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WITHIN FOUR WALLS








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A memory had risen before Audrey


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919126
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
BY
EDITH BAULSIR

NRO
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
192110,


TI E ITEM: YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
267994A-
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS
1926 L
R
Copyright, 1921, by,
THE CENTURY Co.
NYPL RESEARCH LIBRARIES


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
·
·
·
I COMING TO A STRANGE HOME. ..
II THE MYSTERIOUS CRY IN THE NIGHT
III THE SECRET ROOM. . . . .
IV THE PATH TO THE WOODS. . . 22
V AUDREY TORRANCE . . . . .
VI “DONNIE! DONNIE! Oh, My God!”
VII THE MURDER . . . . . . .
VIII MARY'S TESTIMONY. . . . .
IX THE INQUEST . . . .
X THE UNEXPLAINED QUARREL.
XI READING THE WILL . . . . .
XII HENRY BLAKE, DETECTIVE . .
XIII THE MISSING LETTER FROM ZANZI-
BAR . . . . . . . . .
XIV THE HIDDEN PACKAGE . . . .
XV INTRODUCING BILLY FELLOWES .
XVI FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE . . .
XVII THE KNIFE-CASE . . : . .
122
XVIII THE KNIFE . . . . . . .
130
XIX THE ESCAPE . . . . . . .
·
·
113
137
26 X322


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
.
181
209
PAGH
XX EXIT HENRY BLAKE
146
XXI THE DRUNKEN CABMAN . . . 151
XXII HARRY FORREST . . . . . 160
XXIII THIN ICE . . . .
167
XXIV ANOTHER MAN . . . . . . 172
XXV AUDREY PLANS . . . . . .
XXVI THE TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND
NORA · · · · · · ·
186
·
XXVII THE FLIGHT FOR LIFE . . . . 196
XXVIII A MEMORANDUM LEAF . ...
XXIX TÊTE À TÊTE
XXX COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA . .
XXXI RONALD FLETCHER'S STORY
XXXII CRUIKSHANK & BLAKE
XXXIII CLEARING THE SLATE , . . . 250
XXXIV SUDDEN LIGHT . . . . . . 261
XXXV FROM THE LIPS OF THE DEAD . . 273
XXXVI THE RETURN OF HENRY BLAKE . 284
XXXVII THE ARRAIGNMENT OF HARRY FOR-
REST . . . . . . . .
294
XXXVIII CONFESSION . . . . . . . 304
XXXIX THE AFTERMATH , , , ; 316
· · ·
217
226
235
242





;
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
CHAPTER I
COMING TO A STRANGE HOME
A CASUAL observer noticing the man
slouched in a seat of the railway carriage
would have put him down for a bad traveler.
His shoulders sagged and from time to time
he impatiently stretched his legs under the seat
before him on which several bags bearing for-
eign labels were piled. But a second glance
would have dispelled the first impression, for a
pallor was visible under the fading coat of tan
and occasionally his slender hands ran nervously
through his hair as he sat in deep thought.
He had the look of a man who had lived lonely
years, through circumstance rather than choice;
his mouth, which though determined,, was sensi-
tive, almost tender, was set in lines of fatigue.
He might have been any age from twenty-five to
thirty-seven. His eyes alone were young and,


4 WITHIN FOUE WALLS
while keen and observant, they had, despite their
weariness, a tonch of hnmor that looked boyish.
Sam Lane was in reality twenty-nine, and had
spent the major number of his years globe-trot-
ting, partly for diversion, but the last four in
sober, earnest work.
It was so long since he had seen his native land
that he felt more like a foreigner than a returned
traveler. From Gallipoli, fighting under the
English flag, to New York was a far cry. The
dreary days of step-by-step recovery from a
wound which had all but snapped the slender
thread that had held him to life, were past. But
to-night the dog-weariness that overwhelmed
him, after his trip across, brought back the old
dread of feeling well one day to fall back again
the next.
The train was flying through small dismal-
looking towns and the blurred landscape smote
him with loneliness.
His thoughts returned to his travels, recalling
a boyhood in the capitals of Europe, with a
mother who did not like America, and the conse-
quent cosmopolitan education; chance glimpses
of a fond uncle, who looked much older than this
gay little mother, when he sought them at inter-
vals through the years for a galloping visit; and
then his mother's death! When he was twenty
he had been summoned from school to her side;


COMING TO A STRANGE HOME 5
she could only press his hand with hers, and then
he was alone. The kaleidoscope of countries
that his wandering feet had tramped since then
—Java, Egypt, Japan, even the Congo—flooded
his mind. He had seen it all and now he was
through.
Somewhere in Switzerland the lawyer's letter
that told him his uncle was dead had reached
him. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled it out:
Tour uncle has left you his place at Wedge-wood and
an income of $10,000 a year. I am retaining his two old
servants, Thomas and Nora Quimby, as caretakers await-
ing your instructions.
Robert Jameson.
He had cabled from London that things should
remain as they were, and then—Europe was
swallowed in war.
With a shrug of disgust, he pushed the thought
of the last four years from him. Having lived
them in all their horror was enough.
He smiled grimly. Uncle Jerry had left him
the only thing he did not need. Money! His
mother had seen to that. Well, he was coming
home alone, but coming home. His heart filled
with the word.
The train drew up with a jerk. "Wedge-
wood!" He found himself at a neglected station
where a battered lantern swinging in the wind
threw grotesque, zigzag shadows in the dark-


6 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
ness. The rain had settled into a penetrating
drizzle. Suddenly the rumbling of a cab broke
the stillness of the night.
"Hello," Sam called and the cab turned into
the lane leading to the station. A wizen-faced
man peered down at him.
"Where be yer goin'?"
"Out to Batcheller's place," replied Sam.
The old man climbed down reluctantly and
helped him pile up the luggage.
"It's a long ride," he said, carefully examining
his prospective fare. "It '11 cost you a dollar,"
this last said grudgingly, as though he were mak-
ing a concession.
"That's all right; I '11 make it five if you
get moving," said Sam. "I 'm cold."
The man at first gaped at him and then, get-
ting briskly up on the box, whipped up his
horse.
It was a long drive. The country came toward
him in little damp patches without color.
After a few minutes he leaned back and gave
himself up to drowsiness, lulled by the rhyth-
mical clip-clop of the horse's hoofs.
His eyes flew open. They had turned off the
main road and into a private drive. Sam leaned
out with interest. He was home.
Around the bend he descried the house, loom-
ing dark and forbidding, and surrounded with


COMING TO A STRANGE HOME 7
large oak-trees that now dripped with moisture.
There was no sign of life. He had neglected
to wire the Quimbys of his arrival. "It was just
like me to do something like that," he thought
with a shrug.
A wry sense of amusement touched him when
he found himself with his bags in the rain, knock-
ing futilely at the door, and the only touch of
life driving away rapidly. Groping around, his
hand fell on the bell and its clamor sounded
startlingly through the black house.
A light was coming slowly toward him through
the hall, and finally the curtains were pushed
gingerly to one side. The frightened face of an
old woman peered into the darkness.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
Sam smiled. "I want to get into my house, if
you don't mind. I 'm Sam Lane, Mr. Batchel-
ler's nephew."
The door was opened cautiously and Nora,
holding a flickering candle high above her head,
called to her husband, who was hurrying down
the stairs.


CHAPTER II
THE MYSTERIOUS CRY IN THE NIGHT
A LITTLE later in the library, before a fire
of crackling logs, Sam stretched in a lazy
yawn. With the quiet efficiency of a well-trained
servant, Thomas was serving him a light sup-
per.
"Tell me something of my uncle, Thomas. You
see, I didn't know him very well," and Sam
scrutinized the old man.
He was bent and weather-beaten, with bushy
eyebrows that all but concealed kindly blue
eyes. He stood and looked into the fire ruminat-
ingly.
"He was a wonderful fine man," he said. "A
kind gentleman, sir, for all he had few friends.
I 've served him these thirty years," and he
brushed away a tear.
"What do you mean when you say he had
few friends?" asked Sam.
"Well, sir," said Thomas, "he kept much to
himself and cared naught for anything but his
books and his travels and the bit of a girl that
lives near by."
8


THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 9
"Who is she?" Sam asked with interest.
"Miss Audrey. The daughter of Judge Tor-
rance, your uncle's old friend and your next-
door neighbor, sir. A fine little lady. Indeed,"
and Thomas's face glowed, "there never was the
like of her, except her sainted mother. Miss
Audrey was the light of your uncle's life, and
bright was the day when her merry laughter rang
through this old house. It was like sunshine
and spring coming in through the windows."
Thomas stopped abruptly. "Excuse an old man
for babbling so, but she doesn't forget old
Thomas and his wife, even now, and she's a bon-
nie young lady."
"Well, well, Thomas!" and Sam broke into a
teasing laugh, "I think you 're half in love with
her."
He jumped up and gave the old fellow a play-
ful shove. "Now for a tour of inspection. I
want you to take me to all the nooks and cran-
nies of this old place and tell me about it."
Thomas gave a start, and Sam noticed a look
of anxiety in his face.
"Yes, sir, of course, sir," he replied.
"Queer old duck," thought Sam. "He cer-
tainly feels his responsibilities."
To the right of the library was a dining-room
furnished in oak, with paintings of bygone Batch-
ellers gazing stolidly from the walls. The room


10 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
was massive and depressing. Sam passed
quickly through it to a pantry which opened into
an old-fashioned kitchen with shining pots hang-
ing on the walls. On the coal-range a copper
kettle was busily singing. An oblong rag rug
filled the center of the floor, and drawn up to the
table, on which stood a pottery lamp and a sew-
ing-basket, were two comfortable rocking-chairs.
Crossing a side hall, he found himself in a
stiff parlor of the Victorian period with horse-
hair chairs and sofa. The entire floor was cov-
ered with a carpet nondescript in pattern. En-
larged daguerrotypes and some framed immor-
telles, relics of long-ago funerals, hung on the
walls. Sam decided that this room should see
little if anything of him.
They crossed the main hall, which was dimly
lighted by a hanging lamp, and as they mounted
the shallow-stepped staircase they met Nora com-
ing down. She paused on the landing by a grand-
father's clock, to let them pass, and Sam was
mystified by the look of caution she gave her
husband. Or was it his fancy?
Thomas silently led the way to the two bed-
rooms adjoining old Mr. Batcheller's at the head
of the stairs, which was now Sam's. They were
furnished in mahogany, with four-poster beds.
Gay chintz hung at the windows and covered


THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 11
deep chairs, and there were quaint prints on the
walls.
The hall was like a square room, with a bath-
room at the end and the stairs to the third floor
beside it. Thomas led the way to the stairs.
"Wait a moment," said Sam. "What's on the
other side?" and he threw open the door opposite,
disclosing a room that ran the length of the
house.
Thomas turned and his eyes were like coals.
"It was the old master's favorite room, and one
I seldom entered." He followed him, however,
with the taper.
Sam flooded the place with light and an ex-
clamation broke from him. On the black-boarded
floor were Turkish rugs, and rare tapestries
covered the entire wall space, the only break
being a fireplace opposite and two windows.
Across one end of the room ran a billiard-table,
and at comfortable intervals velvet chairs and
a low couch were placed. By two of the chairs
stood teakwood taborets with old relics of brass,
copper, and beaten silver on them, that spoke
of travels in foreign lands.
In front of one of the windows were a Jaco-
bean table and a high-backed chair. A jade lamp
with a grass shade, standing on the table, threw
a soft light on some rich-toned books in a case
at the side.


12 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
Sam, who was captivated by the beauty of the
room, became conscious of Thomas waiting for
him at the door, and reluctantly followed him
out to see the rest of the house.
The top floor consisted of a large attic, a trunk-
and storeroom, and the sleeping-apartments of
the servants.
A clock was striking twelve as they came
down. Sam noticed that the silence which, on
the top floor, had marked Thomas's manner had
become so pregnant with hushed expectancy that
the old man seemed like a watch-dog following
him. It was getting on his nerves.
"Sorry to keep you up so late, Thomas. Turn
in when you like. I '11 sit up and read a bit."
And Sam moved toward the billiard-room.
The servant showed a moment's hesitation and,
although the night was a cool one, he took out
his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from
his brow, at the same time concealing the work-
ing of his face. When he spoke his words seemed
to be jerked from him.
"Yes, sir. All right, sir," and Sam heard him
go heavily downstairs.
Sam stood for a moment, puzzled by his be-
havior, hesitating as to whether or not to follow
him for an explanation. He decided, however,
to let it pass, for the thought came to him that
it might have been merely his own fancy and he


THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 13
recalled grimly how many fancies there had been
during those long days in an English hospital.
He stepped over to one of the taborets and picked
up an old yashmak that had attracted his notice.
As he did so he became conscious of the nearness
of some one and, raising his head, he listened.
It was just as though a foot had stepped across
the sill of the room. He must be getting fanci-
ful! There was no one near him! He was alone
in the house except for the two servants. He
went into the hall. Nora and Thomas were talk-
ing in low voices and locking up downstairs. Yet
he was positive about the step, and, cautiously
crossing the hall, he examined the whole floor.
The bedrooms were closed and empty and the
windows shut. He listened at the stairs leading
to the third floor. Nothing!
"I 'd better obey my doctor and get to bed,"
he said half aloud. "I '11 have to pull up a bit,
—can't get this way again \"
Later, while undressing, he heard the old
couple go upstairs. For a space the sound of
their movements came to him, and then silence.
He did not know what time it was nor how
long he had slept, but he found himself sitting
up in bed, straining to see into the darkness.
The rain had ceased and a breeze was coming
in through the window. He was not conscious of


14 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
any particular sound having awakened him; in
fact he was only half awake. Irritated with
himself, he lay back on his pillow and his eyes
closed. They were heavy with sleep, but sleep
would not come.
His senses were suddenly alert again. Was n't
that the sound of a window being cautiously
raised? He started sharply to his elbow and
listened. The ticking of the clock in the hall
betrayed the silence of the house. It was nothing
but fancy! The sleepless nights had begun
again! Sinking back utterly discouraged, he
gave himself up to morose thoughts.
Like a jar out of the oppressing stillness that
surrounded him came a shriek, so filled with ter-
ror that he suddenly found himself standing at
the window, holding to the sash for support. He
leaned out. Nothing but the breeze whispering
through the oaks near the house disturbed the
void of the night.
Not satisfied, he ran across the hall into the
billiard-room and, throwing open a window,
looked out. Not a sound. Going over to the
other rooms, he found them wrapped in silence,
the windows shut. His footsteps echoed hollowly
over the board floors. He seemed the only crea-
ture stirring.
Returning to the hall, he saw Nora at the
head of the stairs leading to the third floor. Her


THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 15
face was ashen and the candle she held in her
shaking hand was dripping on the floor.
"Nora, what was that shriek I heard just
now?" he asked.
"Shriek, sir?" Nora gasped.
"Did n't you hear anything?"
"No, sir, I can't say that I did. I heard you
moving around and thought you might be sick, or
wanting something. Can I do anything for you,
sir?" Her voice shook, but her gaze was reso-
lute.
Sam stood staring up at her. "No, thanks.
Go on back to bed. I 'm sorry I woke you up."
His voice sounded metallic in his ears.
She disappeared in the darkness above.
Slipping on his bath-robe and sandals, he
crossed into the billiard-room. He was wide
awake now. Sleep was out of the question and
a feeling of discouragement overcame him as he
faced the old dread which he had hoped he had
conquered. He sat down heavily and for a while
his mind twisted and turned over what had hap-
pened, endeavoring to find some logical answer
that would be other than what he really thought.
It was useless. With determination he took a
book out of the case and methodically began to
read.
Later the print on the page began to
dance before his eyes. Suppressing a yawn,


16 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
he switched off the light and groped for the
portieres.
He drew back quickly. There were light steps
coming up the stairs.
Old Thomas Quimby, his face furrowed with
anxiety, crept past.


CHAPTER III
THE SECRET EOOM
A CLOCK somewhere was striking eight as
Sam, opening his eyes, looked around the
room. For a moment he did not know where
he was. Then it all came back to him.
Could he have dreamed it? No, there were his
sandals and bath-robe where he had thrown
them. Getting up quickly, he crossed the hall
to the billiard-room. The yashmak was lying on
the floor and the book he had been reading was
open on the table.
The pungent smell of coffee came to him from
the hall and brought a famishing realization
that hurried him to his bath.
"How did you sleep last night, Thomas?" Sam
asked at breakfast.
"Quite well, sir, thank you, sir," Thomas an-
swered stolidly.
"Did you hear anything strange?"
"No, can't say that I did, sir, anything out of
the usual." His face was guileless as he left the
room.
17


18 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
His apparent innocence, Sam noted, was some-
what at variance with the controlled nervousness
in the way he had served the breakfast.
Nora, looking tired and wan, came in with
some hot biscuits. Her eyes were furtive. The
feeling was strong in Sam that an explanation
would never come from any questions he might
ask. He might dismiss this old couple, but
could he? Was he sure of any duplicity on their
part? Was he sure of anything? An errant
breath of pity touched him as she hovered about
with little deft attentions to his comfort.
"These are good, Nora," he said pleasantly as
he broke into the hot crust. "You can surprise
me this way three times a day."
Her lips moved as if to speak, but fear showed
in her face.
"What is it?" he said gently.
"You know, sir," timidly. She did not meet
his eyes. "There has been tales as how this house
was haunted—and—" a pause— "I 've been
wondering what you could have heard last
night."
With a hearty laugh Sam reassured her. "Well,
I 'm glad to know that's the explanation. Why
didn't you say something about it?"
"I was afraid you would not sleep, sir," the
words came haltingly; "and then, of course, one
can't put much faith in such tales."


THE SECRET ROOM 19
For a moment he quietly studied her and she
fidgeted under his gaze. "Maybe Thomas is the
ghost," he said jovially. "Does he by any chance
walk in his sleep?"
The pupils of Nora's eyes dilated and the
plate she was holding clattered to the floor.
With a broken sob, she flung her apron over her
head.
Impulsively twisting his chair backward, Sam
came to her side. "I saw him go up-stairs late
last night," he said gently.
The violent trembling of her body was her only
answer.
Quietly picking up the pieces of the plate, he
pulled down her apron and wrapped them in it.
"Don't be afraid of me, Nora. Does he walk in
his sleep? Is that the answer to all this?"
"You won't let it make any difference, sir?"
"My gracious, no," said Sam, with a relieved
expression, "but you just tip me off the next
time he is due for one of those." And he re-
turned to his breakfast in good spirits.
"Thank you, sir," she gasped, and hurriedly
left the room.
After the rain of the night before, the sky was
a mass of racing clouds. Sam, strolling around
the house, felt the presage of another storm in
the air.


20 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
In spite the dourness of the day the place had
a charm, and it drew him unconsciously around
the path that led to the back. Age-old oaks lined
the way and the velvet grass stretched before his
gaze. Growing close to the. house he noticed
a large tree that was particularly luxuriant.
Its branches reached to the second story, brush-
ing a window of the house, which was open. This
caught his eye. Retracing his steps, he realized
that it was at the farther end of the billiard-
room, and yet he remembered no window there.
He hurried inside and reached the second
floor unobserved. The bath-room door was ajar
and he could see that the window was closed.
He threw it open and leaned out. Yes, there
were the tree and the other window! A surge of
tumultous excitement made his heart leap as he
crossed over to the billiard-room and with trem-
bling hands pulled aside the tapestry in the
center of the rear wall. Disclosed before his
astonished eyes was a wooden door. It yielded
to his touch and opened into an alcove which
must at some time have been a part of the
room.
On the wall facing him was the painting of a
girl in an old-fashioned gown. Directly in front
of it stood a Windsor chair on a jute rug that
covered the floor. The chair was placed as if the
owner had been in the habit of sitting there


THE SECRET ROOM 21
to look at the picture. On one side was a low
couch and in the opposite corner a hand-carved
chest.
Sam was perplexed. His gaze came back to
the window. It was wide open and yet no rain
had come in. He remembered the storm of the
night before that on his journey had kept up a
relentless beating against the window-panes of
the train. Why, it was still raining when he re-
tired! But it had stopped, he remembered, when
he awakened later. This window must have been
opened last night. He must have heard this,
then! it was true and not fancy as he had
thought! There was decision in his step as he
went to the window and looked out into the tree.
A sturdy limb of the old oak reached invitingly
to him.


CHAPTEE IV
THE PATH TO THE WOODS
CUTTING across his place that afternoon,
Sam reached a path that divided his prop-
erty from the next estate.
Thomas had told him as he served lunch that
Audrey Torrance lived there with her father, a
retired judge, who was both feared and disliked
by the community. He was in poor health now
and very eccentric. They were alone in the big
house, barely visible through the trees, except
for three women servants and a distant cousin
who acted as a secretary to Judge Torrance.
Sam had asked questions about the secretary,
hoping he was near his own age and companion-
able, and Thomas had told him that his name was
Harry Forrest and that he was young, but looked
older than his years.
"Sure, he's a strange lad, is Master Harry,"
said the old man, "with his nose always stuck in
a book."
The day was heavy and the place was getting
22


THE PATH TO THE WOODS 23
on his nerves, so he thought this a good time
to cultivate his neighbors and see if he could
learn from them if there were any strange tales
about his new home that would substantiate
what he had heard. "Miss Audrey ought to
know if there's anything," he thought. "It's be-
yond me."
However, as he neared the house his courage
failed him. He was not in the mood to make new
friends to-day and certainly not with an eccen-
tric invalid, so he retraced his steps to the path.
It took a sudden turn, branching off across
his grounds, and had the appearance of being
much used. Following it for a few moments, he
discovered that in the back his property ran
down to an inlet of the sound, with a pier run-
ning out into the water and two rowboats at-
tached to it.
In the distance there could be faintly seen the
outline of an island, and beside it, built high on
rocks, what was apparently a lighthouse.
The water did not look inviting, so Sam kept
to the path which turned from the water's edge
and entered a dense woods at the right of the
house. The beauty of the autumn foliage sur-
rounded him and the trees crossed before his
eyes in radiant blendings of red, green, and gold,
entirely shutting out the leaden sky.


24 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Why, this is a paradise!" thought Sam. "I
wonder what it leads to."
The path twisted in the most unexpected
angles. "A wandering calf must have started all
this," he said aloud, and some birds, frightened
at the sound of his voice, fluttered away.
Suddenly a terrier dog, jumping out of the
shrubbery in their pursuit, crossed directly in
front of his feet, almost upsetting him. A fresh
young voice called, "Micky," and with a leap the.
dog bounded back.
Sam found himself looking down into a mis-
chievous face with come-and-go dimples. "Thank
you for saving my life," he said, smiling, and he
leaned down to pick up his cap which had fallen
off. "I thought I would explore this path and
see where it leads, but I seem to have disturbed
your dog."
Her laughter filled the woods. "I think I
ought to apologize. Are n't you Mr. Lane?" Her
hand was held out tentatively.
"Yes, I am, and you—" a pause—"are Miss
Torrance, are n't you?" he asked pleasantly.
Her little fingers seemed lost in his. "Yes—
your neighbor. So you see / was the trespasser."
She smiled up at him.
He thought he had never seen a tinier nor a
prettier woman. There was something haunt-
ingly familiar in her face.


THE PATH TO THE WOODS 25
"You know I feel as though I own these
woods," she went on. "I've grown up in them."
Sam looked at her. From her curly chestnut
hair under a boy's hat, to her little feet in cow-
hide boots, she was only an armful. Her head
sat imperiously on her slender shoulders. She
was dressed in corduroy. It passed through his
mind that she was like autumn in her coloring
but autumn smiling. He felt his heart warm to
her.
"I hope you '11 always feel they are yours," he
answered aloud and was surprised at the inten-
sity in his voice.
"Thank you," she said simply and her face
was pensive. "Your Uncle Jerry said that, too."
"Come back with me," Sam said impulsively.
"I want to see where this path leads. Old
Thomas has said so much about you I feel as
though I'd known you always."
She swung around with him gaily. "Then I've
known you even longer, for when I was a child
your Uncle Jerry told me all about you. He
called you his little ex-patriot. The moment I
saw you," she continued, "I recognized you from
his description."
"How did he describe me?" Sam asked curi-
ously.
She blushed suddenly and stopped. "You
won't be offended?"


26 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Cross my heart."
"He said you were big and dark with nice eyes
and long legs."
Sam found himself laughing heartily at her
audacity.
"He cared awfully for you," and her voice
trembled a little. "He was so lonely. I tried
to take your place with him and I thought I 'd
tell you so sometime."
He looked down at the little comrade trotting
at his side and his heart bounded. How strangely
she affected him and how sweet were the con-
fidences coming so artlessly from her lips!
"I knew very little about my uncle," he said
at last, "and I like your telling me all this,
for as a child I was very fond of him. We
have n't happened to meet of late."
Then after a moment he turned to her with
affected solemnity: "I am lonely, too. I 'd like to
have some one feel that way about me." His eyes
were a challenge.
She seemed to be considering it seriously for a
moment. "Well, there's Father. He liked your
Uncle Jerry. Now he might feel that way about
you." Her voice was demure.
"Thank you." Sam's tone was cold.
Their eyes met and he saw that her lips were
twitching.
"You are very bold," she said. "You 've only


THE PATH TO THE WOODS 27
known me twenty minutes," and she tried to look
very dignified.
"Why, you said you 'd known me longer than
all my life," he returned. His lips formed an-
other word, but he did not say it.
"Well, what is it?"
"What is what?" he replied innocently.
"What you were going to say!"
"'Checkmate,' " he answered simply, and they
laughed together like merry children.
A clearing in the woods opened up before their
eyes and the water was visible once more. Waves
were breaking on rocks from which an old spring-
board ran into the sound. The air was damp
with mist. On the shore were two small bath-
houses and to the left of the path a table hewn
out of logs with branches on each side. At a
little distance from this was an old stone oven.
"Your uncle built all this," said Audrey, with
a little catch in her voice, "for me. I come here
often to swim. I had some school friends visit-
ing me one summer and these were for our pic-
nics."
Sam walked over to the table and stood lean-
ing against it, looking off into the woods that
surrounded them.
"Where does all this lead to?" he said, waving
his hand toward the path.


28 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Back to the main road, about half a mile
farther." She smiled. "All these woods are
yours, you know," following his gaze.
"No, I did n't know. Won't you tell me every-
thing about everything?" he asked seriously. "I
fell into all this and know nothing about it.
Every move I make I find something surprising."
She sat down on a bench a little way from him.
"What in particular do you want to know?
I '11 tell you if I can."
"Well, about Thomas and Nora. Where did
my uncle find them? What is their history?"
She gave him a searching look and was silent
.
"Perhaps I 'd better tell you why I want to
know all this and then you '11 understand." As
briefly as possible he told her of his experiences
since he reached the house. He was kicking
holes in the ground at his feet, so did not see
the look of apprehension that came over her face.
"What do you make of it all?" he asked when
he had finished. "Is the house haunted or is
Thomas a sleep-walker? Are they on the level
with me, or making a dupe of me? Or is it my-
self?"
Moving away from the table, he paced up and
down before her, while she, very still, seemed to
be turning her answer over in her mind.
"What could that cry have been? Can't you


THE PATH TO THE WOODS 29
tell me anything? I almost went to your house
to-day to ask you these questions."
"I do not know what it could have been. I
heard nothing. What did it sound like?" The
words came with difficulty.
"I really could n't describe it," he answered in
a low voice. "I only know that the terror in it
was frightful; it made my flesh creep," and he
shuddered.
"You know, or most likely you don't know,"
he went on, "that besides being wounded very
seriously in battle I was gassed. It took me a
long time to—to come back," the words came
from him jerkily. "It would mean a great deal to
me to know that these things are as they appear,
—that it is not myself."
He sat down on the bench beside her and his
head dropped into his hands. This made her
look at him and her eyes were tender, full of
pity. As she answered her voice broke a little.
"I think you are worrying yourself need-
lessly," she said in a low tone. "If you wait just
a little you will find that everything is all right."
There was a long pause before he spoke. "Is
that all you can tell me?" His voice was fright-
ened.
"That—is all," and hers was an appeal.


CHAPTER V
AUDREY TORRANCE
AS Audrey swung up the path to her house
her mind was revolving on the happenings
of the afternoon. She had met Sam Lane at last,
and something had come into her life to drive
away the dreadful monotony that had been warp-
ing her very soul.
The feeling of freedom that always filled her
when she was away from Torrance House was
singing in her heart. But suddenly before her
loomed the dark structure and she glanced at
it with repulsion. There had not been a day that
she lived there that had not held its scar. Some
of the oppressing memories shadowed her face
for the moment, but she shook them off.
Turning back, she loitered in the grounds.
There was so much to think of now and she
dreaded the sickening feeling that always accom-
panied her return. Her pulses were throbbing
with excitement.
She felt a sudden shame, for a moment, at
her hesitation to invite Sam Lane to her home.
30


AUDREY TORRANCE 31
He was Mr. Batcheller's nephew and the uncle
had always been a welcome friend. A panorama
of past pictures floated through her mind. There
had never been any of her friends to whom her
father had been cordial. She reviewed them all,
—girls she had gone to school with in the few
happy years she had spent away from home. But
worst of all had been his treatment of the
brothers of these girls.
She could feel her face sting now at some of
the veiled innuendos she had endured in those
dreadful days. She remembered comrades who
had left hurriedly the morning after their ar-
rival, covering their departure with a palpable
excuse to save her feelings. Her father's ironical
smile had been hard to bear in the days that fol-
lowed,—for after that she had heard from them
only at long intervals.
Robert Jameson, her father's lawyer, and
Sam's Uncle Jerry had been favorites, and Harry
—of course Harry—but then he had always
played into her father's hand, and to him the old
man was generally kind. She threw her head
up imperiously and a faint scorn marred her
young face. Of late she had felt that there had
been some trouble between the two. Kate, her
maid, had overheard a quarrel that very morning
and had told her of it.
Her mind flew back to the meeting in the woods


32 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
and her conversation with Sam Lane. What
could that shriek in the darkness have meant?
She recalled how excited he had been as he told
her of it. Some time to-morrow she must see
Thomas and Nora and try to solve the mystery by
talking to them of the unexplained footstep and
the open window! At this thought everything in
her mind halted except one misgiving,—a secret
to herself. It could not be that!
A tremor passed over her and she leant against
a tree, suddenly weak. What would she do?
What could she do if this dread were realized?
The postman was coming up the drive on his
wheel and she hurried over to intercept him.
"Good afternoon, Miss."
"How do you do, Mr. Temple. It's clouding
over again."
"We '11 have bad weather for some time, I 'm
thinking/' and he got down and opened his bag.
"If I remember rightly there 's a letter here for
you, Miss. It's come some distance." And he
winked facetiously.
"Oh!" she said quickly and stooped over with
a sudden gesture, watching him run through
the pack.
"Sure as you live," he said jovially, pulling it
out, "Zanzibar."
Audrey almost snatched it from the out-


AUDREY TORRANCE 33
stretched hand, and stared at the inscription.
The color slowly left her face.
"Bad news?" he asked curiously.
She looked at him blankly a moment and then,
turning suddenly, rushed toward the house.
"She 'a a queer 'un," he remarked, looking
after her. "Must have been a love-letter."
Audrey did not slacken her steps until she
had reached her room and, closing the door be-
hind her, had locked it. With trembling fingers
she tore open the envelop and read:
Dear Little Pal:
Your letter just came and I cannot wait to answer it.
We haven't touched port for several months and it has
followed me all the way. Oh, but I 'm homesick, and so
tired of the sea! I love those stray notes of yours. You
are wonderful to do what you have done for me. I don't
dare write very often, so send all my love to the folks
through you. What would n't I give to see you now, little
Donnie, and tell you all I 've been through since last we
met. It's been two dreadful years since I 've seen the old
town. I am bitter, girl—so bitter that I 'm afraid to let
myself think about it at all for fear I '11 do something
desperate. I should n't write these things to you, I know.
But it has all been so unfair. He was so cruel and I did
not deserve it. If I had not loved you always, I would
now, for I know all you have done for me, loyal little
friend. I don't know how long I shall be able to stand it.
I have the feeling that I am coming home to square things
and you know what I am when I get a notion. I shall
reach you, somehow; you can depend on that. So watch
for me, little one, behind each tree on the old path through
the woods, for I may spring out at you. I know I'm
coming now.
Billy.


34 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
She sank into a chair, gazing at the letter.
Tears showed in her eyes, which were both
frightened and joyous. All the intensity of youth
was in her hushed words: "He is coming home."
Yet scarcely were they spoken when a paralyzing
fear showed in her face.
It was growing dark and she heard the bell
warning of dinner-time. Tearing off her walking
dress without turning on the light, she pulled
down the first evening gown she could find and
tumbled into it.
With determination in her face she seized the
letter and, holding it in her clenched fist, hurried
down the stairs.


CHAPTER VI
"donnie! donnie! oh, my god!"
CROSSING the billiard-room, Sam silently
swung back the alcove door. The place was
just as he had left it. On the wall the picture
smiled down at him with a bygone grace.
"Will you be kinder than the rest?" he said
half aloud, "and tell me what you know? How
long has this window been open?" The eyes
seemed to smile at him in a mysterious manner.
Amused at his own foolishness, he returned the
smile.
"Perhaps the room will divulge something,"
was his thought, again serious. It looked as
though it had not been tenanted for some time.
He examined the couch. It was draped with a
Paisley shawl and lying on it carelessly were
three velvet pillows. He pulled aside the cover-
ing. There were no others beneath it. "The
ghost evidently does n't spend the night," he mut-
tered, smiling.
Lifting the lid of the old chest, he saw it was
almost empty. "Nor does he keep a change of
35


36 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
raiment handy," he mused. "I ought to have
Dr. Watson here to ask me questions."
As he ran his hands over the bottom of the
chest, he found it was littered with papers and
his fingers closed on a bulky parcel which he
lifted out. Just a package of yellow letters tied
with a string. A newspaper clipping slipped
under the knot attracted his attention. Pulling
it out, he read:
Mrs. Paul Craddock of Arlington Place gave a formal
reception at her home last evening, announcing the engage-
ment of her daughter Isabel to Gerald S. Batcheller.
Sam stared at the words and, sitting down
hastily on the floor, faced the portrait. This
must be Isabel Craddock! Funny he had never
even heard of her!
Filled with curiousity, he pulled the first let-
ter out and opened it:
My Deae:
You have just left and Mummie has been in to see me.
I can hardly realize that it is all true and that I am yours.
What did you ever see in me to love,—you with the world
at your feet? . . .
Deeply moved, he stopped reading and re-
placed the sheet in the envelop. As he did so,
another clipping dropped from the package into
his lap. It looked as though it had been
wrenched from a newspaper. In smoothing it
out he noticed the date was two years later and
that one side was badly torn. He read;


"DONNIE! DONNIE! OH, MY GOD!" 37
The most beautiful .wedding of the season was held in
St. Thomas's Church last evening. Miss Isabel Craddock,
daughter of Mrs. Paul Craddock of Arlington Place, was
married to L. G. —
The rest was gone.
With twitching fingers he pulled out the
former notice and compared them. So this was
the reason Uncle Jerry had never married! Poor
old chap! Sam looked back at the picture. The
face was not cruel,—nor even frivolous. The
painted smile seemed kind. An odd smile it was.
He jumped up and looked at it carefully. Where
had he seen it before? he mused. "At times it's
mysterious, then confidential, sometimes gentle."
As he studied it it seemed to mock him. There
was none of the fine cynicism of the Mona Lisa;
yet it haunted him as familiarly as that well-
known smile.
As he carefully put the letters back his hand
touched a smaller, more compact bundle, and he
took it out. It, too, consisted of letters, ad-
dressed in the same handwriting, which from the
postmarks had apparently traveled around the
world. He was about to replace them when his
eye was caught by a slip of paper on which he
recognized his uncle's handwriting:
My little love, your word never came until you were
beyond my reach.
Scanning them, he found they were a sue-


38 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
cession of apologies for hasty judgment and mis-
understanding. Then they pleaded for forgive-
ness. The poignancy of the last one tore his
heart. It was written the day of her marriage
and was simply a good-hy.
The room was getting dark, so he shut down
the lid of the old chest. "I wonder where you
are," was his thought as he kept his eyes on
the face that was fading from him in the dusk.
"I should like to give these back to you with his
note. I think you'd care to have them." He
closed the door behind him.
All through dinner he was haunted by the
whimsical smile of the portrait. He could not
dismiss it. In his mind was revolving the
thought, "I have seen her somewhere, or some one
like her."
Finally he turned to Thomas, who was serving
him with uneasy concern. "How often does Mr.
Jameson come here?"
His tone was more abrupt than he realized and
the other started.
"Well, sir, only when I send for him and I
have had no need lately."
"I stopped at his office on my way through
New York," Sam said, "but they told me he was
at his country house, on his vacation."
"Maybe I could tell you what you want to


"DONNIE! DONNIE! OH, MY GOD!" 39
know, sir, if it'g about the place," he volunteered
nervously.
"It is n't," Sam said directly. "I guess your
head 's humming now from all the questions I 've
asked you," and he smiled boyishly. "It's some-
thing altogether different and it can wait."
Thomas paused as if to speak, but thought
better of it and hurried from the room.
Drawn irresistibly upstairs, Sam was cross-
ing the billiard-room toward the alcove when he
heard the indistinct ring of a bell, and, going to
the corner from which it came, he saw a tele-
phone on a stand half concealed by the hangings
at the window.
He took off the receiver, but before he could
speak a man's terrified voice came to him: "Don-
nie! Donnie!—Oh, my God!"
He heard a groan and silence.
"Hello! Hello! Hello!" he called. No an-
swer.
Finally central replied.
"Were you calling me?" Sam asked sharply.
"Excuse it, please."
"Wait a minute. Some one was using this
wire."
"It's a party line," she answered. "They 've
hung up."
"Who's the other party?"


40 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
She was gone, and although he tried for several
minutes he could not get her back.
He flung himself into the chair by the table.
What did the message mean? Who was it?
The clock on the stairs slowly struck seven.


CHAPTER Vn
THE MUBDER
GETTING up quickly, Sam looked through
the window, into the darkness. The large
oak-trees were bending and lashing from a heavy
wind which had arisen within the last hour.
"I 'd like to take a run ahead of the rain," he
thought. As he was closing the window he heard
a piercing shriek above the howl of the wind. It
was the cry of the night before. Some quality
in it gave a crooked pull to his nerves. It came
from the direction of the Torrance house.
Where had he heard something like it before?
Was it in Java? He remembered a savage
scream somewhere in his junketings around the
world, that had brought him up with just such a
jolt
.
He leaped down the stairs two steps at a time
and, snatching his cap off the stand in the hall,
bolted out at the door. He paused a moment to
listen and heard a crashing sound as of some one
running wildly down the path between the
houses.
41


42 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I guess I 've run yon to the ground now,
whatever you are," he thought and chased after
the unknown.
The night was so black he could barely see a
foot ahead as he ran. No figure was visible. He
placed the fugitive only by the sounds that came
to him. Stumbling several times, he nearly fell.
Yet the other seemed to be running swiftly and
surely, as if familiar with the way. It paused
near the pier and then, as if suddenly conscious
of being followed, disappeared into the woods.
Sam reached the opening and, listening, heard
the crackling of twigs and rapid footsteps.
"I suppose I 'm a fool to go into a thing like
this unarmed," he thought, "but I 'm going to see
it through."
He was following more cautiously, when he
suddenly became conscious that the sounds ahead
of him had stopped at what seemed a twist in the
path. Then he heard fluttered, hysterical breath-
ing. As he paused to get his breath, listening,
he could feel the other was listening, too.
The minutes passed as he waited.
"You'd better come out and show yourself,"
he called finally, "I know where you are."
A stifled sob came to him. In a leap he was
beside a little huddled figure on the ground. It
was Audrey. With quick tenderness he lifted


THE MURDER 43
her to her feet, but her body slipped back. Kneel-
ing down, he supported her with his arm.
"What is the matter?" he asked. Her head
sank against his rough coat and he could feel the
anguish of her trembling body. "Are you hurt?"
As he held her silently for a few moments she
became quieter; then she struggled to her feet,
still supported by his arm.
"You frightened me so!" she sobbed, drawing
away.
Releasing her, he took his coat off and man-
aged to wrap her in it. "What are you doing out
this way, a night like this?" he asked sternly,
noting at a glance the evening dress that left her
arms and neck bare.
"You heard it?" Her voice was a whisper.
"Yes, and you," suddenly remembering the
cry.
"Yes."
He seized her by the arm.
"Do you mean to say that you ran out here to
see what it was?" He looked dangerous.
"Well, did n't you?" her head was hanging
wearily.
"Look at me," Sam commanded, bending over
her. She slowly raised her eyes to his. They
were frightened.
'You are hurting me."


44 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
He did not realize that he was still holding her
arm in a convulsive grip.
"Don't you know how serious this might have
been?" in a shaken voice. He could not take
his eyes from hers as she silently regarded him.
A drop of rain fell upon her upturned face.
"It's beginning to storm," she said quietly,
as if she had not heard his question.
"I '11 see that you get home safely," Sam said
suddenly. As she hesitated a moment, he took
her gently by the arm and led the way back to
the path.
Audrey walked beside him, looking nervously
from side to side, and his coat slipped from her
shoulders unnoticed.
"You'll take cold," he said, replacing it and
buttoning it under her chin. As they paused a
moment he looked at her seriously. "Can't you
trust me?" he asked in a gentler tone. "I can
see you are in trouble. Let me help you."
She moved nervously away from him. "There
is nothing the matter. You are quite mistaken."
The tone of her voice left him unconvinced.
He walked on beside her, troubled but silent.
Finally he spoke again. "Tell me this, at
least: What do you make of that cry?" As she
did not answer, he continued with an effort at his
usual tone. "There isn't a madhouse in the


THE MURDER 45
neighborhood, is there? For I 've never heard a
more hideous screech from human lips."
She shook her head in answer. "I 've never
heard it myself before and so can tell you noth-
ing."
They had by this time almost reached the Tor-
rance house and could hear the sounds of car-
riage wheels driving up to the door. Sam quick-
ened his steps and was conscious that his com-
panion was dropping behind.
"It's Mr. Jameson, I guess," Audrey volun-
teered.
"Robert Jameson?" queried Sam.
"Yes, papa's lawyer. Do you know him?"
Her voice lacked interest.
"No, but he was Uncle Jerry's, too," he replied.
As they crossed the drive the lawyer was en-
tering the house and they could hear a woman
crying. Out to the shadow where they stood
there came a man's excited voice and the one
word, "murdered."
In the hall they found the secretary and Mr.
Jameson in conversation. The three servants
were huddled at the foot of the stairs and the
youngest, very pretty, was crying. The other
two, with blanched faces, were standing as if
dazed.
A door was open into what was apparently
the library and through it Sam could see the


46 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
figure of an elderly man in a chair. His body
was leaning inertly against the tall back, with
one arm hanging limply at his side and the other
stretched across the desk in front of him with
the fingers grasping the telephone.
The lawyer came over to Audrey, who was
standing with her back against the hall door, a
look of still horror on her face. She did not see
him. She was staring at the body of her father
as though she could not tear her eyes away.
Sam hurried over to Mr. Jameson and placed
himself so that he shielded Audrey from the gaze
of the others in the room. "I am Mr. Batcheller's
nephew," he said, "and if there is anything I can
do, please command me."
The old lawyer took his outstretched hand
warmly, and after a futile attempt to speak
turned once more to Audrey. "My poor little
girl," he said brokenly, "you have my deepest
sympathy."
But she neither turned nor spoke. A slight
tremor passed through her body, and Sam caught
her just as she slipped to her knees. She was un-
conscious.
He took the little burden lightly in his arms.
"Where is her room?" he asked tensely.
"Kate," said the secretary to the young ser-
vant, "go up ahead and open the door to Donnie's
—Miss Torrance's room."


THE MURDER
47
The word "Donnie” fell like a blow on Sam's
consciousness. Grasping his burden more closely
to him, he stared blankly at the speaker.
“This way, sir,” said Kate, brokenly. And
like a sinister accompaniment to the new vague
question filling him came the weeping girl's
whispering cry- "Oh, poor Miss Donnie! poor
Miss Donnie !"— as he carried Audrey upstairs.


CHAPTER VIII
MARY'S TESTIMONY
WHEN Sam returned to the hall the two
elder servants were standing as he had
left them, but the lawyer and the secretary were
in the library with two strange men.
"Gentlemen, let me introduce Mr. Lane, the
late Mr. Batcheller's nephew," Mr. Jameson said
quietly, and then, turning to Sam: "Dr. Bird-
sail, the coroner; Constable Warren; and Mr.
Forrest you know."
The men nodded with an easy acceptance of his
presence there—all save the secretary, who was
regarding Sam with a coolly fixed gaze.
At last the coroner, finishing his examina-
tion of the murdered man, spoke: "He has been
dead, I should judge, about a half-hour, not more.
The knife entered through the back, penetrating
one lung and piercing the heart. Death must
have been instantaneous."
"The windows are all fastened on the inside,"
said the constable. "Has any one been in this
room since the murder was discovered?" he
asked.
48


MARY'S TESTIMONY 49
"No." It was the secretary who spoke. "I
came in with papers that Mr. Torrance requested
me to bring him at seven-thirty, and I found him
—like this. I called the three servants and just
then," turning to Mr. Jameson, "you arrived."
"Where did you phone me from?" the coroner
asked quickly, turning to the secretary.
"From the hall. There are three extensions
in the house. Being familiar with them, I pur-
posely left this room undisturbed."
"You say you came out directly?" was the
coroner's reply.
"Yes."
"How did you know he had not merely
fainted?" His tone was insistent.
"If you look under the chair you'll see a very
good reason," Forrest replied curtly. "It was
the first thing I saw as I entered the room."
Hardly noticeable from where they stood, but
in full view of the door, was a pool of blood.
"You saw no one in the room while you were
here?"
"No one."
"Could any one have gotten out while you
were calling the servants?" he continued.
"Hardly," the secretary's voice was con-
clusive. "I stood in the doorway. There is no
other exit."
"Call the servants, please," in a business-like


50 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
tone. Forrest left the room. Coroner Birdsall
turned to the constable confidentially: "I have a
feeling that he knows more than he's telling; the
knife is gone." And then, as a sudden thought:
"Is Miss Torrance at home?"
Sam spoke for the first time and his voice
sounded hoarse: "She is ill."
Just then the secretary returned, followed by
the two servants, who stopped suddenly within
the door with their eyes riveted on the figure
of the dead man.
"This is Sarah Hardy," and Forrest indicated
the smaller of the two. The woman stared at
him as he spoke her name. She seemed older
than the other, was delicately built, and wore
thick glasses. Her hair was gray and drawn
back unbecomingly in a tight knot. Under the
pallor and horror of her face was a gentle
womanliness.
"And this is Mary Ryan." She was nonde-
script in appearance,—the usual self-effacing,
faithful type of servant found in old families.
Turning to the first servant, the coroner began
to question her without further delay. "Sarah,
where were you when Mr. Forrest called you?"
For a moment she seemed to choke, as if she
could not speak, but, gathering courage, she
answered in a scarcely perceptible whisper: "In


MARY'S TESTIMONY 51
the back pantry, sir. I was locking up for the
night.”
"Did you see any one pass in or out through
the kitchen?”
"No, sir."
“Could you have heard any one entering the
front door?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Did you?”
"No, sir.”
He turned hastily to the other. "Where were
you, Mary, when Mr. Forrest discovered the
body?”
"I was upstairs, sir,” she answered apologeti-
cally.
“When did you go up?”
After a pause: "About seven-fifteen, sir."
"Did you see any one in the hall as you passed
through ?”
She hesitated and looked at Harry Forrest,
who was watching her intently.
As she did not answer, the coroner came over
and stood before her. "Did you?"
“Yes, sir.” It was like a breath.
“Who was it?”
“Miss Torrance, sir.”
Sam's hands unconsciously grasped the chair
in front of him.


52 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"What was she doing? Tell me what yon
Baw," said the coroner.
Mary was silent.
"Come, now," he said impatiently, "yon saw
Miss Torrance in the hall, you say. What was
she doing?"
"She ran oat of the front door." The words
were scarcely andible.
"Where did she come from? Speak up," and
the tone was stern.
"The library." Her words echoed like a hiss
in the silent place, and Sam's hands convulsively
clutched the back of the chair until his knuckles
showed white.
Something moved in the room. It was the
body of the dead man, that had sagged stiffly to
the arm of the chair. There was a sudden con-
fusion as the two servants fled from the room.
The four men looked at one another tensely for a
moment.
"Damn!" It seemed to come from the direc-
tion of the constable.
With this break in the silence that wrapped
the room, the coroner cleared his throat and
spoke gravely as he mopped his brow: "I would
like to talk with Miss Torrance."
The lawyer broke in huskily: "She fainted and
has been put to bed. Please don't disturb her


MARY'S TESTIMONY 53
to-night. The child has had more than she can
bear just now."
"When did she return after running out-of-
doors?" the coroner asked.
"Directly upon my arrival," replied the law-
yer, and he looked spent.
"Miss Torrance was with me." It was Sam
who spoke and his voice was vibrant.
"You met her by appointment?" The coro-
ner regarded him closely for the first time.
"No." The tone had an edge to it. "Miss Tor-
rance heard what I did and we both rushed out
to see what it was."
"What was it?" suddenly on the alert.
"A scream," he replied.
"I heard it," came jerkily from the secretary.
"I heard it last night, too."
"Was there any reason why you did not go out
to see what it was?" The coroner's voice was
silky.
"I stepped out on the veranda outside my
room, but, seeing nothing, I dismissed it," he re-
plied. "Living in an isolated spot like this, one
is not surprised at strange sounds; and further-
more I was busy with my papers."
"I should think your argument at fault, per-
sonally," said the coroner dryly. "What did you
think of the cry, Mr. Lane?" returning to him.


54 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I did not know what it was," Sam said slowly.
"It sounded like some one insane with terror."
"And that is why you ran out?" pertinently.
"Yes," he replied. "It disturbed me so effec-
tively the previous night, I wanted to find out
what it was."
"You heard it, then, the night before, also?"
Sam inclined his head.
"Did you see anything strange when you
came out?"
"No, I met Miss Torrance."
"Did n't you try to locate the cry?" His eye-
brows were quizzical.
"I—forgot about it." His tone was embar-
rassed and he was hotly conscious of a half-con-
cealed smile on the constable's face.
"I will call an inquest for to-morrow at nine,
when I trust Miss Torrance will be able to be
present," the coroner said brusquely. "Warren,
you remain here to-night."
Sam found Nora and Thomas waiting anx-
iously in the hall when he came in.
Nora approached him timidly: "Thomas met
the coroner on the way to Torrance's," she said
nervously.
"Yes. I have just left them. Judge Torrance
has been murdered."


MARY'S TESTIMONY 55
"Did they—do they suspect any one?" Her
voice was a whisper.
"The inquest is to-morrow," Sam replied wear-
ily. "There was hardly any evidence to-night.
Mr. Forrest found him, stabbed in the back, in
the library, at seven-thirty."
Nora sank weakly against the door. Her eyes
gazed past him and her husband, with such a
look of recognition in their rigidness that Sam
involuntarily turned as if to face some fourth
person who might have entered behind him.
There was no one there.
When his eyes came back to Nora, she was
trying to smile and wiping her face with her
apron. The shaking of her fingers as she did so
was the thing that remained in his memory.


CHAPTER IX
THE INQUEST
A GRAY dawn was coming through the win-
dows as Sam, wearied with a night of tor-
menting thoughts, threw himself, fully dressed,
on his bed.
Over and over in his mind twisted the strange
incidents that had preceded the murder. What
had the telephone message meant? "By some
she's called Donnie—" That voice on the tele-
phone had cried out, "Donnie! Donnie!" Had
she run out because of that cry? Her evasive
reply to him in the woods distressed him.
He thought of the little huddled figure on the
ground,—her fear—the small curly head that
had lain so helplessly against his arm later as
he carried her upstairs. What a baby she had
looked when he laid her on the couch in her
room! He remembered her frightened glance as
her eyes slowly opened,—and then the look of re-
lief when she saw him leaning over her. "Am I in
love with her?" he questioned himself wonder-
ingly.
66


THE INQUEST 57
He recalled the moments when he had waited
in the hall while Kate put her to bed—how the
faithful little maid had brought him his coat,
which he had forgotten, and assured him that her
mistress was quieter.
He must get to her the first thing in the
morning, before the inquest if possible His
thoughts trailed off in sleep.
"It is eight o'clock, Mr. Lane. I brought your
coffee up." Nora was bending over him,—but a
different Nora,—with swollen eyes and trem-
bling hands.
He got up quickly, conscious of a painful
throbbing in his head.
"You did not sleep last night, sir! I heard
you walking the floor." There was affection
in her face.
"No. I was over-tired and had much to
think of."
"It's terrible, sir, and in such a quiet neigh-
borhood, too," she said breathlessly.
"If you had seen the wholesale slaughter I
have, in one-time quiet neighborhoods "he
began bitterly, with a gesture of disgust.
She gave him a startled glance. "You look
as though you had felt it, sir."
"I am sorry for Miss Torrance." His voice
had suddenly become gentle.


58 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Poor Miss Audrey!" Nora said sadly. "He
was her father, after all, though he was a poor
one and not kind." She caught herself as if
she had said too much, and Sam noticed this as
he turned and regarded her a moment.
"He was not good to her?" he asked finally.
"People used to wonder how she stood it, at
times," she returned, shaking her head; "he was
so cross; but, then, he was sick."
"What was the matter with him?"
"Heart-trouble, some said, and others thought
it could n't be, for he had no heart." Her tone
had become suddenly bitter.
A thought held Sam for a moment. His gaze
met the old woman's and then slipped past it, as
he said in a voice he tried to make casual: "He
called her 'Donnie,' didn't he?"
"Yes, sir; he and Mr. Harry and one or two
others often called her by that name. She gave
it to herself when she was little."
Nora was leaving the room: "It's half-past,
sir. Are you going to the inquest to-day?"
"Yes. I'll have to move right along, too.
Why?"
"Nothing, sir, I was just wondering what time
they were going to hold it."
"At nine." And as Sam crossed to the bath-
room he noticed her rapidly descending the
stairs.


THE INQUEST 59
When he arrived at the Torrance house he
found the lawyer and coroner already there with
five strange men, four of whom were the jury, the
fifth a reporter. With the help of the servants,
the constable was arranging chairs in the par-
lor. The door to the library was shut.
As Sam greeted Mr. Jameson the secretary
hurried down the stairs, and they went in to-
gether and took their seats.
"How is Miss Torrance?" He addressed the
question to Harry Forrest.
"Here she is now," was the evasive reply,
and Sam looked up to see Audrey standing in the
doorway. Her eyes slowly crossed the room
till they met his and were held by them a mo-
ment; then with a dignity that sat oddly on one
so small she walked over quietly and sat down
by Mr. Jameson.
The coroner stood up pompously. "Well, now
that we 're all here, let's get down to business,"
turning to Kate: "I did n't see you last night.
Were you in the house?"
"Yes, sir; I was upstairs with my young lady."
"What were you doing at seven o'clock?"
"I—I went up to my room at that time."
"You were going out?"
"No, sir." She kept moistening her lips and
moving her hands with extreme nervousness.


60 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Where were you at seven-thirty when the
alarm was given?"
"I was helping Mary fix over a dress."
"Did you see or hear anything?"
"No, sir."
"No cry of any sort?"
"No, sir. We were on the top floor and the
wind was howling."
"What was the first thing you heard?"
"Mr. Forrest calling us."
"What was Mr. Forrest doing when you came
down?"
"He was in the hall, phoning."
"Was he alone?"
"No. Sarah was there, and then Mr. Jameson
came."
"When did Miss Torrance come in?"
"Just after Mr. Jameson arrived."
"All right. Now, Mary, please repeat what
you said last night!"
She got up falteringly. "I left the kitchen
about seven-fifteen, to go upstairs." She paused.
"Go on."
The words fell from her lips with a desperate
rapidity that made them almost unintelligible.
"I saw Miss Audrey run from the library and go
out-of-doors." She stopped, her breath coming
in gasps.


THE INQUEST 61
Sam saw Audrey lean forward at the servant's
words.
"Then?" prompted the coroner.
"I went to my room—Katie offered to help me
with my sewing—I stayed there until I heard Mr.
Forrest calling."
"How was Miss Torrance dressed when you
saw her?"
"She had on her dark-blue velvet," said Mary.
"Did she go out without first getting a hat or
coat?"
"Yes, sir," faintly.
"How did she look?" The coroner leaned for-
ward. "Tell me exactly the impression she made
on you."
"I can't say. I did not see her face, sir."
"Were you not surprised to see her do this?"
"No, sir. Not Miss Audrey."
He dismissed her.
Audrey sat back weakly. Her face had re-
sumed its normal color.
"Sarah, please. Repeat your story."
"I know nothing, sir. I was in the pantry
locking up for the night when I heard Mr. For-
rest call."
"What were your duties last night?"
"I took Mary's place, as she wanted to finish
her dress. I cooked most of the dinner, set the
table, and waited on the family."


62 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Tell me if you noticed anything peculiar in
word, tone, or glance as you waited on the
table?"
She hesitated perceptibly.
"Did you notice anything peculiar about
Judge Torrance and his daughter? Remember,
you are in duty bound to tell anything bearing
on the case."
"Well, I could not help hearing some words of
a difference between them." Her voice was low
and reluctant.
"Just what was said?"
"I can't say. At least—he said: 'I don't want
to hear anything more from you about this.
Consider the subject closed.'"
"Will you state, please, her answer?"
"I remember that she said,—'It can never be
closed with me. You will regret the stand you
are taking.'"
There was silence in the room for a second.
Then the coroner resumed: "Was Miss Torrance
alone with her father at dinner?"
"No, sir," faintly.
"Who else was there?"
"Mr. Forrest."
"What happened then?"
"I went into the library to latch the windows
for the night. The Judge pushed past me in


CHAPTER X
THE UNEXPLAINED QUARREL
AUDREY stood up quickly, her hands
clasped tensely before her.
"Would you please tell us what you were dis-
cussing with your father at dinner?" questioned
Dr. Birdsall.
"I am sorry." Her voice was throaty. "I
cannot. It was a personal matter and has no
bearing whatsoever on the case."
"You mean you refuse to say?"
"If you will put it that way,—yes."
"Why?"
"I have told you; and, besides that, it would
not be fair to—to my father."
The coroner leaned forward, suddenly kind:
"Miss Torrance, this is a serious matter, and
those of us who are able to give any evidence of
any nature should not refuse to do so. Your
father has been murdered in cold blood. We
are here to find out who did it. We should at
least be able to count upon your help. There
may be some clue, hidden to you, which would
64


THE UNEXPLAINED QUARREL 65
mean a ray of light in the right direction to the
minds working on this case. Think a moment
on this, and also of the reflection that your re-
fusal will cast upon you, and I am sure that no
matter how blackening it may seem to your
father, you will not hold it back."
In the silence that followed Audrey's body
swayed a little, her head still lowered as it had
been while the coroner was speaking. Sam felt
the tension of the moment, with a keenness that
was almost crippling in its force.
Finally her voice came low but distinct.
There was no hesitancy in it: "I cannot."
"Very well," answered the coroner, and he
looked at the girl who was now facing him with
all her courage in her eyes. "You may keep still
for the present, but understand that eventually
you will have to divulge this secret in court."
He spoke in a tone of judicial information.
"To continue: You followed your father into
the library. Why?"
"We had not finished the topic we were dis-
cussing."
"I understand from the previous testimony
that Judge Torrance had finished," dryly.
"I beg your pardon," faintly. "I should have
said I had not finished."
"And now, Miss Torrance, I must ask you to


66 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
tell us why you ran out-of-doors in an evening
dress on such a night."
"I heard a strange cry and wanted to see what
it was. It did not occur to me to go upstairs
first and get a wrap." The words were in-
distinct.
"Was it natural, do you think, for a young
woman to do such a thing? Were you not
frightened?"
"It was natural for me."
"Did you hear this cry the night before?"
"No. Mr. Lane did, and told me about it in
the afternoon."
"Oh, you saw Mr. Lane in the afternoon?"
"Yes."
"You met him last night outside, also?"
"Yes," faintly.
The coroner leaned forward with an abrupt
change of manner, his eyes on her face.
"Have you any reason to suppose that your
father had enemies?"
Her young face for a few seconds had the look
of a mask. "I do not know of any."
A pause followed.
"While you were in the library with your
father, did he call up his lawyer as he had
planned?"
At this question Mr. Jameson leaned forward,
anxiously awaiting her answer.


THE UNEXPLAINED QUARREL 67
"No."
He sat back in his chair with a look of relief
on his face.
"What was he doing?" continued the coroner.
"We were talking!"
"Did your father hear this cry?"
"I do not know. I don't think so," and for
the first time she showed hesitation.
"Did that not occur to you as strange?"
"No," she said slowly. "I rushed out and
never gave it a thought. Furthermore, had I
thought of it, I knew he was troubled with
deafness."
"What was he doing at that time?"
"Going—through—some papers," haltingly.
"Do you happen to know what Judge Torrance
wished to see his lawyer about?"
"I do not. My father did not discuss his
business with me."
Another question hung upon the coroner's
lips. He did not utter it. Instead, he nodded in
dismissal and rapped out like a machine: "Mr.
Forrest, please."
The secretary stood up quickly and advanced
toward the speaker.
"Mr. Forrest, I will ask you to repeat the
conversation at dinner last night," said the
coroner.
There was a breathless pause before the secre-


68 WITHIN FOUB WALLS
tary spoke, and Sam fonnd himself leaning for-
ward tensely, as he knew how Audrey must feel,
although a brief glance showed him that she was
sitting perfectly still, her eyes on the floor.
"I do not remember anything of consequence,"
was the cool reply. "It was as usual, Judge
Torrance discussed his health, his business, his
political views."
"Do you mean to say you heard no argument of
any kind?"
"Nothing in particular. The Judge was a very
irritable man, who wished every one to coincide
with his opinion."
"What, for instance, was discussed last
night?"
"I do not remember."
"You mean to tell me that you were sitting at
the same table with two people, and do not recall
what they were talking about?" aggressively.
"Exactly," replied the secretary, with a slight-
ly rising inflection. "Judge Torrance was in a
bad humor when he came to the table. I knew
what sort of an evening it would be—just like
many others—" bitterly, "and I withdrew from
the conversation."
"You have ears, I take it," said the coroner,
sharply.
"I was engrossed in my own thoughts," the
Other continued. "I had told Judge Torrance


THE UNEXPLAINED QUARREL 69
that I was leaving in the morning and I had
many plans to make."
"May I ask why you were leaving?"
"I had tired of the country," Forrest returned
wearily.
The coroner's chair creaked as he leaned back
in it, to exchange significant glances with his
jury, and the scratching of the reporter's pen
was the only sound in the room. With an impa-
tient gesture Dr. Birdsall turned back and
brusquely resumed the cross-examination. "What
did you do when you left the table?"
"I went upstairs to finish the arrangement of
some papers that Judge Torrance had asked me
to have in readiness, as he was going to phone
Mr. Jameson to be here at seven-thirty."
"Did Miss Torrance or her father say anything
as they left the room?"
"I did not see them leave the room."
"Repeat what you found when you came to
the library at seven-thirty, please."
"When I went in I saw a pool of blood on the
floor and the Judge lying back in his chair. I
crossed quickly to him and found that he was
dead; then I hurried out, called the servants,
and phoned you."
"Why did you not call Miss Torrance?" point-
edly.
"I did."


70 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"You did not say so."
"I forgot it."
"How did Miss Torrance look when she came
in and heard the news?"
"As any girl would look if she heard that her
father had been murdered,—horrified."
The coroner was nettled, and for a second
busied himself with some notes he held in his
hand. Then, turning abruptly back to the room,
he dismissed the secretary quickly.


CHAPTER XI
BEADING THE Willi
DR. BIRDSALL resumed: "Mr. Lane, I
should like to ask you a few questions.
You met Miss Torrance outside at what time?"
"As nearly as I can judge," Sam replied after
a second, "it was between seven-fifteen and seven-
twenty."
"Can you tell me just why you have this five
minutes, between a quarter past and twenty,
fixed in your mind?"
"I haven't it fixed. I was trying to answer
your question. I remember the clock striking
seven, and it seems to me that an interval of
fifteen minutes or so might have elapsed before
I chanced upon Miss Torrance."
"How long did you remain out?"
"I do not know how long it was. As we ap-
proached this house we saw Mr. Jameson enter-
ing."
"I see. That would fix the time between seven-
thirty and seven-thirty-five. Where did you meet
Miss Torrance?"
71


72 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
The question was unexpected, and Sam paused
a moment before answering: "On the path to the
woods."
"That is where, exactly?"
Another pause. He could feel that Audrey
was watching him keenly. Without knowing ex-
actly why he did so, he answered with an effort
to conceal the fact that he had met her after
chasing her through the woods.
"Running between our grounds," he said
quietly.
"You were not surprised to see her without a
coat on such a night?" continued Dr. Birdsall.
"I gave Miss Torrance my coat. She told me
why she had come out; therefore, I was not
surprised."
"You, however, had taken this precaution and
dressed properly, so must have left the house
after she did."
"I am afraid you have misunderstood me. I
snatched my cap as I ran through the hall. It
was my sack-coat that Miss Torrance wore."
"You met, then, between your houses?"
"Yes." The voice was tense.
"Did you know that it was Miss Torrance who
was on this path when you came out; or, in other
words, did you expect to see her?"
"No."


READING THE WILL 73
"Mr. Lane, how long have you known Miss
Torrance?"
Same spoke clearly: "Since yesterday after-
noon. I arrived in this country from Europe
only the day before."
The coroner looked his surprise. "Miss Tor-
rance was known to you by hearsay, perhaps?"
"No. But she was a close friend of my uncle's,
who was a lifelong chum of her father's."
"Ah, I see. Thank you, Mr. Lane; that is all.
—Mr. Jameson, please."
The lawyer arose quickly. Sam, watching him,
thought he had aged overnight.
"Did you receive a phone call from Judge Tor-
rance last night?"
"I did."
There was a rustle of excitement in the room.
The jurors looked at one another.
"At what time?"
"I cannot say exactly. I should judge about
seven-twenty."
The coroner leaned forward earnestly. "Will
you think carefully a moment and see if you can
remember any incident that would fix the time
in your mind?"
"I have been thinking; I will tell you what I
recall. Torrance phoned and said he had in-
tended getting me earlier, but had been delayed,
and would like me to come to his house as near


74 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
seven-thirty as I could. As my carriage was
ready for another call I intended to make, I told
him I would be right over. I passed directly out
through the hall, and happening to look at the
clock there noticed that it was just seven-twenty-
six."
"Did Judge Torrance tell you the nature of
the business he had with you?"
"Partly. He wished me to bring over some
mortgages he was going to foreclose, and his
will." He spoke reluctantly.
"Have you the will with you?"
"Yes."
"Read it, please."
The coroner and the jury settled back atten-
tively.
The lawyer opened a legal document and, ad-
justing his glasses, read:
"I, Lloyd G. Torrance, being of a sound and disposing
mind, declare this to be my last will and testament I
bequeath one-half my estate at my death, including Tor-
rance House, to my daughter Audrey, be she maid, wife,
or widow, and to her heirs according to her dictation.
"Three quarters of the remaining estate I bequeath to
Harry Forrest, my secretary, who is distantly related to
my house, for valuable services rendered over a number of
years. This legacy I bequeath outright, to be disposed of
as said party sees fit.
"To Robert Jameson, my trusted friend, I bequeath
$10,000 outright.
"The remainder of the estate shall be constituted a trust
fund for my three faithful servants, Kate Crehan, Sarah.


READING THE WILL 75
Hardy, and Mary Eyan, now serving in my house, and I
appoint Robert Jameson to conduct this according to his
judgment with the assistance of any he may choose to
secure. My intention being that an equal allowance be
paid to the three monthly, while they live, and revert to
the estate at their death. The same to be invested by him
in revenue bonds and at their death the allowance to be
paid monthly to my daughter, or in the event of her death
to her issue. In the event of her death without issue, this
money will still be constituted a trust fund, and under the
guidance of Robert Jameson, or whomever he may appoint
in the event of his death, be used for the furtherance of
medical research toward the elimination of cancer. And
I hereby appoint Harold Green, Notary Public, executor of
this last will and testament.
"I herein set my hand and seal this day of our Lord,
Saturday, November the eleventh, One Thousand Nine
Hundred and Sixteen in the presence of these witnesses.
"Lloyd G. Torrance.
"Witnesses: James Bowman.
"Thomas Curry.
"Charles Small."
The lawyer quietly folded the paper and took
off his glasses.
The coroner broke the silence that followed
the reading: "Mr. Jameson, did Judge Torrance
intimate to you that he was considering chang-
ing his will?"
"He did not. He merely asked me to bring it."
"Thank you.—Now, Mr. Forrest, I should like
to ask you another question. You were familiar
with Judge Torrance's affairs. I believe you
were collecting some papers for his interview
with Mr. Jameson. What was the nature of
them?"


76 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I have them with me," and the secretary
handed them to the coroner. "You will see they
are correspondence concerning the mortgages."
"Did you know whether or not Judge Tor-
rance contemplated changing his will?"
"I did not," he answered quietly. "I was
Judge Torrance's secretary, but by no means
conversant with all his affairs."


CHAPTER XII
HENRY BLAKE, DETECTIVE
I AM going to wire for Henry Blake, of Cruik-
shank and Blake," said the lawyer. He was
standing in the hall with the coroner. "I have
been talking with Miss Torrance and she has
asked me to do what I think best."
"Of conrse,—just as you like. There is not
sufficient evidence to make any arrests at pres-
ent, and another mind at work on it would not
be bad."
"He is that young detective," the lawyer con-
tinued, "who has made some very clever round-
ups in the underworld, you know!"
"Yes, I have read something about him. I
can see how your mind is running. You think
this is some gang-work,—an outside job," re-
plied the coroner.
"Of course/' and the lawyer's tone had a
brusque edge to it. "I have known these people
all my life. I went to college with Torrance,
—held little Audrey in my arms when she was a
baby." His eyes were moist. "I have always
77


78
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
respected Harry Forrest. The servants are de-
voted. Torrance once told me confidentially that
none of the legatees knew the contents of his
will."
“Personally, I understand how you feel. I
admit these things have had their weight with
me, too, but one cannot allow sentiment to inter-
fere with law. A murder is a murder. Would
you mind telling me if you have any legal reason
for thinking this outside work?”
The lawyer spoke carefully: “Torrance was a
man who laid himself open to attack, as you
know. His years on the bench were not pleasant
ones. His attitude, for a judge, I might say, was
not always impartial.”
“But specifically," the coroner said quickly,
"do you know of any one?”
"No. There might have been many who wished
him ill. That is to be found out."
“How do you account for the closed windows?”
His smile was tolerant.
“I should think,” replied the lawyer, quietly,
“that a servant who had not heard Miss Tor-
rance go out at the door, would not have heard
any one come in."
“Rather a daring entrance,—through the front
door,—I should say,” retorted the coroner.
“It was a daring murder," was the rejoinder.
“What do you think of this hypothesis?—Sup-


HENRY BLAKE, DETECTIVE
79
pose the murderer had seen through the window
that the Judge was alone, and to go back
farther—had noticed Forrest and Kate go up-
stairs located Mary and Sarah in the pantry
-had even seen Miss Torrance leave the house,
and, believing the coast clear, entered ?”
“Rather an overdrawn theory, I should say.
How do you account for that cry?”
"Don't think it had anything to do with it.
That cry was heard on the night before, as well."
The coroner laughed. “All right, follow it up
your way. Get this fellow Blake on the job and
tell him what you think. I'll run along a little
track of my own for a while.”
He was a stout, easy-going, well-meaning man,
the village doctor,—used to a small practice in a
small town, and now for the first time, in his
capacity as coroner, handling a life-sized job.
He turned away, giving a few directions to the
constable, and bustled off.
Sam found himself walking down the path to
the woods. Depression weighed upon him.
While he was speaking with the constable, at the
end of the inquest, Audrey had slipped out. He
had not seen her again. Upon inquiry he had
learned that she had gone to her room and Kate
had gone with her. His mind turned to but one
thing. What could he do to be of help to her?


80 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
He had watched the effect on the jury, at the
inquest, of the account of the quarrel between
Audrey and her father. He wondered in what
way this quarrel could be of significance. Her
silence regarding it puzzled him. What could it
have been about? What possible reason could
she have for this silence? Not having known
the murdered man, he was at a loss to answer
this question. He recalled the voice he had
heard over the telephone, and that terrible ejacu-
lation. He was glad that there had been no
possibility of its disclosure at the inquest, and
glad, too, that he alone had heard it; for, as he
had been silent instinctively then, he would be
always.
He turned back and with rapid steps was
hurrying in the direction he had come. He must
see her and offer his services. Whatever she
had hidden that would harm her, he felt sure she
would confide in him and trust to his judgment,
Kate opened the door for him. "The under-
takers are here, sir, in the library, and a telegram
has come from Mr. Blake that he will arrive
this afternoon." Sam realized as she spoke that
she regarded him as an ally.
"Is Mr. Forrest in?" he asked.
"No, sir; he went to the village to make the
arrangements for the funeral."
"Ask Miss Torrance if she will see me."


HENRY BLAKE, DETECTIVE 81
He turned unconsciously toward the library,
where he could hear the low voices and soft steps
of the undertaker and his men. He drew him-
self up with a shrug of repulsion. His mind
flew back to Europe. He had prepared men for
their graves and buried them with his own two
hands at dead of night,—men he had loved. He
remembered the night he had laid his "bunkie"
down while he dug the grave,—how the body had
suddenly disappeared before his very eyes. He
carried a piece of the shell himself,—would al-
ways carry it. Would life in its pathos or joy
ever hold for him anything that would entirely
blot out those years?
Audrey was standing beside him. Her face
seemed all eyes. Turning to her with one of his
quick gestures, he held out both his hands. She
gave him hers and for a space neither spoke.
"You have come to help me," she said, reading
the earnestness in his face.
"Yes," he replied, deeply moved. "Tell me
what I can do."
"I do not know. I am all at sea. It is—so
terrible—I cannot even think clearly."
"You must try to think. Tell me of any word,
gesture, anything you have noticed this past
week—this past year, even—that has stayed in
your memory, that might give me the smallest
clue."


82 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I cannot think of anything. I don't seem to
remember what I was doing a week ago. Oh—"
and she began to cry.
He drew her masterfully into the parlor to a
chair and bent over her for a moment, still hold-
ing her hand. His voice shook as he spoke: "Do
try! Others will have their minds working on
this. I am working with my heart! Maybe some
little thing that will escape them, I will discover.
Trust me, can't you?"
She raised her eyes as he spoke, with a look so
searching, so expectant, that he braced himself to
meet it, hoping that in the tenderness of his look
she might find what she sought. However, when
she did not answer him, he continued: "Can you
at least answer some questions?"
She nodded.
"I heard a strange cry over my phone at seven
o'clock on the night of the murder. These were
the words:" He said them clearly, his eyes on
her bowed head—" 'Donnie! Donniel Oh, my
God!'" He saw her body stiffen. "Can you tell
me what they mean? I learned later that that
was a pet name of yours, and I connected the
two, of course."
She was silent.
"Audrey," her name breaking from him in his
excitement, "for God's sake, can't you tell me
anything? How am I going to help you?"


84 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
They heard the front door closing and Sam
released her hand.
Harry Forrest stood between the portieres,
silently regarding them.


CHAPTER XIII
THE MISSING LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR
AUDREY was the first to speak. "Mr. Lane
has offered his assistance, Harry. He
wants to help—" The sentence ended abruptly.
"Yes?" His voice had a slight rising inflection
as he stepped into the room, and when he con-
tinued it was without any further notice of Sam.
"I saw the detective Jameson wired for while I
was downtown. I think he 's trying to pick up
a few clues before presenting himself at the
house." Although his tone was casual, Sam felt
that he considered his information of importance
to Audrey, and he noticed that she was listening
in a breathless way. "Mr. Lane," he added, as
an afterthought, "they are going through the
Judge's papers this afternoon, and the coroner
has asked me to be present to answer questions.
Would you care to come along? You see, I am
beginning to take advantage of your offer."
"I should like to, very much," Sam replied.
"Well, I '11 go up ahead and get things ship-
shape there. Everything has been sealed since
85


86 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
last night," And he left the room hurriedly.
"I suppose it's right to have a man like this
Blake; Mr. Jameson thought so. But oh, I hate
it!—this prying into your life by strangers!"
There was disgust in Audrey's tone.
"I know how you feel, but this sort of thing
has to be done, and you can't tell,—this chap may
be a decent sort of fellow." Sam spoke con-
solingly.
The constable came into the room. "I guess
that's the detective coming down the drive," he
said, as he pulled aside the curtain. "Smart-
looking chap."
They watched him as he approached slowly on
foot. He was studying the house and grounds
carefully. A carriage was turning into the drive
and they could see Mr. Jameson and the coroner
in earnest conversation.
"I '11 run up and let Forrest know they 're
here," Sam said suddenly, and took the stairs two
steps at a time.
The secretary was coming out of a room on
the second floor; a small parcel wrapped in
brown paper was in his hands. He pushed it
hurriedly into his pocket when he saw Sam. A
bit of the blue string that tied it caught Sam's
attention as it hung down on his coat.
"They 're here. I thought I 'd let you know,"
Sam said, but involuntarily his tone had become


THE LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR 87
cold. He wondered what was the matter with
this man, that he did not like him. For he did
not. There seemed to be an impenetrable secrecy
about his every act,—a caution that evaded one,
a fox-like furtiveness caught in an occasional
tone or glance. They descended the stairs quiet-
ly together.
Audrey was in the hall, talking with Mr. Jame-
son. Through the door to the library they could
see the coroner and constable going over with
the detective every detail connected with the
crime. He held the notes of the inquest in his
hand and was constantly referring to them as he
listened.
"When you 're through, Birdsall," said Mr.
Jameson at the door, "we 're all ready."
"We '11 be right along," said the coroner, and,
after replying to some query of the detective's,
he followed the others upstairs. Harry Forrest,
leading the way, turned into the room that Sam
had seen him leaving, when he ran upstairs to
call him.
The place was large and sparsely furnished.
A mahogany secretary stood in one corner, and a
long, low table with two drawers in it was in
the center. With the exception of these and
two or three straight-backed chairs, the room
was empty.
"This is the study," said the secretary. "Judge


88 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
Torrance kept whatever papers he had in the
house, here. The rest were with Mr. Jameson."
"I have them all with me, as you know." The
lawyer addressed the coroner.
"All right. Will some one rustle a few more
chairs here?"
"I '11 do it!" Harry Forrest said eagerly,—
almost too eagerly, it seemed to Sam, who
watched him in perplexity as he left the room.
Didn't he run upstairs before the coroner ar-
rived to 'get things ship-shape,' to use his own
words? Well, what had he done? Nothing,
apparently.
Sam glanced around. There was the coroner's
seal on the desk and also on the drawers of the
table. His gaze halted on an object. Under the
desk was a small tin box. It was not sealed.
Why was this an exception?
The detective, who had come in after the
others, was standing with his back to the win-
dow, facing the room. He seemed to be study-
ing its occupants.
Attention came back to Forrest as he entered,
hauling a few light chairs after him in a boyish
way. It seemed to Sam a significant intentness
had come to the young man's face, an energetic
brightness to his eyes. He felt himself waiting
anxiously for the first words Forrest should
speak. And they came.


THE LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR 89
"Dr. Birdsall," he said, the tone impulsive as
if he had suddenly remembered something, "last
night when you closed this room I thought every-
thing was in it that belonged here. I recalled
this afternoon that Judge Torrance had taken a
small deposit-box out yesterday morning. I
found it in his room and brought it here." As
he spoke he lifted it from under the desk to the
table. "The keys, I believe, are in one of the
sealed drawers."
While Sam listened to these words his fasci-
nated eyes were glued on the blue string hanging
from the pocket of the speaker's coat.
"This box is as you found it?" asked the
coroner.
"Of course."
"You should have notified me of its absence
and not searched for it yourself," he snapped
sternly.
"I 'm sorry. I understand very little about
these things and merely wished to be of assis-
tance," was the reply.
The coroner broke open the seals on the
drawers of the table and looked through both
thoroughly. There were no keys,—just an array
of miscellaneous papers, nearly all blank. Harry
Forrest looked surprised.
"I am sure there were keys there yesterday
morning."


90 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Well, there are n't now. Come and show me
where you found the box."
They left the room and the secretary led him
to Judge Torrance's bedroom. "It was stand-
ing on this bureau. I simply picked it up and
walked across the hall with it," he explained.
After an inquiring glance about, the coroner
pulled out one of the small drawers over the
marble slab. Some keys lay there.
"Are they the ones?" he asked and watched
Forrest as he fingered them.
"Yes, I think so."
"Which one fits the box?" Dr. Birdsall asked
quickly.
"I don't know," was the answer.
"But you 've known them well, have n't you?"
"Not well enough for that."
"Familiar keys have a familiar look; at least
they have to me."
"But these were not familiar keys. I saw
them very seldom," and the secretary's tone was
quietly hostile, for the other's voice and glance
had a touch of veiled suspicion. "I hope I have
made that point absolutely clear to you, Dr.
Birdsall. I seldom saw these keys. I knew
almost nothing about this box."
"All right, all right." The reply was easy
and dismissing. "Now, let's get on to the rest,"
and, carrying the keys, he returned to the study.


THE LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR 91
Forrest followed him thoughtfully, darkness
in his brooding face.
The coroner went directly to the box. He had
to try several keys with no result. Sam, sitting
near Audrey, could hear her hurried breathing
as she watched the thick, capable fingers at their
work. Finally the lock was turned. The lid
fell back. The box was empty.
"Do you know what Judge Torrance was in
the habit of keeping in this box?"
"I do not," replied the secretary after a mo-
ment's surprised silence. "It was generally in
this room and always locked. I happened to re-
member that the Judge took it away with him
somewhere yesterday morning. Perhaps he
meant to put something in it and had mislaid the
keys. I brought it back to its usual place."
There was a pause that somehow had a hollow-
ness as dreary as the emptiness of this box, so
carefully and, apparently, needlessly locked.
The coroner roused himself.
"Warren, go in and search the bedroom across
the hall. See if there are any papers anywhere.
I '11 finish here.
He crossed to the desk and opened it. It was
filled with old check-books, stationery, some cor-
respondence. Silently he went to work. Harry
Forrest drew his chair over and explained each
article that the coroner was examining. Letters


92
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
from tenants, bills, etc.; canceled checks of large
and small denominations; an abusive letter from
a man whose mortgage Judge Torrance had held.
“Where did you get the papers you turned
over to me this morning?" asked the coroner,
suddenly.
"I had them in my room. It was the corre-
spondence the Judge desired to take up with
Mr. Jameson last night. You had closed this
place, so I held them for the inquest.”
“Why did n't you give them to me last night?"
he asked.
“If you remember, I held them in my hand
while we were in the library; in the excitement
they slipped my mind.”
“Miss Torrance.” It was the detective who
spoke. "You received a letter yesterday after-
noon late; had it any bearing on the discussion
with your father at dinner, that I notice men-
tioned in these papers?”
She had the look of a frightened bird. "No,"
she answered in a low voice.
“Have you the letter now?" Her expression
did not change.
"I—I do not know exactly where it is.” Sam
saw Harry Forrest turn quickly and look at her.
“Whom was it from? It came from a dis-
tance?"


THE LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR
93
"Just a friend who is traveling. There was
nothing of consequence in it."
“The postman tells me you were excited when
you received it,—that you stared at the envelop
and then rushed into the house."
“Even a letter is an event here,” she replied.
"You are sure you did not destroy it?” he
asked quietly.
“Quite sure.”
He came quickly to her side and held some
torn fragments of an envelop, pieced together in
his hand, close to her eyes. "This I assume is
the envelop," and read slowly: “ Zanzibar,' is
it not?"
“Yes."
“And the handwriting is a man's,” he declared.
“Yes," came in a dull way, and so faint it was
scarcely heard.
From the first words spoken of this letter com-
ing out of the great distance, a dreary and con-
clusive feeling had been spreading in Sam's
heart. This letter from Zanzibar?
“Why did you tear up the envelop? You can
answer that, surely," the detective said persua-
sively.
Her frown was helpless and tired. "No. One
does things absent-mindedly when there seems to
be no reason for remembering them. I think
that tearing up envelops is just a habit of mine."


94 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"But it surely is not a habit to let the enclos-
ures fade so completely from your mind that you
can't tell anything about them!—although, in
this case, you did not tear it up, nor, as far as
we see, place it anywhere in the house, nor give
it to any one."
The tone was the professionally mocking one
of a detective. Sam saw Audrey's soft young
face grow set, and it flashed through his mind
that the most child-like woman can fight for
herself in a crisis.
Her tone was calmer when she spoke again
and her eyes were like a clear pool as they gazed
at her questioner. "I can only repeat what I
have said. You see I did not recall destroying
the envelop."
"Yet I found it in the basket in your room."
"Oh!" Her tone was filled with a dull pa-
tience, and she added: "Then, of course, it was I
who tore it up."
Constable Warren returned. "There's noth-
ing in that room anywhere."
"And there's nothing here," replied the coro-
ner, turning from the desk that was now littered
with papers and canceled checks.
"Have you any objection to my running
through these things?" Sam asked, going to him.
"Privately, I might be able to be of a little
assistance."


THE LETTER FROM ZANZIBAR 95
"None at all, my boy; go right ahead. This,"
waving his hand toward the papers, "is abso-
lutely worthless. Just straight business. I have
taken this letter," tapping the abusive one, "and
I 'm going to run downtown and have a talk with
Ben Crane, who wrote it. Can't leave a stone
unturned, you know," and he went out of the
room hurriedly.
The group had broken up. Sam could hear
Audrey's door close across the hall. Harry For-
rest and Mr. Jameson left the room together,
followed by the constable. He was alone with
Blake.
"Rather a mixed-up affair, isn't it?" the de-
tective said genially. "That girl's a firebrand,
I tell you! Close-mouthed is n't the word when
it comes to getting anything out of her. She
shuts up like a trap. You 'd think she had some-
thing to hide. Some looker!" he went on.
Sam's flesh crept with repulsion, but a hidden
instinct in him warned that if he was to get any-
where, even to having easy access to this house,
he must placate this cock-sure, vulgar man. He
observed him carefully. In appearance rather
young and self-assured. His face was not a bad
one. The word that stood out in Sam's mind as
he watched him going through the drawers of
the table was "cheap." Just the sort that would
delight in the most obnoxious cases,—listen at


96 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
keyholes and go through waste baskets with per-
sonal enjoyment!
"It's baffling, to say the least." He was care-
ful to answer pleasantly, and turned to the desk.
Blake followed him.
"Have you formed any opinion on it yet?"
asked the detective.
"I am inclined to agree with Mr. Jameson,"
Sam said guardedly. "He thinks it's some gang-
work on the outside."
"Well, I don't," came the reply in a positive
tone. "It's gang-work, all right. But the gang's
right here."
"You mean ?" Sam's breath halted as he
turned and looked at him.
"I 'm not telling what I mean, just now."
And with a slow, knowing nod he let one eyelid
fall, as if dead, while the gaze from the other
was as keen as a ferret's.
Sam said nothing to this dumb show and
turned quietly toward the desk. His hands were
clenched as he watched Blake swagger from the
room.


CHAPTER XIY
THE HIDDEN PACKAGE
SAM'S hands moved slowly through the mass
of papers. "What in the devil did that
fellow mean?" was his thought. The misery of
the whole situation was clear to him. It was
Blake's right as part of his work to pry into
every corner of the house, piece together every
tangible bit of evidence in the effort to find the
taker of a life. Yet what pain it caused! what
other secrets it might disclose! what old griefs,
perhaps shadowed with shame, might show their
gray faces!
He recalled the words about the letter from
Zanzibar and the white reluctance of Audrey's
face at the questions, before she hardened. He
felt how her sensitive soul had shrunk at the pry-
ing into things that, though innocent, hidden in
her heart, could under suspicion be made to take
on the complexion of guilt. He loved her, he
knew now,—and, he feared, vainly. Yet in this
troubling secret, whatever it was, and that had
97


98 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
to do with another man, his heart went out to
her in a passion of protectiveness.
He quieted the tumult in himself and went on
with his work. Check after check fell from his
hand, of no consequence. On the last his gaze
paused and then became fixed. "That's queer,"
came from him in a hushed way as he studied it.
"Dated thirty years ago and in here with all
these recent ones." It was drawn to "Anne
Wolfe." In turning it over he found that it had
been cashed in a bank at some place in Pennsyl-
vania. The name was almost obliterated. Hold-
ing it close to his eyes, he followed the circle of
blurred letters,—"Cotesville." He had never
heard of the place. The endorsement was in a
delicate, old-fashioned handwriting, written with
a fine pen. Sam slipped it into his wallet, with
the resolve that he, himself, would run down
this particular clue.
It was growing darker out, was nearly dinner-
time. He suddenly felt fatigue. He could hear
voices in the hall and then the shutting of a door.
Kate was coming up the stairs as he descended.
"Miss Torrance sent me to find you," she said,
stopping at sight of him. "She wants to know if
you will stay for dinner to-night, as she wants
to talk with you."
His heart was beating quickly as he answered


THE HIDDEN PACKAGE
in the affirmative. “Shall I have time to
change?”
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, sir,
and she said you should wait in the parlor.”
Sam had scarcely reached the room when
Audrey joined him. “Has anything happened?”
he asked quickly, noticing her drawn face.
She looked around, making sure that they were
alone. “I feel I can trust you with anything. I
can, can't I?" hysterically. “I have no one else
to turn to.”
With an effort he controlled himself. “Abso-
lutely.”
“You will help me not ask any questions-
just do as I tell you—will you?”
“Yes."
“My letter I cannot find it.” She was
trembling.
“You mean the letter-from Zanzibar—that
Blake spoke to you about?”
“Yes.”
“Has it any significance?” He paused,
abashed. Her face showed pain.
"You were not to ask any questions." Her
voice shook.
"I will not,” resolutely, “but how can I help
you, all in the dark, this way? Can't you say
anything to assist me? I'll do anything for you,
anything; only tell me what it is."
2679944


100 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
“Find it, then; learn if Blake has it. Let me
know that. If I knew he had it, I should know
how to act.”
For a moment he stood, quietly thinking. "Do
you remember where you had it last?"
“I carried it in my hand to the table.”
“Then?”
“I cannot remember it after that. Kate has
looked everywhere, even in the library," with a
shudder.
“Kate," he said, surprised.
“Yes, she can be trusted. She is absolutely
loyal to me."
“What do you want me to do?” As he said
this the whole sum of his loyalty was in the tone.
“Will you look on the path to the woods? Try
to discover, if it is not there, if the detective has
it.”
“Yes. Have you asked Forrest about it?"
A spasm of fear contorted her face. "He must
know nothing,-nothing! Do you hear?”
Sam was mystified, but he assented. Her little
hands were like ice as he took them in his. They
seemed so piteously small against her black
dress. “How I long to drive all these fears and
horrors out of your life!” he said tenderly. "If
you would only let me! I have put myself blind-
ly at your service, and I am always coming up
against a stone wall. You do not trust me yet.”


THE HIDDEN PACKAGE 101
Involuntarily he had drawn her to him. She
was looking up into his eyes. Could it be pos-
sible that there was something other than friend-
ship there? Suddenly she drew away from him.
"I do trust you," she said, “or I should not
have told you as much as I have. But I cannot
tell you what would harm some one else. It is
not my secret; therefore, I have no right to hand
it on to another. You see that, don't you?”
Before he could speak, Mary was at the door.
“Dinner is served, Miss.”
They found Harry Forrest already in the din-
ing-room. He seemed preoccupied, and at first
the meal was a silent one.
“That fellow Blake is an awful fool!” he ex-
claimed suddenly, as if giving voice to his
thoughts.
"He's worse,” said Audrey, bitterly. "He's
a boor. You can feel sorry for a fool.”
“What's the matter?" Sam broke in, by an
effort making the question pointless. "Have you
been on the grill?”
“I should say I have! 'How long have you
been here?-You were related to the Judge,
were n't you?—What kind of work did you do
for him?— Did you like him? et cetera, et cetera,
et cetera,” he mimicked, and so perfectly, that
the others could hardly suppress a smile.
“But asking questions and ferreting out the


THE HIDDEN PACKAGE 103
sank it seemed to Sam that a look of weary fear
showed faintly in her shrouded face.
When the two men were left alone Sam turned
quickly to Forrest: "What did this fellow Blake
ask about Miss Torrance?"
The secretary measured him with a glance.
"He was not favorably impressed with her silence
on some matters," he said evasively.
Sam paused to light a cigarette, and then
abruptly changed the subject. "Are you going
to stay on?" he asked.
"I doubt if I could leave now, if I wanted to!"
Forrest's tone had as much defiance as anger.
Then with a complete change of manner that had
a touch of nervousness in it, "Do you know if
Blake is returning here to-night?" he asked.
"Yes, he is. He told me so."
The secretary finished his dinner in preoccu-
pied silence. There was concentration of thought
in his eyes. This was so deep that he remained
mute when Sam, to break the silence, asked him
a trivial question. A moment later he rose
hurriedly.
"You '11 excuse me? I 've something to attend
to," he said, and, avoiding Sam's eyes, he went
out.
His manner and actions left a feeling of uneasi-
ness in Sam's mind, and involuntarily he stepped
out into the hall. He could hear the secretary go


104 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
into his room above and softly shut the door.
Careful to throw away his cigarette, he walked
upstairs to the study. But before he had a
chance to touch the electric button the door op-
posite opened slowly. Forrest was standing,
listening, outlined by the light behind him, and
in his hand was the brown parcel tied with blue
string. Sam, almost breathless, watched him go
cautiously up to the third floor. As cautiously
he followed and, peering through the banisters,
saw him enter a room and shut the door.
He barely had time to step into a niche at the
turn of the stairs, when the man returned,
stopped in the opening, then at the head of the
steps, listened, and crept down without a sound.
Sam waited. When perfect quiet pervaded the
house, he went into the room that the other had
just left.
It was empty except for a few trunks and they
were locked.
The open window caught his attention.
“Could he have thrown it away? Was it the
knife?" ran through his mind. He leaned out
at the open casement. In that shadowy spot the
stars gave little light. Nothing could be seen.
His hand felt the eaves, and by some impulse he
ran it along a good distance to left and right,
then under, into the curve going beneath the sill.
A sharp board jutting out scratched him. When


THE HIDDEN PACKAGE 105
his fingers met an unexpected obstruction below
this, they fastened upon it and he carefully drew
it out.
It was the brown parcel tied with blue string.
His eyes, hushed in expression, had a curious
look of triumph as he secreted it inside his coat.
A moment later he had reached the study,
turned on the light, and was bending over some
papers.
The door to the secretary's room opened. “Oh,
it's you!” he said casually, yet with a certain
uneasiness. “I thought our worthy sleuth had
arrived."
Sam forced a smile. The man was becoming
almost repugnant to him. "I imagine there's
nothing else to be found here," he said at last,
indicating the papers.
“No, I don't think they are very valuable,"
was the other's reply.
“Do you know any one named Anne Wolfe?”
Sam asked, following a sudden thought.
The answer came with assured frankness :
“No, I don't. Why?”
Sam drew the old check from his wallet and
held it to him. “I found this a little while ago.
What do you make of it?”
Forrest examined it as carefully as Sam form-
erly had done. He looked up, his expression


106 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
honestly blank: "Nothing," he said. <rWhere did
you get it?"
"Eight here."
"I never heard the Judge, nor any one else,
mention that name and," with an astonished
glance at the paper, "I 've never even seen this
before."
"Well, I 'm going to run it down and see if
there's anything in it."
"I would," was the reply. His voice was ear-
nest, and Sam thought relieved. Sam regarded
him closely.


CHAPTER XV
INTRODUCING BILLY FELLOWES
AUDREY met Sam as he reached the hall.
"What did that fellow want?" he asked,
suddenly remembering the constable's man.
"He was just a kind old man, who wanted to
let me know that he was here," she replied.
Sam felt relieved. Yet she seemed so imma-
ture, standing there, that the sudden feeling of
protectiveness which swept over him, linked with
his love for her, became an agony of fear. From
the first moment of their meeting she had seemed
golden, glorious youth to him. And even now
under all this horror she was like a little child
groping for its next step. If the tragedy of her
situation had taken root in her soul, it had not
sufficed to brush away that bloom that would
always mean Audrey to him. He was not aware
of the intensity of his gaze, until he noticed a
timidity creep into her eyes.
She held her hand out with a pathos that
touched him, and he took it tenderly in his.
"You will not forget to look on the path for
what I told you I had lost?" Her voice was
107


INTRODUCING BILLY FELLOWES 109
out of his pocket a flashlight, which he always
carried with him, he carefully examined every
step of the way. At last he reached the spot
where on that dreadful night he had found her
lying, and getting down on his hands and knees
he went over it carefully. Nothing. The leaves
were matted on the ground from the recent rain,
and the place had a dank, musty smell.
He retraced his steps and reached his house
from the rear. The old couple did not hear him
come in, and as he mounted the stairs to his room
he could hear their voices on the top floor. When
he had shut his door, he drew from his pocket
the parcel that Forrest had hidden. When he
had finished the unwrapping, lying facing him,
to his amazement, was a letter addressed to
Judge Torrance at Wedgewood. It had come
from a town out West and the postmark was
two years old.
There was a momentary hesitation both in his
look and touch as he stood there. A strange,
chilled feeling passed over him with full realiza-
tion that he held in his hand a letter that had
been written to the dead man,-one that he must
have valued inordinately; one that no doubt he
had purposely kept hidden, and that his secre.
tary for some reason of his own meant to keep
from the entanglement of the net about the
murder.


110 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
He could not help the feeling at the moment
that he was taking advantage of the dead man's
helplessness,—an interloper; an eavesdropper.
The sensation was not pleasant . With almost
the first words this feeling vanished under the
consciousness that chance had placed in his
hands a vital statement which he would use only
for good. He read:
Deer Juge:
I 'm a goner and I got to tell the truth. I beat and
robbed John Ward, and that Billy Fellowes you got is
innercent. He was n't there. I was bummin' through the
town, and Ward promised me a job. He cheated me after
workin' for him a week, and I got drunk. I saw Fellowes
in his shop as I went by to get even with Ward. I had
him down and out before he knew what hit him, and then
took what was comin' to me and more, and beat it out of
town. I stayed quiet a while and got the papers and found
you were on the wrong track. The feller that said he saw
Billy Fellowes there lied. I jumped a freight goin' west
but met with an accident. These farmers who took me in
have sworn to send this letter on to you. This is the truth.
I 'm dyin' or I would n't tell it.
Tommy Foley.
Then followed the testimonials of the farmer
and his wife and a note to the effect that the
man had died at half-past nine o'clock that morn-
ing.
Who was Billy Fellowes? What was his con-
nection with Forrest? Why had the latter hid-
den this letter? Sam's brain was teeming with
questions.
As he stooped to pick up the wrapper that had


112
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
the two places and turn toward the Torrance
house.
Although he listened intently for some time,
his eyes straining in that direction, whoever or
whatever it was had disappeared.


CHAPTER XVI
FOLLOWING UP THE CLUB
M HE dignity that always attends the pres-
ence of the dead was over the Torrance
house when Sam reached it the next morning.
The funeral was just over. A quick glance told
him that Audrey was not there. And as he
watched them placing the coffin in the hearse,
saw all that was now Judge Torrance borne
away, Audrey, her face shielded by a heavy veil,
came slowly downstairs and stepped into a
carriage.
At last Sam found himself alone, with an hour
or so on his hands before he could get word to
her of his fruitless search, so he set off for the
village in an attempt to locate John Ward.
As he turned into the main street he saw the
detective in conversation with a stranger. Blake
hailed him: “Hullo! Is it over?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sam answered graciously, though his
eyes were keen and watchful of the man.
“Busy?"
“This is Ben Crane, who wrote that letter to
113


114 WITHIN FOUE WALLS
the Judge that the coroner laid such store by.
He just got out of the hospital to-day," signifi-
cantly. The man mumbled a greeting and moved
off. "That puts him outside the class of sus-
pects," he said jovially. "Birdsall 's slow; he
has n't got within shouting distance of him yet.
I met him getting off the train. The abusive
letter came from the army coop at Lakewood.
I 'm off to the house now, to have a quiet peek
by myself." Waving his hand airily, he dis-
appeared around the corner.
Outside the general store four men were sit-
ting, discussing the murder. They fell into
silence as Sam approached them.
"Good morning," he began pleasantly.
"Maybe it is, and maybe it is n't," said one of
them, spitting on the grass.
Sam sat down on the steps near them and
pulled out his pipe. He had the appearance of
being perfectly at home, though far from
feeling it.
"Can you tell me where John Ward lives
around here?" he said in a friendly tone.
"If you keep askin' maybe you '11 find out,"
said the same one and gave a belligerent hunch
to his shoulders, while an amused chuckle passed
through the group.
Sam sat on, smoking imperturbably. He was


FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 115
inwardly irritated, but determined not to show
it . His eye was attracted by a large gilt sign on
a garage opposite. It read:
JOHN WARD
AUTOMOBILE SUPPLIES AND ACCESSORIES
"I see your point," he said courteously, "so I
won't trouble you any longer. Thank you for
the information." And, getting up, he knocked
the ashes out of his pipe and crossed the street.
John Ward was in and Sam introduced him-
self. "I 'm a stranger here," he said, with a
frank directness, "and I 'd like to ask you a few
questions, if you can give me a minute of your
time."
"Fire away!" and Ward, swinging back in his
chair, pushed a box of cigars toward his visitor.
He was a stout, pleasant man, about thirty years
of age, with a broad, good-humored face.
"Thank you, I won't smoke," Sam replied,
"I 've just finished a pipe."
"What's on your mind?" the man asked, and
his look took on a more intent interest. "I saw
you with the village wags across the street.
They 're nice fellows, all right, but will have
their fun."
"If I had to run up against that sort of thing
much," Sam burst out, "I 'd get out. I 've been


116 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
all over the world, but I've never met that spe-
cies before."
"Well, they would n't stay like that, you know.
You 're a stranger. Once they get you placed,
you 're all right.”
“Mr. Ward, I want to ask you a few very
serious questions, and I hope you 'll tell me what
you can."
“Of course."
“Who is Billy Fellowes ?”
John Ward looked at the speaker silently for
what seemed a long time, though scarcely a mo-
ment. “Why, there's no reason why I should n't
tell you that,” he drawled. "He had a garage
here in town two years ago, and he got into
trouble.”
“Tell me something of that trouble, will you?
It's just what I want to know."
“Well that's a rather ticklish question to ask
me. You see, we were rivals and, although I was
the stranger and Fellowes a native here, after a
while the greater part of the trade swung my
way. Not the town trade, exactly, but every-
thing that passed through, and that's the big-
gest part here. I did n't know, myself, how it
happened. Fellowes got kind of sore about it
and sort of dropped out of things and, the first
thing we knew, he'd smashed. One night I came
in here to finish up something and, before I knew


FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 117
it, I was knocked out. When I came to, the place
had been robbed and one of the hands that
worked here was passing by and sent in the
alarm. I did n't see the man who robbed me.
But there was one who saw Fellowes in this
shop about that time. Well, anyway, they got a
conviction against him, but he got away.”
"Did you suspect any one?” Sam asked.
"No, I did n't. As far as I knew, I had no
enemies. I never even thought him an enemy,
although I had unintentionally queered his
business."
"Did you know any one named Tommy
Foley ?"
"Wait a minute.” He ran quickly through
some old books. "Yes, I fired him that week.
He was worthless. Why?”
“Well, he's the fellow that robbed you,” Sam
said quietly.
"How the deuce do you know that?” leaning
forward with a look of genuine surprise. "By
Jove, I never even thought of him! But then
I'd had to fire a lot of them, so it was n't
strange.”
“Do you know any one named J. Bronson ?”
continued Sam.
“Why, that must be Joshua Bronson! He's
the town handy man. Works on places around
Ian


118 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
here. In fact, he was one of the men that testi-
fied to seeing Fellowes leaving my place about
the time of the robbery. What is all this, any-
way? Let a fellow in."
"I '11 tell you after a minute," Sam said ex-
citedly. "Who else testified to it?"
"There was only one other, a sort of a cousin
of Bronson's, Alfred Ferguson. He was a letter-
carrier here for the rustic delivery, and disap-
peared a year ago after a fight with Josh. They
say the quarrel was about money."
"Answer me this: Did Judge Torrance convict
Fellowes?"
"Yes, and the people in town were pretty sore
on him, too. Really, I don't like to speak against
the dead, but he did conduct that trial in a very
peculiar manner. There were times when
you 'd almost swear he felt animosity toward
Fellowes."
"One more question," Sam said, as he wiped
his damp forehead. "Did this Bronson ever work
for Torrance?"
"Yes, come to think of it, he did—in a way,
does still. He tends to all the furnaces in the
big places where there are no men-servants, and
cuts the lawns, too. I have n't seen him around
for days."
"How well did Judge Torrance know this
Ferguson?"


FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 119
The other pursed his lips and looked into the
distance: "Oh, fairly well. I do remember seeing
him talking to him now and then as he went on
his rounds."
"What was the date of Fellowes's conviction?"
Sam asked suddenly.
John Ward opened an old letter-file and took
out a newspaper clipping: "June third, nineteen-
seventeen," he said.
Taking the scrawled letter out of his pocket,
Sam looked at the date on the envelop. It was
May 18,1917. The confession had therefore been
received sixteen days prior to Judge Torrance's
sentencing of Fellowes. His head swam.
"Well, give me the answer," the other said
earnestly. "I 've told you all I know."
"I can rely on you, Mr. Ward, to say nothing
about this until I tell you to?" he asked.
"Absolutely."
Sam handed over the letter to him and the big
man read it carefully: "I paid him all he was
worth and more, for he was n't worth a cent,"
he said when he had finished.
"Wait a moment. Tell me what you think of
these," said Sam, laying the canceled checks on
the desk.
Ward studied them for a few moments quietly
and compared the dates of the clipping with the


120 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
paper he had in his hand. "This," he said, tap-
ping it, "looks like a put-up job by Torrance,
and these," waving to the checks, "the price
Bronson got for his part of the business, which
later turned into blackmail,—for the payments
have become bigger and bigger."
"Since what you 're told me that's exactly as
I see it," Sam said in a low voice.
"Some one I cannot mention," Ward went on,
"came to me one day and said they knew Fel-
lowes was innocent,—that it was personal malice
that convicted him, and asked me not to press
the charge if he ever returned to town. I told
this party that I would not,—in fact, that in my
heart I had come to believe him innocent. This
same person showed me paid advertisements of
my place, in papers of neighboring towns and
New York, and asked if I 'd put them in. I
hadn't. Some one bent on destroying the boy
had used me as an instrument. I promised to be
silent until the thing was worked out, and I
have kept my promise."
"Have you seen Fellowes around lately?" Sam
asked.
"No, he never came back," and then with a
sudden thought: "My God! What do you
mean?"
"Oh, nothing exactly," Sam answered guard-


FOLLOWING UP THE CLUE 121
edly. "Only I wondered if he had ever come
back."
But the thought flashed through Sam's mind
as he left: "If Fellowes was here that night, I
think I have Judge Torrance's murderer."


CHAPTER XVII
THE KNIFE-CASE
MLOSING the door of Ward's garage behind
him, Sam strolled down the street. Fol-
lowing up this startling possibility that had oc-
curred to him, he felt that his next move was to
find out whether or not Fellowes had been seen
around the town recently. In his heart he was
sorry for the man who had been so deeply
wronged, but he dismissed the weakness when he
thought of Audrey with the searchlight of the
law turned on her.
“Blake was right,” he thought; “it is gang-
work, but the accomplice is n't the one he thinks,
-it's Harry Forrest. He knew this secret and
must have given the information to Fellowes and
then, fearing Blake, hidden the evidence."
His first step was to go and see Bronson and
wring from him, if possible, a verification of
what Ward and he both believed to be his part
in the affair. Following the directions he had
jotted on a card, he found himself outside a hovel
in the poorest quarter of the village.
122


THE KNIFE-CASE
123
No answer came to his repeated knocks, so he
tried the knob and the door opened unresistingly.
Over in one corner of the poorly ventilated
room was a cot. A man was lying on it, fully
dressed, his body racked with steady coughing.
Sam hurried to him. He was burning with a
fever and his glazed eyes stared helplessly at the
intruder.
“You 're Bronson?” Sam asked, leaning over
him.
The man nodded and tried to speak, but broke
into another fit of coughing.
There was no one else in the room and the
interior gave evidence of only one occupant. Sam
hurried to the door and, seeing a woman watch-
ing him curiously from the house across the
street, went over to her. “That man Bronson is
very ill,” he said earnestly. “Has he had a
doctor?"
“I know narthin' 'bout it. Mebbe not. He's
been lyin' there for over a week.”
“Have you a telephone?”
She nodded and opened the door and he hur-
ried in and called up Ward. He told him what
he had discovered, and the other, instantly in-
terested, offered to notify the hospital and hurry
over, himself.
When he arrived with the doctor, Joshua
Bronson was unconscious. They could do noth-


124 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
ing but wait for the ambulance that would take
him to the hospital.
Sam left the place with Ward, and told him
of the man's effort to speak.
"Too bad he could n't," the other said, when
he had finished. "He might have blurted out
something of this secret that would have helped
to clear things up."
"I 'm going to turn over this evidence to Bird-
sail and let him follow him up. If he never
speaks, what I have here is pretty straight."
And Sam, bidding Ward good-by, started for
Torrance house.
The blinds had been raised, he observed as he
came within sight of the house, and as he entered
the hall the sound of voices reached him from
the parlor. He looked in. Audrey, Mr. Jame-
son, and Blake were there. The detective was
speaking.
"I found this knife-case in your wardrobe, back
of your dresses. It is yours, is n't it?"
"Yes," from Audrey.
"When did you put it there?"
"I did n't."
"What sort of knife did it contain?" he
continued.
"It had an ivory handle, and a long, sharp
blade," she replied.
"When did you have it last?"


THE KNIFE-CASE 125
She thought a moment. "I don't remember,
exactly."
"Where did you keep it?"
"On the desk in my room."
"When do you remember seeing it there last?"
"I can't tell you that, either. It was always
lying on my desk unless disturbed by a maid."
"Would you mind telling me where you got it
and when?" His tone was oily.
"It's impossible for me to recall the exact
year, but Mr. Batcheller brought it back from
one of his travels for me."
"Have you ever used it?"
"Yes."
"For what?"
"I opened letters with it, as I had no paper-
cutter."
"Did you use it to open the letter you received
the day of the murder?" He leaned over and
watched her face.
"No, I do not think so. I believe I tore it
open."
"Did you look for it then and miss it?" he
asked.
"No, I do not think so."
"Yet you opened all your other letters with
this knife!" smoothly.
"I did not say that; I said I wed it for open-


126 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
ing letters. I cannot say positively what I did
with every letter."
"You wish us to gather, then, that your
anxiety was such that you could not wait to use
the knife to open this particular letter?"
Although Sam realized Blake was but follow-
ing the clue he thought valuable, he so resented
the man's manner that it was with an effort he
restrained himself from giving the blow his
clenched hands were ready for.
"I did not mean you to assume anything of
the sort." Her tone was cutting, yet a trifle
hysterical. "But I can easily see how you would
think such a thing." And with eyes blinded by
tears she rushed through the door and into Sam's
arms.
He held her for a moment and then drew her
into the hall. "Don't mind him, dear. He has
a hideous manner and can't help it!" he said
soothingly. "There's one thing evident: he
hasn't got the letter."
"You don't think so?" she whispered.
"Not he. Blake 's not the sort that can keep
a thing up his sleeve. You remember how he
shook the torn envelop in your face in the study?
Well, he 'd have shaken the letter to-day, if he
had it."
"Did you search along the path?"
"Yes; it is n't there."


THE KNIFE-CASE 127
The voice of the detective, which had reached
them from the parlor, suddenly stopped, and
Audrey, with a proud lift of her head, went
slowly up the stairs.
"I say, Blake," Mr. Jameson said irritably as
he followed him into the hall, where Sam was
standing, "you pushed that rather far, you
know."
"Look here,"—the detective swung around—
"you sent for me to discover Judge Torrance's
murderer, did n't you?"
"Yes, of course, but—"
"Well, that's what I 'm trying to do," shortly.
"You forget," Mr. Jameson replied with dig-
nity, "that Miss Torrance engaged you to find
the murderer of her father."
"Whew! So that's it. Now, you listen to me
a moment," the other broke in. "Was I brought
down here to find the murderer, or to fool around
for effect? If it's the latter, I '11 quit right now.
I 'm a private detective,, but I don't handle that
sort of a job. If you want me to get to the bot-
tom of this thing, you 've got to give me free
rein, see?"
"You have had it," said the lawyer, shortly,
"but I do wish you 'd be a little gentler in your
methods. Now, in questioning Miss Torrance,
—she has had a terrible shock, you know!"
"Has she?" the other broke in with sarcasm.


128 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"It's my personal opinion that if I knew the
contents of that mysterious letter and made her
acquainted with the fact, you 'd see a real, live
shock on these premises."
"What are you getting at?" Mr. Jameson in-
quired testily.
"Just this: If I could get that young lady off
her guard," he said with a viperish look, "I could
lay my hands on the murderer in ten minutea"
Unable to trust himself further, the old law-
yer hastily picked up his hat and went silently
out of the house.
"You certainly put both feet in it that time,"
Sam said seriously. Inwardly he was in a rage,
but he forced a smile. "I don't see what evidence
you have to warrant such a statement."
"You 're like a lot of men," Blake said patron-
izingly. "Even that old duck has been bowled
over by her pretty face. Wait till you 've seen
some of the things I have. You 're green." He
laughed derisively. "Read your history. Look
at the faces of the famous poisoners. You 'd
never think it of them, the dear things. No,
thanks! no Jane will ever pull the wool over this
boy's eyes! Come down with me to the east side
of New York sometime. I '11 show you some
Molls with a swell prison record. Why, butter 'd
melt in their mouths! Don't you kid yourself


THE KNIFE-CASE
129
that birth or class has anything to do with it, or
looks either!"
“No, thanks, yourself,” Sam laughed back at
him. “I prefer the opinion I've got."
"You 're pretty gullible," the detective replied
comradely, “but I like you,” as though confer-
ring a favor upon him. “Let me know when you
get stung, and I'll pull you out.”
Sam forced himself to shake hands with him
as they parted.


CHAPTER XVIII
THE KNIFE
DINNER is served, sir." Sam turned
around, to find Nora standing in the
doorway.
"Can you hold it up a bit?" he replied. "I
want to speak with you and Thomas in the li-
brary a moment."
She stood staring at him for a few seconds and
then, slowly regaining her composure, answered,
though her words came falteringly: "I will, sir,"
and backed out of the door in a dazed way.
In silence Sam watched her go. He was
puzzled by her manner, but the new uneasiness
for Audrey that was gripping him forced Nora
from his mind and he hastened downstairs.
Both servants were in the room, waiting, when
he reached it.
"Thomas," he began, "I first heard of Miss
Torrance through you, and because you spoke so
warmly of her, and how kind she had been to you
and Nora, I felt sure if she ever needed any
assistance, you 'd both be willing to give it. Am I
130


THE KNIFE 131
right?" He thought he saw a look of relief pass
over the old man's face.
"Mr. Lane," he said with a sudden dignity,
"I can speak for my wife as well as for myself.
There is nothing that we could do for Miss
Audrey that would be too much."
Nora nodded at his words, too moved to speak.
"Would you be willing to take a great risk for
her?" he asked, his heart expanding at their
loyalty.
"Only tell us what we can do," brokenly, "and
we will do it," came from the old man.
Sam reflected a moment. "She's in great
trouble," he finally said, "greater even than she
realizes. They are trying, as you know, to find
out who killed her father, and I learned for a
certainty to-night that the detective suspects
her."
Thomas lurched forward. The faces of the
old couple were blank with horror.
"He could n't—" the man began furiously, and
the veins on his forehead stood out like cords.
"He does. You 've read the papers, undoubt-
edly, and know that she had an argument with
her father that night, and was seen to leave the
library where he was. She was the last one with
him before his body was discovered." He spoke
gravely. "Let me add to that the fact that this
fellow Blake found a knife-case hidden back of


132 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
her dresses in the wardrobe—the knife gone—
and you must admit it looks bad for her."
Thomas's head sagged, while Nora stood help-
lessly, her hands clutched together.
"Now I don't know whether it's going to get
any worse. Maybe this will all blow over," he
said hopefully. "If they indict her," he said
after a pause and his voice shook, "will you help
me to hide her here, if I can get her away, until
the affair straightens out?"
They came over to him, with earnest faces.
Nora spoke: "We cannot work this out as clever-
ly as you can, sir, but we will protect her with
our lives."
"You know what it means if you are caught?"
solemnly. "At your age you would hardly sur-
vive the prison experience and come out alive;
so it would be equivalent to a life sentence."
"No matter," said Thomas, sadly. "Our lives
have been long and if the remainder is shortened
in a cause like this, we are willing. It's no more
than our old master would have done for her, if
he were here."
Sam looked at the two old people,—so willing
to end their respectable days in ignominy, if need
be, for one who had served them and whom they
loved,—and for a moment he was overcome.
"God bless you both," came from him huskily.
"I 'm taking this chance with you—glad to take


THE KNIFE 133
it." And he placed his hands kindly on Thomas's
arm. "Now to business. Jutting off the billiard-
room is a secret alcove,—I don't know whether
you know of it or not. Miss Audrey can use the
large room and shut herself up in the alcove if
the house is searched."
The startled look that passed between the
couple puzzled him for a moment, but he put
it aside.
"That is the simplest part," he went on, en-
grossed in his plan, "the rest is difficult. I want
to get that smart Aleck of a detective off the
scene and I 've got to start a false scent to do it.
Do you know any one about Miss Audrey's size,
who, wearing her clothes and heavily veiled,
could pass for her? Some one you could trust
absolutely?"
As he waited for the answer a look of delight
came into the old woman's face. "Yes," she
cried. "My granddaughter Rose would fit the
description exactly, and she is devoted to Miss
Audrey."
"Get the word to her then, Nora, at once. I
don't know how quickly I '11 have to act. I '11
try to get the clothes to-night. Have her in close
touch with you, so that when I get the word to
you she will take the very next train for New
York. It's a sure bet that Blake will enquire at
the station. Have her appear to keep out of


134 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
sight, but the station-agent must see her get on
the south-bound train."
And so it was that Sam, having finished his
dinner, hastened to the Torrance house in the
hope of seeing either Audrey or Kate, and in
any event learning if anything new had happened
during his absence. When he reached the door
it was opened by the detective and the satisfac-
tion in his face filled Sam with foreboding.
"Is Miss Torrance here?" Sam asked, and his
voice seemed strange.
"She's here, right enough," Blake said signifi-
cantly. "I 'm waiting for her to come to the
parlor. We 're about to ring down the curtain
on the first act."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll listen to your Uncle Dudley after
this, I guess," the detective replied, drawing the
knife-case out of his pocket. "You remember
this bit of evidence, huh? Well, I got its mate,"
and he produced a sharp East-Indian knife With
an ivory handle, which he held gingerly by the
blade. "It may be too late to help, but I'm
keeping my finger marks off it."
Opening the case, he put the knife snugly in
its place, and Sam noticed with horror that it
was stained with dried blood. The case clicked
shut. "Fits like a glove," said Blake, smacking
his lips.


THE KNIFE 135
All the natural decency in Sam revolted at
this creature's smug satisfaction in stalking
fellow-beings to their death. His hands knotted
on his hat. "Where did you get it?" he asked
at length, and his voice was hoarse.
"On the path to the woods" precisely.
"No! My God, you couldn't!" he burst out.
"I 've been down that path twice since the mur-
der, looking for something I had lost, and I
should have seen it."
"You did n't know where to look." The other
smiled.
"I was looking carefully with a flashlight and
could n't have missed it. That's been placed
since nine o'clock yesterday evening, and Miss
Torrance, as you know, has never left the house,
except to attend her father's funeral in a
carriage."
"It wasn't in the house, for I looked from
garret to cellar. She didn't leave,—no, but
others did," he added significantly, "and if it
was placed later, as you say, the accomplice
either double-crossed her or got frightened on
the way to the sound back of your house and had
to put it somewhere and make their escape. It's
my belief that she dropped it the night she ran
out, the night of the murder."
Audrey was coming swiftly downstairs and


136 WTTHDT FOUB WALLS
the detective went to meet her. She led the way
to the parlor.
With a feeling that whatever he did he must
do quickly, Sam turned into the library and
after a moment's reflection scribbled a hasty
note. The plan was a wild one, hastily thought
of, and, he felt, might because of its very bold-
ness get by. He hastened back into the hall just
in time to see Kate descending the stairs.
"Make a bundle of a traveling-suit, hat, and
veil of Miss Torrance's," he whispered, "and
throw them out of her window at once. When
she returns to her room give her this note," slip-
ping it into her hand, "and tell her to obey it
implicitly. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, and
when I come, you must see that Mary and Sarah
are not in the kitchen. Get them upstairs on
some pretext, but be sure to be there yourself,
ltulse your hand to your hair, when you let me
in and I'll know that everything is O. K."
With a quick, comprehensive nod she flew
lightly upstairs.
Sam could hear the voices in the parlor from
where he stood. Would she do as he asked?
Would she impersonate Kate? And if she did
would it work? His hands shook as he lighted
& cigarette and strolled out. A soft parcel landed
almost at his feet as he turned the corner. Snatch-
ing it up, he ran, stooping, toward his house.


CHAPTER XIX
THE ESCAPE
HENRY BLAKE was telephoning when
Sam returned to the Torrance house.
Kate opened the door and gave the signal that
let him know that Audrey had consented to the
plan and that the coast was clear.
Sam walked casually toward the open library
door, and the detective, turning toward him,
hung up the receiver.
"Hullo, Lane. What's on your mind?" he
asked amusedly as he followed Sam into the
room.
"Just something I want your opinion on," the
other answered. "Read this," and he handed
the detective Foley's letter.
Blake read it in silence. "Well?"
"Now look at these checks!" When the detec-
tive had finished, Sam told of his conversation
with John Ward.
"What do you want me to make of all this?"
Blake asked. "I told you it was gang-work and
it is, but the clique's stronger than I thought.
Do you know where this Fellowes is?"
137


138
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
· "No," Sam answered.
“Well, he might have been here and he might
have been five thousand miles away, but that
does n't change my hunch a bit. Get the woman,
I say, and the man will talk."
“But-good heavens !—you 're not going to
pillory her this way if you're not sure?” ..
"Oh, I'm sure, all right, but I'm out after
them all. You can lay a safe bet that I'm not
going to let the drawing card slip through my
fingers, though.”
Sam's eyes burned as he looked at Blake.
“Don't you think that you may have misjudged
her?” he asked, offering him a cigarette and
lighting one himself.
Flushed with victory, Blake boastfully showed
his hand to witness Sam's discomfiture. He
replied with a laugh. "Not a bit of it! I
know that kind from A to Z,-bluffers, all
of them. Well, this little miss will be tod-
dling off to the lock-up in a few minutes. I've
telephoned the coroner and he's on his way up
now with Warren in a rig,” and he crossed the
room with a strut. “I'm sorry for you, old
fellow. You 're stung; I know you like her.
You've been a dead-game sport in this, Lane,
even when we did n't agree, and I've got to
hand it to you. I like the way you lose. It's
clean."


THE ESCAPE 139
"Thanks," Sam responded dryly. "We had to
take a few things like that on the other side," he
went on without humor. "But there was some-
thing else I learned there too,—that you never
knew when you were licked."
"You 're all right," said the other. "I 've
thought so from the first time I clapped eyes on
you," and he laughed heartily.
"When do you think Warren will get here?"
Sam asked, by an effort keeping his voice steady.
"Oh, not for ten minutes," answered the detec-
tive, consulting his watch. "Why?"
Sam pointed to the checks lying on the desk.
"Then you can spare me a moment more of your
time. Would you mind casting your eyes over
these again? You barely looked at them before.
Do you see anything queer about those en-
dorsements?"
He could feel a fluttering in his ears as the
detective drew a chair up and pulled out a mag-
nifying-glass. For a moment he watched Blake
silently. "These nights are too warm for me,"
he said, throwing open the window, "I 'm not
used to them after trench weather." And he
tossed his lighted cigarette into the night,—far
enough out to be seen by any one watching from
the window above.
"Been in the thick of it, have you?" asked the


140 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
other, glancing at him a moment and then turn-
ing back to his glass.
"I certainly have,—was wounded pretty badly
over there." He thought he heard a light step on
the stair and plunged on: "It was a stray shot,
too, not meant for me, but it came to stay. It
makes a fellow feel queer sometimes to think
he 's carrying some foreign matter around with
him for the rest of his life." The steps had
reached the hall. "But some of the lads," he
went on, hardly knowing what he was saying,
"were carried off by it, and that's worse."
"What's that?" exclaimed the detective sud-
denly. A board had creaked outside. Sam went
toward the door with leisurely steps which be-
lied the throbbing of his heart, while the detec-
tive, who had jumped from his chair, followed
him. One false move on Sam's part now and the
game was lost. They reached the door in time
for Henry Blake to see a maid, apparently in
tears, disappear through the pantry door.
"Kate takes it pretty badly, I guess," the
detective said, returning to his seat. Cute little
thing. Now about these checks," consulting his
watch. "They 're all in the same hand, right
enough, but the fellow was probably drunk when
he endorsed some of them. It's blackmail, as
sure as you live. Where did you say you got
them?"


THE ESCAPE 141
"I did n't say," Sam returned, "but I '11 tell
you now. Harry Forrest concealed them before
the coroner went through the papers. They must
have been in that tin box under the desk."
"Good Lord, yes! I remember that."
"Well, I saw him hide them and I dug them
up."
"It all dovetails, just as I thought. Forrest
is a man that will hang himself if you give him
a long rope. We '11 let him run a little longer."
The doorbell rang and in a few minutes the
coroner and the constable entered the room.
"Where is the knife?" asked Dr. Birdsall.
When the detective had handed it over, with the
marks of dry blood upon it, Sam for the first
time saw a look of agitation in those sharp eyes.
"It's what did the trick, all right. Yes, yes,
by Harry! that steel went into Lloyd Torrance's
heart."
"No doubt about it," and the constable nodded.
"That was downright smart of you, Blake.
Where did you find it?"
"In the path between the two houses. It was
under that large lilac-bush, covered with leaves."
"How did you come to look in that particular
spot?" the coroner asked.
"Well, in reading the notes of the inquest I
discovered that Miss Torrance was met by Mr.
Lane on the night of the murder 'on the path to


142 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
the wood*, between the two house*/ " looking at
8am a* though he had scored, "So I went on
my bandit and knees over every inch of the path
between the two houses, found the bush, and
there it was!"
Ham Lane was staring at him, horrified, as he
recalled his testimony. He, who loved her, had
brought Audrey's house toppling about her ears,
and he had done this in an effort to shield her.
In trying to cover her flight through the woods,
her excitement and fear, from the eyes of those
who would misjudge her, he had shown the real
culprit how apparent guilt might be fixed upon
her.
A dazed look had come into the constable's
eyes. "But that's queer," he said with an em-
phatic abruptness. "I did the identical thing
myself, ahead of you, and never found it."
"When did you look there?" Sam asked quick-
ly, ugain becoming conscious of the conversation.
"After the inquest," was the answer.
"And so did I," said Sam, talking to gain
time, "und I 'd take my oath there was nothing
there. And, come to think of it, I remember sit-
t lug at my window the night before the funeral,
smoking n cigarette, and I saw some one pass up
that path and go toward Torrance House. It
was so dark I could not make out who it was."
lilake interrupted in an irritated manner: "I


THE ESCAPE 143
told you when we discussed this earlier that some
one could have put it there for her."
"Hardly where she had admitted being," said
Sam.
"She did n't admit it, that's the point. You
did. And, as I said before, the accomplice might
have double-crossed her, or been frightened and
dropped it. But that's beside the point," and
he turned to the coroner: "We have the quarrel
and her refusal to explain it; the fact that her
father sent for his lawyer and asked him to bring
the will—you all know how she would have bene-
fited by it—also, that she was the last one seen
with him and that she rushed out of the house
without hat or coat on a stormy night, as near as
we know, at the exact time of the murder. We
have her refusal to surrender a letter she re-
ceived the day of the murder. Then the finding
of her knife-case, hidden back of her clothes in
the wardrobe. And later the knife where she is
known to have been. I claim that there is a
motive here, and sufficient for an arrest."
Some seconds passed before any one spoke
after this, while the ticking of the clock had an
uncanny sound.
"I am obliged to agree with you," said the
coroner, in a depressed tone, "and, I tell you,
this is one of the hardest things I have ever been
called upon to do." He rang the bell.


144
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
“To-night I turned over to Blake some evi-
dence I unearthed,” Sam began.
"It points to two probable accomplices,” the
detective broke in hurriedly. “One is evidently
the author of the letter from Zanzibar. Forrest
is the other, as I thought. Here are the articles,
and the testimony can be sworn to to-morrow by
Ward.”
Kate was standing in the doorway.
“Tell Miss Torrance I'd like to see her at
once, please," said the coroner. "By the way,"
turning to Blake, “what did she say when you
confronted her with this knife?”
"Denied it all, of course," the detective an.
swered. “Had not seen it! Did not put it
there! Knew nothing about it!” He smiled.
Kate had returned: “Miss Torrance-is not-
in her room," she said between gasps.
“What?” broke from the detective as he bolted
out at the door and up the stairs, taking the
steps three at a time.
"Search the grounds, Warren," said the coro-
ner. “I'll look around down here.” He crossed
to the kitchen.
When Henry Blake returned, he was white
with rage: “The little she devil !-she could n't
have gone any way except out of her window.
It's open and leads to a porch. But she could n't
have taken that drop herself, I don't think.


THE ESCAPE
145
She's smarter, even, than I thought. I guess
you have n't any doubts now, have you?”' to Sam.
“Where's Forrest?" Sam asked, ignoring the
question.
“In bed, sleeping."
The others returned to the room baffled.
“Birdsall,” Blake said, hurriedly, "you'd bet-
ter keep this house watched,-Forrest particu-
larly. I'm off to the station. I may pick her up
there.” The door banged behind him.
Sam looked at his watch. The south-bound
train had left ten minutes before. The coroner
asked him to be at his office the next morning,
to go over this new evidence that he had pro-
duced. And as Sam went out he met the con-
stable's man hurrying in.
His house seemed black as he neared it. There
were no lights visible anywhere. He looked to-
ward the billiard-room. It was quite dark. The
place loomed mysterious and secret in its unob-
trusive passivity in the midst of swaying oaks.


EXIT HENRY BLAKE 147
"Did you see her face?"
"No, but her clothes or something about her
was familiar."
"Do you know Miss Torrance by sight?"
"Yes. And, come to think of it, I believe that
was Miss Torrance, herself."
"In what direction was the train going?"
"South."
"Did any other come in at that time?"
"Yes, the north-bound train pulled in ahead of
it by a few minutes."
"You 're positive she took the south-bound?"
"Yes. I think I saw her off in the shadows
when the first train pulled out."
"Open up the station," the detective com-
manded. "I have to telegraph."
"The operator's gone and I don't know how
to work it," said the man. "You know, it's
closed for the night."
"Hang these one-horse villages, anyway!" the
other exclaimed irritably. "Where's the near-
est telephone?"
"Two blocks off, in the drug store."
"When does the next train leave for New
York?"
"In three quarters of an hour," was the an-.
swer. "It doesn't stop here unless signaled.
What's the matter, anyway?" But Henry Blake
was already out of ear-shot.


148 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
The train seemed to drag into every station on
the way, not missing one, and Blake, pacing the
aisle of the car impatiently, looked at his watch.
It lacked ten minutes of the time they were due
to arrive and from the window he could see they
were still a good way out. With each passing
moment his irritation grew.
“All this tommy-rot,” he thought, "about wo-
men! If Lane and that fool of a lawyer had n't
talked so much and felt so badly about the way
I was treating her, she'd never have had a chance
to slip this over on me. I thought she was too
clever to give herself away like this, but they 're
all alike; when the prison cell comes close, the
mask falls. Their only thought then is to save
their skins."
He looked at the return schedule with satis-
faction. There was another train leaving for
Wedgewood fifteen minutes after his was due.
Things were working into his hands at last. But
somehow he could not shake off the rankling
thought that Audrey Torrance had got the best
of him at almost every point in the game, and
that she might do it again.
James Cruikshank, his partner, was waiting
for him when he alighted, and standing beside
him at the gate was a very irate young woman.
She had on a smart traveling-suit and wore a
small hat. Her hair was black. For a moment


EXIT HENRY BLAKE
149
it seemed to Henry Blake as though the group
were twisting in fantastic shapes before his eyes.
He mopped his damp forehead.
“You detained this lady?" came huskily from
him.
“Yes," the other replied testily, "and I had
some time doing it."
“Well, she is not the one I am looking for."
“Not the one?” dully. “She was the only one
I saw get off the train.”
“You are mistaken!” her cool young voice
broke in between them. “There was another. I
remember her distinctly. She wore a dark veil
and limped a little. She passed while you were
talking to me."
“My God!” broke from Henry Blake, “that's
our quarry—the limp. Which way did she go?”
“I did n't notice. I was accosted by this per-
son and he made me follow him into the waiting-
room."
Blake turned furiously. "You're a fool,
Cruikshank! I told you brown hair.”
"I did n't see the other at all. This lady is the
only young woman I saw get off the train. Any-
way, you said nothing about a limp.”
“No, I did n't at first realize that, as she must
have left the house by jumping a good height,
from the window, she did n't get through with-
out damage."


150 WITHIN FOUK WALLS
"Well, let's get busy; we may catch up with
her yet." With a curt nod of dismissal to the
young woman from the man who had detained
her, they both hurried away.
Rose Wayne was cautious enough to be sure
that they had gone before she allowed a faint
smile of triumph, tinged with a mild contempt,
to flash over her face.
"Rather clever of me," she thought, "to use the
ruse of that open window and produce a limp
into the already tangled affair. I wish I dared
wire Granny, but I can't. And, as the Scotch
say, 'a joke 's na joke when shared wi' ony one
else."
Then the smile faded and her face settled into
lines of worry and sadness as she strolled out at
the door she had seen her pursuers hurry
through.


CHAPTER XXI
THE DRUNKEN CABMAN
THE next morning at breakfast Sam learned
how smoothly his plan had worked. Nora
brought him a note that had been left by Kate.
It ran:
I cut Mary's thumb purposely in helping her with some
sewing. Sarah is very handy fixing those things, so I got
her upstairs just before you came. I hid the bandages so
that she would have to hunt for them. I don't dare write
any more and you 'd better tear this up. Mr. Warren is
eating his breakfast and thinks I've gone to the outside
dairy for cream.
Kate.
"She's a trump," Sam said warmly, and
passed the note to Nora.
'Tou read it," she whispered, trembling as the
old will in excitement.
She listened intently as he told her with exact-
ness what it meant and all about the plan. This
done, the paper lay in shreds on his plate.
"I can assure you," he added jubilantly, "I
had some time keeping those men talking till I
was sure that train had pulled out; and the open
window was nothing short of an inspiration. It
threw Blake clear off."
151


152 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"It was a narrow squeak," Nora agreed. "Rose
is a smart girl, with a good education. He can't
trip her up in a hurry."
"There's nothing to worry about," said Sam.
"The only chance was that it might not prove
a false scent, and then we 'd have to think of
something else to get him out of the way. This
can only be a temporary hiding-place if he 's on
the spot. He got off on the wrong tack, but he's
a shrewd one, just the same."
When Nora went into the kitchen he followed
her. Rose and all that had concerned her had
vanished from his thoughts. A question near to
his heart was on his lips.
"Did she "he paused—"we '11 be careful
to mention no names, Nora. Did she sleep well?"
he asked while Nora put the bits of paper in the
stove.
"No, poor lamb, not a wink. I heard her
moving around all night."
"Tell her to stay in the alcove to-day if she
can,—not to venture into the billiard-room. I 'm
going downtown now to get the lay of the land,
and she must keep close till I give her the
word."
"I will," said Nora, placing some coffee and hot
biscuits on the tray to go upstairs.
Sam found the village street unusually de-


THE DKUNKEN CABMAN 153
serted except for one or two small groups in
holiday garments standing on the corners. The
stores were all closed.
He strolled over to the garage, where John
Ward was smoking and reading the newspaper.
"Good morning!" said Sam. "What's up? No-
body seems to be working."
"It's Election Day," replied the other, smiling.
"You 've been away too long. We 've got to get
a new set of men pulling down soft jobs here and
it's a serious business."
Sam warmed to his friendly cordiality and
drew up a chair.
"By the way," Ward continued, "there's been
a lot doing up your direction since I saw you
last." Suddenly serious: "Is it true that they
suspect Torrance's daughter, and that she dis-
appeared last night?"
"Yes. Where did you hear it?"
"Tom, the cabman. He's been spreading him-
self at the bar across the street, and one of the
fellows came in and told me."
A sudden thought struck Sam. "Is he there
now?"
John Ward leaned out at the window. "The
cab 's there. Why? Oh, I get you. You think
he'»in a proper mood to talk," and he laughed.
"Hit the nail on the head," Sam replied, with


154 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
a smile. He turned to go, but John Ward took
him by the arm.
"I was thinking over your last question about
Fellowes after I got home," he said seriously.
"I take it you suspect him of doing this job;
don't you?"
Sam hesitated a moment before replying, and
was reassured by the straight friendship in the
eyes of the other. "I feel I can trust you, Ward,"
he replied.
"Go right ahead feeling that way. I take quick
likes and quicker dislikes, and I know a real man
when I see one. I don't have to tell you, I guess,
that my mouth 's sealed if you say so," and he
stretched out his hand.
Sam grasped it warmly. "Well, you 're right
in what you thought," briefly, "but I don't want
it spread around till I have something to go on
except motive."
Ward nodded his head in silence. After a
pause he spoke suddenly: "I'm awfully sorry
about this. That sleuth must be crazy, to im-
agine that Miss Torrance could have done this
dreadful thing."
Sam laughed without much mirth.
"You know," the other continued, "it's bad
any way you look at it. Take Fellowes: It's
hard for me to think this of him, either. He was
a good sort. As for the old man, though of


THE DRUNKEN CABMAN 155
course somebody killed him, I can't feel sorry
for him. He has shown himself up as a bad lot
and, when you look at it in one way, he got
about what was coming to him. It always seems
a shame to me to track any one down for getting
rid of a snake."
"We have laws made to handle such as him.
Some one did it, and when you break a law you
pay. The absolute justice of the punishment has
nothing to do with it. Some one will have to
stand the gaff. The thing that concerns me is
that the one who is innocent shall not be put
through this horror."
John Ward looked at him seriously a moment.
"Sometimes the innocent suffer through caring
for the guilty," he said slowly.
For a space Sam stared at him. "Is there—
anything in this case—like that?" The words
were pregnant with suspense.
"Oh, I don't know anything about that," Ward
answered quickly. "I was thinking there was
always some one, who had nothing to do with it,
that would be hurt, you know. That's life. And
I just felt that the game wasn't worth the
candle."
"That's true enough," said Sam. "You make
the others see that, and I '11 throw the whole
thing up. But they won't, and the wind's blow-
ing the wrong way."


156 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
John Ward with a frown of perplexity settling
on his brow watched him across the street.
The bar was virtually deserted when Sam en-
tered it. There were tables standing at the end
of the room with chairs, most of which were
empty. He glanced quickly around. In a cor-
ner he recognized the cabman who had driven
him from the station, sitting besottedly over a
glass of beer.
"I '11 join a friend over here," he called to
the waiter. "Bring me the same." And he
took a seat opposite old Tom.
The man gazed at him stupidly a moment.
"You remember me, don't you?" asked Sam.
"You drove me up from the station when I first
came to Wedgewood. It wasn't long ago,
either."
A look of intelligence was dawning in the
other's face.
Sam recalled happily that he had given the
cabman a liberal tip on that occasion and quickly
perceived that Tom remembered it, too. For sud-
denly, as if from a pent-up volcano, began to flow
a torrent of maudlin woes so frightful that he
wondered how any human being could have sur-
vived them all. He listened patiently until the
old man had exhausted himself.
As though deeply moved, he reached for his


THE DRUNKEN CABMAN 157
pocket, the while conscious of the suspended
breathing on the other side of the table.
"I'll give you a lift, old fellow,” he said gen-
ially, producing an ample wallet that made his
comrade's eyes fairly bulge, "if you 'll do the
same for me.”
“What do you want?” wheezed the other.
“I have an old friend that used to live here,
whom I'm trying to find.” He felt a sudden
shame at his words, but forced himself to pro-
ceed. “You ’ve lived here a long while, have n't
you?” pleasantly.
“All my life,” the man replied.
“Then I guess you know this lad, all right,"
and Sam carelessly pulled out a substantial bill,
continuing as if the money were of no moment.
"I'm trying to locate Billy Fellowes," he went
on, appearing not to notice the sharp intake of
breath on the part of his companion. “Can you
tell me where he lives, around here?”
“He don't live here no more," came doggedly
from the old man.
“You mean he's never around these parts at
all?" Sam asked incredulously.
Old Tom seemed to have sobered considerably
and was looking first at him and then at the
bill. He wavered, however, as the waiter, sig-
naled by Sam, filled up the glasses again, and he
helped himself to a large gulp.


158 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I wouldn't say that, now," he temporized.
"He 's been back here once, I think."
"You saw him, you say?" said Sam, trying to
conceal his eagerness.
"I 'm pretty sure I did." Tom was looking
at the bill steadily now, and had discovered a
cipher beside the single figure that at first was
all he could make out.
"When?" Sam asked politely.
"The night you came, a feller got off the train
ahead o' you. I was hangin' round the station,
lookin' for a fare, and saw him go up the side
road, keepin' in the shadows. He looked mighty
familiar to me and I followed him a ways, but
then I lost him. It came to me then that it was
Bill and I was goin' to go back and try to find
him when the other train came in, and I gave it
up when I heard you call."
"Did he seem to have come a distance?" Sam
asked. "Did he carry any luggage?"
"Yes, plenty. A big bag and a big bundle that
he held close against him. But what do you want
to know all this for?" suddenly suspicious.
"He 's a friend of mine," Sam tried to say it
pleasantly, while the beads of perspiration stood
out on his forehead. He pushed the money across
the table.
The other seized it eagerly.
"He took an awful chance coming back here,"


THE DRUNKEN CABMAN 159
Sam continued, “after the treatment he got two
years ago.”
“Oh, you know about that?"
Sam nodded.
“He ain't got nothin' to be afeared of here, if
he only knowed it," said the old man, boastfully.
“There's not even a yeller dawg in this-yere town
that would give him up."
“Do you know where he is now?” suddenly.
“No, I ain't seen him round since,” was the
reply, “but I'd swear it was him I did see."
“And you may have to, my loquacious friend,”
thought Sam, as he left him on his way to the
coroner's.


CHAPTER XXII
HARRY FORREST
DR. BIRDSALL was sitting in his office
when Sam arrived there. On the desk
before him was an open telegram and he was
looking at it in bewilderment.
"Good morning, Mr. Lane!" He pushed the
slip of paper across to him. Sam read:
Partner picked up wrong woman. Was on train all night.
Limps. Have found no trace at hotels. Watch Forrest
and any mail going to house. Tap telephone to house and
to Jameson. Will keep you posted.
The coroner looked grim. "She can't get far,"
he said. "The news is all over the country by
now. I must confess I had my doubts at first,
but this settles it."
"Blake's full of instructions for one who
slipped himself," put in Sam.
"That's his way," the other returned. "He's
shrewd, though, and I like working with him.
This sort of thing is n't in my line at all, and I
hate it. What do you make of this business, any-
way?" drawing Foley's letter and the checks
from the drawer of his desk.
160


162 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
don't need to give you any hints, though; you 've
been a great help and I can't thank you enough."
"Call on me at any time," said Sam, earnestly,
as they shook hands at the door. "I don't and
can't believe that Miss Torrance is implicated in
this murder and I am interested to see it work
out."
Dr. Birdsall walked away, shaking his head.
The Torrance house seemed deserted when
Sam reached it. Kate opened the door.
"Where's everybody?" he asked.
"Mr. Forrest is in his room, writing letters.
The constable's in the kitchen. Sarah has been
suddenly taken sick and Mary is nursing her."
Sam leaned over cautiously: "Don't telephone
or write me, no matter what happens. These ave-
nues are being watched. I '11 come here every
day."
She nodded silently.
"Hello!" Harry Forrest was standing at the
head of the stairs. "I thought I heard voices,"
he said, descending.
Sam followed him into the library and they sat
down. The pallor and weariness in the secre-
tary's face were disconcerting. "You 're looking
like the devil," Sam said, offering him a ciga-
rette.
"I feel it. Thanks. Who would n't, stuck in
the house all day under these conditions?"


HARRY FORREST 163
"I have an idea," Sam said, carefully watching
him, "that the whole thing will clear up very sud-
denly."
The secretary gave him a searching look.
"Don't you think they 're barking up the wrong
tree now?" he asked.
Sam purposely checked an impulsive answer
and kept silent. His manner lacked interest.
"You do not think it of Miss Torrance, do
you?" Forrest asked, as much amazement as
chagrin in his tone.
"Why do you suppose she ran away?" Sam
parried.
"Almost any one would have. A woman, any-
way." His tone was superior.
"Where do you suppose she went?" and Sam
endeavored to keep his voice level.
"How do I know?" Forrest was suddenly bel-
ligerent.
"She was seen taking the nine-ten train to New
York," Sam continued, as if not noticing his man-
ner. "Blake has followed her. I don't know any
of her friends there, so I can't go any farther
than that. Now, you," with a significant pause,
"will be asked questions."
"Well, they can ask/' abruptly and with a
suspicious glance. "Why should they ask me?
She was away at school a lot and had hosts of
friends. / don't know them."


164 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"None of them?" carefully.
"Oh, a couple. But not well."
"Any you are sure she would n't go to?"
"Yes." There was a light of sudden under-
standing in Forrest's face. "I 've not quite un-
derstood you, but I think I do now. There are
several I could safely name."
Sam spoke seriously: "She 's a woman," with
a touch of warmth in his voice, "such a little
woman, and I believe in giving her a sporting
chance. To me there 's something rotten in a
pack of men running down a girl."
"There is. That Blake had a preconceived idea
of the whole thing. Some one had his ear before
he ever showed up at the house, and once he got
on that tack everything fell into his hand upside
down."
"You speak with conviction," Sam observed.
The other drew himself up quickly. "We all
have our opinions as to this case, I think.
Haven't you formed any?"
"Oh, yes, of course," with decision. "What is
your impression? Whom do you think the guilt
points to?" The question was put directly, and
Sam leaned forward earnestly to get its effect.
He saw the veil of secrecy once more drawn
over the secretary's face. When Forrest answered
his voice was distant:


HARRY FORREST 165
"Specifically, no one. I agree with Mr. Jame-
son. Judge Torrance had many enemies. It's
just a question of finding the one."
"I see," said Sam.
"What is your impression?" Forrest asked in
his turn.
"I agree with you entirely in what you think."
As Sam said this he smiled,—a strange smile,
which despite his caution did bear some tinge of
the dark certainty in his mind that the man at
whom he was looking was the man who would
eventually stand convicted as the murderer, or
the accomplice of the murderer.
Forrest did not return the smile. Instead, a
perpendicular line cleft his forehead and his eyes
had the look of being far away. "You mean there
is in your mind a difference between what I 've
said and what I think?"
"Perhaps none of us expresses what is in his
heart," Sam replied.
"No," said Harry Forrest, but with the air of
not being deceived by this evasion. He was sud-
denly preoccupied. "None of us. You are cor-
rect." Getting up, he hastily excused himself on
the plea of some mail he had neglected to at-
tend to.
Sam heard him go lightly upstairs, pause at
the second landing, and then proceed to the third
floor. When he had heard the door of the third-


166 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
story room close behind the secretary, he crossed
into the kitchen.
Constable Warren was sitting at the table. In
a low voice Sam gave him Dr. Birdsall's order to
keep a strict watch on Forrest, but not to let him
suspect it. The other nodded understandingly.
"If he does n't show his hand now," thought
Sam on the way home, "I miss my guess."


CHAPTER XXIII
THIN ICE
HARRY FORREST hurried up the stairs
with the chill of fear at his heart.
What meaning had been hidden behind Sam
Lane's words, "I agree with you absolutely in
what you think"? And Sam had smiled. For-
rest did not like his smile then. "Was it possible
that what the secretary had struggled so des-
perately, as he had thought, to hide, was no
secret, after all? Had the name he had with such
earnestness endeavored to keep out of the case,
that would have thrown a light on it that the
probing and logic of the law had not approached,
been disclosed? And was this the reason that
he was being watched so guardedly? For he
knew their eyes were trained on him. He had
felt instinctively the suspicion of the coroner dur-
ing the inquest and had dismissed it as natural.
But now it was different. He was being handled
carefully,—studied.
His mind was a riot of wild imaginings as he
paused on the landing of the second floor for a
moment.
167


168 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
Dared he go and determine this for himself?
He hesitated. No one had followed him. Cau-
tiously he mounted the second flight and lis-
tened again. There wasn't a sound. Opening
the door at the head of the stairs, he entered
quickly and shut it behind him.
His heart was thumping hard as he crossed
to the window. It was still open. Sliding his
hand out, he reached under the eaves and a sick-
ening sensation came over him as his fingers
sought to close upon the package,—which was
not there. He must be mistaken. It couldn't be
gone! The terrifying realization came upon him
like a blow as he searched, again and again, the
space in which he knew he had put it. No
amount of wind could have dislodged it, nor
rain. It had been placed securely and would
have been protected from the elements by the
overhanging eaves. His fingers were bruised
from the ragged edge of wood that had held it
in place. Yet it was gone.
He must have time to think, but not here.
With trembling hands he opened the door noise-
lessly and, going out, listened at the head of the
stairs. He could hear Sam saying good night to
the constable, and laughing. How dismal the
sound of laughter seem to Harry Forrest now!
He hurried down to his room and shut the door
behind him, his knees sagging under his weight.


THIN ICE 169
For a while he gave way to the panic obsessing
him, and began to walk the floor excitedly. He
must think,—remember everything about that
night. His thoughts went back to the beginning.
How, on the morning of the day of the murder,
Judge Torrance had come upon him when, hav-
ing opened the box by chance, he stood reading
its contents,—and had snatched it in fury from
his hands.
How the memory of its disclosure remained
with him persistently during the hours following,
to return in force after the crime, with the deter-
mination to keep it out of the strange hands that
were to search every nook and corner of the
house! And his success. To remove the con-
tents was his first instinct; and his second was
as sharp, to put the now empty box in its familiar
place under the desk, the keys in the bureau
where he had found them.
While Audrey and Lane were in the parlor
waiting for the others to come who were to go
through the papers, he had done all this, and
quickly. Now he recalled that it was Lane who
came to tell him that they had arrived; and
Harry had only had time to stuff the packet hur-
riedly into his pocket.
Dr. Birdsall he was sure he had satisfied. His
fear was not of the constable. But Lane? That
night when he had hidden it! Lane was there;


170
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
he had stayed for dinner. Afterward that step
on the stairs when Harry had reached his room
and gone out to see who it was. Lane again!
Lane was in the study going through those
papers,—had shown him that old check and
asked about it!
The step he had heard on the stairs had been
coming down, not up, as he had supposed when
he saw Lane there in the room. “My God! it
was Lane !"
He sank into the chair by the window, hold-
ing his throbbing temples between his hands.
Why had Lane come here to-day? Had he allied
himself with Birdsall, Blake, and the others?
And he had thought Lane was friendly. Surely
the tip Lane had given him, to throw them off
the track in the chase after Audrey, was friendly!
Or was it just a "sporting chance," as he had
said? Or even an opportunity for Harry to be.
tray himself to Birdsall? Donnie, herself, had
called Sam Lane a friend! Had Sam meant what
he said toward the end as a hint! But why?
Did he think that he, Harry Forrest, would
give himself away like a blundering fool? Had
he not, after all, done that very thing?
He stepped over to the door and listened. Kate
was coming upstairs with some one. Stooping to
the keyhole, he could hear Mary talking to her
about Sarah, saying that she was sick,


THIN ICE
171
He moved back into the room and turned on
the light. Bloodshot eyes stared at him from the
mirror, in a white face that he could not recog.
nize as his. What should he do? How could he
meet this new attack?


ANOTHER MAN 173
noticed that she was beginning to show pallor
from her enforced inaction. This child of the
woods, who had come and gone as she chose,
had the droop of subjection. It hurt him.
He sat down on the floor, facing her.
"You won't be comfortable," she admonished.
His answer, though light, had emphasis. "I 've
got to be. I don't want to speak loud and I
don't want to bring two chairs together in this
room. It might give some one an idea."
"Is it as bad as that?" darkly.
"We can't afford to make any slips," he re-
plied. And then, after a moment's thought:
"What I came to tell you to-day is a long story.
So first, you tell me how you got here, and if you
had any trouble. Where did you get that robe?"
Sam asked this impulsively. A warm note in the
tone, kindred to the look in his eyes, told her
that he thought the cumbersome thing becoming
to her.
"Kate brought it this morning, with a note to
you. She had put some of my things in a bundle
and hidden them outside. You see, I had nothing
but her uniform to wear."
"Go on and tell me how it worked. I know
Kate's end of it. I want yours. I can tell better
then how safe this retreat is."
"It was very simple. I followed your instruc-
tions implicitly. I '11 never forget the moment


174 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
when that board creaked. I wanted to bolt, but
I held myself steady until I had gone through
the pantry door. Kate was waiting for me, and,
seizing the handkerchief which I held to my face,
pushed me out of doors. Then I literally took
to my heels. I wondered what she was going to
do in case Blake came out."
"He did n't," Sam said, with a contented little
laugh, "but swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker.
When you were missed he rushed upstairs to
your room, and saw the open window on that
little porch, and, as I hoped, supposed you had
gone out that way. Where was Warren's man?"
he asked suddenly. "I never gave him a
thought."
"I stood concealed by the lilac-bush and saw
him pass around the house, and then I ran.
Kate told me to watch for him. It was the only
thing we could n't be sure of."
"She thought of that," said Sam, a trifle taken
aback. "I did n't. I 'm a poor schemer, after all.
That one fluke might have spoiled the whole busi-
ness."
"Well, you did n't have much time to think of
anything," Audrey answered loyally; "and yet
the whole plan was yours."
"Nora told you about the rest of it? Eose, I


ANOTHER MAN 175
"Oh, yes. How fine it was of her to do that
for me!"
"What do you do to people, anyway," he asked
jokingly, "to corner all this devotion?"
"I don't know," she answered, a little hesi-
tatingly. "I would do as much for her."
"You bet you would!" His eyes rested on her
with a deep light in them. "Why don't you ask
me what you did to me?" softly.
"I won't ask that." Her voice trembled.
"You little witch," he said, coming to his knees
before her, "you know."
She drew away in the chair, and a wild-rose
color came into her cheeks, though her eyes were
reluctant.
"Don't let us talk about that now, Sam." His
name fell naturally from her lips, as if it were
the one by which she always thought of him.
With an inarticulate cry, he captured her
hands and buried his face in them. "You child,"
he breathed, "don't push me away from you. I
love you—I love you."
"You must not love me under this cloud. I
will not let you." Her voice had a ring to it.
"What can I say to you now, when I owe you my
very freedom? It is not fair."
Sam stood up. There was a humbled look in
his attractive young face. "I beg your pardon,"


176 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
he replied, with difficulty. "I should not try
to force you this way. I forgot myself."
Audrey's gaze, though wistful, was steady. "I
did not mean to hurt you," she said gently.
"I loved you from the first moment I saw you,"
he said, a despairing note in his voice, "but you
cannot care for me. I see that now."
"I cannot—care about anything just now. I 'm
all torn," and she held her little hands pathet-
ically to her side.
At this an odd little hope fluttered back into
Sam's heart: "What I have said to you is not for
just this moment, nor just this hour. Let it rest
now, for I can wait as long as you say I must."
Nora was knocking at the door. "I have a note
for you, sir."
"What is it?" Audrey asked curiously, after
Nora had left
.
"I dropped a hint that would make Forrest
lead the coroner to suspect that you were with
some people in New York, and I think he has
done it, for Birdsall has written me to come to
him before I see Forrest again."
"Harry doesn't know I'm here?" she asked
excitedly.
"Not a bit of it. He thinks I 'm as much in
the dark as the rest."
She leaned back in the chair. "You said you
had some news. What was it?"


ANOTHER MAN 177
"It's a long tale," he began, "but I'll give you
the salient points. There was a young man in
business here, two years ago, whom your father
deeply wronged. He convicted him of a crime
which he knew the boy had not committed. The
written confession of the real culprit was in his
hands at the time. This we have proved." He
spoke slowly, trying to soften the facts that he
felt must be a blow to her.
As Audrey listened with a singular intentness,
her face seemed to him like a pale blur in the
increasing dusk of the room, but she did not
move.
"From the manner in which I came upon these
facts the inference was that another, who had
knowledge of this, could have made this chap
aware of the truth, which would have been a mo-
tive for revenge. The next thing was to find
out if the lad ever returned to town, and when."
He paused a moment. "I discovered that this
morning. He was seen here the night previous
to the murder, and has not been seen before nor
since."
"Who is it?" The words came in a low voice
but with the impact of a missile, and Sam had
the feeling that her breath was suspended after
the question.
"No doubt you can recall him. His name is
Billy Fellowes,"


178 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
He was not prepared for the start she gave, nor
for the sound following that was like a sob,
though masked as bitter laughter.
"Recall him!"
After this, as Sam stood puzzled, there was
silence for a few seconds. It was broken by Au-
drey, who rose, her head up as she faced him.
"I knew him—well." The words came as
though wrung from her. "And you did this!
You tracked him—you!" The horror and un-
belief in her voice frightened him.
He went to her desperately. "For your sake!"
he said, bending over her.
"You did this—for met" She moved away
from him and a laugh escaped her that chilled,
hurt, and amazed him.
He stood dumbly, with head bowed, the phan-
tasmal accusations of those who suspected her
hovering around him.
She came quickly toward him, beating her
little rolled-up fists together in her intensity.
"Billy Fellowes did not do this, I tell you. He
didn't! He didn't!"
Sam looked at her, his eyes filled with misery.
For somehow she seemed to him to be trying to
convince herself.
"Will you answer me one question truth-
fully?" he asked then.
"If I answer it, I shall tell you the truth!"


ANOTHER MAN 179
"Was the letter that you lost—the letter from
Zanzibar—from him?"
A flicker of misgiving showed in her face for a
moment and then her soft lips set. "Yes!" came
clearly and with a sound of fate.
"You care for him?"
There was a pause.
She nodded her head. "So much!" forcing her-
self to say the words. "You won't hurt him,
Sam? You won't track him and betray him?
You think he is guilty. I know he is not. He
could not have done this awful thing!" Her
voice broke in the appeal.
"The affair is out of my hands now. I cannot
interfere with the law." He paused. "I offered
you my services," in a hushed sort of way*; and
then a sudden fury swept him. "I shall not track
or betray, as you say, the man—you love."
Triumph came to Audrey's eyes as she went to
him and laid her hands on his shoulders. "I
knew that you would help me when you knew
what it meant in my life. I never can thank you
enough." And, reaching up, she brushed his
cheek with her lips.
He trembled under this caress, given for the
sake of another, and a moment later went, with-
out a word, from the room.
Nora fell against him as he opened the door.
Her face was ghastly: "I—I—was just coming


180 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
to see if Miss Audrey—" she stammered. But
Sam had rushed by her into the shadows of the
hall.
He flung out of doors. Large drops of rain
were beginning to fall, but he did not notice
them. The agony in his soul had wiped every-
thing out.
He had almost reached the coroner's door,
where instinct had led him blindly in answer to
the note, before he realized that he had come
away without a hat.


CHAPTER XXV
AUDREY PLANS
WHEN the door had closed upon Sam,
Audrey hurried over to the old woman,
who was standing looking at her as though dazed.
"You heard what was said?"
"I did that," brokenly.
"All that was said—all about Billy?"
"Yes."
Audrey bent forward sharply. There was a
hushed, tense look in her eyes that kept Nora's
gaze with fixedness, and there was kinship to
this look in her voice when she spoke: "Where is
he?"
"That I don't know," Nora sighed. "He might
be over hiding in the old spot, the little island.
But I hoped he 'd left this place altogether and
was a long way off by this time. I have n't seen
him since the night—the night of the murder,"
in a shuddering whisper.
"What time on that night?" Audrey's voice
echoed Nora's.
"Seven o'clock. He'd come to say good-by.
181


182
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
He was very bitter," in a frightened tone, "and
wanted to see you. I couldn't hide him any
longer. Oh, I wish you could have seen him!”
· As she was speaking a memory had risen be-
fore Audrey, so plainly, it was as a picture
painted upon the air: Herself in the library
on the evening that had proved so tragic. It was
just a few moments after dinner, when she had
had the uncanny sensation of being watched, in
the forceful way that can be as urgent as a
call; had found herself turning slowly to face the
blank panes of the window over which the cur-
tains were as yet undrawn, and there had seen
a well-remembered face looking in at her-one
not seen for years, all its old boyishness gone!
Instead of this a straight gaze, grim and bitter,
that could have come only from the eyes of a
desperately resentful man, had moved past her
to rest upon her father. Those few seconds were
age-long to her before the gaze met her own
fully again, pleading mixed with its bitterness,
and then, at the furtive, desperate wave of her
hand, slipped from the glass as a ghost might and
was lost in the darkness.
There was a tightening in her throat when at
last she spoke: “I did see him. Just for a few
moments through the window." Her face was
veiled in sadness. “I ran out, but I lost him,
somehow."


AUDREY PLANS
183
Nora began to cry weakly.
“Don't, please," Audrey begged. “Trust me.
It will be all right. Leave it all in my hands, and
go on as if everything were quite as usual.” Her
face took on a new courage.
Nora, wiping her eyes with her apron, left the
room.
“I've got to find him, somehow, to-night,"
thought Audrey, when she was alone. "He was
innocent and Father knew it all the time! Oh,
I must let him know that he is clear of the old
charge and then I'll make him go away until
this new trouble has passed him by. Oh, Father!
How could you do such a wicked thing! I knew
you were cruel, but I did not think you could
do this!” and, breaking down, she threw herself
on the couch in the alcove and gave way to her
grief.
When she sat up again the room was dark. “I
wonder what time it is," was her thought as she
tiptoed across the empty space. The awfulness
of her situation swept over her as she listened at
the door. Outside were the howl of the steadily
increasing wind and the lash of rain against the
window-panes. The casements shook as if un-
seen hands were trying to force them open.
She could hear Nora coming up the stairs and
cautiously opened the door for her.
The old servant was carrying the dinner-tray.


184 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Is Mr. Lane in?" Audrey asked quickly.
"He is not. He never came back at all. I was
waiting dinner for him and that's what made
me so late in bringing yours."
"Where is he, do you think?" and a small
frown wrinkled her brow.
"Perhaps he went to Birdsall's," said Nora,
crossing to the alcove, where she turned down
the covers of the little couch and beat up the pil-
lows. "'T was him that sent the note to the
door."
"Oh, of course." But the frown persisted.
Nora gathered up the dishes. "Will you be
wanting anything more to-night, child? What
can I get you?"
"Nothing, Nora. Tell Mr. Lane when he comes
in that I 've retired," and she got up quickly from
her chair. She moved around restlessly until
the old woman had closed the door behind her.
Then she tore off her negligee and got into Kate's
black dress.
Reaching into the bundle that had come that
morning, she pulled out a tam-o'-shanter and a
sweater and put them on.
Stealing to the head of the stairs, she listened.
The sound of the old people talking came to
her, and the rattle of plates and silver.
Breathlessly she crept down and, opening the
hall door, stepped out. She waited until her eyes


AUDREY PLANS 185
were accustomed to the darkness, and then
silently ran around the side of the house on the
grass and turned down, at the back of the prop-
erty, toward the pier.
For a moment she hesitated, and then the
thought of that other in hiding came to her, giv-
ing her strength. Unloosing the painter of the
smaller boat, she stepped lightly in. "I can do
it. I 've got to," she thought. "I must warn him
of his danger."
With difficulty she fitted the oars into the
locks, and headed for the stretch of open water
over which mist and shadows wove a cloak.


CHAPTER XXVI
THE TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NOKA
THE coroner looked up in amazement when
he saw Sam standing before him with dis-
ordered hair and bloodshot eyes. His flannel suit
was clinging to his body from the rain.
"For Heaven's sake, Mr. Lane," he said when
he could find words, "what is the matter? Any-
thing happened?"
"No, nothing. I just got your note and in my
anxiety ran out without my hat." Sam spoke
with difficulty. "I did n't realize it was rain-
ing so hard until I got into it, and then I
would n't turn back. You wanted to see me
about something?"
"That's a careless thing to do at this time of
year. You look as though you had a little fever
now." The coroner had given place to the doctor
and his tone had authority.
"Oh, I'll be all right. This won't matter a
bit with me."
The coroner glanced back at the papers he held
in his hand and shoved them over to Sam: "I
186


TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NORA 187
was looking over these finger-print reports.
They 've just come through. I can't make head
or tail of them; everything is obliterated."
Sam looked down at the sheets before him.
"These are from the knife, I suppose."
"Yes," said Dr. Birdsall, absently. "You see,
the ground was damp from all the rain we 've had
and the handle is virtually clear." He paused re-
flectively. "There was the mark of a man's heel
outside the library window," he went on, "only
one. The rain that night washed the others
away. Here is the print of that."
"He must have been heavy, to make such a
deep mark as that," said Sam, looking at it curi-
ously.
"Either that or he was frightened and jumped
back suddenly," returned the coroner. "1 think
the latter probably was the case. There would
have been more than one that would have sur-
vived had it been his usual imprint. Do you
notice the small horseshoe in the middle of the
heel?"
"Yes," Sam replied and, lifting his own shoe,
he inspected it. "I was about to say they all had
that, but I notice mine has n't."
"They are probably on very heavy shoes," Dr.
Birdsall said thoughtfully, "like a laborer's, for
instance. Probably on sport shoes, too. I don't
know. Here's what I 'd like you to do. Drop


188 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
into Torrance house to-morrow morning and
keep Forrest busy while Warren looks over his
shoes. You might try to get a squint at the pair
he has on."
"You don't think he was out there, do you?"
"Now, he might have been. And that brings
me to something else I wanted to tell you. I saw
old Tom a half-hour ago, and he does n't remem-
ber a word of what he told you this morning.
Got very abusive, in fact, when I insisted. Said
he was drunk and that if he told you that he
lied. So we can't swear Fellowes was around
here at all and we know some man was. Do you
get my point?"
"Yes, I do," Sam answered, with a feeling of
relief.
"Bronson died an hour after he reached the
hospital," the coroner continued. "He never
came out of the opiate they gave him. The con-
dition he was in must have had him on his back
fully a week. So he could n't have had anything
to do with it; that let's him out."
For a space Sam did not reply, and then, draw-
ing from his pocket the check made out to "Anne
Wolfe," he handed it to the coroner: "I found
this in Judge Torrance's desk after I asked you if
you minded my going through it."
Dr. Birdsall looked at it a moment and noted


TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NORA 189
the date. "You attach importance to this?" he
asked.
"Not exactly, but I can't account for it. For-
rest says he 's never seen it before. With your
permission I '11 run up to Cotesville sometime to-
morrow, and see if I can trace it in any way."
"By all means," the other returned. "I saw
it there among the checks, but I have to admit
I did n't notice the date. When I first took on
this case," he continued confidentially, "I was
pretty sure I knew the guilty man. I thought I
had the whole thing in the palm of my hand. I
learned my mistake after Blake came on the job.
It's taken some queer twists since then. You
know we have n't a detective in this whole town;
we never needed one before. This is the first
big thing of the kind that's ever happened here.
I 'm no good at this sort of case, I '11 admit, and I
welcome any assistance I can get. I '11 tell you
the truth, Mr. Lane: "When I heard that Aud-
rey Torrance was implicated in this it nearly
finished me. I begged Blake to stay and help me
out, after his tiff with Mr. Jameson."
"What's Blake doing now, by the way?" Sam
interrupted.
"Running down some of Miss Torrance's
friends in New York. I wormed the names out
of Forrest and wired them to him. She '11 be
picked up soon; there 's no doubt of that. The


190 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
police have her description and all the hotels are
being watched." A look of pain showed in the
speaker's honest face as he pursed his lips
thoughtfully. "If only she had n't run away,
Lane! I can't get over that. Whenever my
thoughts resist the idea of her guilt, as they can-
not fail to do, that brings me up short. Her run-
ning away is—black!"
Sam veered from the subject: "Then you have
definitely dropped the Fellowes end of it?"
"My mind is open, but it does n't seem to prom-
ise anything. Old Tom gave you the information
you wanted, for—money. That's the size of it
.
He hadn't seen this man in two years and it
stands to reason that Fellowes must have
changed somewhat. A cursory glance at a man
going up a dark street at night would hardly
be of any consequence, in view of the fact that
Tom now denies the whole thing and says he was
drunk."
"You're dead right," said Sam, "and he was
drunk. I 'd just dismiss it. I may have gone
too far in my eagerness to help. This is new
ground for me, too."
A kindly smile passed over Dr. Birdsall's face
as he regarded the worn, yet glowing, eyes of the
young man. "I see I can speak to you very
plainly without hurting your feelings," he said.
"I 've thrown out other lines. There is abso-


TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NORA 191
lutely nothing to substantiate the statement old
Tom made to you. The station-master saw no
one answering his description get off a train that
night. I have watched the boy's home. He has
not been near it. The neighbors have testified to
that. His married sister, who was devoted to
him, is away. If he were anywhere around this
town, she 'd be here too. I 'd pass my word on
that. To give it a fair trial, I even went farther
and this afternoon stopped over to see his grand-
parents, Nora and Thomas Quimby."
Sam stared at him vaguely, his mind galloping
frantically through incidents that for a moment
he had forgotten; occurrences that had mystified
him when he first came to Wedgewood. Becom-
ing aware that Dr. Birdsall was looking at him,
he endeavored to control the intensity of his
thoughts.
"His grandparents?" he jerked out in a breath.
"He would have gone there, I 'm sure," the cor-
oner continued, as if he had not heard the inter-
ruption. And then the voice was lost to Sam
again in the whirl of emotions that engulfed him.
The ground seemed slowly slipping from under
his feet. Desolation was cold upon him. Even
through his confusion he read himself aright. He
was almost like a stranger in the world of normal
men, for he had come out of a wilderness of pain
and tumult and horrors of every sort, aching for


192 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
the sweet and little things of life; aching for
love, almost any sort of love just so that he mean
something to somebody; aching for a home, for
a quiet and satisfied heart.
And because of this intense longing, hours had
had the length of weeks, and days of years,
fairly. He had quickly loved the quiet house
that was to be a nest for him; he had quickly
warmed to the old couple whose trust he wanted
to win with the fullness of his own trust in them.
And how quickly and keenly and absorbingly he
had loved and idealized Audrey!
The coroner's voice came to him as though
from a distance, tearing his numbed brain from
the torment that pulled him with grisly hands
into an abyss. "They had not seen him, and I
believe them," he was saying in what seemed to
Sam a sing-song irritatingly drumming in his
ears. "I reasoned it all out. They could n't
have hidden him in the house a minute without
your knowing it, and you arrived the very night
before the murder. What's the matter? Are
you ill?"
Sam had swayed uncertainly against the desk.
He drew himself up sharply at the coroner's
words, and pushed his hair back from his damp
forehead. His hands were shaking strangely.
"I 'm not feeling very well. I guess—I 'm done


TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NORA 193
up. I'd better go home," and he stumbled
toward the door.
"Wait, Lane, for God's sake! You 're a sick
man." And Dr. Birdsall, rushing over, seized his
arm.
Sam looked at him dumbly a moment through
the darkness gathering around him. His eyes
grew wild; he tried to push off the strange hand
holding him, but the grasp was firm. With a
lurch he crumpled in the doctor's arms.
Pulling himself up on his elbow, Sam gazed
around the strange room. It gradually took
form in his mind. Then he heard a chair pushed
back and quick steps crossing to him.
"All right again? That's good!" came the
doctor's crisp tones. "You 've got to take better
care of yourself, Lane, or we '11 have you on our
hands next. You fellows went through enough
on the other side, without dying for nothing over
here." He leaned over him, measuring some
drops into a glass. "Drink this and you '11 feel
like a new man."
Sam drank it meekly.
"You 'd better have your dinner with us, Mr.
Lane," said Mrs. Birdsall, who had just come in.
He tried to refuse, but the concern in her kind
face checked the words. The dinner was an
ordeal. Sam tried to respond to their kindness,


194 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
but his smiles were forced, and his own voice
sounded harsh and metallic in his ears.
At last it was over and he heard himself prom-
ising to drop around in the morning after he 'd
been to Torrance house; and then he was plod-
ding home again in a borrowed hat and coat.
Piece by piece the first night in his house came
back to him. The queer behavior of the old cou-
ple; the lies that Nora had told him at break-
fast and that he had believed! That man had
been hidden there then, and they had concealed
the fact. They had shoved him around like a
pawn for their convenience. Now he could ac-
count for that step he had heard; for Nora's fear
and the late vigil of Thomas, when Sam saw him
creeping upstairs in the early morning. What a
fool he had been! Well, they would see now
that they had some one of purpose to deal with.
The rage in his heart quickened his steps. The
cry! He had forgotten that. It brought him to
a halt. Was that cry the man's, too? If so, they
had been shielding a madman! No sane lips
could utter such a sound. For a moment he
felt pity for the old people, but he brushed it
from him. Was that it?
He strode on resolutely. Pity! They had
shown him none,—had allowed his sympathies to
embroil him in the murder. His anger returned.
Like a frail gossamer veil Audrey's face floated


TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS AND NORA 195
before him. He could hear her voice, see the
light in her eyes. "I knew I could trust you!"
To associate her with these, as she was, self-
confessed, was one thing and hard enough; but to
think of her as party to the crime,—he could not.
His anger died. Though loathing himself for the
weakness that would love so suddenly where love
was not wanted, he could not drive her from his
mind. She seemed to twine about him with the
increasing storm.
She had placed herself in his hands,—at his
mercy, and under his direction. She had not
asked for either protection or love. He had will-
ingly offered both.
The desire to wound had left him, to be fol-
lowed by a loneliness so desolate that he trembled
in self-pity. But his love for her, that would not
die, forced his thoughts away from himself and
filled him with agony as he thought of her dan-
ger. He realized then that his great fear was
that she might be taken out of his reach, where
he could not help her.
Before he knew he had reached his home he
found himself breathless on the doorstep.


CHAPTER XXVn
THE FIGHT FOB LIFE
THE storm, which seemed to have abated a
little when Audrey pulled out from the
shore, had risen again with renewed violence.
She strained her eyes toward the island loom-
ing in the distance that appeared no nearer now
than when she had started. "If I could only
get behind the jut of the shore," she thought, "I
know the fury would subside."
She bent resolutely to her task, counting the
waves as they struck the boat, every third one
breaking over the bow and drenching her.
It seemed as though hours had passed. The
pounding was heavier, more frequent, and the
spray was leaping to her face. She had a feeling
that the sea was her enemy, pitted against her,
and a silent rage took possession of her heart.
It should not beat her! Nothing should thwart
this effort at mercy, this race between life and
death to-night. "I must make amends," was the
cry of her heart, deadening the sound of the
storm in her ears.
196


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE 197
The island was but a few hundred yards be-
yond the mouth of the bay. Her arms with each
renewed effort to reach it felt as though they
were being torn from her body. For a moment
her fingers relaxed their hold, and one of the
oars was wrenched from her grasp. With a sud-
den pull of terror at her heart, she dragged the
remaining one to safety and leaned over the side
to rescue the other when it rode in on the next
wave. A piece of drifting wreckage hurled broad-
side against her craft, almost upsetting it, threw
her head first into the water.
When she came to the surface she felt the im-
pact of wood at her side and grasped it wildly.
It was the lost oar. With this she struck out
for the boat tossing aimlessly at the mercy of the
sea. Although she was half-choking from the
submersion, her mind suddenly became clear.
She had no terror of the water, now that she was
in it. Struggling against the clinging skirt that
impeded her progress, she fought desperately the
numbness creeping over her.
The boat, tossed by the cross current, had
turned and was steadily riding toward the rocks.
She followed in its path on the crest of the
sea, whose booming on the shore came to her
ears like distant thunder.
At last, with her breath coming in gasps, she
reached it and clung to the side. A sudden


198 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
wave almost tore her loose, but she hung on des-
perately, waiting for the next. And when it
came, with an effort she rose upon it and was
hurled into the boat, striking heavily on her side.
She made a cup of her hands to bale out the
water that had rushed in with her, but a heavy
blackness seemed to engulf and drag her back.
Her head sagged over on the seat.
Nora and Thomas were in the kitchen, and
their voices came to Sam in the hall as he let him-
self in.
The old man was talking: "Oh, it's hard times
has come upon us all. Indeed, indeed it is," and
his voice quavered.
Nora looked up and discovered Sam in the
doorway. She was startled by his pallor, and
something strange in his eyes.
"The saints preserve us!" she said with slow
belief as she stared at him. Thomas wheeled at
her words.
"Are you sick, sir?" he said, coming toward
Sam with concern.
"I 'm all right, thanks." His voice was harsh
and the old man stepped back suddenly. "How
is Miss Torrance?"
"Oh, sir," said Nora, meekly, but watching him
through suddenly narrowed lids, "she said to tell
you when you came in that she had gone to bed."


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE 199
"Thank you," Sam said, and, turning abruptly
on his heel, he left without another word.
The old couple looked at each other. Thomas
was the first to speak. "Something dreadful has
happened," he said blankly. "Something new."
He sat down, covering his face with his hands.
The tears trickled through his toil-worn fingers.
"Don't take on so, old man," said Nora, com-
ing to him and gently stroking his gray hair.
"To-morrow will see another day." But her face
held none of the hope she expressed.
"They '11 all be alike, I 'm thinking," he an-
swered sadly, reaching up for her hand.
As Sam passed the billiard-room he paused and
listened at the door. It was quiet save for the
sound of the wind rattling the casements. He
crossed to his room. But in there a sense of de-
pression seemed to close in on him. The longing
came to him to go to her, tell her what he had
learned, and give her a chance to clear up the
mystery that was striking at the very roots of
his faith. "I don't believe she's sleeping with
the wind blowing this way," he thought, and
he crossed over to the billiard-room and knocked
on the door.
There was no answer. He hesitated a moment,
and almost turned back, but the thoughts ran-
kling in his mind forced him to repeat the knock.
Before he would believe that she had been using


200 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
him as a convenience for this other man, while
accepting the refuge he had offered that was
fraught with such danger to himself, he must
hear it from her own lips. And if it were true,
he knew then that he must go away, even if he
left her here with only these two old people to
protect her. His heart was heavy with the double
pain of her possible perfidy and the peril of her
position.
Still no answer. Trying the knob, he found the
door unlocked and entered the room. Lying
over one of the chairs was her russet gown that
she had been wearing when last he saw her. On
the floor at his feet were two of the smallest
mules he had ever seen. His eyes blurred as he
looked at them. Wayward-looking, with little
worn toes, they suggested haste as they lay there
tumbled on top of each other. He tapped gently
on the alcove door and waited. No answer.
"Audrey," he said in a whisper. The whistle
of the wind in the chimney mocked him. He
called again and this time sharply, insistently, a
strange fear gripping at his heart. Had she gone
away? He threw open the door and strode into
the room.
It was empty! The covers on the couch had
been turned down, but it had not been slept in.
The light from the other room distorted the smile
on the face of the portrait, giving it a fantastic


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE 201
appearance, almost a grimace. He turned from
it quickly.
The bundle that Kate had brought was lying
on the chest, most of its contents spilled over the
side. It looked as though it had been run
through hurriedly. He noted that the black dress
she had worn the night of her escape was gone.
The apron was lying in a crumpled heap on the
floor. He rushed blindly into the hall.
"Nora!" he called loudly. And almost instantly
her white face looked up at him from the foot of
the stairs. She was followed by Thomas, who
stood anxiously at her side.
"Miss Torrance is not here!" Sam cried.
Tremulously Nora leaned against the banis-
ters. "She 's not—" she began.
"She's gone!" said Sam, tearing down the
stairs. "Where is she? I want the truth!" And
he pinioned her with his blazing eyes.
"I don't—know," she quavered.
"You do," savagely, "and you 're going to tell
me."
She looked at him a moment in wonder, but
shook under his glance. Thomas stood watch-
ing her, speechless.
Then Sam saw a sudden fear creep into her
face,—a look of knowledge too frightful to be-
lieve, and she stretched out her hands as if
warding off a blow.


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE 203
Let me go for you; it's little loss if I don't come
back."
Sam looked at him quickly. Was it devotion
or caution that prompted the request? The old
man's face showed sphinx-like in the darkness.
He turned back to his task. "I'm going," he
said shortly.
Beating at the rocks below him was a broken
oar. Was it hers? A sudden anguish swept
him. The wind, tearing at his coat as he stooped
to the knot, was shrieking in a carnival of mad-
ness.
At last the boat was free, churning in the froth
of the waves. With an impulsive movement, his
face working with emotion, Thomas held out his
hand. Sam, deeply touched, took it, and neither
of them spoke. Then he stepped in.
As he strained at the oars, they groaned under
the effort. He had been out some time, it seemed
to him, when he noticed that the rain had
stopped, and behind a bank of dark clouds moon-
light showed in a struggling way. The faintest
glimmerings lifted the gloom over the water.
Directly in front of him appeared the island and
he headed that way.
Had she reached it? His heart was thumping
wildly. Was he there? The broken oar came to
his mind and he scanned the horizon. On his
left, where the mainland jutted out forming a


204 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
cove, he discovered an object being beaten merci-
lessly against the rocks. After a moment's scru-
tiny he pulled toward it. Heavy clouds again
swept across the moon and the sea was in dark-
ness. The island alone stood out like a black
line in the distance. Sam kept to his course
doggedly, and the water seemed quieter. He
realized that there was a momentary calm and
that he must have come within the cove. The
moon, now cutting through the vapors that had
enwrapped it, flung a track of light ahead of him
and showed plainly the clear outlines of the
object that had confused him.
It was a rowboat half submerged, but held for
an instant in the wedge of two rocks, and ap-
parently empty.
He turned quickly into the cove that was
shielded from the wind by the high projection of
the beach. Pulling his boat ashore, he clambered
over the jagged points, let himself down on the
other side, and looked over into the wrecked
boat. Audrey was lying on the bottom, her head
resting against the seat. With a cry he hurried,
slipping, bruised and wet, till at last he reached
her side.
Repeatedly the waves almost tore the boat
loose from its bearings and, failing this, dashed
it head on again, first on one and then on the
other of the two rocks that, coming closely to-


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE
205
gether, really held it up. The bow was already
splitting and the whole space was half-filled with
water.
This could not last more than a few moments
longer and then her body would be battered and
broken. With the next wave that brought the
wreck upon the ledge, he reached down and,
bracing himself, dragged her out. Her skirt
caught in the oarlock and he wrenched it loose
just as the boat was whirled out of reach. But
the sudden move had dislodged him and the
added weight of her body dragged them down in
its wake. For a moment he thought they were
lost, but with a lunge he struck clear of the
returning wreck, and, forcing Audrey up on a
smooth ridge half covered with water, braced
himself for the next breaker. It came pounding
and washed him up on the rocks a few feet away.
He grated over them on his hands and knees
and then crawled back painfully to where she
lay. The sea was slowly sucking her off. He felt
a dull throbbing in his head as he pulled her
out of its reach.
They were clear of danger for a moment now,
though the next crash might force them into it
again. Using all his waning strength in one con-
centrated effort, Sam got his arms about her
and began the upward climb. Stumbling blindly
forward, he did not stop until he had gained a


206 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
resting-place on a shelf of rock where the steadily
encroaching waves, he felt sure, could not at their
highest, reach them. Here he laid Audrey down
and, himself exhausted, sank at her side.
Almost at once he rallied, for his anxiety for
her had anguish in it. His breath held in, he
felt for h heart-beats. They came very faintly,
yet seemed to fill his world with their precious
movement. She was living! And she was not
hurt! He could tell this by passing his hands
reverently over her resting body, touching her
cheek and forehead for some sign of wound or
blood.
For warmth he drew her close to him, and so
for a while they lay, she quiet in his arms. Soon
he became aware that her lips were moving, that
she seemed struggling to speak, and he bent over
to catch her words. Her eyes were open. She
was looking into his face, but without recogni-
tion: "Sam,—oh, Sam!" came to him. It was a
plea for trust.
At his name on the lips of the half-unconscious
girl, a madness seized him and he drew her to
him with a desperate joy. "Audrey, what is it?
Oh, my darling, tell me!"
She did not speak and her eyes slowly closed
again. Forgetting her admission to him earlier
in the day,—forgetting all save her calling his
name now in a voice he felt was warm with love,


THE FIGHT FOR LIFE 207
—he kissed her cold mouth till it was warm and
seemed to him in his madness to respond.
This rapture mixing with his weakness from
fatigue and exposure made him light-headed.
Glowing fancies rushed upon him. She was his
now! She had called to him from her heart,
unaware that it had betrayed her. She was his,
too, because he had saved her. He would never
let her go now. No one could ever take her
from him! In vain he tried to tell her all this;
words eluded him; he only kept smoothing her
marble-cold cheek with his hand. Even this
movement stopped as his spirit seemed to re-
treat, and, conquered by utter weariness, his
head sank back.
It was out of a wild dream of love and dan-
ger with Audrey that Sam came back to him-
self, remembering. The shudder of apprehen-
sion made him spring up, suddenly alert and
strong, stiff though his body was with pain.
Hours had passed, for just the edge of grayness
was upon the world.
He whirled his arms and stamped his feet to
relax the rigid muscles; then chafed Audrey's
cold hands, and rubbed her body in a vigorous,
expert way, before he lifted it into a firm em-
brace and hurried as well as he could to where
he had left his boat.


208 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
As he pulled back, Audrey resting against hia
knee, he saw her eyes open wonderingly, and
then in a failing way, that yet was full of peace,
close again. She seemed to sink into the sleep of
a child.
By the signs in the sky he knew that dawn was
very close, that a new day was near.
They had had the taste of peril together. But
that was past. As the storm was over and so
completely that even the air was still and the
sea almost a rippleless stretch under the dying
moon, so was his heart—except for one small
thing—a little burning wonder far down in it,
as to what his name in that way upon her lips
had really meant. Nothing, perhaps. Perhaps
—alll


CHAPTER XXVIII
A MEMORANDUM LEAF
IS Miss Audrey up yet, Nora?" Sam asked
this at breakfast the next morning.
"Yes, sir. She had her coffee a few minutes
ago."
"Is she suffering very much because of what
she went through last night?"
"She looks pale, but not as you do, sir," she
answered timidly.
"I'm really all right. I got a bad wetting,
but I 'm hardened to that," pleasantly. "Ask
Miss Audrey if I may see her. I have to go over
to Torrance house and then downtown, and I 'd
like a few words with her first."
"I will, sir," and she bustled upstairs.
A restraint fell upon Sam as he got up from
the table. He could hear their voices overhead.
How would she greet him to-day? What would
she have to say? He thought of the night on
the rocks,—his madness,—and a sudden shame
came to him that he had assumed so much from
so little. In the clear light of day his fancies
209


210 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
had faded. He felt now that she had left his
refuge to go to this other man, and would have
gone, only that the sea had beaten her. She had
done this knowing what it would mean to him
were she found leaving his house. A feeling of
dull resentment crept into his heart.
Nora's voice broke in on his thoughts: "Miss
Audrey says she would rather see you this after-
noon, sir."
"Then tell her I '11 be back at two; and don't
wait lunch for me," he said in a businesslike
way as he left her.
Kate answered Sam's ring at the Torrance
house and he asked if he might see Mr. Forrest,
"I '11 find out, sir," and she started toward
the stairs.
"Where 's Warren?" Sam asked quickly.
"In the kitchen."
"Did you see Birdsall?" he asked of the con-
stable, who was spreading himself at the fire.
"Yes, I 'm on. Get Forrest downstairs and
I '11 do the rest. It won't take me ten minutes
to pike off every shoe he has."
Sam strolled into the library. The moments
passed and still the secretary did not appear.
He went over to the telephone on the writing-
desk in the center of the room, intending to find
out his route to Cotesville. He called the sta-
tion number. While waiting for an answer he


A MEMORANDUM LEAF 211
fumbled through a drawer for a scrap of paper,
but there was nothing there. A white corner
was protruding from the leaf at the side of the
desk, as though it had been pushed in uninten-
tionally on it. He caught the edge and pulled it
out. It was a memorandum with three notations
in a strange hand. "Mortgages—will—Harry,"
he read and then stared at it. "Mortgages—will
—Harry." What could it mean?"
A man's voice answered him on the telephone.
Sam turned to it quickly. "Can you tell me
the most direct route to Cotesville, Pennsyl-
vania? Do I have to go by way of New York?"
"Hold the wire a minute," the voice replied.
Sam returned to the paper in his hand. The
writing was undoubtedly a man's, but in shaken
outlines, as if scribbled in haste or under emo-
tion; or, and he caught his breath, it could have
been written by an old man. His mind seized on
this last deduction eagerly. This was the very-
desk at which the Judge was murdered. Sam felt
that the script was Torrance's beyond a doubt.
"Hello," came the voice again. "As nearly as
I can make out, you '11 have to go through New
York." And then followed a number of direc-
tions.
There was a step in the hall and Sam hastily
shoved the paper into his pocket.


214 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
and that he placed a lot of checks there to get
them out of the way, this one among them."
"Don't you think it was a little strange, his
keeping it all those years?"
"No, and you wouldn't either," with an odd
smile, "if you had known him as I did. Judge
Torrance never threw anything away. Probably
if we could find where he got this from, we should
discover all the rest of the old checks. It's just
possible that it is merely a transaction between
a lawyer and his client and is of no importance."
"I 've thought of that," said Sam, quietly, "but
I 'm going to take a chance on it, just the same."
He saw the constable cross the hall and go
through the pantry door, and he got up. "Well,
our talk did n't develop a thing," he said, "and
I'm sorry. However, I just dropped over on a
chance that it might."
"By the way," and the secretary's voice grated
unpleasantly, "anything new in the case? I
mean anything shedding light on a different
theory from the one they 're working on now?"
"You mean different from the search for Miss
Torrance?"
The other nodded.
"No. If there is, I have n't heard it. I 'm on
my way to Birdsall's now."
"What's become of Jameson?" was Forrest's
next question.


216 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
Sam stood looking after him with a feeling of
disgust for the task he had had to do. But this
did not last long. His recent discovery gripped
him,—its possibilities. He took the paper out of
his pocket and looked at it. There certainly
seemed to be a connection between the words
"will" and "Harry." They were written close
together, so much so that the memorandum
seemed to consist of two notations, one "mort-
gages," and the other "will" with "Harry" added
as an afterthought, as if pertaining to the "will."
He slowly folded it and replaced it in his pocket.
As he thought about it he became positive that
the memorandum had been made on the leaf of
the desk, and accidentally shoved in with it. The
moving of the desk from the room for the funeral
had undoubtedly dislodged it, for he was sure
that it had not been visible on the night of the
murder.
He passed into the kitchen to get the report
from the constable. It was as he had expected.
Harry Forrest had not been outside that win-
dow. He knew who had been, and he knew also
that by no word of his could the proof be resur-
rected.
He started toward the coroner's with a heavy
heart.


218 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
secrecy that he had come to dread. His sad
heart hardened toward her.
This fragile bit of womanhood was opposing
her mind implacably to his. Somehow, now, he
could not help feeling that she would always
do so, acting upon her own judgment without
consulting any one and with a silence that was
baffling. The very thing he had sought to pre-
vent with whatever ingenuity or facility he had,
might at any time, because of a hasty act of hers,
be brought unexpectedly upon them.
He waited for her to speak; but she sat silently
regarding him, now a little defiantly.
"Have you nothing to say to me?" he blurted
out when the pause had been over-long.
"Yes." She hesitated, and the words that
followed seemed spoken with difficulty: "I want
to thank you for saving my life."
After a momentary pause of astonishment at
her unexpected reply, Sam waved it aside im-
patiently as if of no importance. "Anything
else?" His breath halted as he said the words.
For a moment she was silent and when at last
she spoke her voice was low: "You wanted to
speak to me, I understood." She turned her eyes
away, her fingers fidgeting with her robe.
"You mean you have nothing to tell me of your
own accord about last night?" broke from him
harshly.


TETE-A-TETE 219
"No. What would you have me say?"
Anger filled his heart. "Where were you
bound for last night, and why?" He tried to
keep his voice steady in an effort at fair play.
He waited, but she did not answer. "Do you
want me to tell you?" And now his face was
reckless. "For I can."
She got up quietly, with an unconscious dig-
nity. "If you know, was n't it wasting time to
ask? I don't see any need for continuing this
conversation." And she turned toward the al-
cove.
Sam stepped quickly before her, barring the
entrance: "I shall have to ask you to remain
here a few moments longer, to answer some of my
questions. This, at least, is due me."
"You are making it very hard for me," she
said coldly. "This is your house, you know."
"You did n't think of that last night when you
left us all open to arrest."
She stared at him uncomprehendingly a mo-
ment: "You mean—"
"I mean just this," he interrupted bitterly:
"You went to the island last night to meet Billy
Fellowes, your lover, and I carried you home in
my arms at dawn. Any one could have seen us.
Is it fair?"
Audrey paled under his gaze and tried to move


220 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
past him, but he seized her by the arm. With a
weary little gesture she paused.
“Why do I love you so?” he asked bitterly, his
face close to hers. “You do not trust me, you tell
me nothing, yet for a whim you put us both in a
position of dire peril. I've done everything for
you,--placed my life and my honor at your dis-
posal,--and you treat them lightly. I know you
resent what I'm saying to you, but I don't care.
You shall hear it just once from me. I cannot
go on in this way.
“You asked me to believe in you without ques-
tioning. I did. The questions were answered
last night without my asking. I know how
you've all treated me,-Nora, Thomas, and you.
I, who had been willing to die for you,—who had
even been untrue enough to myself, to protect
your father's murderer, because you loved him,-
I was the only one kept in the dark.”
A cry broke from her, but he went on, unheed-
ing: “I have cared so much that I have done
for you what I should never have done for my-
self,—defied the law. You knew the penalty and
you let me do it, knowing what you did,--that
I had n't a chance to clear you of this charge
without convicting the man that you cared for.
You took this opportunity I offered so that you
could at least be free to meet him.
"Last night," and his voice broke, “for one


TÊTE-À-TÊTE
221
small moment I was mad enough to think that
you cared for me, because you called my name-
mine-when you were unconscious. I thought
that I'd never bring you back to him. I kissed
you then when you were helpless in my arms. I
want to apologize for that. I was mad-weak-
anything you like.” He paused a moment, -a
pause that was unbroken by any sound from her,
—and when he continued his voice was bitter:
“I'm sane at last."
Her lifted face showed pain.
He went on doggedly: "I'm going away now.
That's what I wanted to tell you last night when
I looked for you and found you gone."
"You are going—" The words trailed help-
lessly from her lips like a moan.
"I shall see that you are safe, somewhere, be-
fore I go. No harm will come to you if I can
prevent it. When I asked you in that note to
trust yourself to me, I meant every word I wrote.
I shall dismiss Nora and Thomas, and sell this
house; I've grown to hate it. But first I will
take you wherever you wish to go.
"Last night when I tried to see you I thought
that maybe you could tell me something-I
did n't know what—that would make it possible
for me to go on. Have you nothing to say ?”
For a moment his anger wavered and broke in
an appeal.


222 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Don't go—Sam!" and she began to cry in a
helpless sort of way. "I couldn't bear that.
Wait a while. Oh, if you love me, can't you
wait? Can't you believe in me still? I don't
know what you 've heard, but it is not true that
any of us wanted to deceive you! We 've all been
caught in the same mesh. We 're as helpless as
you are!"
Her face was turned up to his with a longing
in it he could not misunderstand, and a sudden
joy swept him. Could it be possible that she
did care, after all? Was this new light in her
eyes what he hoped? He trembled at the
thought.
"Oh, Audrey, if I could only look into your
heart and know what you really feel!" he
breathed.
She seemed to glow under his glance, still
standing in the grasp that had suddenly become
gentle. Putting her free hand on his face, she
stroked it with a timid tenderness.
"You would find nothing there that—that—"
she faltered—"you would not like."
With a broken cry, he crushed her to him and
his lips found hers.
She was curled up again in the large chair and
he was sitting at her feet. For a long while
neither of them had spoken. He was content to


TETE-A-TETE 223
be quiet and watch her, reveling in this new,
strange happiness.
"Sam, what were you told, that you came to
ask about last night?"
"Let us forget it, dearest. I don't want to
talk about it any more."
"Please, Sam! I'mso sorry about my part in
this. I never thought last night of the possible
results of my actions,—what they might mean to
you. Thomas told me all about it this morning,
and I have n't even thanked you properly for
saving my life."
"Oh, yes, you have," he answered happily,
slipping his arm around her waist.
She tried to push him away, but laughingly.
"You mustn't do this, Sam. Really, you
should n't. Wait till everything is straightened
out." She was suddenly serious.
"I 'm not going to wait for anything with you
any more. It is n't safe. I 'm going to grab
every blessed crumb I can get." He spoke bold-
ly and pulled her face down to his. "I saw
something in your eyes a while ago, little Audrey,
and you can't take it back, no matter what you
do. I 'm going to hold you to it."
"You won't tell me what you heard about Nora
and Thomas and me, even when I ask you nice-
ly?" And she pouted.
"Even then, dear. Can't you see I 'm ashamed


224
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
of having doubted you. I'm taking it all on
trust, as I promised. The book is closed.”
“But you cared, Sam, awfully, when you
heard it,” in a disappointed tone.
"It hit me when I was raw, after that terrible
moment with you. If things had been as they
are now, it would n't have mattered." He leaned
toward her suddenly. “I'm going away to-night
on the late train. You won't do anything foolish
while I'm gone? Will you promise me that?”
She gave him a quick little hug, adorable in its
honesty. “Sam, do you trust me?"
"If I did n't, dear, I think I should die. I was
pretty close to the edge last night and to-day, but
I could n't get away with it, if it came after
this. It is n't that. It's because I yearn to pro-
tect you, dear.” His voice was unsteady. "I give
you carte blanche to do whatever you have to do
that you have n't told me about, but always re-
member this while I am away from you,—that I
love you, and that you are mine now, and don't,
don't do anything that may take you away from
me.” He strained her to him passionately.
There was a shadow in her eyes as she an.
swered: “I will remember what you say, Sam,
and I'll be very, very careful.”
He kissed her tenderly. “Now be nice to me,
for I'm leaving you in half an hour, and I may
not see you for a few days." He held her off a


TÊTE-À-TÊTE
225
little, and for a second the thought of Billy
Fellowes that was in his mind gave his eyes a
hard, restless light. "Say that you love me,-
no matter what man may love you!”
She understood all that was left unsaid in the
question as she gave her soft answer: "Only you
-Sam." She slipped her arms around him and
laid her face against his. "I-love-you!”
And with these words lingering in his mind,
Life gave Sam all he wanted.


CHAPTER XXX
COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA
IT was late, the next afternoon, when Sam
reached Cotesville, and he found the bank
closed for the day. He would have been in time
but for a slight accident. When his train was
less than an hour from the town it had been held
up by a misplaced switch which had derailed a
freight-car ahead of them, so that for two hours
they had waited, until the tracks were cleared.
There was nothing to do but make the best of
it. Upon his arrival he immediately set about
finding accommodations and was able to locate
in an old hotel conveniently situated in the town.
In a corner of its crudely furnished lobby, as
he rested, he examined the check for the first
time under a magnifying-glass, and was able to
make out the name of the cashier, "R. Prentice."
This brought a glow of confidence. At last he
had secured a definite piece of information to
work upon, and he decided that his inquiries
should hinge primarily on this. If R. Prentice
were in Cotesville to-night, Sam would find him.
226


COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA 227
After this his thought turned to the settling
of another question in his mind. Upon leaving
Torrance House, he had immediately sought out
Dr. Birdsall, giving him the memorandum-slip
that he felt to be an important bit of evidence;
he hoped for an immediate recognition, on the
coroner's part, of the writing on the paper. But
Dr. Birdsall had been unable positively to iden-
tify it. He was not sufficiently familiar with the
murdered man's handwriting, though he ac-
cepted the memorandum as such, feeling it to be
a clue of the utmost importance. They had com-
pared the script with the signature on the check,
but that was too blurred for any positive con-
firmation. Sam had promised to wire him upon
arriving at Cotesville and the coroner was to let
him know immediately the verdict he had reached
regarding it.
He went at once to the office and sent a night
letter to Dr. Birdsall, telling of the delay and
giving the name of the hotel for an answer.
How to turn the evening to account was re-
volving in his mind, and, noticing the bar of the
hotel, he dropped in there on the chance of pick-
ing up some stray leads from any old villagers
who might come in.
The place was deserted, and an old man was
doddering among the bottles at the back.
Sam spoke to him pleasantly: "I am trying to


228 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
locate an old resident of this town and I wonder
if you can help me out."
"Who are you looking for?" the other asked.
"R. Prentice. He was the cashier here thirty
years ago." Sam tried to speak unconcernedly.
"You '11 have a rare time finding him," said the
old man, laconically. "He 's been dead these
twelve years."
Sam was brought up with a jolt. He had not
thought of that. "Had he any family?" he asked
presently.
"Yeh. Got a darter• living here now; she's
married." The old man was peering at him curi-
ously over his glasses. "She married Jim Wal-
lace," he went on, "and they live on the Dungaree
Road."
Sam got the necessary directions from him
and after a hurried dinner set out.
Cotesville was a small factory town, and
branching off from the main thoroughfare were
narrow, newly made streets with gim-cracky
houses of the same pattern in a row on each side.
They looked as though they were built to accom-
modate an influx of laborers rather than the
natives.
He boarded the trolley-car that had just come
up the hill, and as they left the town proper, the
car line passed along the edge of old estates.


COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA 229
The impression of a shifting population was dis-
pelled, for these houses looked as though their
occupants had lived in them all their lives.
After Sam alighted, a short walk brought him
to the Wallaces' door, and, as he rang the bell, a
glance told him that Wallace was prosperous.
A servant ushered him into a stiff parlor whose
closeness reminded him of funerals, and he was
relieved when a pleasant-faced young matron
came smilingly into the room.
"Let me apologize for this intrusion," he be-
gan, as she glanced at his card. "I really came
to Cotesville to see your father." He spoke
sympathetically. "I learned of his death only on
my arrival. I wondered if you could do me the
service he might have done, had he been living.
That is why I 'm here."
"I will do what I can, Mr. Lane," touched by
his sympathy. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," taking the chair she indicated.
"I am trying to find a woman named Anne
Wolfe, and I have only a check to trace her by!"
Her brows knitted thoughtfully.
He drew the check out of his wallet and
handed it to her. "Your father cashed this check,
therefore I assume the person who presented it
was known to him. You will see that it in thirty
years old, and for that reason my chance of
tracing it is slight. To explain my errand, I


230 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
cannot tell you more than this,—that her iden-
tity may prove of incomparable value or be ut-
terly worthless. It is a matter of great impor-
tance, however, that the exact status of this par-
ticular woman in the case be determined if pos-
sible. Does the name suggest anything to you?"
A pause followed, while Mrs. Wallace studied
the check. "I am very sorry, Mr. Lane," she
answered frankly, "that I cannot help you in
this. I do not recall my father ever having men-
tioned Anne Wolfe, and I could n't have known
her, myself. This check was cashed before I was
born."
Sam showed his disappointment in his tone:
"I had hoped she was an old resident here, and
that in that event you would perhaps know of
her, at least by hearsay."
"I am quite sure she has not lived here for
twenty years, at least. Before that I should
have been too young to be positive now. How-
ever," she went on more hopefully, "I may be
able to help you in another way. Father had
two close friends here, and they are both living.
James Maxwell, who lives on Washington Street,
was the teller in the bank at the time you speak
of, and Ronald Fletcher of Arbuckle Place was
the big man of the town then. He is quite old
now and has retired. I will give you letters to
them both," and she hurried from the room.


COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA 231
His spirits began to rise; perhaps through one
or the other of these men the trail might straight-
en to a definite end.
Involuntarily his thoughts turned to Audrey
and their last moments together. The room in
which he was sitting faded away, as his mind
leapt back across the miles that separated them.
If only this vague chance that had taken him
from her side would develop into something of
importance and turn the chase in another direc-
tion! In his heart he could find no assurance for
this. Somehow the thought persisted that he
was wasting precious time in this out-of-the-way
place, while the real drama was being enacted in
the town he had but recently left.
When Mrs. Wallace returned to the room, she
found him walking the floor feverishly.
"Here are the letters, Mr. Lane, and I hope
they will prove of value to you. However, I
would not present them to-night. It is late and
both of the men are old. You could see Mr. Max-
well in the morning by just running over there,
but with Mr. Fletcher you will be obliged to
make an appointment. He has been ill recently."
Sam thanked her for her kindness and the
trouble she had gone to, though chafing at this
added delay.
His head was throbbing painfully as he walked
home.


232 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
Upon arriving at the hotel, Sam found a tele-
gram from Dr. Birdsall awaiting him that con-
tained the information that Mr. Jameson was
still ill, but that others had identified the hand-
writing on the memorandum as that of Judge
Torrance.
With this new intelligence rapping on his
brain came another thought. What had he done?
He was tracking Forrest now, and it was Forrest
who had hidden the evidence against Billy Fel-
lowes! He had promised Audrey not to follow
up the clue pointing to Billy Fellowes! Was he
not doing it after all?
His mind swung back to her and unconsciously
formed the inevitable triangle that Blake had
insisted upon. Forrest—Fellowes—Audrey!
Audrey—Fellowes—Forrest! And on, and on,
and on. What was the connection among the
three? Why had n't he had the frank talk with
her that she had desired? What a fool, what a
love-sick fool he had been! This was his punish-
ment, and a just one,—this old torture returning
unexplained to his mind.
Had he been misled by the feeling of distrust
he thought she had felt for Forrest? Was she
trying to spare him also? He tried to recall
their conversations. Surely she had given him
the impression that Forrest was not in her con-
fidence! But why should he have hidden that


COTESVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA 233
particular package that held proof of so direct
a motive and pointed to just one man,—the man
she was shielding?
As he lay in bed that night the grave accusa-
tions of Blake and Dr. Birdsall recurred inces-
santly to his mind. Sam felt now that he knew
just what the detective was aiming at,—that he
had never believed Audrey guilty of the deed
directly, or that she had incited it; he was mere-
ly putting her on the rack to wring from her the
testimony she would not give, that would bring
the real murderer into his hands. For he was
positive that the detective felt she knew who the
real culprit was.
His mind sought for explanations of many
small mysteries and he could find none. He
could not see why Forrest should have hidden
documents which, while clearing Fellowes of an
old charge, furnished proof of a cause for his
hating Judge Torrance, who had convicted him
of the crime while concealing the proof of his
innocence. He could not see how this helped
Forrest. And he did not know of any friendship
between Fellowes and Forrest to account for the
latter's loyalty to the former.
Only one thing of which he could be sure came
out of the confusion,—that Audrey was fond of
Fellowes and did absolutely believe him free of
any complicity in her father's murder.


OHAPTER XXXI
RONALD FLETCHER'S STORY
SAM found James Maxwell at home the next
morning, when he called and presented his
letter of introduction.
The other read it attentively: "Sit down, Mr.
Lane. Mrs. Wallace has asked me to give you
whatever information her father would have
given. I am at your service."
Sam drew the check from his wallet. "Do you
know, or have you known any one of that name?"
indicating the endorsement.
James Maxwell adjusted his glasses and care-
fully examined the handwriting. The ticking of
a large clock on the mantel was the only sound
in the room, while Sam, leaning forward, hung
upon his answer.
At last Maxwell spoke: "The signature is not
familiar at all, but somehow the name is. I see
Prentice cashed the check, so he probably knew,"
looking at it again reflectively. "Anne Wolfe."
He spoke the name as if believing the sound of
the words would recall some fugitive memory.
235


238 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"I 'd stake my life on it," earnestly. "That's
why I 'm here. I 'm running down every clue I
can find, to take this shadow of guilt off her."
The other regarded him quietly a moment
.
"It was too bad she ran away," he said thought-
fully. "That always looks bad. And yet she
might have been frightened."
"As an impartial judge," Sam said as he arose,
"who do you think did it?"
"Well, owing to the fact that this Forrest was
a beneficiary under the will, and hid those papers
that pointed toward a motive in Fellowes, I'd
say that he might have given the whole story to
Fellowes, for the purpose of feeding a flame of
revenge in him so that he might make him his
tool in killing Torrance. That would be a mo-
tive if this Forrest needed money badly at this
time, or—if he thought he were going to be cut
out of a new will."
Sam nodded as he listened, his eyes darkening
with thought.
"You don't know whether or not the daughter
knew this Fellowes, do you?" came with a sud-
den keenness from Maxwell.
Sam paused before he replied: "No!" was his
answer in a low voice. "Yet—suppose she had?"
He was conscious of a cold hush about his heart
as he uttered the denial and asked the question.
"Well, you see, if she does, that might be where


RONALD FLETCHER'S STORY 239
sh& comes in, but not necessarily as an accom-
plice. She might be in love with him and shield-
ing him, you know."
Sam's confidence got a jolt as he realized that
though he had kept back some of the salient facts
that would have blackened Audrey in this stran-
ger's eyes, the old man had connected the three,
—Forrest, Fellowes, and Audrey. However
kindly it was done, it was the old story,—the
world's opinion, unchanged.
He left directly afterward, with a sickening
fear at his heart.
In the afternoon, after several futile attempts,
he was at last able to see Ronald Fletcher.
He had come to a firm decision that, whatever
Audrey was doing for those others, she must give
up! Her safety alone concerned him, and he
must make her see that he viewed the case right-
ly, and persuade her to abandon the quixotic
attitude that had dragged her, innocently, into
this crimson net.
Ronald Fletcher gave him, in a few words, the
information he wanted, and the plain facts but
served to wipe away the last hope he had had
for an ending to the tragedy that might twist it
from the logical conclusion that was deduced
from all the available evidence.
Anne Wolfe, he learned, had been a governess
and companion to Fletcher's youngest child,


240 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
when she was barely twenty herself. She was
the daughter of an English clergyman, suddenly
orphaned, and thrown on her own resources in
this country. She had come to his household
through the introduction of a mutual friend.
He described her as a high-spirited, gifted girl,
and told Sam that she had been dearly loved by
his wife and all his children.
Lloyd Torrance, a lifelong chum of Fletcher's,
a successful lawyer, was a big plunger in Wall
Street, and had virtually doubled his own income
and those of his friends who trusted their specu-
lations to him.
He was Anne Wolfe's senior by many years,
and, upon visiting the Fletcher home at one time,
became interested in her story. At the sugges-
tion of Mrs. Fletcher he had invested in remu-
nerative securities the small sum left Anne by
her father.
The check, Mr. Fletcher told him, had been a
return from one of these investments.
She left the Fletchers, some time later, to
travel with friends, much to their regret, and
had drifted out of their lives. Subsequently
word had come to them of her death.
As quickly as Sam could curtail the interview
he did so. Hurrying to the station, he found
that a train was leaving for New York in an
hour, and he returned to his hotel for his bag.


CRUIKSHANK & BLAKE 243
"But where could she have gone?" asked the
elder man, suddenly serious.
"New York City" biting the words out. "This
little old burg is the best place I know of to tuck
yourself away in and lie 'cooey' till the storm
blows over."
"I must say you 've raked it over pretty thor-
oughly."
"Oh, I 'm not through yet. I know she came
here, don't I? And I know she never left by boat
or train unless the plain-clothes men on the look-
out wore the same colored glasses you did."
"Oh, cut it," crossly. "You 've been harping
on that theme long enough. I'd take my oath
she never stepped off that train. I picked up the
only one answering the description you phoned
me."
"Did I say black hair or reddish hair?" sar-
castically.
"Oh, I know what you said all right, but I
did n't want to take a chance on it. You know
there are such things as wigs and there was n't
any other young woman got off there, I tell you."
"I suppose you '11 be telling me next that the
young lady who described her so accurately was
lying."
"I should n't be surprised."
Henry Blake looked at him steadily a moment.
"You mean she was a decoy?"


244 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Why not? She was mighty eager with her
information for one who was as mad as a wet
hen when I held her up."
"Why the devil did n't you say all this then?"
"It did n't occur to me till afterward, when I
came to think it over."
"Well, what is your version of this disappear-
ance?" And there was a shade more of respect
in his tone.
"I think she went north" answered John
Cruikshank, slowly.
"But the station-master—" began Blake.
"May have been wrong," the other interrupted.
"He said he thought he saw her in the shadows
after the first train pulled out. He may have
seen the decoy, you know. She could have come
in later and kept out of sight until the other
boarded the train. You can't tell how long this
plan's been hatched. What impressed me most,
as I thought it over, was that we never asked the
black-haired lady who she was or where she came
from, and she never offered that information."
"She did n't tell you her name, or try to iden-
tify herself in any way when you detained her?"
sourly.
"No. She rushed through her bag, had no
cards—nothing—and then became furious."
"Good Lord, I think you're right! a decoy'"
His face was a study.


CRUIKSHANK & BLAKE 245
John Cruikshank got up and lighted a ciga-
rette. "I wired north as soon as I became con-
vinced of it. I am waiting now for the returns."
Henry Blake threw an open telegram on the
desk: "What do you make of that?"
His partner read it aloud: "'Cabman denies
the story told Lane. Don't think Fellowes was
here.—Birdsall.'"
"Another bubble," he answered. "And we 've
been looking for a woman with a man since
yesterday."
Blake got up with his most businesslike air, a
look of expectancy beginning to show in his
heavy face: "I think I '11 get about among our
men and start them on a hunt for our informer.
I can give them a description of her as good as a
photograph, for I sha'n't soon forget the jolt I
got when I saw her phiz beside you that night."
"She 's probably gone back where she came
from. Why don't you wire her description to
Birdsall?" suddenly. "If she's a native he might
know her."
"Do that, will you, Cruikshank? I'm off,"
and the junior partner flung out at the door.
A hurried search of hotel registers gave little
information. At one, however, where women
alone and without luggage could stop, a Mrs.
Wayne had been staying for two days. She an-
swered the description given. But her name con-


CKUIKSHANK & BLAKE 249
As John Cruikshank locked the office door for
the night and started down the stairs he heard a
telephone bell ringing sharply. He listened a
moment. The sound came from his room and he
hurried back.
"Hello," he called.
"Cruikshank and Blake?"
"Yes."
"This is Birdsall talking. I want Mr. Blake."
"Blake 's not here. This is Cruikshank. What
do you want?"
"A tam-o'-shanter belonging to Miss Torrance
washed up on the south beach last night. One
of Warren's men brought it in. Parts of a broken
boat were discovered adrift on the rocks a mile
farther down. Tell Blake."
"He's out of town, but I '11 try to reach him.
What do you make of it?"
"She may have got off that way. Yet it might
be a fake. We have looked for her body. There's
no sign of it anywhere."
"All right. I '11 get this news to him. Any-
thing else?"
"No, good night."
He hung up, whistling in amazement. After
a moment's abstracted thought, he searched the
desk for a time-table, and, finding one, studied
it, consulting his watch. He took the receiver
off the hook.


CLEARING THE SLATE 251
“Thomas looked for the boat this morning, but
it was not there," came to him dully as he stag-
gered away from the sound of her voice.
When he had reached the billiard-room his
agony took the form of action and, searching
feverishly for a note that perhaps she had left,
he rushed into the alcove. There was nothing
there. Her little things were lying carelessly
around the place as before.
He could not help feeling that she had meant
to return. This brought another terrible
thought. Had she been taken? He remembered
the wide latitude of action he had given her in
their last talk together, merely cautioning where
he should have forbidden.
Had she tried to reach the island again after
he had gone, and had Blake or some of his asso-
ciates trapped her there and taken her prisoner?
He stumbled back blindly into the room.
Nora had followed him and was standing
there, but her face seemed more normal now, for
in it he saw grief. “You did not let me finish,
sir,” brokenly. “Thomas heard some of the vil-
lage people talking on the main street to-day.
Warren found her tam-oʻ-shanter washed up on
the beach, and the broken boat. The whole force
have been searching the country for miles
around. To-morrow, they say, they are going to
dredge the inlet."


CLEARING THE SLATE 253
wall outside he saw a wet, bedraggled figure,
with wan eyes gleaming from a mass of wind-
swept hair.
It was Audrey!
With a stride he had her in his arms and in
the room. Then, the pale disk of her face sway-
ing toward him, he drew her suddenly into his
embrace and with a broken sob buried his lips
in her hair.
Sam was waiting in the hall while Nora
changed Audrey's wet clothes. The anguish that
had tormented him, when he thought her gone,
still had its cold hand upon him. He dared not
let her slip from his sight. She had become of a
fragility so illusive that holding her was like
grasping a silken thread.
Nora called him in.
Robed in her russet gown, Audrey was sitting
on cushions before the blazing logs, drying her
hair with little weary motions. Sam went over
quickly and knelt down beside her and she
turned her burning face from the fire toward
him. With a sudden unexpected movement she
threw her arms around his neck.
"My dear," she said, "I thought I 'd never see
you again. I promised to do nothing that would
take me away from you. I never meant to. I


254
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
was coming back last night, but I saw lights
moving about on the shore, so I hid.”
"Can you tell me about it, dear?”
“Yes, I will tell you all,- from the very begin-
ning, so you will understand.”
"Let me make you more comfortable,” he
said gently, and, getting up, he drew a large
chair to the blaze. He placed her in it and knelt
at her feet.
“You asked me to explain to you about Nora
and Thomas before I went away,” he said quick-
ly. "I did not, and I have regretted it since. It
was just this: I learned through Dr. Birdsall of
their relationship to Fellowes. The sounds I
heard in my house the first night I came were
made, undoubtedly, by Fellowes. I asked you
about them, if you remember, in the woods, the
day we met. Tell me, Audrey, did you know he
was hiding in my house then?”
“No, Sam. I feared something of the sort, but
I did not know till later.”
"Now I'll listen to you,” he said. And there
was a certain contentment in his tone.
She settled back in the chair: "I'll begin with
last night,” she said. “I left here, as I did be.
fore, unobserved. When I reached the island I
saw the light of lanterns moving around on the
shore behind me, and I knew the police were
looking for some one. I did not dare to return,


SUDDEN LIGHT
263
“No, dear.” She forced him away, her small
hands pressed against his breast. “Hear what I
have to say."
He stood passively as she continued :
“I love you. You've called me brave. I
should be a coward to do what you ask. You
spoke truthfully when you said we should spend
our lives wandering. Suppose this mystery holds
and this murderer, whoever it may be, is not
found: sha’n’t I remain under suspicion? And
would n't my going away with you secretly, our
living like fugitives, skulking and hiding in far-
off places, seem guilty? Of course it would," she
ended with a sad little sigh.
"Not in the delightful free comradeship that
you've pictured would our lives be spent, dear.
All the frankness and confidence that you love
would be impossible. I could n't have you do this
for me, Sam,” she said and her face, young and
wistful as it was, was very resolute. "Not now!
I must be clear of this before I let you into my
life or I go into yours."
Sam could only listen with a look of dumb
torment.
Audrey went on, with a soft and thrilling
force: “I have another reason. I am going to
tell you something you do not know."
She stepped swiftly to the alcove and swung


264 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
back the door, looking tenderly up at the
portrait.
"This is the picture of my mother. When she
was as young as I am, through her impulsive-
ness, she ruined your uncle's life, and yet—she
loved him." Turning to him suddenly, with
quivering face: "Two women of my race hurting
two men of yours, and both loving them! Oh,
no, dear! I am ages older than Mother in experi-
ence and I know that I may not do this thing
to you."
Here she broke down a little, her sweet mouth
moving so piteously that Sam went to her and
took her in his arms. For a while the longing to
force her to his wish, in spite of anything she
might say, overwhelmed him. The thought of
her danger, the dread certainty of her capture
at any moment tore him. If he only could find
words that might move her from her decision!
He battled with himself, that he might keep his
mind clear for further persuasion. If he could
at least get her away—alone!
She was calm in his embrace; yet as he looked
down searchingly and wistfully at her he knew
that what he had hoped for could not be. Noth-
ing could change the earnest resolve showing
through the pale glow of her face.
His eyes left her unwillingly, a look almost of
anguish in them; she was so little, so like a wind-


266 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
him would have left a crippling mark forever.
He did not turn toward her when he spoke:
"There is one thing upon which I am determined,
—they shall not get you. I shall arrange it so
that at least you can get away alone."
She was about to speak, but he interrupted
her. "Don't let's discuss this now. To-morrow,
perhaps. To-night I want to try to clear up some
points in this mystery. If Fellowes did n't com-
mit this crime, who did?" His tone, however,
was hopeless.
"He could n't have done it, dear. Don't you
remember it was my knife they found?"
"He could have, Audrey. You might as well
face the facts. He had an accomplice in the
house."
"An accomplice! Who?"
"Forrest!"
"That's not possible, Sam. He barely knew
Billy."
Briefly he told her how the secretary had hid-
den in the eaves of the house, where he had
found them, the papers proving Fellowes's in-
nocence.
She sat for a moment as if stunned, and then
her face lightened with a new knowledge. "Billy
never did it, Sam. I know him. If he had killed
my father, it would have been in a rage, sud-
denly. He was not the sort that could wait and


268 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
frequent occurrences there. If it was n't one
person, it was another."
By a strange freak of memory, something that
had escaped Sam came back and, turning to
Audrey, he told her of the slip of paper he had
found protruding from the leaf of the library
desk.
"He was going to disinherit him then, not
me?" she said quickly.
"Exactly. And don't you recall Forrest's say-
ing at the inquest that he was leaving in the
morning?"
"Yes, I do, and it was the first I had heard of
it. I remember being surprised at the time.
This quarrel must have been severe enough to
occasion his dismissal. Do you think, Sam, that
he could have done this thing?"
"Why not? He could easily have gotten your
knife; and, come to think of it, he was the only
one who left the house after the murder. You
know the night I looked for that letter for you?"
"Yes."
"There was no knife there then, I 'd swear.
Later on, that same night, I could n't sleep and,
getting up, sat at my window to smoke a ciga-
rette. I saw some one go up that path and turn
toward Torrance House. I thought afterward
it might have been Blake. The very next evening
that knife was found."


270
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
something pleasant. I opened this old chest one
day and found the love-letters your mother wrote
to my uncle.” He drew them out and placed
them gently in Audrey's hands.
Audrey fingered them wistfully. “I'll really
learn to know her at last! Your uncle, Nora,
and Thomas were the only ones who ever told me
about her. Father never mentioned her name.”
Sam reached back into the chest and took out
the second package: “There are the last; leave
them to the end. Poor little Isabel Craddock!"
The feeling was strong in them both that the
morrow would bring an end to these strange days
together, that had been so tragic and yet in one
way sweet. While not wishing it otherwise, in
their own hearts each sought for an excuse to
lengthen the moments before they must say good
night. So they lingered over the chest, peering
down into its dark corners.
“What are the rest of the things?” she asked
as she knelt there beside him.
"I don't really know," he replied, as he drew
out a small jewel-box. He opened it and they
saw a wonderfully cut diamond in an old-
fashioned setting. He took it out. Engraved on
the inside of the band was "G. S. B.” to “I. C.”
and the date. And, taking her left hand in his,
he put it on the third finger.
Audrey gazed at it for a moment and then her


272 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
I saw your face. Show it to me. Don't keep me
in suspense!"
But he was staring at her and through her,
blankly, and her sudden amusement died. She
held her hand out and it trembled. Without a
word he handed the paper over, and she read it
.
After a pause Audrey raised her eyes to Sam's.
Neither of them could speak.
Suddenly he leaned toward her, a frightful
knowledge showing through the amazement in
his face: "Audrey, I have it. This is what For-
rest thought he was hiding!"
She sat staring at him, her lips mumbling in
an unintelligible way: "Harry Forrest father's
illegitimate son—Harry Forrest—oh!" The
paper slipped from her hands.


274 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
found in the desk, showing the old Judge's inten-
tion regarding the will, they felt sure would
suffice to put aside the case against her and in-
1 stead bring an arraignment of the secretary.
The knife which had played so important a
part in the crime had been available to any one
in the house. There was strength, too, in the
fact that she was giving herself up willingly,
having finished the work she had set out to do,
—to find the murderer of her father. This would
have been impossible had she been arrested and
sent to jail.
When each step had been covered, Sam was to
telephone Nora, and Audrey would go at once
to the Torrance house.
The clock in the hall struck two as Sam crossed
to his room. But, despite the lateness of the
hour and his fatigue, there was a buoyancy in
his step. •
Because of Jameson's illness, that might pre-
vent his seeing any one at an early hour, it was
after twelve the next day before Sam went to
his house.
An old servant, who seemed to be slightly deaf,
answered the bell, and it took him several mo-
ments to impress on her the importance of his
visit.
Many precious moments seemed to be passing
uselessly before he heard her returning steps.


FROM THE LIPS OF THE DEAD 279
"You could swear that he said it was seven-
twenty?"
"Oh, yes, sir! I hear it now as I remember
it,—just as plain as I did then. Seven-twenty
was what he said."
The tenseness that had been holding Sam sud-
denly relaxed, and he turned toward the lawyer,
who was now standing by his chair. "I 'm going
to see Birdsall at once," he said in a breath.
"Wait," said the old man. "Get him here.
Tell him to get his jury, and we '11 go to the
Torrance house together.
"You?" Sam asked anxiously.
"Yes, I. My illness was more than half men-
tal, and the cause has been removed." And with
sudden agility, brushing past Amelia, he went
into the hall and down the stairs, hastening to
the telephone; while Sam followed him in
amazement.
When the party, including Dr. Birdsall,
reached the place that had been the scene of the
great tragedy, they found Audrey in the parlor,
waiting for them. She was alone.
The coroner met her half-way as she came
quickly toward him.
"I am sorry that I had to do this thing in this
way," she said, anticipating him. "I was inno-
cent, but the evidence against me seemed so con-
vincing that I despaired of proving it to you


282 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
"Father took off the receiver to call Mr. Jame-
son; it was his way of dismissing me. But I
would not go. I told him that he was hiding
something, and that he must tell me the truth
and do as I said or I would leave his house the
next morning, never to return. He seemed to
faint. I hung up the receiver and brought him
around. Then," she paused a second, but went
on resolutely, "then I heard that terrible scream
outside, and ran out to see what it was.
"Your father was thoroughly recovered then?"
"Yes."
"I wish you had told me all this before, Miss
Torrance. We have wasted a great deal of
time."
"I think you can understand why I did not,
can't you?" She spoke in a low tone.
"Yes. Although it was wrong to conceal any-
thing, I think I do," replied the coroner. "These
skeletons in the closet are things we would
rather not bring out."
"Is there anything else you wish to ask me,
Dr. Birdsall?" Audrey asked quickly.
"No, I think not. You have satisfied me en-
tirely. What you say dovetails with the evidence
I have, perfectly."
Mr. Jameson arose where he was sitting.
"There is something I would like to add here,
Birdsall, that you will find equally conclusive.


FROM THE LIPS OF THE DEAD 283
Mr. Lane and I questioned my servant Amelia
about the telephone call received from Judge
Torrance the night of his murder. I just recalled
to-day that she answered the phone first, not I,
and she has been able definitely to settle the time
of the call,—I may say from the lips of the dead.
I have brought her with me."
The coroner and jury leaned forward eagerly
as the old servant stood up and tremulously re-
peated the story she had told earlier.
When she had finished there was a breathless
pause in the room. Then the sound of footsteps
descending the stairs broke the stillness.


CHAPTER XXXVI
THE RETURN OF HENRY BLAKE
HENRY BLAKE was on his way back to
Wedgewood. His journey to Grimestone
had been futile. How his time and effort had
been wasted became exasperatingly clear to him
when, after this twenty-four hour delay, the tele-
gram telling of the finding of Audrey's cap on
the shore reached him just as he was leaving
the place.
The first idea that flashed to him from the
message—that she probably had been drowned
—he quickly dismissed. This was most likely a
ruse. And moreover, as he brooded savagely in
the train southward he began to feel that, very
cleverly, she had never left Wedgewood at all,
—was still hiding there somewhere.
In Wedgewood alone would she be safe. She
had evidently known her avenues of escape the
whole time that he had been cautiously drawing
the net closer about her. What a fool he had
been to fall so easily into this trap! He could
not get back too quickly now, and start anew
284


THE RETURN OF HENRY BLAKE 285
on Audrey Torrance's trail, more determined
than ever to find her.
The connection between her and Fellowes was
by this time, from the accumulation of evidence,
established beyond a doubt. In one big fact
alone, she had betrayed herself,—when she had
used his sister as a decoy.
After careful consideration he dismissed the
thought of seeing the coroner when he reached
the village. From now on he determined to fol-
low his own hunch, and the first step he intended
to take was to run down the elusive Mrs. Wayne,
Billy Fellowes's sister.
When he reached the station it was dark, and
he was grateful for the dusk that would cover
his arrival until he could get his bearings.
Avoiding the station-master, who he knew
would recognize him, he turned in at the side
door where the telegraph operator, a girl, was
closing the place for the night and secured Mrs.
Wayne's address from her.
He noticed as he followed her directions that
the lane would take him through the lower part
of town, so he retraced his steps and cutting
through a by-street came upon the house from
the rear.
The place was dark, except for a dim light in
what was apparently the kitchen. He knocked
on the door.


288 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
When they returned to the hall the detective
spoke for the first time. "Do you know how
long Mrs. Wayne will be out?"
"No," the woman replied quickly. "She may
be gone all evening. She didn't say."
Blake looked at her a moment. There was a
shrewdness in his gaze that somehow she missed.
"Very well, I won't wait," he said casually.
"I '11 call again."
They could hardly restrain their eagerness as
they opened the door to let him out. He saw
them watching him as he passed up the street and
when their faces had disappeared from the door-
way, he hurriedly retraced his steps through
some shrubbery. He stole quickly to a window
on the ground floor that, as he looked through the
house, he had noticed was partly open.
In silence he crawled through the aperture
and stood in the parlor.
The two people were whispering in the hall.
Finally the woman raised her voice, and the
words became intelligible to him.
"We ought to call her up. There's something
queer going on."
"She's at her grandmother's, isn't she?"
asked the man.
"Yes." She went to the telephone and gave
the number, but before she could get her party
Blake stepped out quickly into the hall.


THE RETURN OF HENRY BLAKE 289
"Hang up that receiver!" he directed in an
edged voice.
With a frightened scream she jumped back-
ward, and the telephone dropped from her hand.
"So that's your game!" His eyes were leveled
on them both. The man was standing sullenly,
not looking at him.
"Get into your things," he commanded, with
an ugly look, "both of you. You can move right
along with me. Who is her grandmother?"
"Nora Quimby," the man answered. "She
works over at Batcheller's place."
"Whew!" exclaimed the detective. "Where
Sam Lane lives!"
"Yes," was the reply.
The light that came into Blake's face was as
vindictive as it was keen.
How the bits were fitting in as into a pattern,
one after the other! He went to the telephone.
"Warren," he called after getting his number,"
rush a man up here at once," and he told him
where he was.
*He turned to the couple, who" were watching
him narrowly. "I am going to stay right here
till the constable's man comes," he said. And
he made himself comfortable in a chair.
Rose Wayne was taking leave of the old couple,
who were sitting apprehensively in the kitchen


290 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
after relating to her how Audrey had sur-
rendered herself to the coroner with some new
evidence that had come to light.
“I really don't think we have a thing to worry
about now," the granddaughter said, putting on
her hat. “Billy 's evidently gone, and Audrey's
too clever to do this if she has n't something
pretty sure up her sleeve. Did she tell you what
she had found ?”
“No," Thomas replied, “but I gathered it was
serious. It has to do with young Forrest.”
Rose turned and stared at him a moment.
“Well," she said finally, “that's the very last
thing I would have guessed.” For a space she
seemed lost in thought. "Was n't it Forrest who
told the old Judge that Billy was in love with
Audrey ?”
“Yes,” said Nora, “it was that. 'Twas bright
of you to remember it, Rose."
"He was sorry, though, afterwards, that he
let it out," said Thomas, truthfully. “He came
and told me so himself when he saw all the
trouble it brought on us. It seems he thought
the old Judge knew all about it."
"Oh, pickles !” said Rose, lightly. “Any one
can be sorry after they've gained their point,
you know. Well, I must be off. I did n't mean
to stay so long, but I'm glad you called
me up."


THE RETURN OF HENRY BLAKE 291
After kissing them both she swung breezily
out at the door.
Thomas and Nora sat silently rocking for a
few moments, deep in thought.
Suddenly the old man raised his head with a
jerk.
“What is it?" she asked anxiously.
“Did n't ye hear a scratching on the window?”
in a hushed voice.
“Thomas, you 're nervous. It's probably the
wind blowing the bushes against the pane."
A decided, soft knock came and brought them
at once to their feet, their faces suddenly white.
“It's him,-come back," gasped the old wo-
man, creeping uncertainly to the door.
As she opened it, a young man of slender build
stepped quickly into the room. He was good-
looking, clean-cut, young; there was something
fearless in his carriage, although his face was
ravaged by fatigue, and the corners of his mouth
had a bitter twist. As his eyes quickly took in the
occupants of the room, they had a look of fever.
“Where's Donnie?” he asked breathlessly.
“You-comeback," wailed the old woman.
“God have mercy on us!”
"Oh, why did you do this, Billy ?" Thomas
pleaded, coming toward him with affection.
“Never mind me," and his tone jarred raggedly
in the room. “Where is she? When I got to the


CHAPTER XXXVII
THE ARRAIGNMENT OF HARRY FORREST
HERE was a stillness pregnant with sus-
1 pense in the parlor at the Torrance house,
before the appearance of Harry Forrest.
At last he came. His face was much thinner
than formerly, and had an anxious expression
as he walked quietly into the room in his usual
way.
Casually, as though without curiosity, he
glanced over the occupants of the room, till his
gaze fell upon Audrey, who was sitting at a dis-
tance from him, her head bowed. With a ner-
vous movement he passed his hand over his eyes
and came to a dead stop, staring in her direction.
Dr. Birdsall broke the silence: "Mr. Forrest,
will you please come forward? We have ques-
tions to ask you."
He moved mechanically, at sound of the voice,
to within a few feet of the coroner.
“I am going to return once more to the dinner
preceding Judge Torrance's murder, with the
hope that you may have refreshed your mind con-
cerning the conversation at the table that night,
294


296 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
slowly: "Will you explain that last remark? It
points to ill-feeling!"
"Not at all," was the cool answer. "One gets
tired of living with those whose point of view
is apt to be different from one's own on almost
every conceivable subject."
"And this was all? Are you sure there was
nothing else that made you desirous of making a
change?"
"I think the reasons I gave sufficient for any
ambitious and sincere man."
"That is not answering my question, Mr. For-
rest."
"I cannot explain more fully than that, Dr.
Birdsall!" And he showed a slight irritation.
"What you have said seems to me the conclu-
sion arrived at after reflection, and not acted
upon so hastily,—as, let us say, the very next
day. I have discovered, Mr. Forrest, that no
member of the household was aware of the in-
tended change in your plans. I infer, also, that
Judge Torrance, himself, probably knew of it
only on the day of which we 're speaking. Else I
should think he would have tried to secure some
one to replace you. I know of no such attempt
on his part."
Forrest waited stolidly for the next question.
Dr. Birdsall watched him a moment. "Are
you sure, Mr. Forrest," he rapped out, "that


ARRAIGNMENT OF HARRY FORREST 297
you did not quarrel with Judge Torrance the
morning of the day he was killed?"
A breathless pause followed and the defendant
raised his eyes slowly to meet his interrogator.
"Quite sure," he said coolly, in a steady tone.
"You are willing to let that statement stand?"
testily.
"I am."
"Mr. Forrest, I have proof that you did quarrel
with the deceased at the time I speak of.—Kate,"
suddenly wheeling toward her as she stood ner-
vously in the doorway, "repeat your testimony."
When she had finished, he turned back to the
secretary: "Mr. Forrest, what have you to say?"
"Nothing!" was the reply.
"Do you mean to tell me that in reply to an
assertion of this sort, coming on top of your
denial, you have nothing to say?"
"There is nothing I can say, Dr. Birdsall. It
seems to me that what Kate has said is con-
clusive."
"You admit, then, that you told a falsehood?"
"That is evident."
"What was your reason for denying it, Mr.
Forrest? This is a very serious matter, and I am
trying to give you every possible chance."
His tone was very earnest, and the real soul of
the man shone from his eyes in his attempt at


ARRAIGNMENT OF HARRY FORREST 299
conversation at dinner that night had no con-
nection whatever with the paper you concealed
in the eaves of this house,—the paper you took
from the tin box in the study?”
The secretary's glance passed over Audrey and
settled with a steel gleam on Sam, who sat
tensely watching him. He did not reply.
“Will you answer my question, please?" came
shortly from the coroner.
"I can only repeat what I have said," coolly,
withdrawing his gaze. “I did not hear the con-
versation at dinner.”
“Mr. Forrest, did you wrap up the package
that you concealed on this particular night?”
“I did not.”
“Why did you hide it?" tersely.
“Why does any one hide a thing?” ironically.
"With the hope that it will not be found.”
“What did the package that you hid contain ?”
And the tone was adamant. There was no mercy
in it.
“Since you have it, Dr. Birdsall, the question
seems superfluous.”
“I think not, Mr. Forrest. My belief is that
you were under the impression you were hiding
one thing, while in reality the package con-
tained something entirely different."
For a moment Forrest's look held him. He
seemed completely off guard, as though his mind
see


302
WITHIN FOUR WALLS
it. We have only his word for it,” heavily, “that
he found Judge Torrance dead. We know the
Judge was alive at seven-twenty, and we know he
was dead at seven-thirty. To our knowledge, no
one stood within those four walls but Harry For-
rest.
“We have discovered his attempts to defeat
justice by concealing papers that belonged to the
deceased and that should have been turned over
to the officers of the law. We have every reason
to infer that the paper he did conceal was not
the one he intended to. The fact that he had
kept this relationship a secret throughout his
entire residence in this place, would lead us to
suppose that it was still his intention to do so.
His denial is of no value, since he has already
admitted testifying falsely to-day.
"I shall just point out to you gentlemen the
fact that this man could have had easy access to
Miss Torrance's room to secure the knife on his
way to the library. He is the only member of this
household who left the house with full liberty,
from the night of the murder up to the time the
knife was found. You can make your own deduc-
tions."
A few seconds' silence hung over the room with
the effect of a taut cord by which every listener
was held, before the next slow and incisive words
came:


ARRAIGNMENT OF HARRY FORREST 303
"I ask for the indictment of Harry Forrest
for the murder of his father, Lloyd G. Torrance.”
The impulse of each who heard was to look at
the accused man, standing rigidly with staring
eyes. But this was frustrated by a thing of such
unexpectedness that it tore the silence with the
sound of fate in it.
A cry came from the hall, where the servants
were gathered. A cry rising and rising in poig-
nant anguish, in terror, and in the wildest de-
nial!
The coroner rose, but stood speechless, as a
woman's wild figure flashed into the room.
“No, no! He did not do it! I did it! I did it!
Don't indict him! He is my son! I murdered
Judge Torrance. -Harry! Harry! Oh—” and
she slipped unconscious to the floor, at his feet.
It was the servant Sarah.


CHAPTER XXXVIII
CONFESSION
THE occurrence had an effect upon the group
much as if the walls had fallen upon them
and then righted themselves.
As the shock subsided, Harry Forrest was seen
staring in a befogged way at the woman who
claimed to be his mother. When the others
would have closed about them both, he became
suddenly protective, stooped over and with im-
pressive gentleness gathered the wasted body
up into his arms and carried it to the couch.
The strange look on his face made them feel
that he desired no hands but his own to touch
her, and they fell back to let him pass. After
he had lain her down, Dr. Birdsall strove vainly,
as it seemed for a time, to bring her back to
consciousness. The young man remained stand-
ing at her feet silently, the while searching her
face with a haunted gaze that held as much of
mystification in it as of pain.
The woman known only as Sarah Hardy lay
passively before them. Her hair, which had
304


CONFESSION 305
broken loose from its usual tight knot, fell in
shimmering coils to the floor, making her look
girlish. And when Dr. Birdsall gently removed
her glasses in order to apply an ice pack to her
head, she was revealed as a woman still young
but bearing the damaging marks of grief and
hardship.
Sam and Audrey, as they stood side by side
looking at her, saw the likeness to Harry For-
rest. He, too, as he leaned over her silently
ached as he noted the resemblance.
At last she opened her eyes and looked wonder-
ingly around the group until she found her son,
and the love in her face was more than he could
bear. Kneeling down beside her, in a shy, yearn-
ing way he took the hand that she held out to
him.
With the other she tremblingly stroked his
arm, such a look of tenderness and peace in her
eyes that the watchers turned their heads away
and left them alone.
After a while she spoke: "I must tell you it all
from the beginning, so you will understand."
She had to pause for breath a moment and her
face was ghastly.
Dr. Birdsall interrupted her warningly: "You
had better rest a while before speaking."
"I must speak," she answered, "while I have
the strength. I must tell all of you who accused


306 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
—him—why I did this—and now while I can."
Her gaze returned to Forrest, who still knelt be-
side her, unable to speak.
"Will you take down notes of whatever she
may say?" Birdsall had said in an aside to Sam,
as he waved the reporter and jurors aside to give
her more air. "Sit here at the end of the table,"
and he pushed a note-book and pencil before him.
As Sam obeyed, Audrey drew away and sat
alone. The whole scene seemed unreal to her.
All she was conscious of was pity for the woman
who had suffered and was to suffer more. Of
her father she dared not think.
In the dead quiet of the room Sarah's confes-
sion began. It was told with many breaks, with
sounds of pain and shame. Sometimes the words
were so faint Sam could scarcely hear them;
sometimes a sob finished a sentence. Set down in
plain print, the story of the past was this:
"When I was barely twenty my father died
and left me a small income. He was an English
clergyman, and I his only child. I came to this
country to earn my living, and some friends I
met here introduced me to a country family of
great wealth."
Sam, sharply interested, leaned forward. "I
should like to ask one question here," he said to
Birdsall, and then to Sarah: "Tell me, are you
Anne Wolfe?"


308 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
gested that we have dinner somewhere and go to
the theater.
"The family were going to be out that night and
I excused myself from joining them. After the
children had been put to bed I met Mr. Torrance.
The dinner was in his rooms, in one of the smart
sections of the city. I did not think this strange,
as I had never been told that an unchaperoned
woman should not dine with a man in his rooms.
"He told me then that he had speculated with
my money and lost it all. You may think me
queer, but I did n't care a bit. I told him so.
He offered to make it up to me.
"It was then that he asked me to marry him
when he was able to, and I promised I would."
She hesitated painfully before continuing, and
her face became rigid in its intensity. "That
night—I became his wife—in reality. I make no
excuses for myself; I will not try to soften the
truth, except to say that he persuaded me
through my innocence and my love for him, and
—with his false philosophy of life."
After speaking these words, though she turned
away from Forrest, she clung to his hand with
tragic appeal. "Oh, remember that I was young,
and lonely and—in love! And he—oh, he was
the born master and he knew women's hearts,
knew them well, and had no mercy for such a
foolish one as mine!"


CONFESSION 309
The touch of her son's hand upon her cheek,
and the fiercely tender words: "Don't be afraid!"
soothed her.
"I went back to my hotel at midnight," she
went on very slowly "I was very happy. I
adored him and trusted him implicitly. We were
to be married as soon as he could manage it, but I
was to say nothing to any one until he gave me
permission.
"After I had been back in the country a while,
I suddenly realized that I was going to be a
mother. I wrote him a frantic letter. His an-
swer was a check, without a word. I wrote again
and again, but he did not reply to any of my let-
ters. I told the people that I was with that I was
going back to England with some friends, and,
cashing the check, came on to New York.
"I went to his apartment and found it closed.
His office told me that he had gone to Europe,—
had left the day before. I think in the days that
followed my mind became unbalanced. My
money soon gave out and I found a position as
nursery maid, but when the truth of my condition
was discovered I lost it."
She was gasping for breath, her eyes wild.
When she spoke again her words fell in a frenzy
from her lips:
"Harry, you were born in the charity ward of
a city hospital. When I was well enough to


310 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
leave, I went out with just a few dollars given
me by the tender-hearted woman who nursed me.
I could not get another place and I had to beg
the milk that kept you from starvation.
"One day, when I had reached the end, I went
back to the hospital and told the nurse every-
thing. She said she knew some people who would
take you and bring you up as their own, and if I
were able to take you back some day I might have
you. But I must never see you or let you know
the truth until that time.
"The next day I took you to your new home
and kissed you good-by. Something died in me
then. This same woman got me a position as
a nursery governess. I stayed there for a while,
and one day was nearly recognized by my former
employer in the street. I changed my name and
place, and put a notice of my death in the paper.
"One day I saw the announcement of Mr. Tor-
rance's marriage. For a week I was mad. My
whole life turned to a burning desire to find this
man and punish him for the havoc he had made
in my life. I haunted the theaters, restaurants,
searched business registers and apartments in
the better part of town, but I did not find him.
I only succeeded in losing my position.
"Then came a struggle with poverty. I lost
one place after another. I used to stand on the
corner near your house to see you pass by, and


312 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
felt he had been delivered into my hands. The
paper was years old, but I felt sure that I could
trace him.
"I came to Wedgewood, and was face to face
with my destroyer at last. He was old now, and
ill. I threatened to expose him if he would
not do something for you. I became conscious
as I talked to him that he was disappointed be-
cause he had not had a son. I gave him your
address and the name of the people you were
with. He said he would give you a home with
him, if I would let him alone.
"I went to your place the next day and ar-
ranged for them to give you up. You know how
he finally succeeded in persuading you to come
and live with him, claiming a distant relation-
ship and offering you chances of advancement.
"For a while this satisfied me, but then the
mother in me craved to be near you. I wrote to
him again, saying that he must let me come here
to live or I would make public the whole story.
It frightened him, for by this time he had found
you necessary, had grown to love you, too.
"He sent for me and I came to Wedgewood,
in the capacity of a servant. He showed me
the will he had made, and told me that if I were
willing to stay on here in this way, without ever
betraying my relationship, or his, to you, the
will would be unchanged. He had left me the


CONFESSION 315
terror, till I heard your voice calling. I was
your mother, and I had killed—your father—"
She stopped.
The woman's confession now ended. Sam was
desirous of having her clear several things that
were inexplicable and troubled him. It seemed
impossible that this gentle, motherly woman
could have wished to have Audrey suffer for her
crime.
"Tell me what became of the knife. Did you
hide it on the path?" he asked incredulously.
"I meant to throw it into the sound, but I was
frightened. Some one was at the end of the path,
and I concealed it in the first place I could find.
I never thought they would suspect the Judge's
daughter. I hoped that the murder would al-
ways remain a mystery, and that maybe I 'd have
a little happiness yet."
The woman's eyes grew suddenly wild as she
sprang up for a moment and rested on her elbow:
"He deserved to die! He ruined my life,—would
have ruined Harry's!"
Her body was shaken with a racking cough,
and the coroner waved the others from the room.
Forrest, still kneeling rigidly at her side, laid
his head down on her hands.


CHAPTER XXXIX
THE AFTERMATH
N o you remember the little verse you quoted
to me last night?” Sam asked Audrey as
he followed her into the hall.
“ "The thorns I reap-oh, yes, how true it is!
Sam, do you think she will live?”
"No; I don't believe Birdsall thinks so, either.
He just told me he had been treating her for
years, in fact, ever since she's been here. Her
heart's in bad shape, he said.”
A loud rapping on the front door interrupted
them. A nervous start from Audrey, as she sud-
denly gripped his hand, showed Sam that these
days of horror had left a deep imprint it would
take some time to wipe out, and he held her
gently to him as Kate passed quickly to see who
it was.
In the library the jury were talking in lowered
voices about the case; the dull monotones that
drifted into the hall stopped abruptly at this
new sound. When the door opened, a strange
group met their eyes.
Nora and Thomas stumbled into the light, and
316


THE AFTERMATH
317
back of them silently came Blake and Billy Fel-
lowes. The latter was hand-cuffed to the detec-
tive, his eyes strained anxiously in search of one
face. At last he found it.
And Audrey, responding to the look, broke
from Sam and ran to his side. It was only then
that she noticed the steel on his wrist.
"Take it off !” The demand rang out as her
head went up a little. And, although her eyes
glittered angrily, there was a triumphant some-
thing about her that Blake could not understand.
The jurors, by this time, had come forward to
learn the cause of the excitement.
“Why, what's this?” asked the foremost juror.
“I have arrested Fellowes.” Blake spoke with
authority. But somehow his look had cheapened,
his manner lacked conviction. His eyes, in a face
that had grown pale, wore an ugly, waiting ex-
pression.
Sam, remaining where Audrey had left him,
was watching Billy Fellowes. A strange tug
came at his heart as he noticed how, wholly un-
conscious of his surroundings, the prisoner was
looking steadily at the girl by his side, in his
lowes knew that Audrey had passed beyond his
reach,—that perhaps from Nora he had heard
that they were lovers. He could see that she was
unaware of this gaze as, holding valiantly to


320 WITHIN FOUR WALLS
ened, was admitted by Kate. Her gaze leaped
at once to her brother, and he hurried to her, a
glow breaking through the sadness in his face.
When the first big moment had passed, Billy
bent and whispered something in her ear that
made her go with outstretched hands to Audrey.
Nora and Thomas, preceding the others from
the library, came out and those in the hall bi*oke
into groups, discussing the new aspect the case
had taken on.
A little later, when they were starting home,
Billy hesitated; then, in a sudden way that
showed restrained, strong feeling, he reached
his big, brown sailorman's hands to Audrey:
"Good-by, then," he said with the wistful smile
she had always found winning.
"Good-by?" Audrey asked, her face a little
pale.
"Yes, Donnie. I 'm going back where I came
from—that is, to all the big outside—for a
while," and his eyes had reluctant farewell in
them as they left hers. "I 'm coming back to
stay, but not just yet. I hope you '11 be happy,
very happy." Another grip of her hand and he
was gone.
Every one had left now except the coroner.
Blake had departed in a silence new to him. He
was not a man who took kindly to defeat. The
case was at an end, as he had said it would be


THE AFTERMATH 321
when the gang came together. But not in the
way he had pictured. It had terminated in sur-
prises for himself,—humiliating ones.
Sam drew Audrey over to a couch and they
sat down.
As Dr. Birdsall was leaving he came over to
them: "Lane, do you remember that cry that you
heard two or three times, and that puzzled you
so?" he asked with a touch of amusement in his
face. "I have the explanation of it. Fellowes
brought a howling monkey with him from one of
the wild places in the tropics. It died over on
the island when he was hiding there. That heel-
print was his, too," he went on. "He was outside
the window the night of the murder. Nora told
us about it in the other room. That poor old
couple have had their hands full."
Audrey was listening silently, a certain secrecy
in her eyes.
"It's a strange thing," the coroner continued;
"if Fellowes had been caught here then, I don't
think anything could have saved his life,—short
of the confession, of course. And perhaps," he
said a little dubiously, "she would never have
confessed. "In the excitement she might have
died before she could speak."
Audrey brought her small fist down upon her
knee. To Sam it seemed like the impact of a
flower against a stone wall, and he loved the