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diff --git a/old/67531-0.txt b/old/67531-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b6d43f8..0000000 --- a/old/67531-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6927 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Amateur Inn, by Albert Payson -Terhune - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Amateur Inn - -Author: Albert Payson Terhune - -Release Date: February 28, 2022 [eBook #67531] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR INN *** - - - - - - THE AMATEUR INN - - ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE - - - - -_By_ - -ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE - - - LOCHINVAR LUCK - FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LAD - BUFF: A COLLIE - THE AMATEUR INN - BLACK CÆSAR’S CLAN - BLACK GOLD - - NEW YORK: - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - THE - AMATEUR INN - - BY - ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - THE AMATEUR INN. II - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I A NON-SKIPPABLE PROLOGUE 9 - - II AT LAST THE STORY BEGINS 22 - - III AN INVOLUNTARY LANDLORD 44 - - IV TWO OR THREE INTRUDERS 56 - - V ROBBER’S ROOST, UNINCORPORATED 75 - - VI THE POLICE AND THE DUKE OF ARGYLE 90 - - VII FAITH AND UNFAITH AND SOME MOONLIGHT 103 - - VIII THE INQUISITION 112 - - IX A LIE OR TWO 125 - - X A CRY IN THE NIGHT 140 - - XI WHAT LAY BEYOND THE SMASHED DOOR 161 - - XII WHEREIN CLIVE PLAYS THE FOOL 175 - - XIII HOW ONE OATH WAS TAKEN 192 - - XIV A CLUELESS CLUE 211 - - XV THE IMPOSSIBLE 220 - - XVI THE COLLIE TESTIFIES 231 - - XVII UNTANGLING THE SNARL 243 - - XVIII WHEN HE CAME HOME 257 - - XIX A MAN AND A MAID AND ANOTHER MAN 283 - - - - -THE AMATEUR INN - - - - -THE AMATEUR INN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A NON-SKIPPABLE PROLOGUE - - -Osmun Vail doesn’t come into this story at all. Yet he was responsible -for everything that happened in it. - -He was responsible for the whistling cry in the night, and for the -Thing that huddled among the fragrant boxtrees, and for the love of a -man and a maid--or rather the loves of several men and a maid--and for -the amazing and amusing and jewel-tangled dilemma wherein Thaxton was -shoved. - -He was responsible for much; though he was actively to blame for -nothing. Moreover he and his career were interesting. - -So he merits a word or two, if only to explain what happened before the -rise of our story’s curtain. - -At this point, the boreful word, Prologue, should be writ large, with -a space above and below it, by way of warning. But that would be the -sign to skip. And one cannot skip this short prologue without losing -completely the tangled thread of the yarn which follows--a thread worth -gripping and a yarn more or less worth telling. - -So let us dispose of the prologue, without calling it by its baleful -name; and in a mere mouthful or two of words. Something like this: - -When Osmun Vail left his father’s Berkshire farm, at twenty-one, to -seek his fortune in New York, he wore his $12 “freedom suit” and had a -cash capital of $18, besides his railway ticket. - -Followed forty years of brow-sweat and brain-wrack and one of those -careers whose semi-occasional real-life recurrence keeps the Success -magazines out of the pure-fiction class. - -When Osmun Vail came back, at sixty-one, to the Berkshire farm that -had been his father’s until the mortgage was foreclosed, he was worth -something more than five million dollars. His life-battle had been -fought and won. His tired soul yearned unspeakably for the peace and -loveliness of the pleasant hill country where he had been born--the -homeland he had half-forgotten and which had wholly forgotten him and -his. - -Osmun recalled the prim village of Stockbridge, the primmer town of -Pittsfield, drowsing beneath South Mountain, the provincial scatter of -old houses known as Lenox; the tumbled miles of mountain wilderness and -the waste of lush farmland between and around them. - -At sixty-one he found Pittsfield a new city; and saw a Lenox and -Stockbridge that had been discovered and renovated by beauty-lovers -from the distant outside world. All that region was still in the youth -of its golden development. But the wave had set in, and had set in -strong. - -A bit dazzled and more than a little troubled by the transformation, -Osmun Vail sought the farm of his birth and the nearby village of -Aura. Here at least nothing had changed; except that his father’s -house--built by his grandfather’s own gnarled hands--had burned down; -taking the rattle-trap red barns with it. The whole hilltop farm lay -weedgrown, rank, desolate. In the abomination of desolation, a deserted -New England farm can make Pompeii look like a hustling metropolis. -There is something awesome in its new deadness. - -Cold fingers seemed to catch Osmun by the throat and by the -heartstrings; as he stared wistfully from the house’s site, to the -neglected acres his grandsire had cleared and his sire had loved. -From the half-memory of a schoolday poem, the returned wanderer quoted -chokingly: - -“_Here will I pitch my tent. Here will I end my days._” - -Then on the same principle of efficient promptitude which had lifted -him from store-porter to a bank presidency, Osmun Vail proceeded to -realize a dream he had fostered through the bleakly busy decades of his -exile. - -For a ridiculously low price he bought back and demortgaged the farm -and the five hundred acres that bordered it. He turned loose a horde of -landscape artists upon the domain. He sent overseas for two renowned -British architects, and bade them build him a house on the hilltop that -should be a glorious monument to his own success and to his father’s -memory. To Boston and to New York he sent, for a legion of skilled -laborers. And the estate of Vailholme was under way. - -Fashion, wealth, modernity, had skirted this stretch of rolling valley -to northeast of Stockbridge and to south of Lenox. The straggly -one-street village of Aura drowsed beneath its giant elms; as it had -drowsed since a quarter-century after the Pequot wars. The splashing -invasion of this moneyed New Yorker created more neighborhood -excitement than would the visit of a Martian to Brooklyn. - -Excitement and native hostility to outsiders narrowed down to a very -keen and very personal hatred of Osmun Vail; when it was learned that -all his skilled labor and all his building material had been imported -from points beyond the soft green mountain walls which hedge Aura -Valley. - -Now there was not a soul in the Valley capable of building any edifice -more imposing or imaginative than a two-story frame house. There was -no finished material in the Valley worth working into the structure -of such a mansion as Osmun proposed. But this made no difference. An -outlander had come back to crow over his poor stay-at-home neighbors, -and he was spending his money on outside help and goods, to the -detriment of the natives. That was quite enough. The tide of icy New -England hate swelled from end to end of the Valley; and it refused to -ebb. - -These Aura folk were Americans of Puritan stock--a race to whom -sabotage and arson are foreign. Thus they did not seek to destroy or -even to hamper the work at Vailholme. But their aloofness was made as -bitter and blighting as a Bible prophet’s curse. For example: - -When his great house was but half built, Osmun ran up from New York, -one gray January Saturday afternoon, to inspect the job. This he did -every few weeks. And, on his tours, he made headquarters at Plum’s, in -Stockbridge, six miles away. This was an ancient and honorable hostelry -which some newfangled folk were even then beginning to call “The Red -Lion Inn,” and whose food was one of Life’s Compensations. Thence, on a -livery nag, Vail was wont to ride out to his estate. - -On this January trip Osmun found that Plum’s had closed, at Christmas, -for the season. He drove on to Aura, only to find the village’s one inn -was shut for repairs. Planning to continue his quest of lodgings as -far as Lenox or, if necessary, to Pittsfield, Osmun went up, through a -snowstorm, to his uncompleted hilltop mansion of Vailholme. - -He had brought along a lunch, annexed from the Stockbridge bakery. So -interested did he become in wandering from one unceilinged room to -another, and furnishing and refurnishing them in his mind, that he did -not notice the steady increase of the snowfall and of the wind which -whipped it into fury. - -By the time he went around to the shed, at the rear of the house, -where he had stabled the livery horse, he could scarce see his hand -before his face. The gale was hurling the tons of snow from end to end -of the Valley, in solid masses. There was no question of holding the -road or even of finding it. The horse knew that--and he snorted, and -jerked back on the bit when Osmun essayed to lead him from shelter. - -Every minute, the blizzard increased. - -The corps of indoor laborers and their bosses had gone to their -Pittsfield quarters, for Sunday. Osmun had the deserted place to -himself. Swathed in his greatcoat and in a mountain of burlap, and -burrowing into a bed of torn papers and paint-blotched wall-cloths, he -made shift to pass a right miserable night. - -By dawn the snowfall had ceased. But so had the Valley’s means of -entrance and of exit. The two roads leading from it to the outer -world were choked breast high with solid drifts. For at least three -days there could be no ingress or egress. Aura bore this isolation, -philosophically. To be snowbound and cut off from the rest of the -universe was no novelty to the Valley hamlet. Osmun bore it less calmly. - -By dint of much skill and more persuasion, he piloted his floundering -horse down the hill and into the village. There, at the first house, -he demanded food and shelter. He received neither. Neither the offer of -much money nor an appeal to common humanity availed. It took him less -than an hour to discover that Aura was unanimous in its mode of paying -him back for his slight to its laborers. Not a house would take him in. -Not a villager would sell him a meal or so much as feed his horse. - -Raging impotently, Osmun rode back to his frigid and draughty hilltop -mansion-shell. By the time he had been shivering there for an hour a -thin little man stumped up the steps. - -The newcomer introduced himself as Malcolm Creede. He had stopped for -a few minutes in Aura, that morning, for provisions, and had heard the -gleeful accounts of the villagers as to their treatment of the stuck-up -millionaire. Wherefore, Creede had climbed the hill, in order to offer -the scanty hospitality of his own farmhouse to Osmun, until such time -as the roads from the Valley should be open. - -Osmun greeted the offer with a delight born of chill and starvation. -Leading his horse, he followed Creede across a trackless half-mile or -so to a farm that nestled barrenly in a cup of the hills. During the -plungingly arduous walk he learned something of his host. - -Creede was a Scotchman, who had begun life as a schoolmaster; and who -had come to America, with his invalid wife, to better his fortunes. A -final twist of fate had stranded the couple on this Berkshire farm. -Here, six months earlier, the wife had died, leaving her heart-crushed -husband with twin sons a few months old. Here, ever since, the widower -had eked out a pitifully bare living; and had cared, as best he might, -for his helpless baby boys. His meager homestead, by the way, had -gleefully been named by luckier and more witty neighbors, “Rackrent -Farm.” The name had stuck. - -Before the end of Osmun Vail’s enforced stay at Rackrent Farm, -gratitude to his host had merged into genuine friendship. The two -lonely men took to each other, as only solitaries with similar tastes -can hope to. Osmun guessed, though Creede denied it, that the Good -Samaritan deed of shelter must rouse neighborhood animosity against the -Scotchman. - -Osmun guessed, and with equal correctness, that this silent and broken -Scot would be bitterly offended at any offer of money payment for -his hospitality. And Vail set his own ingenuity to work for means of -rewarding the kindness. - -As a result, within six months Malcolm Creede was installed as manager -(“factor,” Creede called it) of the huge new Berkshire estate of -Vailholme and was supervising work on a big new house built for him by -Osmun in a corner of the estate. - -Creede was woefully ignorant of business matters. Coming into a small -inheritance from a Scotch uncle, he turned the pittance over to Vail -for investment. And he was merely delighted--in no way suspicious--when -the investments brought him in an income of preposterous size. Osmun -Vail never did things by halves. - -Deeply grateful, Creede threw his energy and boundless enthusiasm into -his new duties. He went further. One of his twin sons he christened -“Clive” for the inheritance-leaving uncle in Scotland. But the other -he named “Osmun,” in honor of his benefactor. Vail, much gratified at -the compliment, insisted on taking over the education of both lads. The -childless bachelor reveled in his rôle of fairy godfather to them. - -But there was another result of Osmun Vail’s chilly vigil in the -half-finished hilltop mansion. During the hour before Creede had come -to his rescue the cold and hungry multimillionaire had taken a vow as -solemn as it was fantastic. - -He swore he would set aside not less than ten of his house’s -forty-three rooms for the use of any possible wayfarers who might be -stranded, as he had been, in that inhospitable wilderness, and who -could afford to pay for decent accommodations. Not tramps or beggars, -but folk who, like himself, might come that way with means for buying -food and shelter, and to whom such food and shelter might elsewhere be -denied. - -This oath he talked over with Creede. The visionary Scot could see -nothing ridiculous about it. Accordingly, ten good rooms were allotted -mentally to paying guests, and a clause in Vail’s will demanded that -his heirs maintain such rooms, if necessary, for the same purpose. The -fact was not advertised. And during Osmun’s quarter-century occupancy -of Vailholme nobody took advantage of the chance. - -During that quarter-century the wilderness’s beauty attracted more and -more people of means and of taste. Once-bleak hills blossomed into -estates. The village of Aura became something of a resort. The face of -the whole countryside changed. - -When Osmun Vail died (see, we are through with him already, though not -so much as launched on the queer effects of his queerer actions!) he -bequeathed to his beloved crony, Malcolm Creede, the sum of $500,000, -and a free gift of the house he had built for him, and one hundred -acres of land around it. - -Creede had named this big new home “Canobie,” in memory of his mother’s -borderland birthplace. He still owned Rackrent Farm, two miles distant. -He had taken pride, in off moments, in improving the sorry old -farmhouse and bare acres into something of the quaint well-being which -he and his dead wife had once planned for their wilderness home. Within -a year after Vail’s death Creede also died, leaving his fortune and his -two homes, jointly, to his twin sons, Clive and Osmun. - -The bulk of Vail’s fortune--a matter of $4,000,000 and the estate -of Vailholme--went to the testator’s sole living relative; his -grand-nephew, young Thaxton Vail, a popular and easy-going chap who, -for years, had made his home with his great-uncle. - -Along with Vailholme, naturally, went the proviso that ten of its -forty-three rooms should be set aside, if necessary, for hotel -accommodations. - -Thaxton Vail nodded reminiscently, as he read this clause in the will. -Long since, Osmun had explained its origin to him. The young fellow had -promised, in tolerant affection for the oldster, to respect the whim. -As nobody ever yet had taken advantage of the hotel proposition and as -not six people, then alive, had heard of it, he felt safe enough in -accepting the odd condition along with the gift. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -AT LAST THE STORY BEGINS - - -Among the two million Americans shoved bodily into the maelstrom of the -World War were Thaxton Vail and the Creede twins. - -This story opens in the spring of 1919, when all three had returned -from overseas service. - -Aura and the summer-colony were heartily glad to have Thaxton Vail -back again. He was the sort of youth who is liked very much by nine -acquaintances in ten and disliked by fewer than one in ninety. But -there was no such majority opinion as to the return of the two young -Creedes. - -The twins, from babyhood, had been so alike in looks and in outward -mannerisms that not five per cent of their neighbors could tell them -apart. But there all resemblance ceased. - -Clive Creed was of the same general type as young Vail, who was his -lifelong chum. They were much alike in traits and in tastes. They even -shared--that last year before the war cut a hole in the routine of -their pleasant lives--a mutual ardor for Doris Lane, who, with her old -aunt, Miss Gregg, spent her summers at Stormcrest, across the valley -from Vailholme. It was the first shadow of rivalry in their chumship. - -Clive and Thaxton had the same pleasantly easy-going ways, the -same unforced likableness. They were as popular as any men in the -hill-country’s big summer-colony. Their wartime absence had been a -theme for genuine regret to Aura Valley. - -Except in looks, Osmun Creede was as unlike his twin brother as any -one could well have been. The man had every Scotch flaw and crotchet, -without a single Scotch virtue. Old Osmun Vail had sized up the lad’s -character years earlier, when he had said in confidence to Thaxton: - -“There’s a white man and a cur in all of us, Thax. And some -psychologist sharps say twins are really one person with two bodies. -Clive got all the White Man part of that ‘one person,’ and my -lamentable namesake got all the Cur. At times I find myself wishing he -were ‘the lamented Osmun Creede,’ instead of only ‘the lamentable Osmun -Creede.’ Hester Gregg says he behaves as if Edgar Allan Poe had written -him and Berlioz had set him to music.” - -From childhood, Thaxton and this Creede twin had clashed. In the honest -days of boyhood they had taken no pains to mask their dislike. In the -more civil years of adolescence they had been at much pains to be -courteous to each other when they met, but they tried not to meet. This -avoidance was not easy; in such a close corporation as the Aura set, -especially after both of them began calling over-often on Doris Lane. - -Back to the Berkshires, from overseas, came the two Creedes. The -community prepared to welcome Clive with open arms; and to tolerate -Osmun, as of old, for the sake of his brother and for the loved -memory of his father. At once Aura was relieved of one of its former -perplexities. For no longer were the twins impossible to tell apart. - -They still bore the most amazing likeness to each other, of course. -But a long siege of trench fever had left Osmun slightly bald on the -forehead and had put lines and hollows in his good-looking face and had -given his wide shoulders a marked stoop. Also, a fragment of shell in -the leg had left him with a slight limp. The fever, too, had weakened -his eyes; and had forced him to adopt spectacles with a faintly smoked -tinge to their lenses. Altogether, he was plainly discernible, now, -from his erect brother, and looked nine years older. - -There was another change, too, in the brethren. Hitherto they had lived -together at Canobie. On their return from the war they astonished Aura -by separating. Osmun lived on at the big house. But Clive took his -belongings to Rackrent Farm; and set up housekeeping there; attended -by an old negro and his wife, who had worked for his father. He even -transported thither the amateur laboratory wherewith he and Osmun had -always delighted to putter; and he set it up in a vacant back room of -the farmhouse. - -Aura was thrilled at these signs of discord in the hitherto inseparable -brethren. Clive had been the only mortal to find good in Osmun and to -care for his society. Now, apparently, there had been a break. - -But almost at once Aura found there had been no break. The twins were -as devoted as ever, despite their decision to live two miles apart. -They were back and forth, daily, at each other’s homes; and they -wrought, side by side, with all their old zeal, in the laboratory. - -Osmun’s cantankerous soul did not seem to have undergone any purifying -process from war experience and long illness. Within a month after he -came back to Aura he proceeded to celebrate his return by raising the -rents of the seven cottages he and Clive owned; and by a twenty per -cent cut in the pay of the Canobie laborers. - -Aura is not feudal Europe. Nor had Osmun Creede any of the hereditary -popularity or masterliness of a feudal baron. Wherefore the seven -tenants prepared to walk out of their rent-raised homes. The Canobie -laborers, to a man, went on strike. Aura applauded. Osmun sulked. - -Clive came to the rescue, as ever he had done when his brother’s -actions had aroused ill-feeling. He rode over to Canobie and was -closeted for three hours with Osmun. Servants, passing the library, -heard and reported the hum of arguing voices. Then Clive came out and -rode home. Next morning Osmun lowered the rents and restored wages to -their old scale. As usual, the resultant popularity descended on Clive -and not upon himself. - -It was a week afterward that Thaxton Vail chanced to meet Osmun at the -Aura Country Club. Osmun stumped up to him, as Vail sat on the veranda -rail waiting for Doris Lane to come to the tennis courts. - -“I was blackballed, yesterday, by the Stockbridge Hunt Club,” announced -Creede, with no other salutation. - -“I’m sorry,” said Thaxton, politely. - -“I hear, on good authority, that it was you who blackballed me,” -continued Osmun, his spectacled eyes glaring wrathfully on his -neighbor. “And I’ve come to ask why you did it. In fact, I demand to -know why.” - -“I’m disobedient, by nature,” said Thaxton, idly. “So if I had -blackballed you, I’d probably refuse to obey your ‘demand.’ But as -it happened, I didn’t blackball you. I wasn’t even at the Membership -Committee’s meeting.” - -“I hear, on good authority, that _you_ blackballed me,” insisted Osmun, -his glare abating not at all. - -“And I tell you, on better authority, that I didn’t,” returned Thaxton -with a lazy calm that irked the angry man all the more. - -“Then who did?” mouthed Osmun. “I’ve a right to know. I mean to get to -the bottom of this. If a club, like the Stockbridge Hunt, blackballs a -man of my standing, I’ll know why. I--” - -“I believe the proceedings of Membership Committee meetings are -supposed to be confidential,” Thaxton suggested. “Why not take your -medicine?” - -“I still believe it was you who blackballed me!” flamed Osmun. “I had -it from--” - -“You have just had it from me that I didn’t,” interposed Thaxton, a -thread of ice running through his pleasant voice. “Please let it go at -that.” - -“You’re the only man around here who would have done such a thing,” -urged Creede, his face reddening and his voice rising. “And I am going -to find out why. We’ll settle this, here and now. I--” - -Thaxton rose lazily from his perch on the rail. - -“If you’ve got to have it, then take it,” he said, facing Osmun. “I -wasn’t at the meeting. But Willis Chase was. And I’ll tell you what -he told me about it, if it will ease your mind. He said, when your -name was voted on, the ballot-box looked as if it were full of Concord -grapes. There wasn’t a single white ball dropped into the box. I’m -sorry to--” - -“That’s a lie!” flamed Osmun. - -Thaxton Vail’s face lost all its habitual easy-going aspect. He took a -forward step, his muscles tensing. But before he could set in whizzing -action the fist he had clenched, a slender little figure stepped, as -though by chance, between the two men. - -The interloper was a girl; wondrous graceful and dainty in her white -sport suit. Her face was bronzed, beneath its crown of gold-red hair. -Her brown eyes were as level and honest as a boy’s. - -“Aren’t you almost ready, Thax?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting, down -at the courts, ever so long while you sat up here and gossiped. Good -morning, Oz. Won’t you scurry around and find some one to make it -‘doubles’? Thax and I always quarrel when we play ‘singles.’ Avert -strife, won’t you, by finding Greta Swalm, or some one, and joining us? -Please do, Oz. We--” - -Osmun Creede made a sound such as might well be expected to emanate -from a turkey whose tail feathers are pulled just as it starts to -gobble. Glowering afresh at Vail, but without further effort at -articulate speech, he turned and stumped away. - -Doris Lane watched him until his lean form was lost to view around the -corner of the veranda. Then, wheeling on Thaxton, with a striking -change from her light manner, she asked: - -“What was the matter? Just as I came out of the door I heard him tell -you something or other was a lie. And I saw you start for him. I -thought it was time to interrupt. It would be a matter for the Board of -Governors, you know, here on the veranda, with every one looking on. -What was the matter?” - -“Oh, he thought I blackballed him, for the Hunt Club,” explained -Thaxton. “When, as a matter of fact, I seem to be about the only member -who didn’t. I told him so, and he said I lied. I’m--I’m mighty glad you -horned in when you did. It’s always a dread of mine that some day I’ll -have to thrash that chap. And you’ve saved me from doing it--this time. -It’d be a hideous bore. And then there’d be good old Clive to be made -blue by it, you know. And besides, Uncle Oz and his dad were--” - -“I know,” she soothed. “I know. You won’t carry it any further, will -you? Please don’t.” - -“I suppose not,” he answered. “But, really, after a man calls another a -liar and--” - -“Oh, I suppose that means there’ll be one more neighborhood squabble,” -she sighed, puckering her low forehead in annoyance. “And two more -people who won’t see each other when they meet. Isn’t it queer? We -come out to the country for a good time. And we spend half that time -starting feuds or stopping them. People can live next door to each -other in a big city for a lifetime, and never squabble. Then the moment -they get to the country--” - -“‘All Nature is strife,’” quoted Thaxton. “So I suppose when we get -back to Nature we get back to strife. And speaking of strife, there -was a girl who was going to let me beat her at tennis, this morning; -instead of spending the day scolding me for being called a liar. Come -along; before all the courts are taken. I want to forget that Oz Creede -and I have got to cut each other, henceforth. Come along.” - -On the following morning, appeared a little “human interest” story, -in the Pittsfield _Advocate_. One of those anecdotal newspaper yarns -that are foredoomed to be “picked up” and copied, from one end of the -continent to the other. Osmun Creede had written the story with some -skill. And the editor had sent a reporter to the courthouse to verify -it, before daring to print it. - -The article told, in jocose fashion, of the clause in old Osmun Vail’s -will, requiring his great-nephew and heir to maintain Vailholme, at -request, as a hotel. An editorial note added the information that a -copy of the will had been read, at the courthouse, by an _Advocate_ -reporter, as well as Thaxton Vail’s signed acceptance of its conditions. - -It was Clive Creede who first called Thaxton’s notice to the newspaper -yarn. While young Vail was still loitering over his morning mail, Clive -rode across from Rackrent Farm, bringing a copy of the _Advocate_. - -“I’m awfully sorry, old man,” he lamented, as Thaxton frowningly read -and reread the brief article. “Awfully sorry and ashamed. I guessed -who had done this, the minute I saw it. I phoned to Oz, and charged -him with doing it. He didn’t deny it. Thought it was a grand joke. I -explained to him that the story was dead and forgotten; and that now he -had let you in for no end of ridicule and perhaps for a lot of bother, -too. But he just chuckled. While I was still explaining, he hung up the -receiver.” - -“He would,” said Thaxton, curtly. “He would.” - -“Say, Thax,” pleaded Clive, “don’t be too sore on him. He means all -right. He just has an unlucky genius for doing or saying the wrong -thing. It isn’t his fault. He’s built that way. And, honest, he’s a -tremendously decent chap, at heart. Please don’t be riled by this -newspaper squib. It can’t really hurt you.” - -The man was very evidently stirred by the affair; and was wistfully -eager, as ever, to smooth over his brother’s delinquencies. Yet, -annoyed by what he had just read, Thaxton did not hasten, as usual, to -reassure his chum. - -“You’re right when you say he has ‘an unlucky genius for saying the -wrong thing,’” he admitted. “The last ‘wrong thing’ was what he said to -me yesterday. He called me a liar.” - -“_No!_ Oh, Lord, man, no!” - -“Before I could slug him or remember he was your brother, Doris Lane -strolled in between us, and the war was off. You might warn him not to -say that particular ‘wrong thing’ to me again, if you like. Because, -next time, Doris might not be nearby enough to stave off the results. -And I’d hate, like blazes, to punch a brother of yours. Especially when -he’s just getting on his feet after a sickness. But--” - -“I wish you’d punch _me_, instead!” declared Clive. “Gods, but I’m -ashamed! I’ll give him the deuce for this. Won’t you--is there any use -asking you to overlook it--to accept my own apology for it--and not to -let it break off your acquaintance with Oz? It’d make a mighty hit with -me, Thax,” he ended, unhappily. “I think a lot of him. He--” - -Thaxton laughed, ruefully. - -“That’s the way it’s always been,” he grumbled. “Whenever Oz does or -says some unspeakably rotten thing, and just as he’s about to get in -trouble for it, you always hop in and deflect the lightning. You’ve -been doing it ever since you were a kid. There, stop looking as if some -one was going to cut off your breathing supply! It’s all right. I’ll -forget the whole thing--so far as my actions towards Oz are concerned. -Only, warn him not to do anything to make me remember it again. As for -this mess he’s stirred up, in the _Advocate_, I can’t see what special -effect it’ll have. Uncle Oz was too well loved, hereabouts, for it to -make his memory ridiculous.” - - * * * * * - -But, within the day, Thaxton learned of at least one “special effect” -the news item was to have. At four o’clock that afternoon, he received -a state visit from a little old lady whom he loved much for herself and -more for her niece. The visitor was Miss Hester Gregg, Doris’s aunt -and adoptive mother. - -“Please say you’re glad to see me, Thax,” she greeted Vail. “And please -say it, _now_. Because when you hear what I’ve come for, you’ll hate -me. Not that I mind being hated, you know,” she added. “But you lack -the brain to hate, intelligently. You’d make a botch of it. And I like -you too well to see you bungle. Now shall I tell you what I’ve come -for?” - -“If you don’t,” he replied, solemnly, “I shall begin hating you for -getting my curiosity all worked up, like this. Blaze away.” - -“In the first place,” she began, “you know all about our agonies, with -the decorators, at Stormcrest. You’ve barked your shins over their -miserable pails and paper-rolls, every time you’ve tried to lure Doris -into a dark corner of our veranda. Well, I figured we could stay on, -while they were plying their accursèd trade. I thought we could retreat -before them, from room to room; and at last slip around them and take -up our abode in the rooms they had finished, while they were working on -the final ones. It was a pretty thought. But we can’t. We found that -out, to-day. We’re like old Baldy Tod, up at Montgomery. He set out to -paint his kitchen floor, and he painted himself into a corner. We’re -decorated into a corner. We’ve got to get out, Doris and I, for at -least a week; while they finish the house. We’ve nowhere to live. Be it -never so jumbled there’s no place at home--” - -“But--” - -“We drove over to Stockbridge, to-day, to see if we could get rooms in -either of the hotels. (We’ll have to be near here; so I can oversee -the miserable activities of the decorators, every day.) No use. Both -hotels disgustingly full of tourists. The return of all you A. E. F. -men and the post-war rush of cash-to-the-pocket-book have jammed every -summer resort on earth. We tried at Lenox and Lee and we even went over -to Pittsfield. The same everywhere. Not an inn or a hotel with a room -vacant. Then--” - -“Hooray!” exulted Vail. “Stop right there! I have the solution. You and -Doris come over here! I’ve loads of room. And it’ll be ever so jolly to -have you--both. _Please_ come!” - -“My dear boy,” said the old lady, “that’s just what I’ve been leading -up to for five minutes.” - -“Gorgeous! But when are you going to get to the part of your visit -that’s due to make me hate you? Thus far, you’ve been as welcome as -double dividends on a non-taxable stock. When does the ‘hate’ part -begin?” - -“It’s begun,” she said. “Now let me finish it. I saw the _Advocate_ -story, this morning. I’d almost forgotten that funny part of the will. -But it gave me my idea. I spoke of it to Doris. She was horrified. And -that confirmed my resolve. Whenever modern young people are horrified -at a thing, one may know that is the only wise and right thing to do.” - -“I don’t understand,” he said, crestfallen. “Doesn’t she want to come -here? I hoped--” - -“Not the way _I’m_ coming,” supplemented Miss Gregg. “I’m not coming to -visit Vailholme as a guest. I’m coming here to board!” - -She paused to let him get the full effect of her words. He got them. -And he registered his understanding by a snort of disdain. - -“Your great-uncle,” she resumed, defiantly, “put that clause in his -will for the benefit of wayfarers up here who could pay and who -couldn’t get any other accommodations. That fits my case precisely. -So it’ll be great fun. Besides, I loathe visiting. And I really enjoy -boarding. So I am coming here, for a week, with Doris. To board. Not as -a guest. _To board._ So _that’s_ settled. We will be here about eleven -o’clock, to-morrow morning.” - -She gazed in placid triumph at the bewildered young man. - -“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” he sputtered. “You’re the oldest -friends I’ve got--both of you are. And it’ll be _great_ to have you -stay here from now till the Tuesday after Eternity. But you’re not -going to board. That’s plain idiocy.” - -“Thax,” she rebuked. “You are talking loudly and foolishly. We are -coming to board with you. It’s all settled. I settled it, myself. So -I know. We’re coming for a week. And our time will be our own, and we -won’t feel under any civil obligations or have to be a bit nicer than -we want to. It’s an ideal arrangement. And if the coffee is no better -than it was, the last night we dined here, I warn you I shall speak -very vehemently to you about it. Coffee making is as much an art as -violin playing or administering a snub. It is not just a kitchen chore. -We shall stay here,” she forestalled his gurgling protest, “under -an act of Legislature of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The law -demands that a landlord give us hotel accommodations, until such time -as we prove to be pests or forget to pay our bills. We--” - -“Bills!” stammered Thaxton. “Oh, murder!” - -“That brings me to the question of terms,” she resumed. “There will -be Doris and myself and Clarice, my personal maid. (Clarice has the -manners of a bolshevist and the morals of a medical student. But she -has become a habit with me.) We shall want a suite of two bedrooms and -a sitting room and bath for Doris and myself. And we shall need some -sort of room for Clarice. A cage will do, for her, at a pinch. I’ve -been figuring what you ought to charge me; and I’ve decided that a fair -price would be--” - -“So have I,” interrupted Thaxton, a glint of hope brightening his -embarrassment. “I’ve been figuring on it, too. On the price, I mean. -Man and boy, I’ve been thinking it over, for the best part of ten -seconds. I am the landlord. And as such I have all sorts of rights, by -law; including the right to fix prices. Likewise, I’m going to fix it. -If you don’t like my rates, you can’t come here. That’s legal. Well, -my dear Miss Gregg, on mature thought, I have decided to make special -rates for you and your niece and Clarice. I shall let you have the -suite you speak of, per week, with meals (and coffee, such as it is) -for the sum of fifteen cents per day--five cents for each of you--or -at the cut rate of one dollar weekly. Payable in advance. Those are my -terms. Take them or leave them.” - -He beamed maliciously upon the old lady. To his surprise, she made -instant and meek answer: - -“The terms are satisfactory. We’ll take the rooms for one week, with -privilege of renewal. I don’t happen to have a dollar, in change, with -me, at the moment. Will you accept a written order for one dollar; in -payment of a week’s board in advance?” - -“As I know you so well,” he responded, deliberating, “I think I may -go so far as to do that. Of course, you realize, though, that if the -order is not honored at the bank, I must request either cash payment or -the return of your keys. That is our invariable rule. And now, may I -trouble you for that order?” - -From her case Miss Gregg drew a visiting card and a chewed gold pencil. -She scribbled, for a minute, on the card-back; then signed what she had -written; and handed the card to Thaxton. He glanced amusedly at it; -then his face went idiotically blank. Once more, his lips working, he -read the lines scribbled on the back of the card: - -“_Curator of Numismatic Dept., Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York -City:--Please deliver to bearer (Mr. Thaxton Vail) upon proper -identification, the silver dollar, dated 1804, which I placed on -exhibition at the Museum.--Hester Gregg._” - -“The 1804 dollar!” he gasped. “That’s a low-down trick to play on me!” - -“Why?” she asked, innocently. “It is worth at least its face value. In -fact--as you may recall--my father paid $2,700 for it. When I placed it -on view at the Museum, the curator told me its present value is nearer -$3,600. You see, there are only three of them, extant. So, since you -really insist on $1 a week for our board, it may as well be paid with a -dollar that is worth the--” - -“I surrender!” groaned Thaxton. - -“You’d have saved so much trouble--people _always_ would save -themselves so much trouble,” she sighed, plaintively, “by just letting -me have my own way in the first place. Thaxton, I am going to pay you -$200 a week, board. As summer hotel rates go, now, it is a moderate -price for what we’re going to get. And I’ll see we get it. We’ll -be here, luggage and all, at about eleven in the morning. And now -suppose you ring for Horoson. I want to talk to her about all sorts of -arrangements. You’d never understand. And you’d only be in the way, -while we’re talking. So, run out to the car. I left Doris there. Run -along.” - -Summoning his housekeeper,--who had also kept house for Osmun -Vail,--Thaxton departed bewilderedly to the car where Doris was -awaiting her aunt’s return. - -“Are you going to let us come here, Thax?” hailed the girl, eagerly. “I -do hope so! I wanted, ever so much, to go in while Auntie was making -her beautifully preposterous request. But she said I mustn’t. She said -there might be a terrible scene; and that you might use language. She -said she is too innocent to understand the lurid things you might say, -if you lost your temper; but that I’m more sophisticated; and that it’d -be bad for me. _Was_ there a ‘terrible scene,’ Thax?” - -“Don’t call me ‘Thax!’” he admonished, icily. “It isn’t good form to -shower familiar nick-names on your hotelkeeper. It gives him a notion -he can be familiar or else that _you’re_ trying to be familiar. It’s -bad, either way. Call me ‘Mine Host.’ And in moments of reproof, call -me ‘Fellow.’ If only I can acquire a bald head and a red nose and a bay -window (and a white apron to drape over it) I’ll be able to play the -sorry rôle with no more discomfort than if I were having my backteeth -pulled. In the meantime, I’m as sore as a mashed thumb. What on earth -possessed her to do such a thing?” - -“Why, she looks on it as a stroke of genius!” said Doris. “Any one can -go visiting. But no one ever went boarding in this way, before. It’s -just like Auntie. She’s ever so wonderful. She isn’t a bit like any one -else. Aren’t you going to be at all glad to have us here?” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AN INVOLUNTARY LANDLORD - - -Thaxton Vail was eating a solitary breakfast, next morning, when, -wholly unannounced, a long and ecstatic youth burst in upon him. The -intruder was Willis Chase, who had roomed with Thaxton at Williams and -who still was his fairly close and most annoyingly irresponsible friend. - -“Grand!” yelled Chase, bearing down upon the breakfaster. “Grand and -colossal! A taxi-bandit is dumping all my luggage on the veranda, and -your poor sour-visaged butler is making awful sounds at him. I didn’t -bring my man. I didn’t even bring my own car. I taxied over from the -club, just as I was; the moment I read it. I knew you had plenty -of cars here; and the hotel valet can look after me. I’m inured to -roughing it. Isn’t it a spree?” - -“If you’ll stop running around the ceiling, and light somewhere, and -speak the language of the country,” suggested the puzzled Thaxton, -“perhaps I can make some guess what this is all about. I take it -you’re inviting yourself here for a visit. But what you mean by ‘the -hotel valet’ is more than I--” - -“Don’t you grasp it?” demanded Chase, in amaze. “Haven’t you even read -that thing? It was in one of the New York papers, at the club, this -morning. A chap, there, said it was in the _Advocate_, yesterday. Your -secret has exploded. All the cruel world knows of your shame. You run -a hotel. You have to; or else you’d lose Vailholme. It’s all in the -paper. In nice clear print. For everybody to read. And everybody’s -reading it, ever so happily. I’m going to be your first guest. It all -flashed on me, like--” - -“Then switch the flash off!” ordered Thaxton, impatiently. “This crazy -thing seems to hit you as a grand joke. To me, it hasn’t a single -redeeming feature. Clear out!” - -“My worthy fellow,” reproved Chase, “you forget yourself. You run a -hotel. Your hotel is not full. I demand a room here. I can pay. By law, -you cannot refuse to take me in. If you do, I shall bring an attorney -here to enforce my rights. And at the same time, I shall bring along -ten or eleven or nineteen of the Hunt Club crowd, as fellow-guests; to -liven things for the rest of the summer. Now, Landlord, do I stay; or -do I not?” - -Vail glowered on his ecstatically grinning friend, in sour abhorrence. -Then he growled: - -“If I throw you out, it’d be just like you to bring along that howling -crowd of outcasts; and all of you would camp here on me for the season. -If you think it’s a joke, keep the joke to yourself. If you insist on -butting in here, you can stay. Not because I want you. I don’t. But -you’re equal to making things fifty times worse, if I turn you out.” - -“I sure am,” assented Chase, much pleased by the compliment to his -powers. “Maybe even seventy-eight times worse. And then some--_et puis -quelque_, as we ten-lesson boulevardiers say. So here we are. Now, what -can you do for me in the way of rooms, me good man? The best is none -too good. I am accustomed to rare luxury in my own palatial home, and I -expect magnificent accommodations here.” - -Thaxton’s grim mouth relaxed. - -“Very good,” he agreed. “Miss Gregg and Doris are due here, too, in an -hour or so. They have picked out my best suite. But--” - -“They are? Glory be! I--” - -Thaxton proceeded: - -“As landlord, I have the right to put my guests in any sort of room I -choose to; and to charge them what price I choose. If my guests don’t -like that, they can get out. I have all manner of rooms, you know; from -my own to the magenta. Do you remember the magenta room, by any chance?” - -“Do I?” snorted Chase, memory of acute misery making him drop -momentarily his pose. “_Do_ I? Didn’t I get that room wished on me, -six years ago, when your uncle had the Christmas house party; and -when I turned up at the last minute? I remember how the dear old chap -apologized for sticking me in there. Every other inch of space was -crowded. I swear I believe that terrible room is the only uncomfortable -spot in this house of yours, Thax. I wonder you don’t have it turned -into a storeroom or something. Right over the kitchen; hot as Hades and -too small to swing a cat in, and no decent ventilation. Why do you ask -if I ‘remember’ it? Joan of Arc would be as likely to forget the stake. -If you’re leading up to telling me the room’s been walled in or--” - -“I’m not,” said Vail. “I’m leading up to telling you that that’s the -room I’m assigning to you. And the price, with board, will be one -hundred dollars a day. Take it or leave it. As--” - -A howl from Chase interrupted him. - -“Take it or leave it,” placidly repeated Vail. “In reverse to the order -named.” - -“You miserable Shylock!” stormed Chase. “And after I worked it all out -so beautifully! Say, listen! Just to spite you and to take that smug -look off your ugly face, I’m going to stay! Get that? I’m going to -_stay_! One day, anyhow. And I’ll take that hundred dollars out of your -hide, somehow or other, while I’m here! Watch if I don’t. It-- What you -got there?” he broke off. - -Thaxton had pulled out an after-breakfast cigar and had felt in vain -for the cigar-cutter which usually lodged in his cash pocket. Failing -to find it, he had fished forth a knife to cut the cigar-end. It -was the sight of this knife which had caught the mercurial Chase’s -interest. Thaxton handed it across the table for his friend’s -inspection. - -“It’s a German officer’s army knife,” he explained. “Clive Creede -brought it home with him, from overseas, for me. There aren’t any more -of them made. It weighs a quarter-pound or so, but it has every tool -and appliance on earth tucked away, among its big blades. It’s the -greatest sort of knife in the world for an outdoor man to carry, in the -country.” - -Chase, with the curiosity of a monkey, was prying open blade after -blade, then tool after tool, examining each in childlike admiration. - -“What’s this for?” he asked, presently, after closing a pair of folding -scissors and a sailor’s needle; and laboriously picking open a long -triangular-edged instrument at the back of the knife. “This blade, or -whatever it is. It’s got a point like a needle. But it slopes back to -a thick base. And its three edges are razor-sharp. What do you use it -for?” - -“I don’t use it for anything,” replied Vail. “I don’t know just what -it’s for. It’s some sort of punch, I suppose. To make graduated holes -in girths or in puttee-straps or belts. Vicious looking blade, isn’t -it? The knife’s a treasure, though. It--” - -“Say! About that magenta room, now! Blast you, can’t I--?” - -“Take it or get out! I hope you’ll get out. It--” - -A shadow, athwart the nearest long window, made them turn around. -Clive Creede was stepping across the sill, into the room. He was pale -and hollow-eyed; and seemed very sick. - -“Hello, old man!” Vail greeted him. “You came in, like a ghost. And you -look like one, too. Was it a large night or--?” - -“It was,” answered Clive, hoarsely, as he turned from shaking hands -with his host and with Chase. “A very large night. In fact it came -close to being a size too large for me. I got to fooling with some -new monoxide gas experiments in that laboratory of Oz’s and mine. No -use going into details that’d bore you. But I struck a combination by -accident that put me out.” - -“You look it. Why--?” - -“Oz happened to drop in. He found me on the lab floor; just about gone -for good. He lugged me out of doors and worked over me for a couple -of hours before he got me on my feet. The whole house,--the whole of -Rackrent Farm, it seems to me,--smells of the rotten chemical stuff. I -got out, this morning, before it could keel me over again. The smell -will hang around there for days, I suppose. It--” - -“Why in blazes should a grown man waste time puttering around with -silly messes of chemicals?” orated Chase, to the world at large. “At -best, he can only discover a new combination of smelly drugs. And at -worst, he can be croaked by them. Not that research isn’t a grand -thing, in its way,” he added. “I used to do a bit of it, myself. For -instance, last month, I discovered one miraculously fine combination, -I remember: A hooker of any of the Seven Deadly Gins, and one-- No, -that’s wrong! Two parts Jersey applejack to one part French--” - -He broke off in his bibulous reminiscences, finding he was not listened -to. Thaxton solicitously had helped Clive to a chair and was pouring -him a cup of black coffee. The visitor appeared to be on the verge of -serious collapse. - -“Did Doc Lawton think it was all right for you to leave the house while -you’re so done up?” asked Vail. - -“I didn’t send for him. Oz pulled me through,” returned Clive, dully. -“Then I piked over here. I couldn’t stay there, in that horribly smelly -place, could I?” - -He shuddered, in reminiscence, and gulped his coffee. - -“It’ll be days before the place is fit to live in again,” he said. “The -gases have permeated--” - -“I’d swap the magenta room for it, any time,” put in Chase, unheeded. - -Clive continued: - -“Oz brought me as far as your door, in his runabout. He had an idea he -wouldn’t be over-welcome here, so he went on. He wanted me to stay at -Canobie, with him, till I can go back home. But-- Well, when I’m as -knocked out as this, I don’t want to. Oz is all right. He’s a dandy -brother, and a white pal. But he has no way with the sick. He--” - -“I know,” said Thaxton, as Clive halted, embarrassed. “I know.” - -“You see,” added Clive, “I don’t want you to think I’m a baby, to go -to pieces like this. But the fumes seem to have caught me where I was -gassed, at Montfaucon. Started up all the old pain and gasping and -faintness, and heart bother and splitting headache again. I’ve heard it -comes back, like that. The surgeon told me it might. And now I know it -does. It’s put me pretty well onto the discard. But a few days quiet -will set me on my feet.” - -“So you rolled over here, first crack out of the box?” suggested Willis -Chase. “By way of keeping perfectly quiet?” - -“No,” denied Clive, looking up, apologetically, from his second cup of -black coffee. “I came over to sponge on Thax, if he’ll let me. Thax, -will it bother you a whole lot if I stay here with you for a few days? -I won’t be in the way. And I know you’ve got lots of room, and nobody -else is stopping with you. I don’t want to put it on the ‘hotel’ basis. -But that’s what gave me the nerve to ask--” - -“Rot!” exclaimed Thaxton, in forced cordiality. “What’s the use of all -that preamble? You’re knocked off your feet. You can’t stay at home. -Every inn is full, for ten miles around. I can understand your not -wanting to stay with Oz. If you hadn’t come here, I’d have come after -you. Of course, you must stay.” - -As a matter of fact, all Vail’s boyhood friendship for the invalid was -called upon, to make the invitation sound spontaneous. He liked Clive. -He liked him better than any other friend. Ordinarily, it would have -been a joy to have him for a house-guest. The two men had always been -congenial, even though they had seen less of each other since their -return from France and had abated some of the oldtime boyish chumship. - -Yet with Doris Lane coming to Vailholme, the host had dreamed of long -uninterrupted hours with her. And now the presence of this other -admirer of hers would block most of his golden plans. Yet there was -no way out of it. In any event Willis Chase’s undesired arrival had -wrecked his hopes for sweet seclusion. So the man made the best of the -annoying situation and threw into his voice and manner the cordiality -he could not put into his heart. - -He was ashamed of himself for his sub-resentment that this sick -comrade of his should find no warmer welcome, in appealing to him for -hospitality. Yet the dream of having Doris all to himself for hours -a day had been so joyous! While he could not rebuff Clive as he had -sought to rebuff Willis Chase, yet he could not be glad the invalid had -chosen this particular time to descend upon Vailholme. - -Sending for Mrs. Horoson, his elderly housekeeper, he bade her prepare -the two east rooms for Clive’s reception. - -“Say!” Chase broke in on the instructions. “You told me that measly -magenta room was the only one you had vacant!” - -“I did not,” rasped Thaxton. “I told you it was the only one _you_ -could have. And it is. I hope you won’t take it. If I’d had any sense -I’d have said the furnace room was the only one I’d give you. That or -the coal cellar.” - -“Never mind!” sighed Chase, with true Christian resignation. “What am -_I_, to complain? What am _I_?” - -“I’d hate to tell you,” snapped Thaxton. - -“What are you charging Clive?” demanded Willis. - -“A penny a year. Laundry three cents extra. He--” - -“Miss Gregg, sir. Miss Lane,” announced the sour-visaged butler, from -the dining room doorway. - -Thaxton arose wearily and went to meet his guests. All night he had -mused happily on the rare chance which was to make Doris and himself -housemates for an entire rapturous week--a week, presumably, in which -Miss Gregg should busy herself on long daily inspection visits to -Stormcrest. And now--an invalid and a cheery pest were to shatter that -lovely solitude. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -TWO OR THREE INTRUDERS - - -Yet luncheon was a gay enough meal. All the guests were old friends, -and all were more or less congenial. Thaxton’s duties as host were in -no way onerous, except when Willis Chase undertook to guy him as to -his anomalous position as hotelkeeper--which Chase proceeded to do at -intervals varying from two minutes to fifteen. - -In the afternoon, Miss Gregg was forced to drive across to Stormcrest, -to superintend the first touches of the decorators to her remaining -rooms. Clive made some excuse for retiring shakily to his own rooms -for a rest. Willis Chase had to go back to Stockbridge on urgent -business--having found, on unpacking, that in his haste he had brought -along all his evening clothes except the trousers. - -Thus, for an hour or so, Vail had Doris Lane to himself. They idled -about the grounds, Vail showing the girl his new sunken garden and his -trout hatcheries. Throughout the dawdling tour they talked idly and -blissfully, and withal a whit shyly, as do lovers on whom the Great -Moment is making ready to dawn. At their heels paced Vail’s dark sable -collie, Macduff. - -The sky was hazy, the air was hot. Weather-wise Berkshire folk would -have prophesied a torrid spell, the more unbearable for the bracing -cool of the region’s normal air. But the hot wave had merely sent this -mildly tepid day as a herald. - -To the lounging young folk in the garden it carried no message. Yet at -whiles they fell silent as they drifted aimlessly about the grounds. -There was a witchery that both found hard to ignore. - -Rousing herself embarrassedly from one of these sweet silences, Doris -nodded toward the big brown collie, who had come to a standstill in -front of a puffy and warty old toad, fly-catching at the edge of a rock -shelf. - -The dog, strolling along in bored majesty in front of his human -escorts, had caught the acrid scent of the toad and was crouching -truculently in front of it, making little slapping gestures at the -phlegmatic creature with his white forepaws and then bounding back, as -if he feared it might turn and rend him. - -It was quite evident that Macduff regarded his encounter with that -somnolent toad as one of the High Dramatic Moments of his career. -Defiantly, yet with elaborate caution, he proceeded to harry it from a -safe distance. - -“What on earth makes him so silly?” asked Doris as she and Vail paused -to watch the scene--the dog’s furry and fast-moving body taking up the -entire narrow width of the path. “He must have seen a million toads, in -his time.” - -“What on earth made you cry, the evening we saw Bernhardt die, in -_Camille_, when we were kids?” he countered, banteringly. “You knew -she wasn’t really dead. You knew she’d get into her street clothes and -scrub the ghastliness off her face and go out somewhere and eat a big -supper. But you wept, very happily. And I had to give you my spare -handkerchief. And it had a hole in it, I remember. I was hideously -mortified. Every time I went to the theater with you, after that, I -carried a stock of brand-new two-dollar handkerchiefs, to impress you. -But you never cried, again, at a play. So that’s all the good they did -me. Of course, the one time you cried, I had to be there with the last -torn handkerchief I ever carried. Remember?” - -“I remember I asked you why Mac is so silly about that toad,” she -reproved him, “and you mask your ignorance of natural history and of -dog-psychology by changing the subject.” - -“I did not!” he denied, with much fervor. “I was leading up in a -persuasive yet scholarly way to my explanation. You knew Bernhardt -wasn’t dying. Yet you cried. Mac knows that toad is as harmless as -they make them. Yet he is fighting a spectacular duel with it. You -entered into the spirit of a play. He’s entering into the spirit of a -perilous jungle adventure. You cried because an elderly Frenchwoman -draped herself on a sofa and played dead. He is all het up, because -he’s endowing that toad with a blend of the qualities of a bear and -a charging rhinoceros. That’s the collie of it. Collies are forever -inventing and playing thrillingly dramatic games. Just as you and I are -always eager to see thrillingly dramatic plays. It isn’t really silly. -Or if it is, then what are people who pay to get thrills out of plays -they know aren’t true and out of novels that they know are lies? On the -level, I think Mac has a bit the best of us.” - -“Why doesn’t he bring the sterling drama to a climax by annihilating -the toad so we can get past?” she demanded, adding, “Not that I’d let -him. That’s why I’m waiting here, while he blocks the path, instead of -going around him.” - -“If that’s all you’re waiting for,” he reassured her, “your long wait -has been for nothing. No rescue will be needed. Mac will never touch -the toad.” - -“Does Mac know he won’t, though?” - -“He does,” returned Vail, with finality. “Every normal outdoors dog, in -early puppyhood, undertakes to bite or pick up a toad. And no dog ever -tried it a second time. A zoölogy sharp told me why. He said toads’ -skins are covered with some sort of chemical that would make alum taste -like sugar, by contrast. It’s horrible stuff, and it’s the toad’s only -weapon. No dog ever takes a second chance of torturing his tongue with -it. That’s why Mac keeps his mouth shut, every time he noses at the -ugly thing. The toad is quite as safe from him as Bernhardt was from -dying on the elaborate _Camille_ sofa. Mac knows it. And the toad knows -it. If toads know anything. So nobody’s the worse for the drama.... One -side there, Mac! You’re a pest.” - -At the command, the collie gave over his harrowing assault, and -wandered unconcernedly down the path ahead of them, his plumed tail -gently waving, his tulip ears alert for some new adventure. - -“Remember old Chubb Beasley?” asked Thaxton. “He lived down on the Lee -Road.” - -“I do, indeed,” she made answer. “He used to be pointed out to us by -our Sunday School teacher as the one best local example of the awful -effects of drink. What about him?” - -“He owned Macduff’s sire,” said Vail. “A great big gold-and-white -collie--a beauty. Chubb used to go down to Lee, regularly, every -Saturday, to spend his pay at the speak-easy booze joint in the back -of Clow’s grocery. The old chap used to say: ‘If I c’d afford it, I’d -have a batting average of seven night a week. As it is, I gotta do my -’umble best of a Sat’dy night.’ And he did it. He came home late every -Saturday evening, in a condition where the width of the road bothered -him more than the length of it. And always, his loyal old collie was -waiting at the gate to welcome him and guide his tangled footsteps up -the walk to the house.” - -“Good old collie!” she applauded. “But--” - -“One night, Beasley got to Clow’s just as the saloon was raided by the -Civic Reform Committee. He couldn’t get a drink, and he spent the -evening wandering around looking for one. He had to go back home, for -the first Saturday night in years, dead cold sober. The collie was -waiting for him at the gate, as usual. Chubb strode up to him on steady -unwavering legs and without either singing or crying. He didn’t even -walk with an accent. The faithful dog sprang at the poor old cuss and -bit him. Didn’t know his own master.” - -Macduff’s histrionic display, and the story it had evoked, dispersed -the sweet spell that had hung over the man and the maid, throughout -their leisurely walk. Subconsciously, both felt and resented the -glamour’s vanishing, without being able to realize their own emotions -or to guess why the ramble had somehow lost its dreamy charm. - -They were at the well-defined stage of heart malady when a trifle -will cloud the elusive sun, and when a shattered mood cannot be -reconstructed at will. - -Doris became vaguely aware that the afternoon was hot and that her nose -was probably shiny. Instinctively, she turned toward the house. - -Vail, unable to frame an excuse for prolonging the stroll, fell into -step at her side, obsessed by a dull feeling that the walk had somehow -been a failure and that he was making no progress at all in his suit. - -As they made their way houseward across the rolling expanse of -side-lawn, they saw a huge and dusty car drawn up under the -porte-cochère. On the steps was a heap of luggage. A chauffeur stood by -the car, stretching his putteed legs, and smoking a furtive cigarette; -the machine’s bulk between him and the porch. - -In the tonneau lolled a fat and asthmatic-looking old German police dog. - -On the veranda, in two wicker chairs drawn forward from their wonted -places, lolled a man and a woman swathed in yellow dust-coats. The man -was enormous, paunchy, pendulous, sleek. The woman was small and dark -and acerb. They were chatting airily, as Vail and Doris drew near. - -In front of them wavered Vogel, the butler, trying to get in a word -edgewise, as they talked. Back of the doorway, in the hall, could be -seen the shadowy forms of the second man and a capped maid, listening -avidly. - -At sight of Thaxton, the butler abandoned his vain effort to interrupt -the strangers and came in ponderous haste down the stone steps and -across the lawn to meet his employer. - -“Excuse me, sir,” began Vogel, worriedly, “but might I speak to you a -minute?” - -Doris, with a word of dismissal to her escort, moved on toward the -house, entering by a French window and giving the queerly occupied -front veranda a wide berth. - -“Well?” impatiently asked Vail, vexed at the interruption and by the -presence of the unrecognized couple on the porch. “Well, Vogel? What is -it? And who are those people?” - -For reply, the butler proffered him two cards. He presented them, on -their tray, as if afraid they might turn and rend him. - -“They are persons, sir,” he said, loftily. “Just persons, sir. Not -people.” - -Without listening to the distinction, Thaxton Vail was scanning the -cards. He read, half aloud: - -“_Mr. Joshua Q. Mosely._” Then, “_Mrs. Joshua Q. Mosely, 222 River -Front Terrace, ... Tuesdays until Lent._” - -“Interesting, if true. I should say, offhand, it ought to count them -about three, decimal five,” gravely commented Vail. “But it’s nothing -in _my_ young life. I don’t know them.” - -“No, sir,” agreed Vogel. “You would not be likely to, sir. Nobody -would. They are persons. Most peculiar persons, too. I think they are -a bit jiggled, sir, if I might say so. Unbalanced. Why, sir, they -actually thought this was an hotel!” - -“Huh?” interjected Vail, with much the same sound as might have been -expected from him had some one dug an elbow violently into his stomach. -“Huh? What’s that, Vogel? Hotel?” - -“Yes, sir. That’s why I took the liberty of asking to speak to you -alone. I fancied you would not wish Miss Lane to hear of such a -ridiculous--” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Why, sir, they came here, some five minutes ago, and ordered Francis -to conduct them to ‘the desk.’ He could not understand, sir, so he came -to me, and I went out to see what it meant. They told me they wished -rooms here; for themselves and for their chauffeur. And for that stout -gray dog in the car. They were most unnecessarily unpleasant, sir, when -I told them this was no hotel. They insist it is. They say they know -all about it. And they demand to see the proprietor. I was arguing -with them when I saw you coming. Would it be well, sir, if I should -telephone the police station at Aura or--?” - -“No,” groaned Vail. “I’ll see them. You needn’t wait.” - -Bracing himself, and cursing his loved great-uncle’s eccentricity, -and cursing a thousand times more vehemently the mischief-act of -Osmun Creede, the unhappy householder walked up the veranda steps and -confronted the two newcomers. - -On the way he planned to carry off the situation with a high hand and -to get rid of the couple as quickly as might be. Whistling to heel -Macduff, the collie, who showed strong and hostile signs of seeking -closer acquaintance with the fat police dog, he advanced on the couple. - -“Good afternoon,” he said, briskly, as he bore down on the big man and -the small woman. “I am Thaxton Vail. What can I do for you?” - -“I am Joshua Q. Mosely,” answered the enormous man, making no move -to rise from the easy chair from whose ample sides his fat bulk was -billowing sloppily. “What are your rates?” - -“Rates?” echoed Vail, dully. - -“Yes,” replied Mosely. “Your rates--American plan--for an outside room -and board for Mrs. M. and myself and a shakedown, somewhere, for -Pee-air.... Pee-air is our chauffeur. How much?” - -“Please explain,” said Vail, bluffing weakly. - -“Yep,” nodded Joshua Q. Mosely. “He said you’d try to stall. Said you -were queer that way. But he said if I stuck to it, I’d get in. Said he -could prove you weren’t full up. So I’m sticking to it. How much for--?” - -“Who are you talking about?” queried Vail. “Who’s ‘he’? And--” - -“Here’s his card,” responded Joshua Q. Mosely, groping in an inner -pocket. “Met him on the steps of the Red Lion--at Stockbridge, you -know--this morning. They’d told us they hadn’t a room left there. Same -thing at Haddon Hall. Same thing at Pittsfield. Same thing at Lenox. -Same at Lee. Full everywhere. Gee, but you Berkshire hotel men must be -making a big turnover, this season! Yep, here’s his card. Thought I’d -lost it.” - -He fished out a slightly crumpled oblong of stiff paper and handed -it to Vail. Thaxton read: “_Mr. Osmun Creede, ‘Canobie,’ Aura, -Massachusetts._” - -“We were coming out of the Red Lion,” resumed Joshua Q. Mosely. -“Figured we’d have to drive all the way to Greenfield or maybe to -Springfield, before we could get rooms. We didn’t want to do that. We -wanted another day in this region and then make the thirty-mile run to -Williamstown and back to North Adams and over the Mohawk Trail to--” - -“Quite so,” cut in Vail. “What has all this to do with--?” - -“I was coming to that. We were standing there on the steps, jawing -about it, the wife and me, when up comes this Mr. Creede. He’d been -sitting on the porch there and he’d overheard us. He hands me his card -and he says: ‘You can get into Vailholme if you’re a mind to,’ he says. -‘Most excloosive hotel in the Berkshires. Not like any other place in -America. Best food. Best rooms. They never advertise. So they aren’t -full up,’ he says. ‘They try to keep folks away. But give Mr. Vail this -card and tell him I’ll know who to go to with information if he refuses -to take in people who can’t get accommodations elsewhere; and he’ll -take you in.’ I thought maybe he was jollying me.” - -“I--” - -“He looked kind of funny while he talked to me,” prattled Mosely, -unheeding. “So I asked the day clerk at the Red Lion about it. The -clerk said he knew you run a hotel, because he’d read about it in -the paper. And he guessed you weren’t full up. So here I came. And -your--your head waiter, I s’pose he is, he told me you didn’t have but -four folks stopping here with you just now. So that means you’ve got -rooms left. What rates for--” - -A despairing grunt from Vail checked at last the flow of monologue. -Thaxton was aware of a deep yearning to hunt up Osmun Creede and murder -him. Well did he understand the inner meaning of Creede’s hint as to -the lodging of information in case Vail should refuse to obey the terms -of the will whereby he held tenure of Vailholme. And he knew Osmun was -quite capable of keeping his word. - -Vailholme was dear to Thaxton. He was not minded to lose it through -any legal loophole. He was profoundly ignorant of the law. But he -remembered signing an agreement to fulfill all the conditions of his -great-uncle’s will before assuming ownership of the property. - -“I am obliged,” he said, haltingly, “to take in any travelers who can -pay my prices. Probably that is what Mr. Creede meant. But I have no -adequate provision--or provisions--for guests. I don’t think you’d care -for it, here; even for a single day. Why not go on to North Adams, to -the--” - -“No, thanks, friend,” disclaimed Joshua Q. Mosely, with a leer of -infinite cunning. “This isn’t the first time the wife and I have been -steered away from excloosive joints. We know the signs. And we want to -stop here. So here we stop. For the night, anyhow. We know our rights. -And we know the law. Now, once more, what’s your rates for us? Put a -price on the--” - -“Your chauffeur will have to bunk in at one of the rooms over the -garage,” said Vail, morbidly aware that the butler and a maid and the -second man were still listening from the hallway. “And I can’t give you -and Mrs. Mosely a room with a bath. I’ll have to give you one without. -And you’ll have to eat at the only table I have--the table where I and -my four personal guests will dine.” - -“That’s all right,” pleasantly agreed the tourist. “We’re democratic, -Mrs. M. and me. We’ll put up with the best we can get. How much?” - -“For all three of you,” said Thaxton, “the lump price will be--let’s -see--the lump price will be two hundred dollars a day.” - -Joshua Q. Mosely gobbled. His lean little wife arose and faced him. - -“It’s just like all these other excloosive places, Josh!” she shrilled. -“He’s trying to lose us. Don’t you let him! We’ll stay. It’ll be worth -two hundred dollars just to spite the stuck-up chap. We’ll stay, young -man. Get that? We’ll _stay_. If you knew anything about Golden City, -you’d know two hundred dollars is no more to my husband than a plugged -nickel would be worth to one of you Massachusetts snobs. We’re ‘doing’ -the Berkshires. And we’re prepared to be done while we’re doing it. We -can afford to. Have us shown up to that room.” - -Lugubriously Vail stepped to the hall door. - -“Vogel,” he said, as a vanishing swarm of servants greeted his advent, -“show these people up to the violet room. Have Francis help their -chauffeur up with the luggage. Then have Gavroche take the chauffeur to -one of the garage rooms.” - -He spoke with much authority; and forcibly withal. But he dared not -meet the fishy eye of his butler. And he retreated to the veranda -again, as soon as he had delivered the order. - -“It’s all up,” he announced to Willis Chase, three minutes later, as -this first of his unwelcome guests alighted from a Stockbridge taxi, -bearing a bagful of the forgotten sections of his apparel. “Here’s -where I decamp. If I can’t get some inn to put me up for the night, -I’ll take a train for New York.” - -“And leave us to our fate?” queried Chase, disgustedly. - -“Precisely that. And I hope it’ll be a miserable fate. What do you -suppose has happened?” - -Briefly, bitterly, he told of the arrival of the Moselys. Willis Chase -smiled in pure rapture. Then his face fell as he asked concernedly: - -“And you say you’re getting out and deserting us?” - -“Why not? It’ll be horrible. Fancy those two unspeakable vulgarians -sitting down to dinner with one! Fancy having to meet Vogel’s righteous -wrath! Fancy--” - -“Fancy walking out on us!” retorted Chase. “Fancy leaving a girl like -Doris Lane to the mercies of the Moselys’ society at dinner! Fancy what -she’ll think of you for deserting her and her aunt, like a quitter, -when your place is at the head of your own table! Fancy leaving a -disorganized household that’ll probably go on strike! We’ve paid our -board. Are you going to welsh on us? Poor old Clive Creede is sick and -all shot to pieces. He came here to you for refuge. Going to leave him -to--?” - -“No,” groaned Thaxton. “I suppose not. You’re right. I can’t. I’ve got -to stay and see it out. If I valued Vailholme any less than I value my -right arm, though, I’d let Uncle Oz’s fool conditions go to blazes. -Say! Let’s go for a walk. It’s hot as Tophet and I’m tired. But it’ll -be better than meeting Vogel till I have to. Let me put that off as -long as I can. Something tells me he is going to be nasty. And that -means he’ll probably organize a strike. Come along, Macduff!” he bade -the collie. “Stop nosing at that obese German dog in the car and come -here!” - -“Why can’t real-life butlers be like the dear old stage butlers?” -sighed Chase, sympathetically, as he and Vail slunk, with guilty haste, -down the veranda steps and across the lawn. “Now if only Vogel were on -the stage, he’d come to you, with an antique ruffled shirt and with -his knees wabbling, and he’d say: ‘Master, I’ve saved up a little out -of my wages, this past ninety years that I’ve served your house. I -know you’re in trouble. Here’s my savings, Master! Maybe they’ll help. -And I’ll keep on working my poor hands to the bone for you, without -any wages, God bless your bonny face!’ That’s what he’d say. And he’d -snivel a bit as he said it. So would the audience.” - -“Faster!” urged Vail, with a covert look over his shoulder. “He’s -standing on the steps, looking after us. Hit the pace!” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ROBBER’S ROOST, UNINCORPORATED - - -From a roadhouse two miles away Thaxton called up Mrs. Horoson, his -housekeeper. Without giving her a chance to protest he told her there -would be six, besides himself, for dinner that night and that a Mr. and -Mrs. Mosely were occupying the violet room. - -He bade her break the news to Miss Gregg, on the latter’s imminent -return from Stormcrest, and to Miss Lane. Then he hung up, -precipitately, and rejoined Chase in the road. - -“Let’s hustle!” he adjured. “She may find where we are from Central and -follow us. I can count on Horoson not to decamp even if the servants -do. But every now and then I feel toward her as I used to when I was a -kid and she caught me stealing Uncle Oz’s cigarettes. Hurry!” - -It was within a half hour of dinner time when Vail and Chase, by -devious back ways, returned to Vailholme and let themselves in at a -rear door, preparatory to creeping upstairs to their rooms to dress for -the seven-o’clock meal. - -The dinner ordeal was one of unrelieved hideousness. But for gallant -old Miss Gregg, the situation must have fallen asunder much sooner than -it did. Thaxton Vail, at the table’s head, writhed in misery. He had -absolutely no idea how to handle the unhandleable situation. - -It was Miss Gregg who, unasked, took control of everything. Being -wholly fearless, she had no normal terror of the austere Horoson or of -the ever-sourer-visaged Vogel. - -During the endless wait before dinner was announced she slipped out -to the dining room. Thaxton was there, flustered and curt, trying -to coerce his rebellious upper servants into setting the wheels of -domestic machinery into motion. - -Vogel already had given warning, proclaiming briefly but proudly -the list of his former super-excellent positions, and repeating, as -a sort of eternal slogan of refrain that he was a butler and not a -boarding-house head waiter. - -It was at this point that Hester Gregg took charge. - -Grateful and sweating, Vail went back to the living room to listen -gloomily to the Moselys’ recital to Chase and Doris of the various inns -at which they had been either cheated or incompetently served. Though -the couple did not say so in actual words, Thaxton was left to infer -that Vailholme combined the worst qualities of all their tour’s other -wretched stopping places. - -As he listened to the tale, Miss Gregg swept into the room again with -the pure exaltation in her eyes of one who has triumphed in a seemingly -hopeless battle. Presently thereafter Vogel announced dinner. - -As the party filed stragglingly into the dining room, Clive Creede -came downstairs and joined them. He seemed a little better for his -afternoon’s rest, but still looked sick and shaky. - -Thaxton’s collie, as usual, accompanied Vail to the dining room, lying -down majestically on the floor at the host’s left. From the shelter of -Joshua Q. Mosely’s bulk appeared the obese police dog, who also had -followed into the dining room. He disposed himself in a shadowy space, -behind Mrs. Mosely’s chair, where every passing servant must stumble -unseeingly over him. - -“I hope you don’t mind our bringing Petty to dinner with us,” said -Joshua Q., as they sat down. “He’s quite one of the family. The wife -would as soon travel without her powder rag as without Petty. He goes -everywhere with us. Nice collie you’ve got there. I notice you had to -speak pretty firm to him, though, to keep him from pestering poor -Petty. Collies aren’t as clever at minding as police dogs. Had him -long?” - -“He was bred by Mr. Creede, here,” answered Thaxton. “When Mr. Creede -went overseas, he left him at Vailholme.” - -“And when I got back,” put in Clive, speaking for the first time, and -addressing Doris, “Macduff had clean forgotten me and had adopted Thax. -So I let him stay on here. Funny, wasn’t it? I’ve heard collies never -forget. I suppose that’s another nature fake. For Macduff certainly had -forgotten me. At least, he was civil to me, but he’d lost all interest -in me.” - -Then fell a pause. Miss Gregg arose to the occasion by starting the -conversation-ball to rolling again. - -“I think,” she said, “there ought to be a S. P. C. A. law against -naming animals till they’re grown. People call a baby pup ‘Fluffy’ -or ‘Beauty.’ And then he grows up to look like Bill Sikes’ dog. For -instance, there’s nothing ‘petty’ about that big police dog. Yet when -he was a--” - -“Oh,” spoke up Mrs. Mosely, “his name isn’t really ‘Petty.’ ‘Petty’ is -short for ‘Pet.’ His real name’s ‘Pet.’ He--” - -Willis Chase cleared his throat portentously. Leaning far across the -table, he addressed the miserable Thaxton. - -“Landlord!” he began, in awful imitation of the pompous Joshua Q. -Mosely. “Landlord, me good man, I--” - -“Shut up!” snarled Vail, under his breath, glaring murderously. - -A smile of utter sweetness overspread Willis Chase’s long countenance. - -“Tut, tut!” he chided, patronizingly. “Don’t cringe, when I address -you, my honest fellow! Don’t be servile, just because I am a gentleman -and your own lot is cast among the working classes. I have every -respect for the dignity of labor. I don’t look down on you. In Heaven’s -sight all men are equal--landlords and gentlemen and day laborers and -plumbers and senators and bootleggers and authors and--” - -“That sounds fine in theory, Mr.--Mr. Case, is it?” boomed Joshua Q. -“But it don’t work out always in real life. Not that I look down on a -man just because he’s got to run an inn or a boarding house to make a -living. Nor yet I don’t really look down on day laborers. Nor yet on -plumbers. Not even on authors--when they keep their place. But what’s -it to profit those of us who’ve made good and won our way to the -leisure classes, as you might say? What’s it to profit us if we’re to -be put on a level with folks who get paid for serving us? Money’s got -to count for _something_, hasn’t it? If a man’s got the brain and the -genius and the push to pile up a fortune, don’t he deserve to stand a -notch higher than the boob who ain’t--who _hasn’t_? Don’t he? Position -means something. It--” - -“And family, too!” chimed in Mrs. Mosely, with much elegance of -diction. “I always tell Mr. M. that family counts every bit as much -as money, or it ought to. Even in these democratic days. I believe in -family. I don’t boast of it. But I believe in it. While I don’t brag -about my grandfather being the first Governor of--” - -“Grandfathers!” sighed Willis Chase, ecstatically. “Now you’ve touched -my own hobby, Mrs.--Mrs. Mousely. I--” - -“Mosely,” corrected Joshua Q., with much dignity. “And--” - -“To be sure,” apologized Chase, meekly. “My mistake. But I murmur -‘Amen!’ to all you say about family and grandfathers. I even go a step -beyond. I even believe in pride of _great_-grandfathers.” - -“Why--why, cert’nly,” assented Mrs. Mosely, albeit with a shade less -assurance. “Of course. And--” - -“My own great-grandfather,” expounded Willis, unctuously, “my own -great-grandfather, Colonel Weilguse Chase, was the first white man to -be hanged in New Jersey. Not that I brag unduly of it. Yet it is sweet -to remember, in this age of so-called equality.... Landlord, these -trout are probably more or less fit to eat. But my doctor forbids me to -guzzle fish. I wonder if I might trouble you to order a little fried -tripe for me? I am willing to pay extra for it, of course. Nothing sets -off a dinner like a side dish of fried tripe. Or, still better, a nice -juicy slice of roast shoulder of tripe. But, speaking of family--” - -“I’m afraid you don’t just get my point, Mr. Case,” interposed -Mrs. Mosely. “I mean about family. I don’t believe in pride of -ancestors--merely _as_ ancestors. But I believe in being proud -of ancestors who achieved something worth while. Do you see the -distinction?” - -“Certainly,” agreed Chase, with much profundity. “And I feel the same -way. Now, out of all the millions of white men, great and small, who -from time to time have infested New Jersey, there could be but _one_ -‘first white man’ hanged there. And that startling honor was reserved -for my own great-grandfather. Not that I brag of it--as I said. But -people like you and myself, Mrs. Mousely, can at least be honestly -proud of our ancestors. Now, I suppose our genial landlord here--” - -“Luella!” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely, in sudden comprehension. “This--this -person is pokin’ fun at you. I’ll thank you, young man--” - -“Speaking of family,” deftly intervened Miss Gregg, while Mosely -and Vail, from opposite sides of the table, looked homicide at the -unruffled Chase, “speaking of family, Clive, you remember the Bacons, -who used to live just beyond Canobie, don’t you? Your father asked -pompous old Standish Bacon if he happened to be descended from Sir -Francis Bacon. He answered: ‘Sir Francis left no descendants. But if he -had, I should be one of them.’ He--” - -“If Mr. Case thinks it is a gentlemanly thing to insult--” boomed -Joshua Q., afresh. - -“That’s just like Bacon,” cut in Clive Creede, coming to the old -lady’s rescue. “My father used to say--” - -Then he fell silent, as though his tired mind was not equal to further -invention. He did not so much as recall the possibly mythical Bacon, -and he had not the energy to improvise further. - -But Miss Gregg’s mind was never tired, nor was her endurance-trained -tongue acquainted with weariness. And before Mosely could boom his -protest afresh, she was in her stride once more. - -“You’re right,” she assured Clive. “He was just that sort. If Standish -Bacon had lived in Bible times, he’d never have been content to be one -of the Apostles. He’d have insisted on being all twelve of them and a -couple of the High Priests thrown in. Doris, you’ll remember the time I -told him that?” - -“Yes,” assented the girl, breaking involuntarily into the queer little -child-laugh that Vail loved. “I do, indeed. And I remember what he -answered. He--” - -“If Mr. Case--” blustered the undeterred Mosely. - -“I’d forgotten that part of it,” purred Miss Gregg, ignoring Joshua -Q. “I remember now. He said, in that stiff old-fashioned way of his: -‘Madam, you exaggerate. Yet in all modesty I may venture to believe -that if I had lived in Bible times, my unworthy name might have had the -honor to be mentioned in that Book of Books. Lesser folk than myself -were mentioned there by name. Fishermen and tanners and coppersmiths -and the like.’” - -“No?” exploded Vail. “Did Bacon really say that? The old windbag! And -you let him get away with it, Miss Gregg? I should have thought--” - -“No,” replied the old lady, complacently. “I can’t say I really ‘let -him get away with it.’ At least, not very far away. I’m afraid I even -lost my gentle temper, and that for once in my life I was just a -little rude. I said to him: ‘Why, Standish Bacon, you couldn’t have -gotten your name in Holy Writ if you’d lived through every one of its -books. You couldn’t even have gotten in by name if you’d broken up one -of St. Paul’s most crowded meetings at Ephesus. The best mention you -could have hoped to get for that would have been a verse, tucked away -somewhere in the middle of a chapter, in the Epistle to the Ephesians. -A verse like this: “_And it came to pass in those days that a Certain -Man of Ephesus busted up the meeting!_”’ Bacon didn’t like it very -well. But he--” - -Joshua Q. Mosely and his glaringly indignant wife had been shut out of -the talk as skillfully as Miss Gregg’s ingenuity could devise. But mere -ingenuity cannot forever hold its own against a bull-bellow voice. Now -as the old lady still rambled on, Joshua Q. burst forth again: - -“Excuse me for speaking out of turn, as the feller said!” he declaimed. -“But I want this Case person to know-- Hey, there!” he broke off, in -dismay. “What’s happenin’?” - -For again the substance of his diatribe was shattered. - -This time the needed and heaven-sent interruption did not come from -Miss Gregg, but from Macduff and Petty. - -Thaxton, absent-mindedly, had tossed a fragment of trout to Macduff -on the floor beside him. He had long since dropped into the habit of -giving the collie surreptitious tidbits during the course of a meal. -Macduff was wont to accept them gravely, and he never begged. - -But to-night, from his post behind Mrs. Mosely’s chair, the ever-hungry -police dog caught sight of the tossed morsel. He lumbered forward to -grab it. Macduff daintily picked up and swallowed the food, a second -before Petty could seize it. - -Angry at loss of the prize and at another dog daring to get ahead of -him, Petty launched himself at the unsuspecting collie, driving his -teeth into Macduff’s fur-armored neck. - -The collie resented this egregious attack by writhing out from under -his assailant, wrenching free from the half-averted grip, and flying at -the police dog’s throat. - -In a flash of time an industrious and rackety dog fight was in progress -all over the dining room. - -One of the maids screeched. Every one jumped up. A chair was overturned -bangingly. Mrs. Mosely shrieked: - -“The brute is murdering poor darling Petty! _Help!_” - -Excited past all caution, she dashed between the rearing and roaring -combatants just as Thaxton Vail recovered enough presence of mind to -shout imperatively to his collie. - -At the command Macduff ceased to lay on. Turning reluctantly, he -walked back to his master. Joshua Q. Mosely, meantime, had flung his -incalculable weight upon the bellicose Petty, pinning the luckless -police dog to the floor. The fight was over. - -Mrs. Mosely’s shrill voice, raised in anguish, soared above the hubbub. - -“He’s bitten me!” she cried, nursing a bony finger whose knuckle bore a -faint abrasion from the glancing eyetooth of one of the warriors. “That -wretched collie has bitten me!” - -Then it was that Joshua Q. Mosely proved himself a master of men and of -situations. Holding the fat police dog by the studded collar, he drew -himself to his full height. - -“Come up to the room, Luella!” he bade his hysterical wife. “I’ll -wash out the cut for you and bind it up nice. If it’s bad, we’ll have -a doctor for it. As for you,” he continued, glowering awesomely upon -Vail, “you’re just at the first of what you’re going to get for this. -You tried to keep us from stopping here. Then you egged on one of your -other guests to insult Mrs. M. at the table. And now your dog attacks -ours and then bites my wife. We’re going to the room. To-morrow morning -we’ll have breakfast in it. You can send up the bill at the same time. -Because I don’t mean to sully my eyes or Mrs. M.’s by looking on your -face again. As soon as breakfast’s over we are leaving. At the first -police station I shall lodge complaint against you for maintaining a -vicious dog, a menace to public safety. And I’m going to write this -whole affair to my counsel and instruct him to institoot action. Come, -Luella.” - -Out of the room they strode, Petty lugged protestingly along between -them. Miss Gregg broke the instant of dread silence by saying -decisively: - -“I’m not surprised. I make it a rule never to be surprised at -anything said or done by a man who calls his wife ‘Mrs. M.’ or ‘Mrs. -Any-Other-Initial,’ or who speaks of ‘_the_ room.’ And their fat dog -was the only one of them that didn’t eat fish with a knife. Just the -same, Willis, you ought to be spanked! I’m ashamed of you. It was -all your fault; for trying to be funny with people outside your own -class. That’s as dangerous as massaging a mule’s tail, and ten times as -inexcusable.” - -“I’m awfully sorry,” said Chase, remorsefully. “Honestly, I am. The -only bright side to it is the man’s promise that we’ll not see either -of them again. I’m sorry, Thax. I--” - -Down the stairs clattered two pairs of bumpily running feet. Into the -dining room burst a flamingly red and bellowing Joshua Q. Mosely, his -wife spluttering along at his heels. - -“We been robbed!” squealed Mosely, too upset to remember to boom. - -“_What?_” gasped Vail, as the others stared open-mouthed. - -Mosely repeated his clarion announcement: - -“Robbed! Mrs. M.’s jewel case pinched right out of her locked bag. -Twelve thousand dollars’ worth of joolry stolen. It was there when we -come down to dinner, and now it’s gone, and the bag is busted open. I--” - -“What are you talking about?” demanded Thaxton. “You can’t have been -robbed--_here_! What--?” - -“Can’t, hey?” roared Mosely, his emotion scaling to the secondary -stage. “Can’t, hey?” he reiterated as he advanced on Vail with swinging -fists. “Well, we _have_! You’ve had us cleaned out! You run a robber’s -roost here, you dirty thief!” - -Furious past further articulate words, Joshua Q. shook a hamlike fist -in Thaxton’s astonished face. Vail stepped in under the flailing arm. -Then he proceeded, quietly and scientifically, to knock the giant down. - -After which, everything happened at once. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE POLICE AND THE DUKE OF ARGYLE - - -Ten minutes later they trailed downstairs from a mournful inspection of -the violet room. There could be no doubt as to the truth of what Joshua -Q. Mosely had told them. The smallest of the traveling bags heaped in a -corner of the room had been broken open. So had the flimsy lock of the -chased silver jewel box it contained. - -The thief, apparently, had made brief examination of the various bags -in the jumbled heap until he had come upon the only one that was -locked. Then with a sharp knife or razor he had slit the russet leather -along the hinge, had thrust his hand in and had drawn forth the silver -box. It had been absurdly simple to force the lock of this. Probably it -had yielded to the first heave of the knifeblade in the crack under the -lid. - -The window screens had not been disturbed, nor were the vines outside -broken or disarranged. Mosely declared he had left locked the room -door when he came down to dinner; and had pocketed the key. Clive -Creede’s comment on this information was to go to the door of the next -room, extract its key and fit it in the door of the violet room. It -turned the wards with entire ease. - -“Most of the doors in private houses,” said Clive, by way of -explanation, “have standard uniform locks. Any one who wanted to get in -here could have borrowed the key of any door along the hallway. You say -you found the door wide open when you came back?” - -“Yep,” said Mosely, unconsciously nursing his fast-swelling jawpoint. -“That’s what made us suspicious. So we switched on the light. And there -was this bag, on top of the rest, all bust open. So we--” - -He refrained from repeating, for the ninth time, his entire windy -recital and mutteringly followed the others down to the living room. - -“You look kind of tuckered out, young man,” he said, not unkindly, to -Clive as he and Creede brought up the rear of the procession. - -“I am,” replied Clive. “This shock and the scene at dinner and the dog -fight and your mix-up with Vail--well, they aren’t the best things for -a sick man. They’ve started my head to aching again.” - -“H’m! Too bad!” commented Mosely. “But not so bad as if you’d lost -$12,000 worth of good joolry.... I s’pose I spoke a little too quick -when I told Mr. Vail he was a crook and said he ran a robber’s roost. -But he had no call to knock me down. I didn’t carry it any further; -because I don’t believe in fisticuffs before ladies. But I warn you I’m -going to summons you folks as witnesses in the assault-and-battery suit -I bring against him. The young ruffian!” - -“If you’re wise, Mr. Mosely,” suggested Clive, his usual calm manner -sharpening, “you’ll bring no suit. You’ll let that part of the matter -drop as suddenly as you yourself dropped. If we have to testify that -he knocked you down, we’ll also testify to what you called him and -that you shook your fist at him in what looked like a menace. Such a -gesture constitutes what lawyers call ‘technical assault.’ No jury will -convict Vail for self-defense. As for your loss--even if this were a -regular hotel--you surely must know a proprietor is not responsible for -valuables left in a guest’s room. I’m sorry for you. But you seem to -have no redress.” - -Mosely glowered blackly. Then, without answering, he turned his back -on Creede and stamped into the living room. - -“Telephoned the police yet?” he demanded of Vail. - -“No,” said Thaxton. “Call them up yourself if you like. The main phone -is out there at the back of the hall. Call up the Aura police station. -I suppose we come within its jurisdiction more than Lenox’s.” - -Mosely departed in search of the telephone. His wife stood in the -doorway, wringing her hands. - -“Oh, if we’d only left Petty on guard up there!” she wailed. “We always -feel so safe when Petty is on guard! Mr. Vail, I’m certain this is an -inside job. It--” - -“Yes,” assented Willis Chase. “That’s what the police are certain to -say, anyhow. When they can’t find out anything else, they always label -it an ‘inside job’ and behave as if that explained everything.” - -“What is an ‘inside job’?” asked Creede. “It sounds familiar. But--” - -“An inside job is a job the police can’t find a clue to,” explained -Chase. “So they leave the rest of the work to the detectives. That’s -the climax. When a policeman blows out his brains and survives, they -make a detective of him. Why, Thax, don’t you remember when the Conant -house was robbed and the--” - -“Yes,” answered Vail, grinning at the memory. “I remember. That was the -time Chief Quimby’s box of safety matches got afire in his hip pocket -while he was on his hands and knees looking for clues. And you tried -to extinguish the blaze by kicking him. I remember he wanted to jail -you for ‘kicking an officer in pursuit of his duty.’ You said his hip -pocket wasn’t ‘out yet but seemed to be under control.’” - -While they had been talking, Miss Gregg and Doris had come quietly -into the room. Both were a trifle paler than usual, but otherwise were -unruffled. A moment later Mosely returned from his telephone colloquy -with the police. - -“The chief says he’ll be right over,” he reported. “He asked if any -other rooms had been robbed. And I felt like a fool, to have to tell -him we hadn’t even looked.” - -“If you had waited a minute longer, before leaving the telephone,” -spoke up Miss Gregg, “you could have told him that at least one more -room had been ransacked. My niece and I stopped in our suite, on the -way down, just now. Her little jewel case and the chamois bag I kept -my rings and things in--both of them are gone.” - -“Miss Gregg!” exclaimed Vail. “Not really? Oh, I’m so sorry! So--” - -A babel of other sympathetic voices drowned his stammered condolences. -Out of the babel emerged Willis Chase’s query. - -“Were they locked up?” - -“Yes, and no,” returned Miss Gregg. “We locked them in the second -drawer of the dresser and hid the key. But being only normal women -and not Sherlockettes, of course we quite overlooked locking the top -drawer. The top drawer has been carefully taken out and laid on the -bed. And the case and the chamois bag have been painlessly extracted -from the second drawer. It was so simple! I quite envy the brain of -that thief. It is a lesson worth the price of the things he took--if -only they had belonged to some one else.... - -“Thax Vail!” she broke off indignantly. “Stop looking as if you’d been -slapped! You’re not going to feel badly about this. I forbid you to. -Here we all forced ourselves upon you, and turned your home upside -down, against your will! And if we’re the losers, it’s our own fault, -not yours. We--” - -She stopped her efforts at consolation, catching sight of Clive Creede, -who slipped unobtrusively into the room. A minute earlier she had seen -him go out and had heard his step on the stairs. - -“Well,” she challenged, as she peered up shrewdly into his troubled -white face. “Another county heard from? How much?” - -Clive laughed, in an assumption of carelessness, and glanced -apologetically at Thaxton. - -“Not much,” he made shift to answer the garrulous old lady. “Just a -little bunch of bills I’d left on my chiffonier and--and a watch. -That’s all.” - -“The Argyle watch?” cried Miss Lane, in genuine concern. “Not the -Argyle watch. Oh, you poor boy!” - -“What might the Argyle watch be?” acidly queried Mrs. Mosely. “It must -be something priceless, since it seems to stir you people up more than -our $12,000 loss. But then--of course--” - -“The Argyle watch,” explained Doris, forestalling a hot rejoinder from -Vail, “is a big, old-fashioned, gold, hunting-case watch that the Duke -of Argyle offered as a scholarship prize once at the University of -Edinburgh. Mr. Creede’s father won it, as a young man. And it was his -dearest possession. I don’t wonder Mr. Creede feels so about its loss. -He--” - -“The Duke of Argyle?” repeated Mosely, lifted momentarily from his -daze of grief by sound of so magic and familiar a name. “The one who -invented the scratching posts that made folks say ‘God bless the Duke -of Argyle’? I read about him in a book. Was he the same one?” - -“No,” said Willis Chase, “this was the one who put up sandpaper pillars -on the border for Highlanders to rub the burrs off their dialect. He -was the laird of Hootmon Castle, syne aboon the sonsie Lochaber.” - -Once more Mosely favored the flippant youth with a scowl of utter -disgust. Then, turning to the rest, he said: - -“An idea has just hit me. I warn you I’m going to mention it to the -police as soon as they get here. We came down to this room before -dinner, and we had to wait around here for pretty near half an hour -before we were called in to eat. Mr. Vail, you sneaked out of the room -after we were here. And you were gone ten minutes or more. Long enough -to--” - -“To rob all my guests?” supplemented Vail. “Quite so. I’m sorry to -spoil such a pleasant theory. But I was in the dining room trying to -quell a servile insurrection--trying to stave off a domestic strike--so -that you might get a decently appointed dinner instead of having to -forage in the ice box after the servants quit.” - -“That’s your version, hey?” grated Mosely. “Most likely you can bribe -one or two of your servants to back it up, too.” - -“I’m sorry, Mr. Mosely,” put in Miss Gregg, as Vail choked back a -retort. “I’m as sorry as Mr. Vail to spoil your perfectly beautiful -theory. But our sinning host happens to be telling the truth. In fact, -it is a habit of his. I know he’s telling the truth because I went -out there to reënforce him just as he was losing the battle against -butler and housekeeper combined, with the cook as auxiliary reserve. Of -course, _I_ may be bribed, too, in my testimony, for all you know. So -if you care to--” - -“I never doubt a lady’s word, ma’am,” said Mosely with ponderous -gallantry. - -“Why not?” insisted Miss Gregg. “It’s far safer than doubting Thaxton -Vail’s. To save my life, I couldn’t hit as clean a blow or as hard a -blow as the one that gave your chin that lovely mauve lump on it. -Thax, you’re something of a fool, but you’re something more of a man. I -never saw any one knocked down before. Except on the stage. I ought to -have been sickened by the brutal sight. But I confess it thrilled me. I -got the same reaction from it that I always get when the full _Messiah_ -Chorus bursts into the ‘Hallelujah.’ It--” - -“Auntie!” cried Doris, scandalized. - -“So did _you_, for that matter!” accused the old lady. “Your eyes were -like a pair of overgrown stars. They--” - -“Suppose,” broke in Doris, reddening painfully, “suppose the rest of -us see if the thief visited us. Then we can have a full report to make -when the chief comes. Let’s see--Auntie and I--the Moselys--Clive-oh, -yes--Willis Chase! Is--” - -“I saw him start upstairs a second ago,” said Vail. “He--” - -“And, by the way,” exclaimed Joshua Q., on new inspiration, “Case -didn’t come into the dining room till we had all sat down. He hurried -in later than--” - -“Chase is always hurrying in ‘later than,’” said Miss Gregg. “It’s his -one claim to distinction. He is never on time anywhere. I’m afraid -your new theory won’t hold water any more than the other did, Mr. -Mosely.” - -“If it comes to that,” suggested Clive Creede, “_I_ got downstairs -after all the rest of you did. Just as you were starting in to dinner. -I was almost as late as Chase. There’s as much reason to suspect me as -to suspect him, Mr. Mosely.” - -“No,” denied Joshua Q., judicially, “there don’t seem to be. I can’t -agree with you. The cases might be the same, if you hadn’t lost money -and a watch. It isn’t likely you robbed yourself. Especially of a watch -like that Argyle one you think so much of. That watch seems to be -pretty well known to the other folks here. And if it’s known to them, -it must be known by sight to lots of others. After saying it was stolen -you couldn’t ever let it be seen again if you’d just pretended to steal -it. No, that lets you out, I guess.” - -“Thanks,” said Creede. “I am glad you honor me with such perfect trust.” - -He spoke crossly. His face was dead white and was creased with -pain-lines. Very evidently he was in acute suffering. Doris looked -at him with worried sympathy. Thaxton Vail saw the look, and he was -ashamed of the sharp pang of jealousy which cut into him. - -Vail knew enough of women at large and of Doris Lane in particular to -realize that Clive Creede, bearing sickness and pain so bravely, was by -far a more dangerous rival than Clive Creede in the glow of health. He -was disgusted at himself for his own involuntary jealousy toward the -man who was his lifelong friend. - -He moved over to where Clive stood wearily leaning against the wall. - -“Sit down, old man,” he said, drawing a big chair toward him. “You’re -all in. This has been too much for you. We--” - -“I beg to report,” interrupted Willis Chase, airily, coming back from -his tour of inspection, “I beg to report the total loss of a watch and -my roll and my extra set of studs. The watch was not given to my father -by the Duke of Argyle. But it was given to my father’s only son, by Mr. -Tiffany, as a prize for giving the said Mr. Tiffany a check for $275. -The transaction was carried on through one of his clerks, of course, -but that makes it none the less hallowed. Besides--” - -“This seems to put it up pretty stiffly to the servants,” said Mosely. -“The police better begin with them. By the way, I suppose you’ve made -sure, Mr. Vail, that none of them could sneak away, before the chief -gets here.” - -“No,” answered Thaxton, annoyed. “I never thought of it. But I’m -certain I can trust them. They have been with me a long time, most of -them. And--” - -“Young man,” exhorted Mosely, from the depths of his originality, “if -you had had as much business experience as I’ve had you’d know it’s the -most trusted employee who does the stealing.” - -“Naturally,” assented Miss Gregg. “Why not? The trusted employees are -the only ones who get a chance to handle the valuables. That’s one of -the truisms nobody thinks of--just as people praise Robin Hood because -he always robbed the rich and never molested the poor. Why should he -have molested the poor? If they’d been worth robbing, they wouldn’t -have been poor. And it’s the same with--” - -The chug and rattle of a motor car at the porte-cochère checked her. -A minute later two men were ushered into the room by the awe-stricken -Vogel. They were Reuben Quimby, the Aura police chief, and one of his -constables. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -FAITH AND UNFAITH AND SOME MOONLIGHT - - -The lanky chief did not appear at all excited. Indeed, he and his -assistant went about their work with a quiet routine method that verged -on boredom. They made a perfunctory tour of the robbed rooms; then -they convened an impromptu court of inquiry in the living room, Quimby -bidding Vogel and Mrs. Horoson to collect the entire service staff of -house and grounds in the dining room and to herd them there until they -should be called for, one by one. - -Then after listening gravely to Vail’s account of the affair and with -growing impatience to Joshua Q. Mosely’s longer and more dramatic -recital, Quimby announced that the interrogation would begin. Thaxton -was the first witness. - -“Mr. Vail,” asked the chief, “what did _you_ lose? I don’t see your -list on this inventory of stolen goods you’ve made out for me.” - -Vail looked blank. - -“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I never thought to look. I was so bothered -about the others’ losses I clean forgot--” - -“Suppose you go and look now,” hinted the chief. “Be as quick as you -can. We’ll delay the interrogation till you come back.” - -Thaxton returned to the improvised courtroom in less than three minutes. - -“Not a thing missing, so far as I can see,” he reported. “And nothing -disturbed. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Chief. I seem to be the -only one who escaped a visit from the thief.” - -Clive Creede had been slumping low in the chair which Vail had brought -him. Now, breathing hard, he got weakly to his feet and lurched through -the open French window out onto the moonlit veranda. - -He made his exit so unobtrusively that no one but Doris Lane chanced -to note it. The girl, at sight of his haggard face and stumbling gait, -followed Creede out into the moonlight. She found him leaning against -one of the veranda pillars, drawing in great breaths of the cool night -air. - -“Are you worse?” she asked in quick anxiety. “Why don’t you go to bed? -You’re not fit to be up.” - -“Oh, I’m all right,” he declared, pluckily, as he straightened from -his crumpled posture. “Don’t worry about me. Only--the room was so -close and so crowded and so noisy--and I felt dizzy--and I had to come -out here for a lungful of fresh air. I’ll go back presently.” - -She hesitated, as though about to return to the others. But the sick -man looked so forlorn and weak she disliked to leave him alone. Yet, -knowing how sensitive he was in all things regarding his health, she -masked her intent under pretense of lingering for a chat. - -“I wonder if it was really an ‘inside job,’” she hazarded. “If it was, -of course it must have been one of the servants. And I hate to believe -that. We know every one else concerned, and we know we are all honest. -That is, we know every one but the Moselys. And they couldn’t very well -have done it, could they?” - -“They couldn’t have done it at all,” he said, emphatically. “I know. -Because you said they were the first people in the living room, waiting -for dinner. I came down nearly half an hour later. I had overslept. -When I changed to dinner clothes, I left my watch and my cash on my -chiffonier. They were stolen. The Moselys had been downstairs a long -time. And they didn’t go up again till they went after that dog fight. -And then they weren’t gone two minutes before they came rushing back -to tell us they’d been robbed. Not long enough for them to ransack -a single unfamiliar room, to say nothing of my room and Chase’s and -yours. No, we must leave the Moselys out of it.” - -“Then it must be one of the servants, of course,” decided Doris. - -“I wish I dared hope so,” muttered Clive, almost too low for her to -catch the words. - -“What do you mean?” she asked in surprise. - -“I mean,” he said, wretchedly, “I mean it would be better to find out -that one of them had robbed us than if-- Oh, I don’t mean anything at -all!” he ended, in sulky anticlimax. - -She stared at him with wonder. - -“I don’t understand you,” she said. “We’ve just proved it couldn’t -be any one but the servants, unless, of course, it was done by some -professional thief who got in. And that doesn’t seem likely.” - -“No,” he said, shortly. “It doesn’t. It was done from the inside. -That’s proved.... Let’s talk about something else, shan’t we?” - -But Doris’s curiosity was piqued by his eagerness to sheer away from -the theme. - -“Tell me,” she insisted. - -“Tell you what?” he countered, sullenly. - -“Tell me whom you suspect,” returned Doris. “You suspect some one. I -know you do. Who is it?” - -“I didn’t say I suspected any one,” he made troubled answer. “I’d -rather not talk about it at all, if you don’t mind.” - -“But I _do_ mind,” she protested. “Why, Clive, all of us have been -living here in this corner of the Berkshires every summer since we were -born! We’ve all known one another all our lives. It’s--it’s a terrible -thing to feel that one of us may be a thief. Won’t you tell me whom you -suspect?” - -Clive looked glumly down into her appealingly upraised face for a -moment. Then he squared his shoulders and spoke. - -“You’ve asked for it,” said he, speaking between his shut teeth and -with growing reluctance. “I’d give ten years’ income not to tell -you--and I’d give ten years of my life not to believe it’s he.” - -“Who?” - -He hesitated. Then, a tinge of evasion in his unhappy voice, he replied: - -“Every one of us was robbed.... Except one.” - -She frowned, perplexed. - -“What’s that got to do with it?” she asked. “Thax was the only one of -us who wasn’t robbed. That doesn’t answer my question at all.” - -He said nothing. - -“Clive Creede!” she burst forth, incredulously. “Do you mean to say you -are--are--_imbecile_ enough to believe such a thing of Thax? Why, I-- -_Clive!_” - -There was a world of amazed contempt in her young voice. The man -winced. Yet he held his ground doggedly. - -“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “I know, as well as you do, that -Thax didn’t do it through dishonesty or because he needed the money. He -has more cash now than he can spend. But--” - -“Then why--” - -“Either he did it as a mammoth practical joke or else--” - -“Thax is not a practical joker,” she interpolated. “No one but a fool -plays practical jokes.” - -“Or else,” he resumed, “he did it to get rid of his unwelcome guests. -That is the most likely solution.” - -“The most likely solution,” she said hotly, “the _only_ sane solution -is that he didn’t do it at all. It’s absurd to think he did. He--” - -“He is the only one of us who wasn’t robbed,” persisted Clive. “He is -the only one of us familiar enough with every room and every piece of -furniture to have gone through the house so quickly and so thoroughly, -taking only the most valuable things from each of them. Nobody else -would have had time to or a chance to. He is the only one of us who -could have been seen going from room to room without being suspected. -I thought of all that. But I wouldn’t believe it till he said himself -just now that he hadn’t been robbed. That proved it to me. That’s why I -came out here. It turned me sick to think--” - -“Clive,” said the girl, quietly, “either the war or else those -exploding chemicals in your Rackrent Farm laboratory seems to have had -a distressing effect on your mentality. I’ve known you ever since I was -born. In the old days you could never have made yourself believe such a -thing of Thax Vail. You know you couldn’t. Oh, if--” - -Her sweet voice trembled. She turned away, staring blindly out into the -moonlight. - -“I’m sorry,” said Clive, briefly. - -He hesitated, looking in distress at her averted head. Then with a -catch of the breath he turned and strode into the living room. - -Doris took a step toward the French window to follow him. But there -were tears in her eyes, and she felt strangely shaken and unhappy from -her talk with Creede. She did not wish the others to see her until -she should have had time to recover her self-control. Wherefore she -remained where she was. - -She was dully astonished that Clive’s disbelief in Vail should have -moved her so profoundly. She had not realized, until she heard him -attacked, all that Thaxton was coming to mean to her. A glimpse of this -new wonder-feeling had been vouchsafed her when she saw Vail knock down -a man so much larger and bulkier than himself. The sight had thrilled -her unaccountably. But it had been as nothing to the reaction at -hearing his honesty doubted. - -Long she stood there, forcing herself to look in the face this -astounding situation wherein her heart had so imperceptibly floundered. -At last, turning from her blind survey of the moon-flooded lawn, she -moved toward the living room. - -At her first step she paused. Some one was rounding the house from the -front, treading heavily on the rose-bordered gravel path that skirted -the veranda. Doris waited for the newcomer to draw nearer. - -On came the heavy, fast-moving steps. And now they were mounting the -veranda’s side stair. In the moonlight, the face and body of a man were -clearly revealed. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE INQUISITION - - -At first glance the man was Clive Creede. And Doris wondered how he -chanced to have left the house and to have approached the veranda in -such a roundabout way. - -Then, as he stood before her, she saw he was not in dinner clothes, but -in a dark lounge suit. And as he lifted his soft hat at sight of her, -she saw his forehead was bald and that he wore spectacles. Also that -there was a sagging stoop to his shoulders and the hint of a limp in -his walk. - -Clive’s twin brother was the last man she cared to meet in her present -tumultuous frame of mind. At best she had never been able to bring -herself to like him. Yet he had come too close now to be avoided -without rudeness. - -As he recognized her, Osmun Creede took an impulsively eager step -forward. - -“Why, Doris!” he exclaimed joyously. “This is better luck than I looked -for. What on earth are you doing at Vailholme? And why are you out -here all alone? Doesn’t the same moon that interests you interest Clive -or Vail?” - -“Oh, you’ve come to see Clive?” she asked, trying to speak civilly and -not to let herself be annoyed by the man’s awkward attempts at banter. - -“Yes,” said Osmun. “He’s stopping with Vail till his house gets -disinfected or loses the reek of some chemicals that made him sick. Why -he should choose to come here instead of to his own brother’s home,” he -added bitterly, “is a mystery to me. Probably he has his own reasons. -Anyhow, I came over to see if he is better and if there’s anything I -can do for him. I didn’t ring because I saw through the windows that -there’s a party of some kind going on. I saw a bunch of people in the -living room. And I’m in tramping clothes. I came around to the side -door, on the chance of finding a servant I could send upstairs to Clive -to find how he is.” - -“Clive was out here five minutes ago,” she replied. “He went back to -the interrogation. I’ll--” - -“Interrogation?” repeated Osmun, puzzled. “Is it a game? Or--?” - -Briefly she outlined to the dumbfounded man the story of the evening’s -events. He listened, open-mouthed, his face, in the moonlight, blank -with crass incredulity. The instant she paused he began to hurl -questions at her. Impatiently she answered them. But in their mid-flow -she turned away and walked to the long window. - -“I’m afraid I must go in,” she said, stiffly, his avid curiosity and -his evident relish of the affair jarring her unaccountably. “They may -want to interrogate me, too. The chief was going to examine us all, I -believe. You’ll excuse me?” - -“I’ll do better than that,” he assured her. “I’ll come along. I -wouldn’t miss this thing for a million.” - -Before she could deter him he had stepped past her and had flung wide -the French window. Standing aside, he motioned her to pass through. -She hesitated. Chief Quimby, catching sight of her on the threshold, -beckoned her in. - -“We wondered where you were, Miss Lane,” said he. “We’ve been waiting -for you. Every one else has been questioned. Come in, please.” - -Reluctantly she entered. Osmun Creede pressed in, at her heels, closing -the window behind him. The guests were seated in various parts of -the living room, one and all looking thoroughly uncomfortable. At a -table sat the chief. Beside him, holding an open note book, sat the -constable. - -Through the doorway Doris could see in the hall a flustered group -of servants, babbling in excited whispers. One woman among them was -repeating snifflingly at intervals that she was a respectable working -girl and that never before in her life had any one asked her such a -passel of turrible questions and she was going to pack up and leave -right away and she’d have the law on them that had asked was she a -thief! - -Quimby seemed to note the presence of this offstage chorus at the same -time as did Doris. For he turned to the housekeeper who stood primly in -a far corner: - -“You can send them back to the kitchen quarters, Mrs. Horoson,” he -said. “I’m through with them for the present. Only see none of them -leave the house. Let them understand that any one who tries to sneak -out will be followed and arrested. I shall take it as an indication of -guilt. That is all, Mrs. Horoson. We shan’t need you or Vogel any more -either. Or if we do I’ll ring for you.” - -“Where is Clive?” Osmun asked Willis Chase, who had greeted the -unpopular twin’s advent with the briefest of nods. - -“Gone up to bed,” answered Chase. “Went up as soon as the chief had -finished asking him a handful of questions. Said he felt rotten. Looked -it, too. Chief excused him. He has the two East rooms, if you want to -go up and see him.” - -“I shall, presently,” said Osmun. “This is too interesting to leave -just yet.” - -He listened to the chief’s few queries of Doris as to the discovery -that her jewel box had been stolen. Doris replied clearly and to the -point, her testimony confirming in all details the story her aunt had -just told. - -The last witness being examined, the lanky chief leaned back in his -chair beating a tattoo on his teeth with the pencil he carried. Then he -glanced at his notes and again at the inventory on the table before him. - -“I am convinced,” he said slowly, “that all you people have told me the -truth. And I am inclined to believe the servants have done the same. -Taking into consideration their flurry and scare, they told remarkably -straight stories, and it seems clear that none of them were absent from -their duties in the kitchen or in the dining room long enough to have -run upstairs and robbed so many rooms and then to have gotten back -unnoticed. It seems none of them had even gone up so early to arrange -the bedrooms for the night. And there is positively no sign, outdoors -or in, that any professional thief broke into the house. Of course, a -closer search of the rooms and a search of the servants and of their -quarters--and of yourselves, if you will permit--may throw new light on -the case. But--” - -He paused. On these summer people and on others of their clan depended -ninety per cent of Aura’s livelihood and importance. Quimby had tried, -therefore, to handle this delicate matter in such a way as to avoid -offense. And, thus far, he had not a ghost of a clue to go on. - -“Search away--as far as I’m concerned,” spoke up Willis Chase, in the -short pause which followed. “Three times, on the Canadian border, I’ve -had my car searched for bootleg booze. And every time I hit the New -York Customs crowd, on my way back from Europe, they search my soiled -collars and trunkbottoms with the most loving care. So this’ll be no -novelty. Search.” - -“I have a horrible feeling that all the stolen things are going to -be found on _me_,” supplemented Miss Gregg. “They would be, in a -nightmare, you know. And if this isn’t a nightmare I don’t know what -nightmare is. But search if you like. The sooner it’s over the sooner -we’ll wake up.” - -“I speak for the good wife as well as for myself,” boomed Joshua Q. -Mosely, “when I say we shall do all in our power to uphold the law. We -are willing to be searched.” - -He gazed about him with the rarefied air of one who has just consented -to part with life in the holy cause of duty. - -“_I_ am not going to be searched.” - -It was Thaxton Vail who said it. Every one turned with something akin -to a jump and stared marvelingly at him. - -“I am not going to be searched,” he repeated, coming forward into the -strong glare of lamplight beside the table where sat the two officials. -“And I am not going to permit my guests to be searched. When I say ‘my -guests,’ I do not refer to Mr. and Mrs. Mosely, but to the friends whom -I have known all my life. They are under my roof. They have suffered by -being under my roof. Neither they nor myself shall be humiliated any -further. I’ve listened patiently to this comic opera interrogation, and -I have answered all questions put to me in the course of it. But I’m -not going to submit to the tom-foolery of a search. Please understand -that clearly, Chief.” - -He sat down again. There was a confused rustle throughout the room. -Joshua Q. Mosely glared at him with fearsome suspicion. Quimby cleared -his throat, frowning. But before either could speak Osmun Creede had -come forward out of the shadows to the area of light by the table. - -“Chief,” he said, his rasping voice cutting the room’s looser sounds -like a rusty file, “I’m the only person here who can’t possibly be -connected with the thefts. I didn’t get here till five minutes ago, and -I can prove by a dozen people that I was dining at the Country Club at -the time the things were stolen. So I can speak disinterestedly.” - -“What’s the sense of your speaking at all?” grumbled Chase. “It’s no -business of yours.” - -Unheeding, Osmun proceeded: - -“Chief, you have established that some one in this house is a thief. -That thief, presumably, had to do his work mighty fast and presumably -he had no time to hide all his loot in a place safe enough to elude a -police hunt. He had only a minute or two to do it in. Therefore, the -chances are that the bulkier or less easily hidden bits of plunder are -still concealed on him. Perhaps all of it. Very good. It would be that -man’s natural impulse to resist search. Practically every one else -here has volunteered to submit to search. One man only has refused. By -an odd coincidence, that happens also to be the one man who was not -robbed. Figure it out for yourself. It--” - -“Oz Creede!” Miss Gregg declaimed, as the rest still sat dazed into -momentary stillness at the unbelievable attack. “If you had the -remotest idea how utterly vile and worthless you are, you’d bite -yourself and die of hydrophobia.... I just thought I’d mention it,” she -added, apologetically, to Doris. - -But Doris did not hear. The girl’s glowing eyes were on Thaxton Vail, -who had sprung to his feet and was advancing on his accuser. - -“Oz,” said Vail, his voice muffled and not quite firm, “I promised your -brother I’d forget I had any grievance against you. May I trouble you -to leave here before I forget that promise?-- As quickly as you can, -please.” - -“Hold on there!” blustered Joshua Q., billowing forward. “Hold on -there! There seems to me to be a lot in what this young feller says. -He talks sense, Mr. Vail. And I believe he’s right. This is no time to -go trying to carry things highhanded. Chief, I demand--” - -He broke off short in the rolling utterances, his mouth ajar, his -little eyes bulging. Osmun Creede and Vail stood confronting each -other. With a gesture as swift as the strike of a rattlesnake Osmun -thrust out his right hand toward the left waistcoat pocket of Vail’s -dinner clothes. - -Now he withdrew the questing hand and was holding it open for all to -gaze on. In its palm glowed dully a huge old hunting-case watch. - -“I caught sight of a bulge in that pocket,” he rasped. “So I took a -chance at a search on my own account. Now I’ll go. Not because you’ve -ordered me out, Vail, but because I don’t care to stay under the same -roof with a man who robs his guests. Good-by.” - -His words went unheard in the sudden babble of voices and the pressing -forward of the rest. Every one was talking at once. The chief peered, -hypnotized, at the watch Osmun had laid on the table in front of him. -Vail, after a moment of stark blankness, lurched furiously at Creede, -mouthing something which nobody could hear in the uproar. - -The constable threw himself between Vail and the sardonically smiling -man. Before Thaxton could break free or recover his self-control Creede -had left the room. But, in the hallway outside, during the moment’s -hush which followed the clamor, all could hear his strident voice as he -shouted up the stairs: - -“Clive! Come down here! Come down in a rush! The thief’s found!” - -Again Vail took a furious step in pursuit, but again the constable -stepped officiously in front of him. And a second later the front door -slammed. - -“Stay where you are, everybody!” commanded the chief, a new sternness -in his voice, as Willis Chase succeeded in working his way around the -constable and Vail and made for the hall. “Where are you going, Mr. -Chase?” - -“I’m going to catch that swine!” yelled Willis, wrathfully, over his -shoulder, pausing in the living room doorway as he cleared the last -obstacle and sprang toward the hall. “I’m going to find him and bring -him back by the scruff of the neck. And--” - -The constable took a belated step to stop him. Chase turned and bolted. -But as he did so, he collided violently with Clive Creede. Clive had -come downstairs at his brother’s shouted summons, just in time to -receive Chase’s catapult rush. - -Under the impact the sick man staggered and would have fallen had not -Chase caught him. At the same time Thaxton Vail called sharply: - -“Willis! Come back here! Don’t make a fool of yourself! Come back. I -don’t need any one to fight my battles for me. I can attend to this -myself.” - -Apologizing to the breathless Clive for the unintended collision and -helping to steady the shaken man on his feet, Chase abandoned his plan -to overtake and drag Osmun back by force. Sullenly he returned to the -living room, Clive at his side. To the invalid’s puzzled questions he -returned no answer. - -As they came in, Quimby was on his feet. His deferential manner was -gone. The glint of the man hunt shimmered beneath his shaggy gray brows. - -“Sit down, everybody!” he commanded. “Mr. Vail, I said, _sit down_! -This case has taken a different turn. Let nobody leave the room. -Whitcomb,” to the constable, “stand at the door. Now then, we’ll -tackle all this from another angle. The time for kid glove questioning -is past.” - -He eyed them sternly, his gaze focusing last on Thaxton Vail. Then, as -silence was restored, he picked up the watch and held it toward the -blinkingly wondering Clive. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -A LIE OR TWO - - -“Mr. Creede,” said he, “look carefully at this watch. Do you recognize -it?” - -“Of course I do,” replied Clive. “It’s mine. How did--?” - -“This watch, Mr. Creede,” said the chief, slowly, “has just been turned -over to me by your brother.” - -“My brother?” asked Clive, surprised. - -As he spoke his eyes searched the room, peering into the farther -shadows in quest of Osmun. - -“He has gone,” said the chief, reading the glance. “But before he went -he pulled this watch out of the vest pocket of--Mr. Thaxton Vail. -You admit it is yours. The watch that was stolen from your room this -evening. Therefore--” - -“Clive!” broke in Vail. “You know me well enough to--” - -“Mr. Vail,” interrupted the chief, “it is my duty to warn you that -anything you say may be used against you. Now, then, Mr. Creede: You -have identified this watch as the one stolen from you. It was taken -from Mr. Vail’s pocket in the presence of all of us. You can swear to -the identification?” - -“Hold on, please!” said Clive. “You’re barking industriously, Chief. -But you’re barking up the wrong tree. That isn’t the watch I lost.” - -“You said it was!” accused the chief. “You said--” - -“I said nothing of the sort,” denied Clive. “You asked me if I -recognized the watch. And I said I did and that it was mine. I didn’t -say it was the one that was stolen to-night. And it isn’t.” - -The house guests--to whom the Argyle watch was a familiar -object--gasped. Thaxton Vail made as though to speak in quick -disclaimer. But Clive’s tired voice droned on as he met Quimby’s -suspicious eyes fairly and calmly. - -“This watch is mine. It belonged to my father. It was one he had made -the year before he died, with the Argyle watch as a model. And a very -poor bit of work it was. For it has scarcely a look of the original. -Last week at my Rackrent Farm house Mr. Vail dropped his repeater-watch -and broke its mainspring. He sent it to New York to be mended. And I -lent him this second watch of mine to carry till his own comes back. -That’s what I meant just now when I said I recognized the watch and -that it is mine.” - -“Clive!” sputtered Vail. “You’re--” - -“If my brother snatched this watch out of Mr. Vail’s pocket,” finished -Clive, heedless of the interruption and with his eyes still holding the -chief’s, “then he did a mighty impertinent thing and one for which I -apologize, in his name, to my host. That’s all, Chief. The Argyle watch -is still missing.” - -The stupidly coined lie deceived no one but the police, though Doris -Lane felt a throb of admiration for the man who thus sought to shield -his friend. The lie helped to blot from her memory Clive’s earlier -suspicion of Vail. She gave eager credit to the way wherein he defended -the chum in whose guilt he really believed. - -Old Miss Gregg reached out a wrinkled hand and patted Creede on the -knee much as she might have patted the head of Macduff, the collie. - -“You’re a good boy, Clive,” she whispered. “You always were. And, oh, -it’s so infinitely better to _do_ good than just to _be_ good! If--” - -Thaxton Vail’s fierce disclaimer drowned out her murmured words of -praise. - -“Chief,” declared Vail, “my friend is saying all this to protect me. -But I don’t need any protection. That is the Argyle watch. Though how -it happened to be in my pocket is more than I can guess. That’s the -stolen watch. I ought to know. I’ve seen it a thousand times ever since -I was a child. And I never broke a repeater-watch at Mr. Creede’s -house. I never owned a repeater. And I never borrowed any watch from -him. Also, to the best of my belief, his father never had a watch made -to order. He always carried the Argyle watch, and I never heard of his -having any other.” - -“Chief,” interposed Clive, very quietly, as Vail paused for breath, -“I have just told you the true story--the story I shall stick to, if -necessary, on the witness stand. Please remember that. If I say that -watch is not the stolen one any jury in the world will take my word as -to my knowledge of my own property. And any accusation against Mr. Vail -will appear very ridiculous. It will not add to your reputation. For -your own sake I advise you to accept my statement at its face value.” - -“Drop that idiocy, Clive!” exhorted Vail angrily. “I tell you I don’t -need any protection. And if I did I wouldn’t take it in the form of a -lie. You mean well. And I’m grateful to you. But--” - -“That’s my story, Chief,” calmly repeated Creede. - -Quimby was looking from one to the other of the two men in worried -uncertainty. Both were rich and influential members of the Aura -community. Both were lifelong dwellers in the region. The word of -either, presumably, would carry heavy weight in court. Yet each flatly -contradicted the other. The chief’s brain began to buzz. Holding up the -watch and facing the onlookers he asked: - -“Can any of you identify this watch?” - -No one spoke. Vail glanced from face to face. Every visage was either -unwontedly pale or else unwontedly red. But nobody spoke. Clive -Creede’s eyes followed Vail’s to the countenances of the spectators. In -his sunken gaze was a world of appeal. - -“Miss Gregg!” cried Thaxton at random. “You knew Clive’s father for -years. You’ve seen the Argyle watch ever so often. I call on you to -identify it.” - -“My dear Thax,” cooed the old lady, placidly, “nothing on earth -would give me greater joy than to identify it--except to identify the -scoundrel who stole it.” - -“There!” exclaimed Vail, turning in grim triumph to the chief. - -“But,” prattled on the serene old lady, “I’m sorry to say I can’t -identify it. Because I don’t see it. I’m perfectly familiar with -the Argyle watch. But the Argyle watch is most decidedly _not_ the -turnip-like timepiece our friend Quimby is dangling so seductively -before me.” - -Thaxton groaned aloud and sank into his chair, his mind awhirl. The -chief smiled. - -“That seems to settle it,” he said, briskly. “Mr. Vail, you must be -mistaken. This cannot be the Argyle watch. Two more-than-reputable -witnesses have just testified most definitely to that fact.” - -“I don’t know what conspiracy you people are in to save me,” mumbled -Vail, glowering from the haggard Clive to the smugly smiling old lady. -“But you wouldn’t do it if you didn’t think I am guilty. And that hurts -like raw vitriol. I--” - -“Don’t be absurd!” chided Miss Gregg. “Don’t lose all the little -intelligence the Lord saw fit to sprinkle into that fatuous brain of -yours. I’ve known you all your life. I know all about you. You’d never -receive a Nobel prize for anything except cleanness and squareness and -sportsmanship and kindness. But you’re no thief. And every one knows -it. So stop trying to be pathetic.” - -“But--” - -“Besides,” she continued, in the same reproving tone, “nobody but a -kleptomaniac ever steals without a practical motive. What motive have -you? Why--!” - -“Motive?” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely. “Motive, hey? Well, I can’t speak -for you people’s losses, but Mrs. M.’s stolen joolry was worth $12,000, -at a low appraisal. That seems to be motive enough for a poor dub of a -country hotelkeeper to--” - -“My good, if loud-mouthed, man,” replied Miss Gregg, “Mr. Vail’s annual -income is something in the neighborhood of $200,000, to my certain -knowledge. If he wanted such jewelry as was stolen to-night, he could -have bought and paid for a three-ton truckload of it. He could even -have paid present-day prices for enough gasoline to run the three-ton -truck. What object would he have had in sneaking into our rooms and -purloining little handfuls of gew-gaws? That is one argument which may -appeal even to your mighty intellect. He--” - -“But,” gurgled Joshua Q. “But--but hold on, ma’am! Is this a funny joke -you’re springing? What would a man with a $200,000 income be doing, -running a backwoods tavern like this? Tell me that. There’s a catch in -this. Are the lot of you in the plot to--?” - -“Miss Gregg is right, sir,” said the chief, who, like the rest of the -community, stood in chronic fear of the eccentrically powerful old -dame. “And there’s no need to use ugly words like ‘plot,’ when you’re -speaking to a lady like her. Mr. Vail’s income is estimated at not less -than $200,000, just as she’s told you. As for his running a tavern -or a hotel, he doesn’t. This is his estate, inherited from the late -Mr. Osmun Vail. I read in the paper, yesterday, that a clause of the -will of Mr. Osmun Vail makes him keep a part of the house open, if -necessary, as an inn. Whether or not that’s true, or just a newspaper -yarn, I don’t know. But I do know that Mr. Vail could have no financial -reason for stealing jewelry or small rolls of bills or cheap watches.” - -He spoke with the pride of locality, in impressing an outlander with -a neighbor’s importance. Thaxton Vail, thoroughly uncomfortable, had -tried in vain, once or twice, to stem the tide of the chief’s eloquence -and that of the old lady. Now he sat, silent, eyes down, face red. - -Joshua Q. Mosely arose and came closer, staring at the embarrassed -youth as if at some new-discovered specimen. His wife fluttered and -wiggled, eyeing Vail as she might have eyed a stage hero. - -“Well, I’m sure,” she said, mincingly, “that puts a new turn on -everything. Quite a romantic--” - -“Luella,” decreed her husband, breathing hard through his nose, “I -guess we’ve made fools of ourselves, horning in here, to-day. Just the -same,” he went on, scourged by memory of his loss, “that don’t clear up -who stole our joolry. Nor yet it don’t give our joolry back to us. And -those two things are more important just now than whether Mr. Vail is a -multimillionaire or not.” - -“Quite so,” agreed the chief. “We don’t seem to be getting much further -in the case. Since Mr. Vail objects to being searched and objects to -his guests being searched--well, I have no warrant to search them. -But I take it there’s no objection to my searching the house, once -more--especially the servants’ quarters and all that?” - -“None at all,” said Vail. “Ring for Horoson. She’ll show you around.” - -“I guess I and Mrs. M. will turn in,” said Mosely, “if we’re not -needed any longer. We’re pretty tired, the both of us. Came all the -way through from Manchester since sunrise, you know. And we’ve got to -be off first thing in the morning. Chief, I’ll stop in at the police -station on my way to-morrow and leave our _ad_dress and post a reward. -G’night, all.” - -He and his wife departed to the upper regions, gabbling together in -low, excited tones as they went. The housekeeper appeared, in answer to -Vail’s ring. The chief and the constable strode off in her indignant -wake to make their tour of inspection. - -“I wish,” said Willis Chase, vindictively, “I wish those Mosely -persons and that road-company police chief could be made to take turns -occupying the magenta room. That’s the worst I can wish any one. I--” - -“Clive, old chap!” exclaimed Vail, wheeling on Creede as soon as the -policemen’s footsteps died away. “Why in blazes did you tell such a -thundering lie? And, as for you, Miss Gregg--!” - -“Young man,” interrupted the spinster, with great severity, “I knew you -when you were in funny kilt skirts and when you wore your hair roached -on top and in silly little ringlets at the back, and when you couldn’t -spell ‘cat.’ If you think I’m going to tolerate a scolding from you or -going to let you call me to account for anything at all you’re greatly -mistaken.” - -“But--” - -“Besides,” she went on, relaxing, “suppose I did tell a lie? For -heaven’s sake, what is a lie? That weasel of a Reuben Quimby had no -more right to the contents of my brain than to the contents of my safe. -A person who is not ashamed to lock a door with a key need not be -ashamed to lock his mind with a lie.” - -“Aunt Hester!” cried Doris, quite horrified. - -“Not that I excuse foolish and unnecessary lies, my dear,” explained -her aunt. “They are ill-bred, and they spoil one’s technique for the -few really needful lies.” - -Then, feeling she had averted for the moment Vail’s angry condemnation -of her falsehood, she shifted the subject once more. - -“Clive!” she ordained. “Go to bed. You look like the hero of a Russian -problem novel. One of those ghastly faced introspectives with influenza -names, who needn’t bother to spend money in getting their hair cut; -because they are going to commit suicide in another chapter or so -anyhow. You look positively dead. This has been too much for you. Go to -bed, my dear boy. And thank you for restoring my faith in boykind a few -minutes ago by lying so truthfully.” - -Clive got to his feet, wavering, his face set in a mask of illness. He -turned to Thaxton Vail and held out his hand. To Doris there seemed in -the action an assurance of loyalty. To Vail the proffer savored of the -dramatic--as if, believing his friend guilty, Creede was none the less -willing to shake his hand. - -“Clive,” said Vail, coldly, ignoring the gesture, “if you think I’m a -thief I don’t want to shake hands with you. If you don’t think I’m a -thief there’s no need in shaking hands in that melodrama fashion. Good -night. Need any help to get upstairs?” - -“No, thanks,” returned Creede, wincing at the rebuff. “I--” - -He finished the sentence by toppling over in a dead faint at his host’s -feet. - -Instantly Vail and Chase were working over him, loosening his collar -and belt, and lifting his arms on high so that the blood might flow -back into the heart. Miss Gregg dived into the recesses of the black -bead handbag she always carried on her wrist. From it she exhumed an -ounce vial of smelling salts. - -“Here!” she said. “Let me put this under his nostrils. It’s as strong -as the Moral Law and almost as rank. The poor boy! He-- Drat this cork! -It’s jammed in. Got a corkscrew?” - -Thaxton paused long enough in his work of resuscitation to take from -his hip pocket the big German army knife which Clive had brought him -from overseas. - -“Here!” he said, opening the corkscrew and handing the knife to her. - -“What a barbarous contraption!” commented Miss Gregg, as she strove to -extract the cork from her smelling-bottle. “How do you happen to be -carrying it in your dinner clothes?” - -“I stuck it into my pocket, along with my cash, when I changed, I -suppose,” said Vail, as he worked. “I was in a rush, and I--” - -“That’s a murderous-looking thing on the back of it,” she went on, as -she finished drawing the cork and laid the knife on the table. “It -looks like the business-half of a medieval poniard.” - -“That’s a punch, of some sort,” he answered absently. “Got the smelling -salts ready yet?” - -“He’s coming around!” announced Chase, as Miss Gregg knelt beside the -unconscious man to apply the bottle to his pinched nostrils. “See, his -eyes are opening.” - -Clive Creede blinked, shivered, then stared foolishly about. At sight -of the faces bending above him he frowned and essayed weakly to sit up. - -“I--surely I wasn’t such a baby as to keel over, was--was I?” he -panted, thickly. - -“Don’t try to talk!” begged Doris. “You’re all right now. It’s been too -much for you. Let Thax and Willis help you up to bed. Auntie, don’t you -think we ought to telephone for Dr. Lawton?” - -“No,” begged Clive, his voice somewhat less wobbly. “Please don’t. A -good night’s rest will set me up. I’m ashamed to have--” - -“Don’t waste breath in talking, old man!” put in Vail. “I’m a rotten -host, to have let you have all this strain when you were sick. Don’t go -struggling to get up. Lie still. So!” - -Deftly he passed his arms under the prostrate man’s knees and -shoulders. Then, with a bracing of his muscles, he lifted Clive from -the floor. - -“Go ahead, and open the door of his bedroom,” he bade Chase. “I’ll -carry him up.” - -“No!” protested Clive, struggling. “I--” - -“Quiet, please,” said Vail. “It’ll be easy to carry you, but not if you -squirm. Gangway!” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A CRY IN THE NIGHT - - -Doris Lane followed him with her admiring gaze, noting how lightly he -bore the invalid and with what tenderness he overrode Creede’s petulant -remonstrances. - -“Yes,” said Miss Gregg, as though answering a question voiced by her -niece. “Yes, he is splendidly strong. And he’s gentle, too. A splendid -combination--for a husband. I mean, for one’s own husband. It is thrown -away, in another woman’s.” - -“I don’t understand you at all,” rebuffed Doris. - -“No? Well, who am I, to scold you for denying it, just after my -longwinded lecture on the virtues of lying?” - -“Auntie,” said the girl, speaking in feverish haste in her eagerness -to shift the subject, “have you any idea at all who committed the -robberies? Have you?” - -“Yes,” returned the old lady, with no hesitation at all. “I know -perfectly well who did it.” - -“You do!” - -“I haven’t an atom of doubt. It was Osmun Creede.” - -“Why, Auntie, it couldn’t have been! It _couldn’t_!” - -“I know that. I know it as well as you. Just the same, I believe he -did.” - -“But he wasn’t even here!” urged the girl. “You heard what he said -about having dined at the Country Club, and that a dozen people there -could prove it.” - -“Yes,” assented Miss Gregg. “I heard him.” - -“You don’t believe him?” - -“Yes. I believe him implicitly. For nobody would want to testify in -Osmun Creede’s behalf who didn’t have to. He knows that as well as we -do. So if he says a dozen people can prove he was there, he’s telling -the truth. He’d like nothing better than to bother those people into -admitting they saw him there. Especially if they could send him to jail -by denying it. Oh, he was there, fast enough, at the Country Club while -the rooms here were being looted. I believe that.” - -“Then how could he have done the robbing?” insisted the girl, sore -perplexed. - -“I don’t know,” admitted her aunt. “In fact, I suppose he couldn’t. -But I’m equally certain he did.” - -“But what makes you think so?” - -“What makes me _know_ so?” amended Miss Gregg. “You’re a woman. And -yet you ask that! Are you too young to have the womanly vice of -intuition--the freak faculty that tells you a thing is true, even when -you know it can’t be? Osmun Creede stole our jewelry. I know it, for -a number of reasons. The first and greatest reason is because I don’t -like Osmun Creede. The second and next greatest reason is that Osmun -Creede doesn’t like _me_. A third reason is that there’s positively -nothing too contemptible for Osmun Creede to do. He cumbers the earth! -I do wish some one would put him out of our way. Take my word, he -stole--” - -“Isn’t that rather ridiculous?” gravely asked Doris, from the lofty -wisdom of twenty-two years. - -“Of course it is. Most real things are. Is it half as ridiculous as -for Thaxton Vail to have the stolen Argyle watch in his pocket when it -couldn’t possibly be there? Is it?” - -“I--I can’t understand that, myself,” confessed Doris. “But--” - -“But you know it’s somehow all right? Because you trust Thax. -Precisely. Well, I can’t understand how Oz Creede could have committed -the robberies when he wasn’t here. But I know he did. Because I -distrust him. If it comes down to logic, mine is as good as yours.” - -“But,” urged Doris, giving up the unequal struggle, “why should he -do such a thing? He is well off. He doesn’t need the things that -were stolen. That was your argument to prove Thax didn’t steal them. -Besides, with all the horrid things about him, nobody’s ever had reason -to doubt that Osmun is as honest as the day.” - -“Honest as the _day_!” scoffed Miss Gregg. “You’re like every one else. -You get your similes from books written by people who don’t know any -more than you do. ‘Honest as the day?’ Do you know that only four days, -out of three hundred and sixty-five, are honest? On the four solstices -the time of day agrees absolutely with the sun. And on not one other -day of them all. Then a day promises to be lovely and fair, and it -lures one out into it in clothes that will run and with no umbrella. -Up comes a rain, as soon as one is far enough from home to get nicely -caught in it. ‘Honest as the day!’ The average day is an unmitigated -swindler! Why--” - -The return of Vail and Chase from their task of getting Clive to bed -interrupted the homily. - -“He seems all right now,” reported Willis. “He’s terribly broken up, -though, at having fainted. And he’s as ashamed as if he’d been caught -stealing pennies from a blind beggar.” - -“He needn’t be,” snapped Miss Gregg. “If I’d had to be Oz Creede’s -twin brother as long a time as Clive has, I’d be too inured to feel -shame for anything short of burning an orphanage. Just the same, he’s a -dear boy, Clive is. I like the way he came to the front, this evening, -when--” - -“We’ve been clear through the house, from cellar to garret,” announced -the chief, from the doorway. “And we’ve been all around it from the -outside with flashlights. Not a clue.” - -“Behold an honest cop!” approved Chase. “One who’ll admit he hasn’t a -dozen mysterious clues up his sleeve! It’s a record!” - -“I’m going back to the station now,” resumed Quimby, ignoring him, -“to write my report. There’s nothing more I can do to-night. I’ll be -around, of course, the first thing in the morning. I’ve thrown the fear -of the Lord into the whole staff of servants. They won’t dare budge -till I get back. No danger of one of them confusing things by leaving -on the sly.” - -Vail followed the two officers to the front door and watched them -climb into their rattling car and make off down the drive. As they -disappeared, he wished he had asked the chief to leave his man on guard -outside the house for the night. - -The mystery of the thefts and the evening’s later complications had -gotten on Vail’s nerves. If the supposedly secure rooms could be -plundered by a mysterious robber when a score of people were awake, in -and around the building, could not the same robber return to complete -his work when all the house should be sleeping and unguarded? - -Thaxton’s worries found themselves centering about Doris Lane. If the -intruder should alarm her at dead of night--! - -“Mac,” he said under his breath to the collie standing at his side on -the veranda. “You’re going to do real guard duty to-night. I’m going to -post you at the foot of the stairs, and there I want you to stay. No -comfy snoring on the front door mat this time. You’ll lie at the foot -of the stairs where you can catch every sound and where you can block -any one who may try to go up or down. Understand that, old boy?” - -Macduff did not understand. All he knew was that Vail was talking to -him and that some sort of response was in order. Wherefore the collie -wagged his plumed tail very emphatically indeed and thrust his cold -nose affectionately into Thaxton’s cupped hand. - -Vail turned back into the house, Macduff at his heels. He locked the -front door, preparatory to making a personal inspection of every ground -floor door and window. As he entered the front hall he encountered -Doris Lane. - -The girl had left her aunt in the living room, listening with scant -patience to a ramblingly told theory of Chase’s as to how best the -stolen goods might be traced. Doris had slipped away to bed, leaving -them there. She was very tired and her nerves were not at their best. -The evening had been an ordeal for her--severe and prolonged. - -“Going to turn in?” asked Vail as they met. - -“Yes,” she made listless reply. “I’m a bit done up. I didn’t realize it -till a minute ago. Good night.” - -“Excuse me,” he said uncomfortably, “but have you and Miss Gregg got a -gun of any sort with you in your luggage?” - -“Why, no,” she said. “We don’t own such a thing between us. Auntie -won’t have a pistol in the house. It’s a whim of hers.” - -“So you go unprotected, just for a woman’s whim?” - -“You don’t know Aunt Hester. She is a woman of iron whim,” said Doris -with tired flippancy. “So we live weaponless. We--” - -“Then--just as a favor to a crotchety host whose own nerves are jumpy -on your account--won’t you take this upstairs with you and keep it -handy, alongside your bed? Please do.” - -He had gone to the Sheraton lowboy which did duty as a hall table. From -the bottom of one of its drawers he took a small-caliber revolver. - -“I keep this here as a balm to Horoson’s feelings,” he explained. “Out -in the hills, like this, she’s always quite certain we’ll be attacked -some day by brigands or Black Handers or some other equally mythical -foes. And it comforts her to know there’s a pistol in the hall. Take -it, please.” - -“What nonsense!” she laughed--and there was a tinge of nerve-fatigue -in the laugh. “Of course I shan’t take it. Why should I?” - -“Just to please _me_, if there’s no better reason,” he begged. - -“I’m afraid you’ll have to think up some better reason,” she said -stubbornly. “I refuse to make myself ludicrous by carrying an arsenal -to bed, to please you or any one else, Thax. If you’re really timid I -suggest you cling to the pistol, yourself.” - -It was a catty thing to say; and she knew it was, before the words were -fairly spoken. But she was weary. And, perversely, she resented and -punished her own thrill of happiness that Vail should be so concerned -for her safety. - -The man flushed. But he set his lips and said nothing. Dropping the -pistol back into the open drawer, he prepared to join the two others in -the library. But the nerve-exhausted girl was vexed at his failure to -resent her slur. And, like an over-tired child, she turned pettish. - -“I’m sure you’ll be safe,” she said, in affected jocosity, “if you’ll -push your bed and your chiffonier against your door and see that all -your bedroom windows are fast locked. Or you might room with Willis -Chase. He has plenty of pluck. He’ll protect you.” - -Unexpectedly Vail went up to her and took tight hold of both her hands, -resisting her peevish efforts to pull them free. - -“Listen to me,” he said in a maddeningly parental fashion. “You’re a -naughty and disagreeable and cross little girl, and you ought to have -your fingers spatted and be stood in a corner. I’m ashamed of you. Now -run off to bed before you say anything else cranky; you--you _bad_ kid!” - -She fought to jerk her hands away from his exasperatingly paternal -hold. In doing so she bruised one of her fingers against the seal -ring he wore. The hurt completed the wreck of her self-control which -humiliation had undermined. - -“Let go of my hands!” she stormed. “You haven’t proved to-night that -your own are any too clean.” - -On the instant he dropped her fingers as if they were white hot. His -face went scarlet, then gray. - -“Oh!” she stammered, in belated horror of what she had said. “Oh, I -didn’t mean that! Thax, honestly I didn’t! I--” - -Miss Gregg and Chase came out into the hall as she was still -speaking--as she was still looking appealingly up into the hurt face -of the man she had affronted so grievously. - -“Come, dear!” hailed the old lady. “It’s almost as late as it ever gets -to be. Let’s go to bed.” - -“Good night,” said Thaxton, stiffly, ignoring Doris’s eyes and setting -off on his round of the windows. - -Doris lagged a step after her aunt. Willis Chase made as though to -speak lightly to her. Then he caught the look on her remorseful face, -glanced quickly toward the back of the departing Vail, and, with a -hasty good night to her, made his way upstairs. On the landing he -turned and called back to Thaxton: - -“If I can’t live through the horrors of the magenta room to-night, -Thax, I hope they send you to the hoosgow, as contributory cause. Me, I -wouldn’t even coop up Oz Creede in a room like that.” - -Vail made no reply. Stolidly he continued to lock window after window, -Macduff pacing along behind him with an air of much importance. Doris -Lane took an impulsive step to follow him. But Chase was still leaning -over the banisters, above, chanting his plaint about the magenta room. -So she sighed and went up to bed. - -Less than five minutes later, when Thaxton returned to the hallway, his -guests had all retired. There was an odd air of desolation and gloom -about the usually homelike hall. Vail stood there a moment, musing. -Then, subconsciously, he noted that the lowboy drawer still stood open. -In absentminded fashion he went over to close it. - -He paused for a moment or so, with his hand on the open drawer. - -“Mac,” he muttered, his other hand on the collie’s head, “she didn’t -mean that. She didn’t mean it, Mac. And I’m a fool to let it get past -my guard and sting so deep. She was worn out and nervous. We won’t let -it hurt us, will we, Mac? Still I wish she’d taken the gun. So far as I -know it’s the only real weapon of any kind in the house. And if there’s -danger, I wish she had it beside her. I--I wonder if I should carry it -upstairs and knock at the door. Perhaps I could coax Miss Gregg to take -it, Mac. What do you think?” - -Putting his disjointed words into action, Vail fumbled in the drawer -for the pistol. - -It was not there. - -He yanked the drawer wider open and groped among its heterogeneous -contents. Then impatiently he began tossing those contents to the -floor. A pair of crumpled and stained riding gauntlets, an old silk -cap, wadded into a corner, a dog-leash without a snapper, odds and -ends of string, a muffler, a pack of dog-eared cards, a broken box of -cartridges. But no pistol. - -The revolver was gone, unmistakably gone--taken from its hiding place, -during the past five minutes. - -Thaxton went through his pockets on the bare chance he might have -stuck the pistol into one of them, although he remembered with entire -clearness that he had dropped it back into the drawer. - -Subconsciously, the thought of weapons lingered in his mind. He felt in -his hip pocket for the big army knife. It was not there. - -Then he remembered the use it had been put to in drawing the cork of -the vial of smelling salts. And he went back into the living room, on -the chance he might have left the knife lying on floor or table. But he -could not find it. - -“Mac,” he confided to the collie--for, like many lonely men, he had -grown to talk sometimes to his dog as if to a fellow-human--“Mac, all -this doesn’t make any kind of a hit with us, does it? Up to to-day this -was the dearest old house on earth. Since this afternoon it’s haunted. -That gun, for instance! The front door was locked, Mac. Nobody could -have come in from the kitchen quarters, for the baize door is bolted. -Nobody could have gotten into the house, this past five minutes. And -every one in the house except you and me has gone to bed, Mac. Yet some -one has frisked my gun out of that drawer. And the big knife seems to -have melted, too. What’s the answer, Mac?” - -Naturally the collie, as usual, did not understand the sense of one -word in twenty. Yet the frequent repetitions of his own name made him -wag his plumed tail violently. And the subnote of worried unhappiness -in Thaxton’s voice made him look up in quick solicitude into the man’s -clouded face. For dogs read the voice as accurately as humans read -print. - -Thaxton petted the classic head, spoke a pleasant word to the collie -and then switched off all the lights except one burner in the front of -the hall and a reading lamp in his study across from the dining room. -After which he bade Macduff lie down at the foot of the stairs and to -remain there. - -Up the steps Vail made his way. At his own room he paused. Then with -a half-smile he went along the corridor to a door at the far end of an -ell. He knocked lightly at this. - -“Come in!” grumbled Willis Chase. - -Vail obeyed the summons, entering the stuffy little magenta room with -its kitchen smell and its slanting low ceiling pierced by a single tiny -window. Chase had thrown off coat and waistcoat and his tight boots. He -had thrust his feet luxuriously into a pair of loose tennis shoes he -had worn during their muddy tramp that afternoon. He was adding to the -room’s breathlessness by smoking a cigarette as he riffled the leaves -of a magazine he had taken from his bag. - -“What’s up?” he asked as his host came in. - -“I think you’ve had a big enough dose of medicine,” said Vail. “You -needn’t sleep in this hole of a clothes-closet. Take my bedroom for the -night. To-morrow I’ll have Horoson fix a decent room for you. Scratch -your night things together. Never mind about moving all your luggage. -That can wait till morning.” - -“I’m to share your room with you, eh?” asked Chase ungratefully. -“Thanks, I’ll stay in this dump here. I’d as soon share a bed with a -scratching collie pup as with another man. You’d snore and you’d kick -about and--” - -“Probably I should,” admitted Thaxton. “But I shan’t. Because I shan’t -be there. I didn’t ask you to share my room but to take it. I’m bunking -in my study for the night.” - -“To give me a chance to sleep in a real room? That’s true repentance. I -can almost forgive you for the time you’ve made me stay in this magenta -chamber of horrors. But just the same I’m not going to turn you out of -your own pleasant quarters. I’ll swap, if you like, and let you have -this highly desirable magenta room. Then your nose will tell you what -we’re going to have for breakfast before the rest of us are awake.” - -“I say I’m going to bunk on the leather couch in my study,” -insisted Vail. “There are a whole lot of things I don’t like about -this evening’s happenings. And I’m going to stand guard--or sleep -guard--along with Mac. You know the way to my room. Go over there as -soon as you want to. Good night.” - -“Hold on!” urged Chase. “Suppose I spell you, on this nocturnal vigil -business? We can take turns guarding; if you really think there’s any -need. Personally I think it’s a bit like locking the cellar door after -the booze is gone. But--” - -“No, thanks. No use in both of us losing a full night’s sleep. Take my -room, and--” - -“Just as you like. I’ve the heart of a lion and the soul of a paladin -and the ruthlessness of an income tax man. But all those grand -qualities crumple at the chance of getting away from the magenta room -for the night. Thanks, a lot. I’d as soon swig homemade hootch as stay -a night in this dump. The kind of hootch that people make by recipe and -offer to their guests the same evening. They forget rum isn’t built in -a day. I--” - -“By the way,” interrupted Vail as he started for the door, “you don’t -happen to have a pistol, do you?” - -Perhaps it was the uncertain light which made him fancy a queer -expression flitted swiftly across Willis Chase’s eyes. But, glibly, -laughingly, the guest made answer: - -“A pistol? Why, of course not! What’d be the sense in packing a gun -here in the peaceful Berkshires? Thax, this burglar flurry has made you -melodramatic. Good night, old man. Don’t snore too loudly over your -sentry duty.” - -Vail departed for the study while Chase stuffed an armful of clothes -into a handbag and made his way along the dark hall to Thaxton’s -bedroom. At the stair-foot Vail all but stumbled over the collie. Then, -refusing the dog’s eagerly mute plea to accompany him into the study, -he whispered: - -“No, no, Mac! Lie down! Stay there on guard! _Stay_ there!” - -With a grunt of disappointment Macduff slumped down again at the foot -of the stairs. Head between white paws, he lay looking wistfully after -the departing man. - -The night wore on. - -Perhaps half an hour before the first dim gray tinged the sentinel -black summit of old South Mountain to northwestward, the deathly -silence of the sleeping house was broken by a low whistling cry--a -sound not loud enough nor long enough to rouse any slumberer--scarce -audible to human ears not tensely listening. - -Yet to the keen hearing of Macduff as he drowsed at the stair-foot the -sound was vividly distinct. The collie reared himself excitedly to his -feet. Then, remembering Thaxton Vail’s stern command to stay there on -guard, the dog hesitated. Mute, statuelike, attentive, he stood, his -teeth beginning to glint from up-curling lips, his hackles abristle. - -Macduff was listening now, listening with all that uncanny perception -which lurks in the eardrums of a thoroughbred dog. He whined softly -under his breath at what he heard. And he trembled to dash in the -direction of the sound. But Vail’s mandate held him where he was. - -Presently a new sense allied itself to his hearing. His miraculously -keen nostrils flashed to his brain the presence of an odor which -would have been imperceptible to any human but which carried its own -unmistakable meaning to the thoroughbred collie. - -Perhaps, too, there came to him, as sometimes to dogs, a strange -perception that was neither sound nor smell nor sight--something no -psychologist has ever explained, but which every close student of dogs -can verify. - -The trembling changed to a shudder. Up went Macduff’s pointed muzzle, -skyward. From his shaggy throat issued an unearthly wolf-howl. - -Again and again that weird scream rang through the house; banishing -sleep and reëchoing in hideous cadences from every nook and corner and -rafter. A hundredfold more compelling than any mere fanfare of barking, -it shrieked an alarm to every slumbering brain. - -In through the open front doorway from the veranda rushed Thaxton Vail. - -“Mac!” he cried. “Shut up! What’s the matter?” - -For answer the collie danced frantically, peering up the stairway -and then beseechingly back at Vail. No dogman could have failed to -interpret the plea. - -“All right,” vouchsafed Thaxton. “_Go!_” - -Like a furry whirlwind the dog scurried up the stairs into the regions -of the house which had been so silent but whence now came the murmur of -startledly questioning voices and the slamming of doors. - -Forced on by a nameless fear, Vail ran up, three steps at a time, in -the dog’s wake. He reached the second floor, just as two or three of -his guests, in the sketchiest attire, came stumbling out into the broad -upper hall. - -At sight of Thaxton on the dim-lit landing they broke into a clamor of -questions. For reply Vail pressed the light switch, throwing the black -spaces into brilliant illumination. Then his glance fell on Macduff. - -The collie had halted his headlong run just outside a door at the head -of the hall. At the oaken panels of this he was tearing madly with -claws and teeth. - -As Vail hurried to him, the dog ceased his frantic efforts; as though -aware that the man could open the door more easily than could he. And -again he tossed his muzzle aloft, making the house reverberate to that -hideously keening wolf-howl. - -The hall was full of jabbering and gesticulating people, clad in -night clothes. Vail pushed through them to the door at which Mac had -clamored. It was the door of Thaxton’s own bedroom. He turned the knob -rattlingly. The door was locked. The others crowded close, wildly -questioning, getting in one another’s way. - -Vail stepped back, colliding with Clive Creede and Joshua Q. Mosely. -Then, summoning all his strength, he hurled himself at the door. The -stout oak and the old-fashioned lock held firm. - -Thaxton stepped back again, his muscular body compact. And a second -time he crashed his full weight at the panels. Under the catapult -impact the lock snapped. - -The door burst open, flinging Vail far into the dense blackness. Clive -Creede, close behind him, groped for the light switch just inside the -threshold and pressed it, flooding the room with light. - -There was an instant of blank hush. Then Mrs. Mosely screamed, shrilly, -in mortal terror. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -WHAT LAY BEYOND THE SMASHED DOOR - - -Dr. Ezra Lawton had come home an hour earlier from enacting the trying -rôle of Stork’s Assistant. He had sunk to sleep wearily and embarked at -once on a delightful dream of his unanimous election as Chairman of the -Massachusetts State Medical Board. - -All Aura, apparently, celebrated this dream election. For the three -church bells were ringing loudly in honor of it. There were also a -few thousand other bells which had been imported from somewhere for -the occasion. The result was a continuous loud jangle which was as -deafeningly annoying to the happy old doctor as it was gratifying. - -Presently annoyance got the better of gratification and he awoke. But -even though his beautiful dream had departed the multiple bell-ringing -kept noisily on. And with a groan he realized the racket emanated from -the telephone at his bedside. - -“Well,” he snarled, vicious with dead sleepiness, as he lifted the -receiver, “what the devil do you want?” - -He listened for a second, then said in a far different voice: - -“Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Gregg. I didn’t guess it was you. Nothing -the matter, I hope?” he added, as though elderly spinsters were in the -habit of calling him up at three in the morning when nothing was the -matter. - -Again, this time much longer, he listened. Then he ejaculated: - -“Good Lord! Oh, good _Lord_!” - -The genuine horror in his voice waked wide his slumbrous wife. By dint -of thirty years as a country doctor’s spouse Mrs. Lawton had schooled -herself to doze peacefully through the nocturnal telephone ringing and -three A. M. smalltalk which fringed her busy husband’s career. - -Mrs. Lawton sat bolt upright in bed. Her husband was listening once -more. Through the dark his wife could hear the scratchedly buzzy tones -of Miss Gregg, desiccated and attenuated by reason of the faulty -connection. But, try as she would, she could catch no word. At last -Lawton spoke again, the hint of horror still in his voice: - -“I’ll start over as soon as I can get dressed, Miss Gregg. You’ve -notified the police, of course? Huh? Well, do, at once. I’ll be right -there.” - -He hung up the receiver and floundered out of bed. - -“What’s the matter?” cried his wife. “What’s happened? What’s she want -you for? What’s that about the police? What’s wrong? Why is she--?” - -“Young Willis Chase has been murdered,” replied the doctor, wriggling -into his scarce-cooled clothes. “Found dead in bed, with a knifeblade -sticking into his right carotid.” - -“_Oh! OH!_” babbled Mrs. Lawton. “Oh, it isn’t _possible_, Ezra! -Who--who did it?” - -“The murderer neglected to leave his card,” snapped the doctor. “At -least Miss Gregg didn’t mention it.... Where in hell’s hot hinges is my -other shoe?” - -“But what was he doing at Miss Gregg’s? How did it happen? Who--” - -“It wasn’t at Miss Gregg’s. It was at Vailholme. Houseparty, I gather. -Thax Vail’s dog woke them all up by howling and then ran to Chase’s -room. They broke the door in. Chase was lying there stone dead with -a knife in his throat. And--it was that big German army knife Thax -showed us one day. Remember it? About a million blades. One of them a -sort of three-cornered punch. That was the blade, she says. Stuck full -length in the throat. They’re all upside down there. It seems she had -presence of mind enough to send for me but not enough to send for the -police.” - -“Oh, the poor, _poor_ boy! I--I never liked him.” - -“Maybe he killed himself on that account,” grumbled her husband, lacing -his second shoe and rising puffingly from the task. “He--” - -“Oh, it was suicide then? The--” - -“Nobody seems to know what it was,” he rejoined. “I suppose later on -I’ll have to sit on that question, too, in my capacity of coroner. -Good-by. Don’t wait breakfast for me.” - -He was gone. Presently through the open window his wife could hear the -throaty wheeze of his car’s engine as the self-starter awakened it. -Then there was a whirr and a rattle through the stillness, and the car -was on its fast flight to Vailholme. - -Dr. Lawton found the house glaringly lighted from end to end. The front -door stood wide. So did the baize door which led back to the kitchen -quarters. Through the latter issued the gabble and strident terror of -mixed voices. - -As the doctor came into the lower hall, Thaxton Vail emerged from the -living room to meet him. Vail’s face was ghastly. Behind him was Miss -Gregg. - -The others of the party were grouped in unnatural postures in the -living room, their chairs huddled close together as though their -occupants felt subconscious yearning for mutual protection. Joshua Q. -Mosely--mountainous in a yellow dustcoat that swathed his purple silk -pajamas--was holding tight to the hand of his sniveling little wife. -Doris was crouched low in a corner chair. Beside her sat Clive Creede -trying awkwardly to calm the convulsive tremors which now and then -shook her. - -“Take me up there,” Dr. Lawton bade Vail. “You can tell me about it -while I’m--” - -He left the sentence unfinished and followed Thaxton up the stairs. - -“We had a robbery at dinner time,” explained Vail as they went. “I was -afraid the thieves might make a try, later, for more things than they -could grab up at first. Foolish idea, I suppose. But anyhow I decided -to spend the night downstairs. I let poor Chase have my room. Macduff, -here, set up a most ungodly racket a few minutes ago. We followed him -to my room and broke in. Chase was lying there in bed. You remember -that big knife of mine--the one Clive Creede gave me? He had been -stabbed with that. He-- Here’s the room.” - -As he stood aside for the doctor to pass in, another car rattled up to -the porte-cochère. - -“Wait a second,” said Thaxton. “That may be Quimby. Miss Gregg said she -phoned him just after she notified you. He--” - -The chief of police bustled into the hallway, and, at Vail’s summons, -he came lumbering importantly upstairs. Together he and Dr. Lawton -entered the deathly still room, Thaxton following. - -“We left him as--as he was,” explained Vail. “Clive says the law -demands that.” - -Neither of the others paid any heed to him. Both were leaning over the -bed. Thaxton stood awkwardly behind them, feeling an alien in his own -room. Presently Dr. Lawton spoke almost indignantly. - -“I wondered why he should be lying as if he were asleep; with a wound -like that,” said he. “Except for the look on his face there’s no sign -of disturbance. I see now.” - -As he spoke he picked from the floor beside the bed a heavy metal water -carafe which belonged on the bedside stand. Its surface was dented far -more deeply than so short a tumble warranted. - -“Stabbed him,” said the doctor. “Then, as he cried out, stunned him. -See, Chief?” - -The chief nodded. Then he turned from the bed and swept the room with -his beetle-browed gaze. His eyes focused on the nearest window. It -stood open, as did all the room’s other windows, on that breathless -night. - -But its short muslin curtain was thrust aside so far as to be torn -slightly from its rod. On the white sill was the distinct mark of a -scrape in the paint and a blob of dried mud as from the instep of a -boot. - -“Got in and out through the window,” decreed Quimby. “In a hurry going -out.” - -“The door was locked,” put in Vail. “Locked from the inside.” - -“H’m!” mused the chief, crossing to the splintered portal. “I see. You -folks broke it in, eh? Where’s the key?” - -“What key?” - -“Key of the door, of course. If Mr. Chase locked himself in he must -have done it with a key. And it isn’t likely he took the key out of -the lock afterward. Where is it? It isn’t in the keyhole.” - -“The door flew open pretty hard,” said Vail. “Perhaps the key was -knocked out onto the floor. Shall I look?” - -“Never mind,” refused the chief. “It isn’t immediate. My men can look -for it in the morning. I’m going to seal this room, of course, and keep -some one on guard. That knife, now--that ought to be easy to trace. It -isn’t like any other _I_ ever saw. It--” - -“You’re right,” acceded Vail, nettled at his lofty air, “it’s quite -easy to trace. It’s mine.” - -“Yours?” - -The chief fairly spat the word at him. Again the heavy gray brows bent, -the eyes mere slits of quizzical light between the puckered lids. - -“Yes,” said Vail. “I had it out, earlier in the evening. I used it to -draw a cork. I didn’t put it back in my pocket. I must have left it -lying somewhere. I looked afterward but I couldn’t find it. Some one -must have--” - -“You left the knife in this room?” - -“No,” denied Vail, after a moment’s thought. “I couldn’t have done -that. I didn’t come up here again. No, if I left it anywhere it was -downstairs.” - -“H’m!” grunted the chief, non-committally. - -Irritated afresh by the official’s manner, Thaxton turned to the -doctor, who was once more leaving the bedside. - -“Dr. Lawton,” he asked, “is there any chance he killed himself?” - -“Not the slightest,” replied Lawton with much emphasis. “He was lying -on his left side. The point entered the carotid from behind. He could -not possibly have struck the blow. And in any event he could not have -stunned himself with that metal water bottle afterward. No, there is -every proof it was not suicide. The man was murdered.” - -“And the murderer escaped through the window,” supplemented the chief. -“Also, he entered by the same route. Now, we’ll leave everything as it -is, and I’ll take my flashlight and examine the ground just below here.” - -But before he left the room he leaned far out of the window looking -downward. Vail had no need to follow the chief’s example. He knew the -veranda roof was directly outside and that any active man could climb -up or down the vine trellis which screened that end of the porch. - -He also knew no man could have done so without making enough noise to -have attracted Thaxton’s notice in the night’s stillness before the -crime. Nor could any man have walked on the tin veranda roof, even -barefoot, without the crackle and bulge of the tin giving loud notice -of his presence. A tin roof cannot be traversed noiselessly, even by a -cat, to say nothing of a grown man. - -As the three trooped downstairs they found the others assembled in the -hall nervously awaiting them. - -“Well?” asked Miss Gregg. - -“He was murdered!” pronounced the chief, portentously. - -“You amaze me,” said the old lady. “But then, of course, you have the -trained police mentality. By whom?” - -“That is what we intend to find out,” answered the chief, tartly. -“Where’s the phone? I want to send for a couple of my men. When I’ve -done that I want to ask a few questions.” - -“We may as well go back into the living room and sit down,” suggested -Doris. “It’s chilly out here.” - -But as the rest were following her suggestion she took occasion to slip -back into the hall whither Vail was returning after showing Quimby -where to find the telephone. - -“Thax!” she whispered hurriedly. “I’m so sorry I was cross! I spoke -abominably to you. Won’t you _please_ forgive me? You know perfectly -well I didn’t mean a word of the nasty things I said.” - -“I know,” he said soothingly. “I know. Don’t think any more about it. -It’s all right. I--” - -“And, Thax,” she went on, thrilling oddly as his hand clasped hers, -“I did what you asked me to, after all. I took the pistol upstairs -with me. I hid it under the scarf I was carrying, and I smuggled it up -there. I wanted you to know--” - -“They’ll be here in ten minutes now,” interrupted the chief, returning -from the telephone. - -He preceded them into the living room. Briefly, at his request, Vail -told of the collie’s amazing behavior and of the finding of Chase. - -“You say you hadn’t gone to bed?” asked Quimby, when the short recital -was ended. “Why not?” - -“It is my own house. It had been robbed. I felt responsible. It seemed -safer for some one to stay on guard.” - -“In case the thief or thieves should return?” inquired the chief. “If -you had any practical experience in such matters, you would know a -house which has just been robbed is safer than any other. Thieves don’t -rob the same house a second time the same night. Police annals show -that a house in which a crime has just been committed is immune from an -immediate second crime.” - -“If robbery and murder may both be classified as crimes and not as -mere outbursts of playfulness,” said Miss Gregg, “that theory has been -proven with beautiful definiteness here to-night. So the second crime -was probably imaginary or only--” - -“I was talking of thefts,” said Quimby, glowering sulkily at her. - -Then stirred to professional sternness by the hint of ridicule, he -turned majestically once more to Vail. - -“You were sitting up?” he prompted. “You were guarding your house--or -trying to--from a second series of thefts? Is that it?” - -Thaxton nodded. - -“You are sure you didn’t go to sleep all night?” - -“I am.” - -“Be careful, Mr. Vail! Many a man is willing to swear he hasn’t slept -a wink when really he dozed off without knowing it. That is a common -error.” - -“Common or not, I don’t think it is likely I was asleep when Chase was -killed. Because I was on my feet and walking.” - -“_So?_” - -The chief was interested, formidably interested. - -“You know then just when Mr. Chase was killed?” - -“I know when the dog set up that racket. Presumably that was the time. -I know because I had looked at my watch as I left the house, just -before. It was five minutes past three when I looked.” - -Dr. Lawton glanced at his own watch. - -“It is seven minutes of four,” said he. “My examination proved Mr. -Chase cannot have been dead quite an hour. The two times agree.” - -“You say you left the house,” pursued the chief, deaf to this -interpolation and bending forward, his eyes gripping Vail. “Why did you -leave the house?” - -“To make a tour of it,” returned Thaxton. “It was the second time since -the others went to bed that I had gone out to make the rounds of the -veranda path. The time between, I was sitting in my study except for -one trip through the interior of the house at about one o’clock. That -time I went from cellar to attic.” - -“But you had left the house shortly before the approximate time of Mr. -Chase’s death?” insisted the chief. “You went out through the front -door?” - -“Yes. I--” - -“And came back again through the front door?” - -“Of course.” - -“Shortly _after_ the murder?” - -“The moment I heard Macduff howl. And I hadn’t been outside for more -than--” - -“We’ll come back to that if necessary. At present we have established -the fact that you left the house shortly before the killing and that -you came in again shortly afterward.” - -Again Vail nodded, this time a trifle sullenly. Like Miss Gregg, -he found the chief’s hectoring manner annoyed him. Nor did he care -to admit that at the instant of Macduff’s howling he had been -standing motionless under the window of Doris Lane’s room in all but -reverent--if absurd--sense of watching over her safety while she -slumbered. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -WHEREIN CLIVE PLAYS THE FOOL - - -“Mr. Vail,” spoke up the chief, a new smoothness and consideration in -his manner, “it is my duty to mention for the second time this evening -that anything you may say is liable to be used against you. I merely -speak of it. Now that I’ve done so, if you care to go on answering my -questions--” - -“Fire away!” said Vail. - -“The slayer of Willis Chase,” said the chief portentously “was outside -the house. He climbed in by an open window. His deed accomplished, he -climbed hastily out again. In other words _he_, too, was outside the -house shortly before and shortly after the crime.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“You say you made the rounds outside the house. You declare you were -awake and on guard. Did you not see or hear any one climbing to the -veranda roof or walking on it or getting into that open window? From -your own statement you could not have been far from that window, at -least once, in circling or starting to circle the house. You could not -have avoided seeing or hearing any trespasser on the trellis or on the -roof just above you. It is established that you were out there at the -time the murder must have been committed.” - -“I did not see any one or hear any one out there,” said Vail. - -“Yet you admit _you_ were there?” - -“Yes. And nobody else was. I’d have heard him on the roof. And I’d have -heard the vines rustle.” - -“I agree with you. You would. Mr. Vail, I have had much respect for -you. I had still more for your great-uncle, Mr. Osmun Vail. But I am -afraid it will be my painful duty to place you under arrest. Unless -we--” - -“Reuben Quimby, you old fool!” shrilled Miss Gregg. “Why, this boy is--” - -“Now, now!” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely. “Don’t you go calling bad names, -ma’am, prematoorely. I get the chief’s drift. He’s dead right. The -evidence is clear. Don’t you see? Vail here admits he went outside a -little before the murder and that he came in again a little after it. -He says he wasn’t farther off than the walk that borders the porch. -He admits he didn’t see or hear any one else. That can’t mean but -just one thing. It means he shinned up those vines and into the window -and--and did what he went there to do--and came back in time to run -upstairs when the dog waked us. And I heard you tell the doctor on the -phone that it was Vail’s own knife the murder was done with. There’s -nothing else to it. He--” - -“It’s _you_ who are the old fool, Mosely, not only the chief!” -exclaimed Clive Creede, wrathfully, as the rest sat open-mouthed with -dismay at the linking of the chain of seemingly stupid questions. -“If you knew Mr. Vail as we know him--as the chief _ought_ to know -him--you’d know he couldn’t do such a thing. He couldn’t! Why, what -motive could he have? Absolutely none. It needs a terrific motive to -make a man commit murder. Juries take that into account.” - -“But--” - -“Thax had no such motive. I could swear to that. If his butler or any -other servant should have overheard and testify to the petty quarrel -between him and Chase that I walked in on early in the morning, when I -came here, any jury would laugh at such a squabble leading to a crime. -I speak of it because the butler was in the outer hall at the time and -may give a wrong impression of the spat; and some shyster lawyer may -try to magnify it. It was nothing. Chase wanted to come to board and -Vail, for some reason, didn’t want him to. At least that is all of the -quarrel I heard. But men don’t kill each other for puerile causes like -that. Any more than for the silly dispute I overheard them having a few -days ago at the Hunt Club in Stockbridge when Vail threatened he’d--” - -“You idiot!” growled Thaxton. “What are you trying to get at? You’ve -known Chase and me all our lives. You know we were good chums. And you -know we were forever bickering, in fun, and having mock disputes and -insulting each other; from the time we were kids. So--” - -“That’s just what I’m saying,” urged Clive eagerly. “That’s what I’m -trying to hammer into the chief’s head. You had no real motive, no -matter what servants or other people may be dragged forward to testify -about hearing spats and squabbles between you. You were his friend. -Why, Chief, you’re out of your mind when you threaten to arrest him!” - -“From all I’m hearing,” said the chief grimly, “I figure I’m less and -less out of my mind. Mr. Vail, do you care to tell the nature of -the quarrel between you and the deceased--the one Mr. Creede says he -‘walked in on’?” - -“I’ve told you,” interposed Creede vehemently, “and so has he, that -it was just a sort of joke. It has no bearing on the case. As Vail -says, he and Chase were always at swords’ points--in a friendly way. -Besides,” he went on, triumphantly, “I can attest to the truth of at -least one important part of what he’s just told you. I can swear to it. -He said a few minutes ago that he made a round of the house from top to -bottom, about one o’clock. He did. I heard him. I couldn’t get to sleep -till nearly two. I heard the stable clock strike one. Then almost right -afterward I heard soft steps come upstairs and tiptoe along the hall. I -heard them pause at the room next to mine, and I heard a rattle as if -the door was being tried. Then the steps passed on to--” - -“Sounded as if he tiptoed to the room next to yours and tried the -door?” interrupted the chief. “Who was occupying the room next to you?” - -Clive’s lips parted for a reply. Then, as his eyes suddenly dilated his -mouth clamped. - -“Who was occupying that room?” repeated Quimby in augmented interest. -“The room he stopped at and whose door he tried.” - -“I--I don’t know,” stammered Clive. “And it’s of no importance anyhow. -I mentioned it to prove Vail could be corroborated in part of his -account of how he spent the night, and that if part of his story was -true it all was true. He--” - -“I don’t agree with you that it’s ‘of no importance,’ whose locked door -he tried to open,” snapped the chief. “It is highly important in every -way. If--” - -“Then I can clear up the mystery,” said Vail wearily. “My own bedroom -is next to Creede’s. That is the room in which Chase was sleeping.” - -“Ah! Then--” - -“Only,” pursued Vail, “my loyal friend here is mistaken in saying I -tried the door. I didn’t try that or any other door.” - -“I never said you did, Thax!” protested Clive eagerly. “I said I -heard a rattle, as if a door was being tried. It may have been a door -somewhere rattling in the wind, or it may have been--” - -“On a windless night?” cut in the chief. “Or did the killer of Willis -Chase try first to get into his room by way of the door and then, -finding that locked, enter the room later by the open window? In that -case--” - -“_Shame!_” - -It was Doris Lane who broke in furiously upon the chief’s deductions. - -“Oh, it is _shameful_!” she hurried on, her eyes ablaze, her slender -body tense. “You are trying to weave a filthy net around him! And -this poor sick blundering friend of his is inadvertently helping you! -Thaxton Vail could no more have done a thing like that than--than--” - -Choking, she glanced at her aunt for reënforcement. To her astonishment -old Miss Gregg had lost her momentary excitement and was sitting -unruffled, hands in lap, a peaceful half-smile on her shrewd face. -Apparently she was deriving much pleasing interest from the scene. - -“But, Chief!” stammered the luckless Clive, looking miserably at Vail. -“I can’t even be sure it was Thax whose steps I heard up there. It may -have been any one else’s. I only spoke of it to corroborate him. Oh, -why didn’t Chase stay in the magenta room? There’s no way of climbing -into that from the ground. If only Thax hadn’t made him change rooms--” - -“_Will_ you be quiet?” stormed Doris, aflame with indignation. “Isn’t -he suffering enough from these senseless questions; without your -making it worse?” - -“Hush, Doris, dear!” soothed Miss Gregg. “Don’t interfere. I’m -sure Reuben Quimby is doing very well indeed--for Reuben Quimby. -His questions aren’t stupid either. A few of them have been almost -intelligent.” - -“Thanks, dear little girl,” whispered Vail, leaving his seat of -inquisition and bending above the tremblingly angry Doris. “It’s _fine_ -of you. But you mustn’t let yourself get wrought up or unhappy on my -account. I--” - -“There’s something else, Chief,” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely, “something -that maybe’ll have a bearing on this, in the way of character -testimony. I can swear to the prisoner’s homicidal temper. See this -swelling on my chin? He knocked me down early in the evening. Mrs. M. -and all these others can testify to that. The prisoner--” - -“There is no ‘prisoner,’ Mr. Mosely,” gravely corrected the chief. “No -arrest has actually been made--yet. But in view of the circumstantial -testimony, Mr. Vail,” he proceeded, rising and advancing on the -unflinching Thaxton, “in view of the testimony, I fear it is my very -painful duty to--” - -“To stop making a noise like Rhadamanthus,” interpolated Miss Gregg, -“and sit down and listen for a minute to the first gleam of sane common -sense that has filtered into this mess. Thax, is the old Elzevir Bible -still on its lectern in the study?” - -“Why--yes,” answered Vail, puzzled. “But--” - -“You remember it, don’t you, Doctor?” she asked, as she wheeled -suddenly on the gaping physician. - -“The Elzevir Bible?” repeated Dr. Lawton, coming garrulously out of -the daze into which an unduly swift and unforeseen sequence of events -is wont to plunge the old. “Why shouldn’t I remember it? It was Osmun -Vail’s dearest possession. He paid a fortune for it. I remember how -you used to scold him for putting it on a lectern in his study instead -of locking it up. And I remember the day you insisted on protecting it -with that ugly gray cloth cover because you said the damp was getting -into the precious old leather. If Oz Vail had cared less for you or -been less afraid of you he’d never have allowed such a sacrilege. But -what’s that got to do with--” - -She had not waited to hear him out, but had left the room. The -chief fidgeted annoyedly. The others looked blank. As Quimby cleared -his throat noisily, as if to speak, the little old lady returned. -Reverently between her veined hands she bore a large volume neatly -covered with a sleazy dark gray muslin binding. - -“Do you recognize it, Doctor?” she asked. - -“Yes, yes, of course,” said Lawton, impatiently. “But at a time like -this, surely--” - -He paused. For she was paying no attention to his protest. Advancing to -the table, Miss Gregg laid the Book reverently upon it. Then she placed -both hands on its cover. - -“Chief,” she said with a queer solemnity in her imperious voice, “I -have something to say. On the chance you may not otherwise believe me, -I am attesting to my statement’s truth on this Book of Books. Will you -hear me?” - -“Why--why, of course, Miss Gregg!” exclaimed the chief. “But you are -not called upon to take oath. This is not a courtroom, nor am I a -magistrate. Besides, your unsupported word--” - -“I prefer to make my statement with my hands upon this Book,” she -insisted, “in order that there can be no question, now or later, as to -my veracity. I hoped I might be able to avoid making the statement at -all. It is not a pleasant confession to make, and it may hold me up to -ridicule or to possible misconception. But I have no right to consider -my own wishes when a net of silly circumstantial evidence is closing -around an innocent man. You will hear me out?” - -“Certainly, ma’am. But perhaps later it might--” - -“Not later,” she refused, with a brief return to the imperiousness -which was her birthright. “Here is my story: Last evening after I went -to bed I got to thinking over the robberies. And no matter what courses -of reasoning I might follow I couldn’t make it seem that any one but -Thaxton Vail had committed them. So I--” - -“Auntie!” cried Doris, in keen distress. - -Vail’s face flushed. He looked with pitiful dismay at his old friend. -But Miss Gregg went on without glancing at either of the two young -people: - -“I deduced that he might be sitting up examining his plunder or might -even be planning to steal more while the rest of us were asleep. By -the time the stable clock struck one I couldn’t lie there inactive any -longer. I got up and put on this dressing gown and slippers. That is -how I chanced to have them on when the alarm was given. Doris was sound -asleep. I crept out of our suite without waking her. She was asleep; as -I said. I could hear her. That is one of the joys of being young. Young -folks’ consciences are so tough from many sins that they sleep like -babes.” - -She caught herself up in this philosophical digression. Then, clasping -the Book a little tighter, she continued: - -“I tiptoed out into the passageway. There was a faint light in the -lower hall. I looked down. Macduff was lying at the foot of the stairs. -I think he heard me, for he lifted his head from between his paws and -wagged his tail. Then I peered over the banisters. And I saw Thax -sitting at his study table. He was dressed--as he is now. The coast was -clear for a peep into his room in case he had left any of the stolen -things lying around there. So I tiptoed to his door and tried it. It -was locked. Of course,” she added primly, “I didn’t dream Willis Chase -was in there. Yes, I tiptoed to his room and tried the knob. That was -the rattling sound Clive Creede heard just after the stable clock -struck.” - -She glanced sharply at Creede. Clive nodded in wordless gratitude. - -“As I was starting back toward my suite,” she went on, “I heard Thax -begin to climb the stairs. I crouched back behind the highboy in the -upper hall. I didn’t care to be seen at that time of night rambling -around my host’s house in such costume--or lack of costume. (It was not -coyness, understand. It was fear of ridicule. Coyness, in a woman of my -age, is like a scarecrow left in a field after the crop is gathered.)” - -“Auntie!” protested Doris again, but Miss Gregg went on unchecked: - -“Well, there I hid while he went past me, near enough for me to have -stuck a pin in him. And, by the way, he did _not_ try the knob of the -room where Willis Chase was. He didn’t try any doors at all. He just -groped along till he came to the third story stairs. Then he went up -them.” - -There was a slight general rustle at this announcement. Miss Gregg -resumed: - -“I wondered what he had been doing in his study alone at one o’clock. I -wondered if he was looking over the loot there. I couldn’t resist the -temptation to find out. (You know, Chief, I believe that Providence -sends us our temptations in order that we may yield to them gracefully. -If we resist them, the time will come when Providence will rebuke our -stubbornness by sending us no more temptations. And a temptationless -old age is a hideous thing to look forward to. But that is beside the -point. Excuse me for moralizing. The idea just occurred to me, and it -seemed too good to keep to myself.) Let me see--where was I?” - -“You said you were tempted to go down to the study while Mr. Vail was -in the third story,” prompted Quimby. “To see if you could find--” - -“Oh, yes,” she recalled herself. “Quite so. I was tempted. That means -I yielded. I scuttled down there as fast and as quietly as I could. I -almost fell over the dratted dog at the bottom of the stairs. I got -to the study at last. But I barely had time to inspect the desk top -and one or two drawers--no sign of the plunder in any of them--when I -heard Thax Vail coming downstairs. There was no chance to run back to -my room. So I--I-- In short, I so far lost the stately dignity which -I like to believe has always been mine, as to--in fact, to dodge down -behind the desk--in the narrow space between it and the wall. By the -way, Thax, you must--you simply _must_--tell Horoson to see the maids -sweep more carefully in that cranny. I was deathly afraid the dust -would make me sneeze. It was shamefully thick.” - -“Well, ma’am?” again prompted Quimby. - -“Excuse me, Chief. I am a housewife myself. (That’s the only kind of -wife I or any one else ever cared for me to be, by the way.) Well, -there I hid. Thax came into the study. And as he wouldn’t go out of it -I had to sit there on the floor. I suppose it was only for a couple of -hours at most, though I could have sworn it was at least nine Arctic -winters. All of me went to sleep except my brain. My legs were dead -except when they took turns at pringling. So was my back till I got a -crick in it. And the dust--” - -“While you were there,” asked the chief, “did Mr. Vail leave the room?” - -“If he had,” she retorted, in fierce contempt, “do you suppose I’d have -kept on sitting there in anguish, man? No, the inconsiderate ruffian -stayed. He didn’t even have the decency to go to sleep so I could -escape. I heard the stable clock strike two, and then, several months -later, I hear it strike three. (Oh, I forgot! My hands are on the Book. -It struck three an hour later. Not several months later.) Then, just -after it struck three that wretched man got up and stretched and went -out.” - -“Yes?” - -“He walked to the front door and opened it. By that time I was on my -feet. Both of them were asleep--both my feet, I mean--and I had to -stamp them awake. It took me perhaps five seconds, and it hurt like -the very mischief. Then I was for creeping up to bed. But as I saw the -open front door I was tempted again. I thought perhaps he had had some -signal from an accomplice outside--a signal I hadn’t heard. I went -toward the door. And at that instant the collie here set up the most -awful yowling. I bolted past him up the stairs. As I got to the top I -looked back. Macduff was still yowling. And Thax Vail came running into -the house to see what ailed the cur.” - -“Then--” - -“What I am getting at is that Thax was not out of my sight for more -than thirty seconds in all--thirty seconds at the very _most_,” she -concluded. “And I leave it to your own common sense if he could have -climbed to the window of his room in that time, found and killed Willis -Chase in the dark (he carried no flashlight--I saw that through the -kneehole of the desk as he went out), climbed down again and gotten -into the house--all inside of thirty seconds. He couldn’t. And you know -he couldn’t.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -HOW ONE OATH WAS TAKEN - - -She glared defiance at the chief, then, in placid triumph, let her eyes -roam the circle of faces. The Moselys were wide-eyed with interest. -Doris avoided her aunt’s searching gaze. Her own eyes were downcast, -her face was working. Clive Creede gave a great sigh as of relief. Vail -came forward, lifted one of the little old lady’s hands from the Book -and kissed it. He said nothing. It was the chief who broke the brief -silence which followed the testimony. - -“You--you are certain, Miss Gregg, that the time Mr. Vail was out of -your sight was not longer than thirty seconds?” he asked, troubled. - -“I didn’t have a stop watch,” she retorted tartly. “But the time was -just long enough for me to stand up, stamp the pringles out of my -joints, go to the front hall, and then to run to the top of one short -flight of stairs. In that time if he had committed the murder he must -have traversed the whole distance around the veranda walk to a spot -below his own room, climbed the vines (making sure not to let them -rustle loudly), crawl across the roof to the window, wriggle in, locate -the bed and the man on it, kill him, and repeat the whole process of -getting through the window to the roof and from the roof to the ground -and from the ground to the front door. If he could do that in thirty -seconds or less he deserves immunity for his speed record.” - -“He could not have done it in less than several minutes,” said the -chief, consideringly. “And if you were out in the front hall for part -of that time you couldn’t have failed to hear the rustle of the vines -or the steps on the roof. That would cut the time down to even less -than the thirty seconds you speak of. No, he could not have done it.” - -“That’s what I told you all along!” chimed in Clive Creede. “And I told -you he couldn’t possibly have had any motive. He--” - -“Clive!” said Miss Gregg, her voice acid. “Did you ever hear a wise old -maxim that runs: ‘Save me from my friends and I’ll save myself from -my enemies’? Stop wringing your hands in that silly nervous way and -clap both of them tight over your mouth and keep them there. A little -more of your staunch friendship and Thax would be on his way to jail. -Please--” - -“You did not lose sight of Mr. Vail,” summed up the chief with visible -reluctance, “from about one o’clock until less than thirty seconds -before the alarm was given? You could swear to that if necessary, Miss -Gregg?” - -“Do you suppose I’ve been keeping my palms on this scratchy old muslin -just for fun?” she snapped. - -“Oh, yes, I remember!” Quimby corrected himself in some confusion. “I -forgot you have already sworn--that you made your statement with your -hands resting on the Holy Bible. In that event, Mr. Vail, I can only -apologize for my hint at arresting you. I see no evidence at present to -hold you or any one else on. Miss Gregg’s word--to say nothing of her -solemn oath-would convince any jury in this county and would clear you. -Doctor, you will be ready to testify at the inquest that Mr. Chase had -been dead less than one hour when you examined him?” - -“I shall,” replied Lawton, unhesitatingly. - -“One question more, Mr. Vail, if you will permit,” said the chief, -with marked increase of deference, as he turned again to Thaxton. “Or, -rather, two questions. In the first place, what was the cause and the -nature of your quarrel with Mr. Chase--the quarrel which Mr. Creede -says he interrupted this morning?” - -“Mr. Creede has told you all there is to tell about that,” answered -Thaxton, with some coldness of tone and manner. “Mr. Chase had read -in the paper that I was obliged to maintain Vailholme as a hotel. He -insisted on coming here. Not as a guest but to board. He thought it -was a great joke. I did not. That is where we differed. There was no -quarrel as he and I understood it. Nothing but an exchange of friendly -abuse. It remained for Mr. Creede to construe it into a quarrel.” - -“I see,” said the chief, doubtfully. “The second and last question is: -Why did you, late in the evening, insist on transferring Mr. Chase from -the room assigned to him to your own room?” - -“Because the night was hot, and his room was uncomfortable and mine was -cool and comfortable, and I was not going to occupy my own room all -night.” - -“H’m!” murmured Quimby. - -The tramp of feet in the front hall put an end to any further queries -he might have been framing. Whitcomb and two other constables stood in -the living room doorway, arriving in answer to the telephone summons. - -At once the chief ranged from inquisitor to policeman. - -“First of all,” he directed his men, “bring your flashlights, and we’ll -examine the ground under that window. Then we’ll climb up, the same -way, if we can borrow a ladder. The vines may--” - -“Flashlight?” repeated Whitcomb. “Why, Chief, it’s broad _daylight_! In -another ten minutes the sun’ll be up.” - -He went over to the nearest long window and threw open the -old-fashioned wooden shutters. Into the room surged the strong -dawnlight, paling the electric lamps to a sickly yellow. - -In, too, through the window itself as he swung it wide, wafted a breath -of sweet summer morning air, heavy of dew-soaked earth and of flowers -and vibrant with the matin song of a million birds. - -The lightning transition from spectral night to flush daylight came -as a shock to the group. It jolted them back to normality. Joshua Q. -Mosely was the first to speak. - -“Guess we’ll hunt up Pee-air and have him bring the car around,” said -he briskly. “I and Mrs. M. did our packing last night. No sense in our -sticking here any longer. I’ll leave my _address_ with you, Chief, and -a memo about the reward. Guess we’ll move along to Lenox or maybe down -to Lee for breakfast. See you before we go, Mr. Vail. So long!” - -He followed the chief and his men from the room, Mrs. Mosely in tow. -Dr. Lawton drifted aimlessly after Quimby. - -The four who remained stood for a moment looking after the receding -outlanders. Then Clive turned impulsively, remorsefully, to Vail. - -“I’m so sorry old man!” he exclaimed. “So rotten sorry! I never meant--” - -“Sorry?” echoed Miss Gregg. “You needn’t be. You did your best. It’s no -fault of yours that Thax isn’t to be held for the Grand Jury.” - -Creede winced as though she had spat in his face. He was ghastly pale, -and he slumped rather than stood. He looked desperately ill. - -“I was trying to help,” he pleaded, his ghastly face working. -“Honestly, I was, Thax. I suppose that gas attack at my lab has dulled -whatever brains I had. It seemed to me I was backing you up, and then -all at once I realized I had said things that might make him think--” - -“They made him think, all right,” assented the grim old lady. “And you -backed Thax up, too--backed him clear up against the wall. If I hadn’t -had the rare good luck to be able to prove he was innocent--” - -“Oh, it’s all right, Clive,” said Vail, pitying his friend’s utter -demoralization. “You meant all right. I--” - -“It’s all wrong,” denied Creede brokenly. “I’ve harmed the best friend -I have in the world. The fact that I was trying to help doesn’t make -any difference. If you don’t mind, I’ll follow the sweet Moselys’ -example--pack up and go home.” - -“Nonsense!” scoffed Vail. “No harm’s done. Stay on here. You meant all -right--” - -“Hell is paved with the skulls of people who ‘meant all right,’” -interpolated Miss Gregg, severely. “The vilest insult one rational -human can heap upon another is that damning phrase, ‘He meant all -right!’ It’s a polite term for ‘mischief maker’ and for ‘hoodoo.’” - -Clive turned his hollowly sick eyes on her in hopeless resignation. But -the sight did not soften her peppery mood. - -“Clive,” she rebuked, “I’ve known you always. I knew your father. I -know your brother--though I don’t mention that when I can help it. All -of you have had plenty of faults. But not one of you was ever a fool. -You, least of all. The war must have done queer things to your head as -well as to your lungs and heart. No normal man, with all the brains you -took with you to France, could have come back with so few. It isn’t in -human nature. There’s a catch in this, somewhere.” - -Creede bowed his head in weary acceptance of her tirade. Then he looked -with furtive appeal at Doris. But the girl was again sitting with -tight-clenched hands, her eyes downcast, her soft lips twitching. From -her averted face he looked to Vail. - -“I’m sorry, Thax,” he repeated heavily. “And I’m going. I’d rather. -It’ll be pleasanter all around. If I can bother you to phone for a taxi -I’ll go up and get my things together.” - -“No!” urged Thaxton, touched by his chum’s misery. “No, no, old man. -Don’t be so silly. I tell you it’s all--” - -But Creede had slumped out of the room. Vail followed at his heels, -still protesting noisily against the invalid’s decision. - -Miss Gregg watched them go. Then she turned to Doris. There was -something defiant, something almost apprehensive, in the old lady’s -aspect as she faced her niece. - -“Well?” she challenged. - -Doris sprang to her feet, her great dark eyes regarding Miss Gregg with -fascinated horror. - -“Oh, Auntie!” she breathed, accusingly. “_Auntie!_” - -“Well,” bluffed the old lady with a laudable effort at swagger, “what -then?” - -“Aunt Hester!” exclaimed the girl. “It was _I_ who couldn’t sleep a -wink last night. Not _you_. I heard the stable clock strike every -single hour from twelve to three. And--” - -“Well,” argued Miss Gregg, “what if you did? It’s nothing to boast -about, is it? Have you any monopoly on hearing stable clocks strike? -Have--?” - -“I had, last night,” responded the girl, “so far as our suite was -concerned. I lay there and listened to you snoring. You went to sleep -before you had been in bed ten minutes. And you never stopped snoring -one moment till Macduff began to howl so horribly. Then you jumped up -and--” - -“People always seem to think there’s something degrading about a -snore,” commented Miss Gregg. “Personally, I like to have people -snore. (As long as they do it out of earshot from _me_.) There’s -something honest and wholesome about snoring. Just as there is in a -hearty appetite. I’ve no patience with finicky eaters and noiseless -sleepers. There’s something so disgustingly superior about them! Now -when _I_ eat or sleep--” - -“Aunt Hester!” Doris dragged her back from the safety isles of -philosophy to the facts of the moment. “You were sound asleep in your -own bed all night--till the dog waked us. But you told the chief you -didn’t sleep at all and you told him that awful rigmarole about hiding -behind lowboys and--” - -“_High_boys, dear,” corrected the old lady. “Highboys. Or, to be -accurate, one highboy and one desk. A highboy and a lowboy are two very -different articles of furniture, as you ought to know by this time. -Now, that table out in the hall there is a low--” - -“You told him all that story,” Doris drove on remorselessly, “when not -one single syllable of it was true. _Auntie!_” - -“My dear,” demanded Miss Gregg, evasion falling from her as she came at -last to bay, “would you rather have had me tell one small lie or have -Thaxton Vail lose one large life? Circumstantial evidence--his own -knife and his absence from the house at just the critical time and all -that--and Clive Creede’s rank idiocy in blabbing the very worst things -he could have blabbed--all that would have sent Thax to prison without -bail to wait his trial. And, ten to one, it would have convicted him. -I was thinking of that when my inspiration came. Direct from On High, -as I shall always believe. And I spoke up. Then my own niece tries to -blame me for saving him! Gratitude is a--” - -“But, Auntie!” protested the confused Doris. “Surely you could have -told the story without taking oath on it. Perjury is a terrible thing. -Even to save a life. Oh, _how_ could you?” - -“I didn’t commit perjury,” stoutly denied Miss Gregg. “I did nothing of -the kind. I didn’t take any oath at all. Not one.” - -“You laid your hands on the Bible,” insisted Doris. “You brought it in -from the lectern. And you laid both hands on it when you testified. You -said you did it in case your bare word should be doubted. You laid your -dear wicked hands on it and--” - -“On what?” challenged Miss Gregg, sullenly. - -“On the Elzevir Bible,” replied Doris, with all of youth’s intolerance -at such infantile dodging. - -But to the girl’s surprise the old lady glared indignantly at her. - -“I did nothing of the sort!” declared Miss Gregg. “Absolutely nothing -of the sort. In the first place, I took care not to say I was on oath -and not to swear to anything at all. In the second place, the Elzevir -Bible is in the bottom drawer of Thax’s desk. I know, because I put it -there not half an hour ago.” - -She crossed to the table and snatched up the muslin-swathed book, -this time with no reverence at all. Peeling off the sleazy cover, she -disclosed the volume itself to the girl’s wondering eyes. - -It was a bulky copy of Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. - -“Auntie!” babbled the astounded Doris. - -“I have every respect for Noah Webster,” remarked Miss Gregg. “The -world owes him a great debt. But I refuse to believe his excellent -dictionary was inspired from Heaven or that I committed perjury when I -laid my hands on it in endorsement of the story I told.” - -“_Auntie!_ I--” - -“And, by the way,” pursued the old lady, “I shall persuade Ezra Lawton -to hold the inquest here, and I shall see that this book is placed -on the table for the witnesses’ oaths to be taken on. Personally, I -shall tell him I have conscientious objections to swearing, and when I -testify I shall merely ‘affirm’ (that is permissible in law, you know) -with my saintly hands resting on this equally saintly tome.” - -She ceased and glared once more at her marveling niece, this time with -an unbearable air of virtue. Doris returned the look for a second. -Then, racked by a spasm of mingled tears and laughter, she caught the -little old woman tight in her strong young arms. - -“_Oh!_” she gasped between laughing and weeping. “How I pity poor Saint -Peter when you get to the Pearly Gates! Five minutes after he refuses -to let you in you’ll make a triumphant entrance, carrying along his -bunch of keys and his halo! But it was glorious in you to save Thax -that way. You’re _wonderful_! And--and it was all a--a fib about your -thinking he had stolen those things? Please say it was! _Please_ do!” - -“My dear,” Miss Gregg instructed her, “if I had said I lay awake -through utter faith in the boy it wouldn’t have carried half the weight -as if I made them think I started out on my vigil with a belief in his -guilt. Can’t you see that? Of course, he never stole those things. I -made that quite clear to you last evening, didn’t I?” - -“And--and, Auntie--you--you KNOW he’s innocent of--of this other awful -charge, don’t you? _Say_ you do!” - -“The worst affront that can be offered is an affront to the -intelligence,” Miss Gregg informed her. “Which means your question -is a black insult to me. I didn’t grip his hand as Clive did, -or shout ‘Shame!’ as you did when he was accused. None of those -‘Hands-Across-the-Sea’ demonstrations were needed to show my faith -in him. My faith isn’t only in the man himself, but in his sanity. -Whatever else Thax Vail is he’s not a born fool. Not brilliant. -But assuredly not a fool. He wouldn’t kill young Chase or any one -else--with a knife that every one would recognize at once as Thax’s -own--and then go away, leaving it in the wound for the police to find. -No, Thax didn’t kill Chase. But some one who hates Thax did.” - -“What--” - -“Why else should he do it with that knife? There must have been plenty -of more suitable weapons at hand--unless he has killed so many people -this week that all his own weapons are in the wash.” - -“But who--?” - -“He must have picked up the knife here,” insisted Miss Gregg, “after -I used it for a corkscrew--either right afterward or else finding it -here in the night after we’d all gone to bed. These windows with their -backnumber clasps are ridiculously easy to open from outside. And from -where Thax sat or lay in the study the sound of any one entering this -room carefully couldn’t have been heard. Whoever came in to kill Willis -Chase must have planned to do it with some other weapon--some weapon -he brought along to do it with. Then he saw the knife, and he knew it -would switch suspicion to Thax. So he used that.” - -“But the windows here were still fastened from inside, just now,” -argued Doris. “Besides, it’s proved the murderer got in through a -window upstairs. He couldn’t have come in through these windows and -gotten the knife and then have gone out again and closed and locked -them from the inside. He couldn’t. And Thax was the last person -downstairs here last night. So nobody from _inside_ the house, either, -could have gotten down here and stolen the knife and gone upstairs -with it again. The study door is right at the foot of the stairs. Thax -couldn’t have helped seeing and hearing him, even if he’d been able to -step twice over Macduff without disturbing the dog. No, it couldn’t be.” - -“You are quite right,” agreed Miss Gregg. “It couldn’t. Lots of things -in this mystery-drama world _can’t_ be. But most of them _are_. Which -reminds me I must wake Horoson and have her get some coffee made. We’ll -all be the better for breakfast.” - -She bustled to the hall as she spoke. Thaxton Vail was standing in the -front doorway looking disconsolately out into the sunrise. - -“He went,” reported Vail, turning back into the house as Miss Gregg and -Doris emerged into the hallway. “I’m sorry. For he isn’t fit to. He’s -still all in.” - -“Who?” asked Doris, her mind still adaze. - -“Clive Creede. This thing has cut him up fearfully. He talked a lot -of rot about having injured me and not having the courage to face me -again. I told him it was absurd. But he went. He wouldn’t even wait for -a taxi. Just went afoot, leaving his luggage to be sent for. Poor chap!” - -Miss Gregg passed on into the kitchen regions. The police, their -inspection of the house’s exterior completed, were trooping ponderously -upstairs, Lawton still trailing along dully in their wake. Doris and -Vail stood alone in the glory of sunrise that flooded the wide old hall. - -For another few moments neither of them spoke again, but stood there -side by side looking out on the fire-red eastern sky and at the marvel -of sunrise on trees and lawn. Unconsciously their hands had met and -were close clasped. It was Doris who spoke at last. - -“It was splendid of you,” she said, “not to be angry with Clive for his -awful blunders. I--somehow I feel as if I never want to set eyes on him -again. My father used to say: ‘I can endure a criminal, but I hate a -fool.’ I thought it was a brutally cynical thing to say. But now--well, -I can understand what Dad meant.” - -“You mustn’t blame old Clive!” begged Vail. “He’s sick and upset and -hardly knows what he’s saying or doing. He thought I was in trouble. -And he came to my defense. If he did it bunglingly his muddled brain -and not his heart went back on him. I’m sorry Miss Gregg spoke to him -as she did. It cut him up fearfully.” - -“Dear little Aunt Hester!” sighed Doris. “She knew us all when we were -babies. And she can’t get over the notion we’re still five years -old and that we must be scolded when we’re bad or when we blunder. -She’s--she’s a darling!” - -“I ought to think so if any one does,” assented Vail. “If it hadn’t -been for her testimony I’d be on my way to jail before now. But to -think of her having to sit behind my desk all those hours! It was an -outrage! The dear old soul!” - -Doris reddened, made as though to enlighten him, then shut her lips in -a very definite line. Knowing the man as she did, she believed he was -quite capable of refusing to profit by Miss Gregg’s subterfuge, and -that he would announce at the inquest that the old lady had sacrificed -the truth in a splendid effort to save him. Wherefore, being a wise -girl, Doris held her peace. - -“In books,” said Vail, presently, “the falsely suspected hero thanks -the heroine eloquently for her trust in him. I’m not going to thank -you, Doris. But I think you know what your glorious trust means to me.” - -She looked down; under the strange light in his eyes. And in doing -so she realized her hand was still interclasped with his. She made a -conscientious effort to withdraw it. But the last few hours apparently -had sapped her athletic young strength. For she lacked the muscular -power to resist his tender grasp. That grasp grew tighter as he said, -hurriedly, incoherently: - -“When I get out of this tangle--and I’m not going to let you be mixed -up in it with me--there are all sorts of things I’m going to say to -you, whether I have the right to or not. Till then--” - -He checked himself, his ardent words ending in a growl of disgust. Up -the driveway toward the house was striding Osmun Creede. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -A CLUELESS CLUE - - -Creede had changed his dark habiliments of the preceding night for a -suit of flannels. His sagging shoulder and slight limp were accentuated -by the outdoor garb. Doris drew back from the doorway at sight of him. -But Vail stood where he was. - -“I met Clive down the road,” began Osmun, with no salutation, as he -mounted the veranda steps. “I was driving here to see him--to try once -more to persuade him to come to Canobie with me. I made him drive -on home in my runabout--he wouldn’t come back here with me--while I -stopped to get his luggage. May I trouble you to have it brought down?” - -He spoke with studied formality, his rasping voice icy and aloof. - -“The servants aren’t up yet,” said Vail, no more warmly. “If you’ll -wait here a minute I’ll go and get it for you myself.” - -He did not ask Osmun to enter, nor did Creede make any move to do so. - -As Vail retired into the house on his quest, Osmun’s blinking eyes, -behind their thick spectacles, caught sight of Doris Lane just within -the shadow of the hall. - -“Doris,” he said quickly, “if you and Miss Gregg want to get away I can -have a car of mine here inside of twenty minutes. And if you and she -will stay on at Canobie till Stormcrest is ready for you to go back to -it I’ll be happier than I can say.” - -“Thank you,” she made cold answer. “But we are very comfortable here. -We--” - -“Here?” echoed Creede. “But, dear girl, you can’t possibly stay on, -either of you, after what’s happened. Clive told me about it just now. -It’s unbelievable! And I know how eager you both must be to get away.” - -“You are entirely mistaken,” she returned. “Why should we go away? Of -course, poor Willis Chase’s death is an awful shock. But he was never -a very dear friend to any of us, long as we’d all known him. And Aunt -Hester has decided that as soon as the inquest is over, we can settle -down to life here as well as anywhere until Stormcrest is--” - -“I wasn’t thinking of the associations that must hang over this house,” -explained Creede. “I suppose Chase’s body will be taken away directly -after the inquest. I was thinking of the man who is your host. Clive -has just left me in a huff because I told him I believed Thaxton Vail -is the only person with the motive or the opportunity for killing -Chase. It is true. A thousand things point to it.” - -“I am afraid nobody whose opinion is worth while will agree with you,” -she answered. “I don’t care to discuss it, please. You’ll excuse me, -won’t you, if I go in? I must find Aunt Hester and--” - -She finished the sentence by turning on her heel and disappearing -down the dusky hall. Halfway in her retreat, she passed Quimby and -Dr. Lawton and two of the three constables coming down from their -examination of the upper rooms. - -“Anything new, Doctor?” she asked Lawton, detaining him as the three -others continued their progress to the front door. - -The doctor waited until the trio passed out of earshot. Then, lowering -his voice, he said quizzically: - -“The chief’s got another bee in his bonnet now. He’s all up in the air -over it. He says it lands the case against a blank wall.” - -“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled at his hint. - -“Why,” said the doctor, as if ashamed to mention so fantastic a thing, -“you know there was a shoe mark on the window-sill and a scrap of mud -where the killer had stepped on the sill on the way out.” - -“Or in,” suggested Doris. - -“Out,” corrected Lawton. - -“How do you know?” - -“The chief put his magnifying glass over it in the strong light just -now,” said Dr. Lawton. “Then he made us all take a peep. There was a -faint outline of the ball of a shoe pressed against the white woodwork -of the sill. And the shoe faced outward. That was clear from the curve -of its outer edge. It was a left foot at that. A tennis shoe.” - -“He wore tennis shoes to muffle the sound of his steps?” cried Doris. - -“That’s what I thought first,” answered Lawton. “So did the chief. But -we both changed our minds.” - -“Why?” - -Again the doctor hesitated almost shamefacedly. - -“It’s so--so queer,” said he. “I can’t expect you to believe it. I -didn’t believe it myself till the chief made me examine the marks under -the magnifier and again under his pocket microscope. It was a tennis -shoe. Of course Quimby began to ransack Thaxton Vail’s boot trees and -to compare his soles with the size of this. Well, the sole-mark on the -sill was fully two sizes larger than any of Thaxton’s soles.” - -“I don’t see anything unbelievable about that,” she commented. “It -clears Thax all the more completely.” - -“You’re right,” said Lawton. “It clears Thax all right as far as it -goes. But that isn’t the unbelievable part of it. There was a pair of -tennis shoes under the edge of the bed. Lying a yard or so apart and -in the shadow. We none of us saw them first on account of the light. -Not till we had tested all Vail’s shoes by that imprint on the sill. -Then the chief hit his toe against one of them. He stooped down and -hauled them out. They had bits of mud still sticking to their instep. -But the left one had much less than the other. They were bigger than -any of Vail’s shoes. But we didn’t notice that till we had tested the -left one--the one with the least mud on it--against the sill’s imprint. -It fitted exactly. It did more. The sole-grips were new rubber with a -funny crisscross pattern. And those grips were precisely the same as -the marks on the sill. The microscope proved it. The step on the sill -was made by that very shoe. There couldn’t be any doubt of it.” - -“But--” - -“Then came the oddest part,” continued the doctor. “You’ve seen -Cooley, the night constable? He clerks, part-time, in the new shoe -store they’ve opened this year at Aura. And he grabbed hold of those -tennis shoes and gave them one good look. Then he vowed they are a -pair his boss had sent for--all the way from New York--to a pedic -specialist--for Willis Chase.” - -“_What?_” - -“He said Chase came into the shop last week and told them he had been -having trouble with his arches. He’d had the same trouble once before. -And that other time he had been recommended to a man in New York who -made shoes that helped him very much. He gave them the man’s address -and had them send for this pair of tennis shoes for him. The shoes came -two days ago. The clerks all studied them carefully because the ‘last’ -was so peculiar. Cooley said he could swear to them. Then he proved -it. Just inside the vamp he had scribbled Chase’s initials, ‘W. A. C.,’ -in pencil, when they came to the shop. He had done it to make sure -they wouldn’t get mixed up with the rest of the stock by some green -clerk before Chase could call for them. And sure enough there were the -initials. The shoes were Chase’s. Apparently he had kicked them off -under the edge of the bed when he undressed.” - -The girl was staring at him in frank perplexity. - -“But,” she argued, “you just said the left shoe of that pair was -the same shoe that had made the mark on the white woodwork of the -window-sill when the murderer escaped. How could it----” - -“That’s the part of it none of us can understand. Chase couldn’t have -killed himself and then walked to the window with his shoes on and -stepped on the sill and then come back to bed and taken his shoes off -and lain down again. Yet there isn’t any other solution. Don’t you see -how crazily impossible the whole thing is? And the murderer couldn’t -have been wearing Chase’s shoes and then stopped on the other side of -the sill and taken them off and tossed them back under the bed. From -the position of the window they couldn’t possibly have been thrown from -there to the spot where we found them lying.” - -The girl’s puzzled eyes roamed to the veranda. Osmun Creede had halted -the chief. Quimby was talking earnestly to him, presumably reciting the -impossible tale of this latest development. - -Perhaps it may have been the effect of the light, but Doris as she -watched half fancied she saw Osmun’s lean face grow greenish white and -his jaw-muscles twitch convulsively as if in effort to keep steady his -expression. But at once the real or fancied look was gone, and he was -listening stolidly. - -“It must be a cruel blow to him,” she mused to herself, “to find still -further proof that Thax is innocent. No wonder he seems so stricken!” - -Thaxton Vail interrupted her reverie by coming downstairs, carrying -Clive’s suitcase and a light overcoat and hat. These he bore to the -veranda and without a word handed them to Osmun. - -Creede took them in equal silence. Then as he turned to depart he -favored Vail with an expressionless stare. - -“You’ve got more brain--more craft--than I gave you credit for, Thax,” -he said abruptly. “They’ll never convict you.” - -He descended the steps and made off limpingly down the drive without -waiting for further speech. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE IMPOSSIBLE - - -The inquest had come and gone. Its jury of Aura citizens and two summer -folk, duly instructed by Lawton as to the form of their verdict, gave -opinion that Willis Chase had met his death at the hands of a person -or persons unknown, wielding a sharp instrument (to wit, a punch blade -of an identified knife) and a blunt instrument (i.e., a similarly -identified metal water carafe). - -That was all. - -Willis Chase’s sister and his brother-in-law came over from Great -Barrington, where they had an all-year home, and they took charge of -the dead man and his effects. - -By noon Vailholme had settled to a semblance of its former pleasant -calm. Doris and her aunt were the only remaining guests. Thanks to -Horoson’s genius, enough servants consented to remain at only slightly -increased subsidy to keep the household machinery in motion. - -The actors and spectators of the preceding night’s drama had a strange -sense of unreality as of having been part of some impossible nightmare. - -Later the numbness would pass and the shock’s keener effects would play -havoc with nerves and thoughts. But for the moment there was dull calm. - -To add to the sense of gloom and of dazed discomfort, the day was the -hottest of the year. The thermometer had passed the ninety mark before -ten o’clock. By twelve it was hovering around ninety-seven, and not a -vestige of breeze mitigated the heat. - -Even in the cool old house the occupants sweltered. Outside, -ether-waves pulsed above the suffering earth. The scratch of locusts -sounded unbearably dry and shrill. The leaves hung lifeless. - -The whole landscape shimmered in the murderous heat. South Mountain, -standing benevolent guard beyond the Valley, was haze-ribbed and -ghostly. The misty green range, to westward, cut by Jacob’s ladder, -threw off an emerald-and-fire reflection that sickened the eye. The -whole lovely mountain region with its sweet valleys swooned depressedly -in the awful heat. - -Directly after the early lunch at Vailholme, which nobody wanted, Miss -Gregg took anxious note of Doris’s drooping weariness and ordered her -upstairs for a nap. The past twenty hours’ events and a sleepless night -had taken toll of even the girl’s buoyant young strength. Willingly she -obeyed the command to rest. - -“I’ll be along presently,” said Miss Gregg, as Doris started upstairs. -“First, I want to verify or disprove a boast of my dear old friend, -Osmun Vail. Soon after he built this house he told me there was one -veranda corner where there was always a breeze even in the stiflingest -weather. If I can discover that corner I shall believe in miracles. It -will be a real sensation to sit for five minutes in a breeze on a day -like this. Come along, Thax, and show me where it is.” - -Irritated by her ill-timed flippancy, Vail, with some reluctance, -left the more comfortable hall to follow her to the porch. Macduff -had stretched his furry bulk flat on the hearthstone of the big hall -fireplace in the sorry hope of deriving some coolness therefrom. As -Vail went out after Miss Gregg the dog sighed loudly in renunciation of -comfort, arose, stretched himself fore and aft in true collie fashion, -and stalked out onto the torrid veranda with the two misguided humans. - -For this is the way of a dog. Tired or hungry, he will follow into rain -or snow or heat the man he calls master--sacrificing rest and ease and -food for the high privilege of being with his god. - -Thaxton Vail was not Macduff’s god. Vail had had the collie for only -a few months. Yet man and dog had become good friends. And, to his -breeder, Clive Creede, the collie nowadays gave little more than -civility, having apparently forgotten Creede and their early chumship -during the twin’s absence in France. - -Clive had left him at Vailholme. There Vail had found him on his own -return from overseas. When Clive came back a little later Macduff -accorded him but a tepid welcome. He showed no inclination to return -home with his old master, but exhibited a very evident preference for -his new abode and his new lord. Wherefore Clive had let him stay where -he was. - -The heat waves struck through the collie’s massive tawny coat now as -he followed Vail and Miss Gregg out onto the hot veranda. He panted -noisily and began to search for some nook cooler than the rest of the -tiled floor, where he might lay him down for the remainder of his -interrupted snooze. Failing to find it, he looked yearningly toward the -dim hallway. - -“See there!” proclaimed Miss Gregg. “There’s no breezy corner out -here to-day. If there was, Macduff would have discovered it. Trust -him to pick out comfort wherever it’s to be found! No dog that wasn’t -a connoisseur of comfort, would have elected to stay on at Vailholme -instead of going back to Rackrent Farm with Clive. And yet one reads -of the faithful dogs that prefer to starve and freeze with their loved -masters rather than live at ease with any one else! It was a frightful -shock to my ideals three months ago when I witnessed the meeting -between the new-returned Clive and his canine chum. I had looked -forward to a tear-stirring reunion. Why, Mac hardly took the trouble to -wag his tail. Yet he and Clive used to be inseparable in the old days. -A single year’s absence made the brute forget.” - -“Mac, old man,” said Vail, rumpling the collie’s ears, “she’s -denouncing you. And I’m afraid you deserve it. I’ve always read of the -loyalty of collies. And it jarred me as much as it did the rest of -them when you passed up Clive for me. Never mind. You’re--” - -The clank and chug of an automobile interrupted him. Around the -driveway curve appeared a rusty and dusty car of ancient vintage. At -its wheel was a rusty and dusty man of even more ancient vintage--to -wit, Dr. Ezra Lawton. - -“Hello!” hailed Thaxton, as the car wheezed to a halt under the -porte-cochère. “What brings _you_ back so soon? I figured you would be -sleeping all day. Anything new?” - -“Yes and no,” answered Lawton, scrambling up the steps to greet Miss -Gregg and his host. “I met Osmun Creede’s chauffeur as I was starting -out on a call. I asked him how Clive is. He said he didn’t know and -that Clive must be at Rackrent Farm, for he isn’t at Canobie. I got to -thinking. And I’m going to take a run over there. He’s sick. He isn’t -fit to be staying all alone or just with his two old negroes at that -gas-reeking house. If he won’t go to Canobie and if he won’t come back -here I’m going to kidnap him and make him come home with me till he’s -more on his feet again.” - -“Good old Samaritan!” applauded Vail. - -“But that isn’t why I stopped here on my way,” pursued Lawton. “I’ve -been thinking. You told me Clive brought that German army knife home -to you. I’m wondering if he happened to bring home several of them as -presents, or if that was the only one. If there are more than one it -may throw a light on this muddle to find out who has the other or the -others. If there are several and they’re all alike, it may not have -been yours that killed Chase.” - -“I see,” answered Vail, adding: “No, he didn’t tell me whether that was -the only one or not.” - -“Well, is there any mark on yours by which you can be sure one of the -other knives didn’t kill Chase--if there are any other knives like it?” - -“No. I can’t help you out even that far. I’m sorry. By the way, if -you don’t mind, Doctor, I’ll go across to Rackrent Farm with you. All -morning I’ve been feeling remorseful about letting the poor chap leave -here. He’s so sensitive he’ll be brooding over the way he bungled in -trying to help me. I’ll go over and see if I can’t make him feel better -about it. Perhaps I can make him come back. It’s worth a try anyhow.” - -“Come along!” approved the doctor. “Plenty of room. Hop in.” - -“I think,” suddenly decided Miss Gregg, “I think I’ll do some hopping, -too. I went over the boy roughshod. I was cross and tired. I’ll tell -him I’m sorry. Besides, there may be a bit of breeze in driving. -There’s none here.” - -As Vail helped her into the tonneau Macduff leaped lightly from the -veranda steps to the rear seat of the car beside her. The collie, like -many of his breed, was crazily fond of motoring and never voluntarily -missed a chance for a ride. Vail got into the front seat beside Lawton -and the car rattled on its way. - -Rackrent Farm lay less than a mile from Vailholme’s farther gate. As -the car turned into the farmhouse’s great neglected front yard and -stopped there was no sign of life in or about the unkempt house as it -baked in the merciless sunshine. Neither of the old negro servants -appeared. Clive did not come to door or window in response to the -unwonted arrival of visitors at his hermitage. An almost ominous -stillness and vacancy seemed to brood over the whole place. - -“I don’t like this,” commented Lawton worriedly as he drew up at the -end of the brick path which traversed the distance from carriage-drive -to front door. “And-- By the way,” he interrupted himself, “now I -remember it. Oz said something about the two negroes being made sick -by the gases and clearing out till the house could be aired. Aired! Why -every window and every door in sight is shut!” - -“Clive must be here all alone if his servants decamped,” said Vail. -“Probably he hasn’t the energy to open up the house, sick as he is. -Come on!” - -He got out with the doctor, turning to help Miss Gregg to alight. - -Before she could step to the ground Macduff crowded past her in right -unmannerly fashion, leaping to earth and standing there. - -The collie’s muscles were taut. His muzzle was pointed skyward. His -sensitive nostrils deflated and filled with lightning alternation as -he sniffed avidly at the lifeless air. He was in evident and keen -excitement, and he whimpered tremulously under his breath. - -Paying no heed to the collie, the three humans were starting up the -ragged brick walk which wound an eccentric way through breast-high -patches of boxwood to the front door of the farmhouse. - -The bricks radiated the scorching heat. The boxwood gave back hot -fragrance under the sun’s untempered rays. The locusts were shrilling -in the dusty tree-branches above. Over everything hung that breath of -tense silence. - -Macduff, after one more series of experimental sniffs, flashed up the -winding walk past the three and toward the front door. - -Within six feet of the door he shied like a frightened horse at -something which lay in his path. And he crouched back irresolutely on -his furry haunches. - -At the same moment the trio rounded the curve of path between two high -boxwoods which had shut off their view of the bricked space in front of -the doorway. - -There, sprawling face downward on the red-hot bricks at their feet, lay -the body of a man. - -Miss Gregg flinched unconsciously and caught hold of Vail’s arm. The -doctor, his professional instincts aroused, ran forward and knelt at -the man’s side, turning him over so that the body lay face up beneath -the pitiless furnace-heat of the sky. - -The dazzling white glare of sunlight poured down upon an upturned dead -visage. - -“Clive!” panted Miss Gregg, dizzily. “Oh, it’s Clive _Creede_!” - -“Not a mark on him,” mumbled Vail, who had bent beside the doctor -over the lifeless body. “Not a mark. Sunstroke, most likely. In his -weakened state, coming out of the house into this inferno of heat-- -You’re sure he’s dead, Doctor?” - -For an instant Lawton did not answer. Then he finished his deftly rapid -examination and rose dazedly to his feet. - -“Yes,” he said, his face a foolish blank of bewilderment. “Yes. He is -dead. But he has been dead less than fifteen minutes. And--it wasn’t -sunstroke. He--” - -The doctor paused. Then from between his amazement-twisted lips he -blurted: - -“_He froze to death!_” - -Miss Gregg cried out in unbelieving wonder. Thaxton Vail’s incredulity -took a wordier form. - -“Froze to death?” he ejaculated, loud in his amaze. “And less than -fifteen minutes ago? Doctor, the weather’s turned your head. This is -the hottest day of the year. Out here in the sun the mercury must be -somewhere around a hundred and twenty. _Froze_ to death? Why, it’s im--” - -“I tell you,” reiterated Dr. Lawton, mopping the streams of sweat from -his forehead, “I tell you HE FROZE TO DEATH!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE COLLIE TESTIFIES - - -In the moment of stark dumbfounded hush that followed Dr. Lawton’s -verdict the collie created a diversion on his own account. - -For the past few seconds he had stood once more at gaze, muzzle -upraised, sniffing the still air. The impulse which had sent him -charging toward the house had been deflected at sight of the body on -the brick pathway, and he had checked his rush. - -Perhaps it was the all-pervasive fragrance of the boxwood bushes on -every side, bakingly hot under the sun’s glare, that confused the scent -he had caught. In any event he was sniffing once more to catch the lost -odor which had guided him in his short hurricane flight. - -Then he varied this by breaking into a fanfare of discordantly excited -barks. - -The racket smote on its hearers with a shock of horror. Thaxton Vail -caught the dog by the collar, sternly bidding him to be silent. -Trembling, straining to break from the grasp, Macduff obeyed the fierce -command. - -At least he obeyed so far as to cease his clangor of high-pitched -barks. But he did not cease for one instant to struggle to liberate -himself from the restraining grip. - -Furiously his claws dug into the brick-crannies, seeking a foothold -whereby he might exert enough leverage to break free. Vail, with -another sharp command, dragged him to one side, meaning to tie him by -means of a handkerchief to one of the bush stems. - -The collie’s forefeet clawed wildly in air as they were lifted -momentarily off ground. And one of the flying paws brushed sharply -across the forehead of the dead man. - -There was a cry from Miss Gregg followed by a gasp from both men. The -curved claws had chanced to catch in Creede’s thick tangle of hair that -clung dankly to the forehead. - -Under that momentary tug the hair gave way. A mass of it as large as a -man’s hand came loose with the receding forepaw of the dog. And lo, the -dead man’s forehead was as bald as a newborn baby’s! - -The change wrought by the removal of the curling frontal hair made -a startling difference in the lifeless face. It was Miss Gregg who -exclaimed shudderingly: - -“That’s not Clive! That’s--that’s _Osmun_ Creede!” - -“Good Lord!” babbled the doctor. “You’re--you’re right! It’s Oz!” - -Vail, still clutching the frantically struggling collie, stared in -silence. It was uncanny--the difference made by that chance removal of -the ingenious toupée. Instantly the man on the ground before them lost -his resemblance to Clive and became Clive’s twin brother. - -Lawton, catching sight of an object which the shift of posture had -caused to slide into view in the prostrate man’s upper coat pocket, -drew forth a spectacle-case. - -In view of the amazing identification the intruders wholly forgot for -the moment Dr. Lawton’s ridiculously incredible claim that Creede had -frozen to death on the hottest day of the year. - -They had even forgotten the heat that poured down upon them in perilous -intensity. They forgot everything except this revelation that the -supposed Clive Creede, their friend, was Osmun Creede whom they had -detested. - -Macduff strained and whimpered unheeded as Vail still held him -with that subconscious grip on his collar. All three were staring -open-mouthed at the sprawling figure on the bricks. For a space nobody -spoke. - -Then, with a start, as of one who comes out of a trance, Miss Gregg -burst into hysterically rapid speech. - -“I knew it all the time!” she volleyed. “I knew it all the time--clear -in the back of my head where the true thoughts grow--the thoughts that -are so true they don’t dare force themselves to the front of the mind -where the everyday thinking is done. I knew it! There were no twins at -all. There was only Osmun!” - -The two others blinked stupidly at her. She rattled on with growing -certainty: - -“Osmun was the only one of the Creede twins to come back alive from -France. I know it. There _is_ no Clive Creede. There never has been -since the war. He must have died over there. Stop and think, both of -you! Did you ever see the two twins together since Osmun came from -overseas? Not once. Did you?” - -“Good Lord!” sputtered the doctor. “Of course I have. Often. At--at -least, I--I’m sure I must have. I--” - -“She is right,” interposed Vail in something like awe, “I swear I -believe she is right. I never stopped to think about it. But I can’t -remember seeing them together once since--” - -“It was Osmun, alone!” declared Miss Gregg. “He played both rôles. -Though heaven alone knows why he should have done such a queer thing. -And he worked it cleverly. Oh, Oz always had brains! Clive was supposed -to live here at Rackrent Farm, while Oz lived at Canobie--those two who -had never lived apart before! That was to make the dual rôle possible. -He couldn’t have pretended they lived in the same house without the -servants or some guest discovering there was only one of them. But a -couple of miles apart he could divide his time between Rackrent and -Canobie in a plausible enough way.” - -“But--” - -“Bald and lame and with a stoop and wearing thick spectacles he was -Osmun. Erect and with a mass of hair falling over his forehead and no -glasses he was Clive. There was no need to make up the face. They had -been twins.” - -“It’s ingenious,” babbled Dr. Lawton, fighting for logic and for the -commonplace. “But it doesn’t make sense. Why, I--” - -“It _will_ make sense when we get it cleared up!” she promised. “And -now that we’ve got hold of both ends of the string we’ll untangle it -in short order. When we do, we’ll find who killed Willis Chase and who -stole our jewelry. That isn’t all we’ll discover either. We’ll--drat -the miserable collie!” she broke off. “Has he gone crazy? Make him be -still, Thax!” - -For Macduff, failing to get free by struggling and by appealing -whimpers, had now renewed his salvo of barking. Vail spoke harshly to -the dog, tightening his hold on the collar. - -The brief interruption switched the current of Dr. Lawton’s thoughts -back from this mystery of identity to a more startling and more -professionally interesting mystery--to that of a man who had achieved -the garishly impossible exploit of freezing to death in a sun-scourged -temperature of 120 degrees or more. Again the doctor knelt by the body, -swiftly renewing his examination. - -But even before he did so he knew he could not have been mistaken in -his diagnosis. - -Lawton was a Berkshire physician of the old school. He had plied his -hallowedly needful profession as country doctor among those tumbles of -mountains and valleys for nearly half a century. - -Winter and summer he had ridden the rutted byroads on his errands -of healing. Often in olden days and sometimes even now he had been -called on to toil over unfortunates who had lost their way in blizzards -with the mercury far below zero, and who had frozen to death before -help could come. Every phase of freezing to death was professionally -familiar to him. The phenomena were few and simple. They could not -possibly be mistaken. - -And, past all chance of doubt, he knew now that Osmun Creede had frozen -to death--that he had died from freezing in spite of the tropical -torridity of the day. - -The fact that the thermometer was registering above one hundred in the -shade and was many degrees higher here in the unchecked sun-glare--this -did not alter the far more tremendous fact that Osmun Creede had just -died from freezing. - -Lawton raised the rigidly frozen body in order to slip off from it the -coat which impeded his work of inspection. Deftly he pulled the coat -from the shoulders, the sleeves turning inside out in the process, and -he tossed it aside. - -The flung coat landed on a twig-tangle of the nearest box-bush, hanging -upside down from the twigs. From its inner pocket, thus reversed, fell -a fat wallet. It flapped wide open to the bricks, the jar of contact -shaking from its compartments three or four objects which glittered -like colored fire as they caught and cast back a million sun-rays. - -Miss Gregg swooped down on the nearest of these glowing bits, -retrieving it and holding it triumphantly out to Thaxton. - -“Doris’s marquise ring!” she announced. “And there’s my pearl-and-onyx -brooch down there by your left toe. I said last night Oz Creede was the -thief. I knew he couldn’t possibly be. But that made me know all the -more he was.” - -She stooped to gather up other items of the scattered loot. Vail bent -down to help her. In doing so, instinctively, he slackened his hold on -Macduff’s collar. - -The dog took instant advantage of the chance to escape. Never pausing, -he flashed toward the shut front door of the farmhouse. No time or -need now to bark or to struggle. He was free--free to follow up the -marvelous news that his sense of smell had imparted to him. - -Like a whirlwind he sprang up the hot brick walk to the closed door. - -“What on earth--?” began Miss Gregg, looking vexedly from her task of -jewel-collecting as the flying collie sped past her. - -Then the half-uttered question died on her lips. - -For as Macduff cleared the wide flagstone in front of the threshold the -farmhouse door swung open from within. - -In the doorway stood--or rather swayed--a man. - -The man was Clive Creede. - -The three intruders gaped in dazed unbelief at him. Vail and Miss Gregg -were too stupefied to rise from the ground, but continued to crouch -there, the recovered plunder in their stiffening fingers. - -Lawton blinked idiotically across the body of Osmun, his old face slack -with crass incredulity. - -Yes, there in the threshold swayed Clive Creede. He was thin to -emaciation, his hair was gray at the temples, and his face was grayer. -He seemed about to topple forward from sheer weakness. His hollow eyes -surveyed the group almost unseeingly. The man looked ten years older -than did his dead brother. - -With a scream of agonized rapture--a scream all but human in its stark -intensity--the collie hurled himself upon his long-absent master. - -Leaping high, he sought to lick the haggard face. His white forepaws -beat an ecstatic tattoo on Clive’s chest. Dropping to earth, he swirled -around Creede in whirlwind circles stomach to the ground, wakening the -hot echoes with frantic yelps and shrieks of delight. - -Then, sinking down at Clive’s feet, he licked the man’s dusty boots and -gazed up into his face in blissful adoration. The dog was shaking as -with ague. - -After two years’ absence his god had come back to him. He had caught -Clive’s scent--blurredly and uncertainly--through the sharp fragrance -of the boxwood and the stillness of the air--as far off as the gateway. -Every inch of the houseward journey had confirmed more and more his -recognition of it. - -Then, just as he located the scent and sprang forward to find the -unseen master, Thaxton Vail had collared him and checked his quest. - -But now he had come again to the feet of the man he worshiped. -Henceforth Thaxton and all the rest of the world would be as nothing -to the dog. He had re-found his god--the god for whom he had grieved -these two dreary years--the god who most assuredly was not the “Clive -Creede” that had imposed himself upon these mere humans. - -Lifting his head timidly, yearningly, Macduff stood up once more. -Rearing himself, he placed his forepaws again on Clive’s chest -and peered up into the man’s face. The collie was sobbing in pure -happiness, sobbing in a strangely human fashion. His god had been -brought back to him. - -Clive laid two thin and trembling hands on the silken head. - -“Mac!” he murmured huskily. “_Mac_, old friend!” - -At sound of the dear voice the collie proceeded once more to go insane. -Capering, dancing, thunderously barking, he circled deliriously about -his master. - -But Clive was no longer heeding him. His hollow gaze rested now on the -three humans who were clustered about his dead brother--the three who -still eyed him in vacant disbelief. - -From them his glance strayed to Osmun Creede. And again Clive’s white -lips parted. - -“He’s dead,” he croaked. “He’s--he’s--frozen--frozen to death. I--” - -He got no further. Attempting to take a forward step, he reeled -drunkenly. As he pitched earthward Thaxton Vail sprang toward him, -catching the inert body in his arms as it fell. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -UNTANGLING THE SNARL - - -Two days later, at Vailholme, Dr. Lawton stumped downstairs to the -study where Thaxton and Doris and Miss Gregg awaited him. Miss Gregg, -by the way, chanced to be in an incredibly bad humor from indigestion. -Every one knew it. - -Thrice a day had the doctor come to Vailholme since he and Thaxton had -borne the unconscious Clive thither from Rackrent Farm. A nurse had -been summoned, and for forty-eight hours she and Lawton had wrought -over the senseless man. - -This morning Clive had awakened. But, by the nurse’s stern orders, he -had not been allowed to talk or even to see his housemates until the -doctor should arrive. - -For an hour Lawton had been closeted with the invalid. The others -greeted his descent from the sickroom in eager excitement. - -“Well? Well? How is he?” demanded Miss Gregg with the imperious note -Lawton detested, firing her queries before the doctor was fairly in -the study. “Is he sane? Did he know you? Speak up, man!” - -“Sane?” echoed the doctor a bit testily. “Of course he’s sane. Why -shouldn’t he be? He always was, even in the old days. And why shouldn’t -he remember me? Didn’t I bring him into the world? And haven’t I just -brought him back into it?” - -“Ezra Lawton!” snapped the old lady, indignant at his tone. “You must -have been born boorish and exasperating. Nobody could have acquired so -much boorishness and crankiness in seventy short years. You’re--” - -“Auntie!” begged Doris. “_Please!_ Doctor, we’ve been waiting so -anxiously! Won’t you tell us all about him? We--” - -Dr. Lawton thawed at her pleading voice and look. - -“The nurse tells me he came out of the coma clear-headed and apparently -quite himself--except, of course, for much weakness,” he replied, -pointedly addressing the girl and ignoring her glowering aunt. “By the -time I got here he was a little stronger. Yet I didn’t encourage him to -talk or to excite himself in any way. However, he seemed so restless -when I told him to lie still and be quiet that I thought it would do -him less harm to ask and answer questions than to lie there and fume -with impatience. So I told him--a little. And I let him tell me--a -little.” - -He paused. Miss Gregg glowered afresh. Doris clasped her hands in -appeal. Lawton resumed: - -“And together with the letters and so on that I found in his satchel -when I went through Rackrent Farm again yesterday I think I’ve pieced -out at least the first part of the story. I wouldn’t let him go into -many details. And when he came to accounting for his presence at -Rackrent he grew so feverish and excited that I gave him a hypo and -walked out. That part of the yarn will have to keep till he’s a good -deal stronger.” - -“In brief,” commented Miss Gregg, acidly, “you pumped the poor lad, -till you had him all jumpy and queer in the head, and then you got -scared and doped him. A doctor is a man who throws medicines of which -he knows little into a system of which he knows nothing. I only wonder -you didn’t end your chat with Clive by telling him you couldn’t answer -for his life unless you operated on him for something-or-other inside -of two hours. That is the usual patter, isn’t it?” - -“He has been operated on already,” returned Lawton in cold disdain. - -Then maddeningly he stopped and affected to busy himself with shaking -down his clinical thermometer. - -“Operated on?” repeated Doris, as her aunt scorned to come into range -by asking the question. “What for?” - -Again her pleading voice and eyes won Lawton from his grievance. - -“If I can do it without a million impertinent interruptions, my dear,” -said he, “I’ll tell you and Thax all about it.” - -“Go ahead!” implored Vail. - -“As I say,” began the doctor, “I inferred much of this from the letters -and other papers I found in Clive’s bag at the farm. He corroborated -or corrected the theory I had formed. Briefly, he was wounded at -Château-Thierry. Shell fragment lodging almost at the juncture of -the occipital and left frontal. Crushed the sutures for a space of -perhaps--” - -“I’m quite sure there is a medical dictionary somewhere in the -library,” suggested Miss Gregg with suspicious sweetness. “And later -I promise myself a rare treat looking up such spicy definitions as -‘occipital’ and ‘sutures.’ In the meantime--” - -Dr. Lawton shifted his position in such a way as to bring his angular -shoulder between his face and that of his tormentor. Then he went on: - -“He was badly wounded. A bit of bone splinter pressed down on the -brain--if part of my audience can grasp such simple language as -that--completely destroying memory. After the Armistice, Osmun made a -search for him and found him in a base hospital, not only in precarious -bodily health but entirely lacking in recollection of any past event. -He did not so much as recall his own name. He didn’t recognize Oz or -know where he was nor how he got there.” - -“Poor old Clive!” muttered Vail. - -“Oz brought him back to America. For some reason that I can’t -even guess--it was at that point Clive began to get feverish and -incoherent--Oz smuggled him across the Continent and ‘planted’ him in a -sanitarium up in Northern California. He placed him there under another -name, paying for his keep, of course, and leaving word that every care -was to be taken of him. The sanitarium doctors held out absolutely no -hope for his mental recovery, though his physical health began to -improve almost at once.” - -“To judge by the way he looks now,” commented Vail, “his physical -health has gone pretty far in the opposite direction since then.” - -“It’s had enough setbacks to make it do that,” said the doctor. “But -he’ll pull through finely now. He’s turned the corner.” - -“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” apologized Thaxton. “Fire away.” - -“Well, with Clive disposed of--presumably for life--Osmun comes -back here to Aura,” proceeded Lawton. “And here for some reason I -can’t make out, he elects to be both himself and Clive. His own long -illness--trench fever, laymen call it--had left him partly bald. He -stopped in New York and had a wigmaker-artist build him a toupée that -corrected the only difference in appearance between Clive and himself. -To make the change still greater he bought those thick-lensed specs. I -have tested them. The lenses are of plain glass, slightly smoked. And -he cultivated a limp and a sag of the shoulder. Then he embarked on his -Jekyll-Hyde career among us.” - -“It didn’t seem possible when you people told me about it first,” said -Doris, as the doctor paused again for dramatic effect. “But the more -I’ve thought it over the easier it seemed. You see, their faces were -just alike. They both knew the same people and the same places and -Osmun knew every bit of Clive’s history and associations and tastes and -mannerisms. The only things he had to keep remembering all the time -were the disguise and the shoulder and the limp and to take that horrid -rasp out of his voice when he impersonated Clive. He-- Go on, please, -doctor. I’m sorry I interrupted again.” - -“That’s all I actually know about Osmun’s part in it,” resumed the -doctor. “And a lot of that is only deduction. But I do know about -Clive. At the sanitarium he had tried to walk out through a door in -the dark. The door proved to be a second story window. Clive landed -on his head in the courtyard below. They picked him up for dead. Then -they found he was still breathing, but his skull was bashed in. There -was just one chance in three that a major operation might save him. -There was no time to communicate with Osmun, even if he had given them -his right name and address--which he had not. So they operated. The -operation was a success--” - -“And in spite of that the patient lived?” asked Miss Gregg, innocently. - -Paying no heed to her, Dr. Lawton continued: - -“Clive came to himself as sound mentally as ever he had been and with -his memory entirely restored. He remembered everything. Even to Osmun’s -sticking him away in the sanitarium at the other side of the world. His -first impulse was to telegraph the good news to his twin. Then he got -to thinking and to wondering. He couldn’t understand Oz’s queer actions -toward him. And he meant to find the answer for himself.” - -“That’s just like him!” commented Vail. “He would.” - -“He didn’t want to give Oz a chance to build up some plausible lie or -to interfere in any way with his getting home,” said Lawton. “At last, -after all these years, he seems to have caught just an inkling of his -precious twin brother’s real character. He made up his mind to come -home unheralded and to find out how matters stood. It wasn’t normal or -natural, he figured, for Oz to have taken him clear to California and -put him in that sanitarium under an assumed name. There was mischief in -it somewhere. He decided to find where. - -“He had only the clothes he wore and his father’s big diamond ring--the -one your great-uncle gave old Creede, you remember, Thax. Clive never -wore it. But he used to carry it around his neck in a chamois bag -because it had been his father’s pride. Well, as soon as he could walk -again, he sneaked out of the sanitarium, beat his way to San Francisco -on a freight, and hunted up a pawnbroker. The pawnbroker, of course, -supposed he had stolen the ring, so he gave Clive only a fraction of -its value. But it was enough cash to bring him east. - -“He was still weak and shaky, and the long, hot, cross-continent ride -didn’t strengthen him. In fact, he seems to have kept up on his nerve. -He got to New York and thence to Stockbridge, and hired a taxi to -bring him over to Aura. He knew he could trust the two old negroes at -Rackrent Farm to tell him the truth about what was going on. For they -were devoted to him from the time he was a baby. So he had the taxi -drive him straight to the farm before hunting up Oz or any of the rest -of us. And there, apparently, he walked straight in on Oz himself. - -“That’s as far as he got--or, rather, as far as I’d let him get--in -his story just now. For he grew so excited I was afraid he’d have a -relapse. I didn’t even dare ask him what he meant that day by mumbling -to us that Osmun had frozen to death. It’s queer he should have known, -though. Unless--” - -“Unless what?” urged Doris, as Lawton paused frowning. - -He made no reply, but continued to stare frowningly at the floor. - -“Unless what, doctor?” coaxed Doris. - -Dr. Lawton looked up, impatiently, shook his head and made answer: - -“I don’t know, my dear. I don’t actually know. And until I do know I -am not going to make a fool of myself and let myself in for further -ridicule from your amiable aunt by telling my theory. I formed that -theory when I examined every inch of Rackrent farmhouse yesterday--the -time I found Clive’s satchel. But it’s such a wild notion--and besides -the thing was smashed and empty and there was no proof that it ever had -contained what I guessed it had--” - -“What thing, doctor?” wheedled Doris, in her most seductive manner. -“What thing was smashed and empty? And what did you ‘guess’ it had -contained? Tell us, won’t you, _please_?” - -“Not till Clive is strong enough to tell all his story,” firmly refused -Lawton. “Then if he corroborates what I--” - -“In other words, Doris, my child,” explained Miss Gregg, with gentle -unction, “when Clive tells--if he ever does--our wise friend here -will say: ‘Just what I conjectured from the very first.’ It is quite -simple. Many a medical reputation has risen to towering heights on less -foundation. My dear, you are still at the heavenly age when all things -are possible and most of them are highly desirable. Ezra Lawton and I -have slumped to the period when few things are desirable and none of -those few are possible. So don’t grudge him his petty chance to score -an intellectual hit. Even if he should be forced to score it without -the intellect.” - -The old lady was undergoing one of her recurrent spells of chronic -dyspepsia this day--by reason of dalliance with lobster Newburg at -dinner the night before. - -At such crises her whole nature abhorred doctors of all degrees for -their failure to prevent such attacks when she had refused to live up -to their prescribed dietary. - -Especially in these hours of keen discomfort did she rejoice to -berate and affront her valued old friend, Dr. Lawton, he being the -representative of his profession nearest to hand. - -And always her verbal assaults, as to-day, had the instant effect of -making him forget his reverent affection for her, turning him at once -into her snarling foe. - -Doris, well versed in the recurrent strife symptoms between the old -cronies, came as usual to the rescue. - -“Doctor,” she sighed admiringly, “I think it’s just wonderful of you to -have pieced all this together and to have made Clive tell it without -overexciting him. Auntie thinks it’s just as wonderful as I do. Only--” - -“Only,” supplemented the still ruffled Lawton, “she doesn’t care to -jeopardize her card in the Troublemakers’ Union by admitting it?” - -“Personally,” said Miss Gregg with bitterly smiling frankness, “I’d -rather be a Troublemaker than an Operation-fancier. However, that is -quite a matter of opinion. And medical books have placed ignorance -within the reach of all. Medical colleges teach that sublime truth: -‘When in doubt don’t let anybody know it!’ But--” - -“It’s a miracle,” intervened Vail, coming to the aid of peace, “that -poor old Clive could have come through this as he has. Wounded, then -falling out of a window, then--whatever may have happened to him when -he met Oz--and getting well in spite of it. By the way, sir, has he -asked to see any of us?” - -Dr. Lawton was stalking majestically doorward. Now on the threshold he -paused. His jarred temper rejoiced at the chance to pick out any victim -at all to make uncomfortable. - -“Yes,” he returned, “he has. He asked for Doris here not less than -eight times while I was up there.” - -The girl flushed hotly. Vail went slightly pale. Then he followed the -doctor hastily from the room on pretense of seeing the visitor to the -front door. Doris and Miss Gregg looked silently at each other. - -“Youth is stranger than fiction,” said the old lady, cryptically. - -Doris, scarlet and uncomfortable, made no reply. And presently Thaxton -Vail came back into the room. - -“Doris,” he said very bravely indeed, “Dr. Lawton says it won’t -do Clive any harm at all to see you after he has slept off the -quarter-grain of morphia he gave him. He says it may do him a lot of -good. I’ll tell the nurse to let you know when he wakes.” - -Then, not trusting himself to say more lest he lose the pleasant smile -he maintained with such sore-hearted difficulty, he went quickly out -again, hurrying upstairs on his errand to the nurse. - -His soul was heavy within him. Before the war he knew Clive Creede had -been his dangerous rival for Doris’s favor. Time and again Vail had -had to battle against pettiness in order to avoid rancor toward this -lifelong chum of his. - -Then, after the supposed Clive’s return from overseas, Vail had been -ashamed of his own joy in noting that Doris’s interest in Creede seemed -to have slackened, although the man himself was still eagerly her -suitor. - -And now--now that the real Clive was back--surrounded by the glamour -of mystery and of unmerited misfortune--the real Clive, whose first -question had been for Doris--Thaxton Vail’s air-castles and the golden -dreams that peopled them seemed tottering to a crash. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -WHEN HE CAME HOME - - -Yes, manfully Vail climbed the stairs to the anteroom, where the -severely stiff and iodoform-perfumed nurse sat primly reading while her -patient slept. Across the threshold of the sick chamber lay stretched a -tawny and fluffy bulk. - -There, since the moment Clive Creede had been carried in, had lain -Macduff. At nobody’s orders would he desert his self-chosen post of -guard to his stricken master. He ate practically nothing, and he drank -little more. - -Several times a day Vail dragged him from the doorway with gentle force -and put him out of the house. But ever, by hook or crook, the collie -made his way in again, and fifteen minutes later he would be pressing -close against the door on whose farther side was Clive. - -Again and again he tried to slip past nurse or doctor into the -sickroom. Again and again nurse or doctor trod painfully on him in the -dark as he lay there. - -But not once did the collie relax his vigil. His master had come back -to him. And Macduff was not minded to risk losing him again by stirring -away from his room. - -Vail stooped now and patted the disconsolate head. To the nurse he -suggested: - -“As soon as Mr. Creede wakes up, let Macduff go in and see him, won’t -you? He loves the dog, and I know him well enough to be sure it won’t -hurt him to have his old chum lie at his bedside instead of out here.” - -“Dogs carry germs,” sniffed the nurse in strong disapproval. - -“They carry friendliness, too,” he reminded her, “and companionship in -loneliness. And they carry comfort and loyalty and fun. We know they -carry those. We are still in doubt about the germs. Let him in there -when Mr. Creede wakes. If it were I, I’d rather have my chum-dog come -to my bedside when I’m sick than any human I know--except one. And that -reminds me--Dr. Lawton would like you to notify Miss Lane as soon as -Mr. Creede is wide awake. The doctor says Creede has been asking for -her and that it’ll do him good to see her.” - -Vail moved wearily away. He felt all at once tired and old, and he -realized for the first time that life is immeasurably bigger than are -the people who must live it. - -The world seemed to him gray and profitless. The future stretched away -before him, dreary and barren as a rainy sea. - -For these be the universal symptoms that go with real or imaginary -obstacles in the love race, especially when the racer is well under -thirty and is in love for the first time. - -Two hours later as Thaxton sat alone in his study laboriously trying to -occupy himself in the monthly expense accounts he heard the nurse go to -Doris’s room. - -He heard (and thrilled to) the girl’s light footfall as she followed -the white-gowned guardian along the upper hallway and into the sick -room. He heard the door close behind her. Its impact seemed to crush -the very heart of him. - -Then, being very young and very egregiously in love, Thaxton buried his -face in his hands above the littered desk--and prayed. - -It was nearly half an hour before he heard the door reopen and heard -Doris leave. - -Her step was slower now. In spite of Vail’s momentary hope she did not -pause when she reached the top of the stairs, but kept straight on to -her own room, entering it and shutting the door softly behind her. - -That night the nurse reported gayly to Vail that the invalid seemed -fifty per cent better and that he had actually been hungry for his -supper. Wherefore--as though one household could hold only a certain -amount of hunger--Thaxton failed to summon up the remotest semblance of -appetite for his own well-served dinner. - -But he talked very much and very gayly at times throughout the meal, -and he even forced himself to meet Doris’s gaze in exaggeratedly -fraternal fashion and to laugh a great deal more than Miss Gregg’s acid -witticisms demanded. - -Macduff, too, graced the evening meal with his presence for the first -time since Clive’s arrival. For hours he had lain beside his master’s -bed, curled happily within reach of Clive’s caressing hand. The dog’s -deadly fear was gone--the fear lest he should never again be allowed to -see and to be with his god. - -Clive was still there and was still his chum. And the barrier door was -no longer closed. Thus Macduff at last had scope to think of other -things than of the terror of losing his rediscovered deity. Among these -other things was the fact that he was ravenously hungry and that at -Thaxton’s side at the dinner table there was much chance for tidbits. - -Hence he attended dinner, lying again on the floor at Vail’s left for -the servants to stub their toes over as of yore. - -“So we have the sorrowing Macduff among us once more!” remarked Miss -Gregg. “That is what I call a decidedly limited rapture. Especially -when he registers fleas. I verily believe he is the most popular and -populous flea-caféteria in all dogdom. Why, that collie--!” - -“Oh, I love to see him lying there again, so happy and proud!” spoke up -Doris, tossing him a fragment of chicken. “Dear old Mac!” - -Thaxton’s smile became galvanic and forced. His heart smote painfully -against his ribs. - -“Love me, love my dog!” he quoted, miserably, to himself. - -Under cover of Miss Gregg’s railings against long-haired canines that -scratched fleas and lay where people stumbled over them Vail lapsed -into gloomy brooding. - -“A week ago,” he told himself, chewing morbidly on the bitter -reflection, “a week ago Macduff cared more for me than for any one -else. Doris certainly cared no more for any one else than she cared -for me. And to-night--! Neither of them has a thought for any one but -Clive Creede. The half-gods may as well put up the shutters when the -whole gods arrive. Funny old world!... _Rotten_ old world!” - -“Just as there are only two kinds of children--bad children and sick -children,” Miss Gregg was orating, “so there are only two kinds of -dogs--fleasome dogs and gleesome dogs. Fleasome dogs that scratch all -the time and gleesome dogs that jump up on you with muddy paws. Isn’t -that true, Thax? Now admit it!” - -Hearing his own name as it penetrated, shrilly, far down into his glum -reverie, Vail recalled himself jerkily to his duties as host. - -“Admit it?” he echoed fervently. “Indeed I _do_! I’d have acted just -the same way myself. I think you did the only thing any self-respecting -woman could have done under the circumstances. Of course, it was tough -on the others. But that was their lookout, not yours.” - -He sank back into his black brooding; all oblivious of the glare of -angry bewilderment wherewith the old lady favored him and of Doris’s -wondering stare. - -Next day Dr. Lawton declared Clive vastly improved. The following -morning he pronounced him to be firm-set on the road to quick -recovery. On the third day he ventured to let the convalescent tell his -whole story, and Clive was none the worse for the ordeal of its telling. - -The doctor, going downstairs again, found awaiting him two members of -the same trio who had listened to his earlier recital. Doris had driven -in to Aura for the mail and had not yet returned. Thus only her aunt -and Thaxton greeted the doctor on his descent from the sick room. - -Thanks to a scared course of diet, Miss Gregg had subdued her gastric -insurrection and therefore had lost her savage yearning to insult all -doctors in general and Dr. Lawton in particular. - -She hung upon his words to-day with flattering attention, not once -interrupting or taking advantage of a single opening for tart repartee. - -The doctor’s spirits burgeoned under such civility. He told his story -well and with due dramatic emphasis, seldom repeating himself more than -thrice at most in recounting any of its details. - -Stripped of these repetitions and of a few moral and philosophical -sidelights of his own, the doctor’s narrative may be summed up thus: - - * * * * * - -Having safely disposed of his twin in the California sanitarium, Osmun -Creede returned to Aura. There he resolved to begin life afresh. He had -several good reasons for doing this. - -No one knew better than he that he had made himself the most unpopular -man in the neighborhood, and, as with most unpopular men, his greatest -secret yearning was for popularity. In the guise of his popular brother -this seemed not only possible but easy of accomplishment. - -Too, he was doggedly and hopelessly in love with Doris Lane. He knew -she did not care for him. He knew she could never care for him. She had -told him so both times he had proposed to her. - -But he had a strong belief that his brother Clive had been on the point -of winning her when the war had separated them. He was certain that, -in the guise of Clive, he could continue the wooing and bring it to a -victorious end. - -But his foremost reason for the masquerade was that he had lost in -speculation all his own share of the $500,000 left by their father to -the twins and that he had managed secretly to misappropriate no less -than $50,000 of his brother’s share. - -It was this shortage which decided him to go back to Aura in the dual -rôle of both brethren, instead of following his first impulse and going -as Clive alone. - -Were it known that Osmun had vanished--were it believed he had -died--the trust company which was his executor would seek to wind up -his estate. In which case not only his own insolvency but his theft of -the $50,000 must come to light. - -He trusted to time and to opportunity to make good this shortage and -to cover its tracks so completely that they could not be discovered by -officious executors or administrators. A few coups in the stock market -would do the trick. - -But until such time he must continue to stay alive as Osmun. After that -it would be time enough to get rid of his Osmun-self in some plausible -way and to reign alone as Clive. - -Thus it was, after his return, he strove in every way to enhance his -Clive popularity at the expense of Osmun. And in a measure he succeeded. - -But almost at once he struck a snag. - -That snag was his inability to counterfeit Clive’s glowingly magnetic -personality. He could impersonate his brother in a way to baffle -conscious detection. Yet, while outwardly he was Clive, he could not -ape successfully Clive’s lovable personality. - -Folk did not warm to the supposed Clive as they had warmed to the real -Clive. They did not know why. Vaguely they said to one another that his -war-experiences had somehow changed him. - -They liked him because they had always liked him and because he did -nothing overt to destroy that liking. But he was no longer actively -beloved. - -Most of all Osmun could see this was true with Doris Lane. He felt -he had lost ground with her and that he was continuing to lose it. -She still received him on the old friendly footing. But she showed no -faintest sign of affection for him. - -Conceited as to his own powers, Osmun would not admit that the fault -was with his impersonation. He attributed it wholly to the fact that -Thaxton Vail had come back from France some months earlier than himself -and had thus cut out Clive. - -Hence Osmun set his agile wits to work to get Vail out of his path. -With Thaxton gone or discredited he believed his own way to Doris -would be clear. He believed it absolutely and he laid his plans in -accordance. - -Always he had hated Vail. This new complication fanned his hate to -something approaching mania. - -Sore pressed for ready cash or collateral to cover his stock margins -and pestered to red rage by Thaxton’s increasing favor in Doris’s eyes, -the chance of making public the “hotel clause” in Osmun Vail’s will had -struck him merely as a minor way to annoy his enemy. - -Then, learning by chance that Doris and her aunt were to take advantage -of the clause by going to Vailholme, he arranged adroitly to be one of -the houseparty in the guise of Clive. - -At once events played into his hands. - -On inspiration he robbed the various rooms that first evening, while, -in his rôle of invalid, he was believed to be dressing, belatedly, -after his hours of rest. - -Purposely he had avoided molesting any of Vail’s belongings, that the -crime might more easily be fixed upon the host. Creede had outlined a -score of ways whereby this might be done. - -There was another motive for the robbery. Its plunder would be of -decided help in easing his own cash shortage. The money-plunder was -inconsiderable. But he would have only to wait a little while and then -pawn or sell discreetly the really valuable jewelry. - -The theft had been achieved without rousing a shadow of doubt as to his -own honesty. As Clive, under pretense of friendship, he sought craftily -to direct suspicion to Vail. As Osmun he openly voiced aloud that -suspicion. It was well done. - -He had counted on making Doris turn in horror from Thaxton as a sneak -thief. But he found to his dismay that his ruse had precisely the -opposite effect on her. Desperate, wild with baffled wrath, he resolved -on sweeping Vail forcibly and permanently from his path. - -The idea came to him when he saw, lying on the living-room table, the -big knife which, as Clive, he had given to Vail. As always, Creede -carried in his hip pocket a heavy-caliber revolver. But pistols are -noisy. Knives are not. - -Pouching the knife, as Thaxton carried his limp-armed body past the -table on the way to his room, he had made ready to use it in a manner -that could not attract suspicion to himself. - -It had been easy for him as his fingers brushed the table, when he was -carried past it, to pick up the knife--even easier than it had been -for him to palm the Argyle watch, a little earlier, and then to pretend -to pull it from Vail’s pocket in the presence of the chief. - -As a child Creede had whiled away a long scarlet-fever convalescence -by practicing sleight-of-hand tricks wherewith his nurse had sought to -entertain him. A bit of the hard learned cunning had always lurked in -his sensitive fingers. - -As he was the first to go to bed he had no means whatever of knowing -that the man moving noisily about in Vail’s adjoining room as he -undressed was not Thaxton. - -Creede waited until the house was still. Then silently he crept out -into the hallway and tried Vail’s door. It was unlocked. Barefoot, he -crept to the bed, guided only by the dim reflection of the setting moon -on the gray wall opposite. - -By this faint light he made out the form of a man lying asleep on his -side. Osmun struck with force and scientific skill. - -The sleeper started up with a gurgling cry. Creede, in panic, stilled -the cry with a blow from the carafe at his hand. - -But, as he smote, an elusive flicker of moonlight showed him the -victim’s full face. And he knew his crime had been wasted. - -Terrified, yet cooler than the average man would have been, he caught -up a shoe that his bare foot had brushed. Running to the window, he -pressed it hard on the ledge, scraping off a blob of mud that adhered -to it. Then he threw the curtain far to one side. Tossing the shoe back -under the bed, he bolted for his own room. - -On the way he stopped long enough to take the key from the lock, insert -it on the outer side, lock the door, pocket the key and glide back to -his adjoining room, just as Macduff’s wild wolf-howl awakened the house. - -There, shivering and cursing his own stupidity, he crouched for a -minute before venturing out into the hall to join the aroused guests. - -He had made it seem the murderer had entered and gone out through the -window. He felt safe enough, but sick with chagrin. - -During that eternal minute of waiting he, perforce, changed his whole -line of action. He had failed to rid himself of his foe. The only move -left to him was to strive to fix the murder on Vail. And this, both as -Clive and as Osmun, he proceeded with all his might to do. - -In telling this to Clive when they met next day at Rackrent Farm he -declared passionately that he would have succeeded in sending Thaxton -to prison and perhaps to execution but for Miss Gregg’s inspired -lie--which he accepted as truth--and for the item of the shoeprint on -the window-sill. - -Checkmated at every turn and dreading to see any one until he could -rearrange his shattered line of action, he went secretly to Rackrent -Farm. He calculated that his fabrication about a gas-explosion in the -laboratory, there, would prevent acquaintances from seeking him at the -farmhouse. - -In endorsement of the gas story he already had given his two negro -house-servants a week’s holiday and had had them taken by taxi to -Pittsfield. So the coast would be clear. - -Arrived at the farm, he strayed into the laboratory. Chemistry and -chemical experiments had ever been the chief amusement of the twins. -Their laboratory was as finely equipped as that in many a college. They -had spent money and time and brains on it for years. - -When the laboratory had been moved to Rackrent Farm from Canobie it had -been set up in a large rear room. Here in leisure hours Osmun still -pottered with his loved chemicals. - -And here to-day he fared; to quiet his confused brain by an hour or two -of idle research work. - -Here it was that his brother Clive walked in on him. - -Curtly the returned twin explained his advent and still more curtly he -demanded to know the meaning of Osmun’s treatment of him. At a glance -the horrified Osmun saw that this returned brother was in no mood to be -cajoled or lied to. - -And from previous knowledge of Clive he chose the one possible method -whereby he believed he might make his peace and might even persuade the -returned wanderer to leave the field to him. - -Throwing himself on his brother’s mercy, he told him the whole story, -omitting nothing. - -For once in his twisted career Osmun Creede spoke the simple truth. -Judiciously used, truth is a mighty weapon of defense, and the narrator -had the sense to know it. In any event he saw it was his one chance. - -But the Clive who listened with disgusted amaze to the recital was not -the untried and easy-going Clive of boyhood days, the Clive who had -allowed himself to be dominated by his brother’s crotchety will, and -who had loved Osmun. - -This was an utterly new Clive--a Clive whose pliant nature had been -stiffened by peril and heroism and hardship in war and by hourly -overseas contact with death and suffering. - -It was a Clive who had been betrayed by his brother while he lay sick -and stricken and deprived of memory. It was a Clive freed of Osmun’s -olden influence and fiercely resentful of his wrongs at his brother’s -hands. - -He heard Osmun’s tale in grim silence. At times he winced at the -tidings it gave. Oftener his haggard face gave no sign of emotion. - -The narrative finished, Osmun soared to heights of eloquence. He -pointed out how damning to himself and to his future would be the -reappearance of Clive in the Aura community. It would wreck Osmun in -pocket and in repute. It might even send him to prison. - -Clive’s face as he listened was set in a stern white mask. - -Osmun appealed to their boyish days, to the memory of their honored -father, and he conjured up pictures of the disgrace that must fall on -their father’s name should this secret become a local scandal. - -Clive did not speak, nor did his grim face change. - -Osmun painted glowing portraits of the wealth that was to be his as -soon as his new Wall Street ventures should cash in. The bulk of this -wealth he pledged to Clive if the latter would go to some foreign land -or to the Coast and there await its arrival. - -Clive’s mask face at this point twitched into a momentary smile. The -smile was neither pretty nor encouraging. - -Osmun, stung by his lamentable failure to recover any atom of his -former ascendancy over his brother, fell to threatening. - -Again Clive’s tortured mouth relaxed into that unpromising smile. But -again the memory of Doris Lane and of the impersonation whereby Osmun -had sought to win her in his helpless brother’s guise banished the -smile into hard relentlessness. Clive was seeing this worthless twin of -his for the first time as the rest of the world had always seen him. - -Pushed over the verge of desperation, Osmun Creede saw he had but one -fearsome recourse. If he would save his own liberty and perhaps his -life as well--to say nothing of fortune and position--this new-returned -brother must be made to vanish. Not only that, but to disappear -forever, leaving no trace. - -Osmun must be allowed to continue playing his double rôle as before -and to follow it to the conclusion he had planned. Anything else spelt -certain destruction. - -Clive must be disposed of before any neighbor or one of the servants -could drop in and discover his presence. There was always an off chance -of such intrusion. - -Whipping out the heavy-caliber revolver he always carried, Osmun Creede -leveled it at the astonished Clive. - -“I’m sorry,” he said evenly. “But I’ve got to do it. If I could see any -other way out I’d let you go. But you’ve brought it on yourself. I can -hide you in the cellar under here till night and then bury you with -enough of the right chemicals to make it impossible to identify you if -ever any one should blunder onto the grave. I’m sorry, Clive.” - -He spoke with no emotion at all. He felt no emotion. He was oddly calm -in facing this one course open to him. - -Now Clive Creede had spent more than a year in war-scourged lands where -human life was sacrificed daily in wholesale quantities and where -death was as familiar a thing as was the sunlight. Like many another -overseas veteran he had long ago lost the average man’s fear of a -leveled firearm. - -Thus the spectacle of this pistol and of the coldly determined eyes -behind it did not strike him with panic. It was a sight gruesomely -familiar to him from long custom. And it did not scatter his wits. -Rather did it quicken his processes of thought. - -“If you’re really set on murdering me, Oz,” he said, forcing his tired -voice to a contemptuous drawl, “suppose you do the thing properly? For -instance, why not avoid the electric chair by waiting till there are no -witnesses?” - -As he spoke his eyes were fixed half-amusedly on the laboratory window -directly behind his brother. He made a rapid little motion of one hand -as if signaling to some one peering in at the window. - -It was an old trick--it had been old in the days when Shakespeare made -use of it in depicting the murder of the Duke of Clarence. But it -served. Most old tricks serve. That is why they are “old” tricks and -not dead-and-forgotten tricks. - -Osmun spun halfway around instinctively to get a glimpse of the -imaginary intruder who was spying through the window upon the fraternal -scene. - -In the same moment, with all his waning frail strength, Clive lurched -forward and brought his right fist sharply down on Osmun’s wrist. - -The pistol flew from the killer’s jarred grasp and clattered to the -floor. By the time it touched ground Clive had swooped upon it and -snatched it up. - -Osmun, discovering the trick whereby he had been disarmed, grabbed at -the fallen pistol at practically the same time. But he was a fraction -of a second late. - -He found himself blinking at the leveled black muzzle of his own -revolver in the hand of the brother he had been preparing to slay. - -Osmun recoiled in dread, springing backward against the laboratory -wall, directly beneath a shelf of retorts and carboys. - -Then his terror-haunted eyes glinted as they rested on his brother. - -Clive’s sudden exertion and the shock of excitement had been too much -for his enfeebled condition of nerve and of body. Something seemed to -snap in his brain, and the taut spring that controlled his fragile -body seemed to snap with it. - -The pistol wabbled in his nerveless grasp. He swayed backward, his eyes -half shut. He was on the brink of absolute collapse. - -Osmun Creede gathered himself for a leap upon the half-swooning man. - -With a final vestige of perception Clive noted this. Summoning all he -could of his lost strength, he sought to save his newly imperiled life -by leveling the pistol before it should be too late and by pulling the -trigger. - -The laboratory echoed and reëchoed deafeningly to the report. And with -the explosion sounded the multiple tinkle of falling glass. - -Clive’s bullet had had less than seven yards to travel. Yet it had -missed his brother by at least two feet. It had flown high above the -crouching Osmun’s head and had crashed through one of the vessels on -the shelf. - -The receptacle shivered by the heavy-caliber ball was a huge Dewar -Bulb, silvery of surface. In other words a double container with a -vacuum between the outer and inner glass surfaces. Through both layers -of thick glass the bullet smashed its way. - -The contents of the inner bulb were thus permitted to burst forth and -to cascade down upon the luckless man who was crouching for a leap -directly below the shelf. - -These contents were liquid air. - -Among the favorite recreations of the twins in their laboratory -had been their constant experiments with liquid air. They had -amused themselves by watching it boil violently at a temperature -of 150 degrees below zero--of seeing it turn milk into a glowingly -phosphorescent mass, of making it change an egg into an oval of -brilliant blue light, an elastic rubber band into a brittle stick, and -the like. - -Because of their constant experiments they always kept an unusually -large quantity of the magic chemical in stock, the Dewar Bulb having -been made especially for their use at quadruple the customary size. - -In its normal state liquid air has a mean temperature of 300 degrees -below zero. And now at this temperature it bathed the man on whom it -avalanched. - -In less than ten seconds Osmun Creede was not only dead but was frozen -stiff. - -In through the laboratory’s open window gushed the torrid heat of the -day, combating and partly quelling the miraculous chill. - -Clive had reeled backward by instinct into the hot passageway, shutting -the laboratory door behind him. Too well he realized what had happened. -The horror and the thrill of it seemed to dispel his dizzy weakness -as a glass of raw spirits might have done. But, as in the case of the -liquor, that same collapse was due to return with double acuteness as -soon as the false stimulation of excitement should ebb. - -Presently he ventured back into the terrifyingly cold space where lay -the body of the man who had been his brother. - -His own mind still confused, Clive could think of but one thing to do. - -As he had approached the house he had noted that the bricks of the walk -were so hot from the unshaded glare of the sun that their heat had -struck through his thin shoe-soles and had all but scorched his feet. -If Osmun could be placed out there in the sun there might be a chance -that he would thaw to life. - -Creede was too much of a chemist to have imagined so idiotic a -possibility in his normal mental state. But the shock had turned his -reasoning faculties momentarily into those of a scared child. - -With ever-increasing difficulty he dragged his brother’s thin body out -of the laboratory and out of the house onto the stretch of brick-paved -walk. The exertion was almost too much for him. It used up nearly all -the fictitious strength bred of shock. - -He stood panting over the body and striving not to topple to earth -beside it. Then he heard the rattling approach of an automobile. - -Through the tangle of boxwood boughs he could see the car stop at the -gate. In ungovernable panic he staggered back into the house. There, -shutting the front door softly behind him, he sank down on a settle in -the hall, fighting for self-control. - -In a few minutes he had conquered the unreasoning fright which had made -him shun meeting any interlopers. - -He had caused the death of his brother. He had done it to save his own -life. He was not ashamed. He was not sorry. He was not minded to slink -behind closed doors when it was his duty as a white man to confess what -he had done. - -Staggering again to his feet, he made for the front door. With all that -was left of his departing powers he managed to open it and to reach -the threshold-stone outside, there to confront his three old friends -and the crazily welcoming collie. - -Then everything had gone black. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -A MAN AND A MAID AND ANOTHER MAN - - -“I’m just as glad Doris wasn’t here to listen to this,” commented Miss -Gregg, breaking the awed pause which followed Dr. Lawton’s recital. -“For a perfectly innocent and kindly girl she seems to have stirred up -no end of mischief. After the manner of perfectly innocent and kindly -girls. She’d be the first to grieve over it, of course. But a billion -Grief-Power never yet had the dynamic force to lift one ounce of any -bad situation one inch in one century.” - -“Well,” said Lawton, reaching for his rusty black hat and his rustier -black bag, “I’ve wasted too much time already, gabbling here. I must -get to my miserable round of calls unless I want my patients to get -well before I arrive. Good-by. Clive will be all right now. He has had -the absolute rest he needed. He’ll be as good as new in another week or -so. It’s lucky all this has happened before Oz had a chance to squander -more than about $50,000 of the lad’s fortune. He’ll have enough left -to live on in comfort. To marry on, too.” - -Off plodded the old gentleman, leaving Thaxton Vail scowling unhappily -after him. - -“To marry on,” muttered Vail under his breath, not knowing he spoke -aloud. - -“Yes,” chimed in Miss Gregg brightly. “Enough to marry on. Almost -enough to be engaged on. He’s a lucky man!” - -“He is,” agreed Vail dully. “And a mighty white man, too. One of the -very best.” - -“Yes,” assented Miss Gregg with fervor, smiling maliciously on her -victim. “One of the very best. Doris thinks so too.” - -“I know she does,” sighed Vail. - -He got up abruptly to leave the room. But Miss Gregg would not have it -so. - -“Thax,” she said, “you remember that would-be smart thing Willis Chase -said, the evening of the burglary? He said that when a policeman blows -out his brains and survives they make him a detective. Well, here’s -something a hundred times truer: When Providence wishes to extract -a man’s few brains more or less painlessly and to make him several -thousand degrees worse than useless He makes him fall in love. That is -not an epigram. It is better. It’s a truth.... Thax, do you realize -you’ve been making my little girl very unhappy indeed?” - -“_I?_” blithered Vail. “Making Doris unhappy? Why, Miss Gregg, I--!” - -“Oh, don’t apologize. She enjoys it. A girl in love, without being -divinely unhappy, would feel she was defrauded of Heaven’s best gift. -Doris--” - -“But I don’t understand!” protested the miserable Vail. “How on earth -have I made--?” - -“Principally by being mooncalfishly and objectionably in love with -her,” said Miss Gregg, “and not taking the trouble to tell her so.” - -“But how can I? In the first place, Clive loves her. He’s never loved -any one else. (Neither have I for that matter. I got into the habit -when I was a boy, and I can’t break it.) He’s lying sick and helpless -here under my roof. It wouldn’t be playing the game to--” - -“Love is no more a ‘game’ than a train wreck is!” scoffed Miss Gregg. -“If you weren’t a lover, and therefore a moron, you’d know that. It--” - -“Besides,” he blurted despairingly, “what would be the use? She loves -him. I can tell she does. Why, you just said yourself she--” - -“I said she agrees with you in thinking he is ‘one of the very best,’” -corrected Miss Gregg impatiently. “And it’s true. But when you get to -my age you’ll know no woman ever loved a man because he was good or -even because he was ‘best.’ She may love him for his taste in ties or -because his hair grows prettily at the back of his neck or because his -voice has thrilly little organ notes in it. Or she may love him for no -visible reason at all. But you can take my word she won’t love him for -his goodness. She’ll only respect him for it. And if I were a man in -love I’d hate to have my sweetheart respect me.” - -Vail was not listening. Instead he was staring moodily out of the -window. Turning in at the gates and progressing purringly up the drive -was an electric runabout. Doris Lane was its sole occupant. At sight of -her now, as always of late, Thaxton was aware of a queer little pain at -his heart. - -“Thax,” said Miss Gregg, bringing the torture to an abrupt end, “last -evening Clive Creede asked Doris to marry him.” - -Vail did not answer. But between him and the swiftly advancing runabout -sprang an annoying mist. - -Miss Gregg surveyed his averted face as best she might. Then her tight -old lips softened. - -“Doris was very nice to him, of course,” she added. “But she told -him she couldn’t marry him. She said she was in love with some one -else--that she had always been in love with this stupid some one -else.... Better go and help her out of the car, Thax.” - -But with a tempestuous rush and with the glow of all the summer winds -in his face Thaxton Vail already had gone. - -Miss Gregg looked after him, her hard old eyes curiously soft, her thin -lips moving. Then ashamed of her unwonted weakness, she drew herself -together with an apologetic half-smile. - -To an invisible listener she said briskly: - -“Thank Heaven, he’s outlived his uselessness!” - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR INN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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