only +used his head a bit! He could have sauntered into the house, out the +back door, crept through the woods and taken the fellow in the rear. +He has all the courage of a mad bull--and about as much sense." + +This unkind summary of Krech's character was no sooner complete than +Creighton himself was in the trail, plunging headlong down its sharp +declivity with quite as much recklessness as his friend had shown, save +the advantage of his flash. He played its powerful beam ahead of him +as he ran and leaped, until twenty yards from the entrance he suddenly +dug his heels hard into the rubble of the path to halt his wild career +as the light showed him the body of a man lying face downward in the +trail. Its bulk alone left no doubt of identity. + +"_Hell!_" snapped the detective, and the one vicious word was the +epitome of all that he felt. + +With desperate haste he jammed the torch into a crotch of a small tree +so that its rays illuminated the scene, then dropped to his knees +beside the prone body of his friend, exerted all his strength and +rolled it over on its back. His eager fingers, pressing, prodding, +explored the still form throughout its length. + +"No wounds--no broken bones," was his first relieved diagnosis. Then +"Hello--here we are!" An angry red abrasion on the big man's forehead +had caught his attention. He touched it, and smiled as it elicited a +groan from the victim that sounded to Creighton like celestial music. +"A crack on the head--knocked him out!" he muttered, then raised his +voice. "I say, Krech--come to, old man, come to!" + +The adjuration seemed to penetrate Mr. Krech's dazed faculties. His +eyes opened, blinked once or twice, opened again and stared tranquilly +up into Creighton's. His lips moved and words issued. + +"A fall like that," he observed calmly, "would have killed an ordinary +man." + +"Thank heaven!" ejaculated the detective fervently. "Are you much +hurt? What happened?" + +"Tripped--came down with a dirty wallop and cracked my head on +something awfully hard." He raised himself cautiously to a sitting +position and glanced about him. "That chunk of granite there--doesn't +it look to you as if it were freshly broken?" + +"I guess it was only this big root!" said Creighton, and laughed aloud +in his relief. Then his mirth abruptly gave way to surprise. "Hello," +he said. "Hello--hello--hello!" + +He had been looking around too, and now he picked up a loose end of +stout wire that was attached at one extremity to a sapling. There +could be no question as to what it was doing there. Until Krech's shin +had snapped it, it had been stretched taut across the trail a foot +above the ground. + +"Gee Joseph!" exclaimed the big man, staring at the simple apparatus of +destruction. "Clever little hellion, ain't he?" He stood up, moved +his arms and legs tentatively and gave himself a shake. + +"All right?" asked Creighton quickly. + +"Never felt better in my life. Little shaking-up like that--good for a +man. Who was the ancient johnnie that used to bounce up from the earth +a bit stronger for every time he hit it?" + +"Antaeus," suggested the detective absently. + +"Uh-huh. H. Antaeus Krech--that's me." He added with more appropriate +seriousness, "What became of our little playmate?" + +"Search me," replied Creighton, still thoughtful. "I'm trying to +figure out what was back of all this. It was a prearranged trap, of +course. He showed himself deliberately, invited us to chase him, then +arranged this wire to insure his get-away. But--why?" + +"I can give you a good guess, Peter, my boy," said Krech slowly. "I +think I have inadvertently saved your life." + +"Huh? What's that?" + +"Suppose you are getting too close to the truth of who killed Simon +Varr--or suppose the murderer thinks you are, which comes to the same +thing. He doesn't care for the idea--not a-tall. So he has a happy +inspiration and plots this scenario as you have described it--only to +draw an anticlimax. You were supposed to do the chasing. Naturally he +couldn't foresee that your guardian angel, the unfortunate me, would +come galloping down here and spring his trap. + +"What if it had been you who was slumbering peacefully in the middle of +the path instead of me? Would you ever have awakened again? Or would +you now be sitting somewhere on a cloud talking it all over with Simon? +How's that for a theory?" + +"You think he'd have stuck a knife in me? I must admit there is a +nasty air of plausibility about your sketch." The detective mused a +moment. "There's one consolation if it's true; it's mighty +complimentary--almost flattering--to my ability!" + +He stood up and rescued his torch from its resting-place in the tree. +As he took it down, its beam was deflected briefly along the trail, and +in that instant he uttered a quick exclamation. + +"Look there!" he snapped. "What's that?" + + + + +_XXI: Twilight_ + +Krech came to attention at the detective's exclamation and his eyes +followed the ray of light from the torch as Creighton directed it to a +point on the ground scarcely two yards from their feet. An oblong, +flat package wrapped in brown paper lay in the trail. They dove for it +together and Creighton secured it, properly enough, since the +flash-light revealed his name on the face of it, scrawled in the same +uncouth writing that they had seen before on the anonymous +communication of the monk to Simon Varr. + +"What's in it?" demanded Krech, and added a trifle anxiously, "It +doesn't tick, does it?" + +"That cropper you came evidently hasn't hurt your imagination," +chuckled the detective as he loosened the coarse string about the +package. "No, it isn't a bomb. It's--well, by golly, will you look at +what it is!" + +Very gingerly, holding it in the tips of his fingers, he lifted a red +leather notebook from its nest of brown wrappings and showed it to +Krech. The big man nearly dropped the torch which he had taken from +his friend. + +"Varr's notebook!" he cried. "It must be!" + +"It is," confirmed Creighton, who had lifted one cover with the tip of +a finger nail and glanced at the contents of a page. "Now, isn't this +lovely! Who says we can't recover loot? The thief may have to hand it +to us on a tray, but it's only results that count! Say, Krech--there +goes your melodramatic theory of a plot to bump me off." + +"I suppose so." + +"He lured me down this trail so I'd find it, and to make sure I didn't +miss it, he strung that wire where it would throw me with my face +almost on the darn thing! You'd have seen it if you hadn't been +knocked silly, and I'd have seen it if I'd been thinking of anything +but you." + +"He went to a lot of trouble that he could have spared himself for all +of me!" grunted Krech, feeling his forehead. "I must look like the +happy end of a barroom brawl. Why didn't he mail it?" + +"By golly, I don't know. That's a mighty pertinent question, Mr. +Krech. We'll get the answer when we get the crook, I expect. I'm not +so fearfully surprised at getting back this notebook; did it ever +strike you that there might be another explanation of its disappearance +other than simple theft?" + +"N-no. If there's another reason, I missed it." + +"The dagger wasn't used to further the looting of Varr's desk. Just +the contrary is the truth, I believe. The notebook was stolen to cover +the theft of the dagger." + +"Gee Joseph!" Krech whistled softly. "That checks up with the theory +of an inside job! Creighton--_who_?" + +"That's something I hope to find out pretty soon," replied the +detective gravely. "Come on back to the house--and, listen! We lost +sight of the monk. We hunted a while until you tripped and hurt your +head, then we gave up the search and came home. Get it? Not another +word!" + +"Right," said the big man obediently. + +There was no one on the veranda when they emerged from the woods. Two +figures moved in the lamp-lit hall as they entered the house. Bates +came up to greet them nervously, and young Merrill lurked in the offing +looking curious. + +"Is everything all right, sir?" asked the butler timidly. + +"Perfectly all right. Where is Miss Copley?" + +"Retired, sir. She left word for you that she would not be down again +this evening." + +The news that she had left a message for him was welcome. He had been +troubled by the recollection of the cavalier fashion in which he had +shaken off her hand on his arm, and he was uncomfortably certain that +in his haste he had addressed her, as he thought of her, by her family +nickname. + +"Go tap on her door, please, Bates, and tell her that I am back with +nothing to report. Wait--take Mr. Krech up with you and show him my +room. He has a forehead he wants to bathe." + +The butler went off, and Krech, after a mild protest, accompanied him. +Creighton, when they were out of sight, beckoned Merrill to follow and +went swiftly into the living-room. + +"Find out at once if any one has been absent from the house during the +past hour. Let me know." + +"Done it already, sir. Thought you'd want it. Only one person I +haven't had my eye on." + +"_Who?_" + +"Janet Mackay, sir. She went to town immediately after dinner to a +movie." + +"_Janet Mackay_! There is only one motion-picture theater?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Go there at once. Check up on her. She's a regular patron--the +ticket-girl should be able to tell you if she's been there. When you +come back, signal to me, yes or no. Understand? _Beat it_!" + +When Krech came down again he found Creighton sitting on the veranda, +smoking a cigar and apparently more in the mood to think than to talk. +It was nearly ten o'clock when a step sounded on the porch and Merrill +sauntered into view. + +"Pardon!" he said promptly, and vanished again. + +But he had obeyed his instructions and sent Creighton a sign that +started the detective's heart to thumping. Janet Mackay had not been +to the theater. Here was a coil with collateral complications that +were not pleasant to contemplate. His heart stopped thumping and made +a dive for his boots as he wondered what Miss Ocky would say when she +learned of his interest in Janet. + +"I'm going to New York on the midnight," he said abruptly. "Will you +run me to the station on your way home?" + +"Sure. Unexpected, isn't it? What are you going for?" + +"Mostly on account of this notebook." Creighton tapped the side-pocket +of his coat in which he had placed his treasure, rewrapped and tied. +"It must go to the chap in Brooklyn who does my finger-print work, and +I don't care to trust it to the mail. I've another reason for going +which I don't propose to tell you." + +"_Sus domesticus_!" cried Mr. Krech proudly, then obligingly translated +for his astonished companion. "Pig!" + +"Oh. Well, if you feel so deeply about it I suppose I might toss you a +hint. I'm going to New York to give something a chance to happen that +might not happen if I stayed here. I'll be back to-morrow evening, +late--which reminds me that I'd better catch young Merrill and leave a +message for Miss Ocky. Bates has probably gone to bed." + +He spent the night at his apartment in the city and surprised his staff +by entering his office the next morning at nine sharp--surprised them +pleasantly, it may be added, for they had come to be loyal friends no +less than faithful helpers. He exchanged cheerful greetings with a +very pretty young woman who left her typewriter and accompanied him +into his private room. + +"Something didding, Rose, I do believe." He seated himself at his +handsome, flat-top desk. "Send Jimmy here. Get Kitty Doyle on the +wire, tell her to pack a bag and stand by the telephone in case I need +her." + +A minute later he was smiling at the homely face of Jimmy Horton, his +chief of staff. + +"Got that notebook, Jimmy!" He slapped the brown package on his desk. +"The story will have to wait. I want you to take this over to Martin +yourself. Leave it there. Ask him to make every effort to bring out +such prints as there may be on the covers. If he finds any, tell him +to compare them with the assortment I sent him from Hambleton last week +and see if any of them check. He is to telephone me his findings here, +or wire them to me at Hambleton if I've gone back. Understand?" + +"Perfectly. Does he mail you the book?" + +"No. When he's through with it, you go back and get it. Be careful of +it, Jimmy. If it comes to a choice of losing that book or losing your +life, you hang on to the book." + +"I get you!" grinned Jimmy. "Doesn't the recovery of this notebook +technically end your commission? We're up to our ears in work here. +Why are you going back to Hambleton?" + +"Because--because I darn well choose to!" Creighton writhed inwardly +as he felt his cheeks growing hot. "On your way, young man--you ought +to be under the East River by this time!" + +Nevertheless, a certain compunction helped him to put the Varr case, +and even Miss Ocky, out of his mind for the balance of the morning +while he laboriously worked through an accumulation of other matters +that had been waiting for his personal attention. At one o'clock he +went to the basement of the building for a hurried lunch in the +rathskeller, leaving word of his whereabouts with Rose. + +It was well that he did so. With the coffee came an extension +telephone that was plugged in at his elbow, and a distant voice spoke +clearly in his ear. + +"Merrill speaking. I'm telephoning from the railroad station. You +guessed right, sir. The woman has just left for New York. Seemed a +bit low in her mind--been crying and was still sniffling. She's +wearing a dark-gray cloth dress--black oxfords--small black hat with a +green feather--black fur neck-piece--brown leather suit-case-- What's +that, sir? No, sir!" Mr. Merrill's voice was gently reproachful. +"She's not wearing the suit-case; she's carrying it. Yes, sir. I +thought she acted rather queer--nervous, unhappy and fidgety." + +"And no doubt she is! Thank you, Merrill. Good work!" + +Creighton hung up the receiver, shook his head at the waiter who came +for the instrument, then called an uptown number. A woman's voice +answered--bright, alert, faintly tinged with a soft brogue. + +"Miss Doyle speaking." + +"Hello, Kitty! Did you pack that bag? Good. I want you to meet the +train from Hambleton arriving four-thirty. Janet Mackay is on it. You +can't miss her--listen!" He rattled off Merrill's description of the +woman's dress. "Shadow her, Kitty; follow her to Kamchatka if you have +to. Keep your eyes and ears open. Use your own judgment in regard to +scraping up an acquaintance if an opportunity offers. She's dour, and +probably a bit suspicious. I can give you one useful tip about +her--she talks in her sleep. _Huh_! That will be all from you, Miss +Doyle; it doesn't matter how I know. Wire me any news as you get it to +Hambleton. Have you plenty of money?" + +"Couple of hundred, I'll telegraph if I need more." + +"Right. Whatever happens, Kitty--stay with her!" + +"Like a Siamese twin," the bright voice assured him. "Is there +anything special I'm to try and find out?" + +"Well, you know the nature of this case." Creighton hesitated. "A +confession would be very useful--if you could get it!" + +"Crumbs!" gasped Miss Doyle. "Did _she_ do it?" + +"I have no definite proof--yet. There's just enough evidence to +warrant our taking a warm interest in her. This sudden departure from +Hambleton may be--flight!" + +"Oh-ho. And she chose her time while you were here, thus avoiding any +embarrassing farewell scene with you! Quite so. Leave her to me, Mr. +Creighton. I'll wire you from Liverpool or Buenos Aires or Paris--" + +"Or Hoboken or Harlem!" he corrected her. + +"Much more likely." + +He sent away the telephone, ordered fresh coffee, lighted a cigarette +and glanced at his watch. Two courses were open to him. He could put +in the afternoon at the office and thereby clear up a lot of stuff for +Rose and Jimmy, returning late to Hambleton as he had planned, or he +could catch a train that would get him there just in time for dinner. +Um. + +He caught the train that was to get him there just in time for dinner. +Bates, meeting him in the hall and relieving him of his bag, dashed his +hopes forthwith. + +"I'm afraid we weren't expecting you, sir," said the butler +apologetically. "Miss Ocky is dining at Mrs. Bolt's. I'll have +something ready for you in about half-an-hour, sir. Will that be all +right, sir?" + +"Fine, Bates; thank you." + +"A judgment on me for my sins of omission!" he told himself +philosophically. "I should have stayed on the job at the office." + +He went and put his head in at the dining-room door, where Merrill had +just commenced his solitary dinner. The young man signaled to him +instantly that he had a communication to make. Bates had vanished to +the upper floor with his bag, and when Creighton had assured himself +that there was no one in the pantry, he stepped quickly to Merrill's +side. + +"I wanted to tell you that Miss Copley and the Mackay woman had a long +talk in Miss Copley's room very late last night--or early this morning, +rather. It was nearly four o'clock when Janet went to bed. They were +talking about something very--well, _fiercely_. Almost quarreling. I +couldn't make out the words. That's all, sir; I should really have +reported this to you over the wire." + +"So you should, my boy, so you should," muttered Creighton absently. +"No harm done this time, fortunately." + +He slipped away before the butler should return, and went out to the +veranda to wait until something had been prepared for him. He was glad +of the brief opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. + +Merrill's latest bit of information was disturbing in the extreme--so +disturbing that he had to force his mind to consider a possibility from +which it shrank aghast. The two women had "talked fiercely." They had +"almost quarreled." _What about_? A hypothetical answer came to him +so ugly that it chilled him to the bone. + +Granted that Janet Mackay, from motives yet obscure, had killed Simon +Varr, had Miss Ocky somehow learned the truth and become an accessory +after the crime? Swayed by her dislike of Simon and her friendship for +her companion of a score of years, had she condoned a crime and helped +a murderess to escape? What was that she had once said? "Janet and I +are fearfully responsible for each other!" + +_Oof_! He took out his handkerchief and vigorously rubbed at the moist +palms of his hands. + +He had sat in this very same spot the night before and worried over +Miss Ocky's probable reaction to a theory of Janet's guilt, but he had +not dreamed of anything so terrible as this. Ocky an accessory! +Finished with his palms, he shifted the handkerchief to his brow. + +An unwelcome memory stirred in him of the scene the evening before when +he had leaped the piazza rail in pursuit of the monk. He could feel +again her grip on his arm. Had she known that the black figure was +Janet and sought to restrain him lest he catch her? Obvious! And he +had ascribed that action to timidity or even--blatant ass!--to fear for +his safety. Fear! As if October Copley knew the meaning of the word +either for herself or any one else! "Afraid for his safety?" His +cheeks were red as he spared a mirthless laugh for an egotistical idiot. + +"Dinner is served, sir," announced Bates, appearing in his silent +fashion around the corner of the house. "It is not very elaborate, I'm +afraid, sir." + +"It will be ample," Creighton assured him, and added a trifle bitterly, +"I don't seem to have much appetite this evening." + + + + +_XXII: A Cry in the Night_ + +During the progress of that mournful meal his discomfort was vastly +increased by the sudden reflection that he was now confronted with a +most disagreeable necessity. He bit his lip and frowned, strongly +tempted deliberately to sidestep a task so uncongenial. + +No--he couldn't shirk it! Come what might, he would see this through +and force himself to act in every respect as he would have acted were +Ocky not involved. She was clean and straight herself, even if +misguided loyalty to Janet had caused her momentarily to swerve from +the narrow path of rectitude, and it would be no compliment to her if +he were to scamp his job. Antagonists they might be in this contest of +wits, but she was too sporting ever to want him to do aught but play +the game for all that was in him. + +"What time will Miss Copley be back?" he asked the butler. + +"She said about ten, sir." + +That would give him ample time for what he proposed to do. The dreary +dinner ended, he went upstairs as though going to his room, but he did +not get quite so far. The hall was empty. The house was still. He +knew there was small chance of any one interrupting him while he worked. + +Softly, he turned the knob of Miss Ocky's door, slipped inside and +closed it again behind him. He crossed the room and drew the curtains +of the French window before taking his torch from his pocket. + +Then, tight-lipped, he set to work. + +An hour passed before his search, swift, silent and sure, approached +its end. He had found nothing to incriminate Janet Mackay, nothing to +connect her departure with any guilty knowledge thereof on the part of +Miss Ocky. He smiled contentedly at the result, exulting in his +failure, then sobered suddenly as the light from his torch, playing +over her desk, discovered to him a neat, leather-bound book with the +word "Diary" stamped in gold across its top cover. + +A diary! Why in thunder did people keep 'em? Ocky had got the habit +from keeping notes for her books, he supposed. Silly things, always +getting their owners into trouble! He glared at the innocent book a +full minute before he reluctantly opened it and sought the entries for +the past few weeks. There were not many, thank goodness; she was not a +faithful diarist. He scanned them rapidly, gathering courage as it +grew plain that there was nothing here the whole world might not read. +Then he caught his breath and stood transfixed as one entry, dated +three days back, sped its message to his brain. + +"The usual talk with P. C. last night from balcony to balcony. He is +amusing and very entertaining--amazingly kind and sympathetic despite +his profession, which must tend to harden a man--though he will not +admit it!" So much was in her bold, firm writing, but underneath a +line had been added in fainter, more uncertain script. "Why couldn't +we have met twenty years ago!" + +Creighton shut the book quickly, flicked off his torch, stood +motionless in the dark. His breast was a chaos of wild, conflicting +emotions. There was rejoicing at what he had found, loathing for the +way he had found it, terror of the problems it portended. That +regretful line in her diary revealed some feeling for him, he felt +sure, but what would become of that newborn sentiment when she learned +that he had-- + +The raucous blare of a motor-horn from the direction of the driveway +cut sharply through his abstraction. He leaped for the door and gained +the hall in safety, then sauntered downstairs to find not one arrival +but two. Miss Ocky had returned ahead of schedule, and a messenger on +a motorcycle had come with a telegram. + +"Telegram for Creighton." + +"Right here." He scrawled a signature in the book, opened the wire and +read it by his flash-light. "No answer." + +He read it again as the boy putt-putted off into the darkness. + + +"_We leave for Montreal to-night. Cheers. Can I have one on you? +Address General Delivery, Montreal. K. Doyle._" + + +He struck a match and held it to the corner of the yellow sheet. By +the time it was burned and the charred fragments crunched beneath his +heel, Miss Ocky had garaged the car and come around to the front steps. + +"Hello," she said, rather wearily. "Never dreamed you'd be back +already!" + +"Couldn't stay away," he said lightly. "Have a nice time at the Bolts?" + +"Rotten," answered Miss Ocky tersely. "My own fault--I've been low in +my mind all day." She pulled off her driving gloves and waved with +them toward the veranda. "Come and give me a cigarette." + +"What has been worrying you?" he asked her quietly when they were +settled in the cozy corner. "Anything serious?" + +"Janet has gone. I shall miss her--terribly--after all these years. +She insisted, though, and I had no right to refuse her." + +"But she will miss you, too, surely." + +"Possibly." + +"She's going home to Scotland, I suppose?" + +"N-no." Miss Ocky hesitated, then added calmly, "She is going to a +sister in New Orleans." + +"Oh," said Creighton, and it seemed to him that some one else must have +uttered the word, so far away did it sound. "Very nice for her." + +"Let's--forget her," suggested Miss Ocky. + +There was no talk from balcony to balcony that night. Miss Ocky begged +off on the plea of fatigue, and it was fairly evident that the plea was +perfectly honest. She acted as if she were tired, she looked so, and +Creighton, grimly comparing the fiction of New Orleans with the fact of +Montreal, could no longer doubt that she had every reason to be tired, +mentally and physically. + +He was none too fit himself when he came down to breakfast the next +morning after a miserable night's rest. He could scarcely eat +anything. He rose from the table finally and sped into the front hall +at the sound of a motorcycle, and when he accepted two wires from a +messenger and dismissed him, his powers of resistance were pitifully +inadequate to withstand the greatest shock he was ever to receive in +all his life. + +The first was a night-letter from Martin, the finger-print expert. + + +"_Numerous prints on cover of took. Freshest superimposed on others +are one of thumb top cover four of finger tips on bottom, made by +number eight in collection you sent me. Characteristics distinctive. +No possibility of error. Martin._" + + +Number eight of the collection he had made! Made since the death of +Simon Varr, then, and by some one in the household! Here was a +tangible clue to the truth at last! + +He took his memorandum book from his pocket and turned its pages with +fingers that trembled slightly until he found the list that he had +started with Betty Blake. Swiftly, his eyes went to number eight. + +"No. 8. October Copley." That was the entry. + +A full minute passed before he stooped and recovered the memorandum +book which had slipped from his grasp, together with the second +telegram. He shook his head impatiently in an effort to clear it of +the stupor which numbed his brain. + +Why should he be affected like this? he demanded angrily of himself. +What was there here that couldn't be explained in the light of facts +already known? It was no news to him now that Ocky was aiding Janet to +escape the consequences of her crime, and it was plain enough what must +have happened. She had found the notebook in Janet's possession, +handled it cautiously and left those prints, then insisted upon its +return to its rightful owners. That was all. His heart began to pound +less violently, and presently he was opening the second telegram, which +he saw at once was a straight wire from Kitty Doyle filed early that +morning. + + +"_Same compartment in sleeper. She had lower berth. Was very +restless. Talked several times. Could only hear one sentence, +repeated frequently. Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it? +She wired Hotel Beauclerc Montreal for reservation. K. Doyle._" + + +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it, why did you do it?" + +For a few moments that sentence written in letters of fire danced madly +before his eyes. Then it cleared away and left him gazing at the +peaceful woods beyond the patch of velvet lawn. His face was +expressionless, but his lips moved slowly. + +"That's it. That's it, of course. It's been there all the time. I +knew it. I was just afraid to face it. Now--I've got to." + +He was standing on the veranda, but he had an odd sense that his brain +had detached itself from his body and was floating high in the air, +whence it had a comprehensive, bird's-eye view of the whole situation. +The chief actors in the drama were there, and as his brain watched them +they dissolved briefly into mist, then reformed slowly into a sort of +allegorical tableau. + +There was Miss Ocky, arrayed in the somber robes of a monk, a stained +dagger held loosely in her fingers, an illusive, faintly mocking smile +on her lips. There was a great figure in white, a bandage about its +eyes, leaning negligently on a long, two-edged sword, its calm, +sightless face turned toward the woman in black. There was Janet +Mackay, gaunt and ugly, interposing her thin body between the two, a +pitifully inadequate shield. They all appeared to be waiting for +something, and presently it was evident that the attention of the two +women was centered on the figure of a funny little man whose troubled +eyes peered out from behind a huge pair of shell-rimmed glasses as he +stood beside the goddess, hesitant, his hand stretched out to loose the +bandage from the eyes of Justice. + +The vision faded until only the funny little man was left. The watcher +on high saw him turn and enter the house, calm and composed, putting +two telegrams and a notebook into his pocket as he walked the length of +the hall and into the pantry. His voice was placid when he spoke. + +"Bates, fix me up a couple of sandwiches and a flask of black coffee. +I've been a bit seedy lately and I'm going to try the effects of a long +walk. I may not be back until quite late." + +"Yes, sir. I'll have them in a few minutes, sir." + +After an interminable wait of centuries, a neat package was forthcoming +and he was at length able to leave the house and plunge into the woods, +his destination the little cave in the hills where he and Miss Ocky had +shared their picnic lunch. There he could be alone, secure from +interruption, while two little devils, devised for the torment of man, +donned the gloves and staged in the squared circle of his heart the +age-old battle between love and duty. + +It was a memorable fight, that. Love went down for the count of nine +more than once, but more often it was the ugly little demon of duty +that the end of a round left hanging on the ropes. Not until dusk had +fallen was the referee able to hold up the arm of the victor. + +It was ten o'clock when he limped wearily into the quiet house and +slipped noiselessly to his room. His first glance was for his desk, +where telegrams might be found if any had come. There were none, but a +large white envelope, sealed but unaddressed, lay on the blotting-pad. +He took it up and ripped it open. Two letters, stamped and ready for +mailing, fell on the desk. He stared at them indifferently, then +picked them up and thrust them in his pocket. + +He sat down, determined to act while his decision was fresh, and drew +writing materials toward him. It was a very simple note that he +intended to write, and it was just that when he finally finished it, +but six false starts lay in the trash-basket beside his desk. He read +over the completed product. + + +"_My dear Mr. Bolt--Pressure of business recalls me to New York early +to-morrow morning before I can have an opportunity to see you. I am +happy to say that Mr. Varr's notebook has been recovered, under +circumstances which I hereby authorize Mr. Krech to describe to you. I +will send it to you by messenger. I regret that I cannot name the +thief, whose identity, in my opinion, will never be learned. I shall +look forward to seeing you when I again visit Hambleton, which I hope +to do after a short period of work and rest. Sincerely yours, Peter +Creighton._" + + +He stood up, holding the open letter in his hand. His head was heavy. +Hardly conscious of what he was doing, he went to the French windows, +pulled them open and stepped out on the balcony. Instantly, a low +voice challenged him from the darkness. + +"Mr. Creighton! I'm so glad! I thought you must be lost! I've been +waiting here--! Please, will you do something for me?" + +"I'm always ready for that, Miss Copley." + +"I want you to come here. The door of my room is unlocked." The low +voice grew even fainter. "I--I am very ill," said Miss Ocky. + + + + +_XXIII: The Darkest Hour_ + +Everything else faded from his mind at the emergency suggested by her +last words. + +He was with her in five seconds. In that time she had retreated from +the balcony and was lying back in a deep, upholstered armchair near the +open window, a soft woolen lap-robe over her knees and tucked about her +feet. He leaned over her anxiously. + +"You are ill? What is it?" he questioned her swiftly. "Let me go for +the doctor!" + +"No--please! It isn't a case for a doctor--yet. I must talk to you +first." There was a straight-backed chair close by, as though she had +placed it there for him, and she waved him to it. She did not continue +until he had reluctantly seated himself on its edge, bending forward to +watch her face in the dim light from a single lamp across the room. +"I--there is something I must tell you. Do you remember saying one +evening that a detective must occasionally be a father-confessor as +well as--" + +"Stop!" He interrupted her, aghast, his tortured nerves rebelling +against this unexpected, fresh flagellation. "I want no confession +from you--I won't listen--!" + +"Please! You must let me have my way in this; I have a good reason for +insisting on that." Her voice was low, quiet and determined. "I want +to tell you that your search is ended. It was I who--" + +"Don't say it!" he broke in hoarsely. "I know it already!" + +"You--_what_?" Her eyes were large, incredulous. "You know that it +was I who--who killed Simon Varr?" Amazed, she saw him nod his head, +and flinched from the gesture as if it were a blow. "How did you learn +that?" + +"A score of things pointed to it from the first," he answered +miserably. "I would have seen the truth long since if--if something +else had not blinded me to it. This morning my eyes were finally +opened--" he fumbled in his pocket with shaking fingers--"by these!" + +Miss Ocky took the two telegrams, held them shoulder-high to the light, +and read them wonderingly. She exclaimed sharply over the one from +Kitty Doyle. + +"'K. Doyle'! Who is that?" + +"A clever woman detective accompanying Janet Mackay--not to New +Orleans, but to Montreal! I already knew her destination before you +attempted to mislead me." + +"A detective following Janet!" Her tone was a vigorous protest. "Oh, +you must call her back! It isn't fair to Janet! Promise me you will +call her back!" + +"I will, at once. Kitty Doyle's usefulness there--is ended!" + +She had raised herself slightly in her eagerness; now she relaxed again +with a sigh of relief. Creighton, a dull ache in his heart, waited for +her to resume the conversation. He would not take the lead. + +"So Janet talked in her sleep!" To his horror, Miss Ocky was speaking +in her amused, faintly mocking accents as though nothing mattered less +than this gruesome discussion of how she came to be exposed. "In a +Pullman, too; how very indiscreet! I should have foreseen that and +made her stick to day coaches. I knew her failing!" + +"It was a paragraph in one of your books that revealed it to me," +contributed Creighton gloomily. "You once described a bad night you +spent due to your companion talking in her sleep. That enabled me to +give my operative a tip." + +"In one of my own books! The irony of fate, that! Please, Mr. +Creighton, tell me why you happened to have Janet shadowed in the first +place. What had she done to deserve this delicate attention? Is it +possible that you suspected _her_?" + +"I most certainly did." Chin cupped in both hands, his eyes fixed on +the floor at his feet, he morosely supplied her with the salient +features of the case as he had come upon them, from the discovery of +the steel chip that pointed to an inside job to the moment when he +learned that only Janet was missing from the house on the occasion of +the monk's final appearance. "Then it developed that she hadn't been +at the theater, as she was supposed to be. I argued from the return of +the notebook that the case was drawing to a climax, so I went to New +York to see if she would take advantage of my absence to slip away. +When she did, it seemed pretty conclusive evidence of her guilt. I put +Kitty Doyle on her track. Until this morning, the worst I thought of +you was that your friendship for Janet had led you to condone her +crime." + +"Whereas the truth is exactly the reverse! Her friendship and my +crime!" She gave a little shiver. "That chip from the +dagger--interesting! It really started you on the right track, didn't +it? I never knew I'd nicked the blade. Mmph. Extraordinary what +trifles may affect our destinies! Funny, don't you think?" + +Each word she uttered in that whimsical tone was like a needle pricking +his heart. He threw out his hands protestingly, suddenly groaning the +very phrase that Janet had used in her troubled dreams. + +"Miss Ocky, why did you do it? Why did you do it?" + +"Yes, I must tell you about that." Her reply was cool, matter-of-fact, +and he did not see that she winced at the pain in his voice. "After +all, I can plead extenuating circumstances. I'll make it short as +possible; you can ask questions later if you wish. Meanwhile, please +don't interrupt me or I'll lose track of my story. + +"I had been away from here twenty-two years. When I came back ten +weeks ago I discovered a situation that I had never dreamed existed. +Lucy's letters had never been especially happy or cheerful, but neither +had they contained anything to give me even an inkling of the truth. I +did not know she was married to a human vampire, a sort of--of +spiritual leech! Words can't tell you the difference between the Lucy +I left and the Lucy I returned to! It hurt me--oh, it hurt me! + +"You won't put down all that I say about Simon to personal prejudice +because you have heard enough about him from others to realize how mean +and selfish and--and psychically cruel he could be. He never beat +Lucy, but that was simply because he specialized in a more refined type +of cruelty--and if you want to know which of the two hurts a woman +most, there are plenty of unfortunate wives who can tell you! + +"Simon owed everything he had in the world to Lucy, for it was the +money she brought to their marriage that enabled him to start his own +tannery and gave him the opportunity to develop new processes that +proved lucrative. Father disapproved of the match, but did not +actively oppose it, and when he died shortly after, Simon's feet were +on the road to fortune. Remember that, please! + +"When I came home, I found he had completely broken Lucy's spirit and +was deliberately trying to accomplish the same result in the case of +his son. He had all but succeeded, too. Money seems to be the answer +to practically every problem in this country to-day, so I was able to +come to the boy's rescue. I told you one evening how I decided to put +him on his feet, promote his elopement with Sheila Graham, who will +make him an excellent wife--and incidentally put a spoke in Simon's +wheel! + +"I began to study my brother-in-law, and the more I learned about him +the more shocked and fascinated I became. Satisfied with the lion's +share of the income from the tannery, he refused to develop the +business so that Jason's modicum might increase to reasonable +proportions. He had always hated Jason since the panic of 1907 when he +had to borrow money from him and give him a small interest in the +business. + +"He hated his manager, Graham, too, because he was beginning to be +troublesome. Graham felt that his long and faithful services deserved +some greater reward than a small raise in salary, and the one thing +Simon could not bear to do was to reward a man according to his +deserts! He decided to discharge Graham--but that did not prevent him +from threatening Copley with the ruin of Sheila's father if he did not +discontinue his attentions to the girl! Pretty? + +"I was interested in the working conditions at the tannery, conditions +that were unsanitary, primitive--obscene! I met the Maxon person in a +grocery, as I told you, but it was before the strike, not after. He +told me things, and even with a liberal discount for exaggeration, they +were pretty bad. + +"It was then I decided to take a hand in Simon's family and business +affairs! I have a queer sense of humor at times, and it rather amused +me to think of myself as a deputy of Destiny! And--and it just so +happened that I was in a position to play fast and loose with no regard +for possible consequences to myself. + +"I opened my campaign by promoting that strike! I persuaded Maxon, a +born agitator, to talk the men into doing it, and I provided him with +money so they should not be broken by hardship. Afterwards I found he +hypothecated this fund and spent it on a dance-hall girl, so I was +obliged to send more money later, in a letter signed by the monk, to a +more responsible treasurer! I was a little shocked when Maxon was +accused of murder, but my spirit rejoiced at the thought of him in +jail! _Snake_! + +"The strike only brought out Simon's worst qualities of stubbornness +and vindictiveness. He ordered a closed shop, and suspended a lot of +innocent, needy clerks without pay. Except that it goaded him to fury, +a pleasant achievement to contemplate, I had to write off my strike as +a flash in the pan. + +"I chanced to discover that Simon's heel of Achilles was his fear of +death, so my next scheme was a pious plot to frighten him into behaving +like a human being and a good citizen. I had known the legend of the +monk all my life, of course, and it was while telling it to Janet one +day that I was struck with the idea of employing it to my own +ends--though I afterwards pretended to Simon that I first heard of it +from Sheila Graham. + +"The next time I went to New York I purchased the costume and a pair of +large boots from a theatrical supply store. I made a mask myself, and +wired the cowl to stay up so that it would give the impression of a +tall man. The large boots, of course, were to give a wrong idea of the +man's size in case I left tracks. + +"Sometimes I kept the outfit in the bottom of a trunk in that closet, +there, but more often it was hidden in a cubbyhole of my little house +down the hill. There is a very ancient and disreputable typewriter in +the attic, there, too, and I used that to write my messages on. I +concealed that, by the way, under a loose piece of flooring just as a +precaution, though I did not think then that a police case would ever +grow out of what I was doing! + +"I set the first fire in the tannery, and it fizzled out. Then I wrote +my first note to Simon and waylaid him in the trail. I slipped off the +disguise in the woods, ran to overtake him and pretended I, too, had +seen a 'ghost'. The next day I brought him that historical book and +read him the legend, and I had real hopes of humanizing him when I saw +how scared he was! + +"I followed up this jolt by firing the tannery again, hoping that its +destruction would necessitate the building of modern and proper +quarters for the men to work in. I was nearly caught that time--Simon +had the cunning to order his watchman to make double rounds! + +"That night brought things to a sudden head. I had escaped from the +tannery yard, run up into the woods and shed my disguise, and came back +to stand on the hill and watch the fire. + +"It was than that Leslie Sherwood spoke to me and made no bones about +expressing his hatred of Simon Varr. I was curious to know why he was +so bitter, and I had a sneaking notion that it might have something to +do with the way Leslie had suddenly deserted Hambleton and abandoned my +sister to his only admitted rival. It did! I asked him to tell me the +story back of it and he willingly complied. + +"It appears that Simon clerked for a time in a local bank of which +Leslie's father was the president, and while there had discovered old +Mr. Sherwood guilty of serious defalcations. Sherwood was too deeply +involved to extricate himself short of stupendous good luck and years +of effort, so Simon cunningly stored away his knowledge against a day +when it might come in useful. Blackmail. + +"The occasion arrived quickly. Lucy was obviously attached to Leslie, +if not secretly engaged to him. Simon went to Leslie and told him he +must withdraw with no word of explanation to Lucy under penalty of +having his father exposed as a thief! Leslie was knocked galley-west, +of course. He went to his father, found that Simon had told the truth, +had a row with the old gentleman and departed forthwith, stricken to +his soul. + +"I don't criticize Leslie for acting that way. He was obeying the +queer standards of behavior we have set up in the West. Actually, it +never once occurred to him that to kill a blackmailer of that type +rather than permit him to ruin a woman's life might be a very righteous +deed! I see you wince, Mr. Creighton! Please remember I have lived in +the East long enough to imbibe some of its philosophy. I don't +consider one human life so much more important than the happiness of +many other people! + +"Simon's death warrant was nearly signed that night, though he was to +have one more chance. I left Leslie and came home, and I won't even +try to describe my feelings when I realized how that monster had used +his power to sneak into this house and destroy Lucy's happiness! + +"The dagger on the table caught my eye and I remembered its +inscription. 'I Bring Peace'. Suggestive--very suggestive; I thought +of the peace it would bring to a number of persons if any one had the +courage to--to play Destiny. I thought of Leslie's expression when he +told me he still loved Lucy devotedly, and of hers when she heard the +news of his return. There were two more people who would find +happiness if Simon were removed. + +"I took the dagger, but of course that was dangerous by itself, so I +slipped into the study, pried up the roll-top cover of Simon's desk and +pouched a notebook that looked as if it must be valuable. Then I had +still another idea--it seemed a good one then! The house was still, +except for Bates snoring in the pantry. I went out on the piazza and +forced the lock of one of the living-room windows with the dagger. +Mmph! Wish I'd noticed that nick! I thought I was only leaving +evidence of a burglary! + +"The next evening I had a snappy talk with Simon. I told him that the +death of old Sherwood--who succeeded in rehabilitating his fortunes +before he died--had taken that particular curse off Leslie, and that +Leslie had told me everything. Simon merely asked me what I was going +to do about it. I suggested divorce--his last chance!--and he turned +it down. Just from meanness and malice, he turned it down. Blame me +for anything you please, but don't sympathize with Simon; he asked for +it! + +"I knew a detective was coming on the morrow and I wasn't anxious to +take more chances than I had to. The hour was striking--! + +"Don't look at me like that! I won't go on with that part of it! +Harrowing and gruesome, and not at all important. + +"I'm afraid I didn't take either the police or you very seriously. +More fool I! As I examined my position it seemed to me that I had left +absolutely no clue, that I was secure from every suspicion. Mmph. I +forgot Janet! + +"She and I never had secrets from each other until this affair of Simon +Varr. I had discussed him with her and she understood just what a blot +on society he was, but I had not confessed to playing Destiny! After +the murder, however, she learned of the monk who had been threatening +Simon. She knew I detested him, she knew all my points of view, and +her old mind began to work. Janet's mind is like the mills of the +gods; it grinds slowly but exceeding fine. + +"She watched me, questioned me slyly, and presently began a search for +proof of her suspicions. She found the notebook in the back of one of +my bureau drawers, and then she found the disguise in the house below +the hill. She knew the truth! + +"She has a Scotch conscience, which appears to be a terrible +affliction! She was horrified at her discovery, almost sickened, but +her loyalty to me rose above every other consideration. If she had +only come to me--! But she didn't; she elected to follow certain +impulses of her own conception. + +"The most important thing, according to her strict notions, was that +the stolen property should be returned to its rightful owners. In +wondering how best to do that, she evolved the crazy scheme of +appearing in the monk's costume some time when I was with you. She +could leave the notebook for you to find and at the same time provide +me with a perfect and impervious alibi in case suspicion was ever +directed my way! + +"You know how it worked out. It's a miracle she didn't kill poor Mr. +Krech! He looked very cunning in his bandage this evening! + +"Of course, Janet gave herself away to me! When she came home late +that night I had it out with her--and sent her away! I admired her +loyalty and spirit, but she was entirely too dangerous to have around! +I think Scotch consciences jump at odd angles like cats and detectives! + +"That brings the story to date, Mr. Creighton. You know everything +else, and the next move is yours." She leaned back and regarded him +quietly, her little mocking smile on her lips. "What is the usual +procedure? Do you make the arrest yourself? Or do you call the +police? What a triumph you will enjoy over Norvallis!" + +He did not reply in words. The answer lay on the floor beside his +foot, where he had dropped the note to Jason Bolt which he had brought +with him in his hurried dash to her side. He picked it up and gave it +to her. + +When she had read it, she let it drop in her lap. There was no mockery +in her expression at that moment, though she could not forego a +whimsical little taunt. + +"That isn't practicing what you preach, Mr. Creighton!" + +"I--I could not find the strength," he muttered hoarsely. + +She made no verbal response to that, but her eyes blessed him. After a +moment she forced one uncertain question from trembling lips. + +"Will you tell me wh-why?" + +"Yes. I've a confession to make, too, Miss Ocky." He nerved himself +to this ordeal. "I--I searched your room last evening while you were +at the Bolts. Looking for proof against Janet. Will you forgive me?" +He waited for her quick nod. "I found nothing, but I did see your +diary on that desk--and glanced at it." + +"Ah!" said Miss Ocky, her cheeks stained a deep crimson. + +"I found something there that interested me--made me--happy! A line +wishing we had met twenty years ago. Will you tell me what you meant +by that? I'm afraid to trust my own interpretation." He paused, but +she remained silent. "Anyway, I echo the wish! But twenty years is +not a lifetime. If you tell me what I want to hear, we can still have +many years--to forget Simon and think only of our own happiness--" + +"Oh, stop! Stop!" She flung out a hand imploringly and drew back from +him, her face ashen. "Oh, what a fool I've been--what a wicked little +fool! I saw this coming--I never should have let it happen--oh, I +should have hit you over the head--k-killed you, too!--anything but let +this go on! But I d-didn't have the s-trength either! I wanted my bit +of happiness--I wanted to be cared for like--like that by some +one--by--by _you_ above all! And now--and now--!" She broke off on a +sob. + +"But, Ocky! What is it, dear? We have the future--" + +"That's just what we haven't got!" she gasped. "Oh, don't you +understand? Haven't you guessed why I have done all these things, why +I was able to play Destiny without fear of the consequences to myself, +why I called you in to-night to hear my confession?" She drew a +sobbing breath, "I told you I was very ill. Peter, I--I'm _dying_!" + +Softly though it was spoken, the word crashed upon his ears like a +thunderclap. He sprang to his feet, shaken and bewildered. + +"Ocky! What are you saying? Are you telling me the truth? What is +the matter with you?" + +"Yes. It's the truth. Sit down--please! Don't get silly ideas into +your head about a doctor. Give me credit for some sense!" She managed +to smile, and gallantly pitched her voice to a note of lightness. "As +for what's the matter--well, we needn't wander off into pathology, need +we? I think we'll dispense with an ante-post-mortem, if there is such +an animal! I contrived to tie some of my little innards into bowknots +once when I was h-hunting hippopotamusses in the Himalayas, I guess. + +"Months afterwards, I came down with a pain--a pain such as I could not +have believed a human being could experience and survive, I went to a +doctor in Paris, and he told me there was no hope. A few months later +I had a second attack. When I was able to travel, I went to a new man +in Rome. He said the next attack would be the--last. + +"Then I came home. I wanted to see Lucy again, and if this stupid +business of dying had to be gone through I wanted to do it here in this +old house. I wanted a few weeks or months of peace and quiet and +h-happiness." Her voice broke, then steadied again. "Golly--what a +fizzle!" She shivered. "This afternoon I got my--notice! How I +wished you were here! I came up to my room, burned that diary--you +snooped just in time, Peter!--and wrote two letters. I didn't dare +leave the house to mail them. I might have dropped in the--_ah_!" + +Swift as a flash of lightning it had come. Beyond that one moan she +fought silently, lips tight, one hand clutching at her side, through +seconds that seemed eternities to the man watching helplessly. At last +the spasm passed and speech returned to her. + +"That's--just a preliminary twinge!" she whispered between her teeth. +"Peter--there's something beyond the stars! You believe that, don't +you?" + +"My dear--my dear!" + +"That's all right, then." She looked at him long. "I wonder if you'll +ever forgive me for hurting you like this. Try, won't you, Peter?" +Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. "Will you get me a glass +of--water. On the table by my bed." She waited as he eagerly fetched +it, grateful that he could do even this much. "Thanks. Now, a +handkerchief--over there on the bureau." Again she waited, this time +until he was across the room by her dressing-table. Then she raised +the glass and spoke softly. "I'm glad I took this from _your_ +hands--Peter!" + +She had not thought him capable of such quickness. Not a drop had +passed her lips before he was upon her with the leap of a frightened +deer. A vicious sweep of his hand sent the glass from her fingers out +the window and through the moonlit night, to fall harmless on the lawn. + +"Ocky--what were you doing?" he demanded almost furiously. + +"Peter--what have you _done_?" she retorted. "That was all I had--all +I had! Oh, that was a cruel of you! Why do you want me to suffer? +Could you not let me die in peace?" + +"You aren't going to die!" he cried. "Listen--how long will it be +before another of those attacks comes on?" + +"I--don't know. Several hours, p-perhaps." She stared at him +open-eyed. "Wh-what are you going to do?" + +"Local doctor, for temporary relief. To-morrow, the best +diagnosticians--and surgeons if necessary--in New York." He was alert, +now, coolly capable, free of the stupor of grief and despair. His face +was grimly defiant as he added, "We'll see how much those gentlemen in +Rome and Paris really know!" + +"Oh--it's useless, Peter. And--and I _can't_ live! They'll h-hang me! +Peter, there's something I haven't told you. I hadn't stopped to think +until lately that an unsolved crime leaves so much ugly suspicion in +its wake! Innocent people--suspected all their lives! I couldn't die +with that on my soul so--so this afternoon I wrote a full confession +and mailed it to Norvallis--" + +"Oh--_that_!" he said contemptuously. He reached into his pocket, +plucked forth two letters and dropped them in her lap. "There!" + +"Peter!" She stared at them. "Where on earth--? I couldn't go to +town s-so I gave them to young Merrill to post. And he--he--" + +"Is one of my men, introduced by Judge Taylor at my request! I'm glad +you picked him, Ocky! He placed them on my desk, as in duty bound." +He hesitated, eyeing her dubiously. "I'm going for that +doctor--Joliffe, the chap your sister has had. I liked his looks. +First, though, I suppose I'll have to rouse Bates to mount guard over +you!" + +"No-no--not that! Whatever happens, let that be our secret!" + +"You must promise me not to do anything foolish while I'm gone." He +took one of her hands and clasped it tightly in both of his. "Ocky, +keep your nerve, dear! I'm going to get you out of this--get you out +_somehow_! Leave it to me, dear, and stop worrying. Now, promise me!" + +"There's another thing, Peter; I ought to tell you while we have this +opportunity to talk. Mr. Krech knows I--I did it!" + +"Krech! _Krech_! How in thunder--" + +"I don't know, but he does. It would have been funny last n-night if +it hadn't been so tragic! He got me alone for a few minutes and began +to drop hints; said you were practically certain of the criminal and +that if he were the murderer he would do almost anything desperate to +prevent himself from being caught, only he admitted he couldn't think +of anything!" + +"Will wonders never cease! However, we needn't bother our heads about +Krech--I'd trust him with my life. Can't waste any more time on him +now. Promise me, Ocky!" + +"It's--no--use--" + +"_Promise me!_" + +"I--I promise, Peter!" + +He bent and kissed her almost fiercely--and was gone. + + + + +_XXIV: Beyond the Stars_ + +The next two hours for Peter Creighton were more like a nightmare than +a nightmare itself. First he aroused Bates and startled the old man +with the news of Miss Ocky's illness, and ordered him to call Lucy Varr +and suggest that she go immediately to her sister. He could not bear +the thought of Ocky sitting there alone with hideous memories of the +past and fearful doubts of the future. Then he ran to the garage, +jumped in the car and drove madly through the night to the home of +Doctor Joliffe. The physician was an elderly and experienced man +long-practiced in the art of turning out promptly for these midnight +emergencies, and he was pulling on his trousers almost before the +door-bell had ceased to ring, but to the anguished gaze of the +detective he resembled nothing more than a languid snail with white +whiskers. It seemed as if they would never get back to the house. + +They finally did, and Joliffe took competent charge of the situation. +Creighton, banished peremptorily, went into his room, extinguished the +lamp, and sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark to await a +verdict from the doctor. At each side of him his fingers gripped the +corner of the mattress tensely. + +He had not waited thus above fifteen minutes when he heard a familiar, +heavy tread in the hall outside. His door was unceremoniously flung +open and the space filled by a huge form. + +"Creighton--you in here?" + +"Hello, Krech. What are you doing here at this hour?" + +"Haven't been sleeping well lately. Got up to smoke a cigar, looked +out my bedroom window and saw this house lighted up. What's doing?" + +"Miss Copley is seriously ill--perhaps--dying." + +"The deuce!" ejaculated Krech, startled. He fumbled in his pocket, +produced a match and struck it. "Mind if I light the lamp?" But the +flickering flame of the match showed him a face so white and drawn that +he caught his breath in sudden realization of the truth. He abandoned +his idea of lighting the lamp and fumbled his way to a chair near the +foot of the bed. "So--you _know_!" he said quietly. + +"Yes," admitted the detective wearily. "But how did _you_?" + +"I tumbled to it the night you went to New York," answered Krech, his +voice anything but happy. "I didn't go home after I left you at the +station. Came back here. You hinted something might happen if you +went away and gave it a chance, and I didn't see why it shouldn't +happen right away. I hoped the monk would turn up again; had a notion +that my head would feel better if I could once get my hands on that +wire-stretching humorist. + +"I kept carefully out of sight in the woods and settled down at a point +where I could watch both the kitchen garden and the spot where we'd +last seen the monk. I waited three hours. If patience and +perseverance make a good detective I was the best in the world that +night. + +"The reason I waited so long was that I was interested in a lighted +window--Miss Ocky's. She was keeping pretty late hours, talking to +Janet Mackay, I recognized her tall, thin shadow as it occasionally +fell on the blinds, and you know I had already suggested that there was +something dubious about Janet because of her acquaintance with Charlie +Maxon. + +"That light didn't go out until three in the morning. A few minutes +later I saw some one slip out the back door of the house and hurry +across the garden to the trail. Janet! It was brilliant moonlight, +you'll remember, and I recognized her at once. + +"I followed her, keeping a cautious distance behind. Lost her once +when she vanished from the trail into the woods, but she came back a +minute or two later with a bundle under her arm that she had retrieved +from some hiding-place. After that she took a bypath leading downhill +in the direction of that poisonous little brook which runs through +those meadows after passing the tannery. + +"I watched her as she knelt down on the bank of the stream, weighted +her bundle with a couple of rocks and hove it as far out as she could +into the water. She stood watching the bubbles break above the spot +where it disappeared, then turned and marched away erect as a grenadier +and calm as a cucumber. + +"I let her go, of course. My interest was centered in that stuff she +had sunk, and I scurried around until I found a long pole. Then I +started dredging operations that would have been a credit to De Lesseps +himself--and brought ashore that bundle. + +"You've guessed what it was. The monk's disguise, complete even to the +shoes! + +"You were gone, or I'd have brought the reeking mess to you. I +couldn't smuggle it into Bolt's house without embarrassing +explanations--after a dip in that brook, those clothes advertised their +presence to a distance of a hundred yards. Finally, I threw them back +into the water, making careful note of the exact location, and went off +to where I had left Jason's car. + +"I was pretty well pleased with myself as I drove home. It seemed to +me that I had solved the mystery of who killed Simon Varr, and it +didn't injure my self-esteem any to think I had nailed the crime on the +very person I had first suspected. Great work! I finally appeared +before Jean all covered with mud and medals. + +"It was when we were talking it over that the same awful idea came to +us both. The more we thought it out, the less plausible seemed the +theory of Janet's guilt. A sharper wit than hers had planned the +murder. I told Jean about the long interview with Miss Ocky before +Janet went out to destroy the evidence, and Jean groaned. It grew +plain as a pike-staff that Janet was at worst an accomplice, and more +probably only an accessory after the crime. + +"Her abrupt departure the next day appeared to clinch this hypothesis. +She--she would not betray her mistress and friend, but the shock of the +discovery she must have made had proved too much for her. We figured +she had either left voluntarily to--to pacify her own conscience, or at +Miss Ocky's insistence because she was too dangerous to have around. +And--and that's all, Creighton!" + +It wasn't all, as no one knew better than the detective himself. There +was something yet that had to be brought into the light and discussed. +Moved to the very depths of his being, he reached out in the dark and +dropped a hand gently on the big man's knee. + +"Why didn't you tell me this at once, Krech?" + +"I knew you'd ask that! Well, it was because Jean had some notion--and +I did, for that matter--that if you learned the truth you'd--you'd get +an awful jolt. We have both come to like Miss Ocky immensely, and I +needn't tell you how we feel toward you! When it came to a choice of +hurting you or condoning a crime we--we didn't hesitate long. Jean +said if I ever let out a peep about what I'd seen that night, she'd +divorce me--and, honestly, Creighton, I think she _meant_ it!" + +Some emotions do not lend themselves readily to verbal expression. +Peter Creighton was silent, but there was eloquence in the tightening +of his hand on Krech's knee. The big man spoke again, mournfully. + +"Do you remember that afternoon at the tannery when I said I'd like +just for once to find out something before you did? Well, I got my +wish the other night--and I'd have given an arm to alter the meaning of +what I'd found!" + +"Thank you, Krech. You and Jean are two of the best friends a man ever +had." The detective paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I +expect you'd like to know how I stumbled on to the truth--? All right." + +Though he was scarcely conscious of it, the telling of that story +brought him some measure of relief. It eased the ordeal of waiting for +news from the next room. He was forced to concentrate his thoughts on +what he was saying to the exclusion of anxieties and fears, and shortly +his chief concern was the clear presentation of his narrative. + +He deemed it advisable that Krech, since he knew so much, should know +all. The single incident he left untold was his dashing of the lethal +glass from Ocky's lips--that, as she had stipulated, should remain +their own secret. + +"You always manage to fool me, Creighton," said his friend as the +detective ended. "I never guessed Merrill was your man, and I never +dreamed that you knew about Janet's flight in time to wish Kitty Doyle +on her. Jean and I would have bet any amount of money that you weren't +within a hundred miles of the truth." + +"Your bet would have been safe twenty-four hours ago." + +"Now the question is--" + +Creighton suddenly sprang into activity. A door had opened and shut +softly close at hand, a light footfall sounded from the hall, and the +detective leaped to fling back his door as a set of bony knuckles was +extended to rap on it. + +Krech did not leave his chair, but his ears were strained to their +limit. He caught various illuminating phrases from a brisk, capable +little person with flowing white whiskers. + +"Resting now ... Opiates ... Careful examination ... Curious case +... Similar one ... Medical text books ... To-morrow ... +MacNaughton ... Billy MacNaughton ... Best Man ... Know Him? ... +Fine fellow ... Exquisite touch with the knife ... I will telegraph +... No complications ... No reason for excessive alarm ... Very +simple ... Expert surgeon ... Splendid constitution ... Strong as a +Shetland pony ... Better go to bed yourself ... Good-night ... +Tut-tut, don't mention it ... _Good_-night!" + +Creighton shut the door quietly, turned and lighted the lamp. Krech +saw that much of the trouble had gone from his face--much, but not all. + +"You heard what he said, Krech?" + +"She's going to pull through?" + +"He thinks so." + +"That's good news. At least--I suppose it is." + +"Huh? What in thunder do you _mean_?" + +Krech deliberately lighted a fresh cigar before he answered, eyeing his +friend steadily as he spoke. + +"If she recovers, what will you do?" he asked calmly. "Hand her over +to the police--as you should?" + +Creighton stared at him. Then he suddenly swore--crisply, concisely, +and without passion. + +"That's all right, then!" said the big man with satisfaction. "I'll +tell Jean just what you have said. In the event of your learning the +truth, we felt some concern as to whether or not you'd be--be--" + +"_What?_" + +"Well--human!" + +"Um." The detective gave a little laugh that was totally devoid of +mirth. "Yes, I'm going to be--human! I fought that battle all day +yesterday! I find that Ocky means more to me than--than honor, to put +it bluntly and melodramatically." + +"Cheers!" cried the unscrupulous Mr. Krech. "Loud cheers!" + +"I came to another decision," continued Creighton seriously, "one that +is dictated by common decency if nothing else. This is my last case. +My shingle is coming down forthwith. I haven't met the acid test. +I've quit under fire. I'm a deserter from the ranks. I'm--_through_!" +He shook his head as Krech started to protest. "No. Whatever happens, +that is definitely settled." + +"Whatever happens," repeated the big man musingly, the phrase recalling +him to certain practical considerations. "Let's see. Jean and I know +the truth; we're mum. Janet knows it; she's safe. How about Kitty +Doyle? That young lady is sharper than a serpent's tooth, as I +remember her! Suppose she tumbles to It? Will she join the conspiracy +of silence?" + +"I believe Kitty is a friend of mine," said Creighton, and added +simply, "I'm singularly fortunate in my friends, Krech." + +The next moment he jumped nervously as some one rapped gently on his +door. He glanced at the big man appealingly, and sat down again on the +edge of his bed. + +"All right," grinned Krech. "Leave it to me!" + +"A telegram for Mr. Creighton, sir," said Bates, as the door was opened +to him. "The boy just brought it this minute." + +"That must be something from Kitty now," muttered Creighton when the +butler had gone. "Open it and read it, will you? My nerve has gone to +pieces!" He shifted uneasily. "Hurry up!" + +"Yes, it's from Kitty," confirmed Krech, opening the envelope and +glancing at the signature on the message. "A long one, too. Here +goes!" He held the paper under the lamp and began to read, casually at +first, then rapidly as the import of the dispatch quickened his pulse. + + +"_Arrived hotel. Secured room adjoining Janet. Bed early. Was +restless, talkative. Unable distinguish words. Picked lock +communicating door. Listened by bed. Incoherent. Suddenly awoke. +Surprised me. I used own judgment as instructed. Made best of bad +situation. Accused her of murder. Threatened her with police. +Terrible scene. Frantic denials followed by complete collapse. Full +confession. Made lengthy synopsis. Obtained signature. Abruptly she +seemed to go mad. Raved wildly. On point summoning assistance when +violently attacked. Threw me in corner. Threw bureau on top of me. +Before interference possible ran to open window. Jumped out. Six +stories. Death instantaneous. Wire instructions. K. Doyle._" + + +"Gee Joseph!" gasped Krech, and handed the telegram to the detective, +who had sprung to his elbow long since and peered over his shoulder. +The big man walked back to his chair and dropped into it limply. "I'm +all unstarched!" he said plaintively. "Save my sanity and tell me what +it's all about! How many people killed Simon Varr?" + +"One!" answered Creighton grimly, but his eyes were shining. "Janet +Mackay! And Ocky--Ocky thought she was dying--! She tried to shield +Janet by assuming the guilt! Merciful Heaven, what a thing to do! No +wonder she insisted on my recalling Kitty Doyle at once! Threatened to +turn her sacrifice into a wasted gesture, Kitty did--and, by golly, +Kitty _has_! But it wasn't wasted as far as we're concerned--we can +always appreciate it! It was fine, Krech--fine!" + +"But foolish," grunted Krech. "Think of the unhappiness she would have +caused every one who is fond of her if she'd been allowed to roll up +her reputation into a ball and kick it away!" + +"Don't you suppose that thought hurt her?" cried Creighton. "If laying +down your life for a friend exemplifies the greater love, what of a +woman who lays down her reputation? Isn't that even finer?" + +"Y-yes. Perhaps you're right. But--she condoned a crime." + +"Uh-huh. And I think you and I are in a nice position to criticize +her, aren't we? Perhaps Jean might help us there!" + +Creighton, carried out of himself by a _denouement_ almost beyond +belief, was close to laughter. Mr. Krech was not. He left his chair +and began to saunter uncertainly around the room, pausing finally at +the desk and staring down at its blotter, his back turned to his +companion. A more neutral observer than the other, he thought he could +see a question arising that had not yet occurred to the +less-unprejudiced detective. But Creighton would stumble upon it +eventually--far better to thrash it out now. + +"Why did Janet kill Simon Varr?" he opened the subject. + +"Why--why--" Creighton stammered, at a loss for a moment, but recovered +himself swiftly as an answer came. "Don't you understand that? Her +motive was the one Ocky professed! She was playing Destiny! She knew +all about Varr--they discussed him at length--and she had always had a +distaste for the man since the old days in this house. When Ocky told +her the story of the monk, it was she who conceived the idea of the +masquerade. It was she who knew Maxon's propensity for mischief-making +and selected him as a deputy. It was she who threatened Simon, fired +the tannery--but why go on? The two women are simply interchangeable, +and Ocky had only to repeat in her own person the confession she forced +from Janet--" + +"Why was she so long suspecting Janet?" + +"Huh? Well--if a murder is committed are you apt to suspect a person +you've known as well as you know yourself for twenty-five years? I've +been wondering what first directed Ocky's suspicion to her companion, +and I think I have the answer. The other day when Sherwood was +describing the actions of the monk at the time of the murder, Ocky +suddenly revealed a tremendous lot of emotion; depend upon it, +something he said then must have given her a clue to the truth. And +the incident of the fingerprints on the notebook--change one woman for +the other and that is explained! It was not the cautious Janet that +found the book in Ocky's bureau--it was the heedless Ocky who found it +somewhere among Janet's things and never stopped to think that she was +leaving prints when she picked it up!" + +"But--this playing Destiny, as you call it. Ocky could do that without +fear of the consequences, since she believed her days to be numbered, +but could Janet?" + +"Why not?" Creighton's voice was still confident but he had begun to +look askance at his friend as he caught a hint of something more +serious behind this inquisition. "Haven't we an explanation for that +in Kitty's telegram? She says 'Janet seemed to go mad'. Isn't that +the whole story after all? Janet was unbalanced; she pondered the +cussedness of Varr; she fell victim to an obsession. She began to +picture herself as a scourge of the unrighteous--she probably read up +on Jael and Charlotte Corday and women like that. Her brain cracked. +I'm not romancing, either. History is full of cold-blooded murders +committed from motives of altruism. Common enough, both the cause and +effect. Anyway, we have Janet's full confession coming to us--" He +broke off short at an involuntary movement on the part of his +friend--and abruptly a fear crept into his eyes. "_Krech_--what are +you thinking of?" + +"The same thing you are, Creighton." + +"Put it into words!" commanded the detective fiercely. + +"You've done it yourself. You have pointed out that the two women are +interchangeable. So they are--even to the point where each makes what +is tantamount to a dying statement! Ocky's confession was convincing +when you heard it, wasn't it? Janet's will be equally so when it +arrives. Creighton--which are we to believe?" + +"That's it!" whispered Creighton. "That's it!" + +The big man came back slowly from the desk. They stared at each other +blankly. The light had gone from the detective's eyes, the new born +life from his limbs. He felt weak and beaten as he contemplated this +fresh perplexity. He moistened his lips before he could speak. + +"It--it seems to resolve itself into a problem in psychology," he said +wearily. "No definite, tangible proof either way. Janet was perhaps +the more likely of the two to commit murder--I know something of that +dour Scotch temperament and its slow-burning fire that suddenly +explodes into flame. She traveled with Ocky and imbibed her own share +of Oriental fatalism. On the other hand, Ocky was far the cleverer of +the two, there's no denying that. Hers would be the brain more apt to +conceive the masquerade of the monk, the promotion of the strike, the +concoction of that note with its queer phrases--'stiff-necked son of +Belial', 'thunderbolts of wrath'--all that stuff. Yet again, those are +just the expressions Janet might use if she were afflicted with a +semi-religious mania! But Ocky was better equipped mentally to carry +the scheme through, that took a cool head, and Janet, from Kitty's +account, was rather of the emotional, high-strung, hysterical type. +Oh--!" Creighton raised his two hands and dropped them despairingly. +"Krech--I'm just going around in circles!" + +"There's no other place _to_ go," declared the big man morosely. "But +I disagree with your last description of Janet. She may have been +hysterical in Montreal but she was cool enough the last time I saw her. +The way she marched down to that brook with evidence of a first degree +murder under her arm! And the way she stood watching the bubbles, +nodding her head and rubbing her hands together as if to say, 'Well, +_that's_ a good job done!'-- _Creighton_! What is it?" + +The detective did not reply. Perhaps he could not trust his voice, +perhaps he wished to enjoy in silence the wave of happiness and +exquisite relief that flooded his breast. He rose abruptly, and +further to conceal his emotion he walked to the French window and flung +it open. + +The night was gone. The eastern sky was a blaze of crimson glory. +Some of its radiance was reflected from his face as he draw a deep +breath of the fresh morning air. + +"Hullo," he said huskily. "It--it's dawn!" + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Monk of Hambleton, by Armstrong Livingston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MONK OF HAMBLETON *** + +***** This file should be named 30450.txt or 30450.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/5/30450/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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