none brewster's millions by george barr mccutcheon author of "graustark," "beverly of graustark," "castle craneycrow," etc. contents i. a birthday dinner ii. shades of aladdin iii. mrs. and miss gray iv. a second will v. the message from jones vi. monty cristo vii. a lesson in tact viii. the forelock of time ix. love and a prize-fight x. the napoleon of finance xi. coals of fire xii. christmas despair xiii. a friend in need xiv. mrs. demille entertains xv. the cut direct xvi. in the sunny south xvii. the new tenderfoot xviii. the prodigal at sea xix. one hero and another xx. le roi s'amuse xxi. fairyland xxii. prince and peasants xxiii. an offer of marriage xxiv. the sheik's strategy xxv. the rescue of peggy xxvi. the mutiny xxvii. a fair traitor xxviii. a catastrophe xxix. the prodigal's return xxx. the promise of thrift xxxi. how the million disappeared xxxii. the night before xxxiii. the flight of jones xxxiv. the last word brewster's millions chapter i a birthday dinner "the little sons of the rich" were gathered about the long table in pettingill's studio. there were nine of them present, besides brewster. they were all young, more or less enterprising, hopeful, and reasonably sure of better things to come. most of them bore names that meant something in the story of new york. indeed, one of them had remarked, "a man is known by the street that's named after him," and as he was a new member, they called him "subway." the most popular man in the company was young "monty" brewster. he was tall and straight and smooth-shaven. people called him "clean-looking." older women were interested in him because his father and mother had made a romantic runaway match, which was the talk of the town in the seventies, and had never been forgiven. worldly women were interested in him because he was the only grandson of edwin peter brewster, who was many times a millionaire, and monty was fairly certain to be his heir--barring an absent-minded gift to charity. younger women were interested for a much more obvious and simple reason: they liked him. men also took to monty because he was a good sportsman, a man among men, because he had a decent respect for himself and no great aversion to work. his father and mother had both died while he was still a child, and, as if to make up for his long relentlessness, the grandfather had taken the boy to his own house and had cared for him with what he called affection. after college and some months on the continent, however, monty had preferred to be independent. old mr. brewster had found him a place in the bank, but beyond this and occasional dinners, monty asked for and received no favors. it was a question of work, and hard work, and small pay. he lived on his salary because he had to, but he did not resent his grandfather's attitude. he was better satisfied to spend his "weakly salary," as he called it, in his own way than to earn more by dining seven nights a week with an old man who had forgotten he was ever young. it was less wearing, he said. among the "little sons of the rich," birthdays were always occasions for feasting. the table was covered with dishes sent up from the french restaurant in the basement. the chairs were pushed back, cigarettes were lighted, men had their knees crossed. then pettingill got up. "gentlemen," he began, "we are here to celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of mr. montgomery brewster. i ask you all to join me in drinking to his long life and happiness." "no heel taps!" some one shouted. "brewster! brewster!" all called at once. "for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow!" the sudden ringing of an electric bell cut off this flow of sentiment, and so unusual was the interruption that the ten members straightened up as if jerked into position by a string. "the police!" some one suggested. all faces were turned toward the door. a waiter stood there, uncertain whether to turn the knob or push the bolt. "damned nuisance!" said richard van winkle. "i want to hear brewster's speech." "speech! speech!" echoed everywhere. men settled into their places. "mr. montgomery brewster," pettingill introduced. again the bell rang--long and loud. "reinforcements. i'll bet there's a patrol in the street," remarked oliver harrison. "if it's only the police, let them in," said pettingill. "i thought it was a creditor." the waiter opened the door. "some one to see mr. brewster, sir," he announced. "is she pretty, waiter?" called mccloud. "he says he is ellis, from your grandfather's, sir!" "my compliments to ellis, and ask him to inform my grandfather that it's after banking hours. i'll see him in the morning," said mr. brewster, who had reddened under the jests of his companions. "grandpa doesn't want his monty to stay out after dark," chuckled subway smith. "it was most thoughtful of the old gentleman to have the man call for you with the perambulator," shouted pettingill above the laughter. "tell him you've already had your bottle," added mccloud. "waiter, tell ellis i'm too busy to be seen," commanded brewster, and as ellis went down in the elevator a roar followed him. "now, for brewster's speech!--brewster!" monty rose. "gentlemen, you seem to have forgotten for the moment that i am twenty-five years old this day, and that your remarks have been childish and wholly unbecoming the dignity of my age. that i have arrived at a period of discretion is evident from my choice of friends; that i am entitled to your respect is evident from my grandfather's notorious wealth. you have done me the honor to drink my health and to reassure me as to the inoffensiveness of approaching senility. now i ask you all to rise and drink to 'the little sons of the rich.' may the lord love us!" an hour later "rip" van winkle and subway smith were singing "tell me, pretty maiden," to the uncertain accompaniment of pettingill's violin, when the electric bell again disturbed the company. "for heaven's sake!" shouted harrison, who had been singing "with all thy faults i love thee still," to pettingill's lay figure. "come home with me, grandson, come home with me now," suggested subway smith. "tell ellis to go to halifax," commanded montgomery, and again ellis took the elevator downward. his usually impassive face now wore a look of anxiety, and twice he started to return to the top floor, shaking his head dubiously. at last he climbed into a hansom and reluctantly left the revelers behind. he knew it was a birthday celebration, and it was only half-past twelve in the morning. at three o'clock the elevator made another trip to the top floor and ellis rushed over to the unfriendly doorbell. this time there was stubborn determination in his face. the singing ceased and a roar of laughter followed the hush of a moment or two. "come in!" called a hearty voice, and ellis strode firmly into the studio. "you are just in time for a 'night-cap,' ellis," cried harrison, rushing to the footman's side. ellis, stolidly facing the young man, lifted his hand. "no, thank you, sir," he said, respectfully. "mr. montgomery, if you'll excuse me for breaking in, i'd like to give you three messages i've brought here to-night." "you're a faithful old chap," said subway smith, thickly. "hanged if i'd do a.d.t. work till three a.m. for anybody." "i came at ten, mr. montgomery, with a message from mr. brewster, wishing you many happy returns of the day, and with a check from him for one thousand dollars. here's the check, sir. i'll give my messages in the order i received them, sir, if you please. at twelve-thirty o'clock, i came with a message from dr. gower, sir, who had been called in--" "called in?" gasped montgomery, turning white. "yes, sir, mr. brewster had a sudden heart attack at half-past eleven, sir. the doctor sent word by me, sir, that he was at the point of death. my last message--" "good lord!" "this time i bring a message from rawles, the butler, asking you to come to mr. brewster's house at once--if you can, sir--i mean, if you will, sir," ellis interjected apologetically. then, with his gaze directed steadily over the heads of the subdued "sons," he added, impressively: "mr. brewster is dead, sir." chapter ii shades of aladdin montgomery brewster no longer had "prospects." people could not now point him out with the remark that some day he would come into a million or two. he had "realized," as oliver harrison would have put it. two days after his grandfather's funeral a final will and testament was read, and, as was expected, the old banker atoned for the hardships robert brewster and his wife had endured by bequeathing one million dollars to their son montgomery. it was his without a restriction, without an admonition, without an incumbrance. there was not a suggestion as to how it should be handled by the heir. the business training the old man had given him was synonymous with conditions not expressed in the will. the dead man believed that he had drilled into the youth an unmistakable conception of what was expected of him in life; if he failed in these expectations the misfortune would be his alone to bear; a road had been carved out for him and behind him stretched a long line of guide-posts whose laconic instructions might be ignored but never forgotten. edwin peter brewster evidently made his will with the sensible conviction that it was necessary for him to die before anybody else could possess his money, and that, once dead, it would be folly for him to worry over the way in which beneficiaries might choose to manage their own affairs. the house in fifth avenue went to a sister, together with a million or two, and the residue of the estate found kindly disposed relatives who were willing to keep it from going to the home for friendless fortunes. old mr. brewster left his affairs in order. the will nominated jerome buskirk as executor, and he was instructed, in conclusion, to turn over to montgomery brewster, the day after the will was probated, securities to the amount of one million dollars, provided for in clause four of the instrument. and so it was that on the th of september young mr. brewster had an unconditional fortune thrust upon him, weighted only with the suggestion of crepe that clung to it. since his grandfather's death he had been staying at the gloomy old brewster house in fifth avenue, paying but two or three hurried visits to the rooms at mrs. gray's, where he had made his home. the gloom of death still darkened the fifth avenue place, and there was a stillness, a gentle stealthiness about the house that made him long for more cheerful companionship. he wondered dimly if a fortune always carried the suggestion of tube-roses. the richness and strangeness of it all hung about him unpleasantly. he had had no extravagant affection for the grim old dictator who was dead, yet his grandfather was a man and had commanded his respect. it seemed brutal to leave him out of the reckoning--to dance on the grave of the mentor who had treated him well. the attitude of the friends who clapped him on the back, of the newspapers which congratulated him, of the crowd that expected him to rejoice, repelled him. it seemed a tragic comedy, haunted by a severe dead face. he was haunted, too, by memories, and by a sharp regret for his own foolish thoughtlessness. even the fortune itself weighed upon him at moments with a half-defined melancholy. yet the situation was not without its compensations. for several days when ellis called him at seven, he would answer him and thank fortune that he was not required at the bank that morning. the luxury of another hour of sleep seemed the greatest perquisite of wealth. his morning mail amused him at first, for since the newspapers had published his prosperity to the world he was deluged with letters. requests for public or private charity were abundant, but most of his correspondents were generous and thought only of his own good. for three days he was in a hopeless state of bewilderment. he was visited by reporters, photographers, and ingenious strangers who benevolently offered to invest his money in enterprises with certified futures. when he was not engaged in declining a gold mine in colorado, worth five million dollars, marked down to four hundred and fifty, he was avoiding a guileless inventor who offered to sacrifice the secrets of a marvelous device for three hundred dollars, or denying the report that he had been tendered the presidency of the first national bank. oliver harrison stirred him out early one morning and, while the sleepy millionaire was rubbing his eyes and still dodging the bombshell that a dream anarchist had hurled from the pinnacle of a bedpost, urged him in excited, confidential tones to take time by the forelock and prepare for possible breach of promise suits. brewster sat on the edge of the bed and listened to diabolical stories of how conscienceless females had fleeced innocent and even godly men of wealth. from the bathroom, between splashes, he retained harrison by the year, month, day and hour, to stand between him and blackmail. the directors of the bank met and adopted resolutions lamenting the death of their late president, passed the leadership on to the first vice-president and speedily adjourned. the question of admitting monty to the directory was brought up and discussed, but it was left for time to settle. one of the directors was col. prentiss drew, "the railroad magnate" of the newspapers. he had shown a fondness for young mr. brewster, and monty had been a frequent visitor at his house. colonel drew called him "my dear boy," and monty called him "a bully old chap," though not in his presence. but the existence of miss barbara drew may have had something to do with the feeling between the two men. as he left the directors' room, on the afternoon of the meeting, colonel drew came up to monty, who had notified the officers of the bank that he was leaving. "ah, my dear boy," said the colonel, shaking the young man's hand warmly, "now you have a chance to show what you can do. you have a fortune and, with judgment, you ought to be able to triple it. if i can help you in any way, come and see me." monty thanked him. "you'll be bored to death by the raft of people who have ways to spend your money," continued the colonel. "don't listen to any of them. take your time. you'll have a new chance to make money every day of your life, so go slowly. i'd have been rich years and years ago if i'd had sense enough to run away from promoters. they'll all try to get a whack at your money. keep your eye open, monty. the rich young man is always a tempting morsel." after a moment's reflection, he added, "won't you come out and dine with us to-morrow night?" chapter iii mrs. and miss gray mrs. gray lived in fortieth street. for years montgomery brewster had regarded her quiet, old-fashioned home as his own. the house had once been her grandfather's, and it was one of the pioneers in that part of the town. it was there she was born; in its quaint old parlor she was married; and all her girlhood, her brief wedded life, and her widowhood were connected with it. mrs. gray and montgomery's mother had been schoolmates and playmates, and their friendship endured. when old edwin peter brewster looked about for a place to house his orphaned grandson, mrs. gray begged him to let her care for the little fellow. he was three years older than her margaret, and the children grew up as brother and sister. mr. brewster was generous in providing for the boy. while he was away at college, spending money in a manner that caused the old gentleman to marvel at his own liberality, mrs. gray was well paid for the unused but well-kept apartments, and there never was a murmur of complaint from edwin peter brewster. he was hard, but he was not niggardly. it had been something of a struggle for mrs. gray to make both ends meet. the property in fortieth street was her only possession. but little money had come to her at her husband's death, and an unfortunate speculation of his had swept away all that had fallen to her from her father, the late judge merriweather. for years she kept the old home unencumbered, teaching french and english until margaret was well in her teens. the girl was sent to one of the good old boarding-schools on the hudson and came out well prepared to help her mother in the battle to keep the wolf down and appearances up. margaret was rich in friendships; and pride alone stood between her and the advantages they offered. good-looking, bright, and cheerful, she knew no natural privations. with a heart as light and joyous as a may morning, she faced adversity as though it was a pleasure, and no one would have suspected that even for a moment her courage wavered. now that brewster had come into his splendid fortune he could conceive no greater delight than to share it with them. to walk into the little drawing-room and serenely lay large sums before them as their own seemed such a natural proceeding that he refused to see an obstacle. but he knew it was there; the proffer of such a gift to mrs. gray would mean a wound to the pride inherited from haughty generations of men sufficient unto themselves. there was a small but troublesome mortgage on the house, a matter of two or three thousand dollars, and brewster tried to evolve a plan by which he could assume the burden without giving deep and lasting offense. a hundred wild designs had come to him, but they were quickly relegated to the growing heap of subterfuges and pretexts condemned by his tenderness for the pride of these two women who meant so much to him. leaving the bank, he hastened, by electric car, to fortieth street and broadway, and then walked eagerly off into the street of the numeral. he had not yet come to the point where he felt like scorning the cars, even though a roll of banknotes was tucked snugly away in a pocket that seemed to swell with sudden affluence. old hendrick, faithful servitor through two generations, was sweeping the autumn leaves from the sidewalk when montgomery came up to the house. "hello, hendrick," was the young man's cheery greeting. "nice lot of leaves you have there." "so?" ebbed from hendrick, who did not even so much as look up from his work. hendrick was a human clam. "mrs. gray in?" a grunt that signified yes. "you're as loquacious as ever, hendrick." a mere nod. brewster let himself in with his own latch key, threw his hat on a chair and unceremoniously bolted into the library. margaret was seated near a window, a book in her lap. the first evidence of unbiased friendship he had seen in days shone in her smile. she took his hand and said simply, "we are glad to welcome the prodigal to his home again." "i remind myself more of the fatted calf." his first self-consciousness had gone. "i thought of that, but i didn't dare say it," she laughed. "one must be respectful to rich relatives." "hang your rich relatives, peggy; if i thought that this money would make any difference i would give it up this minute." "nonsense, monty," she said. "how could it make a difference? but you must admit it is rather startling. the friend of our youth leaves his humble dwelling saturday night with his salary drawn for two weeks ahead. he returns the following thursday a dazzling millionaire." "i'm glad i've begun to dazzle, anyway. i thought it might be hard to look the part." "well, i can't see that you are much changed." there was a suggestion of a quaver in her voice, and the shadows did not prevent him from seeing the quick mist that flitted across her deep eyes. "after all, it's easy work being a millionaire," he explained, "when you've always had million-dollar inclinations." "and fifty-cent possibilities," she added. "really, though, i'll never get as much joy out of my abundant riches as i did out of financial embarrassments." "but think how fine it is, monty, not ever to wonder where your winter's overcoat is to come from and how long the coal will last, and all that." "oh, i never wondered about my overcoats; the tailor did the wondering. but i wish i could go on living here just as before. i'd a heap rather live here than at that gloomy place on the avenue." "that sounded like the things you used to say when we played in the garret. you'd a heap sooner do this than that--don't you remember?" "that's just why i'd rather live here, peggy. last night i fell to thinking of that old garret, and hanged if something didn't come up and stick in my throat so tight that i wanted to cry. how long has it been since we played up there? yes, and how long has it been since i read 'oliver optic' to you, lying there in the garret window while you sat with your back against the wall, your blue eyes as big as dollars?" "oh, dear me, monty, it was ages ago--twelve or thirteen years at least," she cried, a soft light in her eyes. "i'm going up there this afternoon to see what the place is like," he said eagerly. "and, peggy, you must come too. maybe i can find one of those optic books, and we'll be young again." "just for old time's sake," she said impulsively. "you'll stay for luncheon, too." "i'll have to be at the--no, i won't, either. do you know, i was thinking i had to be at the bank at twelve-thirty to let mr. perkins go out for something to eat? the millionaire habit isn't so firmly fixed as i supposed." after a moment's pause, in which his growing seriousness changed the atmosphere, he went on, haltingly, uncertain of his position: "the nicest thing about having all this money is that--that--we won't have to deny ourselves anything after this." it did not sound very tactful, now that it was out, and he was compelled to scrutinize rather intently a familiar portrait in order to maintain an air of careless assurance. she did not respond to this venture, but he felt that she was looking directly into his sorely-tried brain. "we'll do any amount of decorating about the house and--and you know that furnace has been giving us a lot of trouble for two or three years--" he was pouring out ruthlessly, when her hand fell gently on his own and she stood straight and tall before him, an odd look in her eyes. "don't--please don't go on, monty," she said very gently but without wavering. "i know what you mean. you are good and very thoughtful, monty, but you really must not." "why, what's mine is yours--" he began. "i know you are generous, monty, and i know you have a heart. you want us to--to take some of your money,"--it was not easy to say it, and as for monty, he could only look at the floor. "we cannot, monty, dear,--you must never speak of it again. mamma and i had a feeling that you would do it. but don't you see,--even from you it is an offer of help, and it hurts." "don't talk like that, peggy," he implored. "it would break her heart if you offered to give her money in that way. she'd hate it, monty. it is foolish, perhaps, but you know we can't take your money." "i thought you--that you--oh, this knocks all the joy out of it," he burst out desperately. "dear monty!" "let's talk it over, peggy; you don't understand--" he began, dashing at what he thought would be a break in her resolve. "don't!" she commanded, and in her blue eyes was the hot flash he had felt once or twice before. he rose and walked across the floor, back and forth again, and then stood before her, a smile on his lips--a rather pitiful smile, but still a smile. there were tears in her eyes as she looked at him. "it's a confounded puritanical prejudice, peggy," he said in futile protest, "and you know it." "you have not seen the letters that came for you this morning. they're on the table over there," she replied, ignoring him. he found the letters and resumed his seat in the window, glancing half-heartedly over the contents of the envelopes. the last was from grant & ripley, attorneys, and even from his abstraction it brought a surprised "by jove!" he read it aloud to margaret. september . montgomery brewster, esq., new york. dear sir:--we are in receipt of a communication from mr. swearengen jones of montana, conveying the sad intelligence that your uncle, james t. sedgwick, died on the th inst. at m-- hospital in portland, after a brief illness. mr. jones by this time has qualified in montana as the executor of your uncle's will and has retained us as his eastern representatives. he incloses a copy of the will, in which you are named as sole heir, with conditions attending. will you call at our office this afternoon, if it is convenient? it is important that you know the contents of the instrument at once. respectfully yours, grant & ripley. for a moment there was only amazement in the air. then a faint, bewildered smile appeared in monty's face, and reflected itself in the girl's. "who is your uncle james?" she asked. "i've never heard of him." "you must go to grant & ripley's at once, of course." "have you forgotten, peggy," he replied, with a hint of vexation in his voice, "that we are to read 'oliver optic' this afternoon?" chapter iv a second "you are both fortunate and unfortunate, mr. brewster," said mr. grant, after the young man had dropped into a chair in the office of grant & ripley the next day. montgomery wore a slightly bored expression, and it was evident that he took little interest in the will of james t. sedgwick. from far back in the recesses of memory he now recalled this long-lost brother of his mother. as a very small child he had seen his uncle james upon the few occasions which brought him to the home of mr. and mrs. robert brewster. but the young man had dined at the drews the night before and barbara had had more charm for him than usual. it was of her that he was thinking when he walked into the office of swearengen jones's lawyers. "the truth is, mr. grant, i'd completely forgotten the existence of an uncle," he responded. "it is not surprising," said mr. grant, genially. "every one who knew him in new york nineteen or twenty years ago believed him to be dead. he left the city when you were a very small lad, going to australia, i think. he was off to seek his fortune, and he needed it pretty badly when he started out. this letter from mr. jones comes like a message from the dead. were it not that we have known mr. jones for a long time, handling affairs of considerable importance for him, i should feel inclined to doubt the whole story. it seems that your uncle turned up in montana about fifteen years ago and there formed a stanch friendship with old swearengen jones, one of the richest men in the far west. sedgwick's will was signed on the day of his death, september th, and it was quite natural that mr. jones should be named as his executor. that is how we became interested in the matter, mr. brewster." "i see," said montgomery, somewhat puzzled. "but why do you say that i am both fortunate and unfortunate?" "the situation is so remarkable that you'll consider that a mild way of putting it when you've heard everything. i think you were told, in our note of yesterday, that you are the sole heir. well, it may surprise you to learn that james sedgwick died possessed of an estate valued at almost seven million dollars." montgomery brewster sat like one petrified, staring blankly at the old lawyer, who could say startling things in a level voice. "he owned gold mines and ranches in the northwest and there is no question as to their value. mr. jones, in his letter to us, briefly outlines the history of james sedgwick from the time he landed in montana. he reached there in from australia, and he was worth thirty or forty thousand dollars at the time. within five years he was the owner of a huge ranch, and scarcely had another five years passed before he was part owner of three rich gold mines. possessions accumulated rapidly; everything he touched turned to gold. he was shrewd, careful, and thrifty, and his money was handled with all the skill of a wall street financier. at the time of his death, in portland, he did not owe a dollar in the world. his property is absolutely unencumbered--safe and sound as a government bond. it's rather overwhelming, isn't it?" the lawyer concluded, taking note of brewster's expression. "and he--he left everything to me?" "with a proviso." "ah!" "i have a copy of the will. mr. ripley and i are the only persons in new york who at present know its contents. you, i am sure, after hearing it, will not divulge them without the most careful deliberation." mr. grant drew the document from a pigeon-hole in his desk, adjusted his glasses and prepared to read. then, as though struck by a sudden thought, he laid the paper down and turned once more to brewster. "it seems that sedgwick never married. your mother was his sister and his only known relative of close connection. he was a man of most peculiar temperament, but in full possession of all mental faculties. you may find this will to be a strange document, but i think mr. jones, the executor, explains any mystery that may be suggested by its terms. while sedgwick's whereabouts were unknown to his old friends in new york, it seems that he was fully posted on all that was going on here. he knew that you were the only child of your mother and therefore his only nephew. he sets forth the dates of your mother's marriage, of your birth, of the death of robert brewster and of mrs. brewster. he also was aware of the fact that old edwin peter brewster intended to bequeath a large fortune to you--and thereby hangs a tale. sedgwick was proud. when he lived in new york, he was regarded as the kind of man who never forgave the person who touched roughly upon his pride. you know, of course, that your father married miss sedgwick in the face of the most bitter opposition on the part of edwin brewster. the latter refused to recognize her as his daughter, practically disowned his son, and heaped the harshest kind of calumny upon the sedgwicks. it was commonly believed about town that jim sedgwick left the country three or four years after this marriage for the sole reason that he and edwin brewster could not live in the same place. so deep was his hatred of the old man that he fled to escape killing him. it was known that upon one occasion he visited the office of his sister's enemy for the purpose of slaying him, but something prevented. he carried that hatred to the grave, as you will see." montgomery brewster was trying to gather himself together from within the fog which made himself and the world unreal. "i believe i'd like to have you read this extraor--the will, mr. grant," he said, with an effort to hold his nerves in leash. mr. grant cleared his throat and began in his still voice. once he looked up to find his listener eager, and again to find him grown indifferent. he wondered dimly if this were a pose. in brief, the last will of james t. sedgwick bequeathed everything, real and personal, of which he died possessed, to his only nephew, montgomery brewster of new york, son of robert and louise sedgwick brewster. supplementing this all-important clause there was a set of conditions governing the final disposition of the estate. the most extraordinary of these conditions was the one which required the heir to be absolutely penniless upon the twenty-sixth anniversary of his birth, september d. the instrument went into detail in respect to this supreme condition. it set forth that montgomery brewster was to have no other worldly possession than the clothes which covered him on the september day named. he was to begin that day without a penny to his name, without a single article of jewelry, furniture or finance that he could call his own or could thereafter reclaim. at nine o'clock, new york time, on the morning of september d, the executor, under the provisions of the will, was to make over and transfer to montgomery brewster all of the moneys, lands, bonds, and interests mentioned in the inventory which accompanied the will. in the event that montgomery brewster had not, in every particular, complied with the requirements of the will, to the full satisfaction of the said executor, swearengen jones, the estate was to be distributed among certain institutions of charity designated in the instrument. underlying this imperative injunction of james sedgwick was plainly discernible the motive that prompted it. in almost so many words he declared that his heir should not receive the fortune if he possessed a single penny that had come to him, in any shape or form, from the man he hated, edwin peter brewster. while sedgwick could not have known at the time of his death that the banker had bequeathed one million dollars to his grandson, it was more than apparent that he expected the young man to be enriched liberally by his enemy. it was to preclude any possible chance of the mingling of his fortune with the smallest portion of edwin p. brewster's that james sedgwick, on his deathbed, put his hand to this astonishing instrument. there was also a clause in which he undertook to dictate the conduct of montgomery brewster during the year leading up to his twenty-sixth anniversary. he required that the young man should give satisfactory evidence to the executor that he was capable of managing his affairs shrewdly and wisely,--that he possessed the ability to add to the fortune through his own enterprise; that he should come to his twenty-sixth anniversary with a fair name and a record free from anything worse than mild forms of dissipation; that his habits be temperate; that he possess nothing at the end of the year which might be regarded as a "visible or invisible asset"; that he make no endowments; that he give sparingly to charity; that he neither loan nor give away money, for fear that it might be restored to him later; that he live on the principle which inspires a man to "get his money's worth," be the expenditure great or small. as these conditions were prescribed for but a single year in the life of the heir, it was evident that mr. sedgwick did not intend to impose any restrictions after the property had gone into his hands. "how do you like it?" asked mr. grant, as he passed the will to brewster. the latter took the paper and glanced over it with the air of one who had heard but had not fully grasped its meaning. "it must be a joke, mr. grant," he said, still groping with difficulty through the fog. "no, mr. brewster, it is absolutely genuine. here is a telegram from the probate court in sedgwick's home county, received in response to a query from us. it says that the will is to be filed for probate and that mr. sedgwick was many times a millionaire. this statement, which he calls an inventory, enumerates his holdings and their value, and the footing shows $ , , in round numbers. the investments, you see, are gilt-edged. there is not a bad penny in all those millions." "well, it is rather staggering, isn't it?" said montgomery, passing his hand over his forehead. he was beginning to comprehend. "in more ways than one. what are you going to do about it?" "do about it?" in surprise. "why, it's mine, isn't it?" "it is not yours until next september," the lawyer quietly said. "well, i fancy i can wait," said brewster with a smile that cleared the air. "but, my dear fellow, you are already the possessor of a million. do you forget that you are expected to be penniless a year from now?" "wouldn't you exchange a million for seven millions, mr. grant?" "but let me inquire how you purpose doing it?" asked mr. grant, mildly. "why, by the simple process of destruction. don't you suppose i can get rid of a million in a year? great scott, who wouldn't do it! all i have to do is to cut a few purse strings and there is but one natural conclusion. i don't mind being a pauper for a few hours on the d of next september." "that is your plan, then?" "of course. first i shall substantiate all that this will sets forth. when i am assured that there can be no possibility of mistake in the extent of this fortune and my undisputed claim, i'll take steps to get rid of my grandfather's million in short order." brewster's voice rang true now. the zest of life was coming back. mr. grant leaned forward slowly and his intent, penetrating gaze served as a check to the young fellow's enthusiasm. "i admire and approve the sagacity which urges you to exchange a paltry million for a fortune, but it seems to me that you are forgetting the conditions," he said, slowly. "has it occurred to you that it will be no easy task to spend a million dollars without in some way violating the restrictions in your uncle's will, thereby losing both fortunes?" chapter v the message from jones a new point of view gradually came to brewster. all his life had been spent in wondering how to get enough money to pay his bills, and it had not occurred to him that it might be as difficult to spend as to acquire wealth. the thought staggered him for a moment. then he cried triumphantly, "i can decline to accept grandfather's million." "you cannot decline to accept what is already yours. i understand that the money has been paid to you by mr. buskirk. you have a million dollars, mr. brewster, and it cannot be denied." "you are right," agreed montgomery, dejectedly. "really, mr. grant, this proposition is too much for me. if you aren't required to give an immediate answer, i want to think it over. it sounds like a dream." "it is no dream, mr. brewster," smiled the lawyer. "you are face to face with an amazing reality. come in to-morrow morning and see me again. think it over, study it out. remember the conditions of the will and the conditions that confront you. in the meantime, i shall write to mr. jones, the executor, and learn from him just what he expects you to do in order to carry out his own conception of the terms of your uncle's will." "don't write, mr. grant; telegraph. and ask him to wire his reply. a year is not very long in an affair of this kind." a moment later he added, "damn these family feuds! why couldn't uncle james have relented a bit? he brings endless trouble on my innocent head, just because of a row before i was born." "he was a strange man. as a rule, one does not carry grudges quite so far. but that is neither here nor there. his will is law in this case." "suppose i succeed in spending all but a thousand dollars before the d of next september! i'd lose the seven millions and be the next thing to a pauper. that wouldn't be quite like getting my money's worth." "it is a problem, my boy. think it over very seriously before you come to a decision, one way or the other. in the meantime, we can establish beyond a doubt the accuracy of this inventory." "by all means, go ahead, and please urge mr. jones not to be too hard on me. i believe i'll risk it if the restrictions are not too severe. but if jones has puritanical instincts, i might as well give up hope and be satisfied with what i have." "mr. jones is very far from what you'd call puritanical, but he is intensely practical and clear-headed. he will undoubtedly require you to keep an expense account and to show some sort of receipt for every dollar you disburse." "good lord! itemize?" "in a general way, i presume." "i'll have to employ an army of spendthrifts to devise ways and means for profligacy." "you forget the item which restrains you from taking anybody into your confidence concerning this matter. think it over. it may not be so difficult after a night's sleep." "if it isn't too difficult to get the night's sleep." all the rest of the day brewster wandered about as one in a dream. he was pre-occupied and puzzled, and more than one of his old associates, receiving a distant nod in passing, resentfully concluded that his wealth was beginning to change him. his brain was so full of statistics, figures, and computations that it whirled dizzily, and once he narrowly escaped being run down by a cable car. he dined alone at a small french restaurant in one of the side streets. the waiter marveled at the amount of black coffee the young man consumed and looked hurt when he did not touch the quail and lettuce. that night the little table in his room at mrs. gray's was littered with scraps of pad paper, each covered with an incomprehensible maze of figures. after dinner he had gone to his own rooms, forgetting that he lived on fifth avenue. until long after midnight he smoked and calculated and dreamed. for the first time the immensity of that million thrust itself upon him. if on that very day, october the first, he were to begin the task of spending it he would have but three hundred and fifty-seven days in which to accomplish the end. taking the round sum of one million dollars as a basis, it was an easy matter to calculate his average daily disbursement. the situation did not look so utterly impossible until he held up the little sheet of paper and ruefully contemplated the result of that simple problem in mathematics. it meant an average daily expenditure of $ , . for nearly a year, and even then there would be sixteen cents left over, for, in proving the result of his rough sum in division, he could account for but $ , . . then it occurred to him that his money would be drawing interest at the bank. "but for each day's $ , . , i am getting seven times as much," he soliloquized, as he finally got into bed. "that means $ , . a day, a clear profit of $ , . . that's pretty good--yes, too good. i wonder if the bank couldn't oblige me by not charging interest." the figures kept adding and subtracting themselves as he dozed off, and once during the night he dreamed that swearengen jones had sentenced him to eat a million dollars' worth of game and salad at the french restaurant. he awoke with the consciousness that he had cried aloud, "i can do it, but a year is not very long in an affair of this kind." it was nine o'clock when brewster finally rose, and after his tub he felt ready to cope with any problem, even a substantial breakfast. a message had come to him from mr. grant of grant & ripley, announcing the receipt of important dispatches from montana, and asking him to luncheon at one. he had time to spare, and as margaret and mrs. gray had gone out, he telephoned ellis to take his horse to the entrance to the park at once. the crisp autumn air was perfect for his ride, and brewster found a number of smart people already riding and driving in the park. his horse was keen for a canter and he had reached the obelisk before he drew rein. as he was about to cross the carriage road he was nearly run down by miss drew in her new french automobile. "i beg your pardon," she cried. "you're the third person i've run into, so you see i'm not discriminating against you." "i should be flattered even to be run down by you." "very well, then, look out." and she started the machine as if to charge him. she stopped in time, and said with a laugh, "your gallantry deserves a reward. wouldn't you rather send your horse home and come for a ride with me?" "my man is waiting at fifty-ninth street. if you'll come that far, i'll go with pleasure." monty had merely a society acquaintance with miss drew. he had met her at dinners and dances as he had a host of other girls, but she had impressed him more than the others. something indescribable took place every time their eyes met. monty had often wondered just what that something meant, but he had always realized that it had in it nothing of platonic affection. "if i didn't have to meet her eyes," he had said to himself, "i could go on discussing even politics with her, but the moment she looks at me i know she can see what i'm thinking about." from the first they considered themselves very good friends, and after their third meeting it seemed perfectly natural that they should call one another by their first names. monty knew he was treading on dangerous ground. it never occurred to him to wonder what barbara might think of him. he took it as a matter of course that she must feel more than friendly toward him. as they rode through the maze of carriages, they bowed frequently to friends as they passed. they were conscious that some of the women, noticeably old miss dexter, actually turned around and gazed at them. "aren't you afraid people will talk about us?" asked monty with a laugh. "talk about our riding together in the park? it's just as safe here as it would be in fifth avenue. besides, who cares? i fancy we can stand it." "you're a thoroughbred, barbara. i simply didn't want you talked about. when i go too far, say the word and drop me." "i have a luncheon at two, but until then we have our ride." monty gasped and looked at his watch. "five minutes to one," he cried. the matter of his engagement with the attorney had quite escaped him. in the exhilaration of miss drew's companionship he had forgotten even uncle james's millions. "i've got a date at one that means life and death to me. would you mind taking me down to the nearest elevated--or--here, let me run it." almost before barbara was aware of what was happening they had changed places and the machine, under monty's guidance, was tearing over the ground. "of all the casual people," said the girl, by no means unequal to the excitement, "i believe you're kidnapping me." but when she saw the grim look on monty's face and one policeman after another warned him she became seriously alarmed. "monty brewster, this pace is positively dangerous." "perhaps it is," he responded, "but if they haven't sense enough to keep out of the way they shouldn't kick if they get run over." "i don't mean the people or the automobiles or traps or trees or monuments, monty; i mean you and me. i know we'll either be killed or arrested." "this isn't anything to the gait i'll be going if everything turns out as i expect. don't be worried, babs. besides it's one now. lord, i didn't dream it was so late." "is your appointment so important?" she asked, hanging on. "well, i should say it is, and--look out--you blooming idiot! do you want to get killed?" the last remark was hurled back at an indignant pedestrian who had escaped destruction by the merest chance. "here we are," he said, as they drew up beside the entrance to the elevated. "thanks awfully,--you're a corker,--sorry to leave you this way. i'll tell you all about it later. you're a dear to help me keep my appointment." "seems to me you helped yourself," she cried after him as he darted up the steps. "come up for tea some day and tell me who the lady is." after he had gone miss drew turned to her chauffeur, who was in the tonneau. then she laughed unrestrainedly, and the faintest shadow of a grin stole over the man's face. "beg pardon, miss," he said, "but i'd back mr. brewster against fournier any day." only half an hour late, brewster entered the office of messrs. grant & ripley, flushed, eager, and unconscious of the big splotch of mud that decorated his cheek. "awfully sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized. "sherlock holmes would say that you had been driving, mr. brewster," said mr. ripley, shaking the young man's hand. "he would miss it, mr. ripley. i've been flying. what have you heard from montana?" he could no longer check the impatient question, which came out so suddenly that the attorneys laughed irresistibly, brewster joining them an instant later. they laid before him a half dozen telegrams, responses from bankers, lawyers, and mine-operators in montana. these messages established beyond doubt the extent of james t. sedgwick's wealth; it was reported to be even greater than shown by the actual figures. "and what does mr. jones say?" demanded montgomery. "his reply resembles a press dispatch. he has tried to make himself thoroughly clear, and if there is anything left unsaid it is past our comprehension. i am sorry to inform you, though, that he has paid the telegraph charges," said mr. grant, smiling broadly. "is he rational about it?" asked montgomery, nervously. mr. grant gave his partner a quick, significant glance, and then drew from his desk the voluminous telegram from swearengen jones. it was as follows: october . grant & ripley, yucatan building, new york. i am to be sole referee in this matter. you are retained as my agents, heir to report to me through you weekly. one desire of uncle was to forestall grandfather's bequest. i shall respect that desire. enforce terms rigidly. he was my best friend and trusted me with disposition of all this money. shall attend to it sacredly. heir must get rid of money left to him in given time. out of respect to memory of uncle he must take no one into his confidence. don't want world to think s. was damned fool. he wasn't. here are rules i want him to work under: . no reckless gambling. . no idiotic board of trade speculation. . no endowments to institutions of any character, because their memory would be an invisible asset. . no indiscriminate giving away of funds. by that i don't mean him to be stingy. i hate a stingy man and so did j.t.s. . no more than ordinary dissipation. i hate a saint. so did j.t.s. and both of us sowed an oat or two. . no excessive donations to charity. if he gives as other millionaires do i'll let it go at that. don't believe charity should be spoiled by indulgence. it is not easy to spend a million, and i won't be unreasonable with him. let him spend it freely, but not foolishly, and get his money's worth out of it. if he does that i'll consider him a good business man. i regard it foolish to tip waiter more than a dollar and car porter does not deserve over five. he does not earn more than one. if heir wants to try for the big stake he'd better begin quick, because he might slip up if he waits until day of judgment. it's less than year off. luck to him. will write you more fully. s. jones. "write more fully!" echoed montgomery. "what can there be left to write about?" "he is explicit," said the attorney, "but it is best to know all the conditions before you decide. have you made up your mind?" brewster sat for a long time, staring hard at the floor. a great struggle was going on in his mind. "it's a gamble, and a big one," he said at last, squaring his shoulders, "but i'll take it. i don't want to appear disloyal to my grandfather, but i think that even he would advise me to accept. yes, you may write mr. jones that i accept the chance." the attorneys complimented him on his nerve, and wished him success. brewster turned with a smile. "i'll begin by asking what you think a reasonable fee for an attorney in a case of this kind. i hope you will act for me." "you don't want to spend it all in a lump, do you?" asked mr. grant, smiling. "we can hardly act as counsel for both you and mr. jones." "but i must have a lawyer, and the will limits the number of my confidants. what am i to do?" "we will consult mr. jones in regard to the question. it is not regular, you see, but i apprehend no legal difficulties. we cannot accept fees from both sides, however," said mr. grant. "but i want attorneys who are willing to help me. it won't be a help if you decline to accept my money." "we'll resort to arbitration," laughed ripley. before night montgomery brewster began a career that would have startled the world had the facts been known. with true loyalty to the "little sons of the rich," he asked his friends to dinner and opened their eyes. "champagne!" cried harrison, as they were seated at table. "i can't remember the last time i had champagne." "naturally," laughed "subway" smith. "you couldn't remember anything after that." as the dinner progressed brewster explained that he intended to double his fortune within a year. "i'm going to have some fun, too," he said, "and you boys are to help me." "nopper" harrison was employed as "superintendent of affairs"; elon gardner as financial secretary; joe bragdon as private secretary; "subway" smith as counsel, and there were places in view for the other members. "i want the smartest apartment you can find, nopper," he commanded. "don't stop at expense. have pettingill redecorate it from top to bottom, get the best servants you can find. i'm going to live, nopper, and hang the consequences." chapter vi monty cristo a fortnight later montgomery brewster had a new home. in strict obedience to his chief's command, "nopper" harrison had leased until the september following one of the most expensive apartments to be found in new york city. the rental was $ , , and the shrewd financial representative had saved $ , for his employer by paying the sum in advance. but when he reported this bit of economy to mr. brewster he was surprised that it brought forth a frown. "i never saw a man who had less sense about money," muttered "nopper" to himself. "why, he spends it like a chicago millionaire trying to get into new york society. if it were not for the rest of us he'd be a pauper in six months." paul pettingill, to his own intense surprise and, it must be said, consternation, was engaged to redecorate certain rooms according to a plan suggested by the tenant. the rising young artist, in a great flurry of excitement, agreed to do the work for $ , and then blushed like a schoolgirl when he was informed by the practical brewster that the paints and material for one room alone would cost twice as much. "petty, you have no more idea of business than a goat," criticised montgomery, and paul lowered his head in humble confession. "that man who calcimines your studio could figure on a piece of work with more intelligence than you reveal. i'll pay $ , . it's only a fair price, and i can't afford anything cheap in this place." "at this rate you won't be able to afford anything," said pettingill to himself. and so it was that pettingill and a corps of decorators soon turned the rooms into a confusion of scaffoldings and paint buckets, out of which in the end emerged something very distinguished. no one had ever thought pettingill deficient in ideas, and this was his opportunity. the only drawback was the time limit which brewster so remorselessly fixed. without that he felt that he could have done something splendid in the way of decorative panels--something that would make even the glory of puvis de chavannes turn pallid. with it he was obliged to curb his turbulent ideas, and he decided that a rich simplicity was the proper note. the result was gorgeous, but not too gorgeous,--it had depth and distinction. elated and eager, he assisted brewster in selecting furniture and hangings for each room, but he did not know that his employer was making conditional purchases of everything. mr. brewster had agreements with all the dealers to the effect that they were to buy everything back at a fair price, if he desired to give up his establishment within a year. he adhered to this rule in all cases that called for the purchase outright of substantial necessities. the bump of calculativeness in monty brewster's head was growing to abnormal proportions. in retaining his rooms at mrs. gray's, he gave the flimsy but pathetic excuse that he wanted a place in which he might find occasional seasons of peace and quiet. when mrs. gray protested against this useless bit of extravagance, his grief was so obviously genuine that her heart was touched, and there was a deep, fervent joy in her soul. she loved this fair-faced boy, and tears of happiness came to her eyes when she was given this new proof of his loyalty and devotion. his rooms were kept for him just as if he had expected to occupy them every day and every night, notwithstanding the luxurious apartments he was to maintain elsewhere. the oliver optic books still lay in the attic, all tattered and torn, but to margaret the embodiment of prospective riches, promises of sweet hours to come. she knew monty well enough to feel that he would not forget the dark little attic of old for all the splendors that might come with the new dispensation. there was no little surprise when he sent out invitations for a large dinner. his grandfather had been dead less than a month, and society was somewhat scandalized by the plain symptoms of disrespect he was showing. no one had expected him to observe a prolonged season of mourning, but that he should disregard the formalities completely was rather shocking. some of the older people, who had not long to live and who had heirs-apparent, openly denounced his heartlessness. it was not very gratifying to think of what might be in store for them if all memories were as short as brewster's. old mrs. ketchell changed her will, and two nephews were cut off entirely; a very modest and impecunious grandson of joseph garrity also was to sustain a severe change of fortune in the near future, if the cards spoke correctly. judge van woort, who was not expected to live through the night, got better immediately after hearing some one in the sick-room whisper that montgomery brewster was to give a big dinner. naturally, the heirs-to-be condemned young brewster in no uncertain terms. nevertheless, the dinner to be given by the grandson of old edwin peter brewster was the talk of the town, and not one of the sixty invited guests could have been persuaded to miss it. reports as to its magnificence were abroad long before the night set for the dinner. one of them had it that it was to cost $ , a plate. from that figure the legendary price receded to a mark as low as $ . montgomery would have been only too glad to pay $ , or more, but some mysterious force conveyed to his mind a perfect portrait of swearengen jones in the act of putting down a large black mark against him, and he forbore. "i wish i knew whether i had to abide by the new york or the montana standard of extravagance," brewster said to himself. "i wonder if he ever sees the new york papers." late each night the last of the grand old brewster family went to his bedroom where, after dismissing his man, he settled down at his desk, with a pencil and a pad of paper. lighting the candles, which were more easily managed, he found, than lamps, and much more costly, he thoughtfully and religiously calculated the expenses for the day. "nopper" harrison and elon gardner had the receipts for all moneys spent, and joe bragdon was keeping an official report, but the "chief," as they called him, could not go to sleep until he was satisfied in his own mind that he was keeping up the average. for the first two weeks it had been easy--in fact, he seemed to have quite a comfortable lead in the race. he had spent almost $ , in the fortnight, but he realized that the greater part of it had gone into the yearly and not the daily expense-account. he kept a "profit and loss" entry in his little private ledger, but it was not like any other account of the kind in the world. what the ordinary merchant would have charged to "loss" he jotted down on the "profit" side, and he was continually looking for opportunities to swell the total. rawles, who had been his grandfather's butler since the day after he landed in new york, came over to the grandson's establishment, greatly to the wrath and confusion of the latter's aunt emmeline. the chef came from paris and his name was detuit. ellis, the footman, also found a much better berth with monty than he had had in the house on the avenue. aunt emmeline never forgave her nephew for these base and disturbing acts of treachery, as she called them. one of monty's most extraordinary financial feats grew out of the purchase of a $ , automobile. he blandly admitted to "nopper" harrison and the two secretaries that he intended to use it to practice with only, and that as soon as he learned how to run an "auto" as it should be run he expected to buy a good, sensible, durable machine for $ , . his staff officers frequently put their heads together to devise ways and means of curbing monty's reckless extravagance. they were worried. "he's like a sailor in port," protested harrison. "money is no object if he wants a thing, and--damn it--he seems to want everything he sees." "it won't last long," gardner said, reassuringly. "like his namesake, monte cristo, the world is his just now and he wants to enjoy it." "he wants to get rid of it, it seems to me." whenever they reproached brewster about the matter he disarmed them by saying, "now that i've got money i mean to give my friends a good time. just what you'd do if you were in my place. what's money for, anyway?" "but this $ , -a-plate dinner--" "i'm going to give a dozen of them, and even then i can't pay my just debts. for years i've been entertained at people's houses and have been taken cruising on their yachts. they have always been bully to me, and what have i ever done for them? nothing. now that i can afford it, i am going to return some of those favors and square myself. doesn't it sound reasonable?" and so preparations for monty's dinner went on. in addition to what he called his "efficient corps of gentlemanly aids" he had secured the services of mrs. dan demille as "social mentor and utility chaperon." mrs. demille was known in the papers as the leader of the fast younger married set. she was one of the cleverest and best-looking young women in town, and her husband was of those who did not have to be "invited too." mr. demille lived at the club and visited his home. some one said that he was so slow and his wife so fast that when she invited him to dinner he usually was two or three days late. altogether mrs. demille was a decided acquisition to brewster's campaign committee. it required just her touch to make his parties fun instead of funny. it was on october th that the dinner was given. with the skill of a general mrs. dan had seated the guests in such a way that from the beginning things went off with zest. colonel drew took in mrs. valentine and his content was assured; mr. van winkle and the beautiful miss valentine were side by side, and no one could say he looked unhappy; mr. cromwell went in with mrs. savage; and the same delicate tact--in some cases it was almost indelicate--was displayed in the disposition of other guests. somehow they had come with the expectation of being bored. curiosity prompted them to accept, but it did not prevent the subsequent inevitable lassitude. socially monty brewster had yet to make himself felt. he and his dinners were something to talk: about, but they were accepted hesitatingly, haltingly. people wondered how he had secured the cooperation of mrs. dan, but then mrs. dan always did go in for a new toy. to her was inevitably attributed whatever success the dinner achieved. and it was no small measure. yet there was nothing startling about the affair. monty had decided to begin conservatively. he did the conventional thing, but he did it well. he added a touch or two of luxury, the faintest aroma of splendor. pettingill had designed the curiously wayward table, with its comfortable atmosphere of companionship, and arranged its decoration of great lavender orchids and lacy butterfly festoons of white ones touched with yellow. he had wanted to use dahlias in their many rich shades from pale yellow to orange and deep red, but monty held out for orchids. it was the artist, too, who had found in a rare and happy moment the massive gold candelabra--ancient things of a more luxurious age--and their opalescent shades. against his advice the service, too, was of gold,--"rank vulgarity," he called it, with its rich meaningless ornamentation. but here monty was obdurate. he insisted that he liked the color and that porcelain had no character. mrs. dan only prevented a quarrel by suggesting that several courses should be served upon sevres. pettingill's scheme for lighting the room was particularly happy. for the benefit of his walls and the four lovely monets which monty had purchased at his instigation, he had designed a ceiling screen of heavy rich glass in tones of white that grew into yellow and dull green. it served to conceal the lights in the daytime, and at night the glare of electricity was immensely softened and made harmonious by passing through it. it gave a note of quiet to the picture, which caused even these men and women, who had been here and there and seen many things, to draw in their breath sharply. altogether the effect manifestly made an impression. such an environment had its influence upon the company. it went far toward making the dinner a success. from far in the distance came the softened strains of hungarian music, and never had the little band played the "valse amoureuse" and the "valse bleue" with the spirit it put into them that night. yet the soft clamor in the dining-room insistently ignored the emotion of the music. monty, bored as he was between the two most important dowagers at the feast, wondered dimly what invisible part it played in making things go. he had a vagrant fancy that without it there would have been no zest for talk, no noisy competition to overcome, no hurdles to leap. as it was, the talk certainly went well, and mrs. dan inspected the result of her work from time to time with smiling satisfaction. from across the table she heard colonel drew's voice,--"brewster evidently objects to a long siege. he is planning to carry us by assault." mrs. dan turned to "subway" smith, who was at her right--the latest addition to her menagerie. "what is this friend of yours?" she asked. "i have never seen such complex simplicity. this new plaything has no real charm for him. he is breaking it to find out what it is made of. and something will happen when he discovers the sawdust." "oh, don't worry about him," said "subway," easily; "monty's at least a good sportsman. he won't complain, whatever happens. he'll accept the reckoning and pay the piper." it was only toward the end of the evening that monty found his reward in a moment with barbara drew. he stood before her, squaring his shoulders belligerently to keep away intruders, and she smiled up at him in that bewildering fashion of hers. but it was only for an instant, and then came a terrifying din from the dining-room, followed by the clamor of crashing glass. the guests tried for a moment to be courteously oblivious, but the noise was so startling that such politeness became farcical. the host, with a little laugh, went down the hall. it was the beautiful screen near the ceiling that had fallen. a thousand pieces of shattered glass covered the place. the table was a sickening heap of crushed orchids and sputtering candles. frightened servants rushed into the room from one side just as brewster entered from the other. stupefaction halted them. after the first pulseless moment of horror, exclamations of dismay went up on all sides. for monty brewster the first sensation of regret was followed by a diabolical sense of joy. "thank the lord!" he said softly in the hush. the look of surprise he encountered in the faces of his guests brought him up with a jerk. "that it didn't happen while we were dining," he added with serene thankfulness. and his nonchalance scored for him in the idle game he was playing. chapter vii a lesson in tact mr. brewster's butler was surprised and annoyed. for the first time in his official career he had unbent so far as to manifest a personal interest in the welfare of his master. he was on the verge of assuming a responsibility which makes any servant intolerable. but after his interview he resolved that he would never again overstep his position. he made sure that it should be the last offense. the day following the dinner rawles appeared before young mr. brewster and indicated by his manner that the call was an important one. brewster was seated at his writing-table, deep in thought. the exclamation that followed rawles's cough of announcement was so sharp and so unmistakably fierce that all other evidence paled into insignificance. the butler's interruption came at a moment when monty's mental arithmetic was pulling itself out of a very bad rut, and the cough drove it back into chaos. "what is it," he demanded, irritably. rawles had upset his calculations to the extent of seven or eight hundred dollars. "i came to report h'an unfortunate condition h'among the servants, sir," said rawies, stiffening as his responsibility became more and more weighty. he had relaxed temporarily upon entering the room. "what's the trouble?" "the trouble's h'ended, sir." "then why bother me about it?" "i thought it would be well for you to know, sir. the servants was going to ask for 'igher wiges to-day, sir." "you say they were going to ask. aren't they?" and monty's eyes lighted up at the thought of new possibilities. "i convinced them, sir, as how they were getting good pay as it is, sir, and that they ought to be satisfied. they'd be a long time finding a better place and as good wiges. they 'aven't been with you a week, and here they are strikin' for more pay. really, sir, these american servants--" "rawles, that'll do!" exploded monty. the butler's chin went up and his cheeks grew redder than ever. "i beg pardon, sir," he gasped, with a respectful but injured air. "rawles, you will kindly not interfere in such matters again. it is not only the privilege, but the duty of every american to strike for higher pay whenever he feels like it, and i want it distinctly understood that i am heartily in favor of their attitude. you will kindly go back and tell them that after a reasonable length of service their wiges--i mean wages--shall be increased. and don't meddle again, rawles." late that afternoon brewster dropped in at mrs. demille's to talk over plans for the next dinner. he realized that in no other way could he squander his money with a better chance of getting its worth than by throwing himself bodily into society. it went easily, and there could be only one asset arising from it in the end--his own sense of disgust. "so glad to see you, monty," greeted mrs. dan, glowingly, coming in with a rush. "come upstairs and i'll give you some tea and a cigarette. i'm not at home to anybody." "that's very good of you, mrs. dan," said he, as they mounted the stairs. "i don't know what i'd do without your help." he was thinking how pretty she was. "you'd be richer, at any rate," turning to smile upon him from the upper landing. "i was in tears half the night, monty, over that glass screen," she said, after finding a comfortable place among the cushions of a divan. brewster dropped into a roomy, lazy chair in front of her and handed her a cigarette, as he responded carelessly: "it amounted to nothing. of course, it was very annoying that it should happen while the guests were still there." then he added, gravely: "in strict confidence, i had planned to have it fall just as we were pushing back our chairs, but the confounded thing disappointed me. that's the trouble with these automatic climaxes; they usually hang fire. it was to have been a sort of fall of babylon effect, you know." "splendid! but like babylon, it fell at the wrong time." for a lively quarter of an hour they discussed people about town, liberally approving the slandered and denouncing the slanderers. a still busier quarter of an hour ensued when together they made up the list of dinner guests. he moved a little writing-table up to the divan, and she looked on eagerly while he wrote down the names she suggested after many puckerings of her fair, aristocratic brow, and then drew lines through them when she changed her mind. mrs. demille handled her people without gloves in making up monty's lists. the dinners were not hers, and she could afford to do as she pleased with his; he was broad and tall and she was not slow to see that he was indifferent. he did not care who the guests were, or how they came; he merely wished to make sure of their presence. his only blunder was the rather diffident recommendation that barbara drew be asked again. if he observed that mrs. dan's head sank a little closer to the paper, he attached no importance to the movement; he could not see that her eyes grew narrow, and he paid no attention to the little catch in her breath. "wouldn't that be a little--just a little pronounced?" she asked, lightly enough. "you mean--that people might talk?" "she might feel conspicuously present." "do you think so? we are such good friends, you know." "of course, if you'd like to have her," slowly and doubtfully, "why, put her name down. but you evidently haven't seen that." mrs. dan pointed to a copy of the trumpet which lay on the table. when he had handed her the paper she said, "'the censor' is growing facetious at your expense." "i am getting on in society with a vengeance if that ass starts in to write about me. listen to this"--she had pointed out to him the obnoxious paragraph--"if brewster drew a diamond flush, do you suppose he'd catch the queen? and if he caught her, how long do you think she'd remain drew? or, if she drew brewster, would she be willing to learn such a game as monte?" the next morning a writer who signed himself "the censor" got a thrashing and one montgomery brewster had his name in the papers, surrounded by fulsome words of praise. chapter viii the forelock of time one morning not long after the incidents just related, brewster lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. there was a worried pucker on his forehead, half-hidden by the rumpled hair, and his eyes were wide and sleepless. he had dined at the drews' the evening before and had had an awakening. as he thought of the matter he could recall no special occurrence that he could really use as evidence. colonel and mrs. drew had been as kind as ever and barbara could not have been more charming. but something had gone wrong and he had endured a wretched evening. "that little english johnnie was to blame," he argued. "of course, barbara had a right to put any one she liked next to her, but why she should have chosen that silly ass is more than i know. by jove, if i had been on the other side i'll warrant his grace would have been lost in the dust." his brain was whirling, and for the first time he was beginning to feel the unpleasant pangs of jealousy. the duke of beauchamp he especially disliked, although the poor man had hardly spoken during the dinner. but monty could not be reconciled. he knew, of course, that barbara had suitors by the dozen, but it had never occurred to him that they were even seriously considered. notwithstanding the fact that his encounter with "the censor" had brought her into undesirable notice, she forgave him everything after a moment's consideration. the first few wrenches of resentment were overbalanced by her american appreciation of chivalry, however inspired. "the censor" had gone for years unpunished; his coarse wit being aimed at every one who had come into social prominence. so pungent and vindictive was his pen that other men feared him, and there were many who lived in glass houses in terror of a fusilade. brewster's prompt and sufficient action had checked the pernicious attacks, and he became a hero among men and women. after that night there was no point to "the censor's" pen. monty's first qualms of apprehension were swept away when colonel drew himself hailed him the morning after the encounter and, in no unmeasured terms, congratulated him upon his achievement, assuring him that barbara and mrs. drew approved, although they might lecture him as a matter of form. but on this morning, as he lay in his bed, monty was thinking deeply and painfully. he was confronted by a most embarrassing condition and he was discussing it soberly with himself. "i've never told her," he said to himself, "but if she doesn't know my feeling she is not as clever as i think. besides, i haven't time to make love to her now. if it were any other girl i suppose i'd have to, but babs, why, she must understand. and yet--damn that duke!" in order to woo her properly he would be compelled to neglect financial duties that needed every particle of brain-energy at his command. he found himself opposed at the outset by a startling embarrassment, made absolutely clear by the computations of the night before. the last four days of indifference to finance on one side, and pampering the heart on the other, had proved very costly. to use his own expression, he had been "set back" almost eight thousand dollars. an average like that would be ruinous. "why, think of it," he continued. "for each day sacrificed to barbara i must deduct something like twenty-five hundred dollars. a long campaign would put me irretrievably in the hole; i'd get so far behind that a holocaust couldn't put me even. she can't expect that of me, yet girls are such idiots about devotion, and of course she doesn't know what a heavy task i'm facing. and there are the others--what will they do while i am out of the running? i cannot go to her and say, 'please, may i have a year's vacation? i'll come back next september.' on the other hand, i shall surely neglect my business if she expects me to compete. what pleasure shall i get out of the seven millions if i lose her? i can't afford to take chances. that duke won't have seven millions next september, it's true, but he'll have a prodigious argument against me, about the twenty-first or second." then a brilliant thought occurred to him which caused him to ring for a messenger-boy with such a show of impatience that rawles stood aghast. the telegram which monty wrote was as follows: swearengen jones, butte, montana may i marry and turn all property over to wife, providing she will have me? montgomery brewster. "why isn't that reasonable?" he asked himself after the boy had gone. "making property over to one's wife is neither a loan nor is it charity. old jones might call it needless extravagance, since he's a bachelor, but it's generally done because it's good business." monty was hopeful. following his habit in trouble, he sought margaret gray, to whom he could always appeal for advice and consolation. she was to come to his next dinner-party, and it was easy to lead up to the subject in hand by mentioning the other guests. "and barbara drew," he concluded, after naming all the others. they were alone in the library, and she was drinking in the details of the dinner as he related them. "wasn't she at your first dinner?" she asked, quickly. he successfully affected mild embarrassment. "yes." "she must be very attractive." there was no venom in peggy's heart. "she is attractive. in fact, she's one of the best, peggy," he said, paving the way. "it's too bad she seems to care for that little duke." "he's a bounder," he argued. "well, don't take it to heart. you don't have to marry him," and peggy laughed. "but i do take it to heart, peggy," said monty, seriously. "i'm pretty hard hit, and i want your help. a sister's advice is always the best in a matter of this sort." she looked into his eyes dully for an instant, not realizing the full importance of his confession. "you, monty?" she said, incredulously. "i've got it bad, peggy," he replied, staring hard at the floor. she could not understand the cold, gray tone that suddenly enveloped the room. the strange sense of loneliness that came over her was inexplicable. the little something that rose in her throat would not be dislodged, nor could she throw off the weight that seemed pressing down upon her. he saw the odd look in her eyes and the drawn, uncertain smile on her lips, but he attributed them to wonder and incredulity. somehow, after all these years, he was transformed before her very eyes; she was looking upon a new personality. he was no longer montgomery, the brother, but she could not explain how and when the change crept over her. what did it all mean? "i am very glad if it will make you happy, monty," she said slowly, the gray in her lips giving way to red once more. "does she know?" "i haven't told her in so many words, peggy, but--but i'm going to this evening," he announced, lamely. "this evening?" "i can't wait," monty said as he rose to go. "i'm glad you're pleased, peggy; i need your good wishes. and, peggy," he continued, with a touch of boyish wistfulness, "do you think there's a chance for a fellow? i've had the very deuce of a time over that englishman." it was not quite easy for her to say, "monty, you are the best in the world. go in and win." from the window she watched him swing off down the street, wondering if he would turn to wave his hand to her, his custom for years. but the broad back was straight and uncompromising. his long strides carried him swiftly out of sight, but it was many minutes before she turned her eyes, which were smarting a little, from the point where he was lost in the crowd. the room looked ashen to her as she brought her mind back to it, and somehow things had grown difficult. when montgomery reached home he found this telegram from mr. jones: montgomery brewster, new york city. stick to your knitting, you damned fool. s. jones. chapter ix love and a prize-fight it is best not to repeat the expressions brewster used regarding one s. jones, after reading his telegram. but he felt considerably relieved after he had uttered them. he fell to reading accounts of the big prize-fight which was to take place in san francisco that evening. he revelled in the descriptions of "upper cuts" and "left hooks," and learned incidentally that the affair was to be quite one-sided. a local amateur was to box a champion. quick to see an opportunity, and cajoling himself into the belief that swearengen jones could not object to such a display of sportsmanship, brewster made harrison book several good wagers on the result. he intimated that he had reason to believe that the favorite would lose. harrison soon placed three thousand dollars on his man. the young financier felt so sure of the result that he entered the bets on the profit side of his ledger the moment he received harrison's report. this done, he telephoned miss drew. she was not insensible to the significance of his inquiry if she would be in that afternoon. she had observed in him of late a condition of uneasiness, supplemented by moroseness and occasional periods of irascibility. every girl whose occupation in life is the study of men recognizes these symptoms and knows how to treat them. barbara had dealt with many men afflicted in this manner, and the flutter of anticipation that came with his urgent plea to see her was tempered by experience. it had something of joy in it, for she cared enough for montgomery brewster to have made her anxiously uncertain of his state of mind. she cared, indeed, much more than she intended to confess at the outset. it was nearly half-past five when he came, and for once the philosophical miss drew felt a little irritation. so certain was she of his object in coming that his tardiness was a trifle ruffling. he apologized for being late, and succeeded in banishing the pique that possessed her. it was naturally impossible for him to share all his secrets with her, that is why he did not tell her that grant & ripley had called him up to report the receipt of a telegram from swearengen jones, in which the gentleman laconically said he could feed the whole state of montana for less than six thousand dollars. beyond that there was no comment. brewster, in dire trepidation, hastened to the office of the attorneys. they smiled when he burst in upon them. "good heavens!" he exclaimed, "does the miserly old hayseed expect me to spend a million for newspapers, cigarettes and boston terriers? i thought he would be reasonable!" "he evidently has seen the newspaper accounts of your dinner, and this is merely his comment," said mr. ripley. "it's either a warning, or else he's ambiguous in his compliments," growled brewster, disgustedly. "i don't believe he disapproved, mr. brewster. in the west the old gentleman is widely known as a wit." "a wit, eh? then he'll appreciate an answer from me. have you a telegraph blank, mr. grant?" two minutes later the following telegram to swearengen jones was awaiting the arrival of a messenger-boy, and brewster was blandly assuring messrs. grant & ripley that he did not "care a rap for the consequences": new york, october , -- swearengen jones, butte, mont. no doubt you could do it for less than six thousand. montana is regarded as the best grazing country in the world, but we don't eat that sort of stuff in new york. that's why it costs more to live here. montgomery brewster. just before leaving his apartments for miss drew's home he received this response from faraway montana: butte, montana, oct. , -- montgomery brewster, new york. we are eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. i suppose that's why it costs us less to live high. s. jones. "i was beginning to despair, monty," said miss drew, reproachfully, when he had come down from the height of his exasperation and remembered that there were things of more importance. the light in his eyes brought the faintest tinge of red to her cheeks, and where a moment before there had been annoyance there was now a feeling of serenity. for a moment the silence was fraught with purpose. monty glanced around the room, uncertain how to begin. it was not so easy as he had imagined. "you are very good to see me," he said at last. "it was absolutely necessary for me to talk to you this evening; i could not have endured the suspense any longer. barbara, i've spent three or four sleepless nights on your account. will it spoil your evening if i tell you in plain words what you already know? it won't bother you, will it?" he floundered. "what do you mean, monty?" she begged, purposely dense, and with wonderful control of her eyes. "i love you, babs," he cried. "i thought you knew about it all along or i should have told you before. that's why i haven't slept. the fear that you may not care for me has driven me nearly to distraction. it couldn't go on any longer. i must know to-day." there was a gleam in his eyes that made her pose of indifference difficult; the fervor of his half-whispered words took possession of her. she had expected sentiment of such a different character that his frank confession disarmed her completely. beneath his ardent, abrupt plea there was assurance, the confidence of one who is not to be denied. it was not what he said, but the way he said it. a wave of exultation swept over her, tingling through every nerve. under the spell her resolution to dally lightly with his emotion suffered a check that almost brought ignominious surrender. both of her hands were clasped in his when he exultingly resumed the charge against her heart, but she was rapidly regaining control of her emotions and he did not know that he was losing ground with each step he took forward. barbara drew loved brewster, but she was going to make him pay dearly for the brief lapse her composure had experienced. when next she spoke she was again the miss drew who had been trained in the ways of the world, and not the young girl in love. "i care for you a great deal, monty," she said, "but i'm wondering whether i care enough to--to marry you." "we haven't known each other very long, babs," he said, tenderly, "but i think we know each other well enough to be beyond wondering." "it is like you to manage the whole thing," she said, chidingly. "can't you give me time to convince myself that i love you as you would like, and as i must love if i expect to be happy with the man i marry?" "i forgot myself," he said, humbly. "you forgot me," she protested, gently, touched by this sign of contrition. "i do care for you, monty, but don't you see it's no little thing you ask of me? i must be sure--very sure--before i--before--" "don't be so distressed," he pleaded. "you will love me, i know, because you love me now. this means much to me, but it means more to you. you are the woman and you are the one whose happiness should be considered. i can live only in the hope that when i come to you again with this same story and this same question you'll not be afraid to trust yourself to me." "you deserve to be happy for that, monty," she said, earnestly, and it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes from wavering as they looked into his. "you will let me try to make you love me?" he asked, eagerly. "i may not be worth the struggle." "i'll take that chance," he replied. she was conscious of disappointment after he was gone. he had not pleaded as ardently as she had expected and desired, and, try as she would, she could not banish the touch of irritation that had come to haunt her for the night. brewster walked to the club, elated that he had at least made a beginning. his position was now clear. besides losing a fortune he must win barbara in open competition. at the theater that evening he met harrison, who was in a state of jubilation. "where did you get that tip?" asked he. "tip? what tip?" from brewster. "on the prize-fight?" brewster's face fell and something cold crept over him. "how did--what was the result?" he asked, sure of the answer. "haven't you heard? your man knocked him out in the fifth round--surprised everybody." chapter x napoleon of finance the next two months were busy ones for brewster. miss drew saw him quite as often as before the important interview, but he was always a puzzle to her. "his attitude is changed somehow," she thought to herself, and then she remembered that "a man who wins a girl after an ardent suit is often like one who runs after a street car and then sits down to read his paper." in truth after the first few days monty seemed to have forgotten his competitors, and was resting in the consciousness of his assured position. each day he sent her flowers and considered that he had more than done his duty. he used no small part of his income on the flowers, but in this case his mission was almost forgotten in his love for barbara. monty's attitude was not due to any wanting of his affection, but to the very unromantic business in which he was engaged. it seemed to him that, plan as he might, he could not devise fresh ways and means to earn $ , a day. he was still comfortably ahead in the race, but a famine in opportunities was not far remote. ten big dinner parties and a string of elaborate after-the-play suppers maintained a fair but insufficient average, and he could see that the time was ripe for radical measures. he could not go on forever with his dinners. people were already beginning to refer to the fact that he was warming his toes on the social register, and he had no desire to become the laughing stock of the town. the few slighting, sarcastic remarks about his business ability, chiefly by women and therefore reflected from the men, hurt him. miss drew's apparently harmless taunt and mrs. dan's open criticism told plainly enough how the wind was blowing, but it was peggy's gentle questions that cut the deepest. there was such honest concern in her voice that he could see how his profligacy was troubling her and mrs. gray. in their eyes, more than in the others, he felt ashamed and humiliated. finally, goaded by the remark of a bank director which he overheard, "edwin p. brewster is turning handsprings in his grave over the way he is going it," monty resolved to redeem himself in the eyes of his critics. he would show them that his brain was not wholly given over to frivolity. with this project in mind he decided to cause a little excitement in wall street. for some days he stealthily watched the stock market and plied his friends with questions about values. constant reading and observation finally convinced him that lumber and fuel common was the one stock in which he could safely plunge. casting aside all apprehension, so far as swearengen jones was concerned, he prepared for what was to be his one and only venture on the stock exchange before the d of the following september. with all the cunning and craftiness of a general he laid his plans for the attack. gardner's face was the picture of despair when brewster asked him to buy heavily in lumber and fuel. "good heavens, monty," cried the broker, "you're joking. lumber is away up now. it can't possibly go a fraction of a point higher. take my advice and don't touch it. it opened to-day at / and closed at . why, man, you're crazy to think about it for an instant." "i know my business, gardner," said brewster, quietly, and his conscience smote him when he saw the flush of mortification creep into the face of his friend. the rebuke had cut gardner to the quick. "but, monty, i know what i'm talking about. at least let me tell you something about this stock," pleaded elon, loyally, despite the wound. "gardy, i've gone into this thing carefully, and if ever a man felt sure about anything i do about this," said monty, decidedly, but affectionately. "take my word for it lumber can't go any higher. think of the situation; the lumber men in the north and west are overstocked, and there is a strike ready to go into effect. when that comes the stock will go for a song. the slump is liable to begin any day." "my mind is made up," said the other firmly, and gardner was in despair. "will you or will you not execute an order for me at the opening to-morrow? i'll start with ten thousand shares. what will it cost me to margin it for ten points?" "at least a hundred thousand, exclusive of commission, which would be twelve and a half a hundred shares." despite the most strenuous opposition from gardner, brewster adhered to his design, and the broker executed the order the next morning. he knew that brewster had but one chance to win, and that was to buy the stock in a lump instead of distributing it among several brokers and throughout the session. this was a point that monty had overlooked. there had been little to excite the stock exchange for some weeks: nothing was active and the slightest flurry was hailed as an event. every one knew that the calm would be disturbed at some near day, but nobody looked for a sensation in lumber and fuel. it was a foregone conclusion that a slump was coming, and there was scarcely any trading in the stock. when elon gardner, acting for montgomery brewster; took ten thousand shares at / there was a mighty gasp on the exchange, then a rubbing of eyes, then commotion. astonishment was followed by nervousness, and then came the struggle. brewster, confident that the stock could go no higher, and that sooner or later it must drop, calmly ordered his horse for a ride in the snow-covered park. even though he knew the venture was to be a failure in the ordinary sense he found joy in the knowledge that he was doing something. he might be a fool, he was at least no longer inactive. the feel of the air was good to him. he was exhilarated by the glitter of the snow, the answering excitement of his horse, the gaiety and sparkle of life about him. somewhere far back in his inner self there seemed to be the sound of cheering and the clapping of hands. shortly before noon he reached his club, where he was to lunch with colonel drew. in the reading-room he observed that men were looking at him in a manner less casual than was customary. some of them went so far as to smile encouragingly, and others waved their hands in the most cordial fashion. three or four very young members looked upon him with admiration and envy, and even the porters seemed more obsequious. there was something strangely oppressive in all this show of deference. colonel drew's dignity relaxed amazingly when he caught sight of the young man. he came forward to meet him and his greeting almost carried monty off his feet. "how did you do it, my boy?" cried the colonel. "she's off a point or two now, i believe, but half an hour ago she was booming. gad, i never heard of anything more spectacular!" monty's heart was in his mouth as he rushed over to the ticker. it did not take him long to grasp the immensity of the disaster. gardner had bought in at / , and that very action seemed to put new life into the stock. just as it was on the point of breaking for lack of support along came this sensational order for ten thousand shares; and there could be but one result. at one time in the morning lumber and fuel, traded in by excited holders, touched / and seemed in a fair way to hold firm around that figure. other men came up and listened eagerly. brewster realized that his dash in lumber and fuel had been a master-stroke of cleverness when considered from the point of view of these men, but a catastrophe from his own. "i hope you sold it when it was at the top," said the colonel anxiously. "i instructed gardner to sell only when i gave the word," said monty, lamely. several of the men looked at him in surprise and disgust. "well, if i were you i'd tell him to sell," remarked the colonel, coldly. "the effect of your plunge has worn off, brewster, and the other side will drive prices down. they won't be caught napping again, either," said one of the bystanders earnestly. "do you think so?" and there was a note of relief in monty's voice. from all sides came the advice to sell at once, but brewster was not to be pushed. he calmly lighted a cigarette, and with an assured air of wisdom told them to wait a little while and see. "she's already falling off," said some one at the ticker. when brewster's bewildered eyes raced over the figures the stock was quoted at . his sigh of relief was heard but misunderstood. he might be saved after all. the stock had started to go down and there seemed no reason why it should stop. as he intended to purchase no more it was fair to assume that the backbone was at the breaking point. the crash was bound to come. he could hardly restrain a cry of joy. even while he stood at the ticker the little instrument began to tell of a further decline. as the price went down his hopes went up. the bystanders were beginning to be disgusted. "it was only a fluke after all," they said to each other. colonel drew was appealed to urge monty to save himself, and he was on the point of remonstrance when the message came that the threatened strike was off, and that the men were willing to arbitrate. almost before one could draw breath this startling news began to make itself felt. the certainty of a great strike was one of the things that had made brewster sure that the price could not hold. with this danger removed there was nothing to jeopardize the earning power of the stock. the next quotation was a point higher. "you sly dog," said the colonel, digging monty in the side. "i had confidence in you all the time." in ten minutes' time lumber and fuel was up to and soaring. brewster, panic-stricken, rushed to the telephone and called up gardner. the broker, hoarse with excitement, was delighted when he recognized brewster's voice. "you're a wonder, monty! i'll see you after the close. how the devil did you do it?" shouted gardner. "what's the price now?" asked brewster. "one thirteen and three-fourths, and going up all the time. hooray!" "do you think she'll go down again?" demanded brewster. "not if i can help it." "very well, then, go and sell out," roared brewster. "but she's going up like--" "sell, damn you! didn't you hear?" gardner, dazed and weak, began selling, and finally liquidated the full line at prices ranging from to / , but montgomery brewster had cleared $ , , and all because it was he and not the market that got excited. chapter xi coals of fire it was not that he had realized heavily in his investments which caused his friends and his enemies to regard him in a new light; his profit had been quite small, as things go on the exchange in these days. the mere fact that he had shown such foresight proved sufficient cause for the reversal of opinion. men looked at him with new interest in their eyes, with fresh confidence. his unfortunate operations in the stock market had restored him to favor in all circles. the man, young or old, who could do what he had done with lumber and fuel well deserved the new promises that were being made for him. brewster bobbed uncertainly between two emotions--elation and distress. he had achieved two kinds of success--the desired and the undesired. it was but natural that he should feel proud of the distinction the venture had brought to him on one hand, but there was reason for despair over the acquisition of $ , . it made it necessary for him to undertake an almost superhuman feat--increase the number of his january bills. the plans for the ensuing spring and summer were dimly getting into shape and they covered many startling projects. since confiding some of them to "nopper" harrison, that gentleman had worn a never-decreasing look of worry and anxiety in his eyes. rawles added to his despair a day or two after the stock exchange misfortune. he brought up the information that six splendid little puppies had come to bless his boston terrier family, and joe bragdon, who was present, enthusiastically predicted that he could get $ apiece for them. brewster loved dogs, yet for one single horrible moment he longed to massacre the helpless little creatures. but the old affection came back to him, and he hurried out with bragdon to inspect the brood. "and i've either got to sell them or kill them," he groaned. later on he instructed bragdon to sell the pups for $ apiece, and went away, ashamed to look their proud mother in the face. fortune smiled on him before the day was over, however. he took "subway" smith for a ride in the "green juggernaut," bad weather and bad roads notwithstanding. monty lost control of the machine and headed for a subway excavation. he and smith saved themselves by leaping to the pavement, sustaining slight bruises, but the great machine crashed through the barricade and dropped to the bottom of the trench far below. to smith's grief and brewster's delight the automobile was hopelessly ruined, a clear loss of many thousands. monty's joy was short-lived, for it was soon learned that three luckless workmen down in the depths had been badly injured by the green meteor from above. the mere fact that brewster could and did pay liberally for the relief of the poor fellows afforded him little consolation. his carelessness, and possibly his indifference, had brought suffering to these men and their families which was not pleasant to look back upon. lawsuits were avoided by compromises. each of the injured men received $ , . at this time every one was interested in the charity bazaar at the astoria. society was on exhibition, and the public paid for the privilege of gazing at the men and women whose names filled the society columns. brewster frequented the booth presided over by miss drew, and there seemed to be no end to his philanthropy. the bazaar lasted two days and nights, and after that period his account-book showed an even "profit" of nearly $ , . monty's serenity, however, was considerably ruffled by the appearance of a new and aggressive claimant for the smiles of the fair barbara. he was a californian of immense wealth and unbounded confidence in himself, and letters to people in new york had given him a certain entree. the triumphs in love and finance that had come with his two score years and ten had demolished every vestige of timidity that may have been born with him. he was successful enough in the world of finance to have become four or five times a millionaire, and he had fared so well in love that twice he had been a widower. rodney grimes was starting out to win barbara with the same dash and impulsiveness that overcame mary farrell, the cook in the mining-camp, and jane boothroyd, the school-teacher, who came to california ready to marry the first man who asked her. he was a penniless prospector when he married mary, and when he led jane to the altar she rejoiced in having captured a husband worth at least $ , . he vied with brewster in patronizing barbara's booth, and he rushed into the conflict with an impetuosity that seemed destined to carry everything before it. monty was brushed aside, barbara was preempted as if she were a mining claim and ten days after his arrival in new york, grimes was the most talked-of man in town. brewster was not the sort to be dispatched without a struggle, however. recognizing grimes as an obstacle, but not as a rival, he once more donned his armor and beset barbara with all the zest of a champion who seeks to protect and not to conquer. he regarded the californian as an impostor and summary action was necessary. "i know all about him, babs," he said one day after he felt sure of his position. "why, his father was honored by the v. c, on the coast in ' ." "the victoria cross?" asked barbara, innocently. "no, the vigilance committee." in this way monty routed the enemy and cleared the field before the end of another week. grimes transferred his objectionable affection and barbara was not even asked to be wife number three. brewster's campaign was so ardent that he neglected other duties deplorably, falling far behind his improvident average. with grimes disposed of, he once more forsook the battlefield of love and gave his harassed and undivided attention to his own peculiar business. the fast-and-loose game displeased miss barbara greatly. she was at first surprised, then piqued, then resentful. monty gradually awoke to the distressing fact that she was going to be intractable, as he put it, and forthwith undertook to smooth the troubled sea. to his amazement and concern she was not to be appeased. "does it occur to you, monty," she said, with a gentle coldness that was infinitely worse than heat, "that you have been carrying things with a pretty high hand? where did you acquire the right to interfere with my privileges? you seem to think that i am not to speak to any man but you." "o, come now, babs," retorted monty, "i've not been quite as unreasonable as that. and you know yourself that grimes is the worst kind of a bounder." "i know nothing of the sort," replied the lady, with growing irritation. "you say that about every man who gives me a smile or a flower. does it indicate such atrocious taste?" "don't be silly, barbara. you know perfectly well that you have talked to gardner and that idiot valentine by the hour, and i've not said a word. but there are some things i can't stand, and the impertinence of grimes is one of them. jove! he looked at you, out of those fishy eyes, sometimes as though he owned you. if you knew how many times i've fairly ached to knock him down!" inwardly barbara was weakening a little before his masterfulness. but she gave no sign. "and it never occurred to you," she said, with that exasperating coldness of the voice, "that i was equal to the situation. i suppose you thought mr. grimes had only to beckon and i would joyfully answer. i'll have you know, monty brewster, right now, that i am quite able to choose my friends, and to handle them. mr. grimes has character and i like him. he has seen more of life in a year of his strenuous career than you ever dreamed of in all your pampered existence. his life has been real, monty brewster, and yours is only an imitation." it struck him hard, but it left him gentle. "babs," he said, softly, "i can't take that from you. you don't really mean it, do you? am i as bad as that?" it was a moment for dominance, and he missed it. his gentleness left her cold. "monty," she exclaimed irritably, "you are terribly exasperating. do make up your mind that you and your million are not the only things in the world." his blood was up now, but it flung him away from her. "some day, perhaps, you'll find out that there is not much besides. i am just a little too big, for one thing, to be played with and thrown aside. i won't stand it." he left the house with his head high in the air, angry red in his cheeks, and a feeling in his heart that she was the most unreasonable of women. barbara, in the meantime, cried herself to sleep, vowing she would never love monty brewster again as long as she lived. a sharp cutting wind was blowing in monty's face as he left the house. he was thoroughly wretched. "throw up your hands!" came hoarsely from somewhere, and there was no tenderness in the tones. for an instant monty was dazed and bewildered, but in the next he saw two shadowy figures walking beside him. "stop where you are, young fellow," was the next command, and he stopped short. he was in a mood to fight, but the sight of a revolver made him think again. monty was not a coward, neither was he a fool. he was quick to see that a struggle would be madness. "what do you want?" he demanded as coolly as his nerves would permit. "put up your hands quick!" and he hastily obeyed the injunction. "not a sound out of you or you get it good and proper. you know what we want. get to work, bill; i'll watch his hands." "help yourselves, boys. i'm not fool enough to scrap about it. don't hit me or shoot, that's all. be quick about it, because i'll take cold if my overcoat is open long. how's business been to-night?" brewster was to all intents and purposes the calmest man in new york. "fierce!" said the one who was doing the searching. "you're the first guy we've seen in a week that looks good." "i hope you won't be disappointed," said monty, genially. "if i'd expected this i might have brought more money." "i guess we'll be satisfied," chuckled the man with the revolver. "you're awful nice and kind, mister, and maybe you wouldn't object to tellin' us when you'll be up dis way ag'in." "it's a pleasure to do business with you, pardner," said the other, dropping monty's $ watch in his pocket. "we'll leave car-fare for you for your honesty." his hands were running through brewster's pockets with the quickness of a machine. "you don't go much on jewelry, i guess. are dese shoit buttons de real t'ing?" "they're pearls," said monty, cheerfully. "my favorite jool," said the man with the revolver. "clip 'em out, bill." "don't cut the shirt," urged monty. "i'm going to a little supper and i don't like the idea of a punctured shirt-front." "i'll be as careful as i kin, mister. there, i guess dat's all. shall i call a cab for you, sir?" "no, thank you, i think i'll walk." "well, just walk south a hundred steps without lookin' 'round er yellin' and you kin save your skin. i guess you know what i mean, pardner." "i'm sure i do. good-night." "good-night," came in chuckles from the two hold-up men. but brewster hesitated, a sharp thought penetrating his mind. "by gad!" he exclaimed, "you chaps are very careless. do you know you've missed a roll of three hundred dollars in this overcoat pocket?" the men gasped and the spasmodic oaths that came from them were born of incredulity. it was plain that they doubted their ears. "say it ag'in," muttered bill, in bewildered tones. "he's stringin' us, bill," said the other. "sure," growled bill. "it's a nice way to treat us, mister. move along now and don't turn 'round." "well, you're a couple of nice highwaymen," cried monty in disgust. "sh--not so loud." "that is no way to attend to business. do you expect me to go down in my pocket and hand you the goods on a silver tray?" "keep your hands up! you don't woik dat game on me. you got a gun there." "no, i haven't. this is on the level. you over-looked a roll of bills in your haste and i'm not the sort of fellow to see an earnest endeavorer get the worst of it. my hands are up. see for yourself if i'm not telling you the truth." "what kind of game is dis?" growled bill, dazed and bewildered. "i'm blowed if i know w'at to t'ink o' you," cried he in honest amazement. "you don't act drunk, and you ain't crazy, but there's somethin' wrong wid you. are you givin' it to us straight about de wad?" "you can find out easily." "well, i hate to do it, boss, but i guess we'll just take de overcoat and all. it looks like a trick and we takes no chances. off wid de coat." monty's coat came off in a jiffy and he stood shivering before the dumfounded robbers. "we'll leave de coat at de next corner, pardner. it's cold and you need it more'n we do. you're de limit, you are. so long. walk right straight ahead and don't yell." brewster found his coat a few minutes later, and went whistling away into the night. the roll of bills was gone. chapter xii christmas despair brewster made a good story of the "hold-up" at the club, but he did not relate all the details. one of the listeners was a new public commissioner who was aggressive in his efforts at reform. accordingly brewster was summoned to headquarters the next morning for the purpose of looking over the "suspects" that had been brought in. almost the first man that he espied was a rough-looking fellow whose identity could not be mistaken. it was bill. "hello, bill," called monty, gaily. bill ground his teeth for a second, but his eyes had such an appeal in them that monty relented. "you know this fellow, mr. brewster?" demanded the captain, quickly. bill looked utterly helpless. "know bill?" questioned monty in surprise. "of course i do, captain." "he was picked up late last night and detained, because he would give no account of his actions." "was it as bad as that, bill?" asked brewster, with a smile. bill mumbled something and assumed a look of defiance. monty's attitude puzzled him sorely. he hardly breathed for an instant, and gulped perceptibly. "pass bill, captain. he was with me last night just before my money was taken, and he couldn't possibly have robbed me without my knowledge. wait for me outside, bill. i want to talk to you. i'm quite sure neither of the thieves is here, captain," concluded brewster, after bill had obeyed the order to step out of the line. outside the door the puzzled crook met brewster, who shook him warmly by the hand. "you're a peach," whispered bill, gratefully "what did you do it for, mister?" "because you were kind enough not to cut my shirt." "say, you're all right, that's what. would you mind havin' a drink with me? it's your money, but the drink won't be any the worse for that. we blowed most of it already, but here's what's left." bill handed monty a roll of bills. "i'd a kept it if you'd made a fight," he continued, "but it ain't square to keep it now." brewster refused the money, but took back his watch. "keep it, bill," he said, "you need it more than i do. it's enough to set you up in some other trade. why not try it?" "i will try, boss," and bill was so profuse in his thanks that monty had difficulty in getting away; as he climbed into a cab he heard bill say, "i will try, boss, and say, if ever i can do anything for you jes' put me nex'. i'm nex' you all de time." he gave the driver the name of his club, but as he was passing the waldorf he remembered that he had several things to say to mrs. dan. the order was changed, and a few moments later he was received in mrs. dan's very special den. she wore something soft and graceful in lavender, something that was light and wavy and evanescent, and made you watch its changing shadows. monty looked down at her with the feeling that she made a very effective picture. "you are looking pretty fit this morning, my lady," he said by way of preamble. "how well everything plays up to you." "and you are unusually courtly, monty," she smiled. "has the world treated you so generously of late?" "it is treating me generously enough just now to make up for anything," and he looked at her. "do you know, mrs. dan, that it is borne in upon me now and then that there are things that are quite worth while?" "oh, if you come to that," she answered, lightly, "everything is worth while. for you, monty, life is certainly not slow. you can dominate; you can make things go your way. aren't they going your way now, monty"--this more seriously--"what's wrong? is the pace too fast?" his mood increased upon him with her sympathy. "oh, no," he said, "it isn't that. you are good--and i'm a selfish beast. things are perverse and people are desperately obstinate sometimes. and here i am taking it out on you. you are not perverse. you are not obstinate. you are a ripper, mrs. dan, and you are going to help me out in more ways than one." "well, to pay for all these gallantries, monty, i ought to do much. i'm your friend through thick and thin. you have only to command me." "it was precisely to get your help that i came in. i'm tired of those confounded dinners. you know yourself that they are all alike--the same people, the same flowers, the same things to eat, and the same inane twaddle in the shape of talk. who cares about them anyway?" "well, i like that," she interrupted. "after all the thought i put into those dinners, after all the variety i so carefully secured! my dear boy, you are frightfully ungrateful." "oh, you know what i mean. and you know quite as well as i do that it is perfectly true. the dinners were a beastly bore, which proves that they were a loud success. your work was not done in vain. but now i want something else. we must push along the ball we've been talking of. and the yachting cruise--that can't wait very much longer." "the ball first," she decreed. "i'll see to the cards at once, and in a day or two i'll have a list ready for your gracious approval. and what have you done?" "pettingill has some great ideas for doing over sherry's. harrison is in communication with the manager of that hungarian orchestra you spoke of, and he finds the men quite ready for a little jaunt across the water. we have that military band--i've forgotten the number of its regiment--for the promenade music, and the new paris sensation, the contralto, is coming over with her primo tenore for some special numbers." "you were certainly cut out for an executive, monty," said mrs. dan. "but with the music and the decorations arranged, you've only begun. the favors are the real thing, and if you say the word, we'll surprise them a little. don't worry about it, monty. it's a go already. we'll pull it off together." "you are a thoroughbred, mrs. dan," he exclaimed. "you do help a fellow at a pinch." "that's all right, monty," she answered; "give me until after christmas and i'll have the finest favors ever seen. other people may have their paper hats and pink ribbons, but you can show them how the thing ought to be done." her reference to christmas haunted brewster, as he drove down fifth avenue, with the dread of a new disaster. never before had he looked upon presents as a calamity; but this year it was different. immediately he began to plan a bombardment of his friends with costly trinkets, when he grew suddenly doubtful of the opinion of his uncle's executor upon this move. but in response to a telegram, swearengen jones, with pleasing irascibility, informed him that "anyone with a drop of human kindness in his body would consider it his duty to give christmas presents to those who deserved them." monty's way was now clear. if his friends meant to handicap him with gifts, he knew a way to get even. for two weeks his mornings were spent at tiffany's, and the afternoons brought joy to the heart of every dealer in antiquities in fourth and fifth avenues. he gave much thought to the matter in the effort to secure many small articles which elaborately concealed their value. and he had taste. the result of his endeavor was that many friends who would not have thought of remembering monty with even a card were pleasantly surprised on christmas eve. as it turned out, he fared very well in the matter of gifts, and for some days much of his time was spent in reading notes of profuse thanks, which were yet vaguely apologetic. the grays and mrs. dan had remembered him with an agreeable lack of ostentation, and some of the "little sons of the rich," who had kept one evening a fortnight open for the purpose of "using up their meal-tickets" at monty's, were only too generously grateful. miss drew had forgotten him, and when they met after the holiday her recognition was of the coldest. he had thought that, under the circumstances, he could send her a gift of value, but the beautiful pearls with which he asked for a reconciliation were returned with "miss drew's thanks." he loved barbara sincerely, and it cut. peggy gray was taken into his confidence and he was comforted by her encouragement. it was a bit difficult for her to advise him to try again, but his happiness was a thing she had at heart. "it's beastly unfair, peggy," he said. "i've really been white to her. i believe i'll chuck the whole business and leave new york." "you're going away?" and there was just a suggestion of a catch in her breath. "i'm going to charter a yacht and sail away from this place for three or four months." peggy fairly gasped. "what do you think of the scheme?" he added, noticing the alarm and incredulity in her eyes. "i think you'll end in the poor-house, montgomery brewster," she said, with a laugh. chapter xiii a friend in need it was while brewster was in the depths of despair that his financial affairs had a windfall. one of the banks in which his money was deposited failed and his balance of over $ , was wiped out. mismanagement was the cause and the collapse came on friday, the thirteenth day of the month. needless to say, it destroyed every vestige of the superstition he may have had regarding friday and the number thirteen. brewster had money deposited in five banks, a transaction inspired by the wild hope that one of them might some day suspend operations and thereby prove a legitimate benefit to him. there seemed no prospect that the bank could resume operations, and if the depositors in the end realized twenty cents on the dollar they would be fortunate. notwithstanding the fact that everybody had considered the institution substantial there were not a few wiseacres who called brewster a fool and were so unreasonable as to say that he did not know how to handle money. he heard that miss drew, in particular, was bitterly sarcastic in referring to his stupidity. this failure caused a tremendous flurry in banking circles. it was but natural that questions concerning the stability of other banks should be asked, and it was not long before many wild, disquieting reports were afloat. anxious depositors rushed into the big banking institutions and then rushed out again, partially assured that there was no danger. the newspapers sought to allay the fears of the people, but there were many to whom fear became panic. there were short, wild runs on some of the smaller banks, but all were in a fair way to restore confidence when out came the rumor that the bank of manhattan island was in trouble. colonel prentiss drew, railroad magnate, was the president of this bank. when the bank opened for business on the tuesday following the failure, there was a stampede of frightened depositors. before eleven o'clock the run had assumed ugly proportions and no amount of argument could stay the onslaught. colonel drew and the directors, at first mildly distressed, and then seeing that the affair had become serious, grew more alarmed than they could afford to let the public see. the loans of all the banks were unusually large. incipient runs on some had put all of them in an attitude of caution, and there was a natural reluctance to expose their own interests to jeopardy by coming to the relief of the bank of manhattan island. monty brewster had something like $ , in colonel drew's bank. he would not have regretted on his own account the collapse of this institution, but he realized what it meant to the hundreds of other depositors, and for the first time he appreciated what his money could accomplish. thinking that his presence might give confidence to the other depositors and stop the run he went over to the bank with harrison and bragdon. the tellers were handing out thousands of dollars to the eager depositors. his friends advised him strongly to withdraw before it was too late, but monty was obdurate. they set it down to his desire to help barbara's father and admired his nerve. "i understand, monty," said bragdon, and both he and harrison went among the people carelessly asking one another if brewster had come to withdraw his money. "no, he has over $ , , and he's going to leave it," the other would say. each excited group was visited in turn by the two men, but their assurance seemed to accomplish but little. these men and women were there to save their fortunes; the situation was desperate. colonel drew, outwardly calm and serene, but inwardly perturbed, finally saw brewster and his companions. he sent a messenger over with the request that monty come to the president's private office at once. "he wants to help you to save your money," cried bragdon in low tones. "that shows it's all up." "get out every dollar of it, monty, and don't waste a minute. it's a smash as sure as fate," urged harrison, a feverish expression in his eyes. brewster was admitted to the colonel's private office. drew was alone and was pacing the floor like a caged animal. "sit down, brewster, and don't mind if i seem nervous. of course we can hold out, but it is terrible--terrible. they think we are trying to rob them. they're mad--utterly mad." "i never saw anything like it, colonel. are you sure you can meet all the demands?" asked brewster, thoroughly excited. the colonel's face was white and he chewed his cigar nervously. "we can hold out unless some of our heaviest depositors get the fever and swoop down upon us. i appreciate your feelings in an affair of this kind, coming so swiftly upon the heels of the other, but i want to give you my personal assurance that the money you have here is safe. i called you in to impress you with the security of the bank. you ought to know the truth, however, and i will tell you in confidence that another check like austin's, which we paid a few minutes ago, would cause us serious, though temporary, embarrassment." "i came to assure you that i have not thought of withdrawing my deposits from this bank, colonel. you need have no uneasiness--" the door opened suddenly and one of the officials of the bank bolted inside, his face as white as death. he started to speak before he saw brewster, and then closed his lips despairingly. "what is it, mr. moore?" asked drew, as calmly as possible. "don't mind mr. brewster." "oglethorp wants to draw two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," said moore in strained tones. "well, he can have it, can't he?" asked the colonel quietly. moore looked helplessly at the president of the bank, and his silence spoke more plainly than words. "brewster, it looks bad," said the colonel, turning abruptly to the young man. "the other banks are afraid of a run and we can't count on much help from them. some of them have helped us and others have refused. now, i not only ask you to refrain from drawing out your deposit, but i want you to help us in this crucial moment." the colonel looked twenty years older and his voice shook perceptibly. brewster's pity went out to him in a flash. "what can i do, colonel drew?" he cried. "i'll not take my money out, but i don't know how i can be of further assistance to you. command me, sir." "you can restore absolute confidence, monty, my dear boy, by increasing your deposits in our bank," said the colonel slowly, and as if dreading the fate of the suggestion. "you mean, sir, that i can save the bank by drawing my money from other banks and putting it here?" asked monty, slowly. he was thinking harder and faster than he had ever thought in his life. could he afford to risk the loss of his entire fortune on the fate of this bank? what would swearengen jones say if he deliberately deposited a vast amount of money in a tottering institution like the bank of manhattan island? it would be the maddest folly on his part if the bank went down. there could be no mitigating circumstances in the eyes of either jones or the world, if he swamped all of his money in this crisis. "i beg of you, monty, help us." the colonel's pride was gone. "it means disgrace if we close our doors even for an hour; it means a stain that only years can remove. you can restore confidence by a dozen strokes of your pen, and you can save us." he was barbara's father. the proud old man was before him as a suppliant, no longer the cold man of the world. back to brewster's mind came the thought of his quarrel with barbara and of her heartlessness. a scratch of the pen, one way or the other, could change the life of barbara drew. the two bankers stood by scarcely breathing. from the outside came the shuffle of many feet and the muffled roll of voices. again the door to the private office opened and a clerk excitedly motioned for mr. moore to hurry to the front of the bank. moore paused irresolutely, his eyes on brewster's face. the young man knew the time had come when he must help or deny them. like a flash the situation was made clear to him and his duty was plain. he remembered that the bank of manhattan island held every dollar that mrs. gray and peggy possessed; their meager fortune had been entrusted to the care of prentiss drew and his associates, and it was in danger. "i will do all i can, colonel," said monty, "but upon one condition." "that is?" "barbara must never know of this." the colonel's gasp of astonishment was cut short as monty continued. "promise that she shall never know." "i don't understand, but if it is your wish i promise." inside of half an hour's time several hundred thousand came to the relief of the struggling bank, and the man who had come to watch the run with curious eyes turned out to be its savior. his money won the day for the bank of manhattan island. when the happy president and directors offered to pay him an astonishingly high rate of interest for the use of the money he proudly declined. the next day miss drew issued invitations for a cotillon. mr. montgomery brewster was not asked to attend. chapter xiv mrs. de mille entertains miss drew's cotillon was not graced by the presence of montgomery brewster. it is true he received an eleventh-hour invitation and a very cold and difficult little note of apology, but he maintained heroically the air of disdain that had succeeded the first sharp pangs of disappointment. colonel drew, in whose good graces monty had firmly established himself, was not quite guiltless of usurping the role of dictator in the effort to patch up a truce. a few nights before the cotillon, when barbara told him that herbert ailing was to lead, he explosively expressed surprise. "why not monty brewster, babs?" he demanded. "mr. brewster is not coming," she responded, calmly. "going to be out of town?" "i'm sure i do not know," stiffly. "what's this?" "he has not been asked, father." miss drew was not in good humor. "not asked?" said the colonel in amazement. "it's ridiculous, babs, send him an invitation at once." "this is my dance, father, and i don't want to ask mr. brewster." the colonel sank back in his chair and struggled to overcome his anger. he knew that barbara had inherited his willfulness, and had long since discovered that it was best to treat her with tact. "i thought you and he were--" but the colonel's supply of tact was exhausted. "we were"--in a moment of absent mindedness. "but it's all over," said barbara. "why, child, there wouldn't have been a cotillon if it hadn't been for--" but the colonel remembered his promise to monty and checked himself just in time. "i--i mean there will not be any party, if montgomery brewster is not asked. that is all i care to say on the subject," and he stamped out of the room. barbara wept copiously after her father had gone, but she realized that his will was law and that monty must be invited. "i will send an invitation," she said to herself, "but if mr. brewster comes after he has read it, i shall be surprised." montgomery, however, did not receive the note in the spirit in which it had been sent. he only saw in it a ray of hope that barbara was relenting and was jubilant at the prospect of a reconciliation. the next sunday he sought an interview with miss drew, but she received him with icy reserve. if he had thought to punish her by staying away, it was evident that she felt equally responsible for a great deal of misery on his part. both had been more or less unhappy, and both were resentfully obstinate. brewster felt hurt and insulted, while she felt that he had imposed upon her disgracefully. he was now ready to cry quits and it surprised him to find her obdurate. if he had expected to dictate the terms of peace he was woefully disappointed when she treated his advances with cool contempt. "barbara, you know i care very much for you," he was pleading, fairly on the road to submission. "i am sure you are not quite indifferent to me. this foolish misunderstanding must really be as disagreeable to you as it is to me." "indeed," she replied, lifting her brows disdainfully. "you are assuming a good deal, mr. brewster." "i am merely recalling the fact that you once told me you cared. you would not promise anything, i know, but it meant much that you cared. a little difference could not have changed your feeling completely." "when you are ready to treat me with respect i may listen to your petition," she said, rising haughtily. "my petition?" he did not like the word and his tact quite deserted him. "it's as much yours as mine. don't throw the burden of responsibility on me, miss drew." "have i suggested going back to the old relations? you will pardon me if i remind you of the fact that you came to-day on your own initiative and certainly without my solicitation." "now, look here, barbara--" he began, dimly realizing that it was going to be hard, very hard, to reason. "i am very sorry, mr. brewster, but you will have to excuse me. i am going out." "i regret exceedingly that i should have disturbed you to-day, miss drew," he said, swallowing his pride. "perhaps i may have the pleasure of seeing you again." as he was leaving the house, deep anger in his soul, he encountered the colonel. there was something about monty's greeting, cordial as it was, that gave the older man a hint as to the situation. "won't you stop for dinner, monty?" he asked, in the hope that his suspicion was groundless. "thank you, colonel, not to-night," and he was off before the colonel could hold him. barbara was tearfully angry when her father came into the room, but as he began to remonstrate with her the tears disappeared and left her at white heat. "frankly, father, you don't understand matters," she said with slow emphasis; "i wish you to know now that if montgomery brewster calls again, i shall not see him." "if that is your point of view, barbara, i wish you to know mine." the colonel rose and stood over her, everything forgotten but the rage that went so deep that it left the surface calm. throwing aside his promise to brewster, he told barbara with dramatic simplicity the story of the rescue of the bank. "you see," he added, "if it had not been for that open-hearted boy we would now be ruined. instead of giving cotillons, you might be giving music lessons. montgomery brewster will always be welcome in this house and you will see that my wishes are respected. do you understand?" "perfectly," barbara answered in a still voice. "as your friend i shall try to be civil to him." the colonel was not satisfied with so cold-blooded an acquiescence, but he wisely retired from the field. he left the girl silent and crushed, but with a gleam in her eyes that was not altogether to be concealed. the story had touched her more deeply than she would willingly confess. it was something to know that monty brewster could do a thing like that, and would do it for her. the exultant smile which it brought to her lips could only be made to disappear by reminding herself sharply of his recent arrogance. her anger, she found, was a plant which needed careful cultivation. it was in a somewhat chastened mood that she started a few days later for a dinner at the demille's. as she entered in her sweeping golden gown the sight of monty brewster at the other end of the room gave her a flutter at the heart. but it was an agitation that was very carefully concealed. brewster was certainly unconscious of it. to him the position of guest was like a disguise and he was pleased at the prospect of letting himself go under the mask without responsibility. but it took on a different color when the butler handed him a card which signified that he was to take miss drew in to dinner. hastily seeking out the hostess he endeavored to convey to her the impossibility of the situation. "i hope you won't misunderstand me," he said. "but is it too late to change my place at the table?" "it isn't conventional, i know, monty. society's chief aim is to separate engaged couples at dinner," said mrs. dan with a laugh. "it would be positively compromising if a man and his wife sat together." dinner was announced before monty could utter another word, and as she led him over to barbara she said, "behold a generous hostess who gives up the best man in the crowd so that he and some one else may have a happy time. i leave it to you, barbara, if that isn't the test of friendship." for a moment the two riveted their eyes on the floor. then the humor of the situation came to monty. "i did not know that we were supposed to do gibson tableaux to-night," he said drily as he proffered his arm. "i don't understand," and barbara's curiosity overcame her determination not to speak. "don't you remember the picture of the man who was called upon to take his late fiancee out to dinner?" the awful silence with which this remark was received put an end to further efforts at humor. the dinner was probably the most painful experience in their lives. barbara had come to it softened and ready to meet him half way. the right kind of humility in monty would have found her plastic. but she had very definite and rigid ideas of his duty in the premises. and monty was too simple minded to seem to suffer, and much too flippant to understand. it was plain to each that the other did not expect to talk, but they both realized that they owed a duty to appearances and to their hostess. through two courses, at least, there was dead silence between them. it seemed as though every eye in the room were on them and every mind were speculating. at last, in sheer desperation, barbara turned to him with the first smile he had seen on her face in days. there was no smile in her eyes, however, and monty understood. "we might at least give out the impression that we are friends," she said quietly. "more easily said than done," he responded gloomily. "they are all looking at us and wondering." "i don't blame them." "we owe something to mrs. dan, i think." "i know." barbara uttered some inanity whenever she caught any one looking in their direction, but brewster seemed not to hear. at length he cut short some remark of hers about the weather. "what nonsense this is, barbara," he said. "with any one else i would chuck the whole game, but with you it is different. i don't know what i have done, but i am sorry. i hope you'll forgive me." "your assurance is amusing, to say the least." "but i am sure. i know this quarrel is something we'll laugh over. you keep forgetting that we are going to be married some day." a new light came into barbara's eyes. "you forget that my consent may be necessary," she said. "you will be perfectly willing when the time comes. i am still in the fight and eventually you will come to my way of thinking." "oh! i see it now," said barbara, and her blood was up. "you mean to force me to it. what you did for father--" brewster glowered at her, thinking that he had misunderstood. "what do you mean?" he said. "he has told me all about that wretched bank business. but poor father thought you quite disinterested. he did not see the little game behind your melodrama. he would have torn up your check on the instant if he had suspected you were trying to buy his daughter." "does your father believe that?" asked brewster. "no, but i see it all now. his persistence and yours--you were not slow to grasp the opportunity offered." "stop, miss drew," monty commanded. his voice had changed and she had never before seen that look in his eyes. "you need have no fear that i will trouble you again." chapter xv the cut direct a typographical error in one of the papers caused no end of amusement to every one except monty and miss drew. the headlines had announced "magnificent ball to be given miss drew by her finance," and the "little sons of the rich" wondered why monty did not see the humor of it. "he has too bad an attack to see anything but the lady," said harrison one evening when the "sons" were gathered for an old-time supper party. "it's always the way," commented the philosophical bragdon, "when you lose your heart your sense of humor goes too. engaged couples couldn't do such ridiculous stunts if they had the least particle of it left." "well, if monty brewster is still in love with miss drew he takes a mighty poor way of showing it." "subway" smith's remark fell like a bombshell. the thought had come to every one, but no one had been given the courage to utter it. for them brewster's silence on the subject since the demille dinner seemed to have something ominous behind it. "it's probably only a lovers' quarrel," said bragdon. but further comment was cut short by the entrance of monty himself, and they took their places at the table. before the evening came to an end they were in possession of many astonishing details in connection with the coming ball. monty did not say that it was to be given for miss drew and her name was conspicuously absent from his descriptions. as he unfolded his plans even the "little sons," who were imaginative by instinct and reckless on principle, could not be quite acquiescent. "nopper" harrison solemnly expressed the opinion that the ball would cost brewster at least $ , . the "little sons" looked at one another in consternation, while brewster's indifference expressed itself in an unflattering comment upon his friend's vulgarity. "good lord, nopper," he added, "you would speculate about the price of gloves for your wedding." harrison resented the taunt. "it would be much less vulgar to do that, monty, saving your presence, than to force your millions down every one's throat." "well, they swallow them, i've noticed," retorted brewster, "as though they were chocolates." pettingill interrupted grandiloquently. "my friends and gentlemen!" "which is which?" asked van winkle, casually. but the artist was in the saddle. "permit me to present to you the boy croesus--the only one extant. his marbles are plunks and his kites are made of fifty-dollar notes. he feeds upon coupons a la newburgh, and his champagne is liquid golden eagles. look at him, gentlemen, while you can, and watch him while he spends thirteen thousand dollars for flowers!" "with a viennese orchestra for twenty-nine thousand!" added bragdon. "and yet they maintain that silence is golden." "and three singers to divide twelve thousand among themselves! that's absolutely criminal," cried van winkle. "over in germany they'd sing a month for half that amount." "six hundred guests to feed--total cost of not less than forty thousand dollars," groaned "nopper," dolefully. "and there aren't six hundred in town," lamented "subway" smith. "all that glory wasted on two hundred rank outsiders." "you men are borrowing a lot of trouble," yawned brewster, with a gallant effort to seem bored. "all i ask of you is to come to the party and put up a good imitation of having the time of your life. between you and me i'd rather be caught at huyler's drinking ice cream soda than giving this thing. but--" "that's what we want to know, but what?" and "subway" leaned forward eagerly. "but," continued monty, "i'm in for it now, and it is going to be a ball that is a ball." nevertheless the optimistic brewster could not find the courage to tell peggy of these picturesque extravagances. to satisfy her curiosity he blandly informed her that he was getting off much more cheaply than he had expected. he laughingly denounced as untrue the stories that had come to her from outside sources. and before his convincing assertions that reports were ridiculously exaggerated, the troubled expression in the girl's eyes disappeared. "i must seem a fool," groaned monty, as he left the house after one of these explanatory trials, "but what will she think of me toward the end of the year when i am really in harness?" he found it hard to control the desire to be straight with peggy and tell her the story of his mad race in pursuit of poverty. preparations for the ball went on steadily, and in a dull winter it had its color value for society. it was to be a spanish costume-ball, and at many tea-tables the talk of it was a god-send. sarcastic as it frequently was on the question of monty's extravagance, there was a splendor about the aladdin-like entertainment which had a charm. beneath the outward disapproval there was a secret admiration of the superb nerve of the man. and there was little reluctance to help him in the wild career he had chosen. it was so easy to go with him to the edge of the precipice and let him take the plunge alone. only the echo of the criticism reached brewster, for he had silenced harrison with work and pettingill with opportunities. it troubled him little, as he was engaged in jotting down items that swelled the profit side of his ledger account enormously. the ball was bound to give him a good lead in the race once more, despite the heavy handicap the stock exchange had imposed. the "little sons" took off their coats and helped pettingill in the work of preparation. he found them quite superfluous, for their ideas never agreed and each man had a way of preferring his own suggestion. to brewster's chagrin they were united in the effort to curb his extravagance. "he'll be giving automobiles and ropes of pearls for favors if we don't stop him," said "subway" smith, after monty had ordered a vintage champagne to be served during the entire evening. "give them two glasses first, if you like, and then they won't mind if they have cider the rest of the night." "monty is plain dotty," chimed bragdon, "and the pace is beginning to tell on him." as a matter of fact the pace was beginning to tell on brewster. work and worry were plainly having an effect on his health. his color was bad, his eyes were losing their lustre, and there was a listlessness in his actions that even determined effort could not conceal from his friends. little fits of fever annoyed him occasionally and he admitted that he did not feel quite right. "something is wrong somewhere," he said, ruefully, "and my whole system seems ready to stop work through sympathy." suddenly there was a mighty check to the preparations. two days before the date set for the ball everything came to a standstill and the managers sank back in perplexity and consternation. monty brewster was critically ill. appendicitis, the doctors called it, and an operation was imperative. "thank heaven it's fashionable," laughed monty, who showed no fear of the prospect. "how ridiculous if it had been the mumps, or if the newspapers had said, 'on account of the whooping-cough, mr. brewster did not attend his ball.'" "you don't mean to say--the ball is off, of course," and harrison was really alarmed. "not a bit of it, nopper," said monty. "it's what i've been wanting all along. you chaps do the handshaking and i stay at home." there was an immediate council of war when this piece of news was announced, and the "little sons" were unanimous in favor of recalling the invitations and declaring the party off. at first monty was obdurate, but when some one suggested that he could give the ball later on, after he was well, he relented. the opportunity to double the cost by giving two parties was not to be ignored. "call it off, then, but say it is only postponed." a great rushing to and fro resulted in the cancelling of contracts, the recalling of invitations, the settling of accounts, with the most loyal effort to save as much as possible from the wreckage. harrison and his associates, almost frantic with fear for brewster's life, managed to perform wonders in the few hours of grace. gardner, with rare foresight, saw that the viennese orchestra would prove a dead loss. he suggested the possibility of a concert tour through the country, covering several weeks, and monty, too ill to care one way or the other, authorized him to carry out the plan if it seemed feasible. to monty, fearless and less disturbed than any other member of his circle, appendicitis seemed as inevitable as vaccination. "the appendix is becoming an important feature in the book of life," he once told peggy gray. he refused to go to a hospital, but pathetically begged to be taken to his old rooms at mrs. gray's. with all the unhappy loneliness of a sick boy, he craved the care and companionship of those who seemed a part of his own. dr. lotless had them transform a small bedchamber into a model operating room and monty took no small satisfaction in the thought that if he was to be denied the privilege of spending money for several weeks, he would at least make his illness as expensive as possible. a consultation of eminent surgeons was called, but true to his colors, brewster installed dr. lotless, a "little son," as his house surgeon. monty grimly bore the pain and suffering and submitted to the operation which alone could save his life. then came the struggle, then the promise of victory and then the quiet days of convalescence. in the little room where he had dreamed his boyish dreams and suffered his boyish sorrows, he struggled against death and gradually emerged from the mists of lassitude. he found it harder than he had thought to come back to life. the burden of it all seemed heavy. the trained nurses found that some more powerful stimulant than the medicine was needed to awaken his ambition, and they discovered it at last in peggy. "child," he said to her the first time she was permitted to see him, and his eyes had lights in them: "do you know, this isn't such a bad old world after all. sometimes as i've lain here, it has looked twisted and queer. but there are things that straighten it out. to-day i feel as though i had a place in it--as though i could fight things and win out. what do you think, peggy? do you suppose there is something that i could do? you know what i mean--something that some one else would not do a thousand times better." but peggy, to whom this chastened mood in monty was infinitely pathetic, would not let him talk. she soothed him and cheered him and touched his hair with her cool hands. and then she left him to think and brood and dream. it was many days before his turbulent mind drifted to the subject of money, but suddenly he found himself hoping that the surgeons would be generous with their charges. he almost suffered a relapse when lotless, visibly distressed, informed him that the total amount would reach three thousand dollars. "and what is the additional charge for the operation?" asked monty, unwilling to accept such unwarranted favors. "it's included in the three thousand," said lotless. "they knew you were my friend and it was professional etiquette to help keep down expenses." for days brewster remained at mrs. gray's, happy in its restfulness, serene under the charm of peggy's presence, and satisfied to be hopelessly behind in his daily expense account. the interest shown by the inquiries at the house and the anxiety of his friends were soothing to the profligate. it gave him back a little of his lost self-respect. the doctors finally decided that he would best recuperate in florida, and advised a month at least in the warmth. he leaped at the proposition, but took the law into his own hands by ordering general manager harrison to rent a place, and insisting that he needed the companionship of peggy and mrs. gray. "how soon can i get back to work, doctor?" demanded monty, the day before the special train was to carry him south. he was beginning to see the dark side of this enforced idleness. his blood again was tingling with the desire to be back in the harness of a spendthrift. "to work?" laughed the physician. "and what is your occupation, pray?" "making other people rich," responded brewster, soberly. "well, aren't you satisfied with what you have done for me? if you are as charitable as that you must be still pretty sick. be careful, and you may be on your feet again in five or six weeks." harrison came in as lotless left. peggy smiled at him from the window. she had been reading aloud from a novel so garrulous that it fairly cried aloud for interruptions. "now, nopper, what became of the ball i was going to give?" demanded monty, a troubled look in his eyes. "why, we called it off," said "nopper," in surprise. "don't you remember, monty?" asked peggy, looking up quickly, and wondering if his mind had gone trailing off. "i know we didn't give it, of course; but what date did you hit upon?" "we didn't postpone it at all," said "nopper." "how could we? we didn't know whether--i mean it wouldn't have been quite right to do that sort of thing." "i understand. well, what has become of the orchestra, and the flowers, and all that?" "the orchestra is gallivanting around the country, quarreling with itself and everybody else, and driving poor gardner to the insane asylum. the flowers have lost their bloom long ago." "well, we'll get together, nopper, and try to have the ball at mid-lent. i think i'll be well by that time." peggy looked appealingly at harrison for guidance, but to him silence seemed the better part of valor, and he went off wondering if the illness had completely carried away monty's reason. chapter xvi in the sunny south it was the cottage of a new york millionaire which had fallen to brewster. the owner had, for the time, preferred italy to st. augustine, and left his estate, which was well located and lavishly equipped, in the hands of his friends. brewster's lease covered three months, at a fabulous rate per month. with joe bragdon installed as manager-in-chief, his establishment was transferred bodily from new york, and the rooms were soon as comfortable as their grandeur would permit. brewster was not allowed to take advantage of his horses and the new automobile which preceded him from new york, but to his guests they offered unlimited opportunities. "nopper" harrison had remained in the north to renew arrangements for the now hated ball and to look after the advance details of the yacht cruise. dr. lotless and his sister, with "subway" smith and the grays, made up brewster's party. lotless dampened monty's spirits by relentlessly putting him on rigid diet, with most discouraging restrictions upon his conduct. the period of convalescence was to be an exceedingly trying one for the invalid. at first he was kept in-doors, and the hours were whiled away by playing cards. but monty considered "bridge" the "pons asinorum," and preferred to play piquet with peggy. it was one of these games that the girl interrupted with a question that had troubled her for many days. "monty," she said, and she found it much more difficult than when she had rehearsed the scene in the silence of her walks; "i've heard a rumor that miss drew and her mother have taken rooms at the hotel. wouldn't it be pleasanter to have them here?" a heavy gloom settled upon brewster's face, and the girl's heart dropped like lead. she had puzzled over the estrangement, and wondered if by any effort of her own things could be set right. at times she had had flashing hopes that it did not mean as much to monty as she had thought. but down underneath, the fear that he was unhappy seemed the only certain thing in life. she felt that she must make sure. and together with the very human desire to know the worst, was the puritanical impulse to bring it about. "you forget that this is the last place they would care to invade." and in brewster's face peggy seemed to read that for her martyrdom was the only wear. bravely she put it on. "monty, i forget nothing that i really know. but this is a case in which you are quite wrong. where is your sporting blood? you have never fought a losing fight before, and you can't do it now. you have lost your nerve, monty. don't you see that this is the time for an aggressive campaign?" somehow she was not saying things at all as she had planned to say them. and his gloom weighed heavily upon her. "you don't mind, do you, monty," she added, more softly, "this sort of thing from me? i know i ought not to interfere, but i've known you so long. and i hate to see things twisted by a very little mistake." but monty did mind enormously. he had no desire to talk about the thing anyway, and peggy's anxiety to marry him off seemed a bit unnecessary. manifestly her own interest in him was of the coldest. from out of the gloom he looked at her somewhat sullenly. for the moment she was thinking only of his pain, and her face said nothing. "peggy," he exclaimed, finally, resenting the necessity of answering her, "you don't in the least know what you are talking about. it is not a fit of anger on barbara drew's part. it is a serious conviction." "a conviction which can be changed," the girl broke in. "not at all." brewster took it up. "she has no faith in me. she thinks i'm an ass." "perhaps she's right," she exclaimed, a little hot. "perhaps you have never discovered that girls say many things to hide their emotions. perhaps you don't realize what feverish, exclamatory, foolish things girls are. they don't know how to be honest with the men they love, and they wouldn't if they did. you are little short of an idiot, monty brewster, if you believed the things she said rather than the things she looked." and peggy, fiery and determined and defiantly unhappy, threw down her cards and escaped so that she might not prove herself tearfully feminine. she left brewster still heavily enveloped in melancholy; but she left him puzzled. he began to wonder if barbara drew did have something in the back of her mind. then he found his thoughts wandering off toward peggy and her defiance. he had only twice before seen her in that mood, and he liked it. he remembered how she had lost her temper once when she was fifteen, and hated a girl he admired. suddenly he laughed aloud at the thought of the fierce little picture she had made, and the gloom, which had been so sedulously cultivated, was dissipated in a moment. the laugh surprised the man who brought in some letters. one of them was from "nopper" harrison, and gave him all the private news. the ball was to be given at mid-lent, which arrived toward the end of march, and negotiations were well under way for the chartering of the "flitter," the steam-yacht belonging to reginald brown, late of brown & brown. the letter made brewster chafe under the bonds of inaction. his affairs were getting into a discouraging state. the illness was certain to entail a loss of more than $ , to his business. his only consolation came through harrison's synopsis of the reports from gardner, who was managing the brief american tour of the viennese orchestra. quarrels and dissensions were becoming every-day embarrassments, and the venture was an utter failure from a financial point of view. broken contracts and lawsuits were turning the tour into one continuous round of losses, and poor gardner was on the point of despair. from the beginning, apparently, the concerts had been marked for disaster. public indifference had aroused the scorn of the irascible members of the orchestra, and there was imminent danger of a collapse in the organization. gardner lived in constant fear that his troop of quarrelsome hungarians would finish their tour suddenly in a pitched battle with daggers and steins. brewster smiled at the thought of practical gardner trying to smooth down the electric emotions of these musicians. a few days later mrs. prentiss drew and miss drew registered at the ponce de leon, and there was much speculation upon the chances for a reconciliation. monty, however, maintained a strict silence on the subject, and refused to satisfy the curiosity of his friends. mrs. drew had brought down a small crowd, including two pretty kentucky girls and a young chicago millionaire. she lived well and sensibly, with none of the extravagance that characterized the cottage. yet it was inevitable that brewster's guests should see hers and join some of their riding parties. monty pleaded that he was not well enough to be in these excursions, but neither he nor barbara cared to over-emphasize their estrangement. peggy gray was in despair over monty's attitude. she had become convinced that behind his pride he was cherishing a secret longing for barbara. yet she could not see how the walls were to be broken down if he maintained this icy reserve. she was sure that the masterful tone was the one to win with a girl like that, but evidently monty would not accept advice. that he was mistaken about barbara's feeling she did not doubt for a moment, and she saw things going hopelessly wrong for want of a word. there were times when she let herself dream of possibilities, but they always ended by seeming too impossible. she cared too much to make the attainment of her vision seem simple. she cared too much to be sure of anything. at moments she fancied that she might say a word to miss drew which would straighten things out. but there was something about her which held her off. even now that they were thrown together more or less she could not get beyond a certain barrier. it was not until a sunny day when she had accepted barbara's invitation to drive that things seemed to go more easily. for the first time she felt the charm of the girl, and for the first time barbara seemed unreservedly friendly. it was a quiet drive they were taking through the woods and out along the beach, and somehow in the open air things simplified themselves. finally, in the softness and the idle warmth, even an allusion to monty, whose name usually meant an embarrassing change of subject, began to seem possible. it was inevitable that peggy should bring it in; for with her a question of tact was never allowed to dominate when things of moment were at stake. she cowered before the plunge, but she took it unafraid. "the doctor says monty may go out driving to-morrow," she began. "isn't that fine?" barbara's only response was to touch her pony a little too sharply with the whip. peggy went on as if unconscious of the challenge. "he has been bored to death, poor fellow, in the house all this time, and--" "miss gray, please do not mention mr. brewster's name to me again," interrupted barbara, with a contraction of the eyebrows. but peggy was seized with a spirit of defiance and plunged recklessly on. "what is the use, miss drew, of taking an attitude like that? i know the situation pretty well, and i can't believe that either monty or you has lost in a week a feeling that was so deep-seated. i know monty much too well to think that he would change so easily." peggy still lived largely in her ideals. "and you are too fine a thing not to have suffered under this misunderstanding. it seems as if a very small word would set you both straight." barbara drew herself up and kept her eyes on the road which lay white and gleaming in the sun. "i have not the least desire to be set straight." and she was never more serious. "but it was only a few weeks ago that you were engaged." "i am sorry," answered barbara, "that it should have been talked about so much. mr. brewster did ask me to marry him, but i never accepted. in fact, it was only his persistence that made me consider the matter at all. i did think about it. i confess that i rather liked him. but it was not long before i found him out." "what do you mean?" and there was a flash in peggy's eyes. "what has he done?" "to my certain knowledge he has spent more than four hundred thousand dollars since last september. that is something, is it not?" miss drew said, in her slow, cool voice, and even peggy's loyalty admitted some justification in the criticism. "generosity has ceased to be a virtue, then?" she asked coldly. "generosity!" exclaimed barbara, sharply. "it's sheer idiocy. haven't you heard the things people are saying? they are calling him a fool, and in the clubs they are betting that he will be a pauper within a year." "yet they charitably help him to spend his money. and i have noticed that even worldly mammas find him eligible." the comment was not without its caustic side. "that was months ago, my dear," protested barbara, calmly. "when he spoke to me--he told me it would be impossible for him to marry within a year. and don't you see that a year may make him an abject beggar?" "naturally anything is preferable to a beggar," came in peggy's clear, soft voice. barbara hesitated only a moment. "well, you must admit, miss gray, that it shows a shameful lack of character. how could any girl be happy with a man like that? and, after all, one must look out for one's own fate." "undoubtedly," replied peggy, but many thoughts were dashing through her brain. "shall we turn back to the cottage?" she said, after an awkward silence. "you certainly don't approve of mr. brewster's conduct?" barbara did not like to be placed in the wrong, and felt that she must endeavor to justify herself. "he is the most reckless of spend-thrifts, we know, and he probably indulges in even less respectable excitement." peggy was not tall, but she carried her head at this moment as though she were in the habit of looking down on the world. "aren't you going a little too far, miss drew?" she asked placidly. "it is not only new york that laughs at his quixotic transactions," barbara persisted. "mr. hampton, our guest from chicago, says the stories are worse out there than they are in the east." "it is a pity that monty's illness should have made him so weak," said peggy quietly, as they turned in through the great iron gates, and barbara was not slow to see the point. chapter xvii the new tenderfoot brewster was comparatively well and strong when he returned to new york in march. his illness had interfered extensively with his plan of campaign and it was imperative that he redouble his efforts, notwithstanding the manifest dismay of his friends. his first act was to call upon grant & ripley, from whom he hoped to learn what swearengen jones thought of his methods. the lawyers had heard no complaint from montana, and advised him to continue as he had begun, assuring him, as far as they could, that jones would not prove unreasonable. an exchange of telegrams just before his operation had renewed monty's dread of his eccentric mentor. new york, jan. , -- swearengen jones, butte, mont. how about having my life insured? would it violate conditions? montgomery brewster. to montgomery brewster, new york. seems to me your life would become an asset in that case. can you dispose of it before september d? jones. to swearengen jones, butte, mont. on the contrary, i think life will be a debt by that time. montgomery brewster. to montgomery brewster, new york. if you feel that way about it, i advise you to take out a $ policy. jones. to swearengen jones, butte, mont. do you think that amount would cover funeral expenses? montgomery brewster. to montgomery brewster, new york. you won't be caring about expenses if it comes to that. jones. the invitations for the second ball had been out for some time and the preparations were nearly complete when brewster arrived upon the scene of festivity. it did not surprise him that several old-time friends should hunt him up and protest vigorously against the course he was pursuing. nor did it surprise him when he found that his presence was not as essential to the success of some other affair as it had once been. he was not greeted as cordially as before, and he grimly wondered how many of his friends would stand true to the end. the uncertainty made him turn more and more often to the unquestioned loyalty of peggy gray, and her little library saw him more frequently than for months. much as he had dreaded the pretentious and resplendent ball, it was useful to him in one way at least. the "profit" side of his ledger account was enlarged and in that there was room for secret satisfaction. the viennese orchestra straggled into new york, headed by elon gardner, a physical wreck, in time to make a harmonious farewell appearance behind brewster's palms, which caused his guests to wonder why the american public could not appreciate the real thing. a careful summing up of the expenses and receipts proved that the tour had been a bonanza for brewster. the net loss was a trifle more than $ , . when this story became known about town, everybody laughed pityingly, and poor gardner was almost in tears when he tried to explain the disaster to the man who lost the money. but monty's sense of humor, singularly enough, did not desert him on this trying occasion. aesthetically the ball proved to be the talk of more than one season. pettingill had justified his desire for authority and made a name which would last. he had taken matters into his own hands while brewster was in florida, and changed the period from the spain of velasquez to france and louis quinze. after the cards were out he remembered, to his consternation, that the favors purchased for the spanish ball would be entirely inappropriate for the french one. he wired brewster at once of this misfortune, and was astonished at the nonchalance of his reply. "but then monty always was a good sort," he thought, with a glow of affection. the new plan was more costly than the old, for it was no simple matter to build a versailles suite at sherry's. pettingill was no imitator, but he created an effect which was superbly in keeping with the period he had chosen. against it the rich costumes, with their accompaniment of wigs and powdered hair, shone out resplendent. with great difficulty the artist had secured for monty a costume in white satin and gold brocade, which might once have adorned the person of louis himself. it made him feel like a popinjay, and it was with infinite relief that he took it off an hour or so after dawn. he knew that things had gone well, that even mrs. dan was satisfied; but the whole affair made him heartsick. behind the compliments lavished upon him he detected a note of irony, which revealed the laughter that went on behind his back. he had not realized how much it would hurt. "for two cents," he thought, "i'd give up the game and be satisfied with what's left." but he reflected that such a course would offer no chance to redeem himself. once again he took up the challenge and determined to win out. "then," he thought exultantly, "i'll make them feel this a bit." he longed for the time when he could take his few friends with him and sail away to the mediterranean to escape the eyes and tongues of new york. impatiently he urged harrison to complete the arrangements, so that they could start at once. but harrison's face was not untroubled when he made his report. all the preliminary details had been perfected. he had taken the "flitter" for four months, and it was being overhauled and put into condition for the voyage. it had been brown's special pride, but at his death it went to heirs who were ready and eager to rent it to the highest bidder. it would not have been easy to find a handsomer yacht in new york waters. a picked crew of fifty men were under command of captain abner perry. the steward was a famous manager and could be relied upon to stock the larder in princely fashion. the boat would be in readiness to sail by the tenth of april. "i think you are going in too heavily, monty," protested harrison, twisting his fingers nervously. "i can't for my life figure how you can get out for less than a fortune, if we do everything you have in mind. wouldn't it be better to pull up a bit? this looks like sheer madness. you won't have a dollar, monty--honestly you won't." "it's not in me to save money, nopper, but if you can pull out a few dollars for yourself i shall not object." "you told me that once before, monty," said harrison, as he walked to the window. when he resolutely turned back again to brewster his face was white, but there was a look of determination around the mouth. "monty, i've got to give up this job," he said, huskily. brewster looked up quickly. "what do you mean, nopper?" "i've got to leave, that's all," said harrison, standing stiff and straight and looking over brewster's head. "good lord, nopper, i can't have that. you must not desert the ship. what's the matter, old chap? you're as white as a ghost. what is it?" monty was standing now and his hands were on harrison's shoulders, but before the intensity of his look, his friend's eyes fell helplessly. "the truth is, monty, i've taken some of your money and i've lost it. that's the reason i--i can't stay on. i have betrayed your confidence." "tell me about it," and monty was perhaps more uncomfortable than his friend. "i don't understand." "you believed too much in me, monty. you see, i thought i was doing you a favor. you were spending so much and getting nothing in return, and i thought i saw a chance to help you out. it went wrong, that's all, and before i could let go of the stock sixty thousand dollars of your money had gone. i can't replace it yet. but god knows i didn't mean to steal." "it's all right, nopper. i see that you thought you were helping me. the money's gone and that ends it. don't take it so hard, old boy." "i knew you'd act this way, but it doesn't help matters. some day i may be able to pay back the money i took, and i'm going to work until i do." brewster protested that he had no use for the money and begged him to retain the position of trust he had held. but harrison had too much self-respect to care to be confronted daily with the man he had wronged. gradually monty realized that "nopper" was pursuing the most manly course open to him, and gave up the effort to dissuade him. he insisted upon leaving new york, as there was no opportunity to redeem himself in the metropolis. "i've made up my mind, monty, to go out west, up in the mountains perhaps. there's no telling, i may stumble on a gold mine up there--and--well, that seems to be the only chance i have to restore what i have taken from you." "by jove, nopper, i have it!" cried monty. "if you must go, i'll stake you in the hunt for gold." in the end "nopper" consented to follow brewster's advice, and it was agreed that they should share equally all that resulted from his prospecting tour. brewster "grub-staked" him for a year, and before the end of the week a new tenderfoot was on his way to the rocky mountains. chapter xviii the prodigal at sea harrison's departure left brewster in sore straits. it forced him to settle down to the actual management of his own affairs. he was not indolent, but this was not the kind of work he cared to encourage. the private accounts he had kept revealed some appalling facts when he went over them carefully one morning at four o'clock, after an all-night session with the ledger. with infinite pains he had managed to rise to something over $ , in six months. but to his original million it had been necessary to add $ , which he had realized from lumber and fuel and some of his other "unfortunate" operations. at least $ , would come to him ultimately through the sale of furniture and other belongings, and then there would be something like $ , interest to consider. but luck had aided him in getting rid of his money. the bank failure had cost him $ , . , and "nopper" harrison had helped him to the extent of $ , . the reckless but determined effort to give a ball had cost $ , . what he had lost during his illness had been pretty well offset by the unlucky concert tour. the florida trip, including medical attention, the cottage and living expenses, had entailed the expenditure of $ , , and his princely dinners and theater parties had footed up $ , . taking all the facts into consideration, he felt that he had done rather well as far as he had gone, but the hardest part of the undertaking was yet to come. he was still in possession of an enormous sum, which must disappear before september d. about $ , had already been expended in the yachting project. he determined to begin at once a systematic campaign of extinction. it had been his intention before sailing to dispose of many household articles, either by sale or gift. as he did not expect to return to new york before the latter part of august, this would minimize the struggles of the last month. but the prospective "profit" to be acquired from keeping his apartment open was not to be overlooked. he could easily count upon a generous sum for salaries and running expenses. once on the other side of the atlantic, he hoped that new opportunities for extravagance would present themselves, and he fancied he could leave the final settlement of his affairs for the last month. as the day for sailing approached, the world again seemed bright to this most mercenary of spendthrifts. a farewell consultation with his attorneys proved encouraging, for to them his chances to win the extraordinary contest seemed of the best. he was in high spirits as he left them, exhilarated by the sensation that the world lay before him. in the elevator he encountered colonel prentiss drew. on both sides the meeting was not without its difficulties. the colonel had been dazed by the inexplicable situation between monty and his daughter, whose involutions he found hard to understand. her summary of the effort she had made to effect a reconciliation, after hearing the story of the bank, was rather vague. she had done her utmost, she said, to be nice to him and make him feel that she appreciated his generosity, but he took it in the most disagreeable fashion. colonel drew knew that things were somehow wrong; but he was too strongly an american father to interfere in a matter of the affections. it distressed him, for he had a liking for monty, and barbara's "society judgments," as he called them, had no weight with him. when he found himself confronted with brewster in the elevator, the old warmth revived and the old hope that the quarrel might have an end. his greeting was cheery. "you have not forgotten, brewster," he said, as they shook hands, "that you have a dollar or two with us?" "no," said monty, "not exactly. and i shall be calling upon you for some of it very soon. i'm off on thursday for a cruise in the mediterranean." "i've heard something of it." they had reached the main floor and colonel drew had drawn his companion out of the crowd into the rotunda. "the money is at your disposal at any moment. but aren't you setting a pretty lively pace, my boy? you know i've always liked you, and i knew your grandfather rather well. he was a good old chap, monty, and he would hate to see you make ducks and drakes of his fortune." there was something in the colonel's manner that softened brewster, much as he hated to take a reproof from barbara's father. once again he was tempted to tell the truth, but he pulled himself up in time. "it's a funny old world, colonel," he said; "and sometimes one's nearest friend is a stranger. i know i seem a fool; but, after all, why isn't it good philosophy to make the most of a holiday and then settle back to work?" "that is all very well, monty," and colonel drew was entirely serious; "but the work is a hundred times harder after you have played to the limit you'll find that you are way beyond it. it's no joke getting back into the harness." "perhaps you are right, colonel, but at least i shall have something to look back upon--even if the worst comes." and monty instinctively straightened his shoulders. they turned to leave the building, and the colonel had a moment of weakness. "do you know, monty," he said, "my daughter is awfully cut up about this business. she is plucky and tries not to show it, but after all a girl doesn't get over that sort of thing all in a moment. i am not saying"--it seemed necessary to recede a step "that it would be an easy matter to patch up. but i like you, monty, and if any man could do it, you can." "colonel, i wish i might," and brewster found that he did not hesitate. "for your sake i very much wish the situation were as simple as it seems. but there are some things a man can't forget, and--well--barbara has shown in a dozen ways that she has no faith in me." "well, i've got faith in you, and a lot of it. take care of yourself, and when you get back you can count on me. good-bye." on thursday morning the "flitter" steamed off down the bay, and the flight of the prodigal grand-son was on. no swifter, cleaner, handsomer boat ever sailed out of the harbor of new york, and it was a merry crowd that she carried out to sea. brewster's guests numbered twenty-five, and they brought with them a liberal supply of maids, valets, and luggage. it was not until many weeks later that he read the vivid descriptions of the weighing of the anchor which were printed in the new york papers, but by that time he was impervious to their ridicule. on deck, watching the rugged silhouette of the city disappear into the mists, were dan demille and mrs. dan, peggy gray, "rip" van winkle, reginald vanderpool, joe bragdon, dr. lotless and his sister isabel, mr. and mrs. valentine--the official chaperon--and their daughter mary, "subway" smith, paul pettingill, and some others hardly less distinguished. as monty looked over the eager crowd, he recognized with a peculiar glow that here were represented his best and truest friendships. the loyalty of these companions had been tested, and he knew that they would stand by him through everything. there was no little surprise when it was learned that dan demille was ready to sail. many of the idle voyagers ventured the opinion that he would try to desert the boat in mid-ocean if he saw a chance to get back to his club on a west-bound steamer. but demille, big, indolent, and indifferent, smiled carelessly, and hoped he wouldn't bother anybody if he "stuck to the ship" until the end. for a time the sea and the sky and the talk of the crowd were enough for the joy of living. but after a few peaceful days there was a lull, and it was then that monty gained the nickname of aladdin, which clung to him. from somewhere, from the hold or the rigging or from under the sea, he brought forth four darkies from the south who strummed guitars and sang ragtime melodies. more than once during the voyage they were useful. "peggy," said brewster one day, when the sky was particularly clear and things were quiet on deck, "on the whole i prefer this to crossing the north river on a ferry. i rather like it, don't you?" "it seems like a dream," she cried, her eyes, bright, her hair blowing in the wind. "and, peggy, do you know what i tucked away in a chest down in my cabin? a lot of books that you like--some from the old garret. i've saved them to read on rainy days." peggy did not speak, but the blood began to creep into her face and she looked wistfully across the water. then she smiled. "i didn't know you could save anything," she said, weakly. "come now, peggy, that is too much." "i didn't mean to hurt you. but you must not forget, monty, that there are other years to follow this one. do you know what i mean?" "peggy, dear, please don't lecture me," he begged, so piteously that she could not be serious. "the class is dismissed for to-day, monty," she said, airily. "but the professor knows his duty and won't let you off so easily next time." chapter xix one hero and another at gibraltar, monty was handed an ominous-looking cablegram which he opened tremblingly. to montgomery brewster, private yacht flitter, gibraltar. there is an agitation to declare for free silver. you may have twice as much to spend. hooray. jones. to which monty responded: defeat the measure at any cost. the more the merrier, and charge it to me. brewster. p.s. please send many cables and mark them collect. the riviera season was fast closing, and the possibilities suggested by monte carlo were too alluring to the host to admit of a long stop at gibraltar. but the demilles had letters to one of the officers of the garrison, and brewster could not overlook the opportunity to give an elaborate dinner. the success of the affair may best be judged by the fact that the "flitter's" larder required an entirely new stock the next day. the officers and ladies of the garrison were asked, and monty would have entertained the entire regiment with beer and sandwiches if his friends had not interfered. "it might cement the anglo-american alliance," argued gardner, "but your pocketbook needs cementing a bit more." yet the pocketbook was very wide open, and gardner's only consolation lay in a tall english girl whom he took out to dinner. for the others there were many compensations, as the affair was brilliant and the new element a pleasant relief from the inevitable monotony. it was after the guests had gone ashore that monty discovered mr. and mrs. dan holding a tete-a-tete in the stern of the boat. "i am sorry to break this up," he interrupted, "but as the only conscientious chaperon in the party, i must warn you that your behavior is already being talked about. the idea of a sedate old married couple sitting out here alone watching the moon! it's shocking." "i yield to the host," said dan, mockingly. "but i shall be consumed with jealousy until you restore her to me." monty noticed the look in mrs. dan's eyes as she watched her husband go, and marked a new note in her voice as she said, "how this trip is bringing him out." "he has just discovered," monty observed, "that the club is not the only place in the world." "it's a funny thing," she answered, "that dan should have been so misunderstood. do you know that he relentlessly conceals his best side? down underneath he is the kind of man who could do a fine thing very simply." "my dear mrs. dan, you surprise me. it looks to me almost as though you had fallen in love with dan yourself." "monty," she said, sharply, "you are as blind as the rest. have you never seen that before? i have played many games, but i have always come back to dan. through them all i have known that he was the only thing possible to me--the only thing in the least desirable. it's a queer muddle that one should be tempted to play with fire even when one is monotonously happy. i've been singed once or twice. but dan is a dear and he has always helped me out of a tight place. he knows. no one understands better than dan. and perhaps if i were less wickedly human, he would not care for me so much." monty listened at first in a sort of a daze, for he had unthinkingly accepted the general opinion of the demille situation. but there were tears in her eyes for a moment, and the tone of her voice was convincing. it came to him with unpleasant distinctness that he had been all kinds of a fool. looking back over his intercourse with her, he realized that the situation had been clear enough all the time. "how little we know our friends!" he exclaimed, with some bitterness. and a moment later, "i've liked you a great deal, mrs. dan, for a long time, but to-night--well, to-night i am jealous of dan." the "flitter" saw some rough weather in making the trip across the bay of lyons. she was heading for nice when an incident occurred that created the first real excitement experienced on the voyage. a group of passengers in the main saloon was discussing, more or less stealthily, monty's "misdemeanors," when reggy vanderpool sauntered lazily in, his face displaying the only sign of interest it had shown in days. "funny predicament i was just in," he drawled. "i want to ask what a fellow should have done under the circumstances." "i'd have refused the girl," observed "rip" van winkle, laconically. "girl had nothing to do with it, old chap," went on reggy, dropping into a chair. "fellow fell overboard a little while ago," he went on, calmly. there was a chorus of cries and brewster was forgotten for a time. "one of the sailors, you know. he was doing something in the rigging near where i was standing. puff! off he went into the sea, and there he was puttering around in the water." "oh, the poor fellow," cried miss valentine. "i'd never set eyes on him before--perfect stranger. i wouldn't have hesitated a minute, but the deck was crowded with a lot of his friends. one chap was his bunkie. so, really, now, it wasn't my place to jump in after him. he could swim a bit, and i yelled to him to hold up and i'd tell the captain. confounded captain wasn't to be found though. somebody said he was asleep. in the end i told the mate. by this time we were a mile away from the place where he went overboard, and i told the mate i didn't think we could find him if we went back. but he lowered some boats and they put back fast. afterwards i got to thinking about the matter. of course if i had known him--if he had been one of you--it would have been different." "and you were the best swimmer in college, you miserable rat," exploded dr. lotless. there was a wild rush for the upper deck, and vanderpool was not the hero of the hour. the "flitter" had turned and was steaming back over her course. two small boats were racing to the place where reggy's unknown had gone over. "where is brewster?" shouted joe bragdon. "i can't find him, sir," answered the first mate. "he ought to know of this," cried mr. valentine. "there! by the eternal, they are picking somebody up over yonder," exclaimed the mate. "see! that first boat has laid to and they are dragging--yes, sir, he's saved!" a cheer went up on board and the men in the small boats waved their caps in response. everybody rushed to the rail as the "flitter" drew up to the boats, and there was intense excitement on board. a gasp of amazement went up from every one. monty brewster, drenched but smiling, sat in one of the boats, and leaning limply against him, his head on his chest, was the sailor who had fallen overboard. brewster had seen the man in the water and, instead of wondering what his antecedents were, leaped to his assistance. when the boat reached him his unconscious burden was a dead weight and his own strength was almost gone. another minute or two and both would have gone to the bottom. as they hauled monty over the side he shivered for an instant, grasped the first little hand that sought his so frantically, and then turned to look upon the half-dead sailor. "find out the boy's name, mr. abertz, and see that he has the best of care. just before he fainted out there he murmured something about his mother. he wasn't thinking of himself even then, you see. and bragdon"--this in a lower voice--"will you see that his wages are properly increased? hello, peggy! look out, you'll get wet to the skin if you do that." chapter xx le roi s'amuse if montgomery brewster had had any misgivings about his ability to dispose of the balance of his fortune they were dispelled very soon after his party landed in the riviera. on the pretext that the yacht required a thorough "house cleaning" brewster transferred his guests to the hotel of a fascinating village which was near the sea and yet quite out of the world. the place was nearly empty at the time, and the proprietor wept tears of joy when monty engaged for his party the entire first floor of the house with balconies overlooking the blue mediterranean and a separate dining-room and salon. extra servants were summoned, and the brewster livery was soon a familiar sight about the village. the protests of peggy and the others were only silenced when monty threatened to rent a villa and go to housekeeping. the town quickly took on the appearance of entertaining a royal visitor, and a number of shops were kept open longer than usual in the hope that their owners might catch some of the american's money. one morning philippe, the hotel proprietor, was trying to impress brewster with a gesticulatory description of the glories of the bataille de fleurs. it seemed quite impossible to express the extent of his regret that the party had not arrived in time to see it. "this is quite another place at that time," he said ecstatically. "c'est magnifique! c'est superbe! if monsieur had only seen it!" "why not have another all to ourselves?" asked monty. but the suggestion was not taken seriously. nevertheless the young american and his host were in secret session for the rest of the morning, and when the result was announced at luncheon there was general consternation. it appeared that ten days later occurred the fete day of some minor saint who had not for years been accorded the honor of a celebration. monty proposed to revive the custom by arranging a second carnival. "you might just as well not come to the riviera at all," he explained, "if you can't see a carnival. it's a simple matter, really. i offer one price for the best decorated carriage and another to the handsomest lady. then every one puts on a domino and a mask, throws confetti at every one else, and there you are." "i suppose you will have the confetti made of thousand franc notes, and offer a house and lot as a prize." and bragdon feared that his sarcasm was almost insulting. "really, monty, the scheme is ridiculous," said demille, "the police won't allow it." "won't they though!" said monty, exultantly. "the chief happens to be philippe's brother-in-law, and we had him on the telephone. he wouldn't listen to the scheme until we agreed to make him grand marshal of the parade. then he promised the cooperation of the entire force and hoped to interest his colleague, the chief of the fire department." "the parade will consist of two gendarmes and the brewster party in carriages," laughed mrs. dan. "do you expect us to go before or after the bakery carts?" "we review the procession from the hotel," said monty. "you needn't worry about the fete. it's going to be great. why, an irishman isn't fonder of marching than these people are of having a carnival." the men in the party went into executive session as soon as monty had gone to interview the local authorities, and seriously considered taking measures to subdue their host's eccentricities. but the humor of the scheme appealed to them too forcibly, and almost before they knew it they were making plans for the carnival. "of course we can't let him do it, but it would be sport," said "subway" smith. "think of a cake-walk between gendarmes and blanchiseuses." "i always feel devilish the moment i get a mask on," said vanderpool, "and you know, by jove, i haven't felt that way for years." "that settles it, then," said demille. "monty would call it off himself if he knew how it would affect reggie." monty returned with the announcement that the mayor of the town would declare a holiday if the american could see his way to pay for the repairs on the mairie roof. a circus, which was traveling in the neighborhood, was guaranteed expenses if it would stop over and occupy the square in front of the hotel de ville. brewster's enthusiasm was such that no one could resist helping him, and for nearly a week his friends were occupied in superintending the erection of triumphal arches and encouraging the shopkeepers to do their best. although the scheme had been conceived in the spirit of a lark it was not so received by the townspeople. they were quite serious in the matter. the railroad officials sent advertisements broadcast, and the local cure called to thank brewster for resurrecting, as it were, the obscure saint. the expression of his gratitude was so mingled with flattery and appeal that monty could not overlook the hint that a new altar piece had long been needed. the great day finally arrived, and no carnival could have been more bizarre or more successful. the morning was devoted to athletics and the side shows. the pompiers won the tug of war, and the people marveled when monty duplicated the feats of the strong man in the circus. demille was called upon for a speech, but knowing only ten words of french, he graciously retired in favor of the mayor, and that pompous little man made the most of a rare opportunity. references to franklin and lafayette were so frequent that "subway" smith intimated that a rubber stamp must have been used in writing the address. the parade took place in the afternoon, and proved quite the feature of the day. the question of precedence nearly overturned monty's plans, but the chief of police was finally made to see that if he were to be chief marshal it was only fair that the pompiers should march ahead of the gendarmes. the crew of the "flitter" made a wonderful showing. it was led by the yacht's band, which fairly outdid sousa in noise, though it was less unanimous in the matter of time. all the fiacres came at the end, but there were so many of them and the line of march was so short that at times they were really leading the processional despite the gallant efforts of the grand marshal. from the balcony of the hotel monty and his party pelted those below with flowers and confetti. more allusions to franklin and lafayette were made when the cure and the mayor halted the procession and presented monty with an address richly engrossed on imitation parchment. then the school children sang and the crowd dispersed to meet again in the evening. at eight o'clock brewster presided over a large banquet, and numbered among his guests every one of distinction in the town. the wives were also invited and franklin and lafayette were again alluded to. each of the men made at least one speech, but "subway" smith's third address was the hit of the evening. knowing nothing but english, he had previously clung consistently to that language, but the third and final address seemed to demand something more friendly and genial. with a sweeping bow and with all the dignity of a statesman he began: "mesdames et messieurs: j'ai, tu as, il a, nous avons,"--with a magnificent gesture, "vous avez." the french members of the company were not equal to his pronunciation and were under the impression that he was still talking english. they were profoundly impressed with his deference and grace, and accorded his preamble a round of applause. the americans did their utmost to persuade him to be seated, but their uproar was mistaken by the others for enthusiasm, and the applause grew louder than ever. "subway" held up his hand for silence, and his manner suggested that he was about to utter some peculiarly important thought. he waited until a pin fall could have been heard before he went on. "maitre corbeau sur un arbre perche--" he finished the speech as he was being carried bodily from the room by demille and bragdon. the frenchmen then imagined that smith's remarks had been insulting, and his friends had silenced him on that account. a riot seemed imminent when monty succeeded in restoring silence, and with a few tactful remarks about franklin and lafayette quieted the excited guests. the evening ended with fireworks and a dance in the open air,--a dance that grew gay under the masks. the wheels had been well oiled and there was no visible failure of the carnival spirit. to brewster it seemed a mad game, and he found it less easy to play a part behind the foolish mask than he expected. his own friends seemed to elude him, and the coquetries of the village damsels had merely a fleeting charm. he was standing apart to watch the glimmering crowd when he was startled by a smothered cry. turning to investigate, he discovered a little red domino, unmistakably frightened, and trying to release herself from a too ardent punchinello. monty's arrival prevented him from tearing off the girl's mask and gave him an entirely new conception of the strenuous life. he arose fuming and sputtering, but he was taken in hand by the crowd and whirled from one to another in whimsical mockery. meanwhile monty, unconscious that his mask had dropped during the encounter, was astonished to feel the little hand of the red domino on his arm and to hear a voice not at all unfamiliar in his ear: "monty, you are a dear. i love you for that. you looked like a greek athlete. do you know--it was foolish--but i really was frightened." "child, how could it have happened?" he whispered, leading her away. "fancy my little peggy with no one to look after her. what a beast i was to trust you to pettingill. i might have known the chump would have been knocked out by all this color." he stopped to look down at her and a light came into his eyes. "little peggy in the great world," he smiled; "you are not fit. you need--well, you need--just me." but mrs. valentine had seen him as he stood revealed, and came up in search of peggy. it was almost morning, she told her, and quite time to go back to the hotel and sleep. so in bragdon's charge they wandered off, a bit reluctantly, a bit lingeringly. it was not until monty was summoned to rescue "reggie" vanderpool from the stern arm of the law that he discovered the identity of punchinello. manifestly he had not been in a condition to recognize his assailant, and a subsequent disagreement had driven the first out of his head. the poor boy was sadly bruised about the face and his arrest had probably saved him from worse punishment. "i told you i couldn't wear a mask," he explained ruefully as monty led him home. "but how could i know that he could hear me all the time?" the day after the carnival brewster drove his guests over to monte carlo. he meant to stay only long enough to try his luck at the tables and lose enough to make up for the days at sea when his purse was necessarily idle. swearengen jones was forgotten, and soon after his arrival he began to plunge. at first he lost heavily, and it was with difficulty that he concealed his joy. peggy gray was watching him, and in whispers implored him to stop, but mrs. dan excitedly urged him to continue until the luck changed. to the girl's chagrin it was the more reckless advice that he followed. in so desperate a situation he felt that he could not stop. but his luck turned too soon. "i can't afford to give up," he said, miserably, to himself, after a time. "i'm already a winner by five thousand dollars, and i must at least get rid of that." brewster became the center of interest to those who were not playing and people marveled at his luck. they quite misunderstood his eagerness and the flushed, anxious look with which he followed each spin of the wheel. he had chosen a seat beside an english duchess whose practice it was to appropriate the winnings of the more inexperienced players, and he was aware that many of his gold pieces were being deliberately stolen. here he thought was at least a helping hand, and he was on the point of moving his stack toward her side when demille interfered. he had watched the duchess, and had called the croupier's attention to her neat little method. but that austere individual silenced him by saying in surprise, "mais c'est madame la duchesse, que voulez-vous?" not to be downed so easily, demille watched the play from behind monty's chair and cautioned his friend at the first opportunity. "better cash in and change your seat, monty. they're robbing you," he whispered. "cash in when i'm away ahead of the game? never!" and monty did his best to assume a joyful tone. at first he played with no effort at system, piling his money flat on the numbers which seemed to have least chance of winning. but he simply could not lose. then he tried to reverse different systems he had heard of, but they turned out to be winners. finally in desperation he began doubling on one color in the hope that he would surely lose in the end, but his particular fate was against him. with his entire stake on the red the ball continued to fall into the red holes until the croupier announced that the bank was broken. dan demille gathered in the money and counted forty thousand dollars before he handed it to monty. his friends were overjoyed when he left the table, and wondered why he looked so downhearted. inwardly he berated himself for not taking peggy's advice. "i'm so glad for your sake that you did not stop when i asked you, monty, but your luck does not change my belief that gambling is next to stealing," peggy was constrained to say as they went to supper. "i wish i had taken your advice," he said gloomily. "and missed the fortune you have won? how foolish of you, monty! you were a loser by several thousand dollars then," she objected with whimsical inconsistency. "but, peggy," he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes, "it would have won me your respect." chapter xxi fairyland monty's situation was desperate. only a little more than six thousand dollars had been spent on the carnival and no opportunity of annihilating the roulette winnings seemed to offer itself. his experience at monte carlo did not encourage him to try again, and peggy's attitude toward the place was distinctly antagonistic. the riviera presenting no new opportunities for extravagance, it became necessary to seek other worlds. "i never before understood the real meaning of the phrase 'tight money,'" thought monty. "lord, if it would only loosen a bit and stay loosened." something must be done, he realized, to earn his living. perhaps the role of the princely profligate would be easier in italy than anywhere else. he studied the outlook from every point of view, but there were moments when it seemed hopeless. baedeker was provokingly barren of suggestions for extravagance and monty grew impatient of the book's small economies. noticing some chapters on the italian lakes, in an inspired moment he remembered that pettingill had once lost his heart to a villa on the lake of como. instantly a new act of comedy presented itself to him. he sought out pettingill and demanded a description of his castle in the air. "oh, it's a wonder," exclaimed the artist, and his eyes grew dreamy. "it shines out at you with its white terraces and turrets like those fascinating castles that maxfield parrish draws for children. it is fairyland. you expect to wake and find it gone." "oh, drop that, petty," said brewster, "or it will make you poetical. what i want to know is who owns it and is it likely to be occupied at this season?" "it belongs to a certain marquise, who is a widow with no children. they say she has a horror of the place for some reason and has never been near it. it is kept as though she was to turn up the next day, but except for the servants it is always deserted." "the very thing," declared brewster; "petty, we'll have a house-party." "you'd better not count on that, monty. a man i know ran across the place once and tried for a year to buy it. but the lady has ideas of her own." "well, if you wish to give him a hint or two about how to do things, watch me. if you don't spend two weeks in your dream-castle, i will cut the crowd and sail for home." he secured the name of the owner, and found that pettingill had even a remote idea of the address of her agent. armed with these facts he set out in search of a courier, and through philippe he secured a frenchman named bertier, who was guaranteed to be surprisingly ingenious in providing methods of spending money. to him brewster confided his scheme, and bertier realized with rising enthusiasm that at last he had secured a client after his own heart. he was able to complete the address of the agent of the mysterious marquise, and an inquiry was immediately telegraphed to him. the agent's reply would have been discouraging to any one but brewster. it stated that the owner had no intention of leasing her forsaken castle for any period whatever. the profligate learned that a fair price for an estate of that kind for a month was ten thousand francs, and he wired an offer of five times that sum for two weeks. the agent replied that some delay would be necessary while he communicated with his principal. delay was the one word that brewster did not understand, so he wired him an address in genoa, and the "flitter" was made ready for sea. steam had been kept up, and her coal account would compare favorably with that of an ocean liner. philippe was breathless with joy when he was paid in advance for another month at the hotel, on the assumption that the party might be moved to return at any moment. the little town was gay at parting and brewster and his guests were given a royal farewell. at genoa the mail had accumulated and held the attention of the yacht to the exclusion of everything else. brewster was somewhat crestfallen to learn that the lady of the villa haughtily refused his princely offer. he won the life-long devotion of his courier by promptly increasing it to one hundred thousand francs. when this too met with rejection, there was a pause and a serious consultation between the two. "bertier," exclaimed brewster, "i must have the thing now. what's to be done? you've got to help me out." but the courier, prodigal as he was of gestures, had no words which seemed pertinent. "there must be some way of getting at this marquise," monty continued reflectively. "what are her tastes? do you know anything about her?" suddenly the face of the courier grew bright. "i have it," he said, and then he faltered. "but the expense, monsieur--it would be heavy." "perhaps we can meet it," suggested monty, quietly. "what's the idea?" it was explained, with plenty of action to make it clear. the courier had heard in florence that madame la marquise had a passion for automobiles. but with her inadequate fortune and the many demands upon it, it was a weakness not readily gratified. the machine she had used during the winter was by no means up-to-date. possibly if monsieur--yet it was too much--no villa-- but brewster's decision was made. "wire the fellow," he said, "that i will add to my last offer a french machine of the latest model and the best make. say, too, that i would like immediate possession." he secured it, and the crowd was transferred at once to fairyland. there were protests, of course, but these brewster had grown to expect and he was learning to carry things with a high hand. the travelers had been preceded by bertier, and the greeting they received from the steward of the estate and his innumerable assistants was very italian and full of color. a break in their monotony was welcome. the loveliness of the villa and its grounds, which sloped down to the gentle lake, silenced criticism. for a time it was supremely satisfying to do nothing. pettingill wandered about as though he could not believe it was real. he was lost in a kind of atmosphere of ecstasy. to the others, who took it more calmly, it was still a sort of paradise. those who were happy found in it an intensification of happiness, and to those who were sad it offered the tenderest opportunities for melancholy. mrs. dan told brewster that only a poet could have had this inspiration. and peggy added, "anything after this would be an anti-climax. really, monty, you would better take us home." "i feel like the boy who was shut in a closet for punishment and found it the place where they kept the jam," said "subway." "it is almost as good as owning central park." the stables were well equipped and the days wore on in a wonderful peace. it was on a radiant afternoon, when twelve of the crowd had started out, after tea, for a long ride toward lugano, that monty determined to call peggy gray to account. he was certain that she had deliberately avoided him for days and weeks, and he could find no reason for it. hour after hour he had lain awake wondering where he had failed her, but the conclusion of one moment was rejected the next. the monte carlo episode seemed the most plausible cause, yet even before that he had noticed that whenever he approached her she managed to be talking with some one else. two or three times he was sure she had seen his intention before she took refuge with mrs. dan or mary valentine or pettingill. the thought of the last name gave monty a sudden thrill. what if it were he who had come between them? it troubled him, but there were moments when the idea seemed impossible. as they mounted and started off, the exhilaration of the ride made him hopeful. they were to have dinner in the open air in the shadow of an abbey ruin some miles away, and the servants had been sent ahead to prepare it. it went well, and with mrs. dan's help the dinner was made gay. on the return monty who was off last spurred up his horse to join peggy. she seemed eager to be with the rest and he lost no time with a preamble. "do you know, peggy," he began, "something seems to be wrong, and i am wondering what it is." "why, what do you mean, monty?" as he paused. "every time i come near you, child, you seem to have something else to do. if i join the group you are in, it is the signal for you to break away." "nonsense, monty, why should i avoid you? we have known one another much too long for that." but he thought he detected some contradiction in her eyes, and he was right. the girl was afraid of him, afraid of the sensations he awoke, afraid desperately of betrayal. "pettingill may appeal to you," he said, and his voice was serious, "but you might at least be courteous to me." "how absurd you are, monty brewster." the girl grew hot. "you needn't think that your million gives you the privilege of dictating to all of your guests." "peggy, how can you," he interjected. she went on ruthlessly. "if my conduct interferes with your highness's pleasure i can easily join the prestons in paris." suddenly brewster remembered that pettingill had spoken of the prestons and expressed a fleeting wish that he might be with them in the latin quarter. "with pettingill to follow, i suppose," he said, icily. "it would certainly give you more privacy." "and mrs. dan more opportunities," she retorted as he dropped back toward the others. the artist instantly took his place. the next moment he had challenged her to a race and they were flying down the road in the moonlight. brewster, not to be outdone, was after them, but it was only a moment before his horse shied violently at something black in the road. then he saw peggy's horse galloping riderless. instantly, with fear at his throat, he had dismounted and was at the girl's side. she was not hurt, they found, only bruised and dazed and somewhat lamed. a girth had broken and her saddle turned. the crowd waited, silent and somewhat awed, until the carriage with the servants came up and she was put into it. mrs. dan's maid was there and peggy insisted that she would have no one else. but as monty helped her in, he had whispered, "you won't go, child, will you? how could things go on here?" chapter xxii prince and peasants the peacefulness of fairyland was something which brewster could not afford to continue, and with bertier he was soon planning to invade it, the automobile which he was obliged to order for the mysterious marquise put other ideas into his head. it seemed at once absolutely necessary to give a coaching party in italy, and as coaches of the right kind were hard to find there, and changes of horses most uncertain, nothing could be more simple and natural than to import automobiles from paris. looking into the matter, he found that they would have to be purchased outright, as the renting of five machines would put his credit to too severe a test. accordingly bertier telegraphed a wholesale order, which taxed the resources of the manufacturers and caused much complaint from some customers whose work was unaccountably delayed. the arrangement made by the courier was that they were to be taken back at a greatly reduced price at the end of six weeks. the machines were shipped at once, five to milan, and one to the address of the mysterious marquise in florence. it was with a sharp regret that monty broke into the idyl of the villa, for the witchery of the place had got into his blood. but a stern sense of duty, combined with the fact that the paris chauffeurs and machines were due in milan on monday, made him ruthless. he was astonished that his orders to decamp were so meekly obeyed, forgetting that his solicitous guests did not know that worse extravagance lay beyond. he took them to milan by train and lodged them with some splendor at the hotel cavour. here he found that the fame of the princely profligate had preceded him, and his portly host was all deference and attention. all regret, too, for monsieur was just too late to hear the wonderful company of artists who had been singing at la scala. the season was but just ended. here was an opportunity missed indeed, and brewster's vexation brought out an ironical comment to bertier. it rankled, but it had its effect. the courier proved equal to the emergency. discovering that the manager of the company and the principal artists were still in milan, he suggested to brewster that a special performance would be very difficult to secure, but might still be possible. his chief caught at the idea and authorized him to make every arrangement, reserving the entire house for his own party. "but the place will look bare," protested the courier, aghast. "fill it with flowers, cover it with tapestries," commanded brewster. "i put the affair in your hands, and i trust you to carry it through in the right way. show them how it ought to be done." bertier's heart swelled within him at the thought of so glorious an opportunity. his fame, he felt, was already established in italy. it became a matter of pride to do the thing handsomely, and the necessary business arrangements called out all his unused resources of delicacy and diplomacy. when it came to the decoration of the opera house, he called upon pettingill for assistance, and together they superintended an arrangement which curtained off a large part of the place and reduced it to livable proportions. with the flowers and the lights, the tapestries and the great faded flags, it became something quite different from the usual empty theater. to the consternation of the italians, the work had been rushed, and it was on the evening after their arrival in milan that brewster conducted his friends in state to the scala. it was almost a triumphal progress, for he had generously if unwittingly given the town the most princely sensation in years, and curiosity was abundant. mrs. valentine, who was in the carriage with monty, wondered openly why they were attracting so much attention. "they take us for american dukes and princesses," explained monty. "they never saw a white man before." "perhaps they expected us to ride on buffaloes," said mrs. dan, "with indian captives in our train." "no," "subway" smith protested, "i seem to see disappointment in their faces. they are looking for crowns and scepters and a shower of gold coin. really, monty, you don't play the game as you should. why, i could give you points on the potentate act myself. a milk-white steed, a few clattering attendants in gorgeous uniforms, a lofty nod here and there, and little me distributing silver in the rear." "i wonder," exclaimed mrs. dan, "if they don't get tired now and then of being potentates. can't you fancy living in palaces and longing for a thatched cottage?" "easily," answered "subway," with a laugh. "haven't we tried it ourselves? two months of living upon nothing but fatted calves is more than i can stand. we shall be ready for a home for dyspeptics if you can't slow down a bit, monty." whereupon mrs. dan evolved a plan, and promptly began to carry it out by inviting the crowd to dinner the next night. monty protested that they would be leaving milan in the afternoon, and that this was distinctly his affair and he was selfish. but mrs. dan was very sure. "my dear boy, you can't have things your own way every minute. in another month you will be quite spoiled. anything to prevent that. my duty is plain. even if i have to use heroic measures, you dine with me to-morrow." monty recognized defeat when he met it, and graciously accepted her very kind invitation. the next moment they drew up at the opera house and were ushered in with a deference accorded only to wealth. the splendor of the effect was overpowering to brewster as well as to his bewildered guests. aladdin, it seemed, had fairly outdone himself. the wonder of it was so complete that it was some time before they could settle down to the opera, which was aida, given with an enthusiasm that only italians can compass. during the last intermission brewster and peggy were walking in the foyer. they had rarely spoken since the day of the ride, but monty noticed with happiness that she had on several occasions avoided pettingill. "i thought we had given up fairyland when we left the lakes, but i believe you carry it with you," she said. "the trouble with this," monty replied, "is that there are too many people about. my fairyland is to be just a little different." "your fairyland, monty, will be built of gold and paved with silver. you will sit all day cutting coupons in an office of alabaster." "peggy, do you too think me vulgar? it's a beastly parade, i know, but it can't stop now. you don't realize the momentum of the thing." "you do it up to the handle," she put in. "and you are much too generous to be vulgar. but it worries me, monty, it worries me desperately. it's the future i'm thinking of--your future, which is being swallowed up. this kind of thing can't go on. and what is to follow it? you are wasting your substance, and you are not making any life for yourself that opens out." "peggy," he answered very seriously, "you have got to trust me. i can't back out, but i'll tell you this. you shall not be disappointed in me in the end." there was a mist before the girl's eyes as she looked at him. "i believe you, monty," she said simply; "i shall not forget." the curtain rose upon the next act, and something in the opera toward the end seemed to bring the two very close together. as they were leaving the theater, there was a note of regret from peggy. "it has been perfect," she breathed, "yet, monty, isn't it a waste that no one else should have seen it? think of these poverty-stricken peasants who adore music and have never heard an opera." "well, they shall hear one now." monty rose to it, but he felt like a hypocrite in concealing his chief motive. "we'll repeat the performance to-morrow night and fill the house with them." he was as good as his word. bertier was given a task the next day which was not to his taste. but with the assistance of the city authorities he carried it through. to them it was an evidence of insanity, but there was something princely about it and they were tolerant. the manager of the opera house was less complacent, and he had an exclamatory terror of the damage to his upholstery. but brewster had discovered that in italy gold is a panacea for all ills, and his prescriptions were liberal. to him the day was short, for peggy's interest in the penance, as it came to be called, was so keen that she insisted on having a hand in the preliminaries. there was something about the partnership that appealed to monty. to her regret the demille dinner interfered with the opening of the performance, but monty consoled her with the promise that the opera and its democratic audience should follow. during the day mrs. dan had been deep in preparations for her banquet, but her plans were elaborately concealed. they culminated at eight o'clock in the cova not far from the scala, and the dinner was eaten in the garden to the sound of music. yet it was an effect of simplicity with which mrs. dan surprised her guests. they were prepared for anything but that, and when they were served with consomme, spaghetti--a concession to the chef--and chops and peas, followed by a salad and coffee, the gratitude of the crowd was quite beyond expression. in a burst of enthusiasm "subway" smith suggested a testimonial. monty complained bitterly that he himself had never received a ghost of a testimonial. he protested that it was not deserved. "why should you expect it?" exclaimed pettingill, "when you have risen from terrapin and artichokes to chops and chicory? when have you given us nectar and ambrosia like this?" monty was defeated by a unanimous vote and mrs. dan's testimonial was assured. this matter settled, peggy and mrs. valentine, with brewster and pettingill, walked over to the scala and heard again the last two acts of aida. but the audience was different, and the applause. the next day at noon the chauffeurs from paris reported for duty, and five gleaming french devil-wagons steamed off through the crowd in the direction of venice. through brescia and verona and vicenza they passed, scattering largess of silver in their wake and leaving a trail of breathless wonder. brewster found the pace too fast and by the time they reached venice he had a wistful longing to take this radiant country more slowly. "but this is purely a business trip," he thought, "and i can't expect to enjoy it. some day i'll come back and do it differently. i could spend hours in a gondola if the blamed things were not more expensive by the trip." it was there that he was suddenly recalled to his duty from dreams of moonlight on the water by a cablegram which demanded $ . before it could be read. it contained word for word the parable of the ten talents and ended with the simple word "jones." chapter xxiii an offer of marriage the summer is scarcely a good time to visit egypt, but monty and his guests had a desire to see even a little of the northern coast of africa. it was decided, therefore, that after athens, the "flitter" should go south. the yacht had met them at naples after the automobile procession,--a kind of triumphal progress,--was disbanded in florence, and they had taken a hurried survey of rome. by the middle of july the party was leaving the heat of egypt and finding it not half bad. new york was not more than a month away as brewster reckoned time and distance, and there was still too much money in the treasury. as september drew nearer he got into the habit of frequently forgetting swearengen jones until it was too late to retrace his steps. he was coming to the "death struggle," as he termed it, and there was something rather terrorizing in the fear that "the million might die hard." and so these last days and nights were glorious ones, if one could have looked at them with unbiased, untroubled eyes. but every member of his party was praying for the day when the "flitter" would be well into the broad atlantic and the worst over. at alexandria brewster had letters to some englishmen, and in the few entertainments that he gave succeeded once again in fairly outdoing aladdin. a sheik from the interior was a guest at one of monty's entertainments. he was a burly, hot-blooded fellow, with a densely-populated harem, and he had been invited more as a curiosity than as one to be honored. as he came aboard the "flitter," monty believed the invitation was more than justified. mohammed was superb, and the women of the party made so much of him that it was small wonder that his head was turned. he fell desperately in love with peggy gray on sight, and with all the composure of a potentate who had never been crossed he sent for brewster the next day and told him to "send her around" and he would marry her. monty's blood boiled furiously for a minute or two, but he was quick to see the wisdom of treating the proposition diplomatically. he tried to make it plain to the sheik that miss gray could not accept the honor he wished to confer upon her, but it was not mohammed's custom to be denied anything he asked for--especially anything feminine. he complacently announced that he would come aboard that afternoon and talk it over with peggy. brewster looked the swarthy gentleman over with unconcealed disgust in his eyes. the mere thought of this ugly brute so much as touching the hand of little peggy gray filled him with horror, and yet there was something laughable in the situation. he could not hide the smile that came with the mind picture of peggy listening to the avowal of the sheik. the arab misinterpreted this exhibition of mirth. to him the grin indicated friendship and encouragement. he wanted to give brewster a ring as a pledge of affection, but the american declined the offering, and also refused to carry a bag of jewels to peggy. "i'll let the old boy come aboard just to see peggy look a hole through him," he resolved. "no matter how obnoxious it may be, it isn't every girl who can say an oriental potentate has asked her to marry him. if this camel-herder gets disagreeable we may tumble him into the sea for a change." with the best grace possible he invited the sheik to come aboard and consult miss gray in person. mohammed was a good bit puzzled over the intimation that it would be necessary for him to plead for anything he had expressed a desire to possess. brewster confided the news to "rip" van winkle and "subway" smith, who had gone ashore with him, and the trio agreed that it would be good sport to let the royal proposal come as a surprise to peggy. van winkle returned to the yacht at once, but his companions stayed ashore to do some shopping. when they approached the "flitter" later on they observed an unusual commotion on deck. mohammed had not tarried long after their departure. he gathered his train together, selected a few costly presents that had been returned from the harem and advanced on the boat without delay. the captain of the "flitter" stared long and hard at the gaily bedecked launches and then called to his first officer. together they watched the ceremonious approach. a couple of brown-faced heralds came aboard first and announced the approach of the mighty chief. captain perry went forward to greet the sheik as he came over the side of the ship, but he was brushed aside by the advance guards. half a hundred swarthy fellows crowded aboard and then came the sheik, the personification of pomp and pride. "where is she?" he asked in his native tongue. the passengers were by this time aware of the visitation, and began to straggle on deck, filled with curiosity. "what the devil do you mean by coming aboard in this manner?" demanded the now irate captain perry, shoving a couple of retainers out of his path and facing the beaming suitor. an interpreter took a hand at this juncture and the doughty captain finally was made to understand the object of the visit. he laughed in the sheik's face and told the mate to call up a few jackies to drive the "dagoes" off. "rip" van winkle interfered and peace was restored. the cruise had changed "rip" into a happier and far more radiant creature, so it was only natural that he should have shared the secret with mary valentine. he had told the story of the sheik's demand to her as soon as he came aboard, and she had divulged it to peggy the instant "rip" was out of sight. brewster found the sheik sitting in state on the upper deck impatiently awaiting the appearance of his charmer. he did not know her name, but he had tranquilly commanded "rip" to produce all of the women on board so that he might select peggy from among them. van winkle and bragdon, who now was in the secret, were preparing to march the ladies past the ruler when monty came up. "has he seen peggy?" he asked of van winkle. "not yet. she is dressing for the occasion." "well, wait and see what happens to him when she gets over the first shock," laughed monty. just then the sheik discovered peggy, who, pretty as a picture, drew near the strange group. to her amazement two slaves rushed forward and obstructed her passage long enough to beat their heads on the deck a few times, after which they arose and tendered two magnificent necklaces. she was prepared for the proposal, but this action disconcerted her; she gasped and looked about in perplexity. her friends were smiling broadly and the sheik had placed his hands over his palpitating heart. "lothario has a pain," whispered "rip" van winkle sympathetically, and brewster laughed. peggy did not hesitate an instant after hearing the laugh. she walked straight toward the sheik. her cheeks were pink and her eyes were flashing dangerously. the persistent brown slaves followed with the jewels, but she ignored them completely. brave as she intended to be, she could not repress the shudder of repulsion that went over her as she looked full upon this eager arab. graceful and slender she stood before the burly mohammed, but his ardor was not cooled by the presence of so many witnesses. with a thud he dropped to his knees, wabbling for a moment in the successful effort to maintain a poetic equilibrium. then he began pouring forth volumes of shattered french, english and arabic sentiment, accompanied by facial contortions so intense that they were little less than gruesome. "oh, joy of the sun supreme, jewel of the only eye, hearken to the entreaty of mohammed." it was more as if he were commanding his troops in battle than pleading for the tender compassion of a lady love. "i am come for you, queen of the sea and earth and sky. my boats are here, my camels there, and mohammed promises you a palace in the sun-lit hills if you will but let him bask forever in the glory of your smile." all this was uttered in a mixture of tongues so atrocious that "subway" smith afterward described it as a salad. the retinue bowed impressively and two or three graceless americans applauded as vigorously as if they were approving the actions of a well-drilled comic opera chorus. sailors were hanging in the rigging, on the davits and over the deck house roof. "smile for the gentleman, peggy," commanded brewster delightedly. "he wants to take a short bask." "you are very rude, mr. brewster," said peggy, turning upon him coldly. then to the waiting, expectant sheik: "what is the meaning of this eloquence?" mohammed looked bewildered for a moment and then turned to the interpreter, who cleared up the mystery surrounding her english. for the next three or four minutes the air was filled with the "jewels of africa," "star," "sunlight," "queen," "heavenly joy," "pearl of the desert," and other things in bad english, worse french, and perfect arabic. he was making promises that could not be redeemed if he lived a thousand years. in conclusion the gallant sheik drew a long breath, screwed his face into a simpering grin and played his trump card in unmistakable english. it sounded pathetically like "you're a peach." an indecorous roar went up from the white spectators and a jacky in the rigging, suddenly thinking of home, piped up with a bar or two from "the star spangled banner." having accomplished what he considered to be his part of the ceremony the sheik arose and started toward his launch, coolly motioning for her to follow. so far as he was concerned the matter was closed. but peggy, her heart thumping like a trip-hammer, her eyes full of excitement, implored him to stop for a moment. "i appreciate this great honor, but i have a request to make," she said clearly. mohammed paused irresolutely and in some irritation. "here's where the heathen gets it among the beads," whispered monty to mrs. dan, and he called out: "captain perry, detail half a dozen men to pick up the beads that are about to slip from his majesty's neck." chapter xxiv the sheik's strategy peggy gave the sheik an entrancing smile, followed by a brief glance at the beaming miss valentine, who nodded her head approvingly. "won't you give me time to go below and pack my belongings that they may be sent ashore?" she asked naively. "thunder!" gasped monty. "that's no way to turn him down." "what do you mean, monty brewster?" she cried, turning upon him with flashing eyes. "why, you're encouraging the old guy," he protested, disappointment in every inflection. "and what if i am? isn't it my affair? i think i am right in suspecting that he has asked me to be his wife. isn't it my privilege to accept him if i wish?" brewster's face was a study. he could not believe that she was in earnest, but there was a ghastly feeling that the joke was being turned on him. the rest of the company stared hard at the flushed peggy and breathlessly waited developments. "it won't do to trifle with this chap, peggy," said monty, coming quite close to her. "don't lead him on. he might get nasty if he thinks you're making sport of him." "you are quite absurd, monty," she cried, petulantly. "i am not making sport of him." "well, then, why don't you tell him to go about his business?" "i don't see any beads lying around loose," said "rip" tormentingly. the sheik impatiently said something to the interpreter and that worthy repeated it for peggy's benefit. "the son of the prophet desires that you be as quick as possible, queen of the world. he tires of waiting and commands you to come with him at once." peggy winced and her eyes shot a brief look of scorn at the scowling sheik. in an instant, however, she was smiling agreeably and was turning toward the steps. "holy mackerel! where are you going, peggy?" cried lotless, the first to turn fearful. "to throw some things into my trunk," she responded airily. "will you come with me, mary?" "peggy!" cried brewster angrily. "this has gone far enough." "you should have spoken sooner, monty," she said quietly. "what are you going to do, margaret?" cried mrs. dan, her eyes wide with amazement. "i am going to marry the son of the prophet," she replied so decidedly that every one gasped. a moment later she was surrounded by a group of excited women, and captain perry was calling the "jackies" forward in a voice of thunder. brewster pushed his way to her side, his face as white as death. "this isn't a joke, peggy," he cried. "go below and i'll get rid of the sheik." just then the burly algerian asserted himself. he did not like the way in which his adored one was being handled by the "white dogs," and with two spearmen he rushed up to brewster, jabbering angrily. "stand back, you idiot, or i'll punch your head off," said brewster, with sudden emphasis. it was not until this moment that peggy realized that there might be a serious side to the little farce she and mary had decided to play for the punishment of brewster. terror suddenly took the place of mirth, and she clung frantically to monty's arm. "i was joking, monty, only joking," she cried. "oh, what have i done?" "it's my fault," he exclaimed, "but i'll take care of you, never fear." "stand aside!" roared the sheik threateningly. the situation was ominous. frightened as they were the women could not flee, but stood as if petrified. sailors eagerly swarmed to the deck. "get off this boat," said monty, ominously calm, to the interpreter, "or we'll pitch you and your whole mob into the sea." "keep cool! keep cool!" cried "subway" smith quickly. he stepped between brewster and the angry suitor, and that action alone prevented serious trouble. while he parleyed with the sheik mrs. demille hurried peggy to a safe place below deck, and they were followed by a flock of shivering women. poor peggy was almost in tears and the piteous glances she threw at brewster when he stepped between her and the impetuous sheik, who had started to follow, struck deep into his heart and made him ready to fight to the death for her. it took nearly an hour to convince the algerian that peggy had misunderstood him and that american women were not to be wooed after the african fashion. he finally departed with his entire train, thoroughly dissatisfied and in high dudgeon. at first he threatened to take her by force; then he agreed to give her another day in which to make up her mind to go with him peaceably, and again he concluded that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. brewster stood gloomily on the outside of the excited group glowering upon the ugly suitor. cooler heads had relegated him to this place of security during the diplomatic contest. the sheik's threats of vengeance were direful. he swore by somebody's beard that he would bring ten thousand men to establish his claim by force. his intense desire to fight for her then and there was quelled by captain perry's detachment of six lusty sailors, whose big bare fists were shaken vigorously under a few startled noses. it took all the fight out of the sheik and his train. three retainers fell into the sea while trying to retreat as far as possible from danger. mohammed departed with the irate declaration that he would come another day and that the whole world would tremble at his approach. disgusted with himself and afraid to meet the eyes of the other men, brewster went below in search of peggy. he took time to comfort the anxious women who crowded about him and then asked for miss gray. she was in her stateroom and would not come forth. when he knocked at the door a dismal, troubled voice from within told him to go away. "come out, peggy; it's all over," he called. "please go away, monty," she said. "what are you doing in there?" there was a long pause, and then came the pitiful little wail: "i am unpacking, please, sir." that night brewster entertained on board the yacht, several resident french and english acquaintances being the guests of honor. the story of the day was told by mrs. dan demille, commissioned especially for the duty. she painted the scene so vividly that the guests laughed with joy over the discomfiture of the sheik. peggy and brewster found themselves looking sheepishly at one another now and then in the course of the recital. she purposely had avoided him during the evening, but she had gamely endured the raillery that came from the rest of the party. if she was a bit pale, it was not surprising. now that it was over the whole affair appalled her more than she could have suspected. when several of the guests of the evening soberly announced that mohammed was a dangerous man and even an object of worry to the government she felt a strange catch in her throat and her now mirthless eyes turned instinctively to brewster, who, it seemed, was the sheik's special object of aversion. the next day she and monty talked it over. the penitence of both was beautiful to behold. each denied the other the privilege of assuming all the blame and both were so happy that mohammed was little more than a preposition in their conversation so far as prominence was concerned. but all day long the harbor was full of fisher boats, and at nightfall they still were lolling about, sinister, restless, mysterious like purposeless buzzards. and the dark men on board were taking up no fish, neither were they minding the nets that lay dry and folded in the bottom of their boats. far into the night there was revelry on board the "flitter," more guests having come out from the city. the dark hours before the dawn of day had arrived before they put off for shore, but the fisher boats still were bobbing about in the black waters of the harbor. the lights gradually disappeared from the port-holes of the yacht, and the tired watch was about to be relieved. monty brewster and peggy remained on deck after the guests had gone over the side of the vessel. they were leaning over the rail aft listening to the jovial voices of the visitors as they grew fainter and fainter in the distance. the lights of the town were few, but they could plainly be seen from the offing. "are you tired, peggy?" asked brewster, with a touch of tenderness. somehow of late he had often felt a strange desire to take her in his arms, and now it was strong upon him. she was very near, and there was a drooping weariness in her attitude which seemed to demand protection. "i have a queer feeling that something awful is going to happen to-night, monty," she answered, trouble in her soft voice. "you're nervous, that's all," he said, "and you should get to sleep. good-night." their hands touched in the darkness, and the thrill that went over him told a truth of which he had been only vaguely conscious. the power of it made him exultant. yet when he thought of her and her too quiet affection for him it left him despondent. something bumped against the side of the ship and a grating sound followed. then came other gentle thuds combined with the soft swish of water disturbed. peggy and brewster were on the point of going below when their attention was caught by these strange sounds. "what is it?" she asked as they paused irresolutely. he strode to the rail, the girl following close behind him. three sharp little whistles came from above and behind them, but before they had time even to speculate as to their meaning the result was in evidence. over the sides of the ship came shadowy forms as if by magic; at their backs panther-like bodies dropped to the deck with stealthy thuds, as if coming from the inky sky above. there was an instant of dreadful calm and then the crisis. a dozen sinewy forms hurled themselves upon brewster, who, taken completely by surprise, was thrown to the deck in an instant, his attempt to cry out for help being checked by heavy hands. peggy's scream was cut off quickly, and paralyzed by terror, she felt herself engulfed in strong arms and smothered into silence. it all happened so quickly that there was no chance to give the alarm, no opportunity to resist. brewster felt himself lifted bodily, and then there was the sensation of falling. he struck something forcibly with all his weight and fell back with a crash to the deck. afterward he found that the effort to throw him overboard had failed only because his assailants in their haste had hurled him against an unseen stanchion. peggy was borne forward and lowered swiftly into arms that deposited her roughly upon something hard. there was a jerky, rocking motion, the sudden splash of oars, and then she knew no more. the invaders had planned with a craftiness and patience that deserved success. for hours they had waited, silently, watchfully, and with deadly assurance. how they crept up to the "flitter" in such numbers and how the more daring came aboard long before the blow was struck, no one ever explained. so quickly and so accurately was the abduction performed that the boats were well clear of the yacht before alarm was given by one of the watch who had been overlooked in the careful assault. sleepy sailors rushed on deck with a promptness that was amazing. very quickly they had found and unbound brewster, carried a couple of wounded shipmates below and had captain perry in his pajamas on deck to take command. "the searchlight!" cried brewster frantically. "the devils have stolen miss gray." while swift hands were lowering the boats for the chase others were carrying firearms on deck. the searchlight threw its mighty white arm out over the water before many seconds had passed, and eager eyes were looking for the boats of the pillagers. the arabs had reckoned without the searchlight. their fierce exultation died suddenly when the mysterious streak of light shot into the sky and then swept down upon the sea, hunting them out of the darkness like a great relentless eye. the "flitter's" boats were in the water and manned by sturdy oarsmen before the glad cry went up that the robber fleet had been discovered. they were so near the yacht that it was evident the dusky tribesmen were poor oarsmen. in the clear light from the ship's deck they could be seen paddling wildly, their white robes fluttering as though inspired by fear. there were four boats, all of them crowded to the gunwales. "keep the light on them, captain," shouted monty from below. "try to pick out the boat that has miss gray on board. pull away, boys! this means a hundred dollars to every one of you--yes, a thousand if we have to fight for her!" "kill every damned one of them, mr. brewster," roared the captain, who had retired behind a boat when he became aware of the presence of women on deck. three boats shot away from the side of the yacht, brewster and joe bragdon in the first, both armed with rifles. "let's take a shot at 'em," cried a sailor who stood in the stern with his finger on a trigger. "don't do that! we don't know what boat holds peggy," commanded brewster. "keep cool, boys, and be ready to scrap if we have to." he was half mad with fear and anxiety, and he was determined to exterminate the bands of robbers if harm came to the girl in their power. "she's in the second boat," came the cry from the yacht, and the searchlight was kept on that particular object almost to the exclusion of the others. but captain perry saw the wisdom of keeping all of them clearly located in order to prevent trickery. brewster's brawny sailor boys came up like greyhounds, cheering as they dashed among the boats of the fugitives. three or four shots were fired into the air by the zealous american lads, and there were loud cries from the arabs as they veered off panic-stricken. monty's boat was now in the path of light and not far behind the one which held peggy. he was standing in the bow. "take care of the others!" he called back to his followers. "we'll go after the leaders." the response from behind was a cheer, a half dozen shots and some of the most joyous profanity that ever fell from the lips of american sailors, mingled with shrieks from the boats they were to "take care of." "stop!" brewster shouted to the arabs. "stop, or we'll kill every one of you!" his boat was not more than fifty feet from the other. suddenly a tall, white-robed figure arose in the middle of the egyptian craft, and a moment later the pursuers saw peggy's form passed up to him. she was instantly clasped by one of his long arms, and the other was lifted high above her. a gleaming knife was held in the upraised hand. "fire on us if you dare!" came in french from the tall arab. "dog of an american, she shall die if you come near her!" chapter xxv the rescue of peggy brewster's heart almost ceased beating, and every vestige of color left his face. clear and distinct in the light from the yacht the arab and his burden were outlined against the black screen beyond. there was no mistaking the earnestness of the threat, nor could the witnesses doubt the ghastly intention of the long, cruel knife that gleamed on high. peggy's body served as a shield for that of her captor. brewster and bragdon recognized the man as one of mohammed's principal retainers, a fierce-looking fellow who had attracted more than usual attention on the day of the sheik's visit. "for god's sake, don't kill her!" cried brewster in agonized tones. there was a diabolical grin on the face of the arab, who was about to shout back some defiant taunt when the unexpected happened. the sharp crack of a gun sounded in the stern of brewster's boat, and an unerring bullet sped straight for the big arab's forehead. it crashed between his eyes and death must have been instantaneous. the knife flew from his hand, his body straightened and then collapsed, toppling over, not among his oarsmen, but across the gunwale of the craft. before a hand could be lifted to prevent, the dead arab and the girl were plunged into the sea. a cry of horror went up from the americans, and something surprisingly like a shout of triumph from the abductors. even as brewster poised for the spring into the water a flying form shot past him and into the sea with a resounding splash. the man that fired the shot had reckoned cleverly, and he was carrying out the final details of an inspired plan. the arab's position as he stood in the boat was such as to warrant the sailor's belief that he could fall no other way than forward, and that meant over the side of the boat. with all this clearly in mind he had shot straight and true and was on his way to the water almost as the two toppled overboard. monty brewster was in the water an instant later, striking out for the spot where they had disappeared, a little to the left of the course in which his boat was running. there was a rattle of firearms, with curses and cheers, but he paid no heed to these sounds. he was a length or two behind the sailor, praying with all his soul that one or the other might succeed in reaching the white robes that still kept the surface of the water. his crew was "backing water" and straining every muscle to bring the boat around sharp for the rescue. the sailor's powerful strokes brought him to the spot first, but not in time to clutch the disappearing white robes. just as he reached out an arm to grasp the form of the girl she went down. he did not hesitate a second but followed. peggy had fallen from the dead arab's embrace, and that worthy already was at the bottom of the sea. she was half conscious when the shot came, but the plunge into the cold water revived her. her struggles were enough to keep her up for a few moments, but not long enough for the swimmers to reach her side. she felt herself going down and down, strangling, smothering, dying. then something vise-like clutched her arm and she had the sensation of being jerked upward violently. the sailor fought his way to the surface with the girl, and brewster was at his side in an instant. together they supported her until one of the boats came up, and they were drawn over the side to safety. by this time the abductors had scattered like sheep without a leader, and as there was no further object in pursuing them the little american fleet put back for the yacht in great haste. peggy was quite conscious when carried aboard by the triumphant brewster. the words he whispered to her as she lay in the bottom of the boat were enough to give her life. the excitement on board the "flitter" was boundless. fear gave way to joy, and where despair had for a moment reigned supreme, there was now the most insane delight. peggy was bundled below and into her berth, dr. lotless attending her, assisted by all the women on board. brewster and the sailor, drenched but happy, were carried on the shoulders of enthusiastic supporters to a place where hot toddies were to be had before blankets. "you have returned the favor, conroy," said brewster fervently, as he leaned across the heads of his bearers to shake hands with the sailor who was sharing the honors with him. conroy was grinning from ear to ear as he sat perched on the shoulders of his shipmates. "i was luckier than i thought in saving your life that day." "it wasn't anything, mr. brewster," said young conroy. "i saw a chance to drop the big nigger, and then it was up to me to get her out of the water." "you took a big risk, conroy, but you made good with it. if it had not been for you, my boy, they might have got away with miss gray." "don't mention it, mr. brewster, it was nothing to do," protested conroy in confusion. "i'd do anything in the world for you and for her." "what is the adage about casting your bread upon the water and getting it back again?" asked "rip" van winkle of joe bragdon as they jubilantly followed the procession below. there was no more sleep on board that night. in fact the sun was not long in showing itself after the rescuers returned to the vessel. the daring attempt of mohammed's emissaries was discussed without restraint, and every sailor had a story to tell of the pursuit and rescue. the event furnished conversational food for days and days among both the seamen and the passengers. dan demille blamed himself relentlessly for sleeping through it all and moped for hours because he had lost a magnificent chance to "do something." the next morning he proposed to hunt for the sheik, and offered to lead an assault in person. an investigation was made and government officials tried to call mohammed to account, but he had fled to the desert and the search was fruitless. brewster refused to accept a share of the glory of peggy's rescue, pushing conroy forward as the real hero. but the sailor insisted that he could not have succeeded without help,--that he was completely exhausted when monty came to the rescue. peggy found it hard to thank him gently while her heart was so dangerously near the riot point, and her words of gratitude sounded pitifully weak and insufficient. "it would have been the same had anybody else gone to her rescue," he mused dejectedly. "she cares for me with the devotion of a sister and that's all. peggy, peggy," he moaned, "if you could only love me, i'd--i'd--oh, well, there's no use thinking about it! she will love some one else, of course, and--and be happy, too. if she'd appear only one-tenth as grateful to me as to conroy i'd be satisfied. he had the luck to be first, that's all, but god knows i tried to do it." mrs. dan demille was keen enough to see how the land lay, and she at once tried to set matters straight. she was far too clever to push her campaign ruthlessly, but laid her foundations and then built cunningly and securely with the most substantial material that came to hand from day to day. her subjects were taking themselves too deeply to heart to appreciate interference on the part of an outsider, and mrs. dan was wise in the whims of love. peggy was not herself for several days after her experience, and the whole party felt a distinct relief when the yacht finally left the harbor and steamed off to the west. a cablegram that came the day before may have had something to do with brewster's depression, but he was not the sort to confess it. it was from swearengen jones, of butte, montana, and there was something sinister in the laconic admonition. it read: "brewster, u.s. consulate, alexandria. "have a good time while good times last. "jones." his brain was almost bursting with the hopes and fears and uncertainties that crowded it far beyond its ordinary capacity. it had come to the point, it seemed to him, when the brains of a dozen men at least were required to operate the affairs that were surging into his alone. the mere fact that the end of his year was less than two months off, and that there was more or less uncertainty as to the character of the end, was sufficient cause for worry, but the new trouble was infinitely harder to endure. when he sat down to think over his financial enterprises his mind treacherously wandered off to peggy gray, and then everything was hopeless. he recalled the courage and confidence that had carried him to barbara drew with a declaration of love--to the stunning, worldly barbara--and smiled bitterly when he saw how basely the two allies were deserting him in this hour of love for peggy gray. for some reason he had felt sure of barbara; for another reason he saw no chance with peggy. she was not the same sort--she was different. she was--well, she was peggy. occasionally his reflections assumed the importance of calculations. his cruise was sure to cost $ , , a princely sum, but not enough. swearengen jones and his cablegram did not awe him to a great extent. the spending of the million had become a mania with him now and he had no regard for consequences. his one desire, aside from peggy, was to increase the cost of the cruise. they were leaving gibraltar when a new idea came into his troubled head. he decided to change his plans and sail for the north cape, thereby adding more than $ , to his credit. chapter xxvi mutiny monty was on deck when the inspiration seized him, and he lost no time in telling his guests, who were at breakfast. although he had misgivings about their opinion of the scheme, he was not prepared for the ominous silence that followed his announcement. "are you in earnest, mr. brewster?" asked captain perry, who was the first of the company to recover from the surprise. "of course i am. i chartered this boat for four months with the privilege of another month i can see no reason to prevent us from prolonging the trip." monty's manner was full of self-assurance as he continued: "you people are so in the habit of protesting against every suggestion i make that you can't help doing it now." "but, monty," said mrs. dan, "what if your guests would rather go home." "nonsense; you were asked for a five months' cruise. besides, think of getting home in the middle of august, with every one away. it would be like going to philadelphia." brave as he was in the presence of his friends, in the privacy of his stateroom monty gave way to the depression that was bearing down upon him. it was the hardest task of his life to go on with his scheme in the face of opposition. he knew that every man and woman on board was against the proposition, for his sake at least, and it was difficult to be arbitrary under the circumstances. purposely he avoided peggy all forenoon. his single glance at her face in the salon was enough to disturb him immeasurably. the spirits of the crowd were subdued. the north cape had charms, but the proclamation concerning it had been too sudden--had reversed too quickly the general expectation and desire. many of the guests had plans at home for august, and even those who had none were satiated with excitement. during the morning they gathered in little knots to discuss the situation. they were all generous and each one was sure that he could cruise indefinitely, if on monty's account the new voyage were not out of the question. they felt it their duty to take a desperate stand. the half-hearted little gatherings resolved themselves into ominous groups and in the end there was a call for a general meeting in the main cabin. captain perry, the first mate, and the chief engineer were included in the call, but montgomery brewster was not to be admitted. joe bragdon loyally agreed to keep him engaged elsewhere while the meeting was in progress. the doors were locked and a cursory glance assured the chairman of the meeting, dan demille, that no member of the party was missing save the devoted bragdon. captain perry was plainly nervous and disturbed. the others were the victims of a suppressed energy that presaged subsequent eruptions. "captain perry, we are assembled here for a purpose," said demille, clearing his throat three times. "first of all, as we understand it, you are the sailing master of this ship. in other words, you are, according to maritime law, the commander of this expedition. you alone can give orders to the sailors and you alone can clear a port. mr. brewster has no authority except that vested in a common employer. am i correct?" "mr. demille, if mr. brewster instructs me to sail for the north cape, i shall do so," said the captain, firmly. "this boat is his for the full term of the lease and i am engaged to sail her with my crew until the tenth of next september." "we understand your position, captain, and i am sure you appreciate ours. it isn't that we want to end a very delightful cruise, but that we regard it as sheer folly for mr. brewster to extend the tour at such tremendous expense. he is--or was--a rich man, but it is impossible to ignore the fact that he is plunging much too heavily. in plain words, we want to keep him from spending more of his money on this cruise. do you understand our position, captain perry?" "fully. i wish with all my soul that i could help you and him. my hands are tied by contract, however, much as i regret it at this moment." "how does the crew feel about this additional trip, captain?" asked demille. "they shipped for five months and will receive five months' pay. the men have been handsomely treated and they will stick to mr. brewster to the end," said the captain. "there is no chance for a mutiny, then?" asked smith regretfully. the captain gave him a hard look, but said nothing. everybody seemed uncomfortable. "apparently the only way is the one suggested by mr. smith this morning," said mrs. dan, speaking for the women. "no one will object, i am sure, if captain perry and his chief officers are allowed to hear the plan." "it is very necessary, in fact," said mr. valentine. "we cannot proceed without them. but they will agree with us, i am sure, that it is wise." an hour later the meeting broke up and the conspirators made their way to the deck. it was a strange fact that no one went alone. they were in groups of three and four and the mystery that hung about them was almost perceptible. not one was willing to face the excited, buoyant brewster without help; they found strength and security in companionship. peggy was the one rebel against the conspiracy, and yet she knew that the others were justified in the step they proposed to take. she reluctantly joined them in the end, but felt that she was the darkest traitor in the crowd. forgetting her own distress over the way in which monty was squandering his fortune, she stood out the one defender of his rights until the end and then admitted tearfully to mrs. demille that she had been "quite unreasonable" in doing so. alone in her stateroom after signing the agreement, she wondered what he would think of her. she owed him so much that she at least should have stood by him. she felt that he would be conscious of this? how could she have turned against him? he would not understand--of course he would never understand. and he would hate her with the others--more than the others. it was all a wretched muddle and she could not see her way out of it. monty found his guests very difficult. they listened to his plans with but little interest, and he could not but see that they were uncomfortable. the situation was new to their experience, and they were under a strain. "they mope around like a lot of pouting boys and girls," he growled to himself. "but it's the north cape now in spite of everything. i don't care if the whole crowd deserts me, my mind is made up." try as he would, he could not see peggy alone. he had much that he wanted to say to her and he hungered for the consolation her approval would bring him, but she clung to pettingill with a tenacity that was discouraging. the old feeling of jealousy that was connected with como again disturbed him. "she thinks that i am a hopeless, brainless idiot," he said to himself. "and i don't blame her, either." just before nightfall he noticed that his friends were assembling in the bow. as he started to join the group "subway" smith and demille advanced to meet him. some of the others were smiling a little sheepishly, but the two men were pictures of solemnity and decision. "monty," said demille steadily, "we have been conspiring against you and have decided that we sail for new york to-morrow morning." brewster stopped short and the expression on his face was one they never could forget. bewilderment, uncertainty and pain succeeded each other like flashes of light. not a word was spoken for several seconds. the red of humiliation slowly mounted to his cheeks, while in his eyes wavered the look of one who has been hunted down. "you have decided?" he asked lifelessly, and more than one heart went out in pity to him. "we hated to do it, monty, but for your own sake there was no other way," said "subway" smith quickly. "we took a vote and there wasn't a dissenting voice." "it is a plain case of mutiny, i take it," said monty, utterly alone and heart-sick. "it isn't necessary to tell you why we have taken this step," said demille. "it is heart-breaking to oppose you at this stage of the game. you've been the best ever and--" "cut that," cried monty, and his confidence in himself was fast returning. "this is no time to throw bouquets." "we like you, brewster." mr. valentine came to the chairman's assistance because the others had looked at him so appealingly. "we like you so well that we can't take the responsibility for your extravagance. it would disgrace us all." "that side of the matter was never mentioned," cried peggy indignantly, and then added with a catch in her voice, "we thought only of you." "i appreciate your motives and i am grateful to you," said monty. "i am more sorry than i can tell you that the cruise must end in this way, but i too have decided. the yacht will take you to some point where you can catch a steamer to new york. i shall secure passage for the entire party and very soon you will be at home. captain perry, will you oblige me by making at once for any port that my guests may agree upon?" he was turning away deliberately when "subway" smith detained him. "what do you mean by getting a steamer to new york? isn't the 'flitter' good enough?" he asked. "the 'flitter' is not going to new york just now," answered brewster firmly, "notwithstanding your ultimatum. she is going to take me to the north cape." chapter xxvii a fair traitor "now will you be good?" cried reggie vanderpool to demille as monty went down the companionway. the remark was precisely what was needed, for the pent-up feelings of the entire company were now poured forth upon the unfortunate young man. "subway" smith was for hanging him to the yard arm, and the denunciation of the others was so decisive that reggie sought refuge in the chart house. but the atmosphere had been materially cleared and the leaders of the mutiny were in a position to go into executive session and consider the matter. the women waited on deck while the meeting lasted. they were unanimous in the opinion that the affair had been badly managed. "they should have offered to stay by the ship providing monty would let demille manage the cruise," said miss valentine. "that would have been a concession and at the same time it would have put the cruise on an economical basis." "in other words, you will accept a man's invitation to dinner if he will allow you to order it and invite the other guests," said peggy, who was quick to defend monty. "well that would be better than helping to eat up every bit of food he possessed." but miss valentine always avoided argument when she could and gave this as a parting thrust before she walked away. "there must be something more than we know about in monty's extravagance," said mrs. dan. "he isn't the kind of man to squander his last penny without having something left to show for it. there must be a method in his madness." "he has done it for us," said peggy. "he has devoted himself all along to giving us a good time and now we are showing our gratitude." further discussion was prevented by the appearance of the conspiring committee and the whole company was summoned to hear demille's report as chairman. "we have found a solution of our difficulties," he began, and his manner was so jubilant that every one became hopeful. "it is desperate, but i think it will be effective. monty has given us the privilege of leaving the yacht at any port where we can take a steamer to new york. now, my suggestion is that we select the most convenient place for all of us, and obviously there is nothing quite so convenient as boston." "dan demille, you are quite foolish," cried his wife. "who ever conceived such a ridiculous idea?" "captain perry has his instructions," continued demille, turning to the captain. "are we not acting along the lines marked out by brewster himself?" "i will sail for boston if you say the word," said the thoughtful captain. "but he is sure to countermand such an order." "he won't be able to, captain," cried "subway" smith, who had for some time been eager to join in the conversation. "this is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool mutiny and we expect to carry out the original plan, which was to put mr. brewster in irons, until we are safe from all opposition." "he is my friend, mr. smith, and at least it is my duty to protect him from any indignity," said the captain, stiffly. "you make for boston, my dear captain, and we'll do the rest," said demille. "mr. brewster can't countermand your orders unless he sees you in person. we'll see to it that he has no chance to talk to you until we are in sight of boston harbor." the captain looked doubtful and shook his head as he walked away. at heart he was with the mutineers and his mind was made up to assist them as long as it was possible to do so without violating his obligations to brewster. he felt guilty, however, in surreptitiously giving the order to clear for boston at daybreak. the chief officers were let into the secret, but the sailors were kept in darkness regarding the destination of the "flitter." montgomery brewster's guests were immensely pleased with the scheme, although they were dubious about the outcome. mrs. dan regretted her hasty comment on the plan and entered into the plot with eagerness. in accordance with plans decided upon by the mutineers, monty's stateroom door was guarded through the night by two of the men. the next morning as he emerged from his room, he was met by "subway" smith and dan demille. "good morning," was his greeting. "how's the weather to-day?" "bully," answered demille. "by the way, you are going to have breakfast in your room, old man." brewster unsuspectingly led the way into his stateroom, the two following. "what's the mystery?" he demanded. "we've been deputized to do some very nasty work," said "subway," as he turned the key in the door. "we are here to tell you what port we have chosen." "it's awfully good of you to tell me." "yes, isn't it? but we have studied up on the chivalrous treatment of prisoners. we have decided on boston." "is there a boston on this side of the water?" asked monty in mild surprise. "no; there is only one boston in the universe, so far as we know. it is a large body of intellect surrounded by the rest of the world." "what the devil are you talking about? you don't mean boston, massachusetts?" cried monty, leaping to his feet. "precisely. that's the port for us and you told us to choose for ourselves," said smith. "well, i won't have it, that's all," exclaimed brewster, indignantly. "captain perry takes orders from me and from no one else." "he already has his orders," said demille, smiling mysteriously. "i'll see about that." brewster sprang to the door. it was locked and the key was in "subway" smith's pocket. with an impatient exclamation he turned and pressed an electric button. "it won't ring, monty," explained "subway." "the wire has been cut. now, be cool for a minute or two and we'll talk it over." brewster stormed for five minutes, the "delegation" sitting calmly by, smiling with exasperating confidence. at last he calmed down and in terms of reason demanded an explanation. he was given to understand that the yacht would sail for boston and that he would be kept a prisoner for the entire voyage unless he submitted to the will of the majority. brewster listened darkly to the proclamation. he saw that they had gained the upper hand by a clever ruse, and that only strategy on his part could outwit them. it was out of the question for him to submit to them now that the controversy had assumed the dignity of a struggle. "but you will be reasonable, won't you?" asked demille, anxiously. "i intend to fight it out to the bitter end," said brewster, his eyes flashing. "at present i am your prisoner, but it is a long way to boston." for three days and two nights the "flitter" steamed westward into the atlantic, with her temporary owner locked into his stateroom. the confinement was irksome, but he rather liked the sensation of being interested in something besides money. he frequently laughed to himself over the absurdity of the situation. his enemies were friends, true and devoted; his gaolers were relentless but they were considerate. the original order that he should be guarded by one man was violated on the first day. there were times when his guard numbered at least ten persons and some of them served tea and begged him to listen to reason. "it is difficult not to listen," he said fiercely. "it's like holding a man down and then asking him to be quiet. but my time is coming." "revenge will be his!" exclaimed mrs. dan, tragically. "you might have your term shortened on account of good conduct if you would only behave," suggested peggy, whose reserve was beginning to soften. "please be good and give in." "i haven't been happier during the whole cruise," said monty. "on deck i wouldn't be noticed, but here i am quite the whole thing. besides i can get out whenever i feel like it." "i have a thousand dollars which says you can't," said demille, and monty snapped him up so eagerly that he added, "that you can't get out of your own accord." monty acceded to the condition and offered odds on the proposition to the others, but there were no takers. "that settles it," he smiled grimly to himself. "i can make a thousand dollars by staying here and i can't afford to escape." on the third day of monty's imprisonment the "flitter" began to roll heavily. at first he gloated over the discomfort of his guards, who obviously did not like to stay below. "subway" smith and bragdon were on duty and neither was famous as a good sailor. when monty lighted his pipe there was consternation and "subway" rushed on deck. "you are a brave man, joe," monty said to the other and blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. "i knew you would stick to your post. you wouldn't leave it even if the ship should go down." bragdon had reached the stage where he dared not speak and was busying himself trying to "breathe with the motion of the boat," as he had called it. "by gad," continued monty, relentlessly, "this smoke is getting thick. some of this toilet water might help if i sprinkled it about." one whiff of the sweet-smelling cologne was enough for bragdon and he bolted up the companionway, leaving the stateroom door wide open and the prisoner free to go where he pleased. monty's first impulse was to follow, but he checked himself on the threshold. "damn that bet with demille," he said to himself, and added aloud to the fleeting guard, "the key, joe, i dare you to come back and get it!" but bragdon was beyond recall and monty locked the door on the inside and passed the key through the ventilator. on deck a small part of the company braved the spray in the lee of the deck house, but the others had long since gone below. the boat was pitching furiously in the ugliest sea it had encountered, and there was anxiety underneath captain perry's mask of unconcern. demille and dr. lotless talked in the senseless way men have when they try to conceal their nervousness. but the women did not respond; they were in no mood for conversation. only one of them was quite oblivious to personal discomfort and danger. peggy gray was thinking of the prisoner below. in a reflection of her own terror, she pictured him crouching in the little state-room, like a doomed criminal awaiting execution, alone, neglected, forgotten, unpitied. at first she pleaded for the men for his release, but they insisted upon waiting in the hope that a scare might bring him to his senses. peggy saw that no help was to be secured from the other women, much as they might care for brewster's peace of mind and safety. her heart was bitter toward every one responsible for the situation, and there was dark rebellion in her soul. it culminated finally in a resolve to release monty brewster at any cost. with difficulty she made her way to the stateroom door, clinging to supports at times and then plunging violently away from them. for some minutes she listened, frantically clutching brewster's door and the wall-rail. there was no guard, and the tumult of the sea drowned every sound within. her imagination ran riot when her repeated calls were not answered. "monty, monty," she cried, pounding wildly on the door. "who is it? what is the trouble?" came in muffled tones from within, and peggy breathed a prayer of thanks. just then she discovered the key which monty had dropped and quickly opened the door, expecting to find him cowering with fear. but the picture was different. the prisoner was seated on the divan, propped up with many pillows and reading with the aid of an electric light "the intrusions of peggy." chapter xxviii a catastrophe "oh!" was peggy's only exclamation, and there was a shadow of disappointment in her eyes. "come in, peggy, and i'll read aloud," was monty's cheerful greeting as he stood before her. "no, i must go," said peggy, confusedly. "i thought you might be nervous about the storm--and--" "and you came to let me out?" monty had never been so happy. "yes, and i don't care what the others say. i thought you were suffering--" but at that moment the boat gave a lurch which threw her across the threshold into monty's arms. they crashed against the wall, and he held her a moment and forgot the storm. when she drew away from him she showed him the open door and freedom. she could not speak. "where are the others?" he asked, bracing himself in the doorway. "oh, monty," she cried, "we must not go to them. they will think me a traitor." "why were you a traitor, peggy?" he demanded, turning toward her suddenly. "oh--oh, because it seemed so cruel to keep you locked up through the storm," she answered, blushing. "and there was no other reason?" he persisted. "don't, please don't!" she cried piteously, and he misunderstood her emotion. it was clear that she was merely sorry for him. "never mind, peggy, it's all right. you stood by me and i'll stand by you. come on; we'll face the mob and i'll do the fighting." together they made their way into the presence of the mutineers, who were crowded into the main cabin. "well, here's a conspiracy," cried dan demille, but there was no anger in his voice. "how did you escape? i was just thinking of unlocking your door, monty, but the key seemed to be missing." peggy displayed it triumphantly. "by jove," cried dan. "this is rank treachery. who was on guard?" a steward rushing through the cabin at this moment in answer to frantic calls from bragdon furnished an eloquent reply to the question. "it was simple," said monty. "the guards deserted their post and left the key behind." "then it is up to me to pay you a thousand dollars." "not at all," protested monty, taken aback. "i did not escape of my own accord. i had help. the money is yours. and now that i am free," he added quietly, "let me say that this boat does not go to boston." "just what i expected," cried vanderpool. "she's going straight to new york!" declared monty. the words were hardly uttered when a heavy sea sent him sprawling across the cabin, and he concluded, "or to the bottom." "not so bad as that," said captain perry, whose entrance had been somewhat hastened by the lurch of the boat. "but until this blows over i must keep you below." he laughed, but he saw they were not deceived. "the seas are pretty heavy and the decks are being holystoned for nothing, but i wouldn't like to have any of you washed overboard by mistake." the hatches were battened down, and it was a sorry company that tried to while away the evening in the main cabin. monty's chafing about the advantages of the north cape over the stormy atlantic was not calculated to raise the drooping spirits, and it was very early when he and his shattered guests turned in. there was little sleep on board the "flitter" that night. even if it had been easy to forget the danger, the creaking of the ship and the incessant roar of the water were enough for wakefulness. with each lurch of the boat it seemed more incredible that it could endure. it was such a mite of a thing to meet so furious an attack. as it rose on the wave to pause in terror on its crest before sinking shivering into the trough, it made the breath come short and the heart stand still. through the night the fragile little craft fought its lonely way, bravely ignoring its own weakness and the infinite strength of its enemy. to the captain, lashed to the bridge, there were hours of grave anxiety--hours when he feared each wave as it approached, and wondered what new damage it had done as it receded. as the wind increased toward morning he felt a sickening certainty that the brave little boat was beaten. somehow she seemed to lose courage, to waver a bit and almost give tip the fight. he watched her miserably as the dismal dawn came up out of the sea. yet it was not until seven o'clock that the crash came, which shook the passengers out of their berths and filled them with shivering terror. the whirring of the broken shaft seemed to consume the ship. in every cabin it spoke with terrible vividness of disaster. the clamor of voices and the rush of many feet, which followed, meant but one thing. almost instantly the machinery was stopped--an ominous silence in the midst of the dull roar of the water and the cry of the wind. it was a terrified crowd that quickly gathered in the main cabin, but it was a brave one. there were no cries and few tears. they expected anything and were ready for the worst, but they would not show the white feather. it was mrs. dan who broke the tension. "i made sure of my pearls," she said; "i thought they would be appreciated at the bottom of the sea." brewster came in upon their laughter. "i like your nerve, people," he exclaimed, "you are all right. it won't be so bad now. the wind has dropped." long afterward when they talked the matter over, demille claimed that the only thing that bothered him that night was the effort to decide whether the club of which he and monty were members would put in the main hallway two black-bordered cards, each bearing a name, or only one with both names. mr. valentine regretted that he had gone on for years paying life insurance premiums when now his only relatives were on the boat and would die with him. the captain, looking pretty rocky after his twenty-four hour vigil, summoned his chief. "we're in a bad hole, mr. brewster," he said when they were alone, "and no mistake. a broken shaft and this weather make a pretty poor combination." "is there no chance of making a port for repairs?" "i don't see it, sir. it looks like a long pull." "we are way off our course, i suppose?" and monty's coolness won captain perry's admiration. "i can't tell just how much until i get the sun, but this wind is hell. i suspect we've drifted pretty far." "come and get some coffee, captain. while the storm lasts the only thing to do is to cheer up the women and trust to luck." "you're the nerviest mate i ever shipped with, mr. brewster," and the captain's hand gripped monty's in a way that meant things. it was a tribute he appreciated. during the day monty devoted himself to his guests, and at the first sign of pensiveness he was ready with a jest or a story. but he did it all with a tact that inspired the crowd as a whole with hope, and no one suspected that he himself was not cheerful. for peggy gray there was a special tenderness, and he made up his mind that if things should go wrong he would tell her that he loved her. "it could do no harm," he thought to himself, "and i want her to know." toward night the worst was over. the sea had gone down and the hatches were opened for a while to admit air, though it was still too rough to venture out. the next morning was bright and clear. when the company gathered on deck the havoc created by the storm was apparent. two of the boats had been completely carried away and the launch was rendered useless by a large hole in the stern. "you don't mean to say that we will drift about until the repairs can be made?" asked mrs. dan in alarm. "we are three hundred miles off the course already," explained monty, "and it will be pretty slow traveling under sail." it was decided to make for the canary islands, where repairs could be made and the voyage resumed. but where the wind had raged a few days before, it had now disappeared altogether, and for a week the "flitter" tossed about absolutely unable to make headway. the first of august had arrived and monty himself was beginning to be nervous. with the fatal day not quite two months away, things began to look serious. over one hundred thousand dollars would remain after he had settled the expenses of the cruise, and he was helplessly drifting in mid-ocean. even if the necessary repairs could be made promptly, it would take the "flitter" fourteen days to sail from the canaries to new york. figure as hard as he could he saw no way out of the unfortunate situation. two days more elapsed and still no sign of a breeze. he made sure that september d would find him still drifting and still in possession of one hundred thousand superfluous dollars. at the end of ten days the yacht had progressed but two hundred miles and monty was beginning to plan the rest of his existence on a capital of $ , . he had given up all hope of the sedgwick legacy and was trying to be resigned to his fate, when a tramp steamer was suddenly sighted. brewster ordered the man on watch to fly a flag of distress. then he reported to the captain and told what he had done. with a bound the captain rushed on deck and tore the flag from the sailor's hand. "that was my order," said monty, nettled at the captain's manner. "you want them to get a line on us and claim salvage, do you?" "what do you mean?" "if they get a line on us in response to that flag they will claim the entire value of the ship as salvage. you want to spend another $ , on this boat?" "i didn't understand," said monty, sheepishly. "but for god's sake fix it up somehow. can't they tow us? i'll pay for it." communication was slow, but after an apparently endless amount of signaling, the captain finally announced that the freight steamer was bound for southampton and would tow the "flitter" to that point for a price. "back to southampton!" groaned monty. "that means months before we get back to new york." "he says he can get us to southampton in ten days," interrupted the captain. "i can do it, i can do it," he cried, to the consternation of his guests, who wondered if his mind were affected. "if he'll land us in southampton by the th, i'll pay him up to one hundred thousand dollars." chapter xxix the prodigal's return after what seemed an age to monty, the "flitter," in tow of the freighter "glencoe," arrived at southampton. the captain of the freight boat was a thrifty scotchman whose ship was traveling with a light cargo, and he was not, therefore, averse to taking on a tow. but the thought of salvage had caused him to ask a high price for the service and monty, after a futile attempt at bargaining, had agreed. the price was fifty thousand dollars, and the young man believed more than ever that everything was ruled by a wise providence, which had not deserted him. his guests were heartsick when they heard the figure, but were as happy as monty at the prospect of reaching land again. the "glencoe" made several stops before southampton was finally reached on the th of august, but when the english coast was sighted every one was too eager to go ashore to begrudge the extra day. dan demille asked the entire party to become his guests for a week's shooting trip in scotland, but monty vetoed the plan in the most decided manner. "we sail for new york on the fastest boat," said monty, and hurried off to learn the sailings and book his party. the first boat was to sail on the th and he could only secure accommodations for twelve of his guests. the rest were obliged to follow a week later. this was readily agreed to and bragdon was left to see to the necessary repairs on the "flitter" and arrange for her homeward voyage. monty gave bragdon fifteen thousand dollars for the purpose and extracted a solemn promise that the entire amount would be used. "but it won't cost half of this," protested bragdon. "you will have to give these people a good time during the week and--well--you have promised that i shall never see another penny of it. some day you'll know why i do this," and monty felt easier when his friend agreed to abide by his wishes. he discharged the "flitter's" crew, with five months' pay and the reward promised on the night of peggy's rescue, which was productive of touching emotions. captain perry and his officers never forgot the farewell of the prodigal, nor could they hide the regret that marked their weather-beaten faces. plans to dispose of his household goods and the balance of his cash in the short time that would be left after he arrived in new york occupied monty's attention, and most men would have given up the scheme as hopeless. but he did not despair. he was still game, and he prepared for the final plunge with grim determination. "there should have been a clause in jones's conditions about 'weather permitting,'" he said to himself. "a shipwrecked mariner should not be expected to spend a million dollars." the division of the party for the two sailings was tactfully arranged by mrs. dan demille. the valentines chaperoned the "second table" as "subway" smith called those who were to take the later boat, and she herself looked after the first lot. peggy gray and monty brewster were in the demille party. the three days in england were marked by unparalleled extravagance on monty's part. one of the local hotels was subsidized for a week, although the party only stayed for luncheon, and the cecil in london was a gainer by several thousand dollars for the brief stop there. it was a careworn little band that took monty's special train for southampton and embarked two days later. the "rest cure" that followed was welcome to all of them and brewster was especially glad that his race was almost run. swiftly and steadily the liner cut down the leagues that separated her from new york. fair weather and fair cheer marked her course, and the soft, balmy nights were like seasons of fairyland. monty was cherishing in his heart the hope inspired by peggy's action on the night of the storm. somehow it brought a small ray of light to his clouded understanding and he found joy in keeping the flame alive religiously if somewhat doubtfully. his eyes followed her constantly, searching for the encouragement that the very blindness of love had hidden from him, forever tormenting himself with fears and hopes and fears again. her happiness and vivacity puzzled him--he was often annoyed, he was now and then seriously mystified. four days out from new york, then three days, then two days, and then brewster began to feel the beginning of the final whirlwind in profligacy clouding him oppressively, ominously, unkindly. down in his stateroom he drew new estimates, new calculations, and tried to balance the old ones so that they appeared in the light most favorable to his designs. going over the statistics carefully, he estimated that the cruise, including the repairs and return of the yacht to new york, would cost him $ , in round figures. one hundred and thirty-three days marked the length of the voyage when reckoned by time and, as near as he could get at it, the expense had averaged $ , a day. according to the contract, he was to pay for the yacht, exclusive of the cuisine and personal service. and he had found it simple enough to spend the remaining $ , . there were days, of course, when fully $ , disappeared, and there were others on which he spent much less than $ , , but the average was secure. taking everything into consideration, brewster found that his fortune had dwindled to a few paltry thousands in addition to the proceeds which would come to him from the sale of his furniture. on the whole he was satisfied. the landing in new york and the separation which followed were not entirely merry. every discomfort was forgotten and the travelers only knew that the most wonderful cruise since that of the ark had come to an end. there was not one who would not have been glad to begin it again the next day. immediately after the landing brewster and gardner were busy with the details of settlement. after clearing up all of the obligations arising from the cruise, they felt the appropriateness of a season of reflection. it was a difficult moment--a moment when undelivered reproofs were in the air. but gardner seemed much the more melancholy of the two. piles of newspapers lay scattered about the floor of the room in which they sat. every one of them contained sensational stories of the prodigal's trip, with pictures, incidents and predictions. monty was pained, humiliated and resentful, but he was honest enough to admit the justification of much that was said of him. he read bits of it here and there and then threw the papers aside hopelessly. in a few weeks they would tell another story, and quite as emphatically. "the worst of it, monty, is that you are the next thing to being a poor man," groaned gardner. "i've done my best to economize for you here at home, as you'll see by these figures, but nothing could possibly balance the extravagances of this voyage. they are simply appalling." with the condemnation of his friends ringing in his troubled brain, with the sneers of acquaintances to distress his pride, with the jibes of the comic papers to torture him remorselessly, brewster was fast becoming the most miserable man in new york. friends of former days gave him the cut direct, clubmen ignored him or scorned him openly, women chilled him with the iciness of unspoken reproof, and all the world was hung with shadows. the doggedness of despair kept him up, but the strain that pulled down on him was so relentless that the struggle was losing its equality. he had not expected such a home-coming. compared with his former self, monty was now almost a physical wreck, haggard, thin and defiant, a shadow of the once debonair young new yorker, an object of pity and scorn. ashamed and despairing, he had almost lacked the courage to face mrs. gray. the consolation he once gained through her he now denied himself and his suffering, peculiar as it was, was very real. in absolute recklessness he gave dinner after dinner, party after party, all on a most lavish scale, many of his guests laughing at him openly while they enjoyed his hospitality. the real friends remonstrated, pleaded, did everything within their power to check his awful rush to poverty, but without success; he was not to be stopped. at last the furniture began to go, then the plate, then ail the priceless bric-a-brac. piece by piece it disappeared until the apartments were empty and he had squandered almost all of the $ , arising from the sales. the servants were paid off, the apartments relinquished, and he was beginning to know what it meant to be "on his uppers." at the banks he ascertained that the interest on his moneys amounted to $ , . . a week before the d of september, the whole million was gone, including the amounts won in lumber and fuel and other luckless enterprises. he still had about $ , of his interest money in the banks, but he had a billion pangs in his heart--the interest on his improvidence. he found some delight in the discovery that the servants had robbed him of not less than $ , worth of his belongings, including the christmas presents that he in honor could not have sold. his only encouragement came from grant & ripley, the lawyers. they inspired confidence in his lagging brain by urging him on to the end, promising brightness thereafter. swearengen jones was as mute as the mountains in which he lived. there was no word from him, there was no assurance that he would approve of what had been done to obliterate edwin peter brewster's legacy. dan demille and his wife implored monty to come with them to the mountains before his substance was gone completely. the former offered him money, employment, rest and security if he would abandon the course he was pursuing. up in fortieth street peggy gray was grieving her heart out and he knew it. two or three of those whom he had considered friends refused to recognize him in the street in this last trying week, and it did not even interest him to learn that miss barbara drew was to become a duchess before the winter was gone. yet he found some satisfaction in the report that one hampton of chicago had long since been dropped out of the race. one day he implored the faithful bragdon to steal the boston terriers. he could not and would not sell them and he dared not give them away. bragdon dejectedly appropriated the dogs and brewster announced that some day he would offer a reward for their return and "no questions asked." he took a suite of rooms in a small hotel and was feverishly planning the overthrow of the last torturing thousands. bragdon lived with him and the "little sons of the rich" stood loyally ready to help him when he uttered the first cry of want. but even this establishment had to be abandoned at last. the old rooms in fortieth street were still open to him and though he quailed at the thought of making them a refuge, he faced the ordeal in the spirit of a martyr. chapter xxx the promise of thrift "monty, you are breaking my heart," was the first and only appeal mrs. gray ever made to him. it was two days before the twenty-third and it did not come until after the "second-hand store" men had driven away from her door with the bulk of his clothing in their wagon. she and peggy had seen little of brewster, and his nervous restlessness alarmed them. his return was the talk of the town. men tried to shun him, but he persistently wasted some portion of his fortune on his unwilling subjects. when he gave $ , in cash to a home for newsboys, even his friends jumped to the conclusion that he was mad. it was his only gift to charity and he excused his motive in giving at this time by recalling sedgwick's injunction to "give sparingly to charity." everything was gone from his thoughts but the overpowering eagerness to get rid of a few troublesome thousands. he felt like an outcast, a pariah, a hated object that infected every one with whom he came in contact. sleep was almost impossible, eating was a farce; he gave elaborate suppers which he did not touch. already his best friends were discussing the advisability of putting him in a sanitarium where his mind might be preserved. his case was looked upon as peculiar in the history of mankind; no writer could find a parallel, no one imagine a comparison. mrs. gray met him in the hallway of her home as he was nervously pocketing the $ he had received in payment for his clothes. her face was like that of a ghost. he tried to answer her reproof, but the words would not come, and he fled to his room, locking the door after him. he was at work there on the transaction that was to record the total disappearance of edwin brewster's million--his final report to swearengen jones, executor of james sedgwick's will. on the floor were bundles of packages, carefully wrapped and tied, and on the table was the long sheet of white paper on which the report was being drawn. the package contained receipts--thousands upon thousands of them--for the dollars he had spent in less than a year. they were there for the inspection of swearengen jones, faithfully and honorably kept--as if the old westerner would go over in detail the countless documents. he had the accounts balanced up to the hour. on the long sheet lay the record of his ruthlessness, the epitaph of a million. in his pocket was exactly $ . . this was to last him for less than forty-eight hours and--then it would go to join the rest. it was his plan to visit grant & ripley on the afternoon of the twenty-second and to read the report to them, in anticipation of the meeting with jones on the day following. just before noon, after his encounter with mrs. gray, he came down stairs and boldly, for the first time in days, sought out peggy. there was the old smile in his eye and the old heartiness in his voice when he came upon her in the library. she was not reading. books, pleasures and all the joys of life had fled from her mind and she thought only of the disaster that was coming to the boy she had always loved. his heart smote him as he looked into the deep, somber, frightened eyes, running over with love and fear for him. "peggy, do you think i'm worth anything more from your mother? do you think she will ask me to live here any longer?" he asked, steadily, taking her hand in his. hers was cold, his as hot as fire. "you know what you said away off yonder somewhere, that she'd let me live here if i deserved it. i am a pauper, peggy, and i'm afraid i'll--i may have to get down to drudgery again. will she turn me out? you know i must have somewhere to live. shall it be the poorhouse? do you remember saying one day that i'd end in the poorhouse?" she was looking into his eyes, dreading what might be seen in them. but there was no gleam of insanity there, there was no fever; instead there was the quiet smile of the man who is satisfied with himself and the world. his voice bore traces of emotion, but it was the voice of one who has perfect control of his wits. "is it all--gone, monty?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "here is the residue of my estate," he said, opening his purse with steady fingers. "i'm back to where i left off a year ago. the million is gone and my wings are clipped." her face was white, her heart was in the clutch of ice. how could he be so calm about it, when for him she was suffering such agony? twice she started to speak, but her voice failed her. she turned slowly and walked to the window, keeping her back to the man who smiled so sadly and yet so heartlessly. "i didn't want the million, peggy," he went on. "you think as the rest do, i know, that i was a fool to act as i did. it would be rank idiocy on my part to blame you any more than the others for thinking as you do. appearances are against me, the proof is overwhelming. a year ago i was called a man, to-day they are stripping me of every claim to that distinction. the world says i am a fool, a dolt, almost a criminal--but no one believes i am a man. peggy, will you feel better toward me if i tell you that i am going to begin life all over again? it will be a new monty brewster that starts out again in a few days, or, if you will, it shall be the old one--the monty you once knew." "the old monty?" she murmured softly, dreamily. "it would be good to see him--so much better than to see the monty of the last year." "and, in spite of all i have done, peggy, you will stand by me? you won't desert me like the rest? you'll be the same peggy of the other days?" he cried, his calmness breaking down. "how can you ask? why should you doubt me?" for a moment they stood silent, each looking into the heart of the other, each seeing the beginning of a new day. "child," his voice trembled dangerously, "i--i wonder if you care enough for me to--to--" but he could only look the question. "to start all over again with you?" she whispered. "yes--to trust yourself to the prodigal who has returned. without you, child, all the rest would be as the husks. peggy, i want you--you! you do love me--i can see it in your eyes, i can feel it in your presence." "how long you have been in realizing it," she said pensively as she stretched out her arms to him. for many minutes he held her close, finding a beautiful peace in the world again. "how long have you really cared?" he asked in a whisper. "always, monty; all my life." "and i, too, child, all my life. i know it now; i've known it for months. oh, what a fool i was to have wasted all this love of yours and all this love of mine. but i'll not be a profligate in love, peggy. i'll not squander an atom of it, dear, not as long as i live." "and we will build a greater love, monty, as we build the new life together. we never can be poor while we have love as a treasure." "you won't mind being poor with me?" he asked. "i can't be poor with you," she said simply. "and i might have let all this escape me," he cried fervently. "listen, peggy--we will start together, you as my wife and my fortune. you shall be all that is left to me of the past. will you marry me the day after to-morrow? don't say no, dearest. i want to begin on that day. at seven in the morning, dear? don't you see how good the start will be?" and he pleaded so ardently and so earnestly that he won his point even though it grew out of a whim that she could not then understand. she was not to learn until afterward his object in having the marriage take place on the morning of september d, two hours before the time set for the turning over of the sedgwick millions. if all went well they would be brewster's millions before twelve o'clock, and peggy's life of poverty would cover no more than three hours of time. she believed him worth a lifetime of poverty. so they would start the new life with but one possession--love. peggy rebelled against his desire to spend the seventy dollars that still remained, but he was firm in his determination. they would dine and drive together and see all of the old life that was left--on seventy dollars. then on the next day they would start all over again. there was one rude moment of dismay when it occurred to him that peggy might be considered an "asset" if she became his wife before nine o'clock. but he realized at once that it was only demanded of him that he be penniless and that he possess no object that had been acquired through the medium of edwin peter brewster's money. surely this wife who was not to come to him until his last dollar was gone could not be the product of an old man's legacy. but so careful was he in regard to the transaction that he decided to borrow money of joe bragdon to buy the license and to pay the minister's fee. not only would he be penniless on the day of settlement, but he would be in debt. so changed was the color of the world to him now that even the failure to win sedgwick's millions could not crush out the new life and the new joy that had come to him with the winning of peggy gray. chapter xxxi how the million disappeared soon after noon on the d of september, monty folded his report to swearengen jones, stuck it into his pocket and sallied forth. a parcel delivery wagon had carried off a mysterious bundle a few minutes before. mrs. gray could not conceal her wonder, but brewster's answers to her questions threw little light on the mystery. he could not tell her the big bundle contained the receipts that were to prove his sincerity when the time came to settle with mr. jones. brewster had used his own form of receipt for every purchase. the little stub receipt books had been made to order for him and not only he but every person in his employ carried one everywhere. no matter how trivial the purchase, the person who received a dollar of brewster's money signed a receipt for the amount. newsboys and bootblacks were the only beings who escaped the formality; tips to waiters, porters, cabbies, etc., were recorded and afterward put into a class by themselves. receipts for the few dollars remaining in his possession were to be turned over on the morning of the d and the general report was not to be completed until o'clock on that day. he kissed peggy good-bye, told her to be ready for a drive at o'clock, and then went off to find joe bragdon and elon gardner. they met him by appointment and to them he confided his design to be married on the following day. "you can't afford it, monty," exploded joe, fearlessly. "peggy is too good a girl. by gad, it isn't fair to her." "we have agreed to begin life to-morrow. wait and see the result. i think it will surprise you. incidentally it is up to me to get the license to-day and to engage a minister's services. it's going to be quiet, you know. joe, you can be my best man if you like, and, gardie, i'll expect you to sign your name as one of the witnesses. to-morrow evening we'll have supper at mrs. gray's and 'among those present' will not comprise a very large list, i assure you. but we'll talk about that later on. just now i want to ask you fellows to lend me enough money to get the license and pay the preacher. i'll return it to-morrow afternoon." "well, i'm damned," exclaimed gardner, utterly dumfounded by the nerve of the man. but they went with him to get the license and bragdon paid for it. gardner promised to have the minister at the gray house the next morning. monty's other request--made in deep seriousness--was that peggy was not to be told of the little transaction in which the license and the minister figured so prominently. he then hurried off to the office of grant & ripley. the bundles of receipts had preceded him. "has jones arrived in town?" was his first anxious question after the greetings. "he is not registered at any of the hotels," responded mr. grant, and brewster did not see the troubled look that passed over his face. "he'll show up to-night, i presume," said he, complacently. the lawyers did not tell him that all the telegrams they had sent to swearengen jones in the past two weeks had been returned to the new york office as unclaimed in butte. the telegraph company reported that mr. jones was not to be found and that he had not been seen in butte since the d of september. the lawyers were hourly expecting word from montana men to whom they had telegraphed for information and advice. they were extremely nervous, but montgomery brewster was too eager and excited to notice the fact. "a tall, bearded stranger was here this morning asking for you, mr. brewster," said ripley, his head bent over some papers on his desk. "ah! jones, i'm sure. i've always imagined him with a long beard," said monty, relief in his voice. "it was not mr. jones. we know jones quite well. this man was a stranger and refused to give his name. he said he would call at mrs. gray's this afternoon." "did he look like a constable or a bill-collector?" asked monty, with a laugh. "he looked very much like a tramp." "well, we'll forget him for the time being," said monty, drawing the report from his pocket. "would you mind looking over this report, gentlemen? i'd like to know if it is in proper form to present to mr. jones." grant's hand trembled as he took the carefully folded sheet from brewster. a quick glance of despair passed between the two lawyers. "of course, you'll understand that this report is merely a synopsis of the expenditures. they are classified, however, and the receipts over there are arranged in such a way that mr. jones can very easily verify all the figures set out in the report. for instance, where it says 'cigars,' i have put down the total amount that went up in smoke. the receipts are to serve as an itemized statement, you know." mr. ripley took the paper from his partner's hand and, pulling himself together, read the report aloud. it was as follows: new york, sept. , --. to swearengen jones, esq. executor under the will of the late james t. sedgwick of montana: in pursuance of the terms of the aforesaid will and in accord with the instructions set forth by yourself as executor, i present my report of receipts and disbursements for the year in my life ending at midnight on sept. . the accuracy of the figures set forth in this general statement may be established by referring to the receipts, which form a part of this report. there is not one penny of edwin peter brewster's money in my possession, and i have no asset to mark its burial place. these figures are submitted for your most careful consideration. original capital ........................... $ , , . "lumber and fuel" misfortune ................... , . prize-fight misjudged ........................... , . monte carlo education .......................... , . race track errors ................................. . sale of six terrier pups .......................... . sale of furniture and personal effects ......... , . interest on funds once in hand ................. , . total amount to be disposed of ............. $ , , . disbursements. rent for apartments ........................... $ , . furnishing apartments .......................... , . three automobiles .............................. , . renting six automobiles ........................ , . amount lost to demille .......................... , . salaries ....................................... , . amount paid to men injured in auto accident .... , amount lost in bank failure ................... , . amount lost on races ............................ , . one glass screen ................................ , . christmas presents .............................. , . postage ......................................... , . cable and telegraph ............................. , . stationery ...................................... , . two boston terriers ............................... . amount lost to "hold-up men" ...................... . amount lost on concert tour .................... , . amount lost through o. harrison's speculation (on my account) .............................. , . one ball (in two sections) ..................... , . extra favors .................................... , . one yacht cruise .............................. , . one carnival .................................... , . cigars .......................................... , . drinks, chiefly for others ...................... , . clothing ........................................ , . rent of one villa .............................. , . one courier ....................................... . dinner parties ................................ , . suppers and luncheons .......................... , . theater parties and suppers ..................... , . hotel expenses ................................. , . railway and steamship fares .................... , . for newsboys' home .............................. , . two opera performances ......................... , . repairs to "flitter" ........................... , . in tow from somewhere to southampton ........... , . special train to florida ....................... , . cottage in florida ............................. , . medical attendance ............................. , . living expenses in florida ..................... , . misappropriation of personal property by servants ...................................... , . taxes on personal property ........................ . sundries ........................................ , . household expenses ............................. , . total disbursements ........................ $ , , . balance on hand ............................ $ , , . respectfully submitted, montgomery brewster. "it's rather broad, you see, gentlemen, but there are receipts for every dollar, barring some trifling incidentals. he may think i dissipated the fortune, but i defy him or any one else to prove that i have not had my money's worth. to tell you the truth, it has seemed like a hundred million. if any one should tell you that it is an easy matter to waste a million dollars, refer him to me. last fall i weighed pounds, yesterday i barely moved the beam at ; last fall there was not a wrinkle in my face, nor did i have a white hair. you see the result of overwork, gentlemen. it will take an age to get back to where i was physically, but i think i can do it with the vacation that begins to-morrow. incidentally, i'm going to be married to-morrow morning, just when i am poorer than i ever expect to be again. i still have a few dollars to spend and i must be about it. to-morrow i will account for what i spend this evening. it is now covered by the 'sundries' item, but i'll have the receipts to show, all right. see you to-morrow morning." he was gone, eager to be with peggy, afraid to discuss his report with the lawyers. grant and ripley shook their heads and sat silent for a long time after his departure. "we ought to hear something definite before night," said grant, but there was anxiety in his voice. "i wonder," mused ripley, as if to himself, "how he will take it if the worst should happen." chapter xxxii the night before "it's all up to jones now," kept running through brewster's brain as he drove off to keep his appointment with peggy gray. "the million is gone--all gone. i'm as poor as job's turkey. it's up to jones, but i don't see how he can decide against me. he insisted on making a pauper of me and he can't have the heart to throw me down now. but, what if he should take it into his head to be ugly! i wonder if i could break the will--i wonder if i could beat him out in court." peggy was waiting for him. her cheeks were flushed as with a fever. she had caught from him the mad excitement of the occasion. "come, peggy," he exclaimed, eagerly. "this is our last holiday--let's be merry. we can forget it to-morrow, if you like, when we begin all over again, but maybe it will be worth remembering." he assisted her to the seat and then leaped up beside her. "we're off!" he cried, his voice quivering. "it is absolute madness, dear," she said, but her eyes were sparkling with the joy of recklessness. away went the trap and the two light hearts. mrs. gray turned from a window in the house with tears in her eyes. to her troubled mind they were driving off into utter darkness. "the queerest looking man came to the house to see you this afternoon, monty," said peggy. "he wore a beard and he made me think of one of remington's cowboys." "what was his name?" "he told the maid it did not matter. i saw him as he walked away and he looked very much a man. he said he would come to-morrow if he did not find you down town to-night. don't you recognize him from the description?" "not at all. can't imagine who he is." "monty," she said, after a moment's painful reflection, "he--he couldn't have been a--" "i know what you mean. an officer sent up to attach my belongings or something of the sort. no, dearest; i give you my word of honor i do not owe a dollar in the world." then he recalled his peculiar indebtedness to bragdon and gardner. "except one or two very small personal obligations," he added, hastily. "don't worry about it, dear, we are out for a good time and we must make the most of it. first, we drive through the park, then we dine at sherry's." "but we must dress for that, dear," she cried. "and the chaperon?" he turned very red when she spoke of dressing. "i'm ashamed to confess it, peggy, but i have no other clothes than these i'm wearing now. don't look so hurt, dear--i'm going to leave an order for new evening clothes to-morrow--if i have the time. and about the chaperon. people won't be talking before to-morrow and by that time--" "no, monty, sherry's is out of the question. we can't go there," she said, decisively. "oh, peggy! that spoils everything," he cried, in deep disappointment. "it isn't fair to me, monty. everybody would know us, and every tongue would wag. they would say, 'there are monty brewster and margaret gray. spending his last few dollars on her.' you wouldn't have them think that?" he saw the justice in her protest. "a quiet little dinner in some out of the way place would be joyous," she added, persuasively. "you're right, peggy, you're always right. you see, i'm so used to spending money by the handful that i don't know how to do it any other way. i believe i'll let you carry the pocketbook after to-morrow. let me think; i knew a nice little restaurant down town. we'll go there and then to the theater. dan demille and his wife are to be in my box and we're all going up to pettingill's studio afterward. i'm to give the 'little sons' a farewell supper. if my calculations don't go wrong, that will be the end of the jaunt and we'll go home happy." at eleven o'clock pettingill's studio opened its doors to the "little sons" and their guests, and the last "dutch lunch" was soon under way. brewster had paid for it early in the evening and when he sat down at the head of the table there was not a penny in his pockets. a year ago, at the same hour, he and the "little sons" were having a birthday feast. a million dollars came to him on that night. to-night he was poorer by far than on the other occasion, but he expected a little gift on the new anniversary. around the board, besides the nine "little sons," sat six guests, among them the demilles, peggy gray and mary valentine. "nopper" harrison was the only absent "little son" and his health was proposed by brewster almost before the echoes of the toast to the bride and groom died away. interruption came earlier on this occasion than it did that night a year ago. ellis did not deliver his message to brewster until three o'clock in the morning, but the a.d.t. boy who rang the bell at pettingill's a year later handed him a telegram before twelve o'clock. "congratulations are coming in, old man," said demille, as monty looked fearfully at the little envelope the boy had given him. "many happy returns of the day," suggested bragdon. "by jove, it's sensible of you to get married on your birthday, monty. it saves time and expense to your friends." "read it aloud," said "subway" smith. "two to one it's from nopper harrison," cried pettingill. brewster's fingers trembled, he knew not why, as he opened the envelope. there was the most desolate feeling in his heart, the most ghastly premonition that ill-news had come in this last hour. he drew forth the telegram and slowly, painfully unfolded it. no one could have told by his expression that he felt almost that he was reading his death warrant. it was from grant & ripley and evidently had been following him about town for two or three hours. the lawyers had filed it at : o'clock. he read it at a glance, his eyes burning, his heart freezing. to the end of his days these words lived sharp and distinct in his brain. "come to the office immediately. will wait all night for you if necessary. jones has disappeared and there is absolutely no trace of him." "grant & ripley." brewster sat as one paralyzed, absolutely no sign of emotion in his face. the others began to clamor for the contents of the telegram, but his tongue was stiff and motionless, his ears deaf. every drop of blood in his body was stilled by the shock, every sense given him by the creator was centered upon eleven words in the handwriting of a careless telegraph operator--"jones has disappeared and there is absolutely no trace of him." "jones has disappeared!" those were the words, plain and terrible in their clearness, tremendous in their brutality. slowly the rest of the message began to urge its claims upon his brain. "come to our office immediately" and "will wait all night" battled for recognition. he was calm because he had not the power to express an emotion. how he maintained control of himself afterward he never knew. some powerful, kindly force asserted itself, coming to his relief with the timeliness of a genii. gradually it began to dawn upon him that the others were waiting for him to read the message aloud. he was not sure that a sound would come forth when he opened his lips to speak, but the tones were steady, natural and as cold as steel. "i am sorry i can't tell you about this," he said, so gravely that his hearers were silenced. "it is a business matter of such vital importance that i must ask you to excuse me for an hour or so. i will explain everything to-morrow. please don't be uneasy. if you will do me the honor to grace the board of an absent host, i'll be most grateful. it is imperative that i go, and at once. i promise to return in an hour." he was standing, his knees as stiff as iron. "is it anything serious?" asked demille. "what! has anything happened?" came in halting, frightened tones from peggy. "it concerns me alone, and it is purely of a business nature. seriously, i can't delay going for another minute. it is vital. in an hour i'll return. peggy, don't be worried--don't be distressed about me. go on and have a good time, everybody, and you'll find me the jolliest fellow of all when i come back. it's twelve o'clock. i'll be here by one on the d of september." "let me go with you," pleaded peggy, tremulously, as she followed him into the hallway. "i must go alone," he answered. "don't worry, little woman, it will be all right." his kiss sent a chill to the very bottom of peggy's heart. chapter xxxiii the flight of jones everything seemed like a dream to brewster as he rushed off through the night to the office of grant & ripley. he was dazed, bewildered, hardly more than half-conscious. a bitter smile crept about his lips as he drew away from the street-car track almost as his hand touched the rail of a car he had signaled. he remembered that he did not have money enough to pay his fare. it was six or seven blocks to the office of the lawyers, and he was actually running before he stopped at the entrance of the big building. never had an elevator traveled more slowly than the one which shot him to the seventh floor. a light shone through the transom above the attorneys' door and he entered without so much as a rap on the panel. grant, who was pacing the floor, came to a standstill and faced his visitor. "close the door, please," came in steady tones from ripley. mr. grant dropped into a chair and brewster mechanically slammed the door. "is it true?" he demanded hoarsely, his hand still on the knob. "sit down, brewster, and control yourself," said ripley. "good god, man, can't you see i am calm?" cried monty. "go on--tell me all about it. what do you know? what have you heard?" "he cannot be found, that's all," announced ripley, with deadly intentness. "i don't know what it means. there is no explanation. the whole thing is inconceivable. sit down and i will tell you everything as quickly as possible." "there isn't much to tell," said grant, mechanically. "i can take it better standing," declared brewster, shutting his jaws tightly. "jones was last seen in butte on the third of this month," said ripley. "we sent several telegrams to him after that day, asking when he expected to leave for new york. they never were claimed and the telegraph company reported that he could not be found. we thought he might have gone off to look after some of his property and were not uneasy. finally we began to wonder why he had not wired us on leaving for the east. i telegraphed him again and got no answer. it dawned upon us that this was something unusual. we wired his secretary and received a response from the chief of police. he asked, in turn, if we could tell him anything about the whereabouts of jones. this naturally alarmed us and yesterday we kept the wires hot. the result of our inquiries is terrible, mr. brewster." "why didn't you tell me?" asked brewster. "there can be no doubt that jones has fled, accompanied by his secretary. the belief in butte is that the secretary has murdered him." "god!" was the only sound that came from the lips of brewster. ripley moistened his lips and went on "we have dispatches here from the police, the banks, the trust companies and from a half dozen mine managers. you may read them if you like, but i can tell you what they say. about the first of this month jones began to turn various securities into money. it is now known that they were once the property of james t. sedgwick, held in trust for you. the safety deposit vaults were afterward visited and inspection shows that he removed every scrap of stock, every bond, everything of value that he could lay his hands upon. his own papers and effects were not disturbed. yours alone have disappeared. it is this fact that convinces the authorities that the secretary has made away with the old man and has fled with the property. the bank people say that jones drew out every dollar of the sedgwick money, and the police say that he realized tremendous sums on the convertible securities. the strange part of it is that he sold your mines and your real estate, the purchaser being a man named golden. brewster, it--it looks very much as if he had disappeared with everything." brewster did not take his eyes from ripley's face throughout the terrible speech; he did not move a fraction of an inch from the rigid position assumed at the beginning. "is anything being done?" he asked, mechanically. "the police are investigating. he is known to have started off into the mountains with this secretary on the third of september. neither has been seen since that day, so far as any one knows. the earth seems to have swallowed them. the authorities are searching the mountains and are making every effort to find jones or his body. he is known to be eccentric and at first not much importance was attached to his actions. that is all we can tell you at present. there may be developments to-morrow. it looks bad--terribly bad. we--we had the utmost confidence in jones. my god, i wish i could help you, my boy." "i don't blame you, gentlemen," said brewster, bravely. "it's just my luck, that's all. something told me all along that--that it wouldn't turn out right. i wasn't looking for this kind of end, though. my only fear was that--jones wouldn't consider me worthy to receive the fortune. it never occurred to me that he might prove to be the--the unworthy one." "i will take you a little farther into our confidence, brewster," said grant, slowly. "mr. jones notified us at the beginning that he would be governed largely in his decision by our opinion of your conduct. that is why we felt no hesitation in advising you to continue as you were going. while you were off at sea, we had many letters from him, all in that sarcastic vein of his, but in none of them did he offer a word of criticism. he seemed thoroughly satisfied with your methods. in fact, he once said he'd give a million of his own money if it would purchase your ability to spend one-fourth of it." "well, he can have my experience free of charge. a beggar can't be a chooser, you know," said brewster, bitterly. his color was gradually coming back. "what do they know about the secretary?" he asked, suddenly, intent and alive. "he was a new one, i understand, who came to jones less than a year ago. jones is said to have had implicit faith in him," said ripley. "and he disappeared at the same time?" "they were last seen together." "then he has put an end to jones!" cried monty, excitedly. "it is as plain as day to me. don't you see that he exerted some sort of influence over the old man, inducing him to get all this money together on some pretext or other, solely for the purpose of robbing him of the whole amount? was ever anything more diabolical?" he began pacing the floor like an animal, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands. "we must catch that secretary! i don't believe jones was dishonest. he has been duped by a clever scoundrel." "the strangest circumstance of all, mr. brewster, is that no such person as golden, the purchaser of your properties, can be found. he is supposed to reside in omaha, and it is known that he paid nearly three million dollars for the property that now stands in his name. he paid it to mr. jones in cash, too, and he paid every cent that the property is worth." "but he must be in existence somewhere," cried brewster, in perplexity. "how the devil could he pay the money if he doesn't exist?" "i only know that no trace of the man can be found. they know nothing of him in omaha," said grant, helplessly. "so it has finally happened," said brewster, but his excitement had dropped. "well," he added, throwing himself into a deep chair, "it was always much too strange to be true. even at the beginning it seemed like a dream, and now--well, now i am just awake, like the little boy after the fairy-tale. i seem like a fool to have taken it so seriously." "there was no other way," protested ripley, "you were quite right." "well, after all," continued brewster, and the voice was as of one in a dream, "perhaps it's as well to have been in wonderland even if you have to come down afterward to the ordinary world. i am foolish, perhaps, but even now i would not give it up." then the thought of peggy clutched him by the throat, and he stopped. after a moment he gathered himself together and rose. "gentlemen," he said sharply, and his voice had changed; "i have had my fun and this is the end of it. down underneath i am desperately tired of the whole thing, and i give you my word that you will find me a different man to-morrow. i am going to buckle down to the real thing. i am going to prove that my grandfather's blood is in me. and i shall come out on top." ripley was obviously moved as he replied, "i don't question it for a moment. you are made of the right stuff. i saw that long ago. you may count on us to-morrow for any amount you need." grant endorsed the opinion. "i like your spirit, brewster," he said. "there are not many men who would have taken this as well. it's pretty hard on you, too, and it's a miserable wedding gift for your bride." "we may have important news from butte in the morning," said ripley, hopefully; "at any rate, more of the details. the newspapers will have sensational stories no doubt, and we have asked for the latest particulars direct from the authorities. we'll see that things are properly investigated. go home now, my boy, and go to bed. you will begin to-morrow with good luck on your side and you may be happy all your life in spite of to-night's depression." "i'm sure to be happy," said brewster, simply. "the ceremony takes place at seven o'clock, gentlemen. i was coming to your office at nine on a little matter of business, but i fancy it won't after all be necessary for me to hurry. i'll drop in before noon, however, and get that money. by the way, here are the receipts for the money i spent to-night. will you put them away with the others? i intend to live up to my part of the contract, and it will save me the trouble of presenting them regularly in the morning. good night, gentlemen. i am sorry you were obliged to stay up so late on my account." he left them bravely enough, but he had more than one moment of weakness before he could meet his friends. the world seemed unreal and himself the most unreal thing in it. but the night air acted as a stimulant and helped him to call back his courage. when he entered the studio at one o'clock, he was prepared to redeem his promise to be "the jolliest fellow of them all." chapter xxxiv the last word "i'll tell you about it later, dear," was all that peggy, pleading, could draw from him. at midnight mrs. dan had remonstrated with her. "you must go home, peggy, dear," she said. "it is disgraceful for you to stay up so late. i went to bed at eight o'clock the night before i was married." "and fell asleep at four in the morning," smiled peggy. "you are quite mistaken, my dear. i did not fall asleep at all. but i won't allow you to stop a minute longer. it puts rings under the eyes and sometimes they're red the morning after." "oh, you dear, sweet philosopher," cried peggy; "how wise you are. do you think i need a beauty sleep?" "i don't want you to be a sleepy beauty, that's all," retorted mrs. dan. upon monty's return from his trying hour with the lawyers, he had been besieged with questions, but he was cleverly evasive. peggy alone was insistent; she had curbed her curiosity until they were on the way home, and then she implored him to tell her what had happened. the misery he had endured was as nothing to his reckoning with the woman who had the right to expect fair treatment. his duty was clear, but the strain had been heavy and it was not easy to meet it. "peggy, something terrible has happened," he faltered, uncertain of his course. "tell me everything, monty, you can trust me to be brave." "when i asked you to marry me," he continued gravely, "it was with the thought that i could give you everything to-morrow. i looked for a fortune. i never meant that you should marry a pauper." "i don't understand. you tried to test my love for you?" "no, child, not that. but i was pledged not to speak of the money i expected, and i wanted you so much before it came." "and it has failed you?" she answered. "i can't see that it changes things. i expected to marry a pauper, as you call it. do you think this could make a difference?" "but you don't understand, peggy. i haven't a penny in the world." "you hadn't a penny when i accepted you," she replied. "i am not afraid. i believe in you. and if you love me i shall not give you up." "dearest!" and the carriage was at the door before another word was uttered. but monty called to the coachman to drive just once around the block. "good night, my darling," he said when they reached home. "sleep till eight o'clock if you like. there is nothing now in the way of having the wedding at nine, instead of at seven. in fact, i have a reason for wanting my whole fortune to come to me then. you will be all that i have in the world, child, but i am the happiest man alive." in his room the strain was relaxed and brewster faced the bitter reality. without undressing he threw himself upon the lounge and wondered what the world held for him. it held peggy at least, he thought, and she was enough. but had he been fair to her? was he right in exacting a sacrifice? his tired brain whirled in the effort to decide. only one thing was clear--that he could not give her up. the future grew black at the very thought of it. with her he could make things go, but alone it was another matter. he would take the plunge and he would justify it. his mind went traveling back over the graceless year, and he suddenly realized that he had forfeited the confidence of men who were worth while. his course in profligacy would not be considered the best training for business. the thought nerved him to action. he must make good. peggy had faith in him. she came to him when everything was against him, and he would slave for her, he would starve, he would do anything to prove that she was not mistaken in him. she at least should know him for a man. looking toward the window he saw the black, uneasy night give way to the coming day. haggard and faint he arose from the couch to watch the approach of the sun that is indifferent to wealth and poverty, to gayety and dejection. from far off in the gray light there came the sound of a five o'clock bell. a little later the shrieks of factory whistles were borne to his ears, muffled by distance but pregnant with the importance of a new day of toil. they were calling him, with all poor men, to the sweat-shop and the forge, to the great mill of life. the new era had begun, dawning bright and clear to disperse the gloom in his soul. leaning against the casement and wondering where he could earn the first dollar for the peggy brewster that was peggy gray, he rose to meet it with a fine unflinching fearlessness. before seven o'clock he was down stairs and waiting. joe bragdon joined him a bit later, followed by gardner and the minister. the demilles appeared without an invitation, but they were not denied. mrs. dan sagely shook her head when told that peggy was still asleep and that the ceremony was off till nine o'clock. "monty, are you going away?" asked dan, drawing him into a corner. "just a week in the hills," answered monty, suddenly remembering the generosity of his attorneys. "come in and see me as soon as you return, old man," said demille, and monty knew that a position would be open to him. to mrs. dan fell the honor of helping peggy dress. by the time she had had coffee and was ready to go down, she was pink with excitement and had quite forgotten the anxiety which had made the night an age. she had never been prettier than on her wedding morning. her color was rich, her eyes as clear as stars, her woman's body the picture of grace and health. monty's heart leaped high with love of her. "the prettiest girl in new york, by jove," gasped dan demille, clutching bragdon by the arm. "and look at monty! he's become a new man in the last five minutes," added joe. "look at the glow in his cheeks! by the eternal, he's beginning to look as he did a year ago." a clock chimed the hour of nine. "the man who was here yesterday is in the hall to see mr. brewster," said the maid, a few minutes after the minister had uttered the words that gave peggy a new name. there was a moment of silence, almost of dread. "you mean the fellow with the beard?" asked monty, uneasily. "yes, sir. he sent in this letter, begging you to read it at once." "shall i send him away, monty?" demanded bragdon, defiantly. "what does he mean by coming at this time?" "i'll read the letter first, joe." every eye was on brewster as he tore open the envelope. his face was expressive. there was wonder in it, then incredulity, then joy. he threw the letter to bragdon, clasped peggy in his arms spasmodically, and then, releasing her, dashed for the hall like one bereft of reason. "it's nopper harrison!" he cried, and a moment later the tall visitor was dragged into the circle. "nopper" was quite overcome by the heartiness of his welcome. "you are an angel, nopper, god bless you!" said monty, with convincing emphasis. "joe, read that letter aloud and then advertise for the return of those boston terriers!" bragdon's hands trembled and his voice was not sure as he translated the scrawl, "nopper" harrison standing behind him for the gleeful purpose of prompting him when the writing was beyond the range of human intelligence: holland house, sept. , -- "mr. montgomery brewster, "my dear boy: "so you thought i had given you the slip, eh? didn't think i'd show up here and do my part? well, i don't blame you; i suppose i've acted like a damned idiot, but so long as it turns out o.k. there's no harm done. the wolf won't gnaw very much of a hole in your door, i reckon. this letter introduces my secretary, mr. oliver harrison. he came to me last june, out in butte, with the prospectus of a claim he had staked out up in the mountains. what he wanted was backing and he had such a good show to win out that i went into cahoots with him. he's got a mine up there that is dead sure to yield millions. seems as though he has to give you half of the yield, though. says you grub-staked him. good fellow, this harrison. needed a secretary and man of affairs, so took him into my office. you can see that he did not take me up into the mountains to murder me, as the papers say this morning. damned rot. nobody's business but my own if i concluded to come east without telling everybody in butte about it. "i am here and so is the money. got in last night. harrison came from chicago a day ahead of me. i went to the office of g. & r. at eight this morning. found them in a hell of a stew. thought i'd skipped out or been murdered. money all gone, everything gone to smash. that's what they thought. don't blame 'em much. you see it was this way: i concluded to follow out the terms of the will and deliver the goods in person. i got together all of jim sedgwick's stuff and did a lot of other fool things, i suppose, and hiked on to new york. you'll find about seven million dollars' worth of stuff to your credit when you endorse the certified checks down at grant & ripley's, my boy. it's all here and in the banks. "it's a mighty decent sort of wedding gift, i reckon. "the lawyers told me all about you. told me all about last night, and that you were going to be married this morning. by this time you're comparatively happy with the bride, i guess. i looked over your report and took a few peeps at the receipts. they're all right. i'm satisfied. the money is yours. then i got to thinking that maybe you wouldn't care to come down at nine o'clock, especially as you are just recovering from the joy of being married, so i settled with the lawyers and they'll settle with you. if you have nothing in particular to do this afternoon about two o'clock, i'd suggest that you come to the hotel and we'll dispose of a few formalities that the law requires of us. and you can give me some lessons in spending money. i've got a little i'd like to miss some morning. as for your ability as a business man, i have this to say: any man who can spend a million a year and have nothing to show for it, don't need a recommendation from anybody. he's in a class by himself, and it's a business that no one else can give him a pointer about. the best test of your real capacity, my boy, is the way you listed your property for taxation. it's a true sign of business sagacity. that would have decided me in your favor if everything else had been against you. "i'm sorry you've been worried about all this. you have gone through a good deal in a year and you have been roasted from hades to breakfast by everybody. now it's your turn to laugh. it will surprise them to read the 'extras' to-day. i've done my duty to you in more ways than one. i've got myself interviewed by the newspapers and to-day they'll print the whole truth about montgomery brewster and his millions. they've got the sedgwick will and my story and the old town will boil with excitement. i guess you'll be squared before the world, all right. you'd better stay indoors for awhile though, if you want to have a quiet honeymoon. "i don't like new york. never did. am going back to butte to-night. out there we have real skyscrapers and they are not built of brick. they are two or three miles high and they have gold in 'em. there is real grass in the lowlands and we have valleys that make central park look like a half inch of nothing. probably you and mrs. brewster were going to take a wedding trip, so why not go west with me in my car? we start at : p.m. and i won't bother you. then you can take it anywhere you like. "sincerely yours, "swearengen jones. "p.s. i forgot to say there is no such man as golden. i bought your mines and ranches with my own money. you may buy them back at the same figures. i'd advise you to do it. they'll be worth twice as much in a year. i hope you'll forgive the whims of an old man who has liked you from the start. j." dick hamilton's airship; or, a young millionaire in the clouds by howard r. garis contents i the falling biplane ii the colonel's offer iii dick's resolve iv the army aviators v suspicions vi dick's first flight vii a queer landing viii at hamilton corners ix uncle ezra's visit x building the airship xi a surprise xii larson sees uncle ezra xiii uncle ezra acts queerly xiv the trial flight xv in danger xvi dick is warned xvii off for the start xviii uncle ezra flies xix uncle ezra's accident xx in new york xxi off for the pacific xxii uncle ezra starts off xxiii an impromptu race xxiv grit's grip xxv a forced landing xxvi on lack michigan xxvii a howling gale xxviii ablaze in the clouds xxix the rival airship xxx an attack xxxi the wreck xxxii saving uncle ezra xxxiii with uncle ezra's help chapter i the falling biplane "she sure is a fine boat, dick." "and she can go some, too!" "glad you like her, fellows," replied dick hamilton, to the remarks of his chums, paul drew and innis beeby, as he turned the wheel of a new motor-boat and sent the craft about in a graceful sweep toward a small dock which connected with a little excursion resort on the kentfield river. "like her! who could help it?" asked paul, looking about admiringly at the fittings of the craft. "why, you could go on a regular cruise in her!" "you might if you kept near your base of supplies," remarked dick. "base of supplies!" laughed innis. "can't you forget, for a while, that you're at a military school, old man, and not give us the sort of stuff we get in class all the while?" "well, what i meant," explained the young millionaire owner of the motor-boat, "was that you couldn't carry enough food aboard, and have room to move about, if you went on a very long trip." "that's right, you couldn't," agreed paul. "and of late i seem to have acquired the eating habit in its worst form." "i never knew the time when you didn't have it," responded dick. "i'm going to give you a chance to indulge in it right now, and i'm going to profit by your example." "what's doing?" asked innis, as he straightened the collar of his military blouse, for the three were in the fatigue uniforms of the kentfield military academy, where dick and his chums attended. lessons and practice were over for the day, and the young millionaire had invited his friends out for a little trip in his new motor-boat. "i thought we'd just stop at bruce's place, and get a sandwich and a cup of coffee," suggested dick. "then we can go on down the river and we won't have to be back until time for guard-mount. we'll be better able to stand it, if we get a bite to eat." "right you are, old chap!" exclaimed paul, and then he, too, began to smooth the wrinkles out of his blouse and to ease his rather tight trousers at the knees. "say, what's the matter with you dudes, anyhow?" asked dick, who, after glancing ahead to see that he was on the right course to the dock, looked back to give some attention to the motor. "matter! i don't see anything the matter," remarked innis in casual tones, while he flicked some dust from his shoes with a spare pocket handkerchief. "why, you two are fussing as though you were a couple of girls at your first dance," declared dick, as he adjusted the valves of the oil cups to supply a little more lubricant to the new motor, which had not yet warmed up to its work. "innis acts as though he were sorry he hadn't come out in his dress uniform, and as for you, paul, i'm beginning to think you are afraid you hadn't shaved. what's it all about, anyhow? old man bruce won't care whether you have on one tan shoe and one black one; or whether your hair is parted, or not." then dick, having gotten the motor running to his satisfaction, looked toward the dock which he was rapidly nearing in his boat. the next moment he gave a whistle of surprise. "ah, ha! no wonder!" he cried. "the girls? so that's why you fellows were fixing up, and getting yourselves to look pretty. and you let me monkey with the motor, and get all grease and dirt while you-- say, i guess we'll call off this eating stunt," and he swung over the steering wheel. "oh, i say?" protested innis. "don't be mean?" added paul. "we haven't seen the girls in some time, and there's three of 'em--" dick laughed. on the dock, under the shade of an awning, he had caught sight of three pretty girls from town--girls he and his chums knew quite well. they were mabel hanford, in whom dick was more than ordinarily interested, grace knox, and irene martin. "i thought i'd get a rise out of you fellows," the young millionaire went on. "trying to get me in bad, were you!" the boat swerved away from the dock. the girls, who had arisen, evidently to come down to the float, and welcome the approaching cadets, seemed disappointed. one of them had waved her handkerchief in response to a salute from paul. "here, take some of this and clean your face," suggested paul, handing dick some cotton waste from a seat locker. "and here's a bit for your shoes," added innis, performing a like service. "you'll look as good as we do." "what about my hands?" asked dick. "think i want to go up and sit alongside of a girl with paws like these?" and he held out one that was black and oily. "haven't you any soap aboard?" asked innis, for he, like paul, seemed anxious that dick should land them at the dock where the girls were. "oh, well, if you fellows are as anxious as all that i s'pose i'll have to humor you," agreed dick, with a grin. "i dare say bruce can let me wash up in his place," and he turned the craft back on the course he had previously been holding. a little later the motor-boat was made fast to the float, and the three cadets were greeting the three girls. "look out for my hands!" warned dick, as miss hanford's light summer dress brushed near him. "i'm all oil and grease. i'll go scrub up, if you'll excuse me." "certainly," said mabel hanford, with a rippling laugh. when dick returned, he ordered a little lunch served out on the end of the dock, where they could sit and enjoy the cool breezes, and look at the river on which were many pleasure craft. "where were you boys going?" asked grace knox, as she toyed with her ice-cream spoon. "coming to see you," answered paul promptly. "as if we'd believe that!" mocked irene. "why, you were going right past here, and only turned in when you saw us!" "dick didn't want to come at all," said innis. "he didn't! why not?" demanded mabel. "bashful, i guess," murmured paul. "no, it was because i didn't want to inflict the company of these two bores on you ladies!" exclaimed dick, thus "getting back." there was much gay talk and laughter, and, as the afternoon was still young, dick proposed taking the girls out for a little jaunt in his new craft he had only recently purchased it, and, after using it at kentfield, he intended taking it with him to a large lake, where he and his father expected to spend the summer. "oh, that was just fine!" cried mabel, when the ride was over, and the party was back at the pier. "thank you, so much, dick!" "humph! you have us to thank--not him!" declared paul. "he wouldn't have turned in here if we hadn't made him. and just because his hands had a little oil on!" "say, don't believe him!" protested the young millionaire. "i had proposed coming here before i knew you girls were on the dock." "well, we thank all three of you!" cried irene, with a bow that included the trio of cadets. "salute!" exclaimed paul, and the young soldiers drew themselves up stiffly, and, in the most approved manner taught at kentfield, brought their hands to their heads. "'bout face! forward--march!" cried grace, imitating an officer's orders, and the boys, with laughs stood "at ease." "see you at the junior prom!" "yes, don't forget." "and save me a couple of hesitation waltzes!" "can you come for a ride tomorrow?" "surely!" this last was the answer of the girls to dick's invitation, and the exclamations before that were the good-byes between the girls and boys, reference being made to a coming dance of the junior class. then dick and his chums entered the motor-boat and started back for the military academy. "you've got to go some to get back in time to let us tog up for guard-mount," remarked paul, looking at his watch. "that's right," added innis. "i don't want to get a call-down. i'm about up to my limit now. "we'll do it all right," announced dick. "i haven't speeded the motor yet. i've been warming it up. i'll show you what she can do!" he opened wider the gasoline throttle of the engine, and advanced the timer. instantly the boat shot ahead, as the motor ran at twice the number of revolutions. "that's something like!" cried paul admiringly. "she sure has got speed," murmured innis. on they sped, talking of the girls, of their plans for the summer, and the coming examinations. "hark! what's that?" suddenly asked paul, holding up his hand for silence. they were made aware of a curious, humming, throbbing sound. "some speed boat," ventured dick. "none in sight," objected paul, with a glance up and down the river, which at this point ran in a straight stretch for two miles or more. "you could see a boat if you could hear it as plainly as that." "it's getting louder," announced innis. indeed the sound was now more plainly to be heard. paul gave a quick glance upward. "look, fellows!" he exclaimed. "an airship!" the sound was right over their heads now, and as all three looked up they saw, soaring over them, a large biplane, containing three figures. it was low enough for the forms to be distinguished clearly. "some airship!" cried dick, admiringly. "and making time, too," remarked innis. aircraft were no novelties to the cadets. in fact part of the instruction at kentfield included wireless, and the theoretical use of aeroplanes in war. the cadets had gone in a body to several aviation meets, and once had been taken by major franklin webster, the instructor in military tactics, to an army meet where several new forms of biplanes and monoplanes had been tried out, to see which should be given official recognition. "i never saw one like that before," remarked paul, as they watched the evolutions of the craft above them. "neither did i," admitted dick. "i've seen one something like that," spoke innis. "where?" his chums wanted to know, as dick slowed down his boat, the better to watch the biplane, which was now circling over the river. "why, a cousin of mine, whitfield vardon by name, has the airship craze pretty bad," resumed innis. "he has an idea he can make one that will maintain its equilibrium no matter how the wind blows or what happens. but, poor fellow, he's spent all his money on experiments and he hasn't succeeded. the last i heard, he was about down and out, poor chap. he showed me a model of his machine once, and it looked a lot like this. but this one seems to work, and his didn't--at least when i saw it." "it's mighty interesting to watch, all right," spoke paul, "but we'll be in for a wigging if we miss guard-mount. better speed her along, dick." "yes, i guess so. but we've got time--" dick never finished that sentence. innis interrupted him with a cry of: "look, something's wrong on that aircraft!" "i should say so!" yelled paul. "they've lost control of her!" the big biplane was in serious difficulties, for it gave a lurch, turned turtle, and then, suddenly righting, shot downward for the river. "they're going to get a ducking, all right!" cried innis. "yes, and they may be killed, or drowned," added paul. "i'll do what i can to save 'em!" murmured dick, as he turned on more power, and headed his boat for the place where the aircraft was likely to plunge into the water. hardly had he done so when, with a great splash, and a sound as of an explosion, while a cloud of steam arose as the water sprayed on the hot motor, the aircraft shot beneath the waves raised by the rapidly-whirling propellers. "stand ready now!" "get out a preserver!" "toss 'em that life ring!" "ready with the boat hook! slow down your engine, dick." the motor-boat was at the scene of the accident, and when one of the occupants of the wrecked airship came up to the surface dick made a grab for him, catching the boat hook in the neck of his coat. the next instant dick gave a cry of surprise. "larry dexter--the reporter!" he fairly shouted. "how in the world--" "let me get aboard--i'll talk when--when i get rid of--of--some of this water!" panted larry dexter. "can you save the others?" "i've got one!" shouted paul. "give me a hand, innis!" together the two cadets lifted into the motorboat a limp and bedraggled figure. and, no sooner had he gotten a glimpse of the man's face, than innis beeby cried: "by jove! if it isn't my cousin, whitfield vardon!" chapter ii the colonel's offer two more surprised youths than dick hamilton and innis beeby would have been hard to find. that the young millionaire should meet larry dexter, a newspaper reporter with whom he had been acquainted some time, in this startling fashion was one thing to wonder at, but that innis should help in the rescue of his cousin, of whom he had just been speaking, was rather too much to crowd into a few strenuous moments. "whitfield!" gasped innis, when his cousin had been safely gotten aboard. "how in the world did you get here? and was that your craft?" "yes. but don't stop to talk now!" gasped the rescued aviator. "my machinist, jack butt, went down with us! can you see anything of him?" eagerly the eyes of the cadets searched the waters that had now subsided from the commotion caused by the plunging down of the wrecked aircraft. then dick cried: "i see something moving! right over there!" he pointed to where the water was swirling, and the next moment he threw in the clutch of his motor. the propeller churned the water to foam, and the craft shot ahead. the next instant a body came to the surface. a man began to strike out feebly, but it was evident he was nearly drowned. "that's jack! that's my helper!" cried mr. vardon. "can you save him?" "take the wheel!" shouted dick to paul. and then, as the motor-boat shot ahead, the rich youth leaned over the gunwale, and, holding on to a forward deck cleat with one hand, he reached over, and with the other, caught the coat collar of the swimmer, who had thrown up his arms, and was about to sink again. "i'll give you a hand!" cried innis, and between them the cadets lifted into the boat the now inert form of jack butt. "stop the motor!" "first aid!" "we've got to try artificial respiration!" in turn innis, paul and dick shot out these words. and, seeing that the other two rescued ones were in no need of attention, the cadets proceeded to put to practical use the lessons in first aid to the drowning they had learned at kentfield. and, while this is going on i am going to take just a few moments, in which to tell my new readers something about the previous books in this series. the only son of mortimer hamilton, of hamilton corners, in new york state, dick was a millionaire in his own right. his mother had left him a large estate, and in the first volume of this series, entitled, "dick hamilton's fortune; or, the stirring doings of a millionaire's son," i related what dick had to do in order to become fully possessed of a large sum of money. he had to prove that he was really capable of handling it, and he nearly came to grief in doing this, as many a better youth might have done. dick's uncle, ezra larabee, of dankville, was a rich man, but a miser. he was not in sympathy with dick, nor with the plans his sister, dick's mother, had made for her son. consequently, uncle ezra did all he could to make it unpleasant for dick while the latter was paying him a visit of importance. but dick triumphed over his uncle, and also over certain sharpers who tried to get the best of him. my second volume, entitled, "dick hamilton's cadet days, or, the handicap of a millionaire's son," deals with our hero's activities at the kentfield military academy. this was a well-known school, at the head of which was colonel masterly. major henry rockford was the commandant, and the institution turned out many first-class young men, with a groundwork of military training. the school was under the supervision of officers from the regular army, the resident one being major webster. dick had rather a hard time at kentfield--at first--for he had to get over the handicap of being a millionaire. but how he did it you may read, and, i trust, enjoy. in "dick hamilton's steam yacht; or, a young millionaire and the kidnappers," dick got into a "peck of trouble," to quote his chum, innis beeby. but the rich youth finally triumphed over the designs of uncle ezra, and was able to foil some plotters. "dick hamilton's football team; or, a young millionaire on the gridiron," tells of the efforts of dick to make a first-class eleven from the rather poor material he found at kentfield. how he did it, though not without hard work, and how the team finally triumphed over the blue hill players, you will find set down at length in the book. "dick hamilton's touring car; or, a young millionaire's race for a fortune," took our hero on a long trip, and in one of the largest, finest and most completely equipped automobiles that a certain firm had ever turned out. i have mentioned larry dexter, and i might say that in a line entitled, "the young reporter series," i have give an account of the doings of this youth who rose from the position of office boy on a new york newspaper to be a "star" man, that is, one entrusted with writing only the biggest kind of stories. dick had met larry while in new york, and larry had profited by the acquaintanceship by getting a "beat," or exclusive story, about the young millionaire. on the return of dick and his cadet chums from a trip to california, the rich youth had again taken up his studies at kentfield. and now we behold him, out in his motor-boat, having just succeeded in helping rescue the master and "crew" of the aircraft that had plunged into the river. "there; he breathed." "i think he's coming around now." "better get him to shore though. he'll need a doctor!" thus remarked dick, paul and innis as they labored over the unfortunate mechanician of the biplane. they had used artificial respiration on him until he breathed naturally. "i'll start the boat," announced dick, for the craft had been allowed to drift while the lifesaving work was going on. "we want to make time back." "this certainly is a surprise," remarked larry dexter, as he tried to wring some of the water out of his clothes. "more to me than it is to you, i guess," suggested dick. "i suppose you birdmen are used to accidents like this?" "more or less," answered the cousin of innis beeby. "but i never expected to come to grief, and be rescued by innis." "nor did i expect to see you," said the cadet. "we were just speaking of you, or, rather i was, as we saw your craft in the air. i was wondering if you had perfected your patent." "it doesn't look so--does it?" asked the airship inventor, with a rueful smile in the direction of the sunken aircraft. "i guess i'm at the end of my rope," he added, sadly. "but i'm glad none of us was killed." "so am i!" exclaimed dick. "but how in the world did you come to take up aviation, larry?" he asked, of the young newspaper man. "have you given up reporting?" "no indeed," replied larry dexter. "but this air game is getting to be so important, especially the army and navy end of it, that my paper decided we ought to have an expert of our own to keep up with the times. so they assigned me to the job, and i'm learning how to manage an aircraft. i guess the paper figures on sending me out to scout in the clouds for news. though if i don't make out better than this, they'll get someone else in my place." "something went wrong--i can't understand it," said the aircraft inventor, shaking his head. "the machine ought not to have plunged down like that. i can't understand it." "i'd like to send the story back to my paper," went on larry. "always on the lookout for news!" remarked dick. "we'll see that you send off your yarn all right. there's a telegraph office in the academy now. i'll fix it for you." the run to the school dock was soon made, and the arrival of dick's motor-boat, with the rescued ones from the airship, which had been seen flying over the parade grounds a little while before, made some commotion. "we've missed guard-mount!" remarked innis, as he saw the other cadets at the drill. "can't be helped. we had a good excuse," said dick. "now we've got to attend to him," and he nodded at jack butt, who seemed to have collapsed again. with military promptness, the mechanic was carried to the hospital, and the school doctor was soon working over him. meanwhile, dry garments had been supplied to larry and mr. vardon. a messenger came from colonel masterly to learn what was going on, and, when he heard of the rescue, dick and his chums were excused from taking part in the day's closing drill. "he's coming around all right," the physician remarked to the young millionaire, on the way from the hospital, where he had been attending jack butt. "it seems that he was entangled in some part of the aircraft, and couldn't get to the surface until he was nearly drowned. but he's all right now, though he needs rest and care." "i wonder if he can stay here?" asked dick. "oh, yes, i'll attend to that for you," the doctor promised. "i'll arrange with colonel masterly about that. and your other friends--i think they should remain, too. they probably are in rather an unpleasant plight." "i'll look after them," said dick. "i can put them up. one is a newspaper man, and the other a cousin of beeby's. he's an airship inventor." "is that so? colonel masterly might be interested to know that." "why?" asked dick. "because i understand that he is about to add a course in aviation to the studies here. it has been discussed in faculty meetings, so it is no secret." "an aviation course at kentfield!" cried dick, with shining eyes. "yes. are you interested?" the doctor asked. "well, i hadn't thought about it, but i believe i should like to have an airship," the young millionaire went on. "down, grit, down!" he commanded, as a beautiful bulldog came racing from the stables to fawn upon his master. i used the word "beautiful" with certain restrictions, for grit was about the homeliest bulldog in existence. but his very hideousness made him "beautiful" to a lover of dogs. he jumped about in delight at seeing dick again, for he had been shut up, so he would not insist on going out in the motor-boat. quarters were provided for larry dexter, who sent off a brief account of the accident to the airship, and mr. vardon was looked after by innis. butt, of course, remained in the hospital. dr. morrison was right when he said that colonel masterly would be interested in meeting the luckless aviator. innis took his cousin to the head of the school, and mr. vardon told of his invention, briefly, and also of the mishap to his biplane. "perhaps this is providential," said the colonel musingly. "for some time i have been considering the starting of an aviation course here, and it may be you would like to assist me in it. i want the cadets to learn something about the fundamentals of heavier-than-air machines. will you accept a position as instructor?" "i will, gladly," said mr. vardon. "i might as well admit that i have no further funds to pursue my experiments, though i am satisfied that i am on the right track. but my machine is wrecked." "perhaps it can be raised," said the colonel, cheerfully. "we will talk about that later. and we may find a way to have you conduct your experiments here." "i can not thank you enough, sir," returned the aviator. "and i am also deeply indebted to my cousin's chum--dick hamilton. but for him, and the other cadets in the boat, we might all have been drowned." "i'm glad we were on hand," said dick, with a smile. chapter iii dick's resolve "what do you know about that?" "a regular course in aviation!" "and birdmen from the united states army to came here and show us how to do stunts!" "well, you fellows can go in for it if you like, but automobiling is dangerous enough sport for me." "ah, what's the matter with you? flying is pretty nearly as safe now as walking! not half as many birdmen have been killed as there have railroad travelers." "no, because there are more railroad travelers to be killed. no cloud flights for mine!" a group of cadets, dick, innis and paul among them, were discussing the latest news at kentfield. it was the day following the accident to the biplane. after a brief consultation with mr. vardon, and a calling together of his faculty members, colonel masterly had made formal announcement that a course in aviation would be open at kentfield for those who cared to take it. "i think it will be great!" cried dick. "are you going in for it?" asked paul. "i sure am--if dad will let me." "oh, i guess he will all right," spoke innis, "he lets you do almost anything you want to--in reason. but i know a certain person who will object." "who?" asked dick, fondling his dog. "your uncle ezra!" "i guess that's so!" laughed dick. "he'll say it's expensive, and all that sort of thing, and that i'll be sure to break my neck, or at least fracture an arm. but we saw one accident that came out pretty well. i think i'll take a chance." "so will i!" cried paul. "i guess you can count me in," agreed innis, slowly. "how about it, larry?" asked dick, as the young reporter came across the campus. "how does it feel to sail above the clouds?" "well, i haven't yet gone up that far. this is only about my fifth flight, and we only did 'grass cutting' for the first few--that is going up only a little way above the ground. i had to get used to it gradually. "but it's great! i like it, and you're only afraid the first few minutes. after that you don't mind it a bit--that is not until you get into trouble, as we did." "and i can't understand that trouble, either," said mr. vardon, who had joined the group of cadets. "something went wrong!" "you mean something was made to go wrong," put in jack butt, who had now recovered sufficiently to be about. "something made to go wrong?" repeated dick hamilton, wonderingly. "that's what i said. that machine was tampered with before we started on our flight. i'm sure of it, and if we could get it up from the bottom of the river i could prove it." "be careful," warned the aviator. "do you know what you are saying, jack? who would tamper with my machine?" "well, there are many who might have done it," the machinist went on. "some of the mechanics you have discharged for not doing their work properly might have done it. but the fellow i suspect is that young army officer who got huffy because you wouldn't explain all about your equalizing gyroscope, or stabilizer." "oh--you mean him?" gasped the aviator. "that's the man," declared jack. "he went off mad when you turned him down, and i heard him muttering to himself about 'getting even.' i'm sure he's the chap to blame for our accident." "i should dislike to think that of anyone," said mr. vardon, slowly. "but i am sure something was wrong with my aircraft. it had worked perfectly in other trials, and then it suddenly went back on me. i should like a chance to examine it." "we'll try and give you that chance," said colonel masterly, who came up at that moment. "we are to have a drill in building a pontoon bridge across the river tomorrow, and i will order it thrown across the stream at the point where your airship went down. then we may be able to raise the craft." "that will be fine!" exclaimed the airship man. "i may even be able to save part of my craft, to use in demonstration purposes. i may even be able, to use part of it in building another. it was a fine machine, but something went wrong." "something was made to go wrong!" growled jack butt. "if ever we raise her i'll prove it, too." "well, young gentlemen, i suppose you have heard the news?" questioned the colonel, as the aviator-inventor and his helper walked off to one side of the campus, talking earnestly together. "you mean about the airship instruction we are to get here, sir?" asked dick. "that's it. and i am also glad to announce that i have heard from the war department, and they are going to send some army aviators here to give us the benefit of their work, and also to show some of you cadets how to fly." there was a cheer at this, though some of the lads looked a bit dubious. "are you really going in for it, dick?" asked innis, after there had been an informal discussion among the colonel and some of the boys about the aviation instruction. "well, i am, unless i change my mind," replied dick, with a smile. "of course, after i make my first flight, if i ever do, it may be my last one." "huh! you're not taking a very cheerful view of it," retorted innis, "to think that you're going to come a smash the first shot out of the locker." "oh, i didn't mean just that," replied dick, quickly. "i meant that i might lose my nerve after the first flight, and not go up again." "guess there isn't much danger of you losing your nerve," said paul drew, admiringly. "i've generally noticed that you have it with you on most occasions." "thanks!" exclaimed dick, with a mock salute. strolling over the campus, dick and his chums talked airships and aviation matters until it was time for guard-mount. during the next day or two it might have been noticed that dick hamilton was rather more quiet than usual. in fact his chums did notice, and comment on it. a number of times they had seen the young millionaire in a brown study, walking off by himself, and again he could be observed strolling about, gazing earnestly up at the clouds and sky. "say, i wonder what's come over dick?" asked paul of innis one afternoon. "blessed if i know," was the answer, "unless he's fallen in love." "get out! he's too sensible. but he sure has something on his mind." "i agree with you. well, if he wants to know he'll tell us." so they let the matter drop for the time being. but dick's abstraction grew deeper. he wrote a number of letters, and sent some telegrams, and his friends began to wonder if matters at dick's home were not altogether right. but the secret, if such it could be called, was solved by the unexpected arrival of mr. hamilton at kentfield. he appeared on the campus after drill one day, and dick greeted his parent enthusiastically. "so you got here, after all, dad?" he cried, as he shook hands, paul and innis also coming over to meet the millionaire. "well, i felt i just had to come, dick, after all you wrote and telegraphed me," replied mr. hamilton. "i thought we could do better by having a talk than by correspondence. but, i tell you, frankly, i don't approve of what you are going to do." dick's chums looked curiously at him. "i may as well confess," laughed the young millionaire, "i'm thinking of buying an airship, fellows." "whew!" whistled paul. "that's going some, as the boys say," commented innis. "tell us all about it." "i will," said dick, frankly. "it's been on my mind the last few days, and--" "so that's been your worry!" interrupted paul. "i knew it was something, but i never guessed it was that. fire ahead." "ever since your cousin came here, innis, in his craft, and since the colonel has arranged for aviation instruction, i've been thinking of having an airship of my own," dick resumed. "i wrote to dad about it, but he didn't seem to take to the idea very much." "no, i can't say that i did," said mr. hamilton, decidedly. "i consider it dangerous." "it's getting more safe every day, dad. look how dangerous automobiling was at the start, and yet that's nearly perfect now, though of course there'll always be accidents. but i won't go in for this thing, dad, if you really don't want me to." "well, i won't say no, and i'll not say yes--at least not just yet," said mr. hamilton slowly. "i want to think it over, have a talk with some of these 'birdmen' as you call them, and then you and i'll consider it together, dick. that's why i came on. i want to know more about it before i make up my mind." mr. hamilton became the guest of the colonel, as he had done on several occasions before, and, in the following days, he made as careful a study of aviation as was possible under the circumstances. he also had several interviews with mr. vardon. "have you decided to let your son have an airship of his own?" the colonel asked, when the millionaire announced that he would start for new york the following morning. "well, i've been thinking pretty hard about the matter," was the answer. "i hardly know what to do. i'm afraid it's only another one of dick's hare-brained ideas, and if he goes in for it, he'll come a cropper. "and, maybe, on the whole, it wouldn't be a bad idea to let him go in for it, and make a fizzle of it. it would be a good lesson to him, though i would certainly regret, exceedingly, if he were even slightly injured. "on the other hand dick is pretty lucky. he may come out all right. i suppose he'll go in and try to win some prizes at these aviation meets they hold every once in a while." "yes, there are to be several," spoke the colonel. "i heard something about the government offering a big prize for a successful trans-continental flight--from the atlantic to the pacific, but i know nothing of the details." "well, i suppose dick would be rash enough to try for that, if he hears about it," murmured mr. hamilton. "i guess, taking it on all sides, that i'll let him have an airship, if only to prove that he can't work it. he needs a little toning down, most young chaps do, i fancy. i know i did when i was a lad. yes, if he makes a fizzle of it, the lesson may be worth something to him--throwing his money away on an airship. but i'll give my consent." and when dick was told by his parent, not very enthusiastically, that he might secure an aircraft, the young cadet's delight was great. "that's fine!" he cried, shaking hands heartily with his father. "well, i hope you succeed in flying your machine, when you get it, but, as the scotchman said, 'i have my doubts,'" said mr. hamilton, grimly. "humph!" mused dick later. "dad doesn't think much of me in the aviator class, i guess. but i'll go in for this thing now, if only to show him that i can do it! i've done harder stunts, and if the hamilton luck doesn't fail, i'll do this. i'll make a long flight, and put one over on dad again. he thinks i can't do it--but i'll show him i can!" exclaimed dick, with sparkling eyes. dick communicated his father's decision to paul and innis. "i'm going to have an airship!" he cried. "it wasn't easy to get dad's consent, but he gave it. now, how about you fellows coming on a cruise in the clouds with me?" "say, how big a machine are you going to have?" paul wanted to know. "well, my ideas are rather hazy yet," admitted the young millionaire, "but if i can get it built, it's going to be one of the biggest airships yet made. we'll travel in style, if we travel at all," he said, with a laugh. "i'm thinking of having an aircraft with some sort of enclosed cabin on it." "say, that will be quite an elaborate affair," commented innis. "the question is, will you fellows take a chance with me in it?" asked dick. "well, i guess so," responded paul, slowly. innis nodded in rather a faint-hearted fashion. "now," said dick, "i want to see--" he was interrupted by shouts in the direction of the river. "there she is!" "she's floating down!" "let's get her!" a number of cadets were thus crying out. "come on!" yelled dick. "something's happened! maybe my motor-boat is adrift!" chapter iv the army aviators dick, paul and innis set off at a quick pace toward the stream which flowed at the foot of the broad expanse of green campus and parade ground. as they hurried on they were joined by other cadets in like haste. "what is it?" asked the young millionaire. "don't know," was the answer. "something happened on the river, that's all i heard." dick and his chums were soon in a position to see for themselves, and what they beheld was a curious sort of raft, with torn sails, or so at least it seemed, floating down with the current. then, as the waters swirled about the odd craft, a piece, like the tail of some great fish, arose for a moment. "what in the name of gatling guns is it?" asked paul, wonderingly. "it's the airship!" cried innis. "my cousin's wrecked airship! it must have been stuck in the mud, or held by some snag, and now it's come to the surface. we ought to get it. he'll want to save it. maybe he can use part of the engine again, and he's out of funds to buy a new one, i know." "besides, he wants to see if it had been tampered with by someone so as to bring about an accident," suggested paul. "we'll get it!" cried dick. "come on! in my motor-boat!" the speedy watercraft was in readiness for a run, and the three cadets, racing down to her, soon had the motor started and the bow of the boat pointed to the floating airship. the latter was moving slowly from the force of the current, which was not rapid here. the affair of wings, struts, planes and machinery floated, half submerged, and probably would not have sunk when the accident occurred except that the great speed at which it was travelling forced it below the surface, even as one can force under a piece of wood. but the wood rises, and the buoyant airship would have done the same, perhaps, save for the fact that it had become caught. now it was freed. "make this rope fast to it," directed dick, as he guided his motor-boat close to the airship. "we'll tow it to the dock." paul and innis undertook this part of the work, and in a few moments the mabel, dick's boat, was headed toward shore, towing the wrecked airship. a crowd of the cadets awaited with interest the arrival. when the mabel had been made fast to the dock, other ropes were attached to the aircraft that floated at her stern, and the wrecked biplane was slowly hauled up the sloping bank of the stream. "some smash, that!" "look at the planes, all bent and twisted!" "but the motor is all there!" "say, she's bigger than i thought she was!" thus the young cadets commented on the appearance of the craft as it was hauled out. word had been sent to mr. vardon and his helper to come and look at the salvaged wreck, and they were goon on the scene, together with larry dexter, who, as usual, was always on hand when there was a chance to get an item of news. "i'll get another scoop out of this for my paper!" he exclaimed to dick. "then i guess i'd better be getting back to new york. they may want to send me on some other assignment, for it doesn't look as though i'd do any more flying through the air in that machine." "say, don't be in too much of a hurry to go away," remarked dick, as he ceased from pulling on the rope attached to the wrecked airship. "why not?" asked larry. "what do you mean?" "well, you're not on any regular news stunt just now; are you?" inquired dick, of the young reporter. "that is, you don't have to report back to the office at any special time." "no," replied larry. "i'm a sort of free lance. i'm supposed to be learning how to run an airship so i can qualify, and get a license, and be able to help out the paper on such a stunt if they need me. they assigned me to this mr. vardon because it looked as though he had a good thing. now that it's busted i suppose i'll be sent out with some other aviator, and i'd better be getting back to new york and find out what the paper wants me to do." "well, as i said, don't be in too much of a hurry," went on dick with a smile. "you talk and act as though there was something in the wind," remarked larry. "there is, and there's going to be something more in the wind soon, or, rather, in the air," said dick. "i might as well tell you, i'm going to have an airship, and--" "you are!" interrupted larry. "good for you! i'll give you a good write-up when you make your first flight." "i wasn't thinking so much of that," proceeded the young millionaire. "but when i do get my airship i'd like to have you make some flights with me. that might serve your end as well as going with some other aviator, and you could be getting in the practice that your paper wants for you." "fine and dandy!" cried larry. "i'm with you, dick. i'll send off a wire at once, and let the managing editor know i'm going to get right on the flying job again. this will be great!" "i don't know that there'll be such an awful lot of news in it at first," went on dick, "for i've got to learn this art of flying, and i don't expect to do any hair-raising stunts right off the reel. "but, larry, there may be other news for you around this academy soon." "real news?" "yes. you probably heard what mr. vardon said about his machine being tampered with." "i sure did. and i think the same thing myself. it worked to perfection the day before, and then, all at once, she turned turtle. the gyroscope equilibrizer must have broken." "well, you can see what happened, for we've got her out of the water now," said dick. "and there may be more news when the army aviators arrive." "are they coming here? i hadn't heard. i've been so busy getting straightened out after my plunge into the river." "yes, they're coming here to give us instructions, and there may be all sorts of stunts pulled off. so you'd better stick." "i will, thanks. but i'm mostly interested in your airship. it sure will be great to take a flight with you. but there's mr. vardon. i want to hear what he says." the aviator, and his helper, who had almost fully recovered from their narrow escape from death, were carefully examining the airship which was now hauled out on a level spot in the campus, just above the river bank. eagerly the cadets crowded around the machine. "come here, grit!" called dick to his prize bulldog. "first you know someone will step on you, and you'll just naturally take a piece out of his leg. you don't belong in a crowd." grit came at the word of command, and dick, slipping on the leash, gave the animal in charge of one of the orderlies to be taken to the stable. grit whined and barked in protest at being separated from his master, but dick wanted no accidents. "do you find anything wrong?" asked innis of his cousin, as the latter went carefully over each part of the wrecked airship. "well, it's hard to say, on account of there being so many broken places," was the answer. "the engine is not as badly smashed as i expected, but it will take some time to examine and test the gyroscope attachment. i shall remove it and set it up separately." "well, it's my opinion that it was monkeyed with, and done on purpose, too!" declared jack butt. "and i could almost name the fellow who did it. he was--" "hush! no names, if you please," interrupted the aviator. "we will investigate first." "all right, sir! just as you say," grudgingly agreed the other. "but if ever i get my hands on him--!" jack butt looked rather vindictive, and probably with good reason. for had he not been near to death; and, as he thought, through the evil work of some enemy. the wrecked aircraft was hauled to one of the barrack sheds, which mr. vardon announced would be his temporary workshop for possible repairs. the rest of that day, and all of the next, was spent by mr. vardon in taking his wrecked machine apart, saving that which could be used again, and looking particularly for defects in the gyroscope stabilizer, or equilibrizer. larry and jack butt helped at this work, and dick, and the other cadets, spent as much time as they could from their lessons and drills watching the operations. for the students were much interested in aviation, and, now that it was known that the army aviators were to come to kentfield, and that dick hamilton, one of the best liked of the cadets, was to have a big airship of his own, many who had said they would never make a flight, were changing their minds. it was one afternoon, about a week following the wrecking of mr. vardon's machine, that, as the cadets in their natty uniforms were going through the last drill of the day, a peculiar sound was heard in the air over the parade ground. there was a humming and popping, a throbbing moan, as it were, and despite the fact that the orders were "eyes front!" most of the cadets looked up. and they saw, soaring downward toward the campus which made an ideal landing spot, two big aircraft. "the army aviators!" someone cried, nor was there any rebuke from the officers. "the army aviators!" "at ease!" came the order, for the commandant realized that the students could hardly be expected to stand at attention when there was the chance to see an airship land. then a few seconds later, the two craft came gently down to the ground, undulating until they could drop as lightly as a boy's kite. and, as they came to a stop with the application of the drag brake, after rolling a short distance on the bicycle wheels, the craft were surrounded by the eager cadets. chapter v suspicions casting aside the straps that bound them to their machines, the army aviators leaped lightly from their seats. the big propellers, from which the power had been cut off, as the birdmen started to volplane to the ground, ceased revolving, and the hum and roar of the powerful motors was no more heard. in their big, leather helmets, and leather jackets, and with their enormous goggles on, the birdmen looked like anything but spick-and-span soldiers of uncle sam. but dress in the army has undergone a radical change. the "fuss and feathers" are gradually disappearing, and utility is the word. it was so in regard to the aviators. they were not hampered by uniforms. "kentfield military academy?" inquired one of the officers, evidently in command. he looked about for someone in authority. "kentfield academy, sir," replied colonel masterly who had come up. "i am in charge here," and he introduced himself. the army man, who wore a captain's shoulder straps, saluted and remarked: "i am captain grantly, in charge. that is captain wakefield, in the other machine. with him is lieutenant mcbride, and my companion is lieutenant larson. i presume you expected us?" "oh, yes," said colonel masterly, as he shook hands with the visitors. "i'm sure we are all glad to see you." dick and his chums looked on with interest. the army aviators seemed efficient and pleasant men--that is all but one. the first sight he had of the face of lieutenant larson, after the latter had removed his protecting helmet and goggles, made dick say to himself: "that fellow will bear watching! i don't like the look in his eyes." but dick said nothing of this to paul or innis. he made up his mind he would learn their impressions later. "we thought we might as well come on in the machines, as to have them taken down, shipped here, and then have to assemble them again, would take too much time," went on captain grantly. "though we expect, later, to give your students a practical demonstration in how the biplanes are put together, so they may understand something of how to make repairs. "we came on from the nearest army aviation grounds, and had a most successful flight. i must send back word to major dalton." "our telephone, or telegraph service, is at your disposal," said colonel masterly. "if you will come with me--" "excuse me, but we carry with us our own means of communication," said captain grantly with a smile. "we are going on the assumption, constantly, that we are in an enemy's country. "consequently we go prepared as though there were a state of war. we shall communicate with our base by means of wireless." "i am afraid we can't accommodate you there," went on the head of the military school. "we are installing a wireless outfit, but it is not yet completed," the colonel said. "oh, we carry our own!" was the unexpected retort. "lieutenant larson, if you and lieutenant mcbride will get the balloon ready, captain wakefield and myself will work out the cipher dispatch, and send it. "we use a code in our wireless," he went on to explain, "and it takes a few minutes to make up the message." "but i heard you speak of a balloon," said colonel masterly. "i don't see how you carry one on your machine." "here it is," was the answer, and a deflated rubberized silk bag was produced from a locker back of the pilot's seat. "this is the latest idea in airship wireless," went on captain grantly, as he directed the lieutenants to get out the rest of the apparatus. "we carry with us a deflated balloon, which will contain about two hundred cubic yards of lifting gas. the gas itself, greatly compressed, is in this cylinder. there's enough for several chargings. "we fill the balloon, and attach to it our aerial wires. the balloon takes them up about four hundred feet--the wires weigh about twenty pounds, i might say. then we carry a light sending instrument. it has a considerable range, though we can receive messages from a much greater distance than we can send, as our force for a sending current is limited." as he was talking the others were working, and the cadets looked on interestedly. the drill had been abandoned, and officers and students crowded up near the army aviators to see what was going on. with a sharp hiss the compressed gas rushed from the containing cylinder into the deflated balloon. the silken sides puffed out, losing their wrinkles. the balloon gradually assumed larger proportions. "ready with the wires?" asked captain grantly. "all ready, sir," replied lieutenant larson. dick now heard him speak for the first time, and did not like his voice. there are some persons who make a bad impression on you at the first meeting. often this may he unjustified, but dick's first impressions were seldom wrong. the wires, forming the wireless aerial, were carried up on two light spreaders, hanging down from a network that went over the balloon bag. from the aerials depended the wires that were attached to the receiving and sending apparatus. these wires were on a reel, and would he uncoiled as the balloon arose. the earth-end would be attached to the telephone receivers and to the apparatus, consisting of a spark-gap wheel and other instruments designed to send into space the electrical impulses that could be broken up into dots, dashes and spaces, spelling out words according to the morse or continental code--whichever was used. captain grantly looked over everything. his assistants signified that every connection was made. "send her up," ordered the commander, and as the catch, holding the balloon, was released the spherical bag of gas shot into the air, carrying with it the aerials, and unreeling the connecting wires. quickly it rose to nearly five hundred feet, and, when it had been anchored, all was soon in readiness. meanwhile a code dispatch had been written out, and as it was handed to captain wakefield, who was to operate the wireless, he began depressing the key that made and broke the electrical current. the current itself came from a small, but powerful, storage battery, and it had been switched on. the current also set in motion a toothed wheel of brass. this wheel revolved on its axis with the points, or teeth, passing rapidly in front of a platinum contact point. as each tooth thus came in opposition to the point, a blue spark of electricity would shoot out with a vicious snap; that is if the connection key were pressed down. if the key were not depressed no current flowed. i presume most of you understand how the wireless works, so i will not give you a complete description save to say that it is just like a telegraph system, in fundamentals. the only difference is that no connecting metallic wires are needed between stations. a group of wires in parallels, called "aerials," are hung in the air at one point, or station, and a similar set is suspended at the other station. the electrical current jumps through the air from one group of wires to the other, without being directly connected, hence the name "wireless," though really some wires are used. the electrical impulse can be sent for thousands of miles through the air, without any directly connecting wires. and the method of communication is by means of dots, dashes and spaces. you have doubtless heard the railroad or other telegraph instruments clicking. you can hold your table knife blade between two tines of your fork, and imitate the sound of the telegraph very easily. if you move your knife blade up and down once, quickly, that will represent a dot. if you move it more slowly, holding it down for a moment, that would be a dash. a space would be the interval between a dot and a dash, or between two dots or two dashes. thus, by combinations of dots, dashes and spaces, the letters of the alphabet may be made and words spelled out. for instance a dot and a dash is "a." in telegraphing, of course, the operator listens to the clicking of the brass sounder in front of him on the desk. but in wireless the electrical waves, or current received, is so weak that it would not operate the sounder. so a delicate telephone receiver is used. this is connected to the receiving wires, and as the sender at his station, perhaps a thousand miles away, presses down his key, and allows it to come up, thus making dots, dashes and spaces, corresponding clicks are made in the telephone receiver, at the ear of the other operator. it takes skill to thus listen to the faint clicks that may be spelled out into words, but the operators are very skillful. in sending messages a very high tension current is needed, as most of it is wasted, leaping through the air as it does. so that though the clicks may sound very loud at the sending apparatus, and the blue sparks be very bright, still only faint clicks can be heard in the head-telephone receiver at the other end. "you may send," directed captain grantly to captain wakefield, and the blue sparks shot out in a dazzling succession, as the spiked wheel spun around. this was kept up for some little time, after the receiving operator at the army headquarters had signified that he was at attention. then came a period of silence. captain wakefield was receiving a message through space, but he alone could hear this through the telephone receiver. he wrote it out in the cipher code, and soon it was translated. "i informed them that we had arrived safely," said captain grantly to colonel masterly, "and they have informed me that we are to remain here until further notice, instructing your cadets in the use of the aircraft." "and we are very glad to have you here," replied the commandant of kentfield. "if you will come with me i will assign you to quarters." "we had better put away our biplanes, and haul down our wireless outfit," suggested captain grantly. "allow me to assign some of the cadets to help you," suggested the colonel, and this offer being accepted, dick, to his delight, was one of those detailed, as were innis and paul. giving his instructions to the two lieutenants, captain grantly, with the junior captain, accompanied colonel masterly to the main buildings of the academy. "well, let's dig in, and get through with this job," suggested lieutenant larson, in surly tones to his companion. "then i'm going to ask for leave and go to town. i'm tired." "so am i, but we've got to tighten up some of those guy wires. they are loose and need attention. they might order a flight any time," his fellow lieutenant said. "well, you can stay and tighten 'em if you like. i'm not," was the growling retort. "i'm sick of this business anyhow! let some of the kids do the work." "they don't know how," was the good-natured answer of lieutenant mcbride. "there is a professional aviator here now," said dick, as he recalled mr. vardon. "we might get him to help you." "i don't care," said lieutenant larson, as he began hauling down the suspended balloon. "i only know i'm sick of so much work. i think i'll go back into the artillery." dick and his chums naturally did not care much for the surly soldier, but they liked lieutenant mcbride at once. he smilingly told them what to do, and the boys helped to push the machines to a shed that had been set aside for them. the wireless apparatus was taken apart and stored away, the gas being let out of the balloon. the work was almost finished, when larry dexter, with mr. vardon and the latter's helper, jack, came across to the sheds. they had come to see the army airships. by this time lieutenant larson had finished what he considered was his share of the work, and was on his way to get a brief leave of absence from his captain. at the entrance to the shed he came face to face with mr. vardon and jack. "oh, so you're the professional aviator they spoke of," said larson, with a sneer in his tone. "yes, i'm here," replied mr. vardon, quietly. "i did not expect to see you here, though." "the surprise is mutual," mocked the other. "i read about your failure. i suppose now, you will quit fooling with that gyroscope of yours, and give my method a trial." "i never will. i am convinced that i am right, and that you are wrong." "you're foolish," was the retort. jack butt stepped forward and whispered in the ear of his employer, so that at least dick heard what he said. "i believe he did it!" were the tense words of the machinist. chapter vi dick's first flight mr. vardon gave his helper a quick and warning glance. "hush!" he exclaimed, as he looked to see if lieutenant larson had heard what jack had said. but the army man evidently had not. he gave the machinist a glance, however, that was not the most pleasant in the world. it was evident that there was some feeling between the two. dick wondered what it was, and what jack's ominous words meant. having put away the two biplanes, and requested the cadets to look at them as much as they liked, but not to meddle with the apparatus, the two lieutenants left the sheds, to report to their respective captains. mr. vardon and his helper remained with dick and his chums. "very fine machines," said the aviator. "compared to my poor pile of junk, very fine machines indeed!" "but part of yours is good; isn't it?" asked dick. "you can use part of it, i should think." "very little," was the hopeless reply. "the damage was worse than i thought. my gyroscope attachment is a total wreck, and it will cost money to build a new one." "yes, and that gyroscope was tampered with before we started on this last flight!" declared jack, with conviction. "and i'm sure he did it!" he added, pointing an accusing finger at the retreating form of lieutenant larson. "you must not say such things!" cried the aviator. "you have no proof!" "i have all the proof i want as far as he is concerned," declared jack. "maybe he didn't intend to kill us, or hurt us, but he sure did want to wreck the machine when he tampered with the gyroscope." "what is the gyroscope?" asked dick. "it is an invention of mine, and one over which lieutenant larson and i had some argument," said mr. vardon. "you probably know," the aviator went on, while dick, paul, and innis, with several other cadets, listened interestedly, "you probably know that one of the great problems of aviation is how to keep a machine from turning turtle, or turning over, when it strikes an unexpected current, or 'air pocket' in the upper regions. of course a birdman may, by warping his wings, or changing the elevation of his rudder, come out safely, but there is always a chance of danger or death. "if there was some automatic arrangement by which the airship would right itself, and take care of the unexpected tilting, there would be practically no danger. "i realized that as soon as i began making airships, and so i devised what i call a gyroscope equilibrizer or stabilizer. a gyroscope, you know, is a heavy wheel, spinning at enormous speed, on an anti-friction axle. its great speed tends to keep it in stable equilibrium, and, if displaced by outside forces, it will return to its original position. "you have probably seen toy ones; a heavy lead wheel inside a ring. when the wheel is spinning that, and the ring in which it is contained, may be placed in almost any position, on a very slender support and they will remain stable, or at rest. "so i put a gyroscope on my airship, and i found that it kept the machine in a state of equilibrium no matter what position we were forced to take by reason of adverse currents. of course it was not an entire success, but i was coming to that. "in the biplane which was wrecked in the river i had my latest gyroscope. it seemed to be perfect, and, with jack and harry, i had made a number of beautiful flights. i even flew alone upside down, and had no trouble. "before that i had made the acquaintance of lieutenant larson, who is also an expert aviator. he worked for me before he went in the army. he had his own ideas about equilibrium, and his plan, which he wanted me to adopt, consists of tubes of mercury that can automatically be tilted at different angles. i do not believe they will ever work, and i told him so. i refused to use them, and he and i parted, not the best of friends. he wanted his invention exploited, but i refused to try it, as i thought it dangerous. "when my gyroscope worked fairly well, i presume lieutenant larson was professionally jealous. at any rate he, left me, and i am glad of it." "but he was around our workshop just before we made this last flight!" insisted jack. "he came in pretending he had left some of his important drawings behind when he went away, but i noticed that he hung around the airship a good bit. i saw him looking at, and running the gyroscope, and i'm sure he did something to it that caused it to fail to work, and so wrecked us." "you should not say such things," chided mr. vardon. "well, i believe it's true," insisted jack. "and you found something wrong with the gyroscope, when you took it from the airship; didn't you?" "yes, but that may have occurred in the wreck." "no, that gyroscope began to act wrong before we started to fall," went on the helper. "i noticed it, and i believe that mean lieutenant monkeyed with it. he wanted you to think your plans were failures." "i should dislike to believe that of anyone," spoke mr. vardon, seriously. "well, i'm going to keep my eye on him," said jack. "he won't get another chance at any of our machines." it was a day or so after this conversation that dick came upon his chum innis, talking to mr. vardon. they seemed very much in earnest, and at dick's approach the aviator strolled away. innis stood regarding him a moment, and remarked, in a low tone: "poor chap!" "what's the trouble?" asked dick, quickly. "has anything happened to him?" "yes, dick, a whole lot of things!" replied innis earnestly. "i feel mighty sorry for him. you know how his airship was wrecked, but that's only one of his troubles. he's practically lost every cent he has in the world, and he's deeply in debt, for he borrowed money to build his aircraft, and perfect his stabilizer. he's just about down and out, poor chap, and he feels mighty blue, i can tell you. "when you came up i was just trying to figure out a way to help him. but i don't see how i can. my dad hasn't any too much money himself, since some of his investments failed, or he'd pull my cousin out of this hole. but, as it is, i don't see what's to be done. and his gyroscope stabilizer will work, too, only he won't get a chance to prove it, now." dick was silent a moment, and then he asked: "say, innis, would it help your cousin any if he had a contract to build airships, and could install his stabilizer on one of them?" "why, of course it would, dick! that would be just the very thing he'd want. but who'd give him such a contract, especially after this accident? and he hasn't any money to back up his claims. in fact he's a bankrupt. nobody would give him such a chance." "yes, i think someone would," said dick, quietly. "who?" asked innis, quickly. "i would. it's this way," the young millionaire went on. "i've fully made up my mind to have an airship, since dad consented, though i believe he's secretly laughing at me. now the kind of craft i want doesn't come ready made--it will have to be built to order. "so why can't i contract with your cousin to make my airship for me? i'd be willing to pay all expenses and whatever his services were worth, so he could make some money that way. i'd a good deal rather give him a chance on the work, than some stranger. besides, i like his idea of a gyroscope, and, even if he doesn't want to build my craft, i'd like to arrange to buy one of his stabilizers. do yon think he would like to take the contract from me?" "do i?" cried innis earnestly. "say, he'll jump at the chance! you try him, and see! say, this is fine of you, old man!" "oh, nonsense! it isn't anything of the sort," protested dick. "i've got to have somebody build my airship, and i'd rather it would be your cousin than anyone else." "it's fine and dandy!" innis exclaimed. "come on; let's find him and tell him. he needs something to cheer him up, for he's got the blues horribly. come along, dick." to say that mr. vardon was delighted to accept dick's offer is putting it mildly. yet he was not too demonstrative. "this is the best news i've heard in a long while," he said. "i guess my cousin has told you i'm pretty badly embarrassed financially," he added. "yes," assented dick. "well, i happen to have plenty of money, through no fault of my own, and we'll do this airship business up properly. "i'd like you to get started at it as soon as you can, and as there will be preliminary expenses, i'm going to advance you some cash. you'll have to order certain parts made up, won't you?" he asked. "yes, i presume so," agreed the aviator. "and, of course, i'll want your stabilizer on my craft." "that's very good of you to say. it will give me a fine chance to demonstrate it," said mr. vardon. later in the day, dick, his chums, the aviator and larry dexter were talking about some of the flights made in the army machines that afternoon. "can you arrange to have a wireless outfit on my airship?" asked the young millionaire, as an exchange of wireless talk had been a feature of the exhibition that day. "oh, yes, that can easily be done," assented the birdman. "say, you're going to have a fine outfit!" complimented paul. "might as well have a good one while i'm at it," answered dick, with a laugh. "i've got to make good on dad's account anyhow. i can't stand him laughing at me. i wish i had my airship now." "i'll start building it, soon," promised mr. vardon. "i'll want it in time for the summer vacation," went on dick. "i'm going to spend a lot of time in the air." "why don't you make a try for the prize?" suggested mr. vardon. "what prize?" dick wanted to know. "why the united states government, to increase interest in airship navigation, and construction, especially for army purposes, has offered a prize of twenty thousand dollars for the first flight from the atlantic to the pacific, or from new york to san francisco, by an airship carrying at least three persons. only two landings are allowed during the flight, to take on gasolene, or make repairs. why don't you try for that?" "what, me try for that prize in the first airship i ever owned!" exclaimed dick. "i wouldn't have the nerve! i guess the government doesn't want amateurs in the trans-continental flight." "it doesn't make a bit of difference," declared mr. vardon. "it is going to be an open competition. and, let me tell you, amateurs have done as much, if not more, than the professionals, to advance and improve aviation. why, as a matter of fact, we're all amateurs. we are learning something new every day. the art, or business, of flying is too new to have in it anything but amateurs. don't let that stop you, dick." "well, i'll think about it," said the young millionaire. dick obtained some detailed information, and entry blanks for the government prize contest, and a little later announced to his chums: "well, fellows, in view of what mr. vardon said about amateurs, maybe i will have a try for that prize. it will give us an object, instead of merely flying aimlessly about. and if i should win, wouldn't i have the laugh on dad! yes, i'll make a try for it!" he added. "and we'll help you!" cried paul. "and i'll make a good story of it," promised larry dexter. "i guess we'd better get the airship first," suggested innis, dryly. "oh, i'll look after that," promised his aviator cousin. the days that followed were busy ones at kentfield academy. a course of instruction was arranged concerning the making and flying of airships. in the former mr. vardon was the chief lecturer, as he had had more practical experience in building the aircraft than had either of the army captains. but the army men had made a study of air currents, and the management of biplanes and monoplanes, and were equal to mr. vardon in this respect. and so the cadets looked on and listened, watching the army aviators test their machines, run them over the starting ground, and finally, by a tilting of the rudders, send the machines up like big birds. "young gentlemen," announced colonel masterly after chapel exercises one morning, "i have an important announcement to make. you have been studying aviation for some time now, and it is necessary, if you keep on with it, to have practical work. therefore we have decided that, taking turns, those cadets in this course will make a flight, beginning with today. you will go up, one in each aeroplane, with the two army officers, who will look after and instruct you. "i will now call for volunteers to make the first flight. don't all speak at once," added the colonel, with a grim smile. there was a moment of breathless pause, and then, from where he sat, dick arose. with a salute he said: "i'll volunteer, sir." "good!" came in whispered comment that the colonel did not try to check. "and i'll also volunteer!" spoke innis, quickly. "so will i!" added paul, and then several more announced their intention. that afternoon came around very quickly, it seemed. out on the starting ground were the two big machines, being looked over by the army men. the cadets were drawn up in files. "all ready, sir," announced captain grantly to major rockford. "the first cadet will take his place." "dick hamilton!" called the commandant, and our hero stepped forward for his first airship flight. chapter vii a queer landing "now don't get nervous," said captain grantly to dick, with a grim smile, as the young millionaire took his seat in the place provided for the third occupant of the biplane. "well, i'll try my best," answered dick, smiling ruefully. "am i to do anything?" "not a thing," captain grantly assured him. "just sit still; that's all." dick rather wished he could have gone in the other machine, for he had no liking for the surly lieutenant with the captain. but dick had been assigned to this craft, and military rules prevailed at kentfield. you did as you were told without question. dick took his place, and watched with interest the operations of captain grantly and his lieutenant. whatever one thought of the latter, personally, it must be admitted that he knew his business when it came to airships. in some matters even his superior officer, captain grantley, deferred to the judgment of larson. "you won't have to do a thing," went on the lieutenant to dick. "just sit still, and, above all, no matter what happens, don't touch any of the wheels or levers." "no, that might wreck us," added the captain. "we'll manipulate the machine, at the same time telling you, and showing you, how to do it. in time you will run it yourself, with us looking on, and i believe it is the intention of colonel masterly to have you cadets finally operate a machine on your own responsibility." "i hope i may learn to do so," spoke dick, "for i'm going to have a craft of my own." "are you indeed?" asked the captain, interestedly. "it's rather an expensive pleasure--not like automobiling." "well, luckily or not, i happen to have plenty of money," said dick. "i'm going to have quite a large machine built." was it fancy, or did lieutenant larson look at dick with peculiar meaning in his rather shifty eyes. dick, however, was too much occupied in the coming flight to pay much attention to this. "if you're going to have a machine, perhaps you're going to have a try for the twenty thousand dollar prize," suggested captain grantly, as he tested the gasolene and spark levers, and looked at several turn-buckles which tightened the guy wires. "well, i have about decided to," answered dick, looking over at the other aircraft, in which paul drew was to make an ascent. "jove! i wish i had that chance!" exclaimed larson. "i'm sure, with my mercury balancer i could--" "there you go again!" cried captain grantly. "i tell you your idea is all wrong about that balancer! wing warping is the only proper way." "but that isn't automatic, and what is needed is an automatic balancer or equilibrizer," insisted the lieutenant. "well, we won't discuss it now," went on the captain. "are you all ready, mr. hamilton?" "all ready, yes, sir." the captain and lieutenant larson took their places, one on either side of dick. some of the orderlies at the academy had been detailed to assist in the start, holding back on the biplane until the engine had attained the necessary speed. there was an arrangement whereby the machine could be held in leash, as it were, by a rope, and when the necessary pressure developed from the propeller blades, the rope could be loosed from the aviator's seat. but that attachment was not in use at kentfield then. the powerful motor hummed and throbbed, for a muffler was temporarily dispensed with on account of its weight. every unnecessary ounce counts on an airship, as it is needful to carry as much oil and gasolene as possible, and the weight given over to a muffler could be more advantageously applied to gasolene, on the smaller craft. faster and faster whirled the big blades, cutting through the air. the captain kept his eyes on a balance scale, by which was registered the pull of the propellers. "that's enough!" he cried. "let her go!" dick felt the machine move slowly forward on the rubber tired bicycle wheels over the grassy starting ground, gradually acquiring speed before it would mount upward into the air. perhaps a word of explanation about airships may not be out of place. those of you who know the principle on which they work, or who have seen them, may skip this part if you wish. the main difference between a balloon and an aeroplane, is that the balloon is lighter than air, being filled with a very light gas, which causes it to rise. an aeroplane is heavier than air, and, in order to keep suspended, must be constantly in motion. the moment it stops moving forward it begins to fall downward. there are several kinds of airships, but the principle ones are monoplanes and biplanes. mono means one, and monoplane has but one set of "wings," being built much after the fashion of a bird. a biplane, as the name indicates, consists of two sets of planes, one above the other. there are some triplanes, but they have not been very successful, and there are some freak aeroplanes built with as many as eight sets. if you will scale a sheet of tin, or a thin, flat stone, or even a slate from a roof, into the air, you will have the simplest form of an aeroplane. the stone, or tin, is heavier than the amount of air it displaces, but it stays up for a comparatively long time because it is in motion. the moment the impulse you have given it by throwing fails, then it begins to fall. the engine, or motor, aboard an aeroplane keeps it constantly in motion, and it glides along through the air, resting on the atmosphere, by means of the planes or wings. if you will take a clam shell, and, holding it with the concave side toward the ground, scale it into the air, you will see it gradually mount upward. if you hold the convex side toward the ground and throw it, you will see the clam shell curve downward. that is the principle on which airships mount upward and descend while in motion. in a biplane there is either a forward or rear deflecting rudder, as well as one for steering from side to side. the latter works an the same principle as does the rudder of a boat in the water. if this rudder is bent to the right, the craft goes to the right, because of the pressure of air or water on the rudder twisted in that direction. and if the rudder is deflected to the left, the head of the craft takes that direction. just as the curve of a clam shell helps it to mount upward, so the curve of the elevating or depressing rudder on an airship helps it to go up or down. if the rudder is inclined upward the aeroplane shoots toward the clouds. when the rudder is parallel to the plane of the earth's surface, the airship flies in a straight line. when the rudder is tilted downward, down goes the craft. i hope i have not wearied you with this description, but it was, perhaps, needful, to enable those who have never seen an aeroplane to understand the working principle. one point more. a gasolene motor, very powerful, is used to whirl the wooden propeller blades that shove the airship through the air, as the propeller of a motor-boat shoves that craft through the water. faster and faster across the grassy ground went the biplane containing dick hamilton and the army officers. it was necessary to get this "running start" to acquire enough momentum so that the craft would rise, just as a heavy bird has sometimes to run along the ground a few steps before its wings will take it up. "here we go!" suddenly exclaimed the captain, and as he raised the elevating rudder the big craft slowly mounted on a slant. dick caught his breath sharply as he felt himself leaving the earth. he had once gone up in a captive balloon at a fair, but then the earth seemed sinking away beneath him. this time it seemed that he was leaving the earth behind. higher and higher they went, and dick could feel the strong wind in his face. his eyes were protected by goggles, made of celluloid to avoid accidents from broken glass in case of a fall, and on his head he wore a heavy leather helmet, not unlike those used by football players. he was strapped to his seat, as were the others, in case the machine should turn turtle. the straps would then prevent them from falling out, and give them a chance to right the craft. for this can be done, and now some aviators practice plying upside down to get used to doing it in case they have to by some accidental shift of the wind. some of them can turn complete somersaults, though this is mostly done in monoplanes, and seldom in a biplane, which is much more stable in the air. "feel all right?" asked captain grantly of dick. he asked this, but dick could not hear a word, on account of the great noise of the motor. but he could read the officer's lip motions. "yes, i'm all right," the young millionaire nodded back. he was surprised to find, that, after that first sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, he was not afraid. he now felt a glorious sense of elation and delight. he was actually flying, or the next thing to it. "we'll go a little higher," said the captain, as he elevated the rudder a little more. the aeroplane kept on ascending. dick looked down. he did not feel dizzy as he had half expected. far below him were the buildings of kentfield, and the green parade ground. but what were those things like little ants, crawling over the campus? why the cadets, of course! they looked like flies, or specks. dick was ready to laugh. on a level keel they now darted ahead at greater speed as lieutenant larson turned on more gasolene. then, when dick had become a little used to the novel sensation, they showed him how to work the different levers. the motor was controlled by spark and gasolene exactly as is an automobile. but there was no water radiator, the engine being an up-to-date rotating one, and cooling in the air. the use of the wing-warping devices, by which the alerons, or wing-tips are "warped" to allow for "banking" in going around a curve, were also explained to dick by means of the levers controlling them. you know that a horse, a bicyclist, or a runner leans in toward the centre of the circle in making a curve. this is called "banking" and is done to prevent the centrifugal force of motion from taking one off in a straight line. the same thing must be done in an airship. that is, it must be inclined at an angle in making a curve. and this is accomplished by means of bending down the tips of the planes, pulling them to the desired position by means of long wires. it can also he accomplished by small auxiliary planes, called alerons, placed between the two larger, or main, planes. there is an aleron at the end of each main wing. straight ahead flew the army men and dick, and then, when the cadet was more used to it, they went around on a sharp curve. it made the young millionaire catch his breath, at first, for the airship seemed to tilt at a dangerous angle. but it was soon righted and straightened out again. suddenly a shadow seemed to pass over dick's head. he looked up, thinking it was a dark cloud, low down, but, to his surprise, it was the other army craft flying above them. "a race!" thought dick, and he wondered how his chum paul was faring. there was an impromptu race between the two aircraft, and then they separated, neither one gaining much advantage. back and forth they went, over the school grounds, and then in circles. dick was rapidly acquiring knowledge of how to operate the big biplane. "we'll go down now!" spoke the captain, though dick could not hear the words. the young millionaire made up his mind that he would have a muffler on his airship, and also more room to move about. he intended to make rather a long flight. the deflecting rudder was tilted downward, and the descent began. they were some distance out from the kentfield grounds now, but were headed for them on a long slant. dick wondered if they would reach them. at a nod from the captain, lieutenant larson reached up and shut off the motor. the sudden silence was startling. dick understood what was to be done. they were to glide, or as it is called "volplane" (pronounced vol-pla-nay, with the accent on the last syllable) to the ground. "i hope we make it safely," mused dick. but it did not look as though they had been near enough the landing place when the motor was cut off. dick saw the two army men glance rather apprehensively at one another. was something wrong? dick was sure of it a moment later when, as captain grantly pulled the lever of the deflecting rudder toward him, there was a snapping, breaking sound. "lost control!" cried the captain. "wire snapped! look out, everybody!" dick wanted to jump, but he knew that would be rash, as they were still some distance above the ground. "can't you guide her?" asked larson. "no! we've got to land the best we can!" was the answer. they were right over a little farm now, and seemed to be headed directly for a small, low building. "something is going to smash!" thought dick grimly. the next moment the airship had come down on the roof of the low farm building, crashing right through it, and a second later dick and his companions found themselves in the midst of a squealing lot of pigs, that fairly rushed over them. chapter viii at hamilton corners instinctively, as he felt the airship falling, without being under control, dick had loosed the strap that held him to his seat. this advice had been given as one of the first instructions, to enable the aviator to leap clear of the craft as it struck. but, in this case the landing had been such a queer one that there was no time for any of the three to do the latter. down on the roof of the pig sty they had come, crashing through it, for the place was old and rotten. it was this very fact, however, that saved them from more serious injuries than severe joltings. the roof had collapsed, had broken in the middle, and the squealing porkers were now running wild. most of them seemed to prefer the vicinity of the spot near where the three aviators were now tumbled in a heap, having been thus thrown by the concussion. "get out of here, you razor-back!" cried dick, as a pig fairly walked over him. he managed to struggle to his feet, but another pig took that, seemingly, as an invitation to dart between the legs of the young millionaire, and upset him. dick fell directly back on the form of captain grantly, who grunted at the impact. then, as lieutenant larson tried to get up, he, too, was bowled over by a rush of some more pigs. but the two army officers, and dick, were football players, and they knew how to take a fall, so were not harmed. fortunately they had been tossed out on a grassy part of the pen, and away from the muddy slough where the porkers were in the habit of wallowing. "get out, you brutes!" cried dick, striking at the pigs with a part of one of the pen roof boards. then, with the army men to help him, he succeeded in driving the swine out of their way. this done, the aviators looked at one another and "took an account of stock." "are you hurt?" asked the captain of dick, grimly. "no, only bruised a bit. as the old lady said of the train that came to a sudden halt because of a collision, 'do you always land this way?'" "no, indeed!" exclaimed the captain, as he looked at the ruin of the shed, amid which the airship was. "this is my first accident of this kind. the lever of the vertical rudder snapped, and i couldn't control her. luckily the roof was rotten, or we might have smashed everything." "as it is, nothing seems to be much damaged," said the lieutenant. "i wonder if we can fly back?" "it is doubtful," the captain answered. "we'll try and get her out, first." as they were climbing over the pile of broken boards to get a view of the aeroplane, an excited farmer came rushing out of a barn, a short distance away. "hey, what do you fellers mean--smashing down out of the clouds, bustin' up my pig pen, and scatterin' 'em to the four winds?" he yelled. "i'll have th' law on you for this! i'll make you pay damages! you killed a lot of my pigs, i reckon!" "i don't see any dead ones," spoke the captain, calmly. "it was an accident." "that's what them autermobile fellers says when they run over my chickens," snarled the unpleasant farmer. "but they has t' pay for 'em all the same." "and we are willing to pay you anything in reason," said the captain. "i don't believe we killed any of your pigs, however. but the shed was so rotten it was ready to fall down of itself, which was a good thing for us. how much do you want?" "well, i want a hundred dollars--that's what i want." "the shed, when new, wasn't worth a quarter of that." "i don't care!" snapped the farmer. "that's my price. some of my pigs may be lost for all i know, and pork's goin' t' be high this year. i want a hundred dollars, or you don't take your old shebang offen my premises. i'll hold it till you pay me." the army officers looked serious at this. clearly the farmer had a right to damages, but a hundred dollars was excessive. "i'll give you fifty, cash," said dick, as he pulled out a roll of bills. "will that satisfy you?" the farmer's eyes gleamed at the sight of the money. and, as dick looked at his companions, he caught a greedy glint in the eyes of lieutenant larson. "it's wuth a hundred; smashin' my shed, an' all the trouble you've caused me," grumbled the farmer. "but i'll take sixty." "no you won't. you'll take fifty or you can bring a lawsuit," replied dick, sharply. "i guess you know who i am. i'm hamilton, from the kentfield academy. colonel masterly buys some garden stuff of you, and if i tell him--" "oh, shucks, give me the fifty!" cried the farmer, eagerly, as he held out his hand for the money. "and don't you try any more tricks like that ag'in!" "we haven't any desire to," said captain grantly. "now we'll see if we can navigate." "and i've got t' see if i kin get them pigs together," grumbled the farmer, as he pocketed dick's money. "you can put in a requisition for this, i suppose," suggested the lieutenant. "i don't know whether uncle sam ought to reimburse you, or we, personally." "don't mention it!" exclaimed dick. "i'm always willing to pay for damages, though i suppose if my uncle ezra larabee was here he'd haggle with that farmer and make him throw in a pig or two for luck." "who is uncle ezra larabee?" asked the lieutenant, curiously. "a relative of mine," answered dick. "rather 'close' as regards money." "is he rich?" "yes, quite wealthy, but you'd never know it. he lives in dankville, and he and my dog grit never can get along together. he hates grit and i guess grit doesn't love him. but shall we try to get this machine out of the shed?" "i guess it's the best thing to do, now that the pigs are out of the way," agreed the captain. and, while the farmer and his hired man were chasing after the escaped pigs, the army officers and dick began extricating the airship. the splintered boards of the pig-shed were pulled to one side, and then it was seen that, aside from a broken landing wheel, little damage had been done. the engine was not harmed in the least and the snapped wire that had prevented the rudder being set to make a proper landing, was easy to splice. "and, as we've got a spare wheel we can put that on and soon start back," said the lieutenant. "say, this is getting off better than even in an automobile accident," spoke dick, with a laugh. "i didn't know you carried spare parts." "we do the wheels, as they are very light," the captain said. "now let's roll her out and see what we can do." the smashed wheel was removed from the axle, and the spare one substituted. the broken wire was repaired and the aeroplane was now about the same as before. it was rolled to a level place, and the motor tested. it ran perfectly. the farmer, having collected all his pigs, and perhaps feeling joyful because of the fifty dollars in his pocket, agreed to "hold back" on the craft, to steady it until the necessary speed of the motor had been attained. his hired man helped him. just as the captain was about to give the word to "let go" the other airship was seen coming to look for the missing one. but there was now no need of assistance, and, a moment later, dick and his companions again arose in the air. a quick return was made to the academy, those in the other airship being informed, by a signal, that all was now right. when the story of the queer landing was told, dick was regarded as a hero by his companions. "just think!" complained paul, whimsically, "your first trip, and you have an accident and you don't get so much as a scratch." "yes, but i got run over and knocked down by a pig," laughed dick. "i'll take the scratches, please. no more pigs!" "and after that, are you still going to build an airship?" asked innis. "i sure am! it's the greatest sensation in the world--aviation! i wouldn't miss it for a fortune. and i'm going to pull down that twenty thousand dollar prize; don't forget that, fellows." "good luck!" wished paul. in the days that followed there were many more airship flights, but no accidents of moment. dick went up again several times, and at last was allowed to run the aeroplane himself, with the captain and lieutenant to coach him. then only one officer went along, another cadet being taken up with dick. and finally the day came when dick was qualified to take the craft up alone, with two other cadets. he had graduated as a pilot of the air, and properly proud he was of the honor. "all you want now is experience," said captain grantly, as dick came back after a successful flight with paul and innis. "and that takes time." dick's two intimate chums also qualified as amateur pilots, and a number of other cadets were equally successful. the aviation course at kentfield was very popular. then came the end of the term, and the summer vacation was at hand. the last drills and guard-mounts were held. the graduation exercises were finished in a "blaze of glory." the juniors gave a gay dance, at which dick and his chums met the pretty girls whom they had seen at the dock that day. "and now for hamilton corners!" cried the young millionaire, when the academy was formally closed for the term. "i want you fellows to come out with me, and watch my airship being built." mr. vardon had found he could not build for dick at kentfield the craft he wanted. it would take too long, and there were not the facilities. so he and his helper went to hamilton corners, to do the preliminary work. dick and his chums were to follow as soon as school was over. larry dexter went back to new york, but promised to join dick in time for the flight for the big government prize. "well, dad, how are you?" cried dick, as he greeted his father at the family mansion in hamilton corners. "fine, my boy! there's no use asking how you are, i can see you are fine!" "did vardon and jack get here? have they started work?" dick wanted to know. "yes, i did just as you asked me to in your letter. i let them have the run of the place, and they've been busy ever since they came. i hope you are successful, dick, but, i have my doubts." "i'll show you!" cried the cadet enthusiastically. chapter ix uncle ezra's visit dick and his father had much to talk about concerning the airship. dick explained his plans, and described the new stabilizer. "well, now that you have explained it to me, i don't see but what it may be possible," said mr. hamilton, after carefully considering the matter. "it isn't so much the expense, since you have your own fortune, but, of course, there is the element of danger to be considered." "well, there's danger in anything," agreed dick. "but i think i have a lucky streak in me,--after the way we came out of that pig-pen accident," and he laughed. "yes, you were fortunate," conceded mr. hamilton. "but, don't take too many risks, my son. go in and win, if you can, but don't be rash. i am still from missouri, and you've got to show me. now i've got a lot of business to attend to, and so i'll have to leave you to your own devices. you say paul and innis are coming on?" "yes, they'll be here in a few days and stay until the airship is completed. then they'll fly with me." "anybody else going?" "yes, larry dexter--you remember him?" "oh, sure! the young reporter." "and i think i'll take mr. vardon along. we may need his help in an emergency." "a good idea. well, i wish you luck!" a large barn on the hamilton property had been set aside for the use of the aviator and his men, for he had engaged several more besides jack butt to hurry along the work on dick's new aircraft. the order had been placed for the motor, and that, it was promised, would be ready in time. dick, having had lunch, went out to see how his airship was progressing. grit raced here and there, glad to be back home again, though he would probably miss the many horses and grooms at kentfield. for grit loved to be around the stables, and the hostlers made much of him. "how are you coming on?" asked the young millionaire, as he surveyed the framework of the big craft that, he hoped, would carry him across the continent and win for him the twenty thousand dollar prize. "fine, dick!" exclaimed mr. vardon. "everything is working out well. come in and look. you can get an idea of the machine now." dick hamilton's airship was radically different from any craft previously built, yet fundamentally, it was on the same principle as a biplane. but it was more than three times as large as the average biplane, and was built in two sections. that is there were four sets of double planes, or eight in all, and between them was an enclosed cabin containing the motor, the various controls, places to sleep and eat, the cabin also forming the storage room for the oil, gasolene and other supplies. this cabin was not yet built, but, as i have said, it would be "amidship" if one may use that term concerning an airship. thus the occupants would be protected from the elements, and could move about in comfort, not being obliged to sit rigidly in a seat for hours at a time. "she's going to be pretty big," remarked dick, as he walked about the skeleton of his new craft. "she has to be able to carry all you want to take in her," said the aviator. "but she'll be speedy for all of that, for the engine will be very powerful." "will she be safe?" asked dick. "as safe as any airship. i am going to incorporate in her my gyroscope equilibrizer, or stabilizer, as you suggested." "oh, yes, i want that!" said dick, in a decided tone. "it is very good of you to allow me to demonstrate my patent on your craft," the inventor said. "it will be a fine thing for me if you win the prize, and it is known that my stabilizer was aboard to aid you," he said, with shining, eager eyes. "well, i'm only too glad i can help you in that small way," spoke dick. "i'm sure your patent is a valuable one." "and i am now positive that it will work properly," went on mr. vardon. "and i'll take precious good care that no sneak, like larson, gets a chance to tamper with it!" exclaimed jack butt. "you must not make such positive statements," warned his chief. "it may not have been larson." "well, your machine was tampered with; wasn't it, just before we sank into the river?" "yes, and that was what made us fall." "well, i'm sure larson monkeyed with it, and no one can make me believe anything else," said jack, positively. "if he comes around here--" "he isn't likely to," interrupted dick. "the army aviators were sent to texas, i believe, to give some demonstrations at a post there." "you never can tell where larson will turn up," murmured jack. dick was shown the progress of the work, and was consulted about several small changes from the original, tentative plans. he agreed to them, and then, as it was only a question of waiting until his craft was done, he decided to call on some of his friends at hamilton corners. innis and paul arrived in due season, and were delighted at the sight of dick's big, new aircraft, which, by the time they saw it, had assumed more definite shape. mr. vardon and his men had worked rapidly. "and that cabin is where we'll stay; is that it?" asked paul, as he looked at the framework. "that's to be our quarters," answered the young millionaire. paul was looking carefully on all sides of it. "something missing?" asked dick, noting his chum's anxiety. "i was looking for the fire escape." "fire escape!" cried dick. "what in the world would you do with a fire escape on an airship?" "well, you're going to carry a lot of gasolene, you say. if that gets afire we'll want to escape; won't we? i suggest a sort of rope ladder, that can be uncoiled and let down to the ground. that might answer." "oh, slosh!" cried dick. "there's going to be no fire aboard the--say, fellows, i haven't named her yet! i wonder what i'd better call her? "call her the abaris," suggested innis, "though he wasn't a lady." "who was he?" asked dick. "that name sounds well." "abaris, if you will look in the back of your dictionary, you will note was a scythian priest of apollo," said innis, with a patronizing air at his display of knowledge. "he is said to have ridden through the air on an arrow. isn't that a good name for your craft, dick?" "it sure is. i'll christen her abaris as soon as she's ready to launch. good idea, innis." "oh, i'm full of 'em," boasted the cadet, strutting about. "you're full of conceit--that's what you are," laughed paul. suddenly there came a menacing growl from grit, who was outside the airship shed, and dick called a warning. "who's there?" he asked, thinking it might be a stranger. a rasping voice answered: "it's me! are you there, nephew richard? i went all through the house, but nobody seemed to be home." "it's uncle ezra!" whispered dick, making a pretense to faint. "i've come to pay you a little visit," went on the crabbed old miser. "where's your pa?" "why, he's gone to new york." "ha! another sinful and useless waste of money! i never did see the beat!" "he had to go, on business," answered dick. "humph! couldn't he write? a two cent stamp is a heap sight cheaper than an excursion ticket to new york. but mortimer never did know the value of money," sighed uncle ezra. grit growled again. "nephew richard, if your dog bites me i'll make you pay the doctor bills," warned mr. ezra larabee. "here, grit! quiet!" cried dick, and the animal came inside, looking very much disgusted. uncle ezra looked in at the door of the shed, and saw the outlines of the airship. "what foolishness is this?" he asked, seeming to take it for granted that all dick did was foolish. "it's my new airship," answered the young millionaire. "an airship! nephew richard hamilton! do you mean to tell me that you are sinfully wasting money on such a thing as that--on something that will never go, and will only be a heap of junk?" and uncle ezra, of dankville, looked as though his nephew were a fit subject for a lunatic asylum. chapter x building the airship grit growled in a deep, threatening voice, and uncle ezra looked around with startled suddenness. "i guess i'd better chain him up before i answer you," said dick, grimly. "here, old boy!" the bulldog came, unwillingly enough, and was made secure. "an--an airship!" gasped uncle ezra, as though he could not believe it. "an airship, nephew richard. it will never go. you might a good deal better take the money that you are so foolishly wasting, and put it in a savings bank. or, i would sell you some stock in my woolen mill. that would pay you four per cent, at least." "but my airship is going to go," declared the young millionaire. "it's on the same model as one i've ridden in, and it's going to go. we're sure of it; aren't we, mr. vardon?" "oh, it will go all right," declared the aviator. "i'm sure of that. but i don't guarantee that you'll win the prize money." "what's that? what's that?" asked uncle ezra in surprise. he was all attention when it came to a matter of money. "what prize did you speak of?" "didn't you hear, uncle ezra?" inquired dick. "why, the united states government, to increase the interest in aviation, and to encourage inventors, has offered a prize of twenty thousand dollars to the first person who takes his airship from the atlantic to the pacific, or rather, from new york to san francisco with but two landings. i'm going to have a try for that prize!" "yes, and he's going to win it, too!" cried paul. "and we're at least going to share in the glory of it," added innis. "twenty thousand dollars!" murmured uncle ezra. "is it possible?" "oh, it's true enough, sir," put in mr. vardon. "the offer has been formally made. i know several of my aviator friends who are going to have a try for it. i intended to myself, but for the accident in which my craft was smashed. only for the kindness of your nephew in engaging me on this work i don't know what i should be doing now." "that's all right!" interrupted dick, who disliked praise. "i'm doing myself as much a favor in having you build this airship as i am you. i intend to have a good time in this craft, even if i don't win the prize." "twenty thousand dollars," murmured uncle ezra again, slowly. "it's an awful lot of money--an awful lot," he added in an awed tone of voice. the truth of the matter was that uncle ezra had nearly a million. but he was very "close," and never missed a chance to make more. "and do you intend to get the government prize in that--that contraption?" he asked, motioning to the half-completed aeroplane. "oh, it isn't finished yet," explained dick. "when it is, it will be one of the finest aircraft in this, or any other, country," declared mr. vardon. "i don't say that just because i am building it, but because mr. hamilton is putting into it the very best materials that can be bought." "and we mustn't forget your stabilizer," laughed dick. "what's that?" uncle ezra wanted to know. since hearing about the twenty thousand dollar prize his interest in airships seemed to have increased. "the stabilizer, or equalibrizer, whatever you wish to call it, is to keep the airship from turning over," explained mr. vardon, and he went into the details with which i have already acquainted my readers. but it is doubtful if uncle ezra heard, or at least he paid little attention, for he was murmuring over and over again to himself: "twenty thousand dollars! twenty thousand dollars! that's an awful lot of money. i--i'd like to get it myself." from time to time grit growled, and finally uncle ezra, perhaps fearing that the dog might get loose and bite him, said: "i think i'll go in the house for a while, nephew richard. your father is not likely to be home today, but as i have missed the last train back to dankville, listening to your talk about airships--foolish talk it seems to me--i will have to stay all night." "oh, certainly!" exclaimed dick, remembering that he must play the host. "go right in, uncle ezra and tell the butler to get you a lunch. i'll be in immediately." "well, i could eat a little snack," admitted the crabbed old man. "i did think of stopping in the restaurant at the railroad depot on my way here, and getting a sandwich. but the girl said sandwiches were ten cents, and they didn't look worth it to me. "i asked her if she didn't have some made with stale bread, that she could let me have for five cents, but she said they didn't sell stale sandwiches. she seemed real put-out about it, too. she needn't have. stale bread's better for you than fresh, anyhow. "but i didn't buy one. i wasn't going to throw away ten cents. that's the interest money on a dollar for two whole years." then he started back to the house. "isn't he the limit!" cried dick, in despair. "he's got almost as much money as we have, and he's so afraid of spending a cent that he actually goes hungry, i believe. and his house--why he's got a fine one, but the only rooms he and aunt samantha ever open are the kitchen and one bedroom. i had to spend some time there once, as i guess you fellows know, and say--good-night!" cried dick, with a tragic gesture. "he seemed interested in airships," ventured paul. "it was the twenty thousand dollars he was interested in," laughed dick. "i wonder if he--" "what?" asked innis, as the young millionaire paused. "oh, nothing," was the answer. "i just thought of something, but it's too preposterous to mention. say, mr. vardon, when do you expect our engine?" "oh, in about a week now. i won't be ready for it before then. we can give it a try-out on the blocks before we mount it, to see if it develops enough speed and power. but have you made your official entry for the prize yet?" "no, and i think i'd better," dick said. "i'll do it at once." dick and his chums had their lunch, and then went for a ride in dick's motor-boat, which had been brought on from kentfield. they had a jolly time, and later in the afternoon returned to watch the construction of the airship. the building of the abaris, as dick had decided to call his craft, went on apace during the days that followed. uncle ezra was more interested than dick had believed possible, and prolonged his stay nearly a week. he paid many visits to the airship shed. mr. vardon, and jack, his right-hand man, and the other workmen labored hard. the airship began to look like what she was intended for. she was of a new model and shape, and seemed to be just what dick wanted. of course she was in a sense an experiment. the main cabin, though, containing the living and sleeping quarters, as well as the machinery, was what most pleased dick and his chums. "it's like traveling in a first-class motor-boat, only up in the clouds, instead of in the water," declared innis. chapter xi a surprise "toss over that monkey wrench; will you?" "say, who had the saw last?" "i know i laid a hammer down here, but it's gone now!" "look out there! low bridge! gangway! one side!" these, and many other cries and calls, came from the big barn-like shed, where dick hamilton's airship was being constructed. dick himself, and his two chums, innis beeby and paul drew, had joined forces with mr. vardon in helping on the completion of the abaris. "we've got to get a move on!" dick had said, after he had sent in his application to compete for the twenty thousand dollar government prize. "we don't want to be held back at the last minute. boys, we've got to work on this airship ourselves." "we're with you!" cried innis and paul, eagerly. and so, after some preliminary instructions from mr. vardon, the cadets had taken the tools and started to work. it did not come so unhandily to them as might have been imagined. at the kentfield military academy they had been called upon to do much manual labor, in preparation for a military life. there had been pontoon bridges to build across streams, by means of floats and boats. there had been other bridges to throw across defiles and chasms. there were artillery and baggage wagons to transport along poor roads. and all this, done for practice, now stood dick and his chums in good stead. they knew how to employ their hands, which is the best training in the world for a young man, and they could also use tools to advantage. so now we find dick, paul and innis laboring over the new airship, in which the young millionaire hoped to make a flight across the united states, from ocean to ocean. "that's what i like to see!" exclaimed uncle ezra, as he came out to the shed just before he started back for dankville. "it does young men good to work. pity more of 'em don't do it. hard work and plain food is what the rising generation wants. i don't approve of airships--that is as a rule," the crabbed old miser hastily added, "but, of course, twenty thousand dollars is a nice prize to win. i only hope you get it. nephew richard. i like to see you work. i'm going back now. i'll tell your aunt samantha that you've at last learned how to do something, even if it is only building an airship." "don't you call my studies at kentfield something, uncle ezra?" asked dick. "no sir! no, sir-ee!" cried the elderly man. "that's time and money thrown away. but i see that you can do manual labor, nephew richard, and if you really want to do useful work, and earn money, i'd be glad to have you in my woolen mill. i could start you on three dollars and a half a week, and you could soon earn more. will you come?" "no, thank you," said dick. "thank you just the same." he had a vivid idea of what it might mean to work for his uncle ezra. besides, dick's fortune was such that he did not have to work. but he fully intended to, and he was getting a training that would enable him to work to the best advantage. just because he was a millionaire he did not despise work. in fact he liked it, and he had made up his mind that he would not be an idler. just now aviation attracted him, and he put in as many hours working over his airship--hard work, too,--as many a mechanic might have done. "well, i'll say good-bye, nephew richard," spoke uncle ezra, after walking about the big airship, and looking at it more closely than would seem natural, after he had characterized it as a "foolish piece of business." "i'm sorry you won't stay until my father gets back," spoke dick. "i expect him tomorrow, or next day." "well, if i stayed i know my hired man would waste a lot of feed on the horses," said uncle ezra. "and every time i go away he sits up and burns his kerosene lamp until almost ten o'clock at night. and oil has gone up something terrible of late." "well, i hope you'll come and see us again," invited dick, as his uncle started to go. "but won't you let me send you to the station in the auto? it isn't being used." "no, nephew richard. not for me!" exclaimed uncle ezra. "you might bust a tire, and then you'd expect me to pay for it." "oh, no, i wouldn't!" "well, then, there might be some accident, and i might get my clothes torn. that would mean i'd have to have a new suit. i've worn this one five years, and it's good for three more, if i'm careful of it!" he boasted, as he looked down at his shiny, black garments. "then you're going to walk?" asked dick. "yes, nephew richard. there's grass almost all the way to the station, and i can keep on that. it will save my shoes." "but people don't like you to walk on their grass," objected dick. "huh! think i'm going to tramp on the hard sidewalks and wear out my shoe leather?" cried uncle ezra. "i guess not!" he started off, trudging along with his cane, but paused long enough to call back: "oh, nephew richard, i got the cook to put me up some sandwiches. i can eat them on the train, and save buying. the idea of charging ten cents in the railroad restaurant! it's robbery! i had her use stale bread, so that won't be wasted." dick hopelessly shook his head. he really could say nothing. his chums knew uncle ezra's character, and sympathized with their friend. the cadets resumed work on the big airship. the framework of the wings had been completed, and all that was necessary was to stretch on the specially made canvas. the cabin was nearing completion, and the place for the engine had been built. the big propellers had been constructed of several layers of mahogany, and tested at a speed to which they would never be subjected in a flight. the bicycle wheels on which the big airship would run along the ground, until it had acquired momentum for a rise, were put in place. "i didn't just like those hydroplanes, though," said dick, who had added them as an after thought. "i think they should be made larger." "and i agree with you," said mr. vardon. "the only use you will have for the hydroplanes, or wheel-pontoons, will be in case you are compelled to make a landing on the water. but they should be larger, or you will not float sufficiently high. make them larger. but it will cost more money." "i don't mind that," returned dick. "of course i am not anxious to throw money away, but i want to make a success of this, and win the prize, not so much because of the cash, as to show how your equilibrizer works, and to prove that it is possible to make an airship flight across the continent. "so, if bigger hydroplanes are going to make it more certain for us to survive an accident, put them on." "i will," promised the aviator. pontoons, or hydroplanes, in this case, i might state, were hollow, water-tight, wooden boxes, so fitted near the wheels of the airship, that they could be lowered by levers in case the craft had to descend on water. they were designed to support her on the waves. several days of hard work passed. the aircraft was nearing completion. the cabin was finished, and had been fitted up with most of the apparatus and the conveniences for the trip. there were instruments to tell how fast the abaris was traveling, how far she was above the earth, the speed and direction of the wind and machinery, and others, to predict, as nearly as possible, future weather conditions. in the front of the cabin was a small pilothouse, in which the operator would have his place. from there he could guide the craft, and control it in every possible way. there was a sleeping cabin, fitted with bunks, a combined kitchen and dining-room, a small living-room, and the motor-room. of course the latter took up the most space, being the most important. in addition there was an outside platform, built in the rear of the enclosed cabin, where one could stand and look above the clouds, or at the earth below. gasolene and storage batteries furnished the power, and there was plenty in reserve. dick wanted to take no chances in his prize flight. the second day after uncle ezra's departure the motor for the airship arrived. "now for a test!" cried dick, when the machine had been uncrated and set up on the temporary base. the attachments were made, an extra pair of trial propellers connected, and the power turned on. with a roar and a throb, the motor started, and as mr. vardon glanced at the test gages with anxious eyes he cried: "she does better than we expected, dick! we can cross the continent with that engine, and not have to make more than two stops." "are you sure?" asked the young millionaire. "positive," was the answer. further tests confirmed this opinion, and preparations were made to install the motor in the airship. it was while this was being done that a servant brought dick a message. "someone has called to see you," said the man. "who is it?" "he says his name is lieutenant larson, formerly of the united states army, and he has important information for you." "larson!" exclaimed dick in surprise. "i wonder what he wants of me?" "will you see him?" asked paul. "i suppose i had better," said dick, slowly. "i wonder what he wants?" chapter xii larson sees uncle ezra dick hamilton had not been very friendly with lieutenant larson during the aviation instruction at kentfield. in fact the young millionaire did not like the army officer. added to this the suspicion that larson might have had some hand in tampering with the stabilizer of mr. vardon's craft, did not make dick any too anxious to see the birdman. and yet he felt that in courtesy he must. "i'll go in the library and meet him," said dick, to the servant who had brought the message. "i don't care to have him out here, where he might see my airship," dick added, to his chums. "i guess you're right there," agreed paul. "he might take some of your ideas, and make a machine for himself that would win the prize," added innis. "oh, well, i'm not so afraid of that," replied dick, "as i intend, after i complete my craft, and if she wins the prize, to turn my plans and ideas over to the government, anyhow, for their use. but i don't just like the idea of larson coming out to the work-shed." mr. vardon and his men were in another part of the big barn, and had not heard of the arrival of the army man. "how do you do?" greeted dick, as he met larson in the library. "i'm glad to see you." this was polite fiction, that, perhaps, might be pardoned. "i don't want to trouble you, mr. hamilton," went on the lieutenant, with a shifty glance around the room, "but i have left the army, and have engaged in the building of airships. "i recall that you said at kentfield, that you were going to construct one, and i called to see if i could not get the contract," larson went on. "well, i am sorry, for your sake, to say that my craft is almost completed," replied dick. "so i can't give you the contract." "completed!" cried larson, in tones that showed his great surprise. "you don't mean to tell me you have undertaken the important work of constructing an aeroplane so soon after coming from the military academy?" "well, i didn't want to waste any time," replied dick, wondering at the lieutenant's interest. "i'm going to try for the government prize, and i wanted to be early on the job." larson hesitated a moment, and resumed: "well, then it is too late; i suppose? i hoped to get you to adopt my plans for an aeroplane. but i have been delayed making arrangements, and by resigning from the army. "perhaps i am not too late, though, to have you adopt my type of equilibrizer. my mercury tubes--" "i am sorry, but you are too late there," interrupted dick. "what type are you using?" the lieutenant cried, dramatically. "the vardon. i might say that mr. vardon is also building my airship. it will contain his gyroscope." "a gyroscope!" cried the former officer. "you are very foolish! you will come to grief with that. the only safe form is the mercury tube, of which i am the inventor." at that moment vardon himself, who wished to consult dick on some point, came into the room, not knowing a caller was there. "i am sorry," went on the young millionaire, "but i am going to use mr. vardon's gyroscope." "then you may as well give up all hope of winning the prize!" sneered larson. "you are a very foolish young man. vardon is a dreamer, a visionary inventor who will never amount to anything. his gyroscope is a joke, and--" "i am sorry you think so," interrupted the aviator. "but you evidently considered my gyroscope such a good joke that you tried to spoil it." "i! what do you mean? you shall answer for that!" cried the former lieutenant, in an unnecessarily dramatic manner. "i think you know what i mean," replied vardon, coolly. "i need not go into details. only i warn you that if you are seen tampering about the hamilton airship, on which i am working, that you will not get off so easily as you did in my case!" "be careful!" warned larson. "you are treading on dangerous ground!" "and so are you," warned the aviator, not allowing himself to get excited as did larson. "i know of what i am speaking." "then i want to tell you that you are laboring under a misapprehension," sneered the former officer. "i can see that i am not welcome here. i'll go." dick did not ask him to stay. the young millionaire was anything but a hypocrite. "what did he want?" asked mr. vardon, when larson had left. "to build my airship. he evidently did not know that i had already engaged you. he got a surprise, i think." "he is a dangerous man, and an unscrupulous one," said the aviator. "i do not say that through any malice, but because i firmly believe it. i would never trust him." "nor shall i," added dick. "i presume though, that he will have some feeling against me for this." "very likely," agreed mr. vardon. "you will have to be on your guard." the young millionaire and the aviator then went into details about some complicated point in the construction of the abaris, with which it is not necessary to weary my readers. larson must have recalled what dick had told him about uncle ezra being a wealthy man, for, as subsequent events disclosed, the disappointed army officer went almost at once to dankville. and there he laid before the miserly man a plan which uncle ezra eventually took up, strange as it may seen. it was the bait of the twenty thousand dollar prize that "took," in his case. larson had some trouble in reaching mr. larabee, who was a bit shy of strangers. when one, (in this case larson) was announced by aunt samantha, mr. larabee asked: "does he look like an agent?" "no, ez, i can't say he does." "does he look like a collector?" "no, ez, not the usual kind." "or a missionary, looking for funds to buy pocket handkerchiefs for the heathen?" "hardly. he's smoking, and i wish you'd hurry and git him out of the parlor, for he's sure to drop some ashes on the carpet that we've had ever since we got married." "smoking in my parlor!" exclaimed uncle ezra. "i'll get him out of there. the idea! why, if any sun is let in there it will spoil the colors. how'd you come to open that?" he asked of his wife, wrathfully. "i didn't. but i was so surprised at havin' someone come to the front door, which they never do, that i didn't know what to say. he asked if you was to home, and i said you was. then he said: 'well, i'll wait for him in here,' and he pushed open the parlor door and went in. i had it open the least mite, for i thought i saw a speck of sun comin' through a crack in the blinds and i was goin' in to close it when the bell rang." "the idea! sitting in my parlor!" muttered uncle ezra. "i'll get him out of that. you're sure he ain't a book peddler?" "he don't seem to have a thing to sell except nerve," said aunt samantha, "and he sure has got plenty of that." "i'll fix him!" cried uncle ezra. but he proved to be no match for the smooth sharper in the shape of larson. "did you want to see me?" demanded the crabbed old man. "i did," answered larson coolly, as he continued to puff away at his cigar. "i came to offer you a chance to make twenty thousand dollars." "twenty thousand dollars!" uncle ezra nearly lost his breath, he was so surprised. "that's what i said! i'm in a position to give you a good chance to make that much money, and perhaps more. if you will give me half an hour of your time--" "look here!" interrupted mr. larabee, "this ain't no lottery scheme; is it? if it is i want to warn you that i'm a deacon in the church. i wouldn't go into any lottery unless i was sure i could win. i don't believe in gambling. as a deacon of the church i couldn't countenance nothing like that. no gambling!" "this is not a gamble," larson assured him. "it's a sure thing. i'll show you how to make twenty thousand dollars!" "i--i guess i'd better open a window in here, so we can see," said uncle ezra, faintly. "that's quite a pile of money to talk about in the dark," and to the horror of aunt samantha she saw, a little later, the sun shamelessly streaming in on her carpet that had only been treated to such indignities on the occasions of a funeral, or something like that. the parlor of the dankville house was like a tomb in this respect. chapter xiii uncle ezra acts queerly exactly what passed between uncle ezra larabee and his caller, aunt samantha never learned. she was so overcome at seeing the parlor opened, that perhaps she did not listen sufficiently careful. she overheard the murmur of voices, and, now and then, such expressions as "above the clouds," "in the air," "twenty thousand dollars, and maybe more." "gracious goodness!" she murmured as she hurried out to the kitchen, where she smelled something burning on the stove. "i wonder what it's all about? can ezra have lost money on some of his investments? if he has, if it's gone up above the clouds, and in the air, the way he's talking about it things will be terrible; terrible! it will come nigh onto killin' him, i expect!" she went back to listen again outside the parlor door, but could make out nothing. she did catch, however, her husband's expression of: "twenty thousand dollars! it's a pile of money! a heap!" "oh my!" she murmured faintly. "if he's lost that we'll go to the poorhouse, sure!" but nothing like that happened. as a matter of fact uncle ezra could have lost that sum several times over, and not have felt it except in the anguish of his mind. when the caller had gone, uncle ezra seemed rather cheerful, much to the amazement of aunt samantha. she could not understand it. at the same time her husband appeared to be worried about something. "but he doesn't act as though he had lost a lot of money," his wife reasoned. "he certainly acts queer, but not just that way. i wonder what it can be?" and during the next week uncle ezra acted more queerly than ever. he received several other visits from the strange man who had given his name to aunt samantha, when first calling, as "lieutenant larson." also, mr. larabee went off on several short trips. "i wonder whatever's got into him?" mused aunt samantha. "i never knew him to act this way before. i do hope he isn't doing anything rash!" if she had only known! uncle ezra became more and more engrossed with his caller who came several days in succession. they were shut up together in the parlor, and one window shutter was opened each time, to the horror of mrs. larabee. "that carpet will be faded all out, and clean ruined," she complained to her husband. "well, if it is, maybe i'll get money enough to buy a new one," said uncle ezra. "mind, i'm not saying for sure," he added, cautiously, "but maybe." "why, how you talk!" cried aunt samantha. "that carpet ought to last us until we die! a new carpet! i never heard tell of such a thing! never in all my born days! the idea!" uncle ezra chuckled grimly. it was clear that he was acting in a new role, and he was a surprise, even to himself. at last aunt samantha could stand the suspense no longer. one night, after a rather restless period, she awakened uncle ezra who had, most unusually, been talking in his sleep. "ezra! ezra! wake up!" she demanded in a loud whisper, at the same time vigorously shaking him. "eh! what is it? burglars?" he asked, sitting up in bed. "no, ezra. nothin' like that!" "oh, cats, eh? well, if it's only cats go to sleep. i don't mind 'em." "no, ezra, i didn't say cats. but you're talkin' in your sleep. that is, you were." "i was?" "yes." "what'd i say?" and he seemed anxious. "why you were talkin' a lot about flyin' in the air, and goin' up to the clouds, and bein' in a race, and winnin' twenty thousand dollars! oh, ezra, if you care for me at all, tell me what mystery this is!" she pleaded. "did i say all that?" he asked, scratching his head. "yes, and a lot more! you said something about an airship." "humph! well, that's it!" "what is?" "an airship! i might as well tell you, i reckon. i'm having one of them contraptions made." "what contraptions? oh, ezra!" "an airship," he answered. "i'm going to have one, and win a twenty thousand dollar prize from the government. then i'll go into the airship business and sell 'em. i'll get rich, samantha!" "oh ezra! do you mean to say you're goin' in for any such foolishness as that?" "'tain't 'foolish!" "'tis so! and--and are you--are you goin' to go up in one of them things--them airships?" "well, i reckon i might. it's my machine, and i'm not going to let them aviary fellers monkey too much with it unless i'm on board. they might bust something, and want me to pay for it. yes, i reckon i'll do some flying myself." "ezra larabee!" cried his horror-stricken wife. "be you plumb crazy?" "i hope not, samantha." "but goin' up in an airship! why it's flyin' in the face of providence!" "well, it'll be flying in the air, at the same time," he chuckled. clearly this was a different uncle ezra than his wife had ever known. she sighed. "the idea!" aunt samantha murmured. "goin' up in an airship. you'll fall and be killed, as sure as fate." "that's what i was afraid of first," said uncle ezra, "and i didn't want to go into the scheme. but this young feller, lieutenant larson, he proved to me different. they can't fall. if your engine stops all you got to do is to come down like a feather. he used some funny word, but i can't think of it now. but it's safe--it's safer than farming, he claims. most any time on a farm a bull may gore you, or a threshing engine blow up. but there's nothing like that in an airship. "besides, think of the twenty thousand dollars i'm going to get," he added as a final argument. "you're not sure of it," objected his wife. "oh, yes i be!" he boasted. "then i'm going into the airship business. well, now i've told you, i'm going to sleep again." "as if anyone could sleep after hearin' such news," she sighed. "i jest know suthin' will happen! and think what everybody will say about you! they'll say you're crazy!" "let 'em!" he replied, tranquilly. "they won't say so when i get that twenty thousand dollars!" "but can't you get the money any easier way?" she wanted to know. "how, i'd like to know? all i got to do to get this, is to get an airship to fly from new york to san francisco." "why ezra larabee!" she exclaimed. "now i'm sure you're not right in your head. you'll have the doctor in the mornin'." "oh, no, i won't!" he declared. "don't catch me wasting any money on doctors. i'm all right." how aunt samantha managed to get to sleep again she never knew. but she did, though her rest was marred by visions of airships and balloons turning upside down and spilling mr. larabee all over the landscape. mrs. larabee renewed her objections in the morning, but her husband was firm. he had decided to have an airship built to compete for the big prize, and larson was going to do the work. just what arguments the aviator had used to win over uncle ezra none but he himself knew. i rather think it was the harping constantly on the twenty thousand dollar prize. that mr. larabee was hard to convince may easily be imagined. in fact it was learned, afterward, that the lieutenant almost gave up the attempt at one time. but he was persistent, to gain his own ends at least, and talked earnestly. finally uncle ezra gave a rather grudging consent to the scheme, but he stipulated that only a certain sum be spent, and that a comparatively small one. to this the lieutenant agreed, but i fancy with a mental reservation which meant that he would get more if he could. at any rate preparations for building the craft, in an unused part of uncle ezra's woolen mill at dankville, went on apace. i say apace, and yet i must change that. uncle ezra, with his usual "closeness" regarding money, rather hampered larson's plans. "what do you reckon an airship ought to cost?" mr. larabee had asked when he first decided he would undertake it. "oh, i can make a good one for three thousand dollars," had been the answer of the former lieutenant. "three thousand dollars!" whistled uncle ezra. "that's a pot of money!" "but you'll get twenty thousand dollars in return." "that's so. well, go ahead. i guess i can stand it." but it was not without many a sigh that the crabbed old man drew out the money from the bank, in small installments. the work was started, but almost at once larson demanded more than the original three thousand. uncle ezra "went up in the air," so to speak. "more money!" he cried. "i shan't spend another cent!" "but you'll have to. we want this airship to win the prize, and get ahead of the one your nephew is building. i have decided on some changes, and they will cost money." uncle ezra sighed--and gave in. the truth was that larson was little better than a sharper, and, though he did know something about aeroplanes, he knew more about how to fleece his victims. and though uncle ezra furnished more money he tried to save it in other ways. he skimped on his table, until even aunt samantha, used as she was to "closeness," objected. then mr. larabee announced a cut in wages at his factory, and nearly caused a strike. but he was firm, and by reducing the pittance earned by the luckless operatives he managed to save a few hundred dollars which promptly went into the airship--that is, what larson did not keep for himself. but uncle ezra's airship was being built, which fact, when it became known, caused much comment. no one save uncle ezra and the lieutenant and his workmen, were allowed in the factory where the machine was being constructed. it was to be kept a secret as to the form of construction. meanwhile, having committed himself to becoming an aviator, mr. larabee began to study the methods of birdmen. he obtained several volumes (second hand, of course) on the history of navigating the air, and on the advance in the construction of aeroplanes. these he read diligently. he could also have been observed going about, gazing up into the clouds, as though he was calculating from how great a height a man could fall with safety. in reality he imagined he was studying air currents. uncle ezra larabee was certainly acting most queerly, and his friends, or, rather, his acquaintances, for he had no real friends, did not know what to make of him. he did not give up his idea, however, not even when larson raised his original estimate to five thousand dollars. "petrified polecats!" cried uncle ezra. "you'll bankrupt me, man!" "oh, no," answered larson, with a winning smile. "this is getting off cheap. i want to increase the size of my mercury stabilizer to render the airship more safe for you when you go after that twenty thousand dollars." "well, i s'pose i've got to," sighed uncle ezra, and he made a careful note of how much had already been spent. "there's three thousand, nine hundred twenty-eight dollars and fourteen cents you've had so far," he reminded the lieutenant. "don't be wasteful!" "i won't," was the promise, easily given at least. chapter xiv the trial flight "all ready now; take her out!" "yes, and look out for the side wings! that doorway isn't any too wide." "no. we'll have to cut some off, i guess!" "say, it's big; isn't it?" these were the comments of dick hamilton and his chums as the fine, new airship, the abaris, was wheeled out of the shed where it had been constructed. and certainly the young millionaire might be proud of his newest possession. mr. vardon and his men had labored well on the aeroplane. it was rather a tight squeeze to get the big craft out of the barn doors, wide as they were, but it was successfully accomplished, and the craft now stood on a level stretch of grass, ready for her first trial flight. save for a few small details, and the stocking and provisioning of the craft in preparation for the trip across the continent, everything had been finished. the big motor had been successfully tested, and had developed even more power than had been expected. the propellers delivered a greater thrust on the air than was actually required to send the abaris along. "we'll have that for emergencies," said dick. "such as getting about in a hurricane, and the like." "i hope we don't get into anything like that," remarked mr. vardon, "but if we do, i think we can weather it." "how does the gyroscope stabilizer work?" asked paul, who with innis, had made dick's house his home while the airship was being built. "it does better than i expected," replied the inventor. "i was a bit doubtful, on account of having to make it so much larger than my first model, whether or not it would operate. but it does, perfectly,--at least it has in the preliminary tests. it remains to be seen whether or not it will do so when we're in the air, but i trust it will." "at any rate, larson hasn't had a chance to tamper with it," said jack butt, grimly. "no, he hasn't been around," agreed dick. "i wonder what has become of him?" as yet the young millionaire knew nothing of the plans of his uncle ezra, for he had been too busy to visit his relatives in dankville. "well, let's wheel her over to the starting ground," proposed dick, as they stood around the airship. a level stretch had been prepared back of the barn, leading over a broad meadow, and above this the test flight would be made, as it offered many good landing places. the airship was so large and heavy, as compared with the ordinary biplane, that a team of horses was used to pull it to the starting place. but heavy as it necessarily had to be, to allow the enclosed cabin to be carried, the young millionaire and his aviator hoped that the power of the motor would carry them aloft and keep them there. "go ahead!" cried dick, as the team was hitched to the long rope made fast to the craft. "take it easy now, we don't want an accident before we get started. grit, come back here! this is nothing to get excited over," for the bulldog was wildly racing here and there, barking loudly. he did not understand the use of the big, queer-looking machine. "well, i'm just in time, i see!" exclaimed a voice from the direction of the house. dick turned and cried: "hello, larry, old man. i'm glad you got here. i was afraid you wouldn't," and he vigorously shook hands with the young reporter, who also greeted the other cadets. grit leaped joyfully upon him, for he and larry were great friends. "going to take her up, dick?" asked larry dexter. "going to try," was the cautious answer. "want to take a chance?" "i sure do! it won't be the first chance i've taken. and i may get a good story out of this. got orders from the editor not to let anything get away from me." "well, i hope you have a success to report, and not a failure," remarked paul. "same here," echoed beeby. when the airship had been hauled to the edge of the starting ground, a smooth, hard-packed, level space, inclining slightly down grade, so as to give every advantage, a careful inspection was made of every part of the craft. as i have explained, all the vital parts of the abaris were in the enclosed cabin, a unique feature of the airship. in that, located "amid-ships," was the big motor, the various controls, the living, sleeping and dining-rooms and storage compartments for oil, gasolene and supplies. naturally there was no excess room, and quarters were almost as cramped as on a submarine, where every inch counts. but there was room enough to move about, and have some comfort. on an enclosed platform back of the cabin there was more space. that was like an open deck, and those on it would be protected from the fierce rushing of the air, by means of the cabin. this cabin, i might add, was built wedge-shaped, with the small part pointing ahead, to cut down the air resistance as much as possible. the big propellers were of course outside the cabin, and in the rear, where was located the horizontal rudder, for guiding the craft to right or left. at the rear was also an auxiliary vertical rudder, for elevating or lowering the craft. the main elevation rudder was in front, and this was of a new shape, never before used, as far as mr. vardon knew. there was another feature of the abaris that was new and one which added much to the comfort and safety of those aboard her. this had to do with the starting of the motor and the operation of the big wooden propellers. in most aeroplanes, whether of the single or double type, the propeller, or propellers, are directly connected to the motor. in some monoplanes the motor, especially the gnome, itself rotates, carrying the blades with it. in biplanes, such as the burgess, wright or curtiss, it is the custom to operate the propellers directly from the motor, either by means of a shaft, or by sprocket chains. but, in any case, the starting of the engine means the whirling of the propellers, for they are directly connected. this is why, when once the engine stops in mid-air, it can not be started again. or at least if it is started it is mostly a matter of chance in getting it to go under compression or by the spark. there is no chance for the aviator to get out and whirl the propellers which are, in a measure, what a flywheel is to an automobile. also that is why the aviator has to be in his seat at the controls, and have some other person start his machine for him, by turning over the propeller, or propellers until the motor fires. lately however, especially since the talk of the flight across the atlantic, a means has been found to allow the aviator, or some helper with him, to start the engine once it has stalled in midair. this is accomplished by means of a sprocket chain gear and a crank connected to the engine shaft. the turning handle is within reach of the aviator. but mr. vardon, and dick, working together, had evolved something better than this. of course in their craft, with space to move about in the cabin, they had an advantage over the ordinary aviator, who, in case of engine trouble, has no place to step to to make an examination. but dick's engine was not directly connected to the propellers. there was a clutch arrangement, so that the motor could be started, with the propellers out of gear, and they could be "thrown in," just as an automobile is started. this gave greater flexibility, and also allowed for the reversing of the propellers to make a quick stop. and it was not necessary for dick to "crank" his motor. an electric self-starter did this for him, though in case of emergency the engine could be started by hand. in fact everything aboard the abaris was most up-to-date, and it was on this that dick counted in winning the big prize. "well, i guess everything is as ready as it ever will be," remarked the young millionaire, as he and the aviator made a final inspection of the craft. "get aboard, fellows!" "he's as cheerful about it as though he were inviting us to a hanging," laughed paul. "oh, i'm not worrying about any accident," said dick quickly. "i'm only afraid we've made her too big and won't get any speed out of her. and speed is what's going to count in this trans-continental flight." "she'll be speedy enough," predicted mr. vardon, with a confident air. paul, innis, larry and mr. vardon entered the cabin. then dick went in, followed by jack butt, who remained to tighten a guy wire that was not just to his satisfaction. "well, are we all here?" asked dick, looking around. "yes," answered paul, and there was a note of quiet apprehension in his voice. indeed it was rather a risk they were all taking, but they had confidence in mr. vardon. "let her go," said dick to the aviator. "no, you have the honor of starting her, mr. hamilton," insisted mr. vardon, motioning to the electrical apparatus. "all right! here goes," announced the wealthy youth, as he pressed the starting handle. everyone was on the alert, but nothing happened. the motor remained "dead." "what's the trouble?" asked dick. "you've always got to turn that switch first, before you turn the starting handle," explained jack. "oh, sure! how stupid of me!" cried dick. "and i've started it in practice a score of times. well, now, once more." this time, when the switch had been thrown, the motor started at once with a throbbing roar. faster and faster it rotated until the whole craft trembled. there was considerable noise, for the muffler was not fully closed. dick wanted to warm-up the machinery first. "that'll do!" shouted mr. vardon, who was watching the gage that told the number of revolutions per minute. "throw in your clutch!" "now to see if she'll rise or not," murmured dick. he pulled the lever that closed the muffler, thus cutting down, in a great measure, the throb of the motor. then, with a look at his chums, he threw in the clutch. the great propellers began to revolve, and soon were flying around on their axles with the swiftness of light. slowly the abaris moved forward along the ground. "we're off!" cried paul, excitedly. "not quite yet," answered dick. "i want more power than we've got now." he had it, almost in a moment, for the airship increased her speed across the slightly downward slope. faster and faster she rolled along on the rubber-tired wheels. "now!", cried dick, with his hand on the lever of the elevating rudder. "look out for yourselves, fellows!" he gave a backward pull. a thrill seemed to go through the whole craft. her nose rose in the air. the forward wheels left the ground. then the back ones tilted up. up shot the abaris at an easy angle. up and up! higher and higher! "we're doing it!" cried dick, as he looked from the pilot house window to the earth fast falling below him. "fellows, she's a success! we're going up toward the clouds!" chapter xv in danger that dick was proud and happy, and that mr. vardon and the chums of the young millionaire were pleased with the success of the airship, scarcely need be said. there was, for the first few moments, however such a thrill that scarcely any one of them could correctly analyze his feelings. of course each one of them had been in an aeroplane before. mr. vardon and his helper had made many flights, not all of them successful, and dick and his fellow cadets had gone up quite often, though they were, as yet, only amateurs. larry dexter was perhaps less familiar with aeroplanes than any of them, but he seemed to take it as a matter of course. "say, this is great! just great!" cried dick, as he slipped the lever of the elevating rudder into a notch to hold it in place. he intended going up considerably higher. "it sure is great, old man!" cried paul. "i congratulate you." "oh, the praise belongs to mr. vardon," said dick, modestly. "i couldn't have done anything without him." "and if it hadn't been for your money, i couldn't have done anything," declared the aviator. "it all worked together." "say, how high are you going to take us?" asked innis. "not getting scared, are you?" asked dick, with a glance at the barograph, to ascertain the height above the earth. "we're only up about two thousand feet. i want to make it three." he looked at mr. vardon for confirmation. "three thousand won't be any too much," agreed the aviator. "she'll handle better at that distance, or higher. but until we give her a work out, it's best not to get too high." the big propellers were whirling more and more rapidly as the motor warmed-up to its work. the craft was vibrating with the strain of the great power, but the vibration had been reduced to a minimum by means of special spring devices. "now we'll try a spiral ascent," said dick, as he moved the lever of the horizontal rudder. the abaris responded instantly, and began a spiral climb, which is usually the method employed by birdmen. they also generally descend in spirals, especially when volplaning. up and up went the big aircraft. there was a section of the cabin floor made of thick transparent celluloid, and through this a view could be had of the earth below. "we're leaving your place behind, dick," said paul, as he noted the decreasing size of the home of the young millionaire. "well, we'll come back to it--i hope," dick answered. "don't you fellows want to try your hand at steering?" "wait until you've been at it a while, and see how it goes," suggested innis. "we don't want to wreck the outfit." but the abaris seemed a stanch craft indeed, especially for an airship. "say, this is a heap-sight better than sitting strapped in a small seat, with the wind cutting in your face!" exclaimed larry, as he moved about the enclosed cabin. "it sure is mighty comfortable--the last word in aeroplaning, just as dick's touring car was in autoing," declared paul, who had taken a seat at a side window and was looking out at some low-lying clouds. "all we want now is a meal, and we'll be all to the merry!" dick exclaimed. "a meal!" cried larry. "are you going to serve meals aboard here?" "yes, and cook 'em, too," answered the young millionaire. "paul, show larry where the galley is," for the reporter had not called at hamilton corners in some time, and on the last occasion the airship had been far from complete. "say, this is great!" larry cried, as he saw the electrical appliances for cooking. "this is the limit! i'm glad i came along." "we won't stop to cook now," said mr. vardon. "i want to see the various controls tested, to know if we have to make any changes. now we'll try a few evolutions." in order that all aboard might become familiar with the workings of the machinery, it was decided that there should be turn and turn about in the matter of steering and operating the craft. reaching a height of three thousand feet, as dick ascertained by the barograph, the young millionaire straightened his craft out on a level keel, and kept her there, sending her ahead, and in curves, at an increasing speed. "there you go now, paul," he called. "suppose you take her for a while." "well, if you want an accident, just let me monkey with some of the works," laughed the jolly cadet. "i can do it to the queen's taste." "you'll have to go out of your way, then," said mr. vardon. "i've arranged the controls so they are as nearly careless proof as possible. just think a little bit about what you are going to do, and you won't have any trouble. it's a good thing for all of you to learn to manage the craft alone. so start in." paul found it easier than he expected, and he said, in spite of her bulk, that the abaris really steered easier than one of the smaller biplanes they had gotten used to at kentfield. back and forth over the fields, meadows and woods in the vicinity of hamilton corners the airship was taken, in charge of first one and then another of the party aboard. larry dexter was perhaps the one least familiar with the workings of the machine, yet even he did well, with dick and mr. vardon at his side to coach him. "now we'll give the gyroscope stabilizer a test!" said mr. vardon, when each, including himself, had had a turn. "i want to make sure that it will stand any strain we can put on it." "what are you going to do?" asked dick. "i'm going to tilt the craft suddenly at an angle that would turn her over if it were not for the stabilizer," was the answer. dick looked at the barograph, or height-recording gage. it registered thirty-eight hundred feet. they had gone up a considerable distance in making their experiments. "maybe you'd better wait," suggested the young millionaire, pointing to the hand of the dial, "until we go down a bit." "no," decided the aviator. "if she's going to work at all she'll do it up at this distance as well, if not better, than she would five hundred, or one hundred feet, from the ground." "but it might be safer--" began paul. "there won't be any danger--it will work, i'm sure of it," said mr. vardon, confidently. the gyroscope which was depended on to keep the airship on a level keel at all times, or at least to bring her back to it if she were thrown to a dangerous angle, had been set in motion as soon as the start was made. the big lead wheel, with the bearings of antifriction metal, was spinning around swiftly and noiselessly. once it had been started, a small impulse from a miniature electrical motor kept it going. "now," said mr. vardon, issuing his orders, "when i give the word i want you all suddenly to come from that side of the cabin to this side. at the same time, dick, you will be at the steering wheel, and i want you to throw her head around as if you were making a quick turn for a spiral descent. that ought to throw her nearly on her beams' end, and we'll see how the gyroscope works. that will be a good test. i'll stand by to correct any fault in the gyroscope." they were all a little apprehensive as they ranged themselves in line near one wall of the cabin. the airship tilted slightly as all the weight came on one side, just as a big excursion steamer lists to starboard or port when the crowd suddenly rushes all to one rail. but, on a steamer, deck hand are kept in readiness, with barrels of water, and these they roll to the opposite rail of the boat, thus preserving the balance. mr. vardon depended on the gyroscope to perform a like service for the airship, and to do it automatically. the aviator waited a few moments before giving the order to make the sudden rush. already the apparatus to which was contrasted lieutenant larson's mercury tubes, had acted, and the abaris, which had dipped, when all the passengers collected on one side, had now resumed her level keel again, showing that the gyroscope had worked so far at any rate. "now we'll give her a trial," called mr. vardon. "all ready, come over on the run, and throw her around, dick!" on the run they came, and dick whirled the steering wheel around to the left, to cause the abaris to swerve suddenly. and swerve she did. with a sickening motion she turned as a vessel rolls in a heavy sea, and, at the same moment there was a dip toward the earth. the motor which had been humming at high speed went dead on the instant, and dick hamilton's airship plunged downward. chapter xvi dick is warned "what's the matter?" "what happened?" "we're falling!" "somebody do something!" everyone seemed talking at once, calling out in fear, and looking wildly about for some escape from what seemed about to be a fatal accident. for the abaris was over half a mile high and was shooting toward the earth at a terrific rate. "wait! quiet, everybody!" called dick, who had not deserted his post at the steering wheel. "i'll bring her up. we'll volplane down! it'll be all right!" his calmness made his chums feel more secure, and a glance at mr. vardon and his machinist aided in this. for the veteran aviator, after a quick inspection of the machinery, no longer looked worried. "what has happened?" asked innis. "our engine stalled, for some unknown reason," answered mr. vardon, quickly. "fortunately nothing is broken. i'll see if i can't start it with the electrical generator. are you holding her all right, dick?" "i think so; yes. i can take four or five minutes more to let her down easy." "well, take all the time you can. head her up every once in a while. it will be good practice for you. the stabilizer worked all right, anyhow." the airship was not on a level keel, but was inclined with her "bow" pointed to the earth, going downward on a slant. but dick knew how to manage in this emergency, for many times he had practiced volplaning to earth in ordinary biplanes. by working the lever of the vertical rudder, he now brought the head, or bow, of the airship up sharply, and for a moment the downward plunge was arrested. the abaris shot along parallel to the plane of the earth's surface. this operation, repeated until the ground is reached, is, as i have already explained, called volplaning. "something is wrong," announced mr. vardon, as he yanked on the lever of the starting motor, and turned the switch. only the hum of the electrical machine resulted. the gasolene motor did not "pick up," though both the gasolene and spark levers were thrown over. "never mind," counseled dick. "i can bring her down all right. there's really nothing more the matter than if we had purposely stopped the motor." "no, that's so," agreed mr. vardon. "but still i want to see what the trouble is, and why it stopped. i'll try the hand starter." but this was of no use either. the gasolene motor would not start, and without that the propellers could not be set in motion to sustain the big craft in the air. mr. vardon, and his helper, with the aid of innis, paul and larry, worked hard at the motor, but it was as obstinate as the engine of some stalled motor-boat. "i can't understand it," said the aviator. "there's plenty of gasolene in the tank, and the spark is a good, fat one. but the motor simply won't start. how you making out, dick?" "all right. we're going to land a considerable distance from home, but maybe we can get her started when we reach the ground." "we'll try, anyhow," agreed the aviator. "is she responding all right?" "fine. couldn't be better. let some of the other boys take a hand at it." "well, maybe it would be a good plan," agreed the aviator. "you never can tell when you've got to make a glide. take turns, boys." "i don't think i'd better, until i learn how to run an airship that isn't in trouble," said larry dexter. "well, perhaps not," said mr. vardon. "but the others may." meanwhile the abaris had been slowly nearing earth, and it was this slowness, caused by the gradual "sifting" down that would make it possible to land her with scarcely a jar. if you have ever seen a kite come down when the wind has died out, you will understand exactly what this "sifting" is. it means gliding downward in a series of acute angles. the first alarm over, all was now serene aboard dick's airship. the attempt to start the motor had been given up, and under the supervision of mr. vardon the two cadets, innis and paul, took turns in bringing the craft down with the engine "dead." the aviator and his helper had had experience enough at this. "say, this is something new, guiding as big a ship as this without power," remarked innis, as he relinquished the wheel to paul. "it sure is," said tile latter. then, a little later, he called out: "i say, somebody relieve me, quick. i believe i'm going to bring her down in that creek!" they all looked ahead and downward. the abaris, surely enough, was headed for a stream of water. "perhaps you'd better handle her," said dick to the builder of the craft. "we don't want her wrecked before we at least have a start after that prize." mr. vardon nodded, and took the wheel from paul. a few seconds later he had brought the craft to the ground within a few feet of the edge of the stream. had it been a wider and deeper one they could have landed on it by using the hydroplanes, but the water seemed too shallow and full of rocks for that evolution. and so skillfully had mr. vardon manipulated the planes and levers that the landing was hardly felt. a number of specially-made springs took up the jar. "well, we're here!" exclaimed dick, as they all breathed in relief. "now to see what the trouble was." "and we've got a long walk back home, in case we can't find the trouble," sighed innis, for he was rather stout, and did not much enjoy walking. they had come down several miles from hamilton corners. "oh, we'll get her fixed up somehow," declared dick, with confidence. quite a throng had gathered from the little country hamlet, on the edge of which the aircraft had descended, and they crowded up about the abaris, looking in wonder at her size and strange shape. mr. vardon lost no time in beginning his hunt for the engine trouble, and soon decided that it was in the gasolene supply, since, though the tank was nearly full, none of the fluid seemed to go into the carburetor. "there's a stoppage somewhere," the aviator said. the fluid was drawn off into a reserve tank and then the cause of the mischief was easily located. a small piece of cotton waste had gotten into the supply pipe, and completely stopped the flow of gasolene. "there it is!" cried the aviator, as he took it out, holding it up for all to see. "i wonder if anyone could have done that on purpose?" asked dick, looking at his chums, reflectively. "you mean--larson?" inquired jack butt. "he's capable of anything like that." "but he wasn't near the machine," said paul. "not unless he sneaked in the barn some night," went on the machinist, who seemed to have little regard for the former lieutenant. "well, there's no way of telling for certain, so we had better say nothing about it," decided dick. "then, too, any of us might have accidentally dropped the waste in the tank while we were working around the ship. i guess we'll call it an accident." "but it must have been in the tank for some time," argued larry dexter, "and yet it only stopped up the pipe a little while ago." "it was probably floating around in the tank, doing no damage in particular," explained mr. vardon. "then, when we made the ship tilt that way, to test the stabilizer, the gasolene shifted, and the waste was flushed into the pipe. but we're all right now." this was proved a little later when the motor was started with no trouble whatever. there was not a very good place to make a start, along the edge of the stream, but dick and his chums realized that they could not always have perfect conditions, so they must learn to do under adverse ones. "look out of the way!" warned the young millionaire to the assembled crowd. they scattered from in front of the craft. the motor throbbed and thundered up to high speed, and then the propellers were thrown into gear. the big blades beat on the air, the ship moved slowly forward. it acquired speed, and then, amid the wondering comments and excited shouts of the crowd, it soared aloft, and glided through the air to a great height. "off again!" cried dick, who was at the wheel. the trip back to hamilton corners was made safely, and without incident worthy of mention. the four young men took turns in working the various controls, so as to become familiar with them, and dick paid particular attention to larry dexter, who needed some coaching. "i'll get a good story out of this for my paper," said the young reporter, who was always on the lookout for "copy." "well, we've proved that she will fly, and take care of us even when an accident happens," remarked dick, when the craft had been put back in the barn. "now we'll groom her a bit, put on the finishing touches, and we'll be ready to try for that prize. the time is getting short now." "i hope you win it," said mr. vardon. "i shall feel responsible, in a way, if you don't." "nothing of the sort!" cried dick. "whatever happens, i've got a fine airship, and we'll have a good time, even if we don't get the twenty thousand dollars." the next week was a busy one, for there were several little matters about the airship that needed attention. but gradually it was made as nearly perfect as possible. then, one morning, mr. hamilton, who had some business to transact with uncle ezra, said to dick: "could you take a run over there and leave him these securities? he asked me to get them for him out of the safe deposit box. i don't know what he wants of them, but they are his, and i have no time to take them to him myself. you can go in your airship, if you like, and give him a surprise." "no, i think i'll go in the auto. mr. vardon is making a change in the motor, and it isn't in shape to run today. i'll take the boys over to dankville in the small car." a little later dick and his chums were on their way to uncle ezra's. they reached dankville in good time, but, on calling at the house, aunt samantha told them her husband was at the woolen mill. "we'll go down there and see him," decided dick, after talking to his aunt a little while. she had been looking in the parlor to see that, by no chance, had a glint of light gotten in. of late her husband and his airship-partner, larson, had not used the "best room," and so aunt samantha's fears about the carpet being spoiled by cigar ashes had subsided. at the factory dick was directed, by a foreman, to an unused wing of the building. "you'll find your uncle in there," the man said to dick. "he's building an airship!" "a what!" cried the young millionaire in great astonishment, for he had been too busy, of late, to hear any news from dankville. "an airship--a biplane, i believe they're called," the foreman went on. "well, i'll be gum-swizzled!" cried dick, faintly. "come on, fellows. the world must be coming to an end, surely." as he started to enter the part of the factory whither he had been directed, his uncle, plainly much excited, came out. "stop where you be, nephew richard!" he warned. "don't come in here! stay back!" "why, what in the world is the matter?" asked dick. "is something going to blow up?" chapter xvii off for the start uncle ezra larabee stood fairly glaring at his nephew. the crabbed old man seemed strangely excited. "no, there ain't nothing going to blow up," he said, after a pause. "but don't you come in here. i warn you away! you can go in any other part of my factory you want to, but not in here." "well, i certainly don't want to come where i'm not wanted, uncle ezra," said dick, with dignity. "but i hear you are building an airship, and i thought i'd like to get a look at it." "and that's just what i don't want you to get--none of you," went on mr. larabee, looking at dick's chums. "i don't want to be mean to my dead sister's boy," he added, "but my airship ain't in shape yet to be inspected." "well, if it isn't finished, perhaps we can give you some advice," said dick, with a smile. "huh! i don't want no advice, thank you," said uncle ezra, stiffly. "i calkerlate lieutenant larson knows as much about building airships as you boys do." "larson!" cried dick. "is he here?" "he certainly is, and he's working hard on my craft. i'm going to be an aviator, and win that twenty-thousand-dollar government prize!" mr. larabee said, as though it were a certainty. "whew!" whistled dick. "then we'll be rivals, uncle ezra." "humph! maybe you might think so, but i'll leave you so far behind that you won't know where you are!" boasted the crabbed old man. "building an airship; eh?" mused dick. "well, that's the last thing i'd ever think of uncle ezra doing." then to his relative he added: "but if you're going to compete for the prize your airship will have to be seen. why are you so careful about it now?" "because we've got secrets about it," replied mr. larabee. "there's secret inventions on my airship that haven't been patented yet, and i don't want you going in there, nephew richard, and taking some of my builder's ideas and using 'em on your airship. i won't have it! that's why i won't let you in. i'm not going to have you taking our ideas, not by a jugful!" "there's no danger," answered dick quietly, though he wanted to laugh. "my airship is all finished. we've used her, and she's all right. i wouldn't change her no matter what i saw on yours." "wa'al, you might think so now, but i can't trust nobody--not even you, so you can't come in," said uncle ezra. "oh, we won't insist," answered dick, as he passed over the bonds. "father said you wanted these, uncle ezra." "yes, i do," and an expression, as of pain, passed over the man's face. "i've got to raise a little money to pay for this airship. it's costing a terrible pile; a terrible pile!" and he sighed in despair. "but then, of course, i'll get the twenty thousand dollars, and that will help some. after that i'm going to sell plans and models of my successful airship, and i'll make a lot more that way. so of course i'll get it all back. "but it's costing me a terrible pile! why, would you believe it," he said, looking around to see that the door to the factory was securely closed, "would you believe i've already spent five thousand, six hundred twenty-seven dollars and forty-nine cents on this airship? and it ain't quite done yet. it's a pile of money!" "yes, they are expensive, but they're worth it," said dick. "it's great sport--flying." "it may be. i've never tried it, but i'm going to learn," declared uncle ezra. "only i didn't think it would cost so much or i never would have gone into it. but now i'm in i can't get out without losing all the money i've put up, and i can't do that. i never could do that," said uncle ezra with a doleful shake of his head. he gave a sudden start, at some noise, and cried out: "what's that? you didn't dare bring your bulldog in here, did you, nephew richard? if you did i'll--" "no, i left grit at home, uncle ezra." then the noise was repeated. it came from the part of the factory where the airship was being constructed, and was probably made by some of the workmen. "i guess i'll have to go now," said mr. larabee, and this was a hint for the boys to leave. "lieutenant larson said he wanted to consult with me about something. i only hope he doesn't want more money," he added with a sigh. "but he spends a terrible pile of cash--a terrible pile." "yes, and he'll spend a lot more of your cash before he gets through with you, if i'm any judge," thought dick, as he and his chums went back to the automobile. "to think of uncle ezra building an airship! that's about the limit." "do you really think he is going to have a try for the government prize?" asked larry dexter. "well, stranger things have happened," admitted the young millionaire. "you're not worrying, though, are you?" asked paul. "not a bit. i imagine i'll have to compete with more formidable opponents than uncle ezra. but i do give larson credit for knowing a lot about aircraft. i don't believe, though, that his mercury stabilizers are reliable. still he may have made improvements on them. i'd like to get a look at uncle ezra's machine." "and he doesn't want you to," laughed innis. "he's a queer man, keeping track of every cent." "oh, it wouldn't be uncle ezra if he didn't do that," returned dick, with a grin. there were busy days ahead for the young millionaire and his chums. though the abaris seemed to have been in almost perfect trim on her trial trip, it developed that several changes had to be made in her. not important ones, but small ones, on which the success, or failure, of the prize journey might depend. dick and his friends worked early and late to make the aircraft as nearly perfect as possible. dick's entry had been formally accepted by the government, and he had been told that an army officer would be assigned to make the trans-continental flight with him, to report officially on the time and performance of the craft. for the government desired to establish the nearest perfect form of aeroplane, and it reserved the right to purchase the patent of the successful model. "and it is on that point that more money may be made than by merely winning the prize," said mr. vardon. "we must not forget that, so we want everything as nearly right as possible." and to this end they worked. "you're going to take grit along; aren't you?" asked paul of dick one day, as they were laboring over the aircraft, putting on the finishing touches. "oh, sure!" exclaimed the young millionaire. "i wouldn't leave him behind for anything." "i wonder what army officer they'll assign to us," remarked innis. "i hope we get some young chap, and not a grizzled old man who'll be a killjoy." "it's bound to be a young chap, because none of the older men have taken up aviation," said larry. "i guess we'll be all right. i'll see if i can't find out from our washington reporter who it will be." but he was unable to do this, as the government authorities themselves were uncertain. the time was drawing near when dick was to make his start in the cross-country flight, with but two landings allowed between new york and san francisco. nearly everything was in readiness. "mr. vardon," said dick one day, "this business of crossing a continent in an airship is a new one on me. i've done it in my touring car, but i confess i don't see how we're going to keep on the proper course, up near the clouds, with no landmarks or anything to guide us. "but i'm going to leave all that to you. we're in your hands as far as that goes. you'll have to guide the craft, or else tell us how to steer when it comes our turn at the wheel." "i have been studying this matter," the aviator replied. "i have made several long flights, but never across the continent. but i have carefully charted a course for us to follow. as for landmarks, the government has arranged that. "along the course, in as nearly as possible a bee-line from new york to san francisco, there will be captive balloons, painted white for day observation, and arranged with certain colored lanterns, for night-sighting. then, too, there will be pylons, or tall towers of wood, erected where there are no balloons. so i think we can pick our course, dick." "oh, i didn't know about the balloon marks," said the young millionaire. "well, i'll leave the piloting to you. i think you know how to do it." several more trial flights were made. each time the abaris seemed to do better. she was more steady, and in severe tests she stood up well. the gyroscope stabilizer worked to perfection under the most disadvantageous conditions. several little changes were made to insure more comfort for the passengers on the trip. dick's undertaking had attracted considerable attention, as had the plans of several other, and better-known aviators, to win the big prize. the papers of the country were filled with stories of the coming event, but larry dexter had perhaps the best accounts, as he was personally interested in dick's success. dick paid another visit to uncle ezra, and this time his crabbed relative was more genial. he allowed his nephew to have a view of the craft larson was building. the former lieutenant greeted dick coldly, but our hero thought little of that. he was more interested in the machine. dick found that his uncle really did have a large, and apparently very serviceable biplane. of course it was not like dick's, as it designed to carry but three passengers. "we're going to make the trip in about forty-eight hours, so we won't need much space," said uncle ezra. "we can eat a snack as we go along. and we can sleep in our seats. i've got to cut down the expense somehow. it's costing me a terrible pile of money!" uncle ezra's airship worked fairly well in the preliminary trials, and though it did not develop much speed, dick thought perhaps the crafty lieutenant was holding back on this so as to deceive his competitors. "but, barring accidents, we ought to win," said the young millionaire to his chums. "and accidents no one can count against." everything was in readiness. the abaris had been given her last trial flight. all the supplies and stores were aboard. jack butt had taken his departure, for he was not to make the trip. his place would be taken by the army lieutenant. a special kennel had been constructed for grit, who seemed to take kindly to the big airship. "well, the officer will be here in the morning," announced dick, one evening, on receipt of a telegram from washington. "then we'll make the start." and, what was the surprise of the young millionaire and his chums, to be greeted, early the next day, by lieutenant mcbride, the officer who had, with captain wakefield, assisted in giving instructions at kentfield. "i am surely glad to see you!" cried dick, as he shook hands with him. "there's nobody i'd like better to come along!" "and there's nobody i'd like better to go with," said the officer, with a laugh. "i was only assigned to you at the last minute. first i was booked to go with a man named larabee." "he's my uncle. i'm glad you didn't!" chuckled dick. then he told about larson and lieutenant mcbride, himself, was glad also. in order to be of better service in case of an emergency, lieutenant mcbride asked that he be taken on a little preliminary flight before the official start was made, so that he might get an idea of the working of the machinery. this was done, and he announced himself as perfectly satisfied with everything. "you have a fine craft!" he told dick. "the best i have ever seen, and i've ridden in a number. you ought to take the prize." "thanks!" laughed the young millionaire. "of course i'm not saying that officially," warned the officer, with a smile. "i'll have to check you up as though we didn't know one other. and i warn you that you've got to make good!" "i wouldn't try under any other conditions," replied dick. the last tuning-up of the motor was over. the last of the supplies and stores were put aboard. grit was in his place, and the cross-country fliers in theirs. good-byes were said, and mr. hamilton waved the stars and stripes as the cabin door was closed. "all ready?" asked dick, who was the captain of the aircraft. "all ready," answered lieutenant mcbride. "all ready," agreed mr. vardon. "then here we go!" cried dick, as he pulled the lever. the airship was on her way to the starting point. chapter xviii uncle ezra flies "well, mr. larabee, we are almost ready for a flight." "humph! it's about time. i've sunk almost enough money in that shebang to dig a gold mine, and i haven't got any out yet--not a cent, and i'm losing interest all the while." "well, but think of the twenty thousand dollars!" "yes, i s'pose i've got to. that's the only consolation i have left." the above conversation took place one afternoon between ezra larabee and lieutenant larson. the airship with the mercury stabilizers was nearly completed. but a few touches remained to be put on her, to make her, according to larson, ready for the flight across the continent. "i presume you will go with me when me make the first ascent; will you not?" the lieutenant inquired. "who, me? no, i don't reckon i'll go up first," said uncle ezra slowly. "i'll wait until i see if you don't break your neck. if you don't i'll take a chance." "that's consoling," was the answer, with a grim laugh. "but i am not afraid. i know the craft will fly. you will not regret having commissioned me to build her." "wa'al, i should hope not," said uncle ezra, dryly. "so far i've put eight thousand, four hundred thirty-two dollars and sixteen cents into this shebang, and i ain't got a penny out yet. it just seems to chaw up money." "they all do," said the lieutenant. "it is a costly sport. but think of the twenty-thousand-dollar prize!" "i do," said uncle ezra, softly. "that's all that keeps me from thinking what a plumb idiot i've been--thinking of that twenty thousand dollars." "oh, you'll get it!" the lieutenant asserted. "maybe--yes. if my nephew doesn't get ahead of me," was the grim reply. "oh, he never will. we'll win that prize," the lieutenant assured him. "now there's one other little matter i must speak of. i need some more money." "more money! good land, man! i gave you three dollars and a half last week to buy something!" cried uncle ezra. "yes, i know, but that went for guy wires and bolts. i need about ten dollars for an auxiliary steering wheel." "a steering wheel?" questioned uncle ezra. "you mean a wheel to twist?" "that's it. there must be two. we have only one." "well, if it's only a wheel, i can fix you up about that all right, and without spending a cent, either!" exclaimed the stingy old man with a chuckle. "there's an old sewing machine of my wife's down cellar. it's busted, all but the big wheel. we had an accident with it, but i made the company give me a new machine, and i kept the old one. "now that's got a big, round, iron wheel on it, and we can take that off, just as well as not, and use it on the airship. that's what you've got to do in this world--save money. i've spent a terrible pile, but we'll save some by using the sewing machine wheel." "it won't do," said the lieutenant. "it's far too heavy. i must have one made to order of wood. it will cost ten dollars." "oh, dear!" groaned uncle ezra. "more money," and he looked distressed. then his face brightened. "i say!" he cried. "there's a busted mowing machine out in the barn. that's got a wooden wheel on it. can't you use that?" lieutenant larson shook his bead. "it's no use trying to use make-shift wheels if we are to have a perfect machine, and win the prize," he said. "i must have the proper one. i need ten dollars." "oh, dear!" moaned uncle ezra, as he took out his wallet, and carefully counted out ten one-dollar bills. "couldn't you look around and get a second-hand one?" he asked hopefully. "no; we haven't time. we must soon start on the prize trip. we don't want to be late." "no, i s'pose not. wa'al, take the money," and he parted with it, after a long look. then he made a memoranda of it in his pocket cash-book, and sighed again. several times after this lieutenant larson had to have more money--or, at least, he said he needed it, and uncle ezra brought it forth with many sighs and groans. but he "gave up." to give larson credit, he had really produced a good aircraft. of course it was nothing like dick's, and, after all, the former army man was more interested in his stabilizers than he was in the airship itself. but he had to build it right and properly to give his patent a good test, and he used his best ideas on the subject. in general uncle ezra's machine was a biplane, a little larger than usual, and with a sort of auxiliary cabin and platform where one could rest when not in the seats. three passengers could be carried, together with some food and supplies of gasolene and oil. it was an airship built for quick, continuous flight, and it really had a chance for the prize; perhaps not as good a chance as had dick's, but a good chance compared with others in its class. the one weak point, and this lieutenant larson kept to himself, was the fact that it was only with the best of luck that the flight could be made with but two landings. finally the former army man announced that the craft was ready for a flight. he had spent all the money uncle ezra would give him--nearly ten thousand dollars--and i suspect that larson himself had lined his own pockets well. "she's ready," he announced to uncle ezra, one day. "well, take her up." "will you come?" "not till i see how you fare. go ahead." "ezra, be you goin' up in that contraption?" asked aunt samantha, as she came out in the meadow where a starting ground had been laid out. "i'm aiming to, if he comes back alive with it," uncle ezra made answer, grimly. "well, as i said before, it's flyin' in the face of providence," declared mrs. larabee. "i might as well order my mourning now, and be done with it." "oh, i ain't aiming to be killed," chuckled uncle ezra. "i guess it's safe enough. i've got to get my money back out of this thing." lieutenant larson, with one of the helpers, made the first flight. he did not go very high, so that uncle ezra would have confidence. when he came back to the starting point he asked: "well, will you take a chance?" "i--i guess so," replied mr. larabee, and his voice was not very steady. "i'm goin' in the house," announced mrs. larabee. "i don't want to see it!" uncle ezra took his place. "i've got accident insurance in case anything happens," he said, slowly. "i don't believe your policy covers airship flights," the lieutenant returned. "then let me out!" cried uncle ezra. "i'll have the policy changed! i'm not going to take any such chances!" "it's too late!" cried larson. "here we go!" the engine was thundering away, and a moment later the craft shot over the ground and into the air. uncle ezra was flying at last. chapter xix uncle ezra's accident for some seconds after he had been taken up in the atmosphere in his airship, uncle ezra said nothing. he just sat there in the padded seat, clutching with his hands the rails in so tight a grip that his knuckles showed white. up and up they went, larson skillfully guiding the craft, until they were a considerable distance above the earth. "that's--that's far enough!" uncle ezra managed to yell, above the throb of the now throttled-down motor. "don't go--any higher!" "all right," agreed the aviator. "but she'll work easier up a little more." "no--it--it's too far--to fall!" said mr. larabee, and he could not keep his voice from trembling. really, though, he stood it bravely, though probably the thought of all the money he had invested in the craft, as well as the prize he was after, buoyed up his spirits. "how do you like it?" asked larson, when they had circled around over mr. larabee's extensive farm for some time. "it's different from what i expected," remarked uncle ezra. "but it seems good. i don't know as i'll stand it all the way to san francisco, though." "oh, yes, you will," asserted larson. "you'll get used to it in time." "is she working all right, lieutenant larson?" "yes, pretty well. i see a chance to make one or two changes though, that will make her better." "does that mean--er--more money?" was uncle ezra's anxious question. "well, some, yes." "not another cent!" burst out the crabbed old man. "i won't spend another cent on her. i've sunk enough money in the old shebang." larson did not answer. he simply tilted the elevating rudder and the biplane poked her nose higher up into the air. "here! what you doing?" demanded uncle ezra. "i'm going up higher." "but i tell you i don't want to! i want to go down! this is high enough!" and uncle ezra fairly screamed. "we've got to go higher," said larson. "the carburetor isn't working just right at this low elevation. that's what i wanted the extra money for, to get a new one. but of course if you feel that you can't spare it, why, we'll simply have to fly higher, that's all. the carburetor we have will work all right at a high elevation on account of the rarefied air, but with a different one, of course we could stay lower--if we wanted to. "still, if you feel you can't afford it," he went on, with a sly look at the crabbed old man who sat there clutching the sides of the seat, "we'll have to do the best we can, and make this carburetor do. i guess we'll have to keep on a little higher," he added, as he glanced at the barograph. "say! hold on!" yelled uncle ezra in his ear. "you--you can have that money for the carburetor! go on down where we were before." "oh, all right," assented larson, and he winked the eye concealed from his employer. the aircraft went down, and flew about at a comparatively low elevation. really, there did not seem to be much the matter with the carburetor, but then, of course, larson ought to know what he was talking about. "she's working pretty good--all except the carburetor," said the former army man, after they had been flying about fifteen minutes. "the motor does better than i expected, and with another passenger we'll be steadier. she needs a little more weight. do you want to try to steer her?" "no, sir! not yet!" cried uncle ezra. "i can drive a mowing-machine, and a thresher, but i'm not going to try an airship yet. i hired you to run her. all i want is that twenty-thousand-dollar prize, and the chance to sell airships like this after we've proved them the best for actual use." "and we can easily do that," declared larson. "my mercury stabilizer is working to perfection." "when can we start on the race?" mr. larabee wanted to know. "oh, soon now. you see it isn't exactly a race. that is the competing airships do not have to start at the same time." "no?" questioned uncle ezra. "no. you see each competing craft is allowed to start when the pilot pleases, provided an army officer is aboard during the entire flight to check the results, and the time consumed. two landings will be allowed, and only the actual flying time will be counted. "that is if the trip is finished within a certain prescribed time. i think it is a month. in other words we could start now, fly as far as we could, and if we had to come down because of some accident, or to get supplies, we could stay down several days. then we could start again, and come down the second time. but after that we would be allowed no more landings, and the total time consumed in flying would be computed by the army officer." "oh, that's the way of it?" asked uncle ezra. "yes, and the craft that has used the smallest number of hours will win the prize," went on larson. "i'm sure we can do it, for this is a fast machine. i haven't pushed her to the limit yet." "and don't you do it--not until i get more used to it," stipulated the owner of the airship. the former army officer sent the aircraft through several simple evolutions to test her. she answered well, though uncle ezra gasped once or twice, and his grip on the seat rail tightened. "when do you plan to start?" mr. larabee wanted to know, again. "oh, in about a week. i have sent in an application to have a representative of the government assigned to us, and when he comes we'll start. that will give me a chance to buy the new carburetor, and make some other little changes." "well, let's go down now," suggested uncle ezra. "hello, what's this?" he cried, looking at his coat. "why, i'm all covered with oil!" "yes, it does drip a little," admitted the aviator. "i haven't tightened the washers on the tank. you mustn't mind a little thing like that. i often get soaked with oil and gasolene. i should have told you to put on an old suit." "but look here!" cried uncle ezra, in accents of dismay. "i didn't put on an old suit! this is my second best. i paid thirteen dollars for it, and i've bad it four years. it would have been good for two more if your old oil hadn't leaked on it. now it's spoiled!" "you can have it cleaned, perhaps," suggested the lieutenant as he sent the biplane about in a graceful curve, before getting ready for a descent. "yes, and maybe have to pay a tailor sixty-five cents! not much!" cried uncle ezra. "i'll clean it myself, with some of the gasolene. i ain't going to waste money that way. i ought to charge you for it." "well, i'll give you the gasolene to clean it," said the aviator, with another unseen wink. "humph!" ejaculated uncle ezra with a grunt, as he tried to hold on with one hand, and scrub off some of the oil spots with his handkerchief. "well, i guess we'll go down now," announced larson, after making several sharp ascents and descents to test the efficiency of the vertical rudder. "why, we're quite a way from the farm!" exclaimed mr. larabee, looking down. "i didn't think we'd come so far." "well, i'll show you how quickly we can get back there!" boasted larson. "i'll have you at your place in a hurry!" he turned more power into the motor, and with a rush and a roar, the biplane shot forward. but something happened. either they struck an air pocket, or the rudder was given too sudden a twist. anyway, the airship shot toward the ground at a sharp angle. she would have crashed down hard, only larson threw her head up quickly, checking, in a measure, the momentum. but he could not altogether control the craft, and it swept past a tree in an orchard where they were forced to land, the side wing tearing off the limbs and branches. then, bouncing down to the ground, the airship, tilted on one end, and shot uncle ezra out with considerable force. he landed in a heap of dirt, turned a somersault, and sat up with a queer look on his face. chapter xx in new york. "well, this is going some!" "i should say yes!" "all to the merry!" "and no more trouble than as if you got in a taxicab and told the chauffeur to take you around the block." thus did dick hamilton's chums offer him their congratulations as they started off on the trip they hoped would bring to the young millionaire the twenty-thousand-dollar prize, and, not only do that but establish a new record in airship flights, and also give to the world the benefit of the experience in building such a unique craft. they were in the abaris flying along over the town of hamilton corners, a most successful start having been made. as they progressed through the air many curious eyes were turned up to watch their flight. "i say! which way are you steering?" asked paul, as he came back from a trip to the dining-room buffet, where he had helped himself to a sandwich, a little lunch having been set out by innis, who constituted himself as cook. "you're heading east instead of west, dick," for the young millionaire was at the steering-wheel. "i know it," replied the helmsman, as he noted the figures on the barograph. "but you see, to stand a chance for the prize you've got to start from new york, and that's where we're headed for now. we've got to go to the big town first, and then we'll hit the western trail as nearly in a straight line as we can." "that's the idea," said lieutenant mcbride. "the conditions call for a start from new york, and i have arranged for the beginning of your flight from the grounds at fort wadsworth. that will give the army officers there a chance to inspect your machine, mr. hamilton." "and i'll be very glad to have them see it," dick said, "and to offer their congratulations to mr. vardon on his success." "and yours, too," added the aviator. "i couldn't have done anything had it not been for you." "then we really aren't on the prize winning flight, yet?" asked larry, who wanted to get all the information he could for his paper. "not exactly," replied the lieutenant. "and yet the performance of the airship will count on this flight, in a measure. i have been instructed to watch how she behaves, and incorporate it in my report. it may be, mr. hamilton, though i hope not, that the prize will not come to you. but you may stand a chance of having your airship adopted by uncle sam, for all that." "that would be a fine feather in my cap!" cried dick. "i don't care so much for the money, i guess you all know that." "i should say not!" cried innis, with a laugh. "any fellow who's worth a million doesn't have to bother about a little small change like twenty thousand dollars." "not that i haven't a due regard for the prize," went on dick. "but if i lost it, and still could have the honor of producing an airship that would be thought worthy of government approval, that would be worth while." "indeed it would!" agreed the lieutenant. "are we going to have any time at all in new york?" asked paul. "i have some friends there, and--" "i believe her name is knox; isn't it?" interrupted innis, with a grin at his chum. "first name grace, lives somewhere up in central park, west; eh, old chap?" "oh, dry up!" invited paul. "don't you s'pose i've got any friends but girls?" "well, grace does live in new york," insisted innis. "yes, and so do irene martin and mabel hanford!" burst out paul. "it's as much on you fellows as it is on me," and he fairly glared at his tormentor. "easy!" laughed dick. "i guess we may as well make a family party of it while we're about it. of course we'll see the girls. in fact i half-promised miss hanford i'd call on her if i could get my airship to work." "oh, you sly dog!" mocked innis. "and you never said a word!" "i didn't know i could get it to work," laughed dick, as he stood at the wheel. the abaris was cleaving through the clear air at a fast rate of speed, though she was not being sent along at her limit. the aviator wanted to test his machinery at moderate speed for some time before he turned on full power, and this trip to new york for the start gave him the very chance wanted. it was a journey of about five hundred miles from hamilton corners to new york city, and, as dick and his friends had planned it, they would be in the air all night. they had set for themselves a rate of progress of about fifty miles an hour, and if this was kept up it would take ten hours to the metropolis. of course the journey could have been made in much less time than that, for dick's motor was calculated to give a maximum speed of one hundred miles an hour. but this was straining it to its capacity. it would be much more feasible, at, least on this trial trip, to use half that speed. later, if need be, they could go to the limit. they had started late in the afternoon, and by journeying at fifty miles an hour they would reach the upper part of new york city in the morning; that is if nothing occurred to delay them. but the weather predictions were favorable, and no storms were in prospect. "i think i'll take her up a bit," remarked dick, when they had passed out over the open country, lying outside of hamilton corners. "we might as well get used to good heights, for when we cross the rocky mountains we'll have to ascend some." "that's right," agreed the lieutenant. "take her up, dick." the young millionaire pulled over the lever of the vertical rudder, and as the nose of the abaris was inclined upward, she shot aloft, her big propellers in the rear pushing her ahead. "i'm going out on the outer deck and see how it seems," said larry. "i want to get some new impressions for the paper. i told the editor we'd pull off a lot of new stunts. so i guess i'll go outside." "no, you won't," said lieutenant mcbride, laying a detaining hand on the arm of the reporter. "do you see that notice?" he pointed to one over the door. it read: "no one will be allowed on the outer deck while the airship is ascending or descending." "what's that for?" larry wanted to know. "so you won't roll off into space," replied lieutenant mcbride. "you see the deck is much tilted, when we are going up or down, and that makes it dangerous. of course the cabin floor is tilted also, but there are walls here to save you from taking a tumble in case you slip. outside there is only a railing." "i see," spoke larry. "well, i'll stay inside until we get up as high as dick wants to take us." "not very high this time," the young millionaire answered. "about six thousand feet will be enough. we haven't gone quite a mile yet, and it will be a good test for us." steadily the aircraft climbed upward until, when he had noted from the barograph that they were at a height of nearly six thousand feet, dick "straightened her out," and let her glide along on a level keel. "you may now go outside, larry," said the lieutenant, and the young reporter and the others, except dick, who remained at the wheel, took their places in the open. it was a strange sensation standing out thus, on a comparatively frail craft, shooting along at fifty miles an hour over a mile above the earth. the cabin broke the force of the wind, and there was really little discomfort. the abaris sailed so steadily that there was scarcely a perceptible motion. larry made some notes for a story on which he was engaged. he wrote it in his best style, and then enclosed the "copy" in a leather case. "i'm going to drop this when we are passing over some city," he explained. "someone is sure to pick it up, and i've put a note in saying that if they will file the copy at some telegraph office, so it can be sent to my paper, they'll get five dollars on presentation of my note." "good idea!" cried dick. "oh, i've got to get the news to the office, somehow," said larry with a smile. a little later they passed over a large town, and, though they did not know the name of it, larry dropped his story and eventually, as he learned later, it reached the office safely, and made a hit. in order that all might become familiar with the workings of the airship, dick, after a while, relinquished the wheel to one of his chums. thus they took turns guiding the craft through the air, and gained valuable experience. they flew along easily, and without incident, until dusk began to overcast the sky, and then the electric lamps were set aglow, and in the cosy cabin they gathered about the table on which innis had spread a tempting lunch. "say, this sure is going some!" cried larry, as he took another helping of chicken, prepared on the electric stove. "think of dining a mile in the air!" "as long as we don't fall down while we're dining, i shan't mind," mumbled paul, as he picked a wishbone. the night passed without incident of moment. for a time no one wanted to go to the comfortable bunks, but dick insisted that they must get used to sleeping aboard his craft, so the watch was told off, two of the occupants of the abaris to be on duty for two hours at a time, to be relieved by others. on and on rushed the airship. now and then she was speeded up for a time, as dick and the aviator wanted to see what she could do when called on suddenly. she responded each time. "i think she'll do," said lieutenant mcbride, when it came his turn to take a little rest. "you have a fine craft, mr. hamilton." "glad of it," responded dick. "we'll see what she does when we straighten her out on the long run to san francisco." the night wore on. above the earth, like some gigantic meteor, flew the airship, her propellers forcing her onward and onward. now and then some of the machinery needed attention, but very little. the gyroscope stabilizer worked well, and as it was automatic, there was no need of warping the wing tips, or of using the alerons, which were provided in case of emergency. the abaris automatically kept herself on a level keel, even as a bird does when flying. the gray dawn crept in through the celluloid windows of the aircraft. this material had been used instead of glass, to avoid accidents in case of a crash. the celluloid would merely bend, and injure no one. "it's morning!" cried dick, as he sprang from his bunk, for he had had the previous watch. "morning?" repeated innis. "well, where are we?" "have to go down and take an observation," suggested the lieutenant. "i think we must be very near new york." paul, who was in charge of the wheel looked for confirmation to dick. the latter nodded, and the cadet pulled the lever that would send the airship on a downward slant. it was not long before a group of big buildings came into view. it needed but a glance to tell what they were sky-scrapers. "new york!" cried dick. "we're over new york all right!" "then i've got to get a message to my paper!" exclaimed larry. "is the wireless working?" "we'll have to make a landing to send it up," replied mr. vardon. "well, if we're going down anyhow, a telephone will do as well," went on the reporter. "only it's going to be a job to land down among all those sky-scrapers." "we can't do it," mr. vardon declared. "we'll have to head for an open space." "central park, or the bronx," put in the lieutenant. "either place will give us room enough." "we'll try the bronx," suggested dick. "that will give us a chance to see new york from aloft. we'll land in the bronx." they had sailed over to the metropolis from a point about opposite jersey city, and now they took a direct northward course flying lengthwise over manhattan. as they came on down and down, they were observed by thousands of early workers, who craned their necks upward, and looked with eager eyes at the big airship over their heads. a few minutes of flying over the city brought the aviators within sight of the big beautiful zoological park which is the pride of new york. below dick and his chums stretched out the green expanses, the gardens, the little lakes, and the animal enclosures. "there's a good place!" exclaimed dick, pointing to a green expanse near the wild-fowl pond. "then you take the wheel and make it," suggested innis, who had been steering. dick did so, but his hand accidentally touched the gasolene lever, cutting off the supply to the motor. in an instant the machine went dead. "never mind!" cried the young millionaire. "i'll go down anyhow. no use starting the motor again. i'll volplane and land where i can." and, as it happened, he came down in new york, in the midst of the bronx park buffalo range. it was a perfect landing, the abaris reaching the ground with scarcely a jar. but the big, shaggy buffaloes snorted in terror, and ran in all directions. that is, all but one big bull, and he, with a bellow of rage, charged straight for the airship! chapter xxi off for the pacific "look out for him!" "go up in the air again!" "has anybody got a gun?" "start the motor!" these, and other excited cries, came from those in dick hamilton's airship as they saw the charging buffalo. the animal was the largest in the captive herd, probably the leader. it seemed a strange thing for a modern airship to be threatened with an attack by a buffalo in these days, but such was the case. "he may damage us!" cried dick. "we've got to do something!" but there seemed nothing to do. before they could get out of the cabin of the airship, which now rested on the ground within the buffalo range, the frightened and infuriated animal might rush at the craft. and, though he would probably come off second best in the odd battle, he might damage some of the frail planes or rudders. "come on!" cried paul. "let's all rush out at him at once, and yell as hard as we can. that may scare him off." but there was no need of this. before the buffalo had time to reach the airship a mounted police officer rode rapidly up to the fence of the enclosure, and, taking in the situation, novel as it was, at a glance, he fired several shots from his revolver at the rushing animal. none of the bullets was intended to hit the buffalo, and none did. but some came so close, and the noise of the shots was so loud, that the beast stopped suddenly, and then, after a pause, in which he snorted, and pawed the ground, he retreated, to stand in front of the herd of cows and other bulls, probably thinking he constituted himself their protector against the strange and terrible foe. "well, that's over!" exclaimed dick, with a sigh of relief. "say, isn't this the limit? if we bad an airship out on the plains fifty years ago it wouldn't have been any surprise to be charged by a buffalo. but here in new york--well, it is just about the extreme edge, to my way of thinking!" "all's well that ends well," quoted innis. "now let's get breakfast." but it seemed that something else was to come first. "get your craft out of there," ordered the police officer, who had fired the shots. "i guess we'd better," said dick to his chums. "that buffalo might change his mind, and come at us again." "how are we going to get out?" asked mr. vardon, as he noticed the heavy fence around the buffalo enclosure. and there was hardly room inside it to get the necessary start to raise the big airship. "i'll unlock this gate for you, and you can wheel her out," said the officer, who seemed to know something about aircraft. he rode over to a double gate, which he soon swung open, and dick and his chums, by considerable exertion, managed to wheel the airship out on the walk. the slope of the buffalo enclosure was downward or they might not have been successful. "now then," went on the mounted policeman, when he had locked the gate to prevent any of the animals from straying out, "who's in charge of this outfit?" "i am," admitted dick, as his chums looked at him. "well then, i'm sorry, but i have to place you under arrest," spoke the officer. "you'll have to come with me." "arrest! what for?" gasped dick. "two charges. entering the buffalo enclosure without a permit, and flying an airship over a city. i saw you come from down new york way." for a moment those of dick's aviation party hardly knew whether to treat the matter as a joke or not, but a look at the face of the officer soon convinced them that he, at least, was in earnest. "under arrest!" murmured dick. "well, i guess the two charges are true, as far as that goes. we did fly over the city, but there was no harm in that, and--" "hold on--yes, there was!" exclaimed mr. vardon. "it was stupid of me to forget it, too. it is against the law now for an aeroplane to fly over a city, and contrary to the agreement of the association of aviators." "you are right!" exclaimed lieutenant mcbride. "i should have thought of that, too, but i was so interested watching the working of the machinery i forgot all about it. the rule and the law was made because of the danger to persons over whose heads the aeroplanes might fly--that is, not so much danger in the flying as in the corning down. and then, too, as a general thing it might not be safe for the aviators if they were forced to make a landing. but we've gone and done it, i guess," and he smiled frankly at the officer. "as for coming down in the buffalo enclosure, i was sorry we did it when i saw that old bull coming for us," remarked dick. "but it seemed the best place around here for us to land, after our motor stopped. i suppose it won't do any good to say we're sorry; will it?" he asked the policeman, with a smile. "well, i shall have to do my duty, and arrest you," said the officer, "but i will explain to the magistrate that you did not mean to land contrary to the law." "who is the magistrate before whom we shall have to appear?" asked larry dexter. "judge scatterwaite," was the answer. "good!" cried the young reporter. "i know him. my paper supported him in the last campaign, and i believe he will be glad to do a favor for me. is there a telephone around here?" he asked the officer. "oh, we won't run away," he hastened to assure the guardian of the peace. "i just want to talk to the judge. i'm larry dexter, of the leader." "oh, is that so? i guess i've heard of you. aren't you the reporter who worked up that stolen boy case?" "i am," admitted larry, modestly. "there's a telephone right over there, in the rocking stone restaurant," went on the officer, who seemed to regard larry and his friends in a different light now. "you can call up the judge. he'll probably be at his house now. i'll go with you. it may be that he will want to speak to me, and will dismiss the complaint." "we'll wait here for you, larry," said dick. "there's nothing like having a reporter with you when you break the law," he added, with a laugh. the officer rode his horse slowly along with larry, going to the place whence a telephone message could be sent. larry was soon talking with the judge, who, on learning the identity of the young reporter, and having heard the circumstances, spoke to the officer. "it's all right!" exclaimed the policeman, as he hung up the receiver. "i'm to let you go. he says he'll find you all guilty, and will suspend sentence." "good!" cried larry. "that's the time my 'pull' was of some use." "and i'm glad i didn't have to take you to the station," the mounted man proceeded. "i'm interested in airships myself. i've got a boy who's crazy about them, and wireless. he's got a wireless outfit--made it all himself," he added, proudly. there was nothing further to worry the aviators, on the return of larry with the officer, so they prepared to have breakfast, and then lieutenant mcbride said he would arrange to have the official start in the prize race made from fort wadsworth. "but we'll have to fly over new york again," suggested dick, "and if we're arrested a second time--" "i think i can arrange that for you," said the army man. "i will have the war department make a request of the civil authorities who will, no doubt, grant permission to soar over the city." "good!" cried dick. "and now for breakfast. didn't that officer say something about a restaurant around here?" "yes, i telephoned from one," spoke larry. "then let's go there and have breakfast," suggested the young millionaire. "we'll have a little more room than in the airship, and innis won't have to do the cooking." "oh, i don't mind," the stout cadet put in. "what about leaving the airship all alone?" asked paul, for already a crowd had gathered about it. "i'll look out for it while you're gone," promised the officer. "isn't there some shed around here where we could leave it, so it would be safe?" asked innis. "what's the idea of that?" dick wanted to know. "we'll be sailing down to the fort in an hour or so." "why can't we stay over a day or so in new york?" went on innis. "i don't get here very often, and i'd like to see the sights." "you mean you'd like to see the girls!" declared paul, laughingly. "have your own way," murmured innis. "but, if the airship would be safe up here in the park, in a shed, we could take our time, and not have to hurry so." "i guess that would be a good plan," agreed dick. "i'd like to see the girls myself. we'll do it if we can find a shed." the obliging officer arranged this for them, and the airship was soon safely housed, a watchman being engaged to keep away the curious. then our friends went to breakfast, and, later, down town. mr. vardon wanted to call on some fellow aviators, now that it had been decided to postpone the start a day, and larry dexter had some business to transact at the newspaper office. "and we'll go see the girls!" cried dick. mabel hanford, grace knox and irene martin, the three young ladies in whom the boys were more than ordinarily interested, had come on to new york, after their school closed, and our friends had made a half-promise to meet them in the metropolis. now the promise could be kept. they found the girls at a hotel, where they resided part of the year, and, sending up their cards, were ushered to their sitting-room. "and did you really come all the way from hamilton corners to new york in your airship?" asked mabel of dick. "we surely did," he answered. "and we're going to start for san francisco tomorrow. we just stopped overnight to see you." "we appreciate the honor," laughed irene, with a bow. "have you any engagement for tonight?" asked innis. "we were going to the theatre," said grace. "isn't there any place we could go to a dance?" inquired paul. "say, he's crazy on these new dances!" exclaimed dick. "i caught him doing the 'lame duck' the other night, with the broom for a partner." "oh, do you do that?" cried mabel. "a little," admitted paul. "will you show us how the steps go?" asked irene. "and i know the 'lace glide,' and the 'pivot whirl,'" put in dick. "you needn't think you can walk off with all the honors," he said to his chum, laughingly. "oh, let's stay at the hotel and dance tonight," suggested mabel. "mamma will chaperone us. it will be more fun than the theatre." "we'll have to hire dress suits," said innis. "we didn't bring them in the airship." "no, we'll make it very informal," grace remarked. "there is a little private ballroom we can engage." so it was arranged, and the young people spent an enjoyable evening, doing some of the newest steps. "we'll come down to the fort in the morning, and see you start for san francisco," promised mabel, as she said good-night to dick. "will you!" he exclaimed. "that will be fine of you!" an early morning start was made for the fort, after the airship, which had been left in bronx park all night, had been carefully gone over. an additional supply of gasolene was taken aboard, some adjustments made to the machinery, and more food put in the lockers. "there are the girls!" exclaimed dick, after they had made a successful landing at the fort, which they would soon leave on their long flight. "oh, so they are! i hardly thought they'd come down," observed paul, as he waved to the three pretty girls with whom they had danced the night before. "i wish we were going with you!" cried mabel, as she greeted dick. "oh, mabel! you do not!" rebuked irene. "well, i just do!" was the retort. "it's so stupid just staying at a summer resort during the hot weather." "we'll come back, after we win the prize, and do the 'aeroplane glide' with you," promised innis. "will you?" demanded irene. "remember now, that's a promise." final arrangements were made, and everything was in readiness for the start for the pacific. the army officers had inspected the craft, and congratulated the young owner and the builder on her completeness. "well, good-bye, girls," said dick, as he and his chums shook hands with their friends who had come to see them off. the aviators took their places in the cabin. a hasty inspection showed that everything was in readiness. "well, here we go!" murmured dick. he turned the switch of the electric starter, and, an instant later, the abaris shot forward over the ground, rising gracefully on a long, upward slant. then dick, who was at the steering wheel, headed his craft due west. from the parade ground below them came cheers from the army men and other spectators, the shrill cries of the three girls mingling. "i wonder what will happen before we dance with them again?" spoke paul, musingly. "you can't tell," answered innis, as he looked down for a last sight of a certain pretty face. "well, we can only hit the ground twice between here and san francisco," remarked dick, as he turned on more power. "if we have to come down the third time--we lose the prize." "we're not going to lose it!" asserted mr. vardon, earnestly. of course there were many more entrants for the prize than dick hamilton. two airships had started that morning before he got off in his craft, and three others were to leave that afternoon. one prominent birdman from the west was due to start the next day, and on the following two from the south were scheduled to leave. there were also several well-known foreigners who were making a try for the fame, honor and money involved. but this story only concerns dick hamilton's airship, and the attempt of himself, and his uncle ezra, to win the prize, and i have space for no more than a mere mention of the other contestants. chapter xxii uncle ezra starts off let us now, for a moment, return to uncle ezra. we left him sitting on the ground after his rather unceremonious exit from the airship which had crashed into the apple tree in the orchard. somehow the strap, holding him to his seat, had come unbuckled, which accounted for his plight. "are you hurt?" asked lieutenant larson, after a quick glance that assured him the airship was not badly damaged. "i don't know's i'm hurt such a terrible lot," was the slow answer, "but my clothes are all dirt. this suit is plumb ruined now. i swan i'd never have gone in for airships if i knew how expensive they'd be. this suit cost thirteen dollars and--" "you're lucky you don't have to pay for a funeral," was the lieutenant's grim answer. "you must look to your seat strap better than that." "well, i didn't know the blamed thing was going to cut up like this!" returned the crabbed old man. "that's no way to land." "i know it. but i couldn't help it," was the answer. "i'm glad you're not hurt. but i think we have attracted some attention. here comes someone." a man was running through the orchard. "it's hank crittenden, and he hates me like poison!" murmured uncle ezra, as he arose from the pile of dirt, and tried to get some of it off his clothes. "hi, there! what's this mean?" demanded hank, as he rushed up, clutching a stout club. "what d'ye mean, comin' down in my orchard, and bustin' up my best baldwin tree? what d'ye mean?" "it was an accident--purely an accident," said lieutenant larson, suavely. "it could not be helped." "accident? you done it on puppose, that's what you did!" cried hank, glaring at uncle ezra. "you done it on puppose, and i'll sue ye for damages, that's what i'll do! that baldwin apple tree was one of the best in my orchard." "well, we didn't mean to do it," declared mr. larabee. "and if you sue we can prove in court it was an accident. so you'll have your trouble for your pains." "i will, hey? well, i'll show you, ezra larabee. i'll teach you to come around here bustin' my things up with your old airship! you ought to be ashamed of yourself, a man of your age, trying to fly like a hen or rooster." "i'm trying for the government prize," said dick's uncle, weakly. "huh! a heap sight chance you have of winnin' a prize, flyin' like that!" sneered mr. crittenden. "comin' down in my orchard that way!" "it was an accident," went on the former army man. "we were making a landing, but we did not intend to come clown just in that spot. we are sorry the tree is broken, but accidents will happen, and--" "yes, and them as does 'em must pay for 'em!" exclaimed hank. at the mention of money uncle ezra looked pained. he looked more so when hank went on: "i'll have damages for that tree, that's what i'll have and good damages too. that was my best baldwin tree--" "you told us that before," said larson, as he began to wheel the aeroplane out into an open space where he could get it started again. "here, where you takin' that?" demanded hank, suspiciously. "we're going to fly back to dankville," replied mr. larson. "no, you ain't! you ain't goin' t' move that machine until you pay fer the damage to my tree!" insisted hank, as he took a firmer grasp of the club. "i want ten dollars for what you done to my tree." "ten dollars!" grasped uncle ezra. "'tain't wuth half that if it was loaded with apples." "well, you'll pay me ten dollars, ezra larabee, or you don't take that machine away from here!" insisted the owner of the orchard. "you beat me once in a lawsuit, but you won't again!" the two had been enemies for many years, mr. crittenden insisting that a certain lawsuit, which went against him, had been wrongfully decided in favor of dick's uncle. "well, i won't pay no ten dollars," said mr. larabee, firmly, putting his hand in his pocket, as if to resist any attempt to get money from it. "ten dollars or you don't take that machine out!" cried hank. "you're trespassers on my land, too! i could have you arrested for that, as well as suin' ye fer bustin' my tree." "i'll never pay," said uncle ezra. "come on, lieutenant, we'll take the airship out in spite of him." "oh, you will, eh?" cried hank. "well, we'll see about that! i reckoned you'd try some such mean game as that ezra larabee, and i'm ready for you. here, si and bill!" he called, and from behind a big tree stepped two stalwart hired men, armed with pitchforks. "this ezra larabee allows he'll not pay for damagin' my tree," explained hank. "i say he shall, and i don't want you boys t' let him take his contraption away until he forks over ten dollars." "it ain't worth nigh that sum," began mr. larabee. "i'll never--" "i think, perhaps, you had better pay it to avoid trouble," said the lieutenant. "he has some claim on us." "oh, dear!" groaned uncle ezra. "more money! this airship business will ruin me. ten dollars!" "not a cent less!" declared hank. "won't you call it eight?" asked the crabbed old miser. "ten dollars if you want to take away your machine, and then you can consider yourselves lucky that i don't sue you for trespass. hand over ten dollars!" "never!" declared ezra larabee. "i really think you had better," advised the aviator, and then with a wry face, and much reluctance, dick's uncle passed over the money. "now, you kin go!" cried hank, "but if i ketch you on my property ag'in you won't git off so easy. you can go back, boys; i won't need you this time," he added grimly. the hired men departed, and mr. crittenden, pocketing the money, watched the lieutenant and uncle ezra wheel the biplane out to an open place where a start could be made. the machine was somewhat damaged, but it could still be operated. the motor, however, was obstinate, and would not start. hank added insult to injury, at least in the opinion of uncle ezra, by laughing at the efforts of the lieutenant. and finally when the motor did consent to "mote," it went so slowly that not enough momentum could be obtained to make the airship rise. it simply rolled slowly over the ground. "ha! ha! that's a fine flyin' machine you've got there!" cried hank, laughing heartily. "you'd better walk if you're goin' t' git any gov'ment prize!" "oh, dry up!" spluttered uncle ezra, who was now "real mad" as he admitted later. he and the lieutenant wheeled the machine back to have another try, and this time they were successful in getting up in the air. the aviator circled about and headed for dankville, the airship having come down about three miles from uncle ezra's place. "well, you're flyin' that's a fact!" cried mr. crittenden, as he looked aloft at them. "but i wouldn't be surprised t' see 'em come smashin' down ag'in any minute," he added pessimistically. "anyhow, i got ten dollars out of ezra larabee!" he concluded, with a chuckle. mr. larabee looked glum when he and the lieutenant got back to the airship shed. "this is costing me a terrible pile of money!" said the crabbed old man. "a terrible pile! and i reckon you'll have to spend more for fixing her up; won't you?" he asked, in a tone that seemed to indicate he hoped for a negative answer. "oh, yes, we'll have to fix her up," said the lieutenant, "and buy a new carburetor, too. you know you promised that." "yes, i suppose so," sighed uncle ezra. "more money! and that skunk hank crittenden got ten dollars out of me! i'll never hear the last of that. i'd rather have landed anywhere but on his land. oh, this is awful! i wish i'd never gone into it." "but think of the twenty thousand dollars," said the former army man quickly. it would not do to have his employer get too much discouraged. and the aviator wanted more money--very much more. the airship was repaired in the next few days, though there was a constant finding of fault on the part of uncle ezra. he parted with cash most reluctantly. however, he had officially made his entry for the government prize, and he could not withdraw now. he must keep on. lieutenant larson arranged with one of the army aviators to accompany them on the prospective trip from coast to coast, and finally larson announced that he was ready to start for new york, where the flight would officially begin. "well, ezra," said his wife, as he climbed into the machine on the day appointed, "i don't like to be a discourager, and throw cold water on you, but i don't reckon i'll ever see you again, ezra," and she wiped her eyes. "oh, pshaw! of course you'll see me again!" her husband cried. "i'm going to come back with that twenty thousand dollars. and i--i'll buy a new carriage;--that's what i will!" "that's awful good of you, ezra," she said. "but i'm not countin' on it. i'm afraid you'll never come back," she sighed. "oh, yes, i will!" he declared. "good-bye!" they were to pick up the army officer in new york, and so larson and uncle ezra made the first part of the journey alone. they had considerable trouble on the way, having to come down a number of times. "say, if she's going to work this way what will happen when we start for san francisco?" asked mr. larabee. "oh, it will be all right when i make a few changes in her," the lieutenant said. "and when we have another man aboard she'll ride easier." "well, i hope so," murmured uncle ezra. "but more changes! will they--er--cost money?" "a little." uncle ezra groaned. however, new york was eventually reached, and after some repairs and changes were made, the airship was taken to the same place where dick's had started from, and with the army representative aboard, the journey for the pacific coast was begun. the beginning of the flight was auspicious enough, but if uncle ezra could have known all that was before him i am doubtful if he would have gone on. chapter xxiii an impromptu race "how's she running?" "couldn't be better!" "you're not crowding her though, are you? i mean we can go faster; can't we?" "oh, yes, but i think if we average fifty miles an hour for the whole trip, we'll be doing well." dick, paul and innis were talking together in the small pilot-house of the airship. and it was dick who made the remark about the speed. they had risen high above new york now, and were headed across the hudson to the jersey shore. they would cover the western part of the garden state. "it sure is great!" cried innis, as he looked down from the height. "if anyone had told me, a year ago, that i'd be doing this, i'd never have believed him." "me either!" declared dick. "but it's the best sport i ever heard about." "and you sure have got some airship!" declared larry, admiringly. the young reporter had just finished writing an account of the start, heading his article, "aboard the abaris," and, enclosed in a leather holder, had dropped the story from a point near the clouds. the leather cylinder had a small flag attached to it, and as it was dropped down while the airship was shooting across the city, it attracted considerable attention. by means of a glass larry saw his story picked up, and he felt sure it would reach the paper safely. and he learned, later, such was the case. "we'd better arrange to divide up the work of running things while we're in the airship," suggested dick. "we want to have some sort of system." "that's right," agreed mr. vardon. "we shall have to do some sleeping." "how long do you figure you will take for the trip?" asked lieutenant mcbride, who was making official notes of the manner in which the motor behaved, and of the airship in general. "well," answered dick, "we can make a hundred miles an hour when we're put to it," and he looked at mr. vardon for confirmation. "yes, that can be done," the aviator said. "but of course we could not keep that up, as the motor would hardly stand it. but fifty miles, on the average, for the entire trip, would be a fair estimate i think." "and figuring on it being three thousand miles from new york to san francisco, we could do it in sixty hours of continuous flight," added dick. "only of course we'll not have such luck as that." "no, we've got to make one descent anyhow, about half-way across, to take on more oil and gasolene," mr. vardon said. "and we will be very lucky if we don't have to come down but once more on the way. but we may have luck." "i think we will!" cried dick. while the young millionaire was at the wheel, taking the airship higher and higher, and westward on her journey. mr. vardon and lieutenant mcbride arranged a schedule of work, so that each one would have an opportunity of steering. "and while you're at it," suggested innis, "i wish you'd arrange a schedule for the cooking. have i got to do it all?" "indeed not," said dick. "we'll put paul and larry to work in the galley." "not me!" exclaimed paul. "i can't even cook water without burning it." "get out! don't you always do your share of the camp cooking when we go off on hikes and practice marches?" objected innis, to his cadet chum. "indeed and you'll do your share of it here all right! i'll see to that." "i guess i'm caught!" admitted paul. the start had been made about ten o'clock in the morning, and before noon more than ninety miles had been covered, as registered on the distance gage. this took the party across new jersey. they had passed over newark, and the orange mountains. the rule against flying over a city had bothered dick who argued that it would take him much out of his air line, and consume more time if he always had to pick out an unpopulated section. so the rule was abrogated as far as the aviation association was concerned. "and if the policemen of any cities we fly over want to take a chance and chase us in an aerial motor cycle, let 'em come!" laughed the young millionaire. dinner was served at a height of about eight thousand feet. dick wanted to get himself and his companions accustomed to great heights, as they would have to fly high over the rockies. there was some little discomfort, at first, in the rarefied atmosphere, but they soon got used to it, and liked it. grit, however, suffered considerably, and did not seem to care for aeroplaning. but he was made so much of, and everyone was so fond of, him that he seemed, after a while, to forget his troubles. he wanted to be near dick all the time. mr. vardon was a veteran aviator, and heights did not bother him. lieutenant mcbride, too, had had considerable experience. afternoon found the abaris over pennsylvania, which state would require about six hours to cross at the speed of fifty miles every sixty minutes. the captive balloons, and other landmarks, enabled them to keep to their course. dick put his craft through several "stunts" to further test its reliability and flexibility. to every one she answered perfectly. the gyroscope stabilizer was particularly effective, and no matter how severe a strain was put on the craft, she either came to an even keel at once when deflected from it, or else did not deviate from it. "i shall certainly report as to the wisdom of having such an apparatus on every airship the united states uses," declared lieutenant mcbride. "no matter whether dick hamilton's craft wins the prize or not,--and i certainly hope he does--the gyroscope must be used." "i am glad to hear you say so," spoke the inventor, "but i never would have been able to perfect it had it not been for my friend dick hamilton." "why don't you blush, dick?" asked innis, playfully. "i don't take any credit to myself at all," said the young millionaire. "well, i'm going to give it to you," declared the aviator. "from now on the gyroscope stabilizer will be known as the vardon-hamilton, and some additional patents i contemplate taking out will be in our joint names." "thanks," said dick, "but i'll accept only on one condition." "what is that?" "it is that no money from this invention comes to me. if i win the twenty thousand dollar prize i'll be content." "what are you going to do with the money?" asked paul drew, for dick really had no need of it. "i'll build a new gym, at kentfield," was the reply. "our present one is too small. we need an indoor baseball cage too." "good for you!" cried innis. "you're a real sport!" in the evolutions of the airship each one aboard was given a chance to pilot her. he was also allowed to stop and start the machinery, since it could not be told at what moment, in an emergency, someone would have to jump into the breech. it was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when dick's ship was nearing the western borders of pennsylvania, that paul, who was looking down through the celluloid floor in the cabin, cried out: "something going on down below us, boys!" all save innis, who was steering, crowded around the odd window. "why, there's an airship meet going on down there," said dick. "look, there are a lot of monoplanes and some biplanes." "let's go down a bit and salute them," suggested larry. "down she is!" cried innis, as he pulled over the lever of the deflecting rudder. "say when, dick." "oh, keep her up about two thousand feet. we don't want to interfere with any of their evolutions." but the advent of the abaris seemed welcomed by the other airships that were taking part in the evolutions below. two of them, which had been flying high, at once pointed their noses upward, and raced forward to get in line with dick's craft. "they're going to race us!" paul shouted. "come on, dick, now's your chance!" "shall i?" the young millionaire asked of mr. vardon. "yes, go ahead. let's see what we can do to them. though they are probably much swifter than we are." "take the wheel, dick!" cried innis. "i want to see you beat 'em." the implied challenge was at once accepted, and in another moment the impromptu race was under way. chapter xxiv grit's grip two large biplanes were in the race with dick hamilton's airship. they were of the latest type, as could be noted by the young millionaire, and were swift craft. they had come up from behind, on a long, upward slant, and were now about in line with each other, and on a par with the abaris, though considerably below her. "say, look at that crowd of people!" exclaimed paul, as he stood at the side of dick who was at the wheel. the cadet was ready to lend any assistance that might be needed in working the airship. "yes, there is quite a bunch," observed dick, as he opened the gasolene throttle a little wider, and took a quick glance down through the celluloid bull's-eye in the floor of the cabin. "it's a big meet." they were flying over a big aviation park, that mr. vardon at once recognized as one in which he had given several exhibitions. "this is quite a meet, all right," the aviator remarked as he noted at least ten machines in the air at one time. there were mono and biplanes, but only two of the latter were near enough to dick's machine to engage in the impromptu race with it. "how are we coming on?" asked paul. "holding our own," answered the young millionaire. "i haven't started to speed yet. i'm waiting to see what those fellows are going to do." the latter, however, were evidently also hanging back trying to "get a line" on the performance of the big craft. the pilots of the lower biplanes could, very likely, tell by the size of the abaris that she was no ordinary airship, and, in all probability, they had read of her, and of the try for the prize. for larry dexter made a good press agent, and had written many a story of dick's plans. "now they're coming on," cried dick, as he saw one of the lower machines dart ahead of the other. "he's trying to get me to sprint, i guess." "why don't you try it now?" suggested mr. vardon. "we'll soon be at the limits of the aviation field, and i doubt if these machines will be allowed to go beyond it. so, if you want to beat them in a race now is your time to speed up." "here she goes!" cried dick, as he opened wider the gasolene throttle. in an instant the big craft shot ahead, fairly roaring through the air. the closed cabin, however, kept the pressure of wind from the occupants, or they might not have been able to stand it, for the gage outside registered a resistance of many pounds to the square inch. it was an odd race. there were no cheering spectators to urge on the contestants by shouts and cheers, though doubtless those who were witnessing the evolutions of the aircraft, before dick's advent on the scene, were using their voices to good advantage. but the birdmen were too high up to hear them. nor could the excited calls, if there were any such, from the two rivals of our hero be heard. there were two men in each of the competing biplanes, and they were doing their best to win. it must have been an inspiring sight from below, for dick's craft was so large that it showed up well, and the white canvas planes of the others, as well as those of the abaris, stood out in bold contrast to the blue of the sky. "we're doing ninety an hour!" called dick, after a glance at the speed gage, while his companions were looking down at the craft below. "pretty nearly the limit," remarked mr. vardon. "if you can reach a hundred, dick, do it. i don't believe those fellows can come near that." "they're falling behind now," observed paul. "go to it, dick, old man!" the young millionaire pulled open the gasolene throttle to the full limit and set the sparker to contact at the best advantage. the result was at once apparent. the aircraft shot ahead in a wonderful fashion. the others evidently put on full speed, for they, also, made a little spurt. then it was "all over but the shouting," as larry said. dick's machine swept on and soon distanced the others. "i've got to get back a story of this!" cried larry. "it will be good reading for those who buy the leader." "but how are you going to do it?" asked paul. "you can't send back a story now, and we'd have to make a descent to use the wireless," dick's craft being so fitted up. "i'll just write a little note, telling the editor to get the story from the associated press correspondent who is covering this meet," larry answered. "all they need in the leader office is a 'tip.' they'll do the rest. but i'll just give them a few pointers as to how things went on here." he hastily dashed off a story and enclosed it in one of several leather cylinders he had provided for this purpose. each one had a sort of miniature parachute connected to it, and a flag to attract attention as it shot down. enclosing his story in one of these larry dropped it, as he had done before, trusting that it would be picked up and forwarded. the plan always worked well. the leather messenger fell on the aviation field, and our friends had the satisfaction of seeing several men running to pick it up, so larry knew his plan would be successful. the abaris was now speeding along at the top notch, and for a few minutes dick allowed her to soar through the air in this fashion. and then, having some regard for his engines, he cut down the gasolene, and slowed up. "no use tearing her heart out," he remarked. "there's time enough to rush on the last lap. i wonder if we'll have a race at the end?" "i shouldn't be surprised," mr. vardon answered. "a number of celebrated aviators are planning to compete for this prize, and some may already be on the way across the continent ahead of us." "then there's your uncle ezra," put in paul. "poor uncle ezra," spoke dick, musingly. "he certainly has treated me mean, at times, but i can't help feeling sorry for him. every time he has to buy five gallons of gasolene, or some oil, he'll imagine he's getting ready to go to the poorhouse. he certainly was not cut out for an aviator, and i certainly was surprised when he built that airship." "he's being used by that fellow larson, i'm sure of that," declared mr. vardon. "your uncle ezra has fallen into the hands of a scoundrel, dick." "well, i'm sorry for that, of course," said the young millionaire, "but, do you know, i think it will do uncle ezra good to lose some of his money. he's got more than he needs, and he can afford to spend some on aviation. someone, at least the workmen, and those who sell materials and supplies, will get the benefit of it." the aircraft was now going along at about her usual speed of fifty miles an hour. the aviation park had been left behind, and they were now flying along at a comparatively low altitude. "better go up a little," suggested mr. vardon. "it will be dark shortly, and we don't want to run into a mountain in the night." dick tilted the elevating rudder and the craft lifted herself into the air, soaring upward. "here, innis, you take the wheel now, it's your turn," called our hero, a little later. "straighten her out and keep her on a level keel. it's my turn to get supper." "and give us plenty, if you don't mind," begged the stout cadet, who took his chum's place in the pilot house. "this upper atmosphere seems to give me an appetite." "i never saw you without it, innis," laughed paul. "come on out on the deck, for a breath of air before we start to cook," suggested larry. "we can get a fine view of the sunset there." the open deck, in the rear of the cabin, did indeed offer a gorgeous view of the setting sun, which was sinking to rest in a bank of golden, green and purple clouds. "i'll go out, too," said lieutenant mcbride. "i am supposed to make some meteorological observations while i am on this trip, and it is high time i began." and so, with the exception of innis, who would have his turn later, and mr. vardon, who wanted to look over the machinery, for possible heated bearings, all went out on the railed deck. grit, the bulldog, followed closely on the heels of dick. "be careful, old man," said the young millionaire to his pet. "there's no rail close to the deck, you know, and you may slip overboard." they stood for a few moments viewing the scene while thus flying along through the air. the colors of the sunset were constantly changing, becoming every moment more gorgeous. suddenly there was a swerve to the airship, and it tilted sharply to one side. "look out!" cried dick, as he grasped the protecting railing, an example followed by all. "what's up?" "we're falling!" shouted paul. "no, it's just an air pocket," was the opinion of lieutenant mcbride. "we'll be all right in another moment." they were, but before that grit, taken unawares, had slid unwillingly to the edge of the open deck. "look out for him!" shouted dick, making a grab for his pet. but he was too late. the deck was smooth, and the bulldog could get no grip on it. in another instant he had toppled over the edge of the platform, rolling under the lowest of the guard rails. "there he goes!" cried paul. dick gave a gasp of despair. grit let out a howl of fear. and then, as larry dexter leaned over the side, he gave a cry of surprise. "look!" he shouted. "grit's caught by a rope and he's hanging there by his teeth!" and, as dick looked, he saw a strange sight. trailing over the side of the airship deck was a piece of rope, that had become loosed. and, in his fall, grit had caught hold of this in his strong jaws. to this he clung like grim death, his grip alone keeping him from falling into space. chapter xxv a forced landing "hold on there, old boy! don't let go!" begged dick of his pet, who swung to and fro, dangling like some grotesque pendulum over the side of the airship. "hold on, grit!" and grit held on, you may be sure of that. his jaws were made for just that purpose. the dog made queer gurgling noises in his throat, for he dare not open his mouth to bark. probably he knew just what sort of death would await him if he dropped into the vast space below him. "how we going to get him up?" asked larry. "i'll show you!" cried dick, as he stretched out at full length on the deck, and made his way to the edge where his head and shoulders projected over the dizzying space. the airship was still rushing on. "grab his legs--somebody!" exclaimed paul. "i'll sit on you, dick!" "that's right! anchor me down, old man!" dick cried. "i'm going to get grit!" "are you going to make a landing to save him?" asked larry. "no, though i would if i had to," dick replied. "i'm just going to haul him up by the rope. keep a good hold, old boy!" he encouraged his pet, and grit gurgled his answer. and then dick, leaning over the edge of the deck, while paul sat on his backward-stretched legs to hold him in place, hauled up the bulldog hand over hand, by means of the rope the intelligent animal had so fortunately grasped. inch by inch grit was raised until larry, who had come to the edge to help dick, reached out, and helped to haul the dog in. "there he is!" cried dick, as he slid back. "well, old boy, you had a close call!" grit let go the rope and barked. and then a strange fit of trembling seized him. it was the first time he had ever showed fear. he never ventured near the edge of the deck again, always taking a position as near the centre as possible, and lying down at full length, to prevent any danger of sliding off. and he never went out on the deck unless dick went also, feeling, i suppose, that he wanted his master near in case of accidents. "say, that was some little excitement," remarked the young millionaire, as he wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "i thought poor old grit was sure a goner." "it did look so," admitted paul. "he's an intelligent beast, all right." "takes after me," laughed dick. "well, let's see how innis made out while we were at the rescue." "i was all ready to send her down quick, if you'd given the word," said the cadet in the pilot house, when the party went inside the cabin. "but she's still on her course," he added, after a glance at the compass. "i'm glad we didn't have to go down," dick remarked. "as we only have two landings we can make i want to save my reserve until we are actually forced to use it. i wonder about where we are, anyhow? let's make a calculation." by figuring out the rate of speed, and comparing the elapsed time, and then by figuring on a scale map, it was estimated, as dusk settled down, that they were about on the border line between pennsylvania and ohio. "we'll cross the state of ohio tonight," spoke dick, "and by morning we ought to be in indiana. not so bad, considering that we haven't really pushed the machine to the limit yet, except in that little brush with the other airships." "yes, we are doing very well," said mr. vardon. "i wonder how some of our competitors are making out? i'd like to get some news of them." "so would i," went on dick. "particularly my uncle ezra." had he but known it, mr. larabee, in his airship with larson and the army man, was following close after him. for really the big biplane, with the mercury stabilizers, which larson had constructed, was a fine craft, and capable. that larson had cheated mr. larabee out of considerable money in the building had nothing to do with the working of the apparatus. but of uncle ezra and his aircraft more later. "we'll get some news the first landing we make," suggested lieutenant mcbride. "well, i would like to get news all right," admitted dick. "but i don't want to go down until i have to. now for supper. anything you fellows would like, especially?" "green turtle soup for mine!" sung out larry. "i'll have pickled eels' feet," laughed innis, who had relinquished the wheel to mr. vardon. "wait a bit, dick, and i'll drop a line overboard and catch a few." "and i'll see if i can't shoot a mock turtle," came from paul. "nothing but roast turkey for mine," insisted lieutenant mcbride. "but i guess we'll have to compromise on capsule soup and condensed sandwiches." "oh, i can give you canned chicken," promised the young millionaire, "and perhaps i can make it hot for you." "not too much tabasco sauce though, the way you dosed up the stuff for the last freshman dinner!" objected paul. "i ate some of that by mistake, and i drank nothing but iced water for a week after." "that's right--it was a hot old time!" cried dick, with a laugh at the recollection. as space was rather limited on board the airship, no ice could be carried, and, in consequence no fresh meats were available except for the first few hours of travel. of course, when a landing was to be made, another limited supply could be laid in, but, with only two descents to earth allowed, this would not help much. however, as the trip was going to be a comparatively short one, no one minded the deprivation from the usual bountiful meals that, somehow, one seemed to associate with the young millionaire. a good supply of "capsule" food was carried. in making up his larder dick had consulted lieutenant mcbride, who had given him a list of the highly nutritious and condensed food used in the army. while such food was not the most appetizing in the world, it could be carried in a small space, was easily prepared, and would sustain life, and provide working energy, fully as long as the more elaborate dishes, which contain a large amount of waste materials. soon the electric stove was aglow, and on it dick got up a tasty supper. innis insisted on helping his chum, though it was dick's turn to play cook. "you just can't keep out of the kitchen; can you?" asked dick, of the stout cadet. "you always want to be around where eating is going on." "well, the only way to be sure of a thing, is to do it yourself," said innis. "i would hate to have this fine appetite of mine go to waste." it was quite dark when they sat at supper, for some slight defect manifested itself in one of the small motors just as they were about to eat, and it had to be repaired at once. but, gathered about the folding table, with the electric lights aglow overhead, there was little indication among the party of aviators that they were in one of the most modern of skycraft, sailing a mile above the earth, and shooting along at fifty miles an hour. so easy was the motion of the abaris, and so evenly and smoothly did she glide along, due to the automatic action of the gyroscope stabilizer, that it really seemed as if they were standing still--floating between heaven and earth. of course there was the subdued hum of the great propellers outside, and the throb of the powerful gasolene motor, but that was all that gave an idea of the immense force contained in the airship. from time to time lieutenant mcbride made notes for future use. he had to report officially to the war department just how this type of airship behaved under any and all circumstances. then, too, he was interested personally, for he had taken up aviation with great enthusiasm, and as there were not many army men in it, so far, he stood a good chance for advancement. "the possibilities of aeroplanes in time of war are only beginning to be understood," he said. "of course there has been a lot of foolish talk about them, and probably they will not be capable of doing all that has been claimed for them, as yet. but they will be of immense value for scouting purposes, if for nothing else. in rugged and mountainous countries, an aviator will be under no difficulties at all, and can, by hovering over the enemy's camp, get an idea of the defenses, and report back. "thus it will be possible to map out a plan of attack with every chance of success. there will be no time lost, and lives may be saved from useless exposure." "do you think airships will ever carry light artillery, or drop bombs on an enemy?" asked dick. "well, you could carry small artillery aboard here if you didn't have so much company," answered the army man. "it is all a question of weight and size. however, i believe, for the present, the most valuable aid airships will render will be in the way of scouting. but i don't want to see a war just for the sake of using our airships. though it is well to be prepared to take advantage of their peculiar usefulness." after supper they prepared to spend their first night aboard the airship on her prize-winning attempt. they decided to cut down the speed a little. "not that there's much danger of hitting anything," dick explained, "though possibly uncle ezra and larson might come up behind and crash into us. but at slower speed the machinery is not so strained, and there is less likelihood of an accident." "that's right," agreed mr. vardon. "and an accident at night, especially when most of us are asleep, is not so easily handled as when it occurs in daylight. so slow her down, dick." the motor was set to take them along at thirty miles an hour, and they descended until they were fifteen hundred feet above the earth, so in case of the abaris becoming crippled, she would not have to spend much time in making a landing. everything was well looked to, and then, with dick and mr. vardon taking the first watch, the others turned in. and they were so tired from the rather nervous excitement of the day of the start, that they were soon asleep. dick and the aviator took turns at the wheel, and attended to the necessary adjustments of the various machines. it might seem strange for anyone to sleep aboard a moving airship, but, the truth of the matter was, that our friends were realty worn out with nervous exhaustion. they had tired themselves out, not only physically, but mentally, and sleep was really forced on them. otherwise they might not have slumbered at all. it was shortly past midnight when dick, who, in spite of his attempts to keep awake, had partly dozed off, was suddenly aroused by a howl from grit. "what--what's the matter, old boy?" he asked. "in trouble again?" there came another and louder howl. "where is he?" asked mr. vardon, looking in from the pilot-house. "i can't see him," dick answered. "can he be out on deck?" a moment later there was a flash as of lightning, within the cabin, and grit mingled his howls and barks as though in great pain. "something's wrong!" cried the aviator. "look about, dick, i can't leave the wheel. we seem to be going down!" the young millionaire sprang up and leaped toward the place where he had heard grit howling. the next moment dick laughed in a relieved fashion. "where are those rubber gloves?" he asked. "rubber gloves?" repeated mr. vardon. "yes. grit has gotten tangled up in the little dynamo that runs the headlight, and he's short-circuited. he can stand more of a shock than i can. i want to get him off the contacts. where are the gloves?" the aviator directed dick to where the insulating gauntlets were kept, and in another moment grit was pulled away from the contact. he had been unable to move himself, just as when one grasps the handles of a galvanic battery the muscles become so bound as to be incapable of motion. fortunately the current, while it made grit practically helpless, for the time, was not strong enough to burn, or otherwise injure him. he gave a howl of protest at the accident, as dick released him, and shuffled off to his kennel, after fawning on his master. "one of the wires has some of the insulation off--that's what caused the trouble," dick explained. "i'll wind some tape on it until we have time to put in a new conductor." "grit seems to be getting the worst end of it this trip," said paul, who had been awakened by the commotion. "yes, he isn't much used to airships," agreed dick. "but you'd better turn in, paul. you've got an hour yet before it's your turn at the wheel." "oh, better let me have it now. i'm awake, and i can't get to sleep again. turn in yourself." which dick was glad enough to do, as he was quite tired. the remainder of the night passed without incident, and when morning came the airship was put at her former speed, fifty miles an hour. that may not sound very fast, but it must be remembered that this rate had to be kept up for sixty hours straight, perhaps. after breakfast the wire that had shocked grit was renewed, and then some observations were taken to determine their position. it was calculated they were about halfway across indiana by noon. the afternoon was slowly waning, and they were preparing for their second night of the prize trip, congratulating themselves that they had not yet been forced to descend. suddenly larry, who was at the wheel, uttered a cry of alarm. "something's wrong!" he shouted. "i can't steer her on the course any longer. she's heading north instead of west." dick and mr. vardon rushed to the pilot-house. a glance at the compass confirmed larry's statement. the aviator himself took the wheel, but it was impossible to head the craft west. she pointed due north. "the horizontal rudder is out of gear!" cried dick. "yes, and we'll have to go down to fix it," said mr. vardon, after a quick inspection. "boys, we've got to make our first landing! it's too bad, but it might be worse." chapter xxvi on lake michigan unsuccessfully they tried to make repairs to the horizontal rudder without going down, but it was not to be. the airship was being sent farther and farther along on a northern course, taking her far out of her way. and more time and distance might thus be lost than by descending, making repairs, and going on again. "well, i did hope we'd cover at least half the trip before we had to go down," dick said, and his tone was regretful. "try once more and see if we can't get her back on the course." but the horizontal guide--by which i mean the apparatus that sent the craft to left or right--was hopelessly jammed. to try to force it might mean a permanent break. "take her down," dick finally gave the order, as captain. "what sort of a landing-place is below us?" "we're too far up to see," said mr. vardon. "and i hope we have the luck to be above open country. we can't go to left or right except in the smallest degree, so we'll have to land wherever fate disposes. we are all right on going up or down, but not otherwise." the vertical rudder was now depressed, and on a long slant dick's airship was sent down. lower and lower she glided, and soon an indistinct mass appeared. it was almost dusk, and no details could be made out. then, as she went lower what appeared to be a gray cloud showed. "there's a bank of fog below us," declared paul. "or else it's the smoke of pittsburg," said innis. "we left pittsburg behind long ago," larry returned. "why!" he cried, as the gray foglike mass became more distinct. "that's water--that's what it is!" "water!" exclaimed dick. "can we have gone in the wrong direction, and be back over the atlantic?" "or the pacific?" suggested larry with a laugh. "no such good luck as that! we haven't had time to cross the continent yet," declared dick. "but what water can it be?" "oh, some small lake," spoke paul. "it isn't a small lake--it's a big one--an inland sea," was dick's opinion, as they settled lower and lower. "it's lake michigan, that's what it is!" shouted larry, after a quick glance at the map. "fellows, we're over lake michigan!" "and we're going to be in it--or on it--in a little while, i'm thinking," lieutenant mcbride said, grimly. "are you ready for a bath?" "there won't be any trouble about that," answered dick. "the hydroplanes will take care of us. i only hope it isn't too rough to make a safe landing." paul took a telescope from the rack, and, going out on the deck, looked down. the next moment he reported: "it's fairly calm. just a little swell on." "then we'd better get ready to lower the hydroplanes," went on dick, with a look at the aviator. "that's the best thing to do," decided mr. vardon. "we'll see how they'll work in big water." the hydroplanes, which were attached to the airship near the points where the starting wheels were made fast, could be lowered into place by means of levers in the cabin. the hydroplanes were really water-tight hollow boxes, large and buoyant enough to sustain the airship on the surface of the water. they could be lowered to a point where they were beneath the bicycle wheels, and were fitted with toggle-jointed springs to take up the shock. lieutenant mcbride took out his watch, and with pad and pencil prepared to note the exact moment when the airship should reach the surface of the lake. "i shall have to take official notice of this," he said. "it constitutes your first landing, though perhaps it would be more correct to call it a watering. as soon as you are afloat, your elapsed time will begin, and it will count until you are in the air again. you will probably be some time making repairs." "no longer than we can help," said dick. "i don't want uncle ezra, or anybody else, to get ahead of me." down and down sank the abaris, on her first descent from the cloud-land since her auspicious start. but, as dick admitted, it might be worse. the accident itself was a comparatively slight one. "get ready, everybody!" called mr. vardon, as he saw that, in a few seconds more, they would be on the surface of the water. "do you fear something will go wrong?" asked larry, quickly. "well, we've never tried the hydroplanes in rough water, and there is always the chance for an accident. stand out where you can jump, if you have to," he directed. lieutenant mcbride was standing with his watch out, ready to note the exact second of landing. he knew he must be officially correct, though he would give dick every possible chance and favor. "here we go!" came the cry from the aviator. "only a few seconds now!" they could plainly see the heaving waters of the big lake. fortunately it was comparatively calm, though once she had landed the airship could stand some rough weather afloat. splash! went the hydroplanes into the water. the springs took up the shock and strain, and the next moment dick's craft was floating easily on the great lake. the landing had been made without an accident to mar it. "good!" cried lieutenant mcbride, as he jotted down the time. "do you know how long you have been, so far, dick, on the trip?" "how long?" "just thirty-five hours, four minutes and eight seconds!" was the answer. "over half the estimated time gone, and we re only a third of the way there!" exclaimed the young millionaire. "i'm afraid we aren't going to do it, mr. vardon." "well, i'm not going to give up yet," the aviator answered, grimly. "this is only a start. we haven't used half our speed, and when we get closer to the finish we can go a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour if we have to--for a spurt, at any rate. no, i'm not giving up." "neither am i," declared dick, for he was not of the quitting sort. floating on the surface of lake michigan was like being on the ocean, for they were out of sight of land, and there were no water craft in view. the abaris seemed to have the lake to herself, though doubtless beyond the wall of the slight haze that hemmed her in there were other vessels. "well, now to see what the trouble is," suggested dick. "it must be somewhere in the connecting joints of the levers, for the rudder itself seems to be all right." "but we'd better begin out there and make sure," suggested mr. vardon. he pointed to the rudder, which projected some distance back of the stern of the aircraft. "how you going to get at it to inspect it?" asked paul. "it isn't as if we were on solid ground." "and no one has long enough a reach to stretch to it from the deck," added innis. "you forget our collapsible lifeboat," dick answered. one of those useful craft was aboard the airship. it could be inflated with air, and would sustain a considerable weight. "i'll go out in that and see what's the trouble," dick went on. "it will tell us where we've got to begin." "perhaps we had better wait until morning," suggested lieutenant mcbride. "it is fast getting dark, and you can do much better work in daylight. besides, you are not pressed for time, as your stay here will not count against you. i think you had better wait until morning." "and stay here all night?" asked dick. "i think so. you have proved that your hydroplanes are all right. why not rest on the surface of the lake until morning? you can't anchor, it is true, but you can use a drag, and there seems to be no wind, so you will not be blown ashore. besides, you can, to a certain extent, control yourself with the propellers." "i think we will wait then," decided the young millionaire captain. "as you say we can make a drag anchor to keep us from drifting too much." by means of a long rope a drag anchor was tossed out at the stern of the aircraft. this would serve to hold her back. then, as nothing further could be done, preparations were made for supper. "well, this aeroplaning has its ups and downs," said paul, with a laugh, as he sat at table. "last night we were eating up in the air, and now we're on the water." "and it's lucky we're not in the water!" exclaimed innis. "regular hamilton luck, i call it." "no, it's vardon luck," dick insisted. "he planned the hydroplanes that made it possible." lights were set aglow to show the position of the craft on the water. "we don't want to be run down in the night," dick said, as he noted the red and green side lights as well as the white ones at bow and stern. for, in the water, the abaris was subject to the same rules as were other lake craft. it was only when in the air that she was largely a law unto herself. the night passed quietly enough, though it came on to blow a little toward morning. but the drag anchor worked well. "and now for the repairs," cried dick, after breakfast, as he and his chums got out the collapsible boat. it was blown up, and in it dick and mr. vardon paddled out to the stern rudders. they were examining the universal joint, by which the apparatus was deflected when dick suddenly became aware of a wet feeling about his feet, and a sinking feeling beneath him. he looked down, and found that the boat, in which he and mr. vardon were standing, was going down. already it was half filled with water. "more trouble!" cried dick. "i guess we'll have to swim for it!" chapter xxvii a howling gale there was no doubt about it. the little craft was going down. later it was learned that a leaky valve had allowed the air to escape, and a break in the boat's rubber sides had let in the water. "come on!" cried dick. "overboard, mr. vardon!" there was really little danger, as both of them could swim, though if they did not jump out they might be carried down with the boat. so, overboard went dick and his aviator. the collapsible boat sank with the downward impulse given it when they leaped out, but as it was moored to the airship by a cable it could be recovered. "say, what is this--a swimming race?" asked paul, as he tossed dick a rope, a like service being performed for mr. vardon by innis. "looks like it--doesn't it?" agreed the young millionaire. "i should have tested that boat before we went out in it," he added, as he clambered up, grit frisking and barking about him in delight. "yes, that's where we made the mistake," agreed mr. vardon. "that rubber must have been cut as it was packed away. well, we can easily mend it, so no great harm is done." by means of the cable, the sunken boat was pulled to the airship, and when the water was allowed to run out it was hauled aboard. then it was examined, the leak found, and the craft was placed out in the sun to dry, after which it could be mended. "well, we can't do anything but wait," said dick, after he had changed into dry garments. "the break is out on that part of the rudder that's over the water. we can't reach it without the boat." "then, while we're waiting let's have a swim," proposed paul. "it will do us all good." "and then we can do some fishing," added innis. "i'd like some nice broiled fish. did you bring any tackle along, dick?" "no, i'm sorry to say i didn't." "then i'll have to rig up some. i'll use some cold canned chicken for bait." "what about a hook?" asked lieutenant mcbride, with a smile. "well, anybody who can build an airship ought to be able to make a fish hook. i'm going to call on dick for that," went on innis. "i guess i can file you out one from a bit of steel wire," answered the young millionaire. this was done, after some little labor, and with several of the improvised barbs, and bait from some of the canned goods, a fishing party was organized. there was plenty of string, and for leaders, so that the fish would not bite off the hooks, innis used some spare banjo strings. he had brought his instrument along with him. the swim was much enjoyed, for the day was warm. the young aviators sported around in the cool waters of the lake, and several little spurting races were "pulled off," to use a sporting term. i cannot say that the fishing was very successful. a few were caught, but i imagine the bait used was not just proper. it is difficult to get canned chicken to stick on a hook, unless you use a piece of gristle. but some good specimens were caught, and were served for dinner, being fried on the electric stove. all this while the airship floated tranquilly on the surface of the lake. several vessels came near, attracted by the strange sight of dick's craft, but, by means of a megaphone they were kindly asked not to approach too near, as the least contact with one of the heavier craft would damage the abaris. through the captain of one craft dick sent a message to his father, and larry a story to his paper. "well, i think that boat must be dry enough to mend now," said dick, some time after dinner. "we don't want to spend another night here if we can help it." "no, for the weather might not always be as calm as it is now. the barometer is falling, and that means a storm, sooner or later," spoke mr. vardon. "and these lake storms can be pretty had when they try." it was found that the collapsible boat was dry enough to patch up, and by means of a rubber cement the hole in the side was closed. the leaky intake valve was also repaired, and then, when the peculiar craft was blown up and tested, it was found to be all right. "now we'll have another try at fixing that rudder," said dick, as he and the aviator started once more to paddle to the stern of the aircraft. this time all went well. no water came in the rubber boat, and by standing up in it the two were able to learn the cause of the trouble with the rudder. it was simple enough--a broken bolt making it impossible to turn it in a certain direction. as dick had plenty of spare parts aboard, a new bolt was soon substituted for the fractured one, and then they were ready to proceed again. "i've a suggestion to make," said lieutenant mcbride, when dick was about to give the word to mount into the air again. "what is it?" asked the young millionaire. "why not try your boat over the water? while it is not exactly a hydroplane, yet it has those attachments, and you can probably skim over the surface of the water as well as float on it. and that might come in useful in winning the prize. "of course the conditions call for an air flight from new york to san francisco, but i believe, in case of emergency, a short water trip would not count against you? and you might have to make it some time." "i'll see what we can do, at any rate," decided dick. "we will probably never get a better chance than this. come on, boys! we'll see how our hydroplanes act!" he called. the only thing that was necessary to do was to start the motor that operated the propellers. the aircraft was at this time resting easily on the surface of lake michigan. she would be driven forward by the propellers beating on the air, exactly as a sailboat it aided by the wind. only, in her case, the abaris would furnish her own motive power. in anticipation of some time having to navigate on the water, a small auxiliary rudder had been attached to dick's craft. this rudder went down into the water, and would be used in steering in conjunction with those used when she was in the air. this wooden rudder was now dropped into the water, tested, and found to answer properly to the lever which, in the pilot-house, controlled it by means of wire ropes. "well, let her go!" cried dick, "and we'll see what sort of luck we'll have." "which way?" asked mr. vardon, who was at the wheel. "why not head for chicago?" suggested lieutenant mcbride. "we can't be a great way from there, according to the map, and that would be a good place to make the new start from." "i think it would be," agreed dick, "if that would be covering the conditions of the contest." "well, you can easily travel back enough to make up any shortage in miles," the army man went on. "you still have plenty of time." so this was agreed to, and, after a look over the craft to make sure there were no defects, mr. vardon pulled over the lever of the starting motor. with a hum and a buzz, the propellers started, and this time the abaris shot forward on the surface of the water, instead of up into the air. "she's going!" cried paul. "she sure is doing it!" yelled innis. "yes, i think she's as successful on the waves as he was in the clouds," agreed dick, as he looked at a speed-measuring gage. "we're hitting up forty miles an hour right now." "and that's good speed for a craft of this size in the water, or, rather, on top of the water," declared lieutenant mcbride. for a hydroplane craft, as you probably know, does not go through the water as a motor-boat does. a regular hydroplane is fitted with a series of graduated steps, and the front of the boat rises as it skims over the water. but all hydroplane craft are designed to slip over the surface of the water, and not to cleave through it. and it was the former that dick's craft was doing. faster and faster speed was attained, until there could be no question about the second success of the young millionaire's airship. if ever occasion should require that he take to the water, in an emergency, it could be done. "and now for chicago!" dick cried, when several hours had been spent in maneuvering about, each member of the party taking turns at steering. "and i think we'll go up in the air for that trip," he added. "there's an aero club in the outskirts of chicago," explained lieutenant mcbride. "i am a member of it, and i think we could make a call there. it would not be necessary to cross the city, and of course we will not land." it was agreed that this would be a good plan, and dick, taking the wheel, sent his craft ahead on the lake at fast speed. "here we go up!" he suddenly cried. then, yanking over the lever of the elevating rudder, he sent the abaris aloft. the rudder for sideway steering worked perfectly, now that repairs had been made. up, up into the air soared the big biplane, and from the lake she had left came a blast of saluting whistles from the water-craft that thus paid tribute to a sister vessel. during the wait on the water dick had purchased from a passing steamer a supply of gasolene and oil. "now we'll have enough so we won't have to land to take on any more," he said. "our provisions are holding out well, and if nothing happens we can make the trip from here to san francisco without stop." "but we still have one landing to our credit if we need it," said paul. "oh, yes, but i hope we don't have to use it," went on dick. "it will be so much more to our credit if we don't." the supposition that they were not far from chicago proved correct, for when they had arisen above the mist that suddenly spread over lake michigan, they saw, in the distance, the windy city. a course was laid to circle about it, and not cross it, as that might complicate matters, and a little later they were within view of the aviation grounds, of which club lieutenant mcbride was a member. he had said there might be a meet in progress, and this proved to be so. a number of biplanes and monoplanes were circling about, and the big crowd in attendance leaped to its feet in astonishment at the sight of the young millionaire's new and powerful craft. it was not the intention of dick and his chums to stop and make a landing, but they wanted to get some news of other competing craft which might be trying for the big prize. accordingly a plan was evolved by which this could be done. the lieutenant wrote out a brief account of their trip, telling of the stop, and to this larry added a request that, after it had been read, it might be telegraphed to his paper. then information was asked for in regard to aerial matters. "but how are we going to get information from them?" asked paul. "we can't get our wireless to working, we can't hear them, even with megaphones, wig-wagging won't do, and we're not going to land." "i've asked them to send up a bunch of toy balloons, carrying any message they can send us," the lieutenant said. "i think we can manipulate our craft so as to grab some of the balloons as they float upward. i've seen it done." little time was lost over this. the message was dropped down in one of larry's leather cylinders. it was seen to be picked up and while dick and his friends circled about above the aviation grounds their note was read. an answer was hastily prepared to be sent up as lieutenant mcbride had suggested. meanwhile a number of the other aeroplanes whizzed past, close to dick's. "i hope they don't come so close that they'll collide with us," murmured the young millionaire. but the pilots were skillful. they tried to shout what were probably congratulations, or questions, at the trans-continental party, but the motors of the small biplanes made such a racket it was impossible to hear. "here come the balloons!" cried dick, as he saw a group tied together floating upward. "now to get them! you'd better handle her, mr. vardon." "no, you do it, dick. i'll stand out on deck and try to grab them." "we can all reach from windows," suggested paul, for there were windows in the cabin. dick was so successful in maneuvering his craft that mr. vardon had no trouble at all in catching the message-carrying toy balloons. the note was brief. it conveyed the greeting of the aero-club, and stated that a number of competing craft were on their way west. "the larabee leads, according to last reports," read innis. "that must be uncle ezra's machine," murmured dick. "he's right after us. well, we'd better get on our course again." "i think so," agreed mr. vardon. the abaris was sent in a westerly direction once more, and those aboard settled down to what they hoped would be the last "lap" of the big race. but matters were not destined to be as easy and comfortable as they hoped for. soon after supper that night the wind sprang up. it increased in violence until, at ten o'clock, there was a howling gale, through which the airship had to fight her way with almost all her available power. "some wind!" cried dick, when he went on duty, and, glancing at the gage noted it to be blowing at seventy miles an hour. "luckily it isn't altogether dead against us," said mr. vardon. "as it is, though, it's cutting down our speed to about twenty miles an hour, and i don't want to force the engine too much." "no," agreed dick. "it isn't worth while, especially as the gale is serving the other craft just as it is us." chapter xxviii ablaze in the clouds there was small consolation, however, for those aboard dick's craft, in the thought that other competing airships were in the same plight as themselves. for, as the night wore on, the wind seemed to increase in power. only the mechanical strength of the abaris enabled her to weather the storm. "we could not possible do it were it not for the gyroscope stabilizer," declared lieutenant mcbride. "we would be on our beams ends all the while. it's a great invention." "well, this certainly is a good test of it," agreed mr. vardon, with pardonable pride. indeed, no more severe strain could have been put upon the apparatus. there would come a great gust of the tornado, and the ship would begin to heel over. but the marvelous power of the gyroscope would force her back again. on through the night and through the gale went the airship. so severe was the storm that it was not deemed wise for any one to remain in his bunk. so everyone spent the hours of darkness in wakeful watching and waiting. "we want to be ready to act in any emergency," explained mr. vardon. "there's no telling when something may give way under the strain." "well, then we ought to go over all the machinery every ten minutes or so, and see if anything is wrong," suggested dick. "we might see the trouble starting in time to prevent it." "good idea!" cried the lieutenant. "we'll make periodical inspections. everyone on the job, as the boys say." the task of looking after the machinery was divided up among the young aviators, and, as the craft was swayed this way and that by the gale, eager and anxious eyes watched every revolution of the gear wheels, pistons were minutely inspected in the light of electric torches, and valves adjusted when they showed the least sign of going wrong. poor grit seemed to be afraid, which was something new for him. he would not leave dick for an instant, but kept at his heels, even when his master went near the sparking motors and dynamos, which the bulldog had good reason to fear. but now he seemed more afraid of something else than the machines that had shocked him. "i wonder what's the matter?" spoke the young millionaire. "i never saw him act this way before. what is it, old boy?" he asked soothingly. grit whined uneasily. "sometimes animals have premonitions," said mr. vardon. "i remember once, in my early days of flying, i took a dog up with me. "everything seemed to be going along fine, but the dog showed signs of uneasiness, though it wasn't on account of the height, for he'd been up before. but it wasn't five minutes later before one of my propeller blades broke off, and i nearly turned turtle before i could make a landing." "i hope nothing like that occurs now," said larry. "it might make a good story, but it would be a mighty uncomfortable feeling." "i don't anticipate anything," said the aviator. "we seem to be doing very well. but we are making scarcely any progress, and we are being blown considerably off our course." "we'll make it up when the wind stops," dick said. "i'm determined to win that prize!" "this is a peculiar storm," lieutenant mcbride observed. "it seems to be nothing but wind. i'm inclined to think there had been an area of low pressure about this region, caused possibly by some other storm, and the air from another region is now rushing in, filling up the partial vacuum." "in that case we might try to rise above it," suggested mr. vardon. "i've often done that. we could go up. it would not be advisable to go down any lower, as we don't want to run the risk of colliding with any mountains, and we are getting pretty well to the northwest now. suppose we try to go up?" this was agreed on as a wise plan, and dick, who was taking his turn at the wheel, shifted the rudder to send his craft up on a long slant. but now a new difficulty arose. it seemed that the change in angle made a heavier wind pressure on the big planes, and the speed of the airship was reduced to a bare ten miles an hour. in fact she seemed almost stationary in the air, at times. "this won't do!" cried dick. "we've got to turn on more power, even if we do strain the machinery. we've got to have more speed than this!" "that's right!" cried mr. vardon. "i'll turn 'em up, dick." and with the increased speed of the big motor that was whirling the propellers came increased danger of a break. vigilance was redoubled, and they had their reward for their care. "here's something wrong!" cried innis, as he passed a small dynamo that supplied current for the electric lights. "a hot bearing!" and he pointed to where one was smoking. "shut down! quick!" cried mr. vardon. "throw over the storage battery switch. that will run the lights until that shaft cools. it must have run out of oil." the dynamo was stopped and as the storage battery was not powerful enough to operate all the lights for very long, only part of the incandescents were used, so that the interior of the ship was only dimly lighted. "use your portable electric torches to examine the machinery in the dark places," directed the aviator. "we'll use the dynamo again as soon it cools." this machine, going out of commission, had no effect on the progress of the airship. she was still fighting her way upward, with dick at the wheel, and grit crouching uneasily near him. the dog gave voice, occasionally, to pitiful whines. "what is it, old boy?" asked dick. "is something wrong?" and grit's manner showed very plainly that there was. but what it was no one could guess. "how is she coming, dick?" asked innis, a little later. "can i relieve you?" "no, i'm not tired. it's only a nervous sort of feeling. i feel as if i were trying to push the airship along." "i know how it is," murmured the cadet. "but just take it easy. how is she doing?" "better, i think. we seem to be gaining a little. if we could only get above the gale we'd be all right. but it's hard forcing her up. i'd just like to know how uncle ezra is making out." as a matter of fact, as dick learned later, his relative had no easy time of it. he had gotten off in fair weather, and under good circumstances, but engine trouble developed after the first few hours, and, while he and larson, with the army man, did not have to come down, they could only fly at slow speed. "i don't know what's the matter with the thing," said larson. "i'm afraid we'll have to use even a different carburetor." "what! and spend more money!" cried uncle ezra. "i guess not! no, sir! up to date this machine has cost me nigh on to eleven thousand dollars! i've got it all down." "but you'll double your money, and have a fine machine to sell to the government," said larson. "it will be all right. give me money for a larger carburetor." "well, if i have to i have to, i suppose," sighed the miserly old man. "but try and make this one do." it would not answer, however, and after trying in vain to get more speed out of the craft, larson was obliged to use one of the two allowed descents, and go down to readjust the motor. then when a couple of days had elapsed, though of course this time was not counted any more than in the case of dick, another start was made. the larabee, as uncle ezra had called his craft, seemed to do better, and at times she showed a spurt of speed that amazed even larson himself. they passed several who had started ahead of them. "we're sure to get that prize!" he exulted. "well, i cal'alate if we don't there'll be trouble," declared uncle ezra, grimly. then they had run into the storm, as had dick's craft, and several other competing ones, and larson, the army man and uncle ezra were in great difficulties. but they forced their machine on. of course dick and his friends knew nothing of this at the time, as several hundred miles then separated the two airships. onward and upward went the abaris. now and then she seemed to gain on the wind, but it was a hard struggle. "i think we're going to do it, though," declared dick, as he went about with the aviator, looking at and testing the various pieces of machinery. "our speed has gone up a little, and the wind pressure seems less." "it is; a little," agreed mr. vardon. "but what is worrying me is that we'll have a lot of lost time and distance to make up when we get out of this storm. still, i suppose it can't be helped." "indeed not. we're lucky as it is," admitted the young millionaire. "but i'm going to get innis and make some coffee. i think it will do us all good." the electric stove was soon aglow, and a little later the aromatic odor of coffee pervaded the cabin of the airship. some sandwiches were also made. and thus, while the craft was fighting her way through the gale, those aboard ate a midnight lunch, with as good appetites as though they were on solid ground. for, in spite of the fact that they were in the midst of danger, they were fairly comfortable. true the aircraft was tilted upward, for she was still climbing on a steep slant, but they had gotten used to this. the gyroscope stabilizer prevented any rolling from side to side. "maybe grit is hungry, and that's what's bothering him," said dick, as he tossed the dog a bit of canned chicken. but though the animal was usually very fond of this delicacy, he now refused it. "that's queer," mused dick. "i can't understand that. something surely must be wrong. i hope he isn't going to be sick." "had we better go any higher?" asked innis, at the wheel, as he noted the hand on the gage. "we're up nearly nine thousand feet now, and--" "hold her there!" cried mr. vardon. "if we've gone up that far, and we haven't gotten beyond the gale, there isn't much use trying any more. we'll ride it out at that level." indeed the abaris was very high, and some of the party had a little difficulty in breathing. grit, too, was affected this way, and it added to his uneasiness. "if we had some means of making the cabin air-tight we could make the air pressure in here just what we wanted it, regardless of the rarefied atmosphere outside," said dick. "in my next airship i'll have that done." "not a bad idea," agreed mr. vardon. "it could be arranged." the night was wearing on, and as the first pale streaks of dawn showed through the celluloid windows of the cabin it was noticed by the wind gage that the force of the gale was slacking. "we've ridden it out!" exulted dick. "she's a good old airship after all. now we can get back on our course. we ought to be crossing the rockies soon, and then for the last stage of the trip to san francisco." "oh, we've got considerable distance yet to cover," said the aviator. "i fancy we were blown nearly five hundred miles out of our way, and that's going to take us several hours to make good on." "still you are doing well," said the army man. "no airship has ever made a trans-continental flight, and there is no speed record to go by. so you may win after all, especially as the storm was so general." it was rapidly getting light now, and as they looked they saw that they were above the clouds. they were skimming along in a sea of fleecy, white mist. "first call for breakfast!" cried dick. his tones had scarcely died away when there came a howl from grit, who was standing near the compartment of the main motor. "what is the matter with that dog?" asked dick, in a puzzled voice. grit's howl changed to a bark, and at the same moment, larry dexter, who was passing, cried out: "fire! there's a fire in the motor-room! where are the extinguishers?" a black cloud of smoke rushed out, enveloping grit, who howled dismally. chapter xxix the rival airship "what did it?" "had we better descend?" "everybody get busy!" "fire extinguishers here!" these and other confused cries sounded throughout the airship, following larry's alarm. "no, don't go down!" shouted mr. vardon. "we'll stay up as long as we can. we'll fight the fire in the air--above the clouds!" "hold her steady, innis!" called dick to his chum, who was at the wheel. "steady she is!" was the grim answer. and while the abaris was rushing onward those aboard her prepared to fight that most deadly of enemies--fire--and at a terrible disadvantage--nearly ten thousand feet in the air! fortunately preparations had been made for this emergency, and a number of portable extinguishers were placed in various places on the walls of the cabin. these the young aviators now pulled down and rushed with them to the motor compartment, from which the black smoke was pouring in greater volume. "look out for a gasolene explosion!" warned the lieutenant. "is there any of it there?" "only a little," answered mr. vardon. "the main supply is in the deck tank. but there is a small can in there for priming the cylinders, in case we have to." "it smells like oil afire," said larry dexter. "that's what it is--probably some oily waste started by spontaneous combustion," said mr. vardon. as he spoke he threw the contents of his extinguisher inside the motor compartment--it was hardly large enough to be called a room. the smoke was so black that no blaze could be seen. "open some of the windows!" shouted paul. "it's choking in here." "that's right!" agreed larry, with a cough and a sneeze. "stoop down--get near the floor of the cabin," ordered the army lieutenant. "the air is always more pure there." he, too, emptied the contents of his extinguisher in the compartment, and his example was followed by the others. the smoke seemed to be less now, and much of it went out through the opened windows, which paul slid back in their groves. "there's the blaze!" cried dick, as he saw, through the lessening haze of smoke, some bright, red tongues of fire. "douse it!" cried paul, handing his chum a fresh extinguisher, for dick had used his. the young millionaire threw on the chemical powder, for this happened to be that sort of an extinguisher, and almost instantly there followed a sharp explosion. "look out!" yelled dick, ducking instinctively. "i guess this is the end of everything!" but, to the surprise of all, the motor still kept up its hum, and they could tell, by the "feel" of the craft that she was still progressing. the gale had now almost completely died out, and the abaris was making good time, and on her proper course, when the fire was discovered. "the fire is scattered!" dick yelled, as he rose up and took another look in the motor-room. "i guess it was only that little tank of gasolene that went up." afterward this was found to be so. the blazing liquid, however, had scattered all about the motor compartment. fortunately the walls were of steel, so that the fiery stuff could burn itself out without doing much damage. "more extinguishers!" yelled dick, as he saw the spots of fire about the motor. "first thing we know, some of the insulation will be burned off, and we'll have a short circuit!" the motor-room was almost free of smoke now, and there were only a few scattered spots of fire. standing in the entrance, dick threw the contents of several extinguishers inside, as they were passed to him, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the flames gradually choked by the chemical fumes thus released. "now i guess we're all right," said mr. vardon, when no more fire could be seen. "and the marvel of it is that our motor never stopped!" "that's the one thing that saved us from making another descent--our last," murmured dick. "that's sure some motor, all right." but they were congratulating themselves too soon, it seemed. for, hardly had dick spoken than the monotonous whine of the powerful machine seemed to weaken in tone. it died out--the high note sunk to a low one, and gradually went out. "what's up now?" asked paul, peering over dick's shoulder. the motor compartment was still too hot to enter with safety, and it was also filled with acrid vapor, from the extinguishers. "i--i'm afraid it's going to stop," gasped dick, for he was out of breath from his exertions, and from the excitement of the occasion. "stop!" cried paul. "if she does we'll have to go down!" and stop the motor did. there was a sort of final groan or gasp, as if of apology, and then the wheels stopped revolving and the big propellers outside the cabin, which had been forcing the craft onward, gradually ceased their motion. "quick?" shouted mr. vardon. "throw on the self-starter, dick! we may catch her before she loses all her momentum!" "all right!" answered dick. he made one jump to the switch that put into commission the electrical starter. but he was too late to "catch" the motor. it had died down, and, though the young millionaire made contact after contact with the copper knife-switch, there was no response. "we're falling!" cried innis, from the pilot-house, as he noted the height gage, and saw that the hand was constantly receding. "we're falling, dick!" "i know it--no help for it," answered our hero, hopelessly. the abaris was certainly going down. when the propellers had ceased to urge her forward she began to dip toward the earth, even as a stone falls when the initial impulse from the sling, or the hand of the thrower, is lost. foot by foot she dropped, and those aboard her looked helplessly at one another. they had made a brave fight against the fire, but it seemed to have gone for naught. they could not keep up with the motor stalled as it was. "i guess we'll have to make another landing," said innis, as he remained at the wheel. of course they were entitled to one more, but it would be the last, and a long and hard part of their trans-continental flight was still ahead of them. if they went down this time, and, after making repairs, came up into the air once more, they would not, under the rules, be allowed to land again before reaching san francisco. "it's tough luck, but i guess we'll have to do it," said larry dexter. "maybe not!" dick cried. "i have an idea." "what is it? tell us quick!" begged innis, for he, as well as all of dick's friends, wanted to see him win the prize. "i think the insulation has been burning off some of the wires of the motor," was his answer. "that would make a short circuit and put it out of business. now if we can only keep afloat long enough to change those wires, we may be able to start the motor again, and keep on our way before we touch ground." "you've struck it!" cried mr. vardon. "dick, you take charge of the wheel--you and any of your friends you want. i'll look over the motor, and make repairs if i can." "and they'll have to be made pretty soon," called out innis from the pilot-house. "we're falling fast." "throw her nose up," cried dick. "that's what we've got to do to save ourselves. we'll volplane down, and maybe we can keep up long enough to have mr. vardon put in new wires in place of the burned-out ones. if he can do that, and if we can start the motor--" "it sounds too good to be true," said innis. "but get in here, dick, and see what you can do. you've got to volplane as you never did before." "and i'm going to do it!" cried the young millionaire. the motor-room was now free from smoke, and the fire was out. a pile of charred waste in one corner showed where it had started. "that's the trouble--insulation burned off!" cried mr. vardon, as he made a quick inspection. "i think i can fix it, dick, if you can keep her up long enough. take long glides. we're up a good height, and that will help solve." then began a curious battle against fate, and, not only a struggle against adverse circumstances, but against gravitation. for, now that there was no forward impulse in the airship, she could not overcome the law that sir isaac newton discovered, which law is as immutable as death. nothing can remain aloft unless it is either lighter than the air itself, or unless it keeps in motion with enough force to overcome the pull of the magnet earth, which draws all things to itself. i have told you how it is possible for a body heavier than air to remain above the earth, as long as it is in motion. it is this which keeps cannon balls and airships up--motion. though, of course, airships, with their big spread of surface, need less force to keep them from falling than do projectiles. and when the motor of an airship stops it is only by volplaning down, or descending in a series of slanting shifts, that accidents are avoided. this, then, is what dick did. he would let the airship shoot downward on a long slant, so as to gain as much as possible. then, by throwing up the head-rudder, he would cause his craft to take an upward turn, thus delaying the inevitable descent. all the while this was going on mr. vardon, aided by lieutenant mcbride, was laboring hard to replace the burned-out wires. he worked frantically, for he knew he had but a few minutes at the best. from the height at which they were when the motor stopped it would take them about ten minutes to reach the earth, holding back as dick might. and there was work which, in the ordinary course of events, would take twice as long as this. "i'm only going to make a shift at it," explained the aviator. "if i can only get in temporary wires i can replace them later." "that's right," agreed the army man. "how you making it, dick?" asked larry, as he came to the door of the pilot-house. "well, i've got five hundred feet left. if he can't get the motor going before we go down that far--" dick did not finish, but they all knew what he meant. "another second and i'll have the last wire in!" cried mr. vardon. "do your best, dick." "i'm doing it. but she's dipping down fast." "oh, for a dirigible balloon now!" cried the lieutenant. "we could float while making repairs." but it was useless to wish for that. they must do the best they could under the circumstances. "there she is! the last wire in!" shouted the aviator. "how much space left, dick?" "about two hundred feet!" "that may do it. now to see if the self-starter will work!" eagerly he made a jump for the switch. he pulled it over. there was a brilliant blue spark, as the gap was closed. the electrical starter hummed and whined, as if in protest at being obliged to take up its burden again. then, with a hum and a roar, the motor that had stalled began to revolve. slowly at first, but soon gathering speed. "throw in the propeller clutch!" yelled dick. "we're going right toward a hill, and i can't raise her any more." "in she goes!" yelled lieutenant mcbride, as he pulled on the lever. there was a grinding of gears as the toothed wheels meshed, and the big wooden propellers began to revolve. "there she goes!" cried mr. vardon. the abaris, which had almost touched the earth, began to soar upward under the propelling influence. dick tilted back the elevating plane as far as he dared. had the motive power come in time, or would they land on the hill? but success was with them. up went the big airship. up and up, flying onward. her fall had been checked. and only just in time, for they went over the brow of the hill but with a scant twenty feet to spare. so close had they come to making a landing. "i congratulate you!" cried lieutenant mcbride. "i thought surely you would go down." he had out his pencil and paper to make a note of the time of landing. it would have been the last one allowed, and it would seriously have handicapped dick. but he had escaped, and still had some reserve to his credit. "and now i guess we can eat," said the young millionaire, with a sigh of relief. "a quick bite, only," stipulated mr. vardon. "some of those wires i put in last are a disgrace to an electrician. i want to change them right away. they won't stand the vibration." "well, coffee and sandwiches, anyhow," said dick, and the simple meal was soon in progress. steadily the airship again climbed up toward the clouds, from which she had so nearly fallen. and with a sandwich and a cup of coffee beside him, mr. vardon worked at the wires, putting in permanent ones in place of the temporary conductors. this could be done without stopping the motor. "i wonder if it was the fire grit was anticipating all the while he acted so queer?" asked innis. "i don't know--but it was something," dick said. "i shouldn't wonder but what he did have some premonition of it. anyhow, you gave the alarm in time, old boy!" and he patted his pet on the back. grit waved his tail, and barked. he seemed himself again. it took some time to make good the damage done by the fire, and it was accomplished as the airship was put back on her course again, and sent forward toward the pacific coast. they were all congratulating themselves on their narrow escape from possible failure. it was that same afternoon, when mr. vardon had finished his task, that something else happened to cause them much wonderment. the motor was again in almost perfect condition, and was running well. most of the party were out on the deck behind the cabin, enjoying the air, for the day had been hot, and they were tired from fighting the tire. suddenly grit, who was in the pilot-house with dick, ran out into the main cabin, and, looking from one of the windows, which he could do by jumping up in a chair, he began to bark violently. "well, what's the matter now?" demanded dick. "is it another fire?" grit barked so persistently that dick called to paul: "see what ails him; will you? he must have caught sight of something out of the window." "i should say he had!" yelled paul, a moment later. "here's a rival airship after us, dick!" chapter xxx an attack paul's announcement created considerable excitement. though they had covered a large part of their trip, the young aviators had not yet seen any of their competitors. as a matter of fact, dick's craft was among the first to get away in the trans-continental race. but he had feared, several times, that he might be overtaken by lighter and speedier machines. now, it seemed, his fears were about to be realized. for the big biplane that grit had first spied, could be none other than one of those engaged in a try for the twenty-thousand-dollar prize. they were now nearing the rockies, and it was not likely that any lone aviator would be flying in that locality unless he were after the government money. "another airship; eh?" cried dick. "let me get a look at her! someone take the wheel, please." "i'll relieve you," offered lieutenant mcbride, whose official duties allowed him to do this. "go see if you can make out who she is, dick." the approaching craft had come up from the rear, and to one side, so she could not be observed from the pilot-house in front. catching up a pair of powerful field-glasses, dick went to where paul stood with grit, looking out of the celluloid window. by this time some of the others had also gathered there. "it's a big machine all right," murmured innis. "and there are three aviators in her," added paul. "can you make out who they are, dick?" asked larry dexter. "no, they have on protecting helmets and goggles," replied the young millionaire, as he adjusted the binoculars to his vision. "but i'm sure i know that machine!" "whose is it?" innis wanted to know. "well, i don't want to be too positive, but i'm pretty certain that's my uncle ezra's craft," replied dick, slowly. "great scott!" cried paul. "is it possible? oh, it's possible all right," dick made answer, "but i did not think he would really take part in this race. however, he seems to have done so. i can't make him out, but that's just the shape of his airship, i can tell by the mercury stabilizer larson has put on." "well, it looks as if we'd have a race," observed mr. vardon. "he sure is speeding on," mused dick. "but he may be away behind his schedule," put in larry. "that won't make any difference," the young millionaire said. "he started after we did, and if he gets to san francisco ahead of us, and with only two landings, he'll win the prize. that stands to reason. he's making better time than we are." mr. vardon took the glasses from dick, and made a long observation. when he lowered them he remarked: "i think that is the craft larson built, all right. and it certainly is a speedy one. he must have met more favorable conditions, of late, than we did, or he never could have caught up to us." "i guess so," agreed dick. "now the point is; what can we do?" "speed up--that's the only thing i see to do," came from the aviator. "we still have one landing left us, but we don't need to use it unless we have to. we have fuel and oil enough for the trip to san francisco. speed up, i say, and let's see if we can't get away from him." "we've got a heavier machine, and more weight aboard," spoke dick. "say, can't you drop us off?" cried paul. "that would lighten you a whole lot. let innis and me go!" "i'll drop off, too, if it will help any," larry dexter offered. "and be killed?" asked mr. vardon. "not necessarily. you could run the airship over some lake, or river, lower it as close as possible, and we could drop into the water. we can all swim and dive. you could drop us near shore, we could get out and make our way to the nearest town. that would leave you with less load to carry." "i wouldn't think of it!" cried dick. "why not?" asked innis. "in the first place i want my airship to do what i built it for--carry this party across the continent. if it can't do that, and in time to at least give me a chance for the government prize, i'm going to have one that can. in the second place, even if your going off would help me to win, i wouldn't let you take the risk. "no, we'll stick together. i think i can get away from uncle ezra, if that's who is in that biplane. we can run up our speed considerable. we haven't touched the extreme limit yet." "well, if you won't you won't--that settles it," said paul. "but if you're going to speed you'd better begin. he is sure coming on." indeed the other aircraft was rushing toward them at a rapid rate. it had been some distance in the rear when first sighted, but now the three figures aboard were plainly discernable with the naked eye. "speed her up!" called dick. "we've got to leave him if we can." gradually the abaris forged on more rapidly. but it seemed as if those in the other craft were waiting for something like this. for they, too, put on more power, and were soon overhauling the larger airship. "they've got an awful lot of force in a light craft," observed lieutenant mcbride. "she's over engined, and isn't safe. even if your uncle gets in ahead of you, dick, i will still maintain that you have the better outfit, and the most practical. i don't see how they can live aboard that frail craft." it certainly did not look very comfortable, and afterward uncle ezra confessed that he endured many torments during the trip. the race was on in earnest. they were over the rockies now, and at the present rate of speed it would be only a comparatively short time before they would be at the pacific coast. "if i only knew how many landings he had made i wouldn't be so worried," said dick. "if he's had more than two he's out of it, anyhow, and i wouldn't strain my engine." "we'd better keep on," advised mr. vardon, and they all agreed to this. toward the close of the afternoon the larabee, which they were all sure was the name of the craft in the rear, came on with a rush. her speed seemed increased by half, and she would, it was now seen, quickly pass the abaris. "well, they're going ahead of us," sighed dick. "uncle ezra did better than i thought he would." neither he nor any of the others were prepared for what happened. for suddenly the other airship swooped toward dick's craft, in what was clearly a savage attack. straight at the abaris, using all her speed, came uncle ezra's airship. chapter xxxi the wreck "what do they mean?" "what's their game, anyhow?" "they'll ram us if they don't look out!" "maybe they've lost control of her!" "dick, if that's your uncle, tell him to watch where he's going!" thus cried those aboard the aircraft of the young millionaire as they watched the oncoming of the rival craft. she was certainly coming straight at them. it was intentional, too, for mr. vardon, who was at the wheel of the abaris, quickly changed her course when he saw what was about to happen, and the other pilot could have had plenty of room to pass in the air. instead he altered his direction so as to coincide with that of dick's craft. "they must be crazy!" "if they'll hit us we'll go to smash, even if she is a lighter machine than ours!" thus cried paul and innis as they stood beside dick. "it's my uncle ezra, all right," murmured the wealthy youth. "i can recognize him now, in spite of his helmet and goggles. but what in the world is he up to, anyhow? he can't really mean to ram us, but it does look so." the two airships were now but a short distance apart, and in spite of what mr. vardon could do, a collision seemed inevitable. the fact of the matter was that the larabee, being smaller and lighter, answered more readily to her rudders than did the abaris. "we've got to have more speed, dick!" called the aviator. "i'm going to turn about and go down. it's the only way to get out of their way. they're either crazy, or bent on their own destruction, as well as ours. give me more speed, dick! all you can!" "all right!" answered the young millionaire. "we'll do our best to get out of your way, uncle ezra!" as dick hastened to the motor-room, grit trotted after him, growling in his deep voice at the mention of the name of the man he so disliked. dick realized the emergency, and turned the gasolene throttle wide open. with a throb and a roar, the motor took up the increase, and whirled the big propellers with mighty force. then, in a last endeavor to prevent the collision, mr. vardon sent the craft down at a sharp slant, intending to dive under the other. but this move was anticipated by larson, who was steering the larabee. he, too, sent his craft down, but just when a collision seemed about to take place, it was prevented by mr. vardon, who was a more skillful pilot. the propellers of the abaris worked independently, on a sort of differential gear, like the rear wheels of an automobile. this enabled her to turn very short and quickly, by revolving one propeller in one direction, and one in the opposite, as is done with the twin screws of a steamer. and this move alone prevented what might have been a tragedy. but it was also the cause of a disaster to dick's aircraft. with a rush and a roar the larabee passed over the abaris as she was so suddenly turned, and then something snapped in the machinery of the big airship. she lost speed, and began to go down slightly. "did they hit us?" cried dick, in alarm. "no, but we've broken the sprocket chain on the port propeller," answered mr. vardon. "we'll have to be content with half speed until we can make repairs. come now, everybody to work. those crazy folks may come back at us--that is begging your pardon for calling your uncle crazy, dick." "you can't offend me that way. he must be crazy to act the way he did. i can't understand it. of course larson was steering, but my uncle must have given him orders to do as he did, and try to wreck us." "i shall report whoever the army man was that did not make an attempt to stop their attack on us," declared lieutenant mcbride, bitterly. "i don't know who was assigned to the larabee, but he certainly ought to be court-martialed." "perhaps no army representative was aboard at all," suggested paul. "there were three persons on the airship," said larry. "i saw them." "and the race would not be counted unless an army representative was aboard," declared lieutenant mcbride. "so they would not proceed without one. no, he must have been there, and have entered into their plot to try and wreck us. i can't understand it!" "they've evidently given it up, whatever their game was," called innis. "see, there they go!" he pointed to the other airship, which was now some distance away, going on at good speed, straight for san francisco. both craft were now high in the air, in spite of the drop made by the abaris, and they were about over some of the mountains of colorado now; just where they had not determined. they were about eight hundred miles from san francisco, as nearly as they could calculate. "they're trying to get in first," said dick. "maybe, after all, they just wanted to frighten us, and delay us." "well, if that was their game they've succeeded in delaying us," said mr. vardon, grimly. "we're reduced to half speed until we get that propeller in commission again. there's work for all of us. reduce sped, dick, or we may tear the one good blade off the axle." with only half the resistance against it, the motor was now racing hard. dick slowed it down, and then the work of repairing the broken sprocket chain and gear was undertaken. it was not necessary to stop the airship to do this. in fact to stop meant to descend, and they wanted to put that off as long as possible. they still had the one permitted landing to their credit. the propellers, as i have said, could be reached from the open deck, and thither mr. vardon, dick, and lieutenant mcbride took themselves, while paul, innis and larry would look after the progress of the craft from the pilot-house and motor-room. slowly dick's airship went along, just enough speed being maintained to prevent her settling. she barely held her own, while, far ahead of her, and fast disappearing in the distance, could be seen the other craft--that carrying uncle ezra. "i guess it's all up with us," murmured paul, as he went to the wheel. "no, it isn't!" cried dick. "i'm not going to give up yet! we can still make time when we get the repairs made, and i'll run the motor until her bearings melt before i give up!" "that's the way to talk!" cried the army man. "and we're all with you. there's a good chance yet, for those fellows must be desperate, or they'd never have tried what they did. my opinion is that they hope to reach san francisco in a last dash, and they were afraid we'd come in ahead of them. but i can't understand how that army man aboard would permit such a thing. it is past belief!" it was no easy task to make the repairs with the airship in motion. spare parts, including a sprocket chain, were carried aboard, but the work had to be done close to the other revolving propeller, and, as slowly as it was whirling about, it went fast enough to cause instant death to whoever was hit by it. so extreme caution had to be used. to add to the troubles it began to rain violently, and a thunderstorm developed, which made matters worse. out in the pelting storm, with electrically-charged clouds all about them, and vivid streaks of lightning hissing near them, the aviators worked. they were drenched to the skin. their hands were bruised and cut by slipping wrenches and hammers. their faces were covered with black grease, dirt and oil. but still they labored on. the storm grew worse, and it was all the abaris could do to stagger ahead, handicapped as she was by half power. but there were valiant hearts aboard her, and everyone was imbued with indomitable courage. "we're going to do it!" dick cried, fiercely, and the others echoed his words. finally, after many hours of work, the last rivet was driven home, and mr. vardon cried: "there we are! now then, full speed ahead!" the repaired propeller was thrown into gear. it meshed perfectly, and once more the abaris shot ahead under her full power. "speed her up!" cried dick, and the motor was put to the limit. but much precious time had been lost. could they win under such adverse circumstances? it was a question each one asked himself. darkness came on, and the tired and weary aviators ate and slept. the night passed, a clear, calm night, for the storm had blown itself out. high over the mountains soared the airship through the hours of darkness. she was fighting to recover what she had lost. and when morning came they calculated they were but a few hundred miles from san francisco. paul, who had gone to the pilot-house to relieve innis, gave a startled cry. "look! look!" he shouted. "there's the other airship!" and as the others looked they saw, ahead of them, emerging from the midst of a cloud, uncle ezra's speedy craft. and, as they looked, they saw something else--something that filled them with horror. for, as they gazed at the craft which had so nearly, either by accident or design, wrecked them, they saw one of the big side planes crumple up, as does a bird's broken wing. either the supports had given way, or a sudden gust of air strained it too much. "they're falling!" cried dick, hoarsely. the other airship was. the broken plane gave no support on that side, and as the motor still raced on, whirling the big propellers, the larabee, unevenly balanced, in spite of the mercury stabilizers, tilted to one side. then, a hopeless wreck, she turned over and plunged downward toward the earth. her race was over. chapter xxxii saving uncle ezra for a moment those aboard dick's airship uttered not a sound. then, as they saw the rival craft sifting slowly downward, gliding from side to side like a sheet of paper, they looked at one another with horror in their eyes. it seemed such a terrible end. dick was the first to speak. "we'll have to go down and help them," he said simply. "some of them may be--alive!" it meant stopping the race, it meant making the last of the two landings allowed them. and it was a landing in a wild and desolate place, seemingly, for there was no sign of city or town below them. and just now, after her repairs, when everything was running smoothly, it behooved dick and his associates to take advantage of every mile and minute they could gain. otherwise some other craft might get in ahead of them. yet dick had said they must go down. there was no other course left them, in the name of humanity. as the young millionaire had observed, some of those in the wrecked airship might be alive. they might survive the fall, great as it was. "send her down, mr. vardon," said dick quietly. "we may be able to save some of them." if he thought that possibly he was losing his last chance to win the trans-continental race, he said nothing about it. the motor was shut off, and there was silence aboard the abaris. no one felt like talking. as they volplaned downward they saw the wreck of the larabee strike the outer branches of a big tree, and then turn over again before crashing to the ground. "she may catch fire from the gasolene," said dick, in a tense voice. "we ought to hurry all we can." "i could go down faster," said mr. vardon, "by starting up the motor. but i don't like to until i see what sort of landing ground we'll have." "no, it's wiser to go a bit slowly," agreed lieutenant mcbride. "we must save ourselves in order to save them--if possible. it's a terrible accident!" as they came nearer earth they saw a comparatively smooth and level spot amid a clearing of trees. it was not far from where the wreck lay, a crumpled-up mass. down floated the abaris gently, and hardly had she ceased rolling along on her wheels that dick and the others rushed out to lend their aid to uncle ezra and the others. dick's uncle lay at some little distance from the broken craft. "he's alive," said his nephew, feeling of the old man's heart. "he's still breathing." lieutenant wilson, as the name of the army officer on the larabee was learned later to be, seemed quite badly injured. he was tangled up in the wreckage, and it took some work to extricate him. larson was the most severely hurt. he was tenderly placed to one side. fortunately the wreck had not caught fire. "let's see if we can revive them," suggested lieutenant mcbride, nodding toward uncle ezra and his fellow soldiers. "then we will consider what is best to do." simple restoratives were carried aboard dick's airship, and these were given to uncle ezra, who revived first. he opened his eyes and sat up. "where--where am i?" he stammered. "did i win the race?" "no, uncle ezra, i'm sorry to say you didn't," answered dick, gently. "there was an accident, and your airship is smashed." the old man slowly looked over to the crumpled mass of planes and machinery, and then, slowly and painfully, for he was much bruised, he pulled a note-book from his pocket. leafing over the pages he announced: "busted to smithereens, and she cost me exactly eleven thousand five hundred and thirty-three dollars and nineteen cents! oh, what a lot of money!" and the expression on his face was so painful that dick felt inclined to laugh, solemn as the occasion was. but he restrained himself. "where's that fellow larson?" asked uncle ezra. "badly hurt," said dick, quietly. "oh, well, then i won't say anything," murmured the old man. "oh, what a trip it was!" "are you much hurt?" asked dick. it did not appear that his uncle was. the fall had been a lucky one for him. his helmet had protected his head, and he had on two suits of clothes, well padded. the others were dressed likewise, but it had not saved larson. lieutenant wilson's most serious injury was a broken leg, but he was also otherwise hurt. he soon recovered consciousness, and said: "please don't misjudge me. i could not stop larson from trying to ram you. he was insane, i guess. we have had a terrible time with him. he was mad to try to win this race. we remonstrated with him when he sailed toward you, but he said he was only trying to show you what a superior machine he had, and how much better his mercury stabilizers worked than your gyroscope. but i really fear he meant you some injury." "i think so, too," said lieutenant mcbride, "and i am glad to learn no one else was in the plot." "and his own foolish actions were the cause of this wreck," went on lieutenant wilson. "he said he was sure of winning after he had left you behind, and he wanted to try some experiments in quick turns. he made one too quick, and broke off one of the planes." "well, we must consider what is to be done," said mr. vardon. "we must get you all to a hospital and a doctor, at once." "don't mind about me," replied lieutenant wilson, gamely. "if you can send me help, do so, but don't delay here. go on and win the race. you have the best chance, i believe." "we don't go on until we see you cared for," spoke dick. "we would take you all with us, only it might endanger you." "well, i wish you'd take me!" exclaimed uncle ezra, limping about. "i want to get back home. nephew richard, i'm sorry i tried to beat you in this race." "that's all right, uncle ezra," answered the young millionaire. "you had as good a right to try for the prize as i did." "but i want to say i didn't have no hand in trying to butt into you," went on mr. larabee. "it was all that--that unfortunate man's idea," he added more softly, as he gazed at larson who was still unconscious. "dick, will you forgive me, and shake hands?" "surely, uncle ezra," and as their hands met, grit, who had been eyeing mr. larabee narrowly, uttered a joyful bark, and actually wagged his tail at uncle ezra. "grit, you shake hands, too," ordered dick, and though uncle ezra was a little diffident at first, he grasped the extended paw of the bulldog. they were friends for the first time. "we could take uncle ezra in the airship," said paul, after a pause, "and if we could only send out a call for help for lieutenant wilson and larson, they would be looked after." "there's an army post not far from here," spoke wilson. "if you could make a trip there--" "we'd have to land again, to summon aid, and this is the last stop we are allowed in the race," said mr. vardon. "i don't see how--" "your wireless!" interrupted lieutenant mcbride. "we can send out a call to the army post by that--if they have a wireless station." "they have," answered lieutenant wilson, as his fellow officer looked at him. "if you will summon aid from there, we will be well taken care of." "good!" cried dick. "that problem is solved." the wireless apparatus was brought out, the small balloon inflated, and it carried aloft the aerials. then, while the call for aid was being sent out, lieutenants wilson and larson were made as comfortable as possible, and some of uncle ezra's scratches and bruises were looked after. "no more airships for me," he said bitterly, though with a chastened spirit. "i'm going to stick to farming, and my woolen mill. just think of it--over eleven thousand dollars in that pile of--junk!" and he shook his head sadly at the wreck of his airship. "we'll take you on to san francisco with us, if you like," said dick. "you can see us win the race--if we can," he added. "you still have an excellent chance," said lieutenant mcbride. "my advice to you would be to remain here a few days to rest up and make sure all your machinery is in good order. the time will not count against you. by that time the injured ones will be cared for. then you can go on again and complete the course. you have enough oil and gasolene, have you not?" "we could ask that some be brought from the army post, if we have not," dick answered. "i think we will adopt that plan.'' "and i--i hope you win," said uncle ezra. "i'd like to see that twenty thousand dollars come into the family, anyhow," he added, with a mountainous sigh. chapter xxxiii with uncle ezra's help "we're off!" "on the last lap!" "no more landings!" thus cried innis, paul and larry as they stood in the cabin of the airship. once more they were on the flight. "this train makes no stops this side of san francisco!" cried dick hamilton, after the manner of the conductor of a limited. "that is, i hope we don't," he added with a grim smile. "if we do it will cost me twenty thousand dollars." "quite an expensive stop," observed lieutenant mcbride. "don't think of it!" said uncle ezra. "nephew richard, after my failure, you've just got to win that prize." "i'll try," dick answered. it was several days after the events narrated in the last chapter. the wireless, sending out its crackling call, had brought speedy help from the army post, and the two lieutenants were taken to the hospital by their fellow soldiers. larson recovered consciousness before dick and his friends left, but was delirious, and practically insane. they had to bind him with ropes to prevent him doing himself and others an injury. his mind had been affected for some time, it was believed. some time later, i am glad to say, he recovered, in a sanitorium, though he was always lame from the accident. he was a much different man, however, and begged dick's forgiveness for trying to collide with him. lieutenant wilson made a quick recovery, and, in spite of the mishap, still kept up his interest in aviation, winning much fame for himself. the army officers, who came to attend the injured ones, brought dick some supplies and gasolene. uncle ezra begged that some part of his wrecked airship be saved, but it was impossible. there was little left that was worth anything, and dick, by taking his uncle as an extra passenger, added enough weight as it was, so that no parts of the larabee could be taken along. "i might have saved a little," said uncle ezra, with a sigh. "i've lost a pile of money!" but he realized that it was out of the question. the abaris had been gone over minutely, and put in excellent shape for her final dash. she was taken to the edge of a sloping table-land and there once more launched into space. before that, however, lieutenant wilson had been taken back to the army post, and larson sent to the hospital. lieutenant wilson wished dick and his friends all sorts of good luck. then, with uncle ezra aboard, the start was made. there was some crowding, because of the extra passenger, and his valise, which he insisted on bringing with him, but this could be borne. "we ought to make san francisco in three hours now," said dick, when they were up in the air once more. uncle ezra was frankly delighted with his nephew's craft. he did not even say it was wasteful, when dick told him how much she cost. "i know airships are terrible expensive--terrible!" said mr. larabee, as he looked at the note-book in which he had jotted down every item of money paid for his own. that larson had wasted money, and used much of what was given him for his own purposes was very evident. but it was too late to think of that now. uncle ezra told of their experiences in crossing the continent. they had really had excellent luck, and in the hands of a better aviator, or one more dependable, the larabee might have won the race. she was really a good biplane, but could only carry three, and then with no comfort at all, as compared to dick's. but the mercury stabilizers worked fairly well, though not as good as the gyroscope. "yes, i was sorry, more than once, that i ever left dankville," uncle ezra said, "but larson wouldn't let me stop. he kept right on. i'm sure he was crazy." on and on rushed the abaris. she was racing against time now, and every minute and mile counted. while down on the ground, helping save uncle ezra, dick had, by wireless, communicated with the army authorities in san francisco, telling them he was coming on the last stage, and asking that a landing-place be designated. this was done, presido park reservation, on the outskirts of the city being named as the spot where the craft could officially come down. "we'll soon be there," remarked dick, who was at the wheel. it was afternoon, and by computation they were not more than ninety miles from their goal. "see anything of any other craft?" asked paul of his chum. "take a look, innis," suggested the young millionaire. "we might get a race at the last minute." innis swept the horizon with the glasses. "there's something coming behind us," he said. "i can't tell whether it's a big bird, or an airship." a little later, however, the speck in the blue sky was made out to be a big biplane, rushing onward. "they're probably trying for the prize," said dick. "of course we don't know anything about their time and stops, but, just the same, i'm going to beat her in, if i can. we'll run the motor under forced speed, mr. vardon, and feed her heated gasolene." "that's the idea!" cried the aviator. "that ought to help some." the motor was so adjusted as to take heated gasolene, the liquid vaporizing and exploding better than when cold. the abaris rushed on at increased speed. but so, also, came on behind her the other airship. as dick had said, that craft might have no chance, having used up more than her limit of stops, or having consumed more elapsed time than had he. but, for all that, he was taking no chances. the other craft was a swift one. that was easily seen as it slowly crept up on dick. the speed of each was terrific. the gages showed ninety-five miles an hour for the abaris. at that rate the city of oakland, just across the bay from san francisco, was soon sighted. and then something happened that nearly put dick out of the race. his motor suddenly stopped, and all efforts to start it proved futile. "we've got to go down!" cried our hero, "and within sight of the goal, too! this is fierce!" "what's the trouble?" asked larry. "not a drop of gasolene left!" said mr. vardon, with a tragic gesture, as he made an examination. "there's a leak in the tank. we haven't a drop left. the vibration must have opened a seam and we've been spilling our fuel as we went along." "there goes the other airship!" cried innis, as the big biplane flashed by them. they had now crossed oakland and the bay. "and the presido park is in sight!" yelled paul, pointing to a big field, now black with people, for the coming of dick had been flashed all over san francisco and oakland. "we can never make it," the young millionaire murmured. "we'll have to volplane down, but we can't reach the park. oh, for a gallon of gasolene! one gallon would do!" "what's that!" cried uncle ezra, coming from his bunk room. "what do you want of gasolene?" "to complete the trip," cried dick. "ours is all gone! a gallon would do." "then, by hickory, you shall have it!" suddenly cried mr. larabee. "where can you get it?" demanded dick. "there isn't a drop aboard! "oh, yes there is!" his uncle answered. "here it is," and he brought from his room a square, gallon can. "great scott!" cried dick, as he took it and hurried with it toward the empty tank. "where in the world did you get it?" "i brought it along in my valise to clean the grease spots off my clothes," answered uncle ezra, simply. "i got all oil from my airship. but i wasn't going to buy a new suit when i could clean my old one." "whoop!" cried dick, with boyish enthusiasm. "this may save the race for us." the abaris had already begun to settle down, but a moment later, as the motor received the supply of gasolene so providentially provided, she shot forward again, her momentum scarcely checked. on and on she rushed. it was nip and tuck now between her and the rival airship. the big crowd in the aviation field yelled and shouted at the sight of the thrilling race. the other airship seemed to falter and hesitate. the pilot cut off his motor, but too soon. dick rushed his craft on, passed the other, and then, seeing that he had the advantage, he turned off his power, and volplaned to the landing spot just about fifteen seconds in advance of his rival. he had beaten in the race at the last minute. but it still remained to be seen whether he had triumphed over other, and possibly previous, arrivals. out of the abaris rushed the young millionaire and his friends before she had ceased rolling over the ground. the other biplane was just behind them. an army officer ran out of the crowd of spectators. "who is the pilot of this craft?" he asked. "i am," answered dick. "and where is your official army timekeeper?" "here," answered lieutenant mcbride, saluting. "are we the first to cross the continent?" how anxiously dick waited for the answer. "no, not the first," replied the san francisco officer. "one biplane arrived yesterday. what is your time?" lieutenant mcbride made a hasty calculation. "sixty-two hours, forty minutes and fourteen seconds from, new york, taking out the time of two landings," was the reply. "then you win!" cried captain weston, as he introduced himself. "that is, unless this other craft can better your time. for the first arrival was seventy-two hours altogether." and dick had won, for the biplane with which he had just had the exciting race, had consumed more than eighty hours, exclusive of stops, from coast to coast. "hurray, dick! you win!" cried innis, clapping his chum on the back. "the best trans-continental flight ever made!" declared captain weston, as he congratulated the young millionaire. "i'd like to have gotten here first," murmured dick. "well, you'd have been here first, only for the delay my airship caused you," said uncle ezra. "i'm sorry." "but you get the prize," spoke lieutenant mcbride. "yes," assented captain weston, of fort mason. "it was the time that counted, not the order of arrival. which reminds me that you may yet be beaten, mr. hamilton, for there are other airships on the way." but dick was not beaten. his nearest competitor made a poorer record by several hours, so dick's performance stood. and that, really, is all there is to tell of this story, except to add that by the confession of larson, later it was learned that he had tampered with mr. vardon's gyroscope, as had been suspected. the twenty thousand dollars was duly paid, and dick gave the united states government an option to purchase his patents of the abaris. for them he would receive a substantial sum, and a large part of this would go to mr. vardon for his gyroscope. "so you'll be all right from now on," his cousin innis remarked. "yes, thanks to your friend dick hamilton. my good luck all dates from meeting him." "yes, he is a lucky chap," agreed paul. "i think uncle ezra had all the luck this trip," put in dick, as he heard the last words. "that gasolene he brought along to clean the grease off his clothes saved our bacon, all right. it sure did!" and i believe dick was right. mr. hamilton, to whom dick wired a brief message of the successful ending of the trip, telegraphed back: "congratulations. you made good after all. i haven't any doubts now." "that's another time i put one over on dad!" laughed dick. "where are you going, larry?" asked the young millionaire, as he saw his young newspaper friend hurrying across the aviation field. "i'm going to wire the story to the leader," was the answer. "i want 'em to know we crossed the continent and won the prize. it'll be a great beat!" of how dick was feted and greeted by an aviation club in san francisco, of how he was made much of by the army officers, and how he had to give many exhibition flights, i will say nothing here, as this book is already lengthy enough. sufficient to remark that the young millionaire had a great time at the city of the golden gate, and uncle ezra and his friends enjoyed it with him. grit, also, came in for a share of attention. dick hamilton left his airship with the san francisco army officers, as he had agreed to do, for they wanted to study its construction. in due season, the party started back east. "i rather calculated you'd go back in the airship," said uncle ezra. "railroad fare is terrible expensive, and i've lost so much money already--" "i'll buy your ticket," said dick generously, "especially as you helped me win the race," and mr. larabee, with a look of relief on his face, put back his pocketbook. "and now for hamilton corners!" exclaimed dick, as they got in the train. "i've had enough of airships for a while, though it was great sport." and here we will take leave of dick hamilton and his friends. [illustration: i consented to deliver a message for him] the slim princess * * * * * _by_ george ade * * * * * "the slim princess" has been elaborated and rewritten from a story printed in _the saturday evening post_ of philadelphia late in and copyright, , by the curtis publishing company. * * * * * contents i woman in morovenia ii kalora's affliction iii the cruelty of law iv the garden party v he arrives vi he departs vii the only koldo viii by messenger ix as to washington, d.c. x on the wing xi an outing--a reunion xii the governor cables xiii the home-coming xiv heroism rewarded * * * * * the slim princess * * * * * i woman in morovenia morovenia is a state in which both the mosque and the motor-car now occur in the same landscape. it started out to be turkish and later decided to be european. the mohammedan sanctuaries with their hideous stencil decorations and bulbous domes are jostled by many new shops with blinking fronts and german merchandise. the orthodox turn their faces toward mecca while the enlightened dream of a journey to paris. men of title lately have made the pleasing discovery that they may drink champagne and still be good mussulmans. the red slipper has been succeeded by the tan gaiter. the voluminous breeches now acknowledge the superior graces of intimate english trousers. frock-coats are more conventional than beaded jackets. the fez remains as a part of the insignia of the old faith and hereditary devotion to the sick man. the generation of males which has been extricating itself from the shackles of orientalism has not devoted much worry to the condition of woman. in morovenia woman is still unliberated. she does not dine at a palm-garden or hop into a victoria on thursday afternoon to go to the meeting of a club organized to propagate cults. if she met a cult face to face she would not recognize it. nor does she suspect, as she sits in her prison apartment, peeping out through the lattice at the monotonous drift of the street life, that her sisters in far-away michigan are organizing and raising missionary funds in her behalf. she does not read the dressmaking periodicals. she never heard of the wednesday matinée. when she takes the air she rides in a carriage that has a sheltering hood, and she is veiled up to the eyes, and she must never lean out to wriggle her little finger-tips at men lolling in front of the cafés. she must not see the men. she may look at them, but she must not see them. no wonder the sisters in michigan are organizing to batter down the walls of tradition, and bring to her the more recent privileges of her sex! two years ago, when this story had its real beginning, the social status of woman in morovenia was not greatly different from what it is to-day, or what it was two centuries ago. woman had two important duties assigned to her. one was to hide herself from the gaze of the multitude, and the other was to be beautiful--that is, fat. a woman who was plump, or buxom, or chubby might be classed as passably attractive, but only the fat women were irresistible. a woman weighing two hundred pounds was only two-thirds as beautiful as one weighing three hundred. those grading below one hundred and fifty were verging upon the impossible. ii kalora's affliction if it had been planned to make this an old-fashioned discursive novel, say of the victor hugo variety, the second chapter would expend itself upon a philosophical discussion of fat and a sensational showing of how and why the presence or absence of adipose tissue, at certain important crises, had altered the destinies of the whole race. the subject offers vast possibilities. it involves the physical attractiveness of every woman in history and permits one to speculate wildly as to what might have happened if cleopatra had weighed forty pounds heavier, if elizabeth had been a gaunt and wiry creature, or if joan of arc had been so bulky that she could not have fastened on her armor. the soft layers which enshroud the hard machinery of the human frame seem to arrive in a merely incidental or accidental sort of way. yet once they have arrived they exert a mysterious influence over careers. because of a mere change in contour, many a queen has lost her throne. it is a terrifying thought when one remembers that fat so often comes and so seldom goes. it has been explained that in morovenia, obesity and feminine beauty increased in the same ratio. the woman reigning in the hearts of men was the one who could displace the most atmosphere. because of the fashionableness of fat, count selim malagaski, governor-general of morovenia, was very unhappy. he had two daughters. one was fat; one was thin. to be more explicit, one was gloriously fat and the other was distressingly thin. jeneka was the name of the one who had been blessed abundantly. several of the younger men in official circles, who had seen jeneka at a distance, when she waddled to her carriage or turned side-wise to enter a shop-door, had written verses about her in which they compared her to the blushing pomegranate, the ripe melon, the luscious grape, and other vegetable luxuries more or less globular in form. no one had dedicated any verses to kalora. kalora was the elder of the two. she had come to the alarming age of nineteen and no one had started in bidding for her. in court circles, where there is much time for idle gossip, the most intimate secrets of an important household are often bandied about when the black coffee is being served. the marriageable young men of morovenia had learned of the calamity in count malagaski's family. they knew that kalora weighed less than one hundred and twenty pounds. she was tall, lithe, slender, sinuous, willowy, hideous. the fact that poor old count malagaski had made many unsuccessful attempts to fatten her was a stock subject for jokes of an unrefined and turkish character. whereas jeneka would recline for hours at a time on a shaded veranda, munching sugary confections that were loaded with nutritious nuts, kalora showed a far-western preference for pickles and olives, and had been detected several times in the act of bribing servants to bring this contraband food into the harem. worse still, she insisted upon taking exercise. she loved to play romping games within the high walls of the inclosure where she and the other female attaches of the royal household were kept penned up. her father coaxed, pleaded and even threatened, but she refused to lead the indolent life prescribed by custom; she scorned the sweet and heavy foods which would enable her to expand into loveliness; she persistently declined to be fat. kalora's education was being directed by a superannuated professor named popova. he was so antique and book-wormy that none of the usual objections urged against the male sex seemed to hold good in his case, and he had the free run of the palace. count selim malagaski trusted him implicitly. popova fawned upon the governor-general, and seemed slavish in his devotion. secretly and stealthily he was working out a frightful vengeance upon his patron. twenty years before, count selim, in a moment of anger, had called popova a "christian dog." in morovenia it is flattery to call a man a "liar." it is just the same as saying to him, "you belong in the diplomatic corps." it is no disgrace to be branded as a thief, because all business transactions are saturated with treachery. but to call another a "christian dog" is the thirty-third degree of insult. popova writhed in spirit when he was called "christian," but he covered his wrath and remained in the nobleman's service and waited for his revenge. and now he was sacrificing the innocent kalora in order to punish the father. he said to himself: "if she does not fatten, then her father's heart will be broken, and he will suffer even as i have suffered from being called christian." it was popova who, by guarded methods, encouraged her to violent exercise, whereby she became as hard and trim as an antelope. he continued to supply her with all kinds of sour and biting foods and sharp mineral waters, which are the sworn enemies of any sebaceous condition. and now that she was nineteen, almost at the further boundary of the marrying age, and slimmer than ever before, he rejoiced greatly, for he had accomplished his deep and malign purpose, and laid a heavy burden of sorrow upon count selim malagaski. iii the cruelty of law if the father was worried by the prolonged crisis, the younger sister, jeneka, was well-nigh distracted, for she could not hope to marry until kalora had been properly mated and sent away. in morovenia there is a very strict law intended to eliminate the spinster from the social horizon. it is a law born of craft and inspired by foresight. the daughters of a household must be married off in the order of their nativity. the younger sister dare not contemplate matrimony until the elder sister has been led to the altar. it is impossible for a young and attractive girl to make a desirable match leaving a maiden sister marooned on the market. she must cooperate with her parents and with the elder sister to clear the way. as a rule this law encourages earnest getting-together in every household and results in a clearing up of the entire stock of eligible daughters. but think of the unhappy lot of an adorable and much-coveted maiden who finds herself wedged in behind something unattractive and shelf-worn! jeneka was thus pocketed. she could do nothing except fold her hands and patiently wait for some miraculous intervention. in morovenia the discreet marrying age is about sixteen. jeneka was eighteen--still young enough and of a most ravishing weight, but the slim princess stood as a slight, yet seemingly insurmountable barrier between her and all hopes of conventional happiness. count malagaski did not know that the shameful fact of kalora's thinness was being whispered among the young men of morovenia. when the daughters were out for their daily carriage-ride both wore flowing robes. in the case of kalora, this augmented costume was intended to conceal the absence of noble dimensions. it is not good form in morovenia for a husband or father to discuss his home life, or to show enthusiasm on the subject of mere woman; but the count, prompted by a fretful desire to dispose of his rapidly maturing offspring, often remarked to the high-born young gentlemen of his acquaintance that kalora was a most remarkable girl and one possessed of many charms, leaving them to infer, if they cared to do so, that possibly she weighed at least one hundred and eighty pounds. [illustration: papova rejoiced greatly] [blank page] these casual comments did not seem to arouse any burning curiosity among the young men, and up to the day of kalora's nineteenth anniversary they had not had the effect of bringing to the father any of those guarded inquiries which, under the oriental custom, are always preliminary to an actual proposal of marriage. count selim malagaski had a double reason for wishing to see kalora married. while she remained at home he knew that he would be second in authority. there is an occidental misapprehension to the effect that every woman beyond the borders of the levant is a languorous and waxen lily, floating in a milk-warm pool of idleness. it is true that the women of a household live in certain apartments set aside as a "harem." but "harem" literally means "forbidden"--that is, forbidden to the public, nothing more. every villa at newport has a "harem." the women of morovenia do not pour tea for men every afternoon, and they are kept well under cover, but they are not slaves. they do not inherit a nominal authority, but very often they assume a real authority. in the united states, women can not sail a boat, and yet they direct the cruise of the yacht. railway presidents can not vote in the senate, and yet they always know how the votes are going to be cast. and in morovenia, many a clever woman, deprived of specified and legal rights, has learned to rule man by those tactful methods which are in such general use that they need not be specified in this connection. kalora had a way of getting around her father. after she had defied him and put him into a stewing rage, she would smooth him the right way and, with teasing little cajoleries, nurse him back to a pleasant humor. he would find himself once more at the starting-place of the controversy, his stern commands unheeded, and the disobedient daughter laughing in his very face. thus, while he was ashamed of her physical imperfections, he admired her cleverness. often he said to popova: "i tell you, she might make some man a sprightly and entertaining companion, even if she _is_ slender." whereupon the crafty popova would reply: "be patient, your excellency. we shall yet have her as round as a dumpling." and all the time he was keeping her trained as fine as the proverbial fiddle. iv the garden party said the governor-general to himself in that prime hour for wide-awake meditation--the one just before arising for breakfast: "she is not all that she should be, and yet, millions of women have been less than perfect and most of them have married." he looked hard at the ceiling for a full minute and then murmured, "even men have their shortcomings." this declaration struck him as being sinful and almost infidel in its radicalism, and yet it seemed to open the way to a logical reason why some titled bachelor of damaged reputation and tottering finances might balance his poor assets against a dowry and a social position, even though he would be compelled to figure kalora into the bargain. it must be known that the governor-general was now simply looking for a husband for kalora. he did not hope to top the market or bring down any notable catch. he favored any alliance that would result in no discredit to his noble lineage. "at present they do not even nibble," he soliloquized, still looking at the ceiling. "they have taken fright for some reason. they may have an inkling of the awful truth. she is nineteen. next year she will be twenty--the year after that twenty-one. then it would be too late. a desperate experiment is better than inaction. i have much to gain and nothing to lose. i must exhibit kalora. i shall bring the young men to her. some of them may take a fancy to her. i have seen people eat sugar on tomatoes and pepper on ice-cream. there may be in morovenia one--one would be sufficient--one bachelor who is no stickler for full-blown loveliness. i may find a man who has become inoculated with western heresies and believes that a woman with intellect is desirable, even though under weight. i may find a fool, or an aristocrat who has gambled. i may stumble upon good fortune if i put her out among the young men. yes, i must exhibit her, but how--how?" he began reaching into thin air for a pretext and found one. the inspiration was simple and satisfying. he would give a garden-party in honor of mr. rawley plumston, the british consul. of course he would have to invite mrs. plumston and then, out of deference to european custom, he would have his two daughters present. it was only by the use of imported etiquette that he could open the way to direct courtship. possibly some of the cautious young noblemen would talk with kalora, and, finding her bright-eyed, witty, ready in conversation and with enthusiasm for big and masculine undertakings, be attracted to her. at the same time her father decided that there was no reason why her pitiful shortage of avoirdupois should be candidly advertised. even at a garden-party, where the guests of honor are two english subjects, the young women would be required to veil themselves up to the nose-tips and hide themselves within a veritable cocoon of soft garments. the invitations went out and the acceptances came in. the english were flattered. count malagaski was buoyed by new hopes and the daughters were in a day-and-night flutter, for neither of them had ever come within speaking distance of the real young man of their dreams. on the morning of the day set apart for the début of kalora, count selim went to her apartments, and, with a rather shamefaced reluctance, gave his directions. "kalora, i have done all for you that any father could do for a beloved child and you are still thin," he began. "slender," she corrected. "thin," he repeated. "thin as a crane--a mere shadow of a girl--and, what is more deplorable, apparently indifferent to the sorrow that you are causing those most interested in your welfare." "i am not indifferent, father. if, merely by wishing, i could be fat, i would make myself the shape of the french balloon that floated over morovenia last week. i would be so roly-poly that, when it came time for me to go and meet our guests this afternoon, i would roll into their presence as if i were a tennis-ball." "why should you know anything about tennis-balls? you, of all the young women in morovenia, seem to be the only one with a fondness for athletics. i have heard that in great britain, where the women ride and play rude, manly games, there has been developed a breed as hard as flint--allah preserve me from such women!" "father, you are leading up to something. what is it you wish to say?" "this. you have persistently disobeyed me and made me very unhappy, but to-day i must ask you to respect my wishes. do not proclaim to our guests the sad truth regarding your deficiency." "good!" she exclaimed gaily. "i shall wear a robe the size of an arabian tent, and i shall surround myself with soft pillows, and i shall wheeze when i breathe and--who knows?--perhaps some dark-eyed young man worth a million piasters will be deceived, and will come to you to-morrow, and buy me--buy me at so much a pound." and she shrieked with laughter. "stop!" commanded her father. "you refuse to take me seriously, but i am in earnest. do not humiliate me in the presence of my friends this afternoon." then he hurried away before she had time to make further sport of him. to count selim malagaski this garden-party was the frantic effort of a sinking man. to kalora it was a lark. from the pure fun of the thing, she obeyed her father. she wore four heavily quilted and padded gowns, one over another, and when she and jeneka were summoned from their apartments and went out to meet the company under the trees, they were almost like twins and both duck-like in general outlines. first they met mrs. rawley plumston, a very tall, bony and dignified woman in gray, wearing a most flowery hat. to every man of morovenia mrs. plumston was the apotheosis of all that was undesirable in her sex, but they were exceedingly polite to her, for the reason that morovenia owed a great deal of money in london and it was a set policy to cultivate the friendship of the british. while jeneka and kalora were being presented to the consul's wife, these same young men, the very flower of bachelorhood, stood back at a respectful distance and regarded the young women with half-concealed curiosity. to be permitted to inspect young women of the upper classes was a most unusual privilege, and they knew why the privilege had been extended to them. it was all very amusing, but they were too well bred to betray their real emotions. when they moved up to be presented to the sisters they seemed grave in their salutations and restrained themselves, even though one pair of eyes, peering out above a very gauzy veil, seemed to twinkle with mischief and to corroborate their most pronounced suspicions. out of courtesy to his guests, count malagaski had made his garden-party as deadly dull as possible. little groups of bored people drifted about under the trees and exchanged the usual commonplace observations. tea and cakes were served under a canopy tent and the local orchestra struggled with pagan music. kalora found herself in a wide and easy kind of a basket-chair sitting under a tree and chatting with mrs. plumston. she was trying to be at her ease, and all the time she knew that every young man present was staring at her out of the corner of his eye. mrs. plumston, although very tall and evidently of brawny strength, had a twittering little voice and a most confiding manner. she was immensely interested in the daughter of the governor-general. to meet a young girl who had spent her life within the mysterious shadows of an oriental household gave her a tingling interest, the same as reading a forbidden book. she readily won the confidence of kalora, and kalora, being most ingenuous and not educated to the wiles of the drawing-room, spoke her thoughts with the utmost candor. "i like you," she said to mrs. plumston, "and, oh, how i envy you! you go to balls and dinners and the theater, don't you?" "alas, yes, and you escape them! how i envy _you_!" "your husband is a very handsome man. do you love him?" "i tolerate him." "does he ever scold you for being thin?" "does he _what_?" "is he ever angry with you because you are not big and plump and--and--pulpy?" "heavens, no! if my husband has any private convictions regarding my personal appearance, he is discreet enough to keep them to himself. if he isn't satisfied with me, he should be. i have been working for years to save myself from becoming fat and plump and--pulpy." "then you don't think fat women are beautiful?" "my child, in all enlightened countries adipose is woman's worst enemy. if i were a fat woman, and a man said that he loved me, i should know that he was after my bank-account. take my advice, my dear young lady, and bant." "bant?" "reduce. make yourself slender. you have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, a perfect complexion, and with a trim figure you would be simply incomparable." kalora listened, trembling with surprise and pleasure. then she leaned over and took the hand of the gracious englishwoman. "i have a confession to make," she said in a whisper. "i am not fat--i am slim--quite slim." and then, at that moment, something happened to make this whole story worth telling. it was a little something, but it was the beginning of many strange experiences, for it broke up the wonderful garden-party in the grounds of the governor-general, and it gave morovenia something to talk about for many weeks to come. it all came about as follows: at the military club, the night before the party, a full score of young men, representing the quality, sat at an oblong table and partook of refreshments not sanctioned by the prophet. they were young men of registered birth and supposititious breeding, even though most of them had very little head back of the ears and wore the hair clipped short and were big of bone, like work-horses, and had the gusty manners of the camp. they were foolishly gloating over the prospect of meeting the two daughters of the governor-general, and were telling what they knew about them with much freedom, for, even in a monarchy, the chief executive and his family are public property and subject to the censorship of any one who has a voice for talking. of these male gossips there were a few who said, with gleeful certainty, that the elder daughter was a mere twig who could hide within the shadow of her bounteous and incomparable sister. "wait until to-morrow and you shall see," they said, wagging their heads very wisely. to-morrow had come and with it the party and here was kalora--a pretty face peering out from a great pod of clothes. they stood back and whispered and guessed, until one, more enterprising than the others, suggested a bold experiment to set all doubts at rest. count malagaski had provided a diversion for his guests. a company of arabian acrobats, on their way from constantinople to paris, had been intercepted, and were to give an exhibition of leaping and pyramid-building at one end of the garden. while kalora was chatting with mrs. plumston, the acrobats had entered and, throwing off their yellow-and-black striped gowns, were preparing for the feats. they were behind the two women and at the far end of the garden. mrs. plumston and kalora would have to move to the other side of the tree in order to witness the exhibition. this fact gave the devil-may-care young bachelors a ready excuse. "do as i have directed and you shall learn for yourselves," said the one who had invented the tactics. "i tell you that what you see is all shell. now then--" four conspirators advanced in a half-careless and sauntering manner to where kalora and the consul's wife sat by the sheltering tree, intent upon their exchange of secrets. "pardon me, mrs. plumston, but the acrobats are about to begin," said one of the young men, touching the fez with his forefinger. "oh, really?" she exclaimed, looking up. "we must see them." "you must face the other way," said the young man. "they are at the east end of the garden. permit us." whereupon the young man who had spoken and a companion who stood at his side very gently picked up mrs. plumston's big basket-chair between them and carried it around to the other side of the tree. and the two young men who had been waiting just behind picked up kalora's chair and carried _her_ to the other side of the tree, and put her down beside the consul's wife. did they carry her? no, they dandled her. she was as light as a feather for these two young giants of the military. they made a palpable show of the ridiculous ease with which they could lift their burden. it may have been a forward thing to do, but they had done it with courtly politeness, and the consul's wife, instead of being annoyed, was pleased and smiling over the very pretty little attention, for she could not know at the moment that the whole maneuver had grown out of a wager and was part of a detestable plan to find out the actual weight of the governor-general's elder daughter. if mrs. plumston did not understand, count selim malagaski understood. so did all the young men who were watching the pantomime. and kalora understood. she looked up and saw the lurking smiles on the faces of the two gallants who were carrying her, and later the tittering became louder and some of the young men laughed aloud. she leaped from her chair and turned upon her two tormentors. "how dare you?" she exclaimed. "you are making sport of me in the presence of my father's guests! you have a contempt for me because i am ugly. you mock at me in private because you hear that i am thin. you wish to learn the truth about me. well, i will tell you. i _am_ thin. i weigh one hundred and eighteen pounds." she was speaking loudly and defiantly, and all the young men were backing away, dismayed at the outbreak. her father elbowed his way among them, white with terror, and attempted to pacify her. "be still, my child!" he commanded. "you don't know what you are saying!" "yes, i do know what i am saying!" she persisted, her voice rising shrilly. "do they wish to know about me? must they know the truth? then look! _look_!" with sweeping outward gestures she threw off the soft quilted robes gathered about her, tore away the veil and stood before them in a white gown that fairly revealed every modified in-and-out of her figure. what ensued? is it necessary to tell? the costume in which she stood forth was no more startling or immodest than the simple gown which the american high-school girl wears on her commencement day, and it was decidedly more ample than the sum of all the garments worn at polite social gatherings in communities somewhat to the west. nevertheless, the company stood aghast. they were doubly horrified--first, at the effrontery of the girl, and second, at the revelation of her real person, for they saw that she was doomed, helpless, bereft of hope, slim beyond all curing. v he arrives kalora was alone. after putting the company to consternation she had flung herself defiantly back into the chair and directed a most contemptuous gaze at all the desirable young men of her native land. the governor-general made a choking attempt to apologize and explain, and then, groping for an excuse to send the people away, suggested that the company view the new stables. the acrobats were dismissed. the guests went rapidly to an inspection of the carriages and horses. they were glad to escape. jeneka, crushed in spirit and shamed at the brazen performance of her sister, began a plaintive conjecture as to "what people would say," when kalora turned upon her such a tigerish glance that she fairly ran for her apartment, although she was too corpulent for actual sprinting. mrs. plumston remained behind as the only comforter. "it was a most contemptible proceeding, my child. when they lifted us and carried us to the other side of the tree i thought it was rather nice of them; something on the order of the old walter raleigh days of chivalry, and all that. and just think! the beasts did it to find out whether or not you were really plump and heavy. it's a most extraordinary incident." "i wouldn't marry one of them now, not if he begged and my father commanded!" said kalora bitterly. "and poor jeneka! this takes away her last chance. until i am married she can not marry, and after to-day not even a blind man would choose me." "for goodness' sake, don't worry! you tell me you are nineteen. no woman need feel discouraged until she is about thirty-five. you have sixteen years ahead of you." "not in morovenia." "why remain in morovenia?" "we are not permitted to travel." "perhaps, after what happened to-day, your father will be glad to let you travel," said mrs. plumston with a significant little nod and a wise squint. "don't you generally succeed in having your own way with him?" "oh, to travel--to travel!" exclaimed kalora, clasping her hands. "if i am to remain single and a burden for ever, perhaps it would lighten father's grief if i resided far away. my presence certainly would remind him of the wreck of all his ambitions, but if i should settle down in vienna or paris, or--" she paused and gave a little gasp--"or if anything should happen to me, if i should--should disappear, that is, really disappear, jeneka would be free to marry and--" "oh, pickles!" said mrs. plumston. "i have heard of romantic young women jumping overboard and taking poison on account of rich young men, but i never heard of a girl's snuffing herself out so as to give her sister a chance to get married. the thing for you to do at a time like this, when you find yourself in a tangle, is to think of yourself and your own chances for happiness. father and jeneka will take care of themselves. they are popular and beloved characters here in morovenia. they are not taking you into consideration except as you seem to interfere with their selfish plans. i have made it a rule not to work out my neighbor's destiny." "what can i do?" asked kalora, seemingly impressed by the earnestness of the consul's wife. "leave morovenia. keep at your father until he consents to your going. here you are despised and ridiculed--a victim of heathen prejudice left over from the dark ages. get away, even if you have to walk, and take my word for it, the moment you leave morovenia you will be a very beautiful girl; not a merely attractive young person, but what we would call at home a radiant beauty--the oriental type, you know. and as a personal favor to me, don't be fat." "no fear of that," said the girl with a melancholy attempt at a smile. "but you must go and join the others. do, please. i am now in disgrace, and you may compromise your social standing in morovenia if you remain here and talk to me." "i dare say i should go. i have a husband who requires as much attention and scolding as a four-year-old. sometimes i almost favor the oriental system of the husband's directing the wife. good-by." "good-by." mrs. plumston gave her a kiss and a friendly little pat on the arm, and walked away toward the stables with a swinging, heel-and-toe, masculine stride. kalora had the whole garden to herself. she sat squared up in the wicker chair with her fists clenched, looking straight ahead, trying in vain to think of some plan for avenging herself upon the whole race of bachelors. as she sat thus some one spoke to her. "how do you do?" came a voice. she was startled and looked about, but saw no one. "up here!" came the voice again. she looked up and saw a young man on the top of the wall, his legs hanging over. evidently he had climbed up from the outside, and yet kalora had never suspected that the wall could be climbed. [illustration: "up here!" came the voice again] he was smoothly shaven, with blond hair almost ripe enough to be auburn; he wore a gray suit of rather loose and careless material, a belt, but no waistcoat; his trousers were reefed up from a pair of saddle-brown shoes, and the silk band around his small straw hat was tricolored. in his hand was a paper-covered book. swung over his shoulder was a camera in a leather case. he sat there on top of the high wall and gazed at kalora with a grinning interest, and she, forgetting that she was unveiled and clad only in the simple garments which had horrified the best people of morovenia, gazed back at him, for he was the first of the kind she had seen. "what are you doing here?" she asked wonderingly. "i am looking for the show," he replied. "they told me down at the hotel that a very hot bunch of acrobats were doing a few stunts down here this afternoon, and i thought i'd break in if i could. wanted to get some pictures of them." "were you invited?" "no, but that doesn't make any difference. in cairo i went to a native wedding every day. if i passed a house where there was a wedding being pulled off, i simply went inside and mingled. they never put me out--seemed to enjoy having me there. i suppose they thought it was the american custom for outsiders to ring in at a wedding." "you said american, didn't you? are you from america?" "do i look like a scandinavian? i am from the grand old commonwealth of pennsylvania. did you ever hear of the town of bessemer?" "i'm afraid not." "did you ever hear of the pike family that robbed all the orphans, tore down the starry banner, walked on the humble working-girl and gave the double cross to the common people? did you?" "dear me, no," she replied, following him vaguely. "well, i am alexander h., of the tribe of pike, and i have two reasons for being in your beautiful little city. one is federal grand jury and the other is ten-cent magazine. you know, our folks are sinfully rich. about four years ago i came in for most of the guvnor's coin, and in trying to keep up the traditions of the family, i have made myself unpopular, but i didn't know how unpopular i really was until i got this magazine from home this morning." and he held up the paper-covered book, which had a rainbow cover. "they have been writing up a few of us captains of industry, and they have said everything about me that they _could_ say without having the thing barred out of the mails. i notice that you speak our kind of talk fairly well, but i think i can take you by the hand and show you a lot of new and beautiful english language. i will read this to you." before she could warn him, or do anything except let out a horrified "oh-h!" he had leaped lightly from his high perch and was standing in front of her. "i'm afraid you don't understand," she said, rising and taking a frightened survey of the garden, to be sure that no one was watching. "strangers are not permitted in here. that is, men, and more especially--ah--christians." "i'm not a christian, and i can prove it by this magazine. i am an octopus, and a viper, and a vampire, and a man-eating shark. i am what you might call a composite zoo. if you want to get a line on me just read this article on _the shameless brigand of bessemer_, and you will certainly find out that i am a nice young fellow." kalora had studied english for years and thought she knew it, and yet she found it difficult fully, to comprehend all the figurative phrases of this pleasing young stranger. "do i understand that you are traveling abroad because of your unpopularity at home?" she asked. "i am waiting for things to cool down. as soon as the muck-rakers wear out their rakes, and the great american public finds some other kind of hysterics to keep it worked up to a proper temperature, i shall mosey back and resume business at the old stand. but why tell you the story of my life? play fair now, and tell me a lot about yourself. where am i?" "you are here in my father's private garden, where you hare no right to be." "and father?" "is count selim malagaski, governor-general of morovenia." "wow! and you?" "i am his daughter." "the daughter of all that must be something. have you a title?" "i am called princess." "can you beat that? climb up a wall to see some a-rabs perform, and find a real, sure-enough princess, and likewise, if you don't mind my saying so, a pippin." "i don't know what you mean," she said. "a corker." "corker?" "i mean that you're a good-looker--that it's no labor at all to gaze right at you. i didn't think they grew them so far from headquarters, but i see i'm wrong. you are certainly all right. pardon me for saying this to you so soon after we meet, but i have learned that you will never break a woman's heart by telling her that she is a beaut." [illustration: "are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?"] kalora leaned back in her chair and laughed. she was beginning to comprehend the whimsical humor of the very unusual young man. his direct and playful manner of speech amused her, and also seemed to reassure her. and, when he seated himself within a few inches of her elbow, fanning himself with the little straw hat, and calmly inspecting the tiny landscape of the forbidden garden, she made no protest against his familiarity, although she knew that she was violating the most sacred rules laid down for her sex. she reasoned thus with herself: "to-day i have disgraced myself to the utmost, and, since i am utterly shamed, why not revel in my lawlessness?" besides, she wished to question this young man. mrs. plumston had said to her: "you are beautiful." no one else had ever intimated such a thing. in fact, for five years she had been taunted almost daily because of her lack of all physical charms. perhaps she could learn the truth about herself by some adroit questioning of the young man from pennsylvania. "you have traveled a great deal?" she asked. "me and baedeker and cook wrote it," he replied; and then, seeing that she was puzzled, he said: "i have been to all of the places they keep open." "you have seen many women in many countries?" "i have. i couldn't help it, and i'm glad of it." "then you know what constitutes beauty?" "not always. what is sponge cake for me may be sawdust for somebody else. say, i rode for an hour in a 'rickshaw at nagoya to see the most beautiful girl in japan and when we got to the teahouse they trotted out a little shrimp that looked as if she'd been dried over a barrel--you know, stood _bent_ all the time, as if she was getting ready to jump. her neck was no bigger than a gripman's wrist and she had a nose that stood right out from her face almost an eighth of an inch. her eyes were set on the bias and she was painted more colors than a bandwagon. i said, 'if this is the champion geisha, take me back to the land of the chorus girl.' and in china! listen! i caught a chinese belle coming down the queen's road in hong-kong one day, and i ran up an alley. i have seen parisian beauties that had a coat of white veneering over them an inch thick, and out here in this country i have seen so-called cracker-jacks that ought to be doing the mountain-of-flesh act in the ringling side-show. so there you are!" "but in your own country, and in the larger cities of the world, there must be some sort of standard. what are the requirements? what must a woman be, that all men would call her beautiful?" "well, princess, that's a pretty hard proposition to dope out. good looks can not be analyzed in a lab or worked out by algebra, because, i'm telling you, the one that may look awful lucky to me may strike somebody else as being fairly punk. providence framed it up that way so as to give more girls a chance to land somebody. still, there is one kind that makes a hit wherever people are bright enough to sit up and take notice. now i suppose that any male being in his right senses would find it easy to look at a woman who was young enough and had eyes and hair and teeth and the other items, all doing team-work together, and then if she was trim and slender--" "should she be slender?" interrupted kalora, leaning toward him. "sure. i don't mean the same width all the way up and down, like an art student, but trim and--here, i'll show you. you will find the pictures of the most beautiful women in the world right here in the ads of a ten-cent magazine. look them over and you will understand what i mean." he turned page after page and showed her the tapering goddesses of the straight front, the tooth-powder, the camera, the breakfast-food, the massage-cream, and the hair-tonic. "these are what you call beautiful women?" she asked. "these are about the limit." "then in your country i would not be considered hideous, would i?" "hideous? say, if you ever walked up fifth avenue you would block the traffic! and in the palm-garden at the waldorf--why, you and the head waiter would own the place! are you trying to string me by asking such questions? are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?" "i hardly know what you mean, but i assure you that here in morovenia they laugh at me because i am not fat." "this is a shine country, and you're in wrong, little girl," said mr. pike, in a kindly tone. "why don't you duck?" "duck?" "leave here and hunt up some of the red spots on the map. you know what i mean--away to the bright lights! i don't like to knock your native land but, honestly, morovenia is a bad boy. i've struck towns around here where you couldn't buy illustrated post-cards. they take in the sidewalks at nine o'clock every night. that orchestra down at the hotel handed me a new coon song last night--_bill bailey_! can you beat that? as long as you stay here you are hooked up with a funeral." kalora, with wrinkled brow, had been striving to follow him in his figurative flights. "strange," she murmured. "you are the second person i have met to-day who advises me to go away--to the west." "that's the tip!" he exclaimed with fervor. "go west and when you start, keep on going. you come to america and bring along the papers to show that you're a real live princess and you'll own both sides of the street. we'll show you more real excitement in two weeks than you'll see around here if you live to be a hundred." "i should like to go, but--look! hurry, please! you must go!" she pointed, and young mr. pike turned to see two guards in baggy uniforms bearing down upon him, their eyes bulging with amazement. "shall i try to put up a bluff, or fight it out?" he asked, as he stood up to meet them. "you can not explain," gasped kalora. "run! _run_! they know you have no right here. this means going to prison--perhaps worse." "does it?" he asked, between his set teeth. "if those two brunettes get me, they'll have to go some." when the two pounced upon him he made no resistance and they captured him. he stood between them, each of them clutching an arm and breathing heavily, not only from exertion, but also out of a sense of triumph. vi he departs and now, in order to give a key to the surprising performances of alexander h. pike, it will be necessary to call up certain biographical data. when he was in the hill school he won the pole vault, but later, in his real collegiate days, he never could come within two inches of 'varsity form, and therefore failed to make the track-team. while attending the institute of technology he worked one whole autumn to perfect an offensive play which was to be used against "buff" rodigan, of the semi-professional athletic-club team. this play was known as "giving the shoulder," with the solar plexus as the point of attack. the purpose of the play was not to kill the opposing player, but to induce him to relinquish all interest in the contest. furthermore, mr. pike, while spending a month or more at a time in new york city, during his post-graduate days, had worked with mr. mike donovan, in order to keep down to weight. mr. donovan had illustrated many tricks to him, one of the best being a low feint with the left, followed by a right cross to the point of the jaw. while the two bronze-colored guards stood holding him, mr. pike rapidly took stock of his accomplishments, and formulated a program. with a sudden twist he cleared himself, sprang away from the two, and jumped behind a tree. one soldier started to the right of the tree and the other to the left, so as to close in upon him and retake him. this was what he wanted, for he had them "spread," and could deal with them singly. he used the donovan tactics on the first guard, and they worked out with shameful ease. when the soldier saw the left coming for the pit of his stomach, he crouched and hugged himself, thereby extending his jaw so that it waited there with the sun shining on it until the young man's right swing came across and changed the middle of the afternoon to midnight. number one was lying in profound slumber when alumnus pike turned to greet number two. the second soldier, having witnessed the feat of pugilism, doubled his fists and extended them awkwardly, coming with a rush. mr. pike suddenly squatted and leaned forward, balancing on his finger-tips, until number two was about to fall upon him and crush him, and then he arose with that rigid right shoulder aimed as a catapult. there was a sound as when the air-brake is disconnected, and number two curled over limply on the ground and made faces in an effort to resume breathing. mr. pike picked up his magazine and put it under his coat. he buttoned the coat, smiled in a pale, but placid manner at kalora, who was still immovable with terror, and then he proceeded to vindicate his "prep school" training. he ran over to the canopy tent, under which the refreshments had been served, pulled out one of the poles and, pointing it ahead of him, ran straight for the wall. kalora, watching him, regarded this as a wholly insane proceeding. was he going to attempt to poke a hole through a wall three feet thick? just as he seemed ready to flatten himself against the stones, he dropped the end of the pole to the ground and shot upward like a rocket. kalora saw him give an upward twist and wriggle, fling himself free from the pole and disappear on the other side of the wall, the camera following like the tail of a comet. as he did so, number two, coming to a sitting posture, began to shriek for reinforcements. number one was up on his elbow, regarding the affairs of this world with a dreamy interest. fortunately for the governor-general, the participants in the exploded garden-party had escaped at the very first opportunity. count malagaski, greatly perturbed and almost in a state of collapse over the unhappy affair in the garden, was returning to his apartments when the second surprising episode of the day came to a noisy climax. he heard the uproar and had the two guards brought before him. they reported that they had found a stranger in the garb of an infidel seated within the secret garden chatting with the princess kalora. they did not agree in their descriptions of him, but each maintained that the intruder was a very large person of forbidding appearance and terrific strength. "how did he manage to escape?" asked the governor-general. "by jumping over the wall." "over a wall ten feet high?" demanded the governor-general. "without touching his hands, sir. he was very tall; must have been seven feet." "if you ever had an atom of gray matter, evidently this stranger has beaten it out of you. hurry and notify the police!" kalora's candid version of the whole affair was hardly less startling than that of the guards. the stranger had come over the wall suddenly, much to her alarm. he attempted to converse with her, but she sternly ordered him from the premises. he was exceedingly tall, as the guards had said, and very dark, with rather long hair and curling black mustache. he addressed her in english, but spoke with a marked german accent. this description, faithfully set down by popova, was carried away to the secret police of morovenia, said to be the most astute in the world. they were instructed to watch all trains and guard the frontier and, as soon as they had their prisoner safely put away in the lower dungeon of the municipal prison, they were to notify the governor-general, who would privately pass sentence. a crime against any member of the ruler's household comes under a separate category and need not be tried in public sessions. for entering a royal harem or addressing a woman of title the sentences range from the bastinado to solitary confinement for life. no wonder kalora waited in trembling. like every other provincial she had much respect for the indigenous constabulary. she did not believe it possible for the pleasing stranger to break through the network that would be woven about him. shunning her father and sister, and shunned by them, she waited many sleepless hours in her own apartments for the inevitable news from beyond the walls. next morning there came to her a cheering and terrifying message. vii the only koldo three hours after his pole-vault, mr. alexander h. pike, wearing a dinner-jacket newly ironed by his man-slave, and with a soft hat crushed jauntily down over the right ear, was pacing back and forth in the main corridor of the hotel de l'europe waiting for the dread summons to the table d'hote. he had to admit to himself that his nerves seemed to be about as taut as piano wires. he told himself that possibly he was "up against it," and yet he had stood on the brink of disaster so often during his college career without acquiring vertigo, that the experience of the afternoon was like a joyous renewal of youth. he had no set program but he had a feeling that if he was to be questioned he would lie entertainingly. of one thing he was certain--it would help his case if he made no attempt to hurry across the frontier. he believed in the wisdom of hunting up the authorities whenever the authorities were hunting for him. for instance, in the prep school, after getting the cow into the chapel, he discovered her there and notified the principal and was the only boy who did not fall under suspicion. to assume a childlike innocence and to bluff magnificently,--these had been the twin rules that had saved him so often and would save him now, unless he should be confronted by the princess or the two guards, in which case--he whistled softly. suddenly two men came slamming in at the front door and stalked down the avenue of palms. they seemed to be throbbing with the importance of their errand, as they moved toward a little side office, which was the official lair of the manager. one of the men was elderly and wizened and the other was a detective. pike knew it as soon as he glanced at the heavy jowls and the broad face and heard the authoritative footfall. he knew, also, that he was not a bona fide detective, but a municipal detective, who is paid a monthly salary and walks stealthily along side streets in citizen's dress, all the time imagining that the people he meets take him to be a merchant or a lawyer. in this he is mistaken, for he resembles nothing except a municipal detective. if mr. pike had known that the officer who accompanied popova was the celebrated koldo, chief of the secret service, no doubt the impulse to retreat to his apartment and get behind the bed canopies would have been stronger. he knew, however, that no detective of analytical methods would expect to find the criminal standing at his elbow, so he followed the two over to the office and calmly wedged himself into the conference. the great koldo was agitated as he told his story to the manager, who was a polite and sympathetic importation from switzerland. popova stood by and corroborated by nodding. "an outrage of the most dreadful nature has been reported from the palace," said koldo. "dear me!" murmured the manager. "i am so sorry." "a stranger scaled the wall and entered the forbidden precincts. he addressed himself to the princess kalora with most insulting familiarity. two of the household guards captured him, but he escaped after beating them brutally. the report of the whole affair and a description of the man have been brought to me by the esteemed popova--this gentleman here, who is court interpreter and instructor in languages to the royal family." popova nodded and mr. pike saw the scattered spires of bessemer, pennsylvania, whirling away into a cloud of disappearance. "if you have a description of the man, no doubt you will be able to find him," he said, knowing that this kind of speech would strengthen his plea of innocence when brought out at the trial. the chief of the secret service turned and looked wonderingly at the bland stranger and resumed: "after some reflection i have decided to make inquiries at all the hotels, to learn if any foreigner answering this description has lately arrived in the city." "you may be sure that any information i possess will be put at your disposal immediately," said the manager, with a smile and a professional bow. the only koldo, breathing deeply, brought from his pocket a sheet of paper, while mr. pike propped himself deliberately against the door and tried to mold his features into that expression of guileless innocence which he had observed on the face of a cherub in the vatican. "he is very rugged and powerful," said the detective, referring to his notes. "large, quite large--black hair, dark eyes with a glance that seems to pierce through anything--long mustache, also black--wears much jewelry--speaks with a marked german accent--wears a suit of scotch plaid--heavy military boots." mr. pike removed his hat and allowed the electric light to twinkle on his ruddy hair. "how--ah--where did you get this description?" he asked gently. "from the princess herself," replied popova. "she saw him at close range." "believe me, i am sorry, but no one answering the description has been at my hotel," said the manager. "then i shall go to the hotel bristol and the hotel victoria," announced koldo, with something of fierce determination in his tone. "an excellent plan," assented the manager. "would you mind if i butted in with a suggestion?" said mr. pike, laying a friendly hand on the arm of the redoubtable koldo. "don't you think it would be better if you went alone to these hotels? this distinguished gentleman," indicating popova, "is well known on account of being a high guy up at the palace. sure as you live, if he trails around with you, you will be spotted. you don't want to hunt this fellow with a brass band. besides, you don't need any help, do you?"--to the head of the secret service. "certainly not," replied the famous detective, swelling visibly. "i have all the data--already i am planning my campaign." "then i should like to have a talk with pop-what's-his-name. i think i can slip him a few valuable pointers. you go right along and nail your man and we'll sit here in the shade of the sheltering palm and tell each other our troubles." "i must return to the palace quite soon," murmured popova, gazing at the stranger uneasily. "call a carriage for the professor," spoke up mr. pike briskly, to the manager. "i know his time is valuable, so we'll get down to business immediately, if not sooner." the manager knew a millionaire's voice when he heard it, so he hurried away. the impatient koldo said that he would communicate directly with the palace as soon as he had effected the capture, and started for the front door. then, remembering himself, he went out the back way. the old tutor, finding himself alone with mr. pike, was not permitted to relapse into embarrassment. "in the first place, i want you to know who and what i am," said mr. pike. "come into my suite and i'll show you something. then you'll see that you're not wasting your time on a light-weight." he led the way to a large parlor ornately done in red, and pulled out from a leather trunk a passport issued by the department of state of the united states of america. it was a huge parchment, with pictorial embellishments, heavy gothic type and a seal about the size of a pie. mr. pike's physical peculiarities were enumerated and there was a direct request that the bearer be shown every courtesy and attention due a citizen of the great republic. popova looked it over and was impressed. "it isn't everybody that gets those," said mr. pike, as he put the document carefully back into the trunk and covered it with shirts. "have a red chair. take off your hat--ah, i remember, you leave that on, don't you?" the old gentleman seated himself, somewhat reassured by the cheery manner of his host, who sat in front of him and beamed. mr. pike, supposed to be given to vapory and aimless conversation, really was a general. already we have learned that he based his every-day conduct on a groundwork of safe principles. he had certain private theories, which had stood the test, and when following these theories he proceeded with bustling confidence. one of his theories was that every man in the world has a grievance and regards himself as much-abused, and in order to win the regard and confidence of that man, all one has to do is feel around for the grievance and then play upon it. mr. pike, in his province of employer, had been compelled to study the methods of successful labor-union agitators. "you don't know much about me, but i know plenty about you," he began, closing one eye and nodding wisely. "i hadn't been here very long before i found out who was the real brains of that outfit up at the palace." "really, you know, we are not supposed to discuss the merits of our ruler," said popova, fairly startled at the candid tone of the other. he lifted one hand in timid deprecation. "of course you're not. that's why some one who is simply a figurehead goes on taking all the credit for tricks turned by a smart fellow who is working for him. now, if you lived in the dear old land of ready money, where the accident of birth doesn't give any man the right to sit on somebody else's neck, you'd be a big gun. you'd have money and a pull and probably, before you got through, you'd be investigated. over here, you are deliberately kept in the background. you are the patsy." "the what?" "the squidge--that means the fellow who does all the worrying and gets nothing out of it. now, before you return to what you call the palace, and which looks to me like the main building of the allegheny brick works, will you do me the honor of going into that cave of gloom, known as the american bar, and hitting up just one small libation?" "i am not sure that i catch your meaning," said popova, who felt himself somewhat smothered by rhetoric. "into the bar--down at the little iron table--business of hoisting beverage." "we of the faith are not supposed to partake of any drink containing even a small percentage of alcohol." "i'm not _supposed_ to dally with it myself, having been brought up on cistern water, but i find in traveling that i entertain a more kindly feeling for you strange foreign people when i carry a medium-sized headlight. come along, now. don't compel me to tear your clothes." there was no resisting the masterful spirit of the young steel magnate, and popova was led away to a remote apartment, where a single shelf, sparsely set with bottles, made a weak effort to reproduce the fabled splendors of far-away new york. "let's see, what shall we tackle?" asked mr. pike, as he checked down the line with a rigid forefinger. "if you don't care what happens to you, we might try a couple of cocktails--that is, if you like the taste of _eau de quinine_. oh, i'll tell you what! here are lemons, seltzer and gin. boy, two gin fizzes." the attendant, who was very juvenile and much afraid of his job, smiled and shook his head. "do you mean to say that you never heard of a gin fizz?" asked mr. pike. "all the ingredients within reach, simply waiting to be introduced to each other, and you have been holding them apart. you ought to be ashamed of yourself. bring out some ice. produce your jigger. get busy. hand me the tools and i'll do this myself." then, while the other two looked on in abashed admiration, mr. pike deftly squeezed the lemons and splashed in allopathic portions of the crystal fluid and used ice most wastefully. after vigorous shaking and patient straining he shot a seething stream of seltzer into each glass and finally delivered to popova a translucent drink that was very tall and capped with foam. "hide that, professor," he said. "in a few minutes you will speak several new languages." popova sipped conservatively. "don't be afraid," urged mr. pike, encouragingly. "if the boy watched me carefully, possibly he can duplicate the order." the youth was more than willing, for he seldom received instruction. with now and then a word of counsel or warning from the wise man of the west in the corner, he cautiously assembled two other fizzes, while mr. pike, in a most nonchalant and roundabout manner, sought information concerning affairs of state, local politics, the governor-general's household and princess kalora. popova told more than he had meant to tell and more than he knew that he was telling. it may have been that the fizzes were insidious or that mr. pike was unduly persuasive, or that a combination of these two powerful influences moved the elderly tutor to impulses of unusual generosity. at any rate, he found himself possessed of an affection for the young man from bessemer, pennsylvania. it was an affection both fatherly and brotherly. when mr. pike asked him to perform just a small service for him, he promised and then promised again and was still promising when his host went with him to the carriage and said that he had not lived in vain and that in years to come he would gather his grandchildren around him and tell of the circumstances of his meeting with the greatest scholar in southeastern europe. viii by messenger on the morning after the strange happenings in the garden, kalora sat by one of the cross-barred windows overlooking a side street, and envied the humble citizens and unimportant woman drifting happily across her field of vision. never in all her life had she walked out alone. the sweet privilege of courting adventure had been denied her. and yet she felt, on this morning, an almost intimate acquaintance with the outside world, for had she not talked with a valorous young man who could leap over high walls and subdue giants and pay compliments? he had thrown a sudden glare of romance across her lonesome pathway. the few minutes with him seemed to encompass everything in life that was worth remembering. she told herself that already she liked him better than any other young man she had met, which was not surprising, for he had been the first to sit beside her and look into her eyes and tell her that she was beautiful. she knew that whatever of wretchedness the years might hold in store for her, no local edict could rob her of one precious memory. she had locked it up and put it away, beyond the reach of courts and relatives. during many wakeful hours she had recalled each minute detail of that amazing interview in the garden, and had tried to estimate and foreshadow the young man's plan of escape from the secret police. perhaps he had been taken during the night. the greatest good fortune that she could picture for him was a quick flight across the frontier, which meant that he would never return--that she had seen him once and could not hope to see him again. in her contemplation of the luminous figure of the only young man, she had ceased to speculate concerning her own misfortunes. the fact of her disgrace remained in the background, eclipsed--not in evidence except as a dim shadow over the day. while she sat immovable, gazing into the street, feeling within herself a tumult which was not of pain, nor yet of pleasure, but a satisfactory commingling of both, she heard her name spoken. popova was standing in the doorway. he greeted her with a smile and bow, both of which struck her as being singularly affected, for he was not given to polite observances. as he squatted near her, she noticed that he was tremulous and seemed almost frightened about something. "i have come to tell you that i regret exceedingly the--the distressing incident of yesterday, and that i sympathize with you deeply--deeply," he began. "it is your fault," she said, turning from him and again gazing into the street. "you taught me everything i do not need in morovenia. you neglected the one essential. i am not blind. it was never your desire that i should be like my sister." she spoke in a low monotone and with no tinge of resentment, but her words had an immediate and perturbing effect on popova, who stared at her wide-eyed and seemed unable to find his voice. "you must know that i have been governed by your father's wishes," he said awkwardly. "why do you--" "do not misunderstand me. i thank you for what you have done. i would not be other than what i am. tell me--the stranger--you know, the one in the garden--has he been taken?" inquired the princess. "taken! taken! not even a clue--not a trace! either the earth opened to swallow him or else koldo is a dunce. the description was most accurate. by the way, i--i had a most interesting conversation regarding the case, with a young man at the hotel de l'europe last evening. he is a person of great importance in his own country, also a student of world-politics--i--he--never have i encountered such discrimination in one so young. it was because of my admiration for his talents and my confidence in his integrity that i consented to deliver a message for him." kalora squirmed in her pillows, and turned eagerly to face popova. "a message? for me?" she cried, eagerly. "i will admit that the whole proceeding is most irregular, to put it mildly. the young man was so deeply interested in your perilous adventure of yesterday, and so desirous of felicitating you upon your escape, that i yielded to his importunities and promised to deliver to you this letter." he brought it out cautiously, as if it were loaded with an explosive, and kalora pounced upon it. "i rely upon you to maintain absolute secrecy in regard to my part in this unusual--" but kalora, unheeding him, had torn open the letter and was reading, as follows: my dear princess: i hope that's the way to begin. something tells me that you would not stand for "your majesty" or any of these "royal highness" trimmings. believe me, you are the best ever. i have just had a talk with the eminent plain-clothes man who is looking for the burglar that broke into the garden this afternoon and tried to steal you. he read to me the description. say, if i tried to write at this minute all of my present emotions concerning you, i would burn holes in the paper. when it comes to turning out fiction, marie corelli is not in the running. honestly, when mr. detective walked into the hotel this evening, i figured it a toss-up whether i should ever see home and mother again. i am only an humble steel-maker, but i am for you and i want to see you again and tell you right to your face what i think of you. if you will sort of happen to be in the garden at p.m. to-morrow (thursday), i will come over the wall at the very spot i picked out to-day. i know that this method of becoming acquainted with young women is not indorsed by the _ladies_' _home journal_ or beatrice fairfax, but, as nearly as i can find out, there is no other way in which i can get into society over here. so far as the bloodhounds of the law are concerned, don't give them a thought. i have met, the great koldo, and he won't know until about next sunday that yesterday was tuesday. the professor has promised to bring a reply to the hotel. he is not on. sincerely, your german friend. she read it all and found herself gasping--surprised, frightened, and moved to a fluttering delight. she had thought of him as skulking in byways, of concealing his name and attempting to disguise himself so that he might dodge through the meshes woven by the invincible koldo, and here he was, still flaunting himself at the hotel and calmly preparing to repeat his hazardous experiment. "he is a fool!" she exclaimed, forgetting that popova was present. "i trust the message has not offended you," said the tutor, decidedly alarmed at her agitation and not understanding what it meant. "i tell you he is a fool--a fool!" she repeated. and while popova wondered, she sprang to her feet and ran to him and gave him a muscular embrace around the tender portion of his neck, for he still squatted after the oriental manner, even though he wore a long black coat of german make. "i consented to bring it because he was most urgent, and seemed a proper sort of person," began popova, "and not knowing the contents--" "bless you, i am not offended," interrupted kalora, and then, looking at the letter again, she burst into happy laughter. the young stranger was unquestionably a fool. she had not dreamed that any one could be so reckless and heedless, so contemptuous of the dread machinery of the law, so willing to risk his very life for the sake of--of seeing her again! "if he has been impertinent, possibly you will take no notice of his communication," suggested popova. "oh, i _must_--i must at least acknowledge the receipt of it. common courtesy demands that. i shall write just a few lines and you must take them to him at once. he seems to be a very forward person unacquainted with our local customs, and so i shall formally thank him and suggest to him that any further correspondence would be inadvisable. that's the really proper thing to do, don't you think?" "possibly." "then wait here until i have written it, and unless you wish me to go to my father and tell him something that would put an end to your illustrious career, deliver this message within a hour--deliver it yourself. give it to him and to no one else." never was a go-between more nonplussed, but he promised with a readiness and a sincerity which indicated that he was keenly aware of the fact that kalora held him in her power. the minx had read his secret without an effort! mr. pike was waiting in the avenue of potted palms when the greatest scholar of southeastern europe, now reduced to the humble role of messenger boy, came to him, somewhat flurried and breathless, and slipped a small envelope into his hand. popova rather curtly refused to renew his acquaintance with occidental fizzes, and waited only until he had announced to mr. pike that the princess wished to emphasize the advice contained in the letter and to assure the presumptuous stranger that it was meant for his welfare. this is what mr. pike read: my very good friend: i have protected you, not because you deserve protection, but because i like you very much. you must not come to the palace grounds again. they are now under double guard and, if i attempted to meet you, no doubt a whole company of our big soldiers would surround you and surely you could not overcome so many powerful men. i am thinking only of your safety. i beg you to leave morovenia at once. your danger is greater than you can imagine. what more can i say, except that i shall always remember you? sincerely, k. mr. pike read it carefully three times and then told himself aloud that it was not what he would precisely term a love-letter. "i may have made an impression, but certainly not a ten-strike," he thought to himself, as he folded up the missive and put it into the most sacred compartment of his russia-leather pocketbook, along with the letter of credit. "i fear me that the incident is closed," he said. "i would stay here one year if i thought there was a chance of seeing her again, but if she wants me to fly i guess i had better fly." that evening, after an earnest controversy with the manager over a very complicated bill, studded with "extras," mr. alexander h. pike, accompanied by dragoman, leather trunks, hat-boxes and hold-alls, drove away to the transcontinenta express, and slept soundly while crossing the dangerous frontier. possibly he would not have slept so soundly if he had known that at four o'clock that afternoon the princess kalora had been idling her time in the palace garden, walking back and forth near the high wall. she had told him not to come, and of course he would not come. no one could be so audacious and foolhardy as to invite destruction after being solemnly warned--and yet, if he _did_ come, she wanted to be there to speak to him again and rebuke him and tell him not to come a third time. she went back to her apartment much relieved and intensely disappointed. such is the perverseness of the feminine nature, even in morovenia. ix as to washington, d.c. about the time that mr. pike arrived in vienna, and after kalora had been in voluntary retirement for some forty-eight hours, the famous koldo, head of the secret police, came into possession of a most important clue. having searched for two days, without finding the trail of the criminal with the black mustache and the german accent, he bethought himself of the wisdom of going to the garden where the intruder had engaged in a desperate struggle with the two guards. possibly he would discover incriminating footprints. instead, he found some scraps of paper, with printing of a foreign character. by questioning the guards he learned that these tatters had come from a printed book which the mysterious stranger had carried, and which he never relinquished even while reducing his foes to insensibility. koldo put these pieces of paper into a strong envelope, which he sealed and marked "exhibit a," and delivered his precious find to the governor-general. while mr. pike sat in ronacher's at vienna, watching a most entertaining vaudeville performance, count selim malagaski was in his library, conferring with the wise popova. "how did he escape?" asked count malagaski again and again, shaking his head. "the police have searched every corner of the town, and can find no one answering the description." "have you questioned kalora again?" "yes, and she now remembers that he had a very heavy scar over his right eye. her description and these few scraps of paper torn from the book he was carrying are all that we have to guide us in our search." the governor-general held up the several remnants of a ten-cent magazine. "it is in english; i read it badly." he gave the torn pages to the old tutor, and popova, picking up the first, read as follows: what is the great danger that threatens the american woman? it is _obesity_. it is well known that ninety-nine per cent of all the women in the united states are striving to reduce their weight. for all such we have a message of hope. write to madam clarissa and she---- "the remainder is torn away," said popova. the governor-general had been leaning forward, listening intently. "do you mean to say that there is a country in which all the woman are fat?" he asked. "it would seem so," replied popova. "let us read further." he picked up another of the torn pages and read aloud: to the oatena company of pine creek, michigan: when i began using your wonderful health-food i was a mere skeleton. i have been living on it for three months and i have gained a pound a day. permit me to express the conviction that you are real benefactors to the human race. gratefully yours, oscar tilbury, oakdale, arkansas. "stop!" exclaimed the governor-general, striking the table. "is it possible that somewhere in this world there is a food which will add a pound a day?" "the testimonial seems genuine," replied popova. "it has been sworn to before a notary." "what country is this?" "america, the land of milk and honey." "both very fattening," commented the governor-general. "popova, i have an inspiration. you well know that my situation here is most desperate. i must find husbands for these two daughters, but i dare not hope that any one will come for kalora until the disgraceful affair has been forgotten and i can absolutely demonstrate that she has developed into some degree of attractiveness. it is better for all concerned that she should leave morovenia until the present scandal blows over. now, why not america? it is a remote, half-savage country, and she will be far from the temptations which would beset her at any fashionable capital in europe. we read in this magazine that all the women in america are fat. she will come back to us in a little while as plump as a partridge. from the sworn testimonial it would appear that she can obtain in america a marvelous food which will cause her to gain a pound a day. she now weighs one hundred and eighteen pounds. if she remained there a year she would weigh, let me see--one hundred and eighteen plus three hundred and sixty-five--oh, that doesn't seem possible! that is too good to be true! but even six months, or only three months, would be sufficient. she _must_ be sent away for a while, in the care of some one who will guard her carefully. read up on america to-night, and let me know all about it in the morning." next day popova, having consulted all the british authorities at hand, reported that the united states of america covered a large but undeveloped area, that the population was so engrossed with the accumulation of wealth that it gave little heed to pleasures or intellectual relaxation, and that the country as a whole was unworthy of consideration except as the abode of a swollen material prosperity. "just the place for her," exclaimed the governor-general. "no pleasures to distract her, an atmosphere of plodding commercialism, an abundance of health-giving nourishment! perhaps the mere change of climate will have the desired effect. we will make the experiment. she is doomed if she remains here, and america seems to be our only hope. i suppose our beloved monarch sends a minister to that country. if so, communicate with the secretary of the legation and request him to secure secluded apartments for her and a suite. you shall accompany her." "i?" exclaimed popova, unable to conceal his joy. "yes; she must be under careful restraint all the time. what is the capital of the united states?" "washington. it is a sleepy and well-behaved town. i have looked it up." "good! you shall take her to washington. if one of the many civil wars should break out, or there should be an uprising of the red men, she can hurry to the protection of the turkish embassy. let us make immediate preparations--and remember, popova, that my whole future happiness as a father depends upon the success of this expedition." when kalora was gravely informed by her father that she and the tutor and a half-dozen female attendants were to be bundled up and sent away to america, and that she was to do penance, take a dieting treatment, and come back in due time to try and atone for her unfortunate past, did she weep and beg to be allowed to remain at her own dear home? no; she listened in apparently meek and rather mournful submission, and, after her father went away, she turned handsprings across the room. her utmost dream of happiness had been realized. she was to go to the land of the red-headed stranger where she would be admired and courted, and where, in time, she might aspire to the ultimate honor of having her picture in a ten-cent magazine. x on the wing the train rolled away from the low and dingy station and was in the open country of morovenia. kalora and her elderly guardian and the young women who were to be her companions during the period of exile had been tucked away into adjoining compartments. each young woman was muffled and veiled according to the most discreet and orthodox rules. popova's bright red fez contrasted strangely with his silvering hair, but no more strangely than did this wondrous experience of starting for a new world contrast with the quiet years that he had spent among his books. the train sped into the farm-lands. on either side was a wide stretch of harvest fields, heaving into gentle billows, with here and there a shabby cluster of buildings. if kalora had only known, morovenia was very much like the far-away america, except that morovenia had not learned to decorate the hillsides with billboards. at last she was to have a taste of freedom! no father to scold and plead; no much-superior sister to torment her with reproaches; no peering through grated windows at one little rectangle of outside sunshine. to be sure, popova had received explicit and positive instructions concerning her government. but popova--pshaw! she unwound her veil and removed her head-gear and sat bareheaded by the car-window, greedily welcoming each new picture that swung into view. "you must keep your face covered while we are in public or semi-public places," said popova gently, repeating his instructions to the very letter. "i shall not." thus ended any exercise of popova's authority during the whole journey. before the train had come to budapest all the young women, urged on to insubordination, had removed their veils, and kalora had boldly invaded another compartment to engage in rapt and feverish dialogue with a little but vivacious frenchwoman. two hours out from vienna, the tutor found her involved in a business conference with a guard of the train. she had learned that the tickets permitted a stopover in vienna. she wished to see vienna. she had decided to spend one whole day in vienna. popova, as usual, made a feeble show of maintaining his authority, but he was overruled. count selim malagaski, at home, consulting the prearranged schedule, said, "this morning they have arrived in paris and popova is arranging for the steamship tickets." at which very moment, kalora was in an open carriage driving from one vienna shop to another, trying to find ready-made garments similar to those worn by mrs. rawley plumston. popova was now a bundle-carrier. the shopping in vienna was merely a prelude to a riotous extravagance of time and money in paris. popova, writing under dictation, sent a message to morovenia to the effect that they had been compelled to wait a week in order to get comfortable rooms on a steamer. kalora had the dressmakers working night and day. she and her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother and the whole line of maternal ancestors had been under suppression and had attired themselves according to the directions of a religious prophet, who had been ignorant concerning color effects. and yet, now that kalora had escaped from the cage, the original instinct asserted itself. the love of finery can not be eliminated from any feminine species. when she boarded the steamer she was outwardly a creature of the new world. from the moment of embarking she seemed exhilarated by the salt air and the spirit of democracy. she lingered in new york--more shopping. by the time she arrived at washington and went breezing in to call upon a certain dignified young secretary, the transformation was complete. she might not have been put together strictly according to mode, but she was learning rapidly, and willing to learn more rapidly. xi an outing--a reunion the secretary of the legation at washington was surprised to receive a letter from the governor-general of morovenia requesting him to find apartments for the princess kalora and a small retinue. the letter explained that the governor-general's daughter had been given a long sea-voyage and assigned to a period of residence within the quiet boundaries of washington, in the hope that her health might be improved. the secretary looked up the list of hotels and boarding-houses. he did not deem it advisable to send a convalescent to one of the large and busy hotels; neither did he think it proper to reserve rooms for her at an ordinary boarding-house, where she would sit at the same table with department-employees and congressmen. so he compromised on a very exclusive hotel patronized by legislators who had money of their own, by many of the titled attaches of the embassies, and by families that came during the season with the hope of edging their way into official society. he explained to the manager of the hotel that the princess kalora was an invalid, would require secluded apartments, and probably would not care to meet any of the other persons living at the hotel. within a week after the rooms had been reserved the invalid drove up to the legation to thank the secretary for his kindness. now, the secretary had lived in modern capitals for many years, was trained in diplomacy, and had schooled himself never to appear surprised. but the princess kalora fairly bowled him over. he had pictured her as a wan and waxen creature, who would be carried to the hotel in a closed carriage or ambulance, there to recline by the windowside and look out at the rustling leaves. he had decided, after hours of deliberation, that the etiquette of the situation would be for some member of the legation to call upon her about once a week and take flowers to her. and here was the invalid, bounding out of a coupé, tripping up the front steps and bursting in upon him like an untamed amazon from the prairies of nebraska. she wore a tailor-made suit of dark material, a sailor hat, tan gloves with big welts on the back and stout, low-heeled oxfords. this was the young woman who had come five thousand miles to improve her health! this was the child of the orient, and in the orient, woman is a hothouse flower. this was the timid young recluse to whom the soft-spoken diplomats were to carry a few roses about once a week. why had she called upon the secretary? first, to thank him for having engaged the rooms; second, to invite him to take her out to a country club and teach her the game of golf. she had heard people at the hotel talking about golf. the game had been strongly commended to her by a congressman's daughter, with whom she had ascended to the top of the washington monument. when the secretary, having recovered his breath, asked if she felt strong enough to attempt such a vigorous game, she was moved to silvery laughter. she told what she had accomplished during three short days in washington. she had attended two matinees with popova, had gone motoring into the virginia hills, had inspected all the public buildings, and studied every shop-window in pennsylvania avenue. the secretary knew that all this outdoor freedom was not usually accorded a young woman of his native domain, and yet he felt that he had no authority to restrain her or correct her. she was a princess, and he was relatively a subordinate, and, when she requested him to take her to the country club, he gave an embarrassed consent. "you have been in america a long time?" she asked. "about three years." "you have met many people--that is, the important people?" "all of them are important over here. those that are not very wealthy or very eminent are getting ready to be." "i am wondering if you could tell me something about a young man i met abroad. i met him only once, and i have quite forgotten his name." "i'm afraid i haven't met him." "he is rather good-looking and has--well, red hair; not rusty red, but a sort of golden red." "there are millions of red-haired young men in america." "please don't discourage me. now i remember the name of his home. he lived in pennsa--pennsylvania, that's it." "pennsylvania is about four times as large as morovenia." "but he is very wealthy. he talked as if he had come into millions." "i can well believe it. the millionaires of pennsylvania are even as the sands of the sea or the leaves of the forest." "he owns some sort of mills or factories--where they make steel." "every millionaire in pennsylvania has something to do with steel. now, if you were searching in that state for a young man who is penniless and has nothing to do with the steel industry, possibly i might be of some service to you. the whole area of pennsylvania is simply infested with millionaires. not all of them are red-headed, but they will be, before congress gets through with them." this playful lapse into the american vernacular was quite lost upon the princess kalora, who was sitting very still and gazing in a most disconsolate manner at the secretary. "i felt sure that you could tell me all about him," she said. "believe me, if i encounter any young millionaire from pennsylvania, whose hair is golden-red, i shall put detectives on his trail and let you know at once. you met him abroad?" "at a garden party in morovenia." "indeed! garden parties in morovenia! and yet that is not one-half as surprising as to find you here in washington." "you are not displeased to find me here?" "charmed--delighted." "and you will take me to the country club?" "at any time. it will really give me much pleasure." "i shall drop a note. good-by." he stood at the window to watch her as she nimbly jumped into the coupé and was driven away. that evening he made a most astonishing report to his intimates of the corps and asked: "what shall i do?" "do you feel competent to take charge of her and regulate her conduct?" "i do not." "have you instructions to watch her and make sure that she observes the etiquette and keeps within the restrictions of her own country while she is visiting in washington?" "nothing of the sort." "from your first interview with her, do you believe that it would be advisable for any of us to attempt to interfere with her plans?" "decidedly not." "then take her to the country club and teach her the game of golf, and remember the old saying at home, that no man was ever given praise for attempting to govern another man's family." so it was settled that the legation would not attempt any supervision of kalora's daily program. and it was a very wise decision, for the daily program was complicated and the legation would have been kept exceedingly busy. popova became merely a sort of footman, or modified chaperon. he knew that he had no real authority and seldom attempted even the most timid suggestions as to her conduct. once or twice he mentioned health-food and dieting, and was pooh-poohed into a corner. as for the women attendants, who had been sent along that they might be the companions of the princess during the long hours of loneliness and seclusion, they were trained to act as hair-dressers and french maids and repairing seamstresses! kalora had money and a title and physical attractions. could she well escape the gaieties of washington? be assured that she made no effort to escape them. she followed the busy routine of dinners and balls, receptions and afternoon teas, her childish enthusiasm never lagging. she could play at golf and she seemed to know horseback riding the first time she tried it, and after the first two weeks she drove her own motor-car. the letters that went back to morovenia were fairly dripping with superlatives and happy adjectives. she was delighted with washington; she was in excellent health; the members of the legation were very thoughtful in their attentions; the autumn weather was all that could be desired; her apartments at the hotel were charming. in fact, her whole life was rose-colored, but never a word of real news for her anxious father and sister--nothing about gaining a pound a day. the governor-general hoped from the encouraging tone of the letters that she was quietly housed, out in the borders of some primeval forest, gradually enlarging into the fullness of perfect womanhood. about three months after her departure, in order to reassure himself regarding the progress in her case, he wrote a letter to the minister at washington. he told the minister that his child was disposed to be unruly and that popova had become careless and somewhat indefinite in his reports--and would he, the minister, please write and let an anxious parent know the actual weight of princess kalora? the minister resented this manner of request. he did not feel that it was within the duties of a high official to go out and weigh young women, so he replied briefly that he knew no way of ascertaining the exact weight of an acrobatic young woman who never stood still long enough to be weighed, but he could assure the father that she was somewhat slimmer and more petite than when she arrived in washington a few weeks before. this letter slowly traveled back to morovenia, and on the very day of its delivery to count selim malagaski, who read it aloud and then went into a frothing paroxysm of rage, the princess kalora in washington figured in a most joyful episode. a western millionaire, who had bought a large cubical palace on one of the radiating avenues, was giving a dancing-party, to which the entire blue book had been invited. kalora went, trailed by the long-suffering popova. she wore her most fetching parisian gown, and decked herself out with wrought jewelry of quaint and heavy design, which was the envy of all the other young women in town, and she put in a very busy night, for she danced with army officers, and lieutenants of the navy, and one senator, and goodness knows how many half-grown diplomats. at two o'clock in the morning she was in the supper-room: a fairly late hour for a young woman supposed to be leading a quiet life. the food set before her would not have been prescribed for a tender young creature who was dieting. she was supping riotously on stuffed olives. her companion was a young gentleman from the army. they sat beneath a huge palm. the tables were crowded together rather closely. she chanced to look across at the little table to her right, and she saw a young man--a young man with light hair almost ripe enough to be auburn. with a smothered "oh!" she dropped the olive poised between her fingers, and as she did so, he looked across and saw her and exclaimed: "well, i'll be--" he came over, almost upsetting two tables in his impetuous course. she expected to see him jump over them. he seized her hand and gazed at her in grinning delight, and the young gentleman from the army went into total eclipse. xii the governor cables "i don't believe it. it's too good to be true. i am in a trance. it isn't you, is it?" and he was still holding her hand. "yes--it is." "the princess--ah--?" "kalora." "_that's_ it. i was so busy thinking of you after i left your cute little country that i couldn't remember the name. i thought of 'calico' and 'fedora' and 'kokomo' and a lot of names that sounded like it, but i knew i was wrong. _kalora_--_kalora_--i'll remember that. i knew it began with a 'k.' but what in the name of all that is pure and sanctified are you doing in the land of the free?" "you invited me to come. don't you remember? you urged me to come." "that's why you notified me as soon as you arrived, isn't it? how long have you been here?" "i forget--three months--four months. surely you have seen my name in the papers. every morning you may read a full description of what princess kalora of morovenia wore the night before. for a simple and democratic people you are rather fond of high-sounding titles, don't you think?" "i haven't read the papers, because i'm always afraid i'll find something about myself. they don't describe my costumes, however. they simply say that i am trying to blow up and scuttle the ship of state. but this has nothing to do with your case. it is customary, when you accept an invitation, to let the host know something about it. in other words, why didn't you drop me a line?" "i will confess--the whole truth--since you have been candid enough to admit that you had forgotten my name. i tried to find you, through the legation. i described you, but--your name--_please_ tell me your name again? you mentioned it, that day in the garden. popova promised to go to the hotel and get it for me, but we were bundled away in such a hurry." "heavens! imagine any one forgetting such a name! alexander h. pike, bessemer, pennsylvania, tariff-fed infant and all-round plutocrat." "why, of course, _pike, pike_--it is the name of a fish." "thank you." the young gentleman from the army moved uneasily, and they remembered that he was present. he hoped they wouldn't mind if he went to look up his partner for the next dance, and they assured him that they wouldn't, and he believed them and was backing away when popova arrived to suggest the lateness of the hour and intimate his willingness to return to the hotel. his sudden journey to the western hemisphere and his period of residence at washington had been punctuated with surprises, but the amazement which smote him when he saw kalora leaning across the table toward the young man who had introduced the gin fizz into morovenia was sudden and shocking. mr. pike greeted him rapturously and gave him the keys to north america, and then kalora patted him on the arm and sent him away to wait for her. they sat and talked for an hour--sat and talked and laughed and pieced out between them the wonderful details of that very lively day in morovenia. "and you have come all the way to washington, d.c. in order to increase your weight?" he asked. "that certainly would make a full-page story for a sunday paper. think of anybody's coming to washington to fatten up! why, when i come down here to regulate these committees, i lose a pound a day." "i never dreamed that there could be a country in which women are given so much freedom--so many liberties." "and what we don't give them, they take--which is eminently correct. of all the sexes, there is only one that ever made a real impression on me." "and to think that some day i shall have to return to morovenia!" "forget it," urged mr. pike, in a low and soothing tone. "far be it from me to start anything in your family, but if i were you, i would never go back there to serve a life sentence in one of those lime-kilns, with a curtain over my face. you are now at the spot where woman is real superintendent of the works, and this is where you want to camp for the rest of your life." "but i can not disobey my father. i dare not remain if he--" she paused, realizing that the talk had led her to dangerous ground, for mr. pike had dropped his large hand on her small one and was gazing at her with large devouring eyes. "you won't go back if i can help it," he said, leaning still nearer to her. "i know this is a little premature, even for me, but i just want you to know that from the minute i looked down from the wall that day and saw you under the tree--well, i haven't been able to find anything else in the world worth looking at. when i met you again to-night, i didn't remember your name. you didn't remember my name. what of that? we know each other pretty well--don't you think we do? the way you looked at me, when i came across to speak to you--i don't know, but it made me believe, all at once, that maybe you had been thinking of me, the same as i had been thinking of you. if i'm saying more than i have a right to say, head me off, but, for once in my life, i'm in earnest." "i'm glad--you like me," she said, and she pushed back in her chair and looked down and away from him and felt that her face was burning with blushes. "when you have found out all about me, i hope you'll keep on speaking to me just the same," he continued. "i warn you that, from now on, i am going to pester you a lot. you'll find me sitting on your front door-step every morning, ready to take orders. to-morrow i must hie me to new york, to explain to some venerable directors why the net earnings have fallen below forty per cent. but when i return, o fair maiden, look out for me." he would be back in washington within three days. he would come to her hotel. they were to ride in the motor-car and they were to go to the theaters. she must meet his mother. his mother would take her to new york, and there would be the opera, and this, and that, and so on, for he was going to show her all the attractions of the western hemisphere. the night was thinning into the grayness of dawn when he took her to the waiting carriage. she put her hand through the window and he held it for a long time, while they once more went over their delicious plans. after the carriage had started, popova spoke up from his dark corner. "i am beginning to understand why you wished to come to america. also i have made a discovery. it was mr. pike who overcame the guards and jumped over the wall." "i shall ask the governor-general to give you koldo's position." an enormous surprise was waiting for them at the hotel. it was a cable from morovenia--long, decisive, definite, composed with an utter disregard for heavy tolls. it directed popova to bring the shameless daughter back to morovenia immediately--not a moment's delay under pain of the most horrible penalties that could be imagined. they were to take the first steamer. they were to come home with all speed. surely there was no mistaking the fierce intent of the message. popova suffered a moral collapse and kalora went into a fit of weeping. both of them feared to return and yet, at such a crisis, they knew that they dared not disobey. the whole morning was given over to hurried packing-up. an afternoon train carried them to new york. a steamer was to sail early next day, and they went aboard that very night. [illustration: they were to come home with all speed.] kalora had left a brief message at her hotel in washington. it was addressed to mr. alexander h. pike, and simply said that something dreadful had happened, that she had been called home, that she was going back to a prison the doors of which would never swing open for her, and she must say good-by to him for ever. she tried to communicate with him before sailing away from new york. messenger boys, bribed with generous cab-fares, were sent to all the large hotels, but they could not find the right mr. pike. the real mr. pike was living at a club. she leaned over the railing and watched the gang-plank until the very moment of sailing, hoping that he might appear. but he did not come, and she went to her state-room and tried to forget him, and to think of something other than the reception awaiting her back in the dismal region known as morovenia. xiii the home-coming the governor-general waited in the main reception-room for the truant expedition. he was hoping against hope. orders had been given that popova, kalora and the whole disobedient crew should be brought before him as soon as they arrived. his wrath had not cooled, but somehow his confidence in himself seemed slowly to evaporate, as it came time for him to administer the scolding--the scolding which he had rehearsed over and over in his mind. he heard the rolling wheels grit on the drive outside, and then there was murmuring conversation in the hallway, and then kalora entered. his most dreadful suspicions were ten times confirmed. she wore no veil and no flowing gown. she was tightly incased in a gray cloth suit, and there was no mistaking the presence of a corset underneath. on her head was a kind of alpine hat with a defiant feather standing upright at one side. before her father had time to study the details of this barbaric costume, he sat staring at her as she was silhouetted for an instant between him and the open window. merciful mahomet! she was as lean and supple as an austrian race-horse! he could say nothing. she ran over and gave him a smack on the forehead and then said cheerily: "well, popsy, here i am! what do you think of me?" while count selim malagaski was holding to his chair and trying to sort out from the limited vocabulary of morovenia the words that could express his boiling emotions, he saw popova standing shamefaced in the doorway. was it really popova? the tutor wore a traveling-suit with large british checks, a blue four-in-hand, and, instead of a fez, a rakish cap with a peak in front. as he edged into the room the young women attendants filed timidly behind him. horror upon horrors! they were in shirt-waists, with skirts that came tightly about the hips, and every one of them wore a chip hat, and not one of them was veiled! the governor-general tried to steady himself in order to meet this unprecedented crisis. "so this is how you have managed my affairs?" he said in angry tones to the trembling popova. [illustration: popsy.] "what is the meaning of this shocking exhibition?" "don't blame him, father," spoke up kalora. "i am responsible for whatever has happened. we have seen something of the world. we have learned that morovenia is about two hundred years behind the times. they knew that you would not approve, but i have compelled them to have the courage of their convictions. you can see for yourself that we no longer belong here. there is but one thing for you to do, and that is to send us away again." "no!" exclaimed her father, banging his fist on the table, and then coming to his feet. "you shall remain here--all of you--and be punished! you have ruined your own prospects; you have condemned your poor sister to a life of single misery, and you have made your father the laughing-stock of all morovenia! if i can not reform you and make you a dutiful child, at least i can make an example of you!" "stop!" she said very sharply. "let us not have an unfortunate scene in the presence of the servants. if you have anything to say to me, send them away, and remember also, father, i have certain rights which even you must respect. also, i have a great surprise for you. i am beautiful. hundreds of young men have told me so. under no circumstances would i permit myself to become large and gross and bulky. you are disheartened because no young man in morovenia wishes to marry me. bless you, there isn't a young man in this country worth marrying!" "young woman, you have taxed my patience far beyond the limit," said her father, speaking low in an effort to control his wrath. "hereafter you shall never go beyond the walls of this palace! you shall be a waiting-maid for your sister! the servants shall be instructed to treat you as a menial--one of their own class! these shameless women are dismissed from my service! as for you"--turning upon the old tutor--"you shall be put away under lock and key until i can devise some punishment severe enough to fit your case!" that night kalora slept on a hard and narrow cot in a bare apartment adjoining her sister's gorgeous boudoir--quite a change from the suite overlooking the avenue. the shirt-waist brigade had been sent into banishment, and poor popova was sitting on a wooden stool in a dungeon, thinking of the dinners he had eaten at old point comfort and wondering if he had not overplayed himself in the effort to be avenged upon the governor-general. xiv heroism rewarded a month later popova was still in prison, and had demonstrated that even after one has lunched for several months at the shoreham, the new willard and the raleigh, he may subsist on such simple fare as bread and water. kalora had been humiliated to the uttermost, but her spirit was unbroken and defiant. she was nominally a servant, but jeneka and the others dared not attempt any overbearing attitude toward her, for they feared her sharp and ready wit. the fires of inward wrath seemed to have reduced her weight a few pounds, so that if ever a man faced a situation of unbroken gloom, that man was the poor governor-general. count malagaski sat in the large, over-decorated audience room, alone with his sorrowful meditations. an attendant brought him a note. "the man is at the gate," said the attendant. "he started to come in. we tried to keep him out. he pushed three of the soldiers out of the way, but we finally held him back, so he sends this note." a few lines had been written in pencil on the reverse side of a typewritten business letter. the governor-general could speak english, but he read it rather badly, so he sent for his secretary, who told him that the note ran as follows: you don't know me and there is no need to give my name. must see you on important matter of business. something in regard to your daughter. "great heavens, another one!" said the governor-general. "there are one thousand young men ready and willing to marry jeneka and not one in all the world wants kalora. send him away!" "i am afraid he won't go," suggested the attendant. "he is a very positive character." "then send him in to me. i can dispose of his case in short order." a few moments later count selim malagaski found himself sitting face to face with a ruddy young man in a blue suit--a square-shouldered, smiling young gentleman, with hair of subdued auburn. "i take it that you're a busy man and i'll come to the point," said the young man, pulling up his chair. "i try to be business from the word go, even in matters of this kind. you have a daughter." "i have two daughters," replied the governor-general sadly. "you have only one that interests me. i have been around a good deal, but she is about the finest looking girl i--" "before you say any more, let me explain to you," said the governor-general very courteously. "perhaps you are not entitled to this information, but you seem to be a gentleman and a person of some importance, and you have done me the honor to admire my daughter, and, therefore, it is well that you should know all the facts in the case. i have two daughters. one is exceedingly beautiful and her hand has been sought in marriage by young men of the very first families of morovenia, notably count luis muldova, who owns a vast estate near the roumanian frontier. i have another daughter who is decidedly unattractive, so much so that she has never had an offer of marriage. i am telling you all this because it is known to all morovenia, and even you, a stranger, would have learned it very soon. under the law here, a younger sister may not marry until the elder sister has married. my unattractive daughter is the elder of the two. do you see the point? do you understand, when you come talking of a marriage with my one desirable daughter, that not only are you competing with all the wealthy and titled young men of this country, but also you are condemned to sit down and patiently wait until the elder sister has married,--which means, my dear sir, that probably you will wait for ever? therefore i think i may safely wish you good day." "hold on, here," said the visitor, who had been listening intently, with his eyes half-closed, and nodding his head quickly as he caught the points of the unusual situation. "if i can fix it up with you and daughter--and i don't think i'll have any trouble with daughter--what's the matter with my rustling around and finding a good man for sister? there is no reason why any young woman with a title should go into the discard these days. at least we can make a try. i have tackled propositions that looked a good deal tougher than this." "do you think it possible that you could find a desirable husband for a young woman who has no physical charms and who, on two or three occasions, has scandalized our entire court?" "i don't say i can, but i'm willing to take a whirl at it." "my dear sir, before we go any further, tell me something about yourself. you are an englishman, i presume?" "great scott! you're the first one that ever called me that. i have been called a good many things, but never an englishman. i'll have to begin wearing a flag in my hat. i'm an american." "american!" gasped the governor-general. "i am very sorry to hear it. i have every reason for regarding you and your native country as my natural enemies." "you're dead wrong. america is all right. the states size up pretty well alongside of this little patch of country." "i do not blame you for being loyal to your own home, sir, but isn't it rather presumptuous for you, an american, to aspire to the hand of a princess who could marry any one of a dozen young men of wealth and social position?" "what's the matter with my wealth and social position? i'm willing to stack up my bank-account with any other candidate. i happen to be worth eighteen million dollars." "dollars?" repeated the governor-general, puzzled. "what would that be in piasters?" "it's a shame to tell you. only about four hundred million piastres, that's all." "what!" exclaimed the governor-general. "surely you are joking. how could one man be worth four hundred million piasters?" "say, if you'll give me a pencil and a pad of paper and about a half-day's time, i'll figure out for you what henry frick is worth in piasters and then you _would_ have a fit. why, in the land of ready money i'm only a third-rater, but i've got the four hundred million, all right." "but have you any social position?" asked the governor-general. "any rank? any title? over here those things count for a great deal." "i am grand exalted ruler of the benevolent and protective order of elks," said the visitor calmly. "really!" "i am a knight templar." "a knight? that is certainly something." "do you see this badge with all the jewels in it? that means that i am a noble of the mystic shrine." "i can see that it is the insignia of a very distinguished order," said the governor-general, as he touched it admiringly. "what is more, i am king of the hoo-hoos." "a king?" "a sure-enough king. now, don't you worry about my wealth or my title. i've got money to burn and i can travel in any company. the thing for us to do is to get together and find a good husband for the cripple, and fix up this whole marriage deal. but before we go into it i want to meet your daughter and find out exactly how i stand with her." "that will be unnecessary, and also impossible. whatever arrangements you make with me may be regarded as final. my daughter will obey my wishes." "not for mine! i am not trying to marry any girl that isn't just as keen for me as i am for her. why, i've seen her only twice. let me talk it over with her, and if she says yes, then you can look me up in bradstreet and we'll all know where we stand." "i am sorry, but it is absolutely contrary to our customs to permit a private interview between an unmarried woman and her suitor." "whereas in our country it is the most customary thing in the world! now, why should we observe the customs of _your_ country and disregard the customs of _my_ country, which is about forty times as large and eighty times as important as your country? don't be foolish! i may be the means of pulling you out of a tight hole. you go and send your daughter here to me. give me ten minutes with her. i'll state my case to her, straight from the shoulder, and, if she doesn't give me a lot of encouragement, i'll grab the first train back to paris. if she _does_ give me any encouragement, then you'll see what can be accomplished by a real live matrimonial agency." the governor-general hesitated, but not for long. the confident manner of the stranger had inspired him with the first courage that he had felt for many weeks and revived in him the long-slumbering hope that possibly there was somewhere in the world a desirable husband for kalora. he was about to violate an important rule, but there was no reason why any one on the outside should hear about it. "this is most unusual," he said. "if i comply with your request, i must beg of you not to mention the fact of this interview to any one. remain here." he went away, and the young man waited minute after minute, pacing back and forth the length of the room, cutting nervous circles around the big office chairs, wiping his palms with his handkerchief and wondering if he had come on a fool's errand or whether-- he heard a rustle of soft garments, and turned. there in the doorway stood a feminine full moon--an elliptical young woman, with half of her pink and corpulent face showing above a gauzy veil, her two chubby hands clasped in front of her, the whole attitude one of massive shyness. "i--i beg pardon," he said, staring at her in wonder. she tried to speak, but was too much flustered. he saw that she was smiling behind the veil, and then she came toward him, holding out her hand. he took the hand, which felt almost squashy, and said: "i am very glad to meet you." then there was a pause. "won't you be seated?" he asked. she sank into one of the leather chairs and looked up at him with a little simper, and there was another pause. "i--i never have seen you before, have i?" she asked, with a secretive attempt to take a good look at him. "you can search me," he replied, staring at her, as if fascinated by her wealth of figure. "if i had seen you before, i have a remote suspicion that i should remember you. i don't think it would be easy to forget you." "you flatter me," she said softly. "do i? well, i meant every word of it. will you pardon me for being a wee bit personal? are there many young ladies in these parts that are as--as--corpulent, or fat, or whatever you want to call it--that is, are you any plumper than the average?" "i have been told that i am." "once more pardon me, but have you done anything for it?" "for what?" she asked, considerably surprised. "i wouldn't have mentioned it, only i think i can give you some good tips. i had a cousin flora who was troubled the same way. about the time she went to smith college she got kind of careless with herself, used to eat a lot of candy and never take any exercise, and she got to be an awful looking thing. if you'll cut out the starchy foods and drink nothing but kissingen, and begin skipping the rope every day, you'll be surprised how much of that you'll take off in a little while. at first you won't be able to skip more than twenty-five or fifty times a day, but you keep at it and in a month you can do your five hundred. put on plenty of flannels and wear a sweater. and i'll show you a dandy exercise. put your heels together this way,"--and he stood in front of her,--"and try to touch the floor with your fingers--so!"--illustrating. "you won't be able to do it at first, but keep at it, and it'll help a lot. then, if you will lie flat on your back every morning, and work your feet up and down----" she had listened, at first in utter amazement. now her timid coquettishness was giving way to anger. "what are you trying to tell me?" she asked. "it's none of my business, but i thought you'd be glad to find out what'd take off about fifty pounds." "and is this why you came to see me?" she demanded. "_i_ didn't come to see _you_." "my father said you were waiting and he sent me to you." "sent _you_," replied mr. pike in frank surprise. "my dear girl, you may be good to your folks and your heart may be in the right place, and i don't want to hurt your feelings, but father has got mixed in his dates. i certainly didn't come here to see _you_." as he was speaking jeneka wriggled forward in her chair and then arose. she stood before him, heaving perceptibly. "your manner is most insulting," she declared. she had expected to be showered with compliments, and here was this giggling stranger advising her to be thin! she toddled over to the door and pushed a bell. then she turned upon the bewildered stranger and remarked coldly: "unless you have something further to communicate, you may consider this interview at an end." a servant appeared in the doorway. "show this person out," said the portly princess. the servant gave a little scream. "mr. pike!" "kalora!" and then he was holding both her hands. "you are _here_--here in morovenia? you came all the way?" "all the way! i'd have come ten times as far. before i left new york i heard about all those messenger boys hunting me around the hotels, but i didn't know what it meant. when i got back to washington i found your note, and, as soon as i could get congress calmed down, i started--got in here last night." "but why did you come?" [illustration: "mr. pike!" "kalora!"] "can't you guess?" mr. pike wasted no time in circumlocution. during this hurried interview jeneka had been holding a determined thumb against the electric button. the governor-general, waiting impatiently up the hallway, heard the prolonged buzzing and came to investigate. he found the adorable jeneka, all trembling with indignation, in the doorway. she saw him and pointed. he looked and saw the distinguished stranger, the man of many titles and unbounded wealth, standing close to the slim princess, holding both her hands and beaming upon her with all of the unmistakable delirious happiness of love's young dream. "what does it mean?" asked the governor-general. "is it possible----" "he was rude to me," began jeneka, "he was most insulting----" mr. pike turned to meet his prospective father-in-law. "you meant well, but you got twisted," he remarked. "this is the one i was looking for." at first count selim malagaski was too dumfounded for speech. "are you sure?" he asked. "can it be possible that you, a man worth millions of piasters, an exalted ruler, a noble of the mystic shrine, have deliberately chosen this waspy, weedy----" "let up!" said mr. pike sharply. "you can say what you please about your daughter, but you mustn't make remarks about the prospective mrs. pike. i don't know anything about her local reputation for looks, but i think she's the most beautiful thing that ever drew breath, and i'd make it stronger than that if i knew how. you thought i meant the fat one. well, i didn't, but i hope the agreement goes just the same. and i'll stick to what i said. i'll get the other one married off. it may take a little time, but i think i can find some one." "_find_ some one?" cried jeneka indignantly. "_find_ some one?" repeated her father. "she has been sought by every young man of quality in the whole kingdom. how dare you suggest that----" then he paused, for he was beginning to comprehend that young mr. pike had stepped in and saved him, and that, instead of rebuking mr. pike, he should be weeping on his breast and calling him "son." jeneka came to her senses at the same moment, for she saw her dream of five years coming true. she knew that soon she would be the countess muldova. mr. pike suddenly felt himself caressed by three happy mortals. "i shall make you a knight of the gleaming scimitar," said the governor-general. "i have the authority." "thanks," replied mr. pike. "and we can have a double wedding," exclaimed jeneka, whose ecstasy was almost apoplectic. "we shall be married in washington," said kalora decisively. "i am not going to be carted over to my husband's house and delivered at the back door, even if it is the custom of my native land. i shall be married publicly and have twelve bridesmaids." "you may start for washington immediately," said her father with genuine enthusiasm. "i shall need a chaperon. send for popova." "good! his punishment shall be--permanent exile." "nothing would please him better," said kalora. "over here he is nothing--in washington he will be a distinguished foreigner. washington! _washington_! to think that all of us are going back there! to think that once more i shall have pickles--all the pickles i want to eat!" "we have over fifty varieties waiting for you," observed young mr. pike tenderly. "i have been thinking," spoke up the governor-general. "i shall apply to the sultan. he shall make you a most noble prince of the order of bosporus. the decoration is a great star, studded with diamonds." "thanks," replied mr. pike. that night the great palace at morovenia was completely illuminated for the first time in many months. the end the wiles of the wicked by william le queux published by ward lock and co ltd, london, melbourne and toronto. this edition dated . the wiles of the wicked, by william le queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the wiles of the wicked, by william le queux. chapter one. why this is written. wilford heaton is not my real name, for why should i publish it to the world? the reason i do not give it is, first, because i have no desire to be made the object of idle curiosity or speculation, and secondly, although the explanation herein given will clear the honour of one of the most powerful of the imperial houses in europe, i have no wish that my true name should be associated with it. i have, however, a reason for writing this narrative--a very strong reason. the story is an enthralling one; the adventures stranger, perhaps, than ever happened to any other living person. i have resolved to relate the plain unvarnished facts in their sequence, just as they occurred, without seeking to suppress or embellish, but to recount the strange adventures just as they are registered in the small leather portfolio, or secret dossier, which still, at this moment, reposes in the archives of a certain ministry in one of the european capitals. there have recently been stories afloat--strange stories. at first i laughed at all the absurd rumours, but very quickly i saw how seriously distorted the real facts had become, for ingenious paragraphs of certain so-called society papers, grasping the story eagerly, worked it up into a narrative which reflected very seriously upon the honour of one who is dearest in all the world to me. well, my tale--or exposure--is written here. in order that those who read may clearly follow the curious chain of circumstances, it is necessary for me to go back some eight years or so--not a long period as far as time goes, but to me a veritable century. i was young, just turned twenty five. i was decently well-off, having come into an income of nearly a couple of thousand a year left me by my father, a sum which put me beyond the necessity of entering business, pursuing the daily grind, or troubling about the morrow. my career at oxford had, i fear, been marked by a good many shortcomings and many youthful escapades, but i ended it by taking my degree of bachelor of medicine, shortly afterwards pursuing the fashionable habit of "going abroad." within two years, however, i returned to london world-weary--like so many other young men who, being left comfortably off, commence to taste the enjoyment of life too early--and settled down in a suite of smoke-begrimed rooms in essex street, strand. the place was horribly dingy, situated in that _cul-de-sac_ which is quiet and almost deserted, even though only a stone's throw from the busiest, noisiest, and muddiest thoroughfare in the world. the ground and first floors of the house were occupied by several firms of solicitors, whose doors were covered with ragged and sadly faded green baize, while the second floor i rented as my abode. the quaint, shabby, bizarre old place had been built at the end of the last century for family residence, in the days when bloomsbury was an aristocratic quarter and great men lived in leicester square; but now, alas! smoke-stained and time-dimmed, it was given over to the dust which the law accumulates. from its exterior, like those of its neighbours, there protruded those great iron extinguishers used by the linkmen of days bygone, while the broad, thin-worn stairs, easy of ascent, the solid mahogany doors, the great carved handrail, and the fine adams ceilings, like those in the older houses of the adelphi, told mutely of the prosperity of its long-departed owners. i had taken over the furniture, a frowsy lot of faded horsehair, which had perhaps done duty there for half a century, together with the rooms, and even though they were so dismal and out-of-date, i must confess that they had one attraction for me, namely, that above, in the low-pitched rooms on the top floor, there lived and worked my old college chum, dick doyle, who had, after a good deal of wild-oat sowing, developed into a rising journalist and _litterateur_. curious though it may appear, i had returned from the sunny south and taken up my abode in that dingy, dispiriting place with one sole idea, namely, to be near the man who was practically my only friend in the whole world. i was in sore need of him, for i was utterly heedless of everything past, present, or future. with the exception of old mrs parker, who had served my family for twenty years, i was absolutely alone and helpless as a child. at the age of twenty-five i had ceased to interest myself in anything, and plunged in eternal gloom, all desire for life having left me, for knowing that its joys could no longer be mine i was, even though in the full possession of all my youthful vigour, mental faculties, and bodily strength, actually looking forward to the grave. the terrible truth must here be told. the reader will, i feel confident, sympathise. while living abroad, travelling hither and thither through the old italian towns, where i delighted to roam in the big white piazzas and through the crumbling palaces, every stone of which spoke of a brilliant and historic past, i had been suddenly seized by disease, and for three months lay tossing upon my bed in an english pension in florence, tended by two calm, sweet-faced sisters of charity, with their grey-blue habits and great white linen head-dresses, which in my hours of fever and delirium seemed always so clean and cool. the two great italian professors who were called to me shook their heads, believing that, even if they managed to save my life, it would be at a loss of one of my senses. in this, alas! they were not mistaken. my eyes became affected by sclerotitis, a severe inflammation of the sclerotic. gradually my eyes, those most beautiful structures of the human body which manifest in such small compass the great, the unspeakable, the incomprehensible power of our creator, grew dim. my sight was slowly but surely failing me. i was recovering from my bodily ailment to be attacked by the ophthalmic disease which the doctors had all along feared. i implored of them to do something to preserve my sight, but they only dropped into my eye certain liquids from their little brown glass phials, and regarded the effect gravely. a great oculist from rome came to give his opinion. i saw him but mistily, as though i were looking through a dense fog; and he, too, told me that all that could be done had already been done. i arose from my bed a fortnight later stone blind. with this terrible affliction upon me i returned to london with dick doyle, who came out to florence to fetch me home. for me, life had no further charm. the beauties of the world which had given me so much pleasure and happiness were blotted out for me for ever. i lived now only in an eternal darkness which by day, when the sun shone upon my eyes, seemed to assume a dull dark red. at first it struck me that because my sight had been destroyed my personal appearance must have altered, but dick assured me that it had not. no one, he declared, could tell by looking at my eyes that they were actually sightless. and so i, wilford heaton, lived in those dull old chambers in essex street, in rooms that i had never seen. you, who have sight to read these lines, can you imagine what it is to be suddenly struck blind? close your eyes for a brief five minutes and see how utterly helpless you become, how entirely dependent you are upon others, how blank would be your life if you were always thus. dick gave to me all the time he could spare from his work, and would come and sit with me to chat, for conversation with him was all that was now left to me. he described my rooms and my surroundings with the same minuteness with which he wrote, and tried to interest me by relating scraps of the day's news. yet when he was absent, away or at work in his rooms above, i sat alone thinking for hours and hours, counting time by the chiming of the clock of st clement danes. so heavily did time hang upon my hands that at last i engaged a teacher from the blind school over in lambeth, and with his books of raised letters he used to visit me each day and teach me to read. i was an apt pupil, i suppose, yet there was something strangely grotesque about a man who had already graduated recommencing to learn his alphabet like a child. still, it saved me from being driven mad by melancholy, and it was not long before i found that, by the exercise of pains, i could read slowly the various embossed books, standard works manufactured for the recreation of those unfortunates like myself, who would otherwise sit eternally idle with their hands before them. and not only did i learn to read, but also to make small fancy baskets, work very intricate at first, but which, on account of the highly developed sense of touch that i had acquired in reading, soon became quite easy. the long months of winter darkness went by; but to me, who could not see the sun, what mattered whether the days were brilliant august or black december? sometimes i went out, but not often. i had not become proficient in finding my way by aid of a stick. i had practised a good deal in my rooms; but for a blind man to go forth into the busy strand he must have perfect confidence, and be able to guide himself among the bustling throng. therefore, on my airings i usually went forth upon dick's arm, and the extent of our wanderings was the end of the embankment at westminster bridge, or around those small ornamental gardens which extend from the charing cross station of the underground railway up to waterloo bridge. sometimes, on rare occasions, he would take me to dine with him at the savage club, in adelphi terrace; and men, easy-going bohemians, whom i could not see, would warmly shake my hand. i heard their voices--voices of artists and _litterateurs_ whose names were as household words--sat charmed by their merry gossip of artistic "shop," laughed at their droll stories, or listened to one or other of the members who would recite or sing for the benefit of his "brother savages." those evenings, spent amid the tobacco-smoke and glass-jingling of the only bohemia still existing in london, were the happiest in all that dull, colourless, dismal life of sound and touch. they were the only recreations left to me. truly mine was a tristful life. in april, after i had lived in that dingy den six months or more, dick came into my room one morning and made an announcement. it was that he had been commissioned by his paper to go as its correspondent with a british punitive expedition on the north-west frontier of india. "you'll go, of course," i said, reflecting that such an offer meant both advancement and profit. he had long ago told me that a commission as war correspondent was his greatest ambition. "no, my dear old fellow," his deep voice answered in a tone more grave than usual. "i can't leave you alone." "nonsense!" i ejaculated. "i'm not going to allow you to fling away such a good offer to remain with me. no, you must go, dick. you'll be back in three months at most, won't you?" "perhaps before," and his voice sounded low and strange. "but really, old fellow, i can't go and leave you helpless, like this." "you'll go," i said decisively. "mrs parker will look after me, and three months will soon pass." "no," he said. "it's all very well, but you can't sit here month after month, helpless as you are. it's impossible." "i shall amuse myself with my books and my basket-making," i answered. truth to tell, this announcement of his had utterly crushed me. his society was the only bright spot in my life. if he left me i should be entirely alone, cheerless and melancholy. nevertheless, when the sight is destroyed the mind is quickened, and i reflected all that this offer meant to him, and admired his self-denial and readiness to refuse it on my account. therefore i insisted that he should go. in the end he was persuaded, and three days later left charing cross for india. when he had gone i became hopelessly depressed. in vain did i try to interest myself in the embossed books, but they were mostly works which i had read long ago, and in vain i toiled at basket-making until my finger-tips were sore and aching. sometimes at evening mrs parker, herself a sad scholar, would try and read a few of what she considered the choicest morsels of the "extra special." she read very slowly and inaccurately, poor old soul, and many were the words she was compelled to spell and leave me to solve their meaning. indeed, in those long hours i spent by myself i sank lower and lower in dejection. no longer i heard dick's merry voice saying-- "come, cheer up, old chap. let me tell you all i heard to-day over at the club." no longer could i lean upon his arm as we descended that steep flight of steps leading from the end of essex street to the embankment; no longer did i hear those playful words of his on such occasions-- "take care, darling, or you'll fall." dear old dick! now, when i reflected upon it all, i saw how in my great affliction he treated me as tenderly as he could a woman. forlorn, hypped, and heart-sick, i lived on from day to day, taking interest in nothing, moping doleful and unmanned. a single letter came from him, posted at some outlandish place in the north-west. it was read to me by old mrs parker, but as dick was a sad scribbler, its translation was not a very brilliant success. nevertheless, from it i gathered how deep were his thoughts of me, and how eager he was to complete his work and return. truly no man had a more devoted friend, and certainly no man was more in need of one. as the days grew warmer, and i sat ever with the _taedium vitae_ upon me, joyless and dispirited in that narrow world of darkness, i felt stifled, and longed for air. essex street is terribly close in july, therefore, finding the heat intolerable, i went forth at evening upon the embankment with mrs parker, and, with my stick, practised walking alone upon that long, rather unfrequented stretch of pavement between the railings of the temple gardens and the corner of savoy street. try to walk a dozen paces as one blind. close your eyes, and tap lightly with your stick before you as you walk, and see how utterly helpless you feel, and how erratic are your footsteps. then you will know how extremely difficult i found my first essays alone. i walked full of fear, as a child walks, stumbling, colliding, halting, and afterwards waiting for my pitying old woman-servant to take my arm and guide me in safety. yet evening after evening i went forth and steadily persevered. i had, in the days before the world became shut out from my gaze, seen men who were blind guiding themselves fearlessly hither and thither among the london crowds, and i was determined, in dick's absence, to master the means of visionless locomotion, so that i might walk alone for health's sake, if for nothing else. and so i continued, striving and striving. when mrs parker had served my dinner, cutting it up for me just as one places meat before a helpless infant, we went forth together, and for an hour each evening i went out upon that wide expanse of the embankment pavement which formed my practice-ground. gradually, by slow degrees, i became proficient in guiding myself with that constant tapping that marks a blind man's progress through the black void which constitutes his own narrow joyless world. at last, after several weeks of constant practice, i found to my great delight that i could actually walk alone the whole length of the pavement, guiding myself by intuition when encountering passers-by, and continuing straight on without stumbling or colliding with any object, a fact which gave me the utmost satisfaction, for it seemed to place me beyond, the need of a constant guide. with this progress i intended to astound dick upon his return, and so gradually persevered towards proficiency. chapter two. the bracelet and the palm. august was dusty and blazing in london, and i felt it sorely in essex street. the frontier war dragged on its weary length, as frontier wars always drag, and dick was still unable to return. his brilliant descriptions of the fighting had become a feature in the journal he represented. on one of my short walks from end to end of that long even strip of pavement a hand was suddenly placed upon my shoulder, and the voice told me that it was shadrack fennell, a charming old fellow, who had been a popular actor of a day long since past, and was now a prominent "savage," well known in that little circle of london bohemia. he walked with me a little way, and next evening called and spent an hour over cigars and whisky. he was the only visitor i had had in all those months of dick's absence. a blind man has, alas! very few friends. once or twice, when the heat became insufferable in my close stuffy rooms, i contemplated going to the country or to the sea. yet, on reflection, i told myself bitterly that, being unable to see the beauties of god's earth, i was just as well there moping in that gloomy street, and taking my evening airing beside the thames. therefore with all desire for life or enjoyment crushed from my soul, i remained in london, going out each fine evening, sometimes with mrs parker, and at others, with a fearlessness acquired by practice, i carefully guided myself down the steep granite steps leading from essex street to the embankment, and then paced my strip of pavement alone. but how tristful, dispiriting, and soul-sickening was that monotonous world of darkness in which i eternally existed, none can know, only those unfortunate ones who are blind themselves. about half-past eight o'clock one breathless evening in mid-august, mrs parker being unwell, i went forth alone for my usual stroll. the atmosphere was close and oppressive, the pavement seemed to reflect the heat, and even along the embankment there was not a breath of air. alone, plunged in my own thoughts--for the blind think far more deeply than those whose minds are distracted by the sights around them--i went on with those short steps that i had acquired, ever tapping with my stick to discover the crossings. i was afraid of no street traffic; only of cycles, which, by reason of their silence, are veritable ogres to the blind. almost unconsciously i passed beyond the limit of my regular track, beneath a railway-bridge which i knew led from charing cross station, and then straight on, with only a single crossing, until i came to what seemed the junction of several roads, where i hesitated. it was an adventure to go so far, and i wondered where i was. the chiming of big ben, however, gave me a clue. i was at the corner of bridge street, for i felt the wall of the st stephen's club. the turning to the left would, i knew, take me over westminster bridge; to the right i could cross palace yard and broad sanctuary, and so gain victoria street. before my affliction i knew well that portion of london around the houses of parliament. i decided, therefore, on keeping to the right, and some one whom i know not kindly piloted me over the dangerous crossing from the corner of parliament street, for such i judged it to be from the cries of men selling the evening papers. again, three times in succession, did sympathetic persons, noticing my helplessness as i stood upon the kerb, take my arm and lead me across, but in these constant crossings i somehow entirely lost my bearings. i was, i knew, in a long straight thoroughfare and by the iron railings before the houses guessed it to be that road of flat-dom, victoria street. amused at my intrepidity, and congratulating myself upon having gone so far alone, i kept on, knowing that even if i lost myself i had only to call a passing hansom and be driven back to essex street. thus for perhaps three-quarters of an hour i wandered on. from a lad who helped me over one of the crossings i learnt that i had passed victoria station, and now appeared to be traversing several large squares--at least, such was the impression conveyed upon my mind. it was useless to stop passers-by every moment to inquire where i was, therefore, laughing inwardly at my situation, lost in london, the great city i had known so well, i went on and on, down long straight thoroughfares that seemed endless, in enjoyment of the first real walk i had taken since my crushing affliction had fallen upon me. suddenly, in what seemed to be a quiet deserted street, i left the kerb to cross the road alone, but ere i became aware of impending danger a man's voice shouted roughly, and i found myself thrown by violent concussion upon the roadway, struggling frantically beneath a horse's hoofs. i clutched wildly at air to save myself, but next second received a violent kick on the left side of the head, which caused sparks to appear before my sightless eyes, stunned me, and rendered me almost instantly insensible. how long i remained ignorant of things about me it is impossible to tell. i fancy it must have been a good many hours. on my first return to consciousness i heard strange confused sounds about me, low whispering, the words of which were utterly unintelligible to my unbalanced brain, and the quick rustling of silk. i remember wondering vaguely where i was. the blind quickly develop a habit of extreme caution, and with my senses dulled by the excruciating pain in my skull i lay reflecting without speaking. the throbbing in my head was frightful. when the recollections of my long walk which had ended so disastrously surged through my brain, it struck me that i must have been taken to a hospital after the accident, and that i had most probably remained there some days. yet in hospitals there is no perfume of _peau d'espagne_, nor do the nurses wear silken flounces. i tried to catch the words uttered by those about me, but in vain. it may have been that they were spoken in some foreign tongue, or, what is much more likely, the terrible blow i had received from the horse's hoof had utterly disarranged my sense of hearing. this single thought appalled me. if my hearing had really been injured, then i was rendered absolutely helpless. to the blind the acoustic organs become so sharpened that they can detect sounds where those in full possession of sight and hearing can distinguish nothing. it is the ear that acts for the sightless eye. therefore the fear that even this had failed me held me appalled. i stretched forth my hand, and to my surprise felt that i was not in a hospital bed, as i had at first believed, but upon a silken couch, with my head resting upon a soft satin pillow. the covering of the couch was of rich brocade in wide stripes, while the woodwork had a smoothness which caused me to believe that it was gilt. i raised my hand to my head, and found it bandaged with a handkerchief and some apparently improvised compresses. although i opened my eyes, all was, of course, an utter blank before me. yet i felt instinctively, as every blind person does, the presence of some one in my immediate vicinity, and presently, after long reflection, i suddenly asked-- "where am i? what has happened?" "you have been run over, and your head is injured," answered a strange harsh voice, hoarse and altogether curious. "but tell me. your eyes have a curious look in them. can't you see?" "no," i responded. "unfortunately i am totally blind." "blind!" gasped the voice, in apparent amazement. "then that accounts for your accident!" "but where am i?" i inquired eagerly. "you need not trouble, i assure you," answered the voice, pleasantly. "you are with friends." "then i am not in a hospital?" "certainly not. having witnessed your accident, i am trying to do what little i can for you." the voice was low-pitched; and, further, it struck me as being disguised. "may i not know the name of my good samaritan?" i inquired. "the name is entirely unnecessary," the voice responded. "from your card-case i see that your name is heaton, and that you live in essex street, strand." "yes," i answered. "how long have you been blind?" the voice inquired, hoarse and deep. i knew that it was disguised by certain of the syllables being pronounced differently in various words. "for a year or more," i answered. "and does your head still pain you very much?" inquired the voice, while at the same moment i felt a cool hand placed upon my throbbing brow. in an instant i seized it by the wrist. the hand tried to wrench itself free, but not before i had felt the slimness of the fingers, the rings upon them, and the softness of the palm. it was a woman's. she had cleverly disguised her voice to cause me to believe that it was a man's. i placed my right hand upon her arm and felt it bare. upon her wrist was a curious bracelet, thin but strangely pliable, evidently made of some ingeniously worked and twisted wire. the arm was bare; her skirts were of silk. my nurse was evidently in an evening toilette. "although i cannot see you, madam, i thank you for your kind attention," i said, a trifle piqued that she should have endeavoured to mislead me by her voice. she drew her hand away quickly, with a slight cry, as though annoyed at my discovery. "i witnessed your accident," she explained simply, in a sweet, well-modulated voice, evidently her own. by her tone, she was no doubt young, and i wondered whether she were pretty. "how did it happen? tell me," i urged. "you were crossing the road, and were knocked down by a cab. my doctor has already examined you, and says that you are not seriously hurt. it is a mere scalp-wound, therefore you may rest content, and congratulate yourself upon a very narrow escape." "i congratulate myself upon failing into the hands of a friend," i said. "oh, it is really nothing!" exclaimed my unknown hostess. "in a few hours you will, no doubt, be all right. rest, and in the morning the carriage shall take you home." "then it is not yet morning?" i inquired, vaguely wondering what hour it might be. "no, not yet." the response sounded afar off, and i felt somehow that my strength was suddenly failing me. a heavy, drowsy feeling crept over me, and my mind seemed filled with conflicting thoughts, until i fell asleep, the cool, soft, sympathetic hand still upon my brow. when i awoke it was with a refreshed feeling. no one was, however, in my immediate vicinity. my kind protectress had left me, yet i heard voices in conversation in the adjoining room. the door communicating was closed, but there was the unmistakable pop of a champagne-cork and a jingling of thin glasses that told of festivity. in whose house, i wondered, was i a guest? already i had inquired, but had been refused information. suddenly the voices were hushed, and i could distinguish a woman saying-- "i tell, you he's blind--stone blind. if you doubt me, hold that before his face and see if he flinches." a man's voice sounded in a low growl in response, then all was silent again. only the ticking of a clock somewhere near me broke the stillness. whispers, like low, suspicious exchanges of confidence, soon afterwards reached my ears. the door had opened silently, and a few seconds later i felt the soft hand of my protectress again upon my forehead. my sightless eyes were wide open, and by that she, of course, knew that i was awake. "are you better after your sleep?" the well-cultivated voice inquired concernedly. "very much," i answered, raising myself upon my elbows. "but i have troubled you far too long, and will go, if you will kindly instruct your servant to call me a cab." "oh dear no," the voice answered pleasantly. "i couldn't think of allowing you to go home at this hour, and in your weak state, too. it would be madness. continue your rest, and you will be quite right again in the morning." "you are extremely kind," i protested, "but i really couldn't think of remaining longer." "would you like to repay me for what you so very generously term my kindness?" she asked. "if so, i would only ask one little favour." "certainly. i will grant it if it lies within my power," i responded. "well, it is that you would scribble your name here, in this birthday book of mine. it will be a little souvenir of this evening." "but i cannot write well nowadays. i can't see, you know," i protested. "but you can write your signature. if the handwriting is uneven i will forgive you, in the circumstances," the voice said merrily; and a moment later she placed a pen with a handle of ivory or pearl within my hand. "what day of the month?" inquired the sweet voice. "the second of july," i answered, laughing; and my unknown friend, having opened the book at that page, guided my hand to the paper, whereon i scrawled my name. she took both pen and book, and by the departing swish of her skirts i knew that she had left me and had passed into the adjoining room. a strange picture arose in my mind. was she beautiful? at any rate her surroundings were elegant, and her low musical voice was that of a young and refined girl of twenty or so. i listened, lying there helpless and sorely puzzled. again curious whisperings in subdued tones sounded from beyond, but almost at that same moment some one commenced to play upon the piano chopin's "andante-spinato," which prevented me from distinguishing either the words uttered or the trend of the discussion. for several minutes the sound of the piano filled the room, the touch, light and delicate, seeming to be that of a woman, when, of a sudden, there was a loud smashing of glass, and a woman's shrill, piercing scream rang out, accompanied by the sound of some heavy object falling to the floor. in an instant the music ceased, and at the same moment i heard a man's voice cry wildly-- "good god! you've--why, you've killed her!" next second there sounded a rapid scuffling of feet, a chair was overturned and broken, and from the quick panting and muttered ejaculations it seemed as though two persons had closed in deadly embrace. in their frantic, desperate struggle they advanced into the room where i was, and i, still utterly helpless, with only a dark void about me, raised myself in horror and alarm. the man's words held me appalled. some terrible tragedy had occurred. my kind protectress had been murdered. the other two persons, whoever they were, fought fiercely quite close to me, and i could distinctly detect from the vain efforts to shout made by the weaker, that the stronger held him by the throat, and was endeavouring to strangle him. of a sudden there was a quick, dull thud, the unmistakable sound of a heavy blow, followed by a short agonised cry. "ah-h!" shrieked the voice of the person struck; and at the same instant a great weight fell back inertly upon me as i was lying, nearly crushing the breath from me. i passed my sensitive hands over it quickly. it was the body of a man. blood ran warm over my fingers. he had been stabbed to the heart. chapter three. the house with the portico. the weight of the inert body oppressed me, and in striving to extricate myself it slipped from the couch and slid to the ground; but such a feeling of dread overcame me that i reached down and pushed the warm body under the couch. the faint sound of some one moving stealthily across the thick pile carpet caused me to lie rigid, holding my breath. i heard the movement distinctly, and curiously enough it sounded as though it were a woman, for there was just a faint rustling as though her skirts trailed upon the ground. my quick ear told me that the person was approaching. by the panting breath i knew that it was the assassin. was i, too, to fall a victim? i tried to call out, but in that moment of agony and horror my tongue refused to articulate. it seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth. the sound of movement ceased, and i knew that the person was quite close to me. my eyes were wide open, held fixed in expectant horror. i felt a warm breath upon my cheeks, and knew that the unknown assassin was peering into my eyes. in a few moments i had an instinctive feeling of something being held a few inches from my face. then the words that had been spoken by my protectress recurred to me. she had declared to her companions that i was blind, and urged them to test me by holding something to my head. this was now being done. the truth of my statement was being proved, possibly by a revolver being held to my brow. if so, my only chance of safety rested in unflinching coolness. my position was certainly a most unenviable one. for a few moments the panting heart of the assassin thumped close to me; then, apparently satisfied, the unknown person moved off in silence without uttering a single word. my first impulse was to jump up and arrest the progress of the assassin, but on reflection i saw that to do so would only be to invite death. what could i do, blind as i was? only could i sit and listen, trying to distinguish every detail of the mystery. yes, i became convinced more than ever that the person leaving the room was not a man--but a woman. could it be the same individual whose cool, sympathetic hand had only a quarter of an hour before soothed my brow? the thought held me dumbfounded. i had all along believed that the assassin had been a man, but it was certain by that swish of silken flounces that it was a woman. as i listened i heard the click of an electric-light switch at the door of the room, and a couple of minutes later a heavy door closed. from the bang of the knocker i knew that the street door had been shut by some person who had left the house. i still sat listening. all was silent. only the low ticking of the clock broke the dead stillness of the night. the mysterious woman who had thus made her exit had evidently switched off the light, leaving me in total darkness with the hideous evidences of her crime. for some short time longer i listened, my ears open to catch every sound, but, hearing nothing, i now knew that i was alone. therefore, rising to my feet, i groped about until my hands touched the prostrate body of the man, and as i did so he heaved a long sigh, and a quick shudder ran through his frame. the wound had evidently not caused instant death, but, placing my hand quickly over the heart, i found that it had now ceased its beating with the final spasm. slowly, and with utmost care, i passed both my hands over the dead man's face, in order to obtain some mental picture of his appearance. his hair seemed thick and well parted at the side, his features those of a young man shaven save for the moustache, which was long and well trained. he was in evening clothes, and wore in his shirt a single stud, which, to my touch, seemed of very peculiar shape. i tried to make out its design, but in vain, when suddenly i remembered that if i took it, it might afterwards give me some clue to its dead owner's identity. so i took it from the stiff shirt-front and placed it in the pocket of my vest. his watch-chain was an ordinary curb, i found, with a watch which had the greasy feel of silver. in his pockets were a couple of sovereigns and some loose silver, but no letters nor card-case, nothing indeed to lead me to a knowledge of who he really was. in one pocket i found a small pencil-case, and this i also took for my own purposes. half a dozen times i placed my hand upon his heart, whence the blood was slowly oozing, but there was no movement. my investigations showed that he was about twenty-eight years of age; probably fair, by the softness of the hair and moustache, with even teeth, rather sharp jawbones and cheeks a trifle thin. having ascertained this much, i groped forward with both hands in the direction of the room wherein the woman had been so swiftly done to death. it was in darkness, i have no doubt, but to me darkness was of no account, for i was ever in eternal gloom. the furniture over which i stumbled here and there was covered with silk brocade, the woodwork being of that smoothness which had led me to believe that it must be gilded. it was without doubt a fine spacious drawing-room where i had been lying, for the dimensions of the place were quite unusual, and the objects with which my hands came into contact were always of a character magnificent, and in keeping with the grandeur of the place. the house was evidently one of those fine mansions with which the west end of london abounds, and certainly this apartment, even though i could not see it, was the acme of comfort and luxury. i at last found the entrance to the adjoining room, but the door was locked. this sudden check to my investigations caused me to pause. that a woman had been first struck down by a cowardly blow appeared evident. the loud agonised shriek which had emanated from that inner room was, i felt convinced, that of the tender, sweet-voiced woman who had administered to my wants. it seemed, now that i recollected, as though she had been seated at the piano when the fatal blow was dealt. the scream and the cessation of the music had occurred simultaneously. the theory impressed itself upon me that a woman was responsible for both crimes. it was a woman who had stood panting near me, who had noiselessly tested me to ascertain whether i could distinguish objects about me, and who had afterwards left the house. my blindness had, no doubt, saved my life. before leaving she had, for some unknown reason, locked the communicating door and taken the key. but upon the air, after she had gone, there lingered the subtle fragrance of _peau d'espagne_, the same perfume used by the woman whose cool palm had soothed my brow. nevertheless, it seemed impossible that a woman could thus commit a double crime so swiftly and with such force as to drive a knife to the heart of a man and fling him back upon me--all in silence, without the utterance of one single word. with my eyes only a void of blackness, this mystery was bewildering, and rendered the more tantalising by my inability to gaze about me. i had been present at the enactment of a terrible drama, but had not witnessed it, and could not, therefore, recognise either culprit or victims. again i searched the great handsome room, in order to rivet all its details upon my memory. it had three long windows opening down to the floor, which showed that it was situated in the back of the house, otherwise they must have opened upon the street. in one corner was a pedestal, whereon stood a marble bust of a dancing-woman, like those i had seen in the sculptor's at pisa before the days of my darkness. there were tables, too, with glass tops wherein, i supposed, were curios and bric-a-brac, and before the great fireplace was stretched a tiger-skin, with the paws preserved. while groping there, however, my hand came into contact with something which i found was a narrow, three-edged knife, so sharp that i cut my finger while feeling it. it had a cross-hilt, and the blade was thin and triangular, tapering to a point. the shape i knew to be italian, one of those florentine stilettos used long ago in the middle ages, a wound from which was almost certain to be fatal. the italians have long ago brought the use of the knife to a fine art, and even to-day, murders by stabbing are the most usual occurrences reported in their newspapers. the blade of this antique weapon was about nine inches long, and the handle velvet-covered and bound with wire, probably either gold or silver. the point was sharp as a needle. my first impulse was to take possession of it; but, on reflection, i saw that if i did so grave suspicion might possibly fall upon me. i might even be charged with the murder, especially as i had already in my pocket the dead's man stud and pencil-case. this thought caused me to throw down the stiletto, and, continuing my search, i at length found the door which gave egress to the place. i opened it and stood in the hall to listen. there was no sound. the stillness of the night remained quite unbroken, and i believed myself alone with the dead. by coughing, the echo of my voice showed that the hall and staircase were wide and spacious. then it struck me that i had no stick, without which i feared to walk; but, groping about, i found an umbrella stand, and took therefrom a stout thorn, the handle of which seemed smooth-worn by long usage. what was my best course? should i go forth secretly, return home and await the discovery of the terrible affair, which would no doubt be fully reported in those evening newspapers which revel in crime? or should i go out and inform the first constable i met? the latter, i saw, was my duty, and even though i had no desire to mix myself up in such a mysterious and sensational affair, i resolved to go at once and state all that i heard. whether the street door was situated to right or left i knew not, but trying the right first, i found that the door was at the end of the hall. opening it, i passed out, and having closed it again noiselessly went down the five wide steps into the deserted street. there were iron railings in front of the house, and before the door was a big stone portico. my hands told me both these details. i turned to the left, and after walking some little distance crossed a road and kept on down a long road which, although it did not appear to be a main thoroughfare, seemed to run straight as an arrow. for fully a quarter of an hour i walked on without meeting a soul. the only noise that broke the quiet was the dismal howl of a dog, and now and then the distant shriek and low roar of trains. suddenly i found myself in quite a labyrinth of crooked streets, and after several turns emerged into what i presumed to be one of the great arteries of london. i stood listening. the air was fresh, and it seemed to me that dawn was spreading. afar i could hear the measured, heavy tread of a police-constable, and hurried in his direction. as i did so i put out my stick and it struck some iron railings. a few minutes later, in hot haste, i overtook the man of heavy tread, and addressing him, said-- "tell me, please, are you a constable?" "well, i believe i am," answered a rough voice, pleasantly withal. "but can't you see?" "no, unfortunately i can't," i replied. "where am i?" "outside the south kensington museum. where do you want to go?" "i want you to come with me," i said. "with you. what's up?" "i've been present at a terrible tragedy," i blurted forth. "two people have been murdered." "two people?" exclaimed the voice, quickly interested. "where?" "in--in a house," i faltered, for not until that instant did the appalling truth occur to me. i had wandered away from the place, and had no idea of its outward appearance, or in what road it was situated! "well, double murders don't often take place in the street, sonny. but--" and the voice hesitated. "why, there's blood on your clothes, i see! tell me all about it. where's the house?" "i confess that i've been foolishly stupid, for i've left it, and i could never find my way back again. i'm blind, you see, and i've no idea of its exterior appearance." "at any rate you've been near enough to the affair to get yourself in a pretty mess," the rough voice said, somewhat suspiciously. "surely you have some idea of where the affair took place?" the situation was certainly the most curious in which any man could be placed, for with only one thought in my mind, namely, to raise the alarm, i had gone forth from the house of mystery and failed to mark it. this negligence of mine might, i reflected, result in the affair being hushed up for ever. london is a big place in which to search for the scene of a murder upon which my eyes had never gazed, and the details of which i only knew by my sense of touch. how many thousands of houses there were in the west end each with its smoke-blackened portico and little piece of area railing. "no," i responded to the officer's inquiry. "i was so bent upon giving information that i forgot to place any mark upon the house by which to know it again." "well, i've 'eard a good many funny stories while i've been on night-duty in these eighteen years, but your yarn is about the rummest of the lot," he said bluntly. "i only know that the house is a large one, very well furnished, and has a portico and railings in front--a double house, with hall in the centre, and rooms on either side." "that don't 'elp us very much, sonny," the voice observed. "what's the good o' running after me with a yarn like this if you can't take me to the spot? to judge from the state of your clothes, though, you've been in some scrap or another. if your coat was not covered with blood as it is, i'd be inclined to put you down as a chap with a screw loose." "i'm not demented, i tell you," i cried warmly. "there's a terrible crime been committed, and i have sought your assistance." "and i'd go and have a look at the premises with you, if you could only tell me where they are. but as you can't--well, what are we to do, sonny?" chapter four. the woman. "take me at once to the police-station," i said firmly. "i must make a statement to your inspector on duty." "not much good, is it, if you can't tell us where the affair took place?" queried the man, impertinently. "it is my duty to make the report, and the duty of the police to investigate it," i answered, annoyed, for it seemed as though he doubted me. "that's a nasty cut on your hand," he remarked. "how did you get it?" "i cut it myself by accident with the knife." "what knife?" "the knife with which the murders were committed." "and what were you doing with it?" inquired the constable, utterly regardless of the strict police regulation which forbids an officer to put any such questions. "i found it," i replied. "where?" "on the floor of the room, while i was searching about." the man grunted dubiously. i was well aware of the suspicion which must fall upon me, for i knew there was blood upon my clothes, and that my story possessed a distinct air of improbability. "who injured your head like that?" he asked. in response, i told him how, in crossing a road, i had been knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab, and how, on regaining consciousness, i had found myself under the care of some woman unknown. he gave vent to a short harsh laugh, as though discrediting my statements. "you don't believe me," i blurted forth hastily. "take me to your inspector. we must lose no time." "well, you know," observed the man, "your story, you'll admit, is a very extraordinary one. you say that a terrible affair has happened in a house somewhere about here, yet you can't direct us to it. the whole story is so curious that i'm afraid you'll have a difficulty in persuading anybody to believe you." "if you don't, somebody else will," i snapped. "come, take me to the police-station." thus ordered, the man rather reluctantly took my arm, and crossing the wide main road, we traversed a number of short crooked thoroughfares. "you don't seem a very good walker, mister," the constable observed presently. "i see a cab in the distance. would you like to take it?" "yes. call it," i said, for i felt very weak and ill after my terrible night's adventure. a few minutes later we were sitting together in the hansom, driving towards the address he had given, namely, college place police-station. on the way i explained to him the whole of the facts as far as i could recollect them. he listened attentively to my curious narrative until i had concluded, then said-- "well, sir, it's certainly a most mysterious affair, and the only fear i have is that everybody will look upon it with disbelief. i know what i should do if i were a gentleman in your place." "what would you do?" "well, i should keep my knowledge to myself, say nothing about it, and leave the revelation of the crime to chance." "i am compelled to make a report of it, because i was present at the tragedy," i said. "it is my duty, in the interests of justice." "of course, that's all very well, i quite agree that your duty as a citizen is to make a statement to my inspector, but if i may be permitted to say so, my private opinion is, that to preserve a discreet silence is better than making a fool of one's self." "you're certainly plain-spoken," i said smiling. "oh, well, you'll excuse me, sir," the man said, half-apologetically. "i mean no offence, you know. i only tell you how i myself would act. now, if you could give any real information of value to the detectives, there would be some reason for making the statement, but as you can't, well you'll only give yourself no end of bother for nothing." "but surely, man, you don't think that with the knowledge of this terrible affair in my mind i'm going to preserve silence and allow the assassin to escape, do you?" "well, it seems that the assassin has escaped already, in any case," the man laughed. "you take it from me that they were a cute lot in that house, whoever they were. the wonder is that they didn't kill you." an exactly similar thought had crossed my mind. the drive seemed a long one, but at length the cab stopped, and we alighted. i heard the conveyance turn and go off, as together we ascended the steps of the station. one thing struck me as curious, namely, that the air was filled with a strong odour like turpentine. "the station is a long way from your beat," i remarked. "yes. a fairish way, but we're used to it, and don't notice the distance." "and this is college place--is it?" "yes," he responded, conducting me down a long passage. the length of the corridor surprised me, and i humorously remarked-- "you're not going to put me in the cells, i hope?" "scarcely," he laughed. "but if we did the darkness wouldn't trouble you very much, i fear. blindness must be an awful affliction." he had scarcely uttered these words ere we ascended a couple of steps and entered what seemed to be a spacious place, the charge-room of the police-station. there was the sound of heavy tramping over bare boards, and suddenly a rather gruff voice inquired-- "well, four-six-eight? what is it?" "gentleman, sir--wants to report a tragedy. he's blind, sir." "bring him a chair," said the inspector's voice authoritatively. my guide drew forward a chair, and i seated myself, saying-- "i believe you are the inspector on duty here?" "yes, i am. will you kindly tell me your name and address?" i did so, and the scratching of a quill told me that he was about to take down my statement. "well?" he inquired at length. "please go on, for my time is limited. what's the nature of the affair?" "i've been present to-night in a house where a double murder has been committed," i said. "where?" "ah! that's unfortunately just the mystery which i cannot solve. being blind, i could obtain no idea of the exterior of the place, and in my excitement i left it without properly marking the house." "tell me the whole of the facts," observed the officer. "who are the victims?" "a woman and a man." "young or old?" "both young, as far as i can judge. at any rate, i examined the body of the man and found him to be about twenty-eight." "the gentleman has no idea of the street where the tragedy has occurred," chimed in the constable. "he met me outside the museum, and the blood on his clothes was still wet." "he's got an injury to the head," remarked the inspector. "i was knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab," i explained. "when i again became conscious i found myself in a strange house." "they didn't rob you?" i felt in my pockets, but i could not discover that i had lost anything. i remembered that i had only a couple of half-sovereigns and some loose silver upon me, and this remained still in my pocket. my fingers touched the stud and pencil-case, and i hesitated whether to give these up to the police. but next second the thought flashed through my mind that if i did, suspicion might be aroused against me, and further that while i kept them in my possession i should possess a secret clue to the victims of the terrible tragedy. after i had fully explained the whole circumstances, and the inspector had written down with infinite care each word of my remarkable statement, he said-- "it seems as though both the man and woman fell victims to some plot or other. you say that there were no high words, and that all you heard was a woman's shriek, and a man's voice say, `why, you've killed her!' now, have you any idea of the identity of that man?" "none whatsoever," i answered. "my mind is a perfect blank on everything, save the personal appearance of the man who was afterwards struck to the heart." "exactly. but don't you think that the man who expressed horror at the first crime fell the victim of the second?" "ah! i never thought of that!" i said. "of course, it seems most likely." "certainly. the second crime was committed undoubtedly in order to conceal the first." "then how extraordinary it is that i was spared." "there was a motive, i believe, for that. we shall no doubt find that later." "you will communicate with scotland yard, i suppose," i remarked. "perhaps we shall; perhaps not," answered the inspector, vaguely. "the affair must, of course, be fully investigated. have you anything to add? you say that some woman treated you kindly. have you any idea of her personal appearance?" "none," i answered. "the only fact i know was that she was in evening dress, and that upon her wrist was a curious smooth-worn bangle of a kind of fine plaited wire, very pliable, like those worn by african native women." "eh! what--impossible!" gasped the inspector, in a voice which surprised me. but next moment he recovered his self-possession and made a calm remark that this fact did not lead to anything definite. yet the sudden exclamation of startled surprise which escaped him aroused within me a belief that my words had given him some mysterious clue. "you have no further statement to make?" "none," i responded. there was a few moments' silence during which time the quill continued its rapid scratching. "you will kindly sign your information," the officer said, whereupon the constable brought me the sheet of foolscap and a pen wherewith i scrawled my name. "good," observed the inspector, with a grunt of satisfaction. "and now i must ask you to excuse me further, mr--mr heaton, and wish you good morning." i made my adieu, after obtaining from him a promise to communicate with me if anything transpired, and, accompanied by the constable, made my way out into the long passage again. i had not walked a dozen paces ere i knew instinctively that some persons were near me, and next instant felt myself seized roughly by both arms and legs. "what are you doing?" i shouted in alarm; "let me go!" but only for an instant i struggled. the force used was utterly irresistible, and not a single word was uttered. my arms were in a moment pinioned, rendering me helpless as a child. with my terrible affliction upon me, i could neither defend myself nor could i see my assailants. whoever the latter were, it was evident that they were determined, and, further, that i had been cleverly entrapped. my first thought was that i had been arrested, but ere the lapse of a few moments the hideous truth became impressed forcibly upon me. i tried to fight for life, but my wrists had been seized in grips of steel, and after a few desperate wrenches i stood, bound, and utterly unconscious of where i was. my real position was, to a certain degree, plain. the man whom i had believed to be a constable was no police-officer at all, but some thief or london ruffian; i, far too confiding, had neglected to take the precaution of feeling his uniform. a shrewd suspicion overcame me that this trap had been purposely laid for me. the man who had posed as a police inspector had obtained from me a signed declaration of the remarkable occurrence, for what reason i knew not. did they now intend to silence me for ever? the thought struck a deep and terrible dread within my heart. to my demands to know where i was, no response was given. indistinct whisperings sounded about me, and by the liquid "s's" of one person i felt convinced that a woman was present. little time, however, was i given in which to distinguish my surroundings, for two persons gripped my bound arms and drew me roughly through a narrow door, across an uneven floor, and thence down a long, crooked flight of stone steps. from below came up a dank, mouldy smell, as of some chamber long unopened, and suddenly there broke upon my quick ears the wash of water. in that moment of mental agony the truth was rendered plain. i was not in a police-station, as i believed, but in some house beside the thames, and, moreover, i was descending to the water--going to my death. once again, as a last effort, i struggled and fought with the fierce desperation begotten of terror, but in a moment the strong hands that held me pushed me violently forward, and i then felt myself falling helplessly from some dizzy height. my head reeled, and weakened as i already was, all knowledge of things became blotted out. the touch of a cool, sympathetic hand upon my brow was the first thing i subsequently remembered. my arms had apparently been freed, and with a quick movement i grasped the hand. it was a woman's. was i dreaming? i stretched forth my left hand to obtain some idea of my surroundings, and found myself lying upon an uneven stone flooring that seemed covered with the evil-smelling slime of the river. with my right hand i touched a woman's firm, well-moulded arm, and to my amazement my eager fingers came into contact with a bangle. i felt it. the hand, the arm, the bangle, the perfume of _peau d'espagne_, all were the same as those of the woman who had pitied me in my helplessness, and had so tenderly cared for me in that mysterious, unknown house, wherein the tragedy had afterwards occurred. at first i lay speechless in wonderment, but when i found tongue i spoke, imploring her to make explanation. i heard her sigh deeply, but to all my inquiries she remained dumb. chapter five. the unseen. "tell me," i demanded in my helplessness, of the mysterious woman at my side, "what has happened?" "rise, and try whether you can walk," said the voice at last, sweet and low-pitched, the same well-remembered voice that had spoken to me in that unknown house of shadows. i struggled and rose stiffly, assisted tenderly by her. to my joy i found that i could walk quite well. "thank god!" she gasped, as though a great weight had been lifted from her mind. "thank god that i have found you. the tide is rising, and in half an hour you would have been beyond human aid." "the tide!" i repeated. "what do you mean?" "at high tide the river floods this place to the roof, therefore nothing could have saved you." "what place is this?" the voice was silent, as though hesitating to reveal to me the truth. "a place wherein, alas! more than one person has found his grave," she explained at last. "but i don't understand," i said eagerly. "all is so puzzling. i believed that i was inside a police-station, whereas i had actually walked into this mysterious and cleverly-prepared trap. who are these people who are my enemies?--tell me." "unfortunately, i cannot." "but you, yourself, are not one of them," i declared. "i may be," answered the voice in a strange, vague tone. "why?" "ah! no, that is not a fair question to ask." "but surely, you, who were so kind to me after my accident in the street, will you desert me now?" i argued. her failure to give me any assurance that she was my friend struck me as peculiar. there was something extremely uncanny about the whole affair. i did not like it. "i have not said that i intend to leave you. indeed, from motives of my own i have sought and found you; but before we go further i must obtain from you a distinct and faithful promise." "a promise--of what?" there was a brief silence, and i heard that she drew a deep breath as those do who are driven to desperation. "the situation is briefly this," the voice said, in a tone a trifle harsher than before. "i searched for you, and by a stroke of good fortune discovered where your unknown enemies had placed you, intending that at high tide you should be drowned, and your body carried out to sea, as others have been. from this place there is only one means of egress, and that being concealed, only death can come to you unless i assist you. you understand?" "perfectly. this is a trap where a man may be drowned like a rat in a hole. the place is foetid with the black mud of the thames." "exactly," she answered. then she added, "now tell me, are you prepared to make a compact with me?" "a compact? of what nature?" i inquired, much surprised. "it will, i fear, strike you as rather strange, nevertheless it is, i assure you, imperative. if i rescue you and give you back your life, it must be conditional that you accept my terms absolutely." "and what are those terms?" i inquired, amazed at this extraordinary speech of hers. "there are two conditions," she answered, after a slight pause. "the first is that you must undertake to make no statement whatever to the police regarding the events of last night." she intended to secure my silence regarding the tragedy. was it because that she herself was the actual assassin? i remembered that while i had reclined upon the silken couch in that house of mystery this startling suspicion had crossed my mind. was that same cool, sympathetic palm that had twice soothed my brow the hand of a murderess? "but there has been a terrible crime--a double crime committed," i protested. "surely, the police should know!" "no; all knowledge must be kept from them," she answered decisively. "i wish you to understand me perfectly from the outset. i have sought you here in order to rescue you from this place, because you have unwittingly fallen the victim of a most dastardly plot. you are blind, defenceless, helpless, therefore all who have not hearts of stone must have compassion upon you. yet if i rescue you, and allow you to go forth again into the world, you may, if you make a statement to the police, be the means of bringing upon me a catastrophe, dire and complete." every word of hers showed that guilt was upon her. had i not heard the swish of her skirts as she crept from the room after striking down that unknown man so swiftly and silently that he died without a word? "and if i promise to remain mute?" "if you promise," she said, "i will accept it only on one further condition." "and what's that?" "one which i know you will have some hesitation in accepting; yet, like the first, it is absolutely imperative." her voice showed traces of extreme anxiety, and the slim hand upon my arm trembled. she was young, i knew, but was she beautiful? i felt instinctively that she was, and conjured up within myself a vision of a refined face, perfect in its tragic beauty, like that of van dyck's madonna that i had seen in the pitti palace at florence in those well-remembered days when i looked upon the world, and it had given me such pleasure. "your words are very puzzling," i said gravely. "tell me what it is that you would have me do." "it is not difficult," she answered, "yet the curious character of my request will, i feel, cause you to hold back with a natural caution. it will sound strange; nevertheless, here, before i put the suggestion before you, i give you my word of honour, as a woman who fears her god, that no undue advantage shall be taken of your promise." "well, explain what you mean." "the condition i impose upon you in return for my assistance," she said, in deepest earnestness, "is that you shall promise to render assistance to a person who will ever remain unknown to you. any requests made to you will be by letter bearing the signature a-v-e-l, and these instructions you must promise to obey without seeking to discover either motive or reason. the latter can never be made plain to you, therefore do not puzzle yourself unnecessarily over them, for it will be all to no purpose. the secret--for secret there is, of course--will be so well guarded that it can never be exposed, therefore if you consent to thus rendering me a personal assistance in return for your life, it will be necessary to act blindly and carry out to the letter whatever instructions you receive, no matter how remarkable or how illogical they may seem. do you agree?" "well," i said hesitatingly, "your request is indeed a most extraordinary one. if i promise, what safeguard have i for my own interests?" "sometimes you may, of course, be compelled to act against your own inclinations," she admitted. "i, however, can only assure you that if you make this promise i will constitute myself your protectress, and at the same time give you solemn assurance that no request contained in the letters of which i have spoken will be of such a character as to cause you to commit any offence against the law." "then it is you yourself who will be my anonymous correspondent?" i observed quickly. "ah, no!" she answered. "that is, of course, the natural conclusion; but i may as well at once assure you that such will not be the case." then she added, "i merely ask you to accept or decline. if the former, i will ever be at your service, although we must never meet again after to-day; if the latter, then i will wish you adieu, and the terrible fate your unknown enemies have prepared for you must be allowed to take effect." "but i should be drowned!" i exclaimed in alarm. "surely you will not abandon me!" "not if you will consent to ally yourself with me." "for evil?" i suggested very dubiously. "no, for good," she answered. "i require your silence, and i desire that you should render assistance to one who is sorely in need of a friend." "financial aid?" "no, finance has nothing to do with it. the unknown person has money and to spare. it is a devoted personal assistance and obedience that is required." "but how can one be devoted to a person one has neither seen nor known?" i queried, for her words had increased the mystery. the shrewd suspicion grew upon me that this curious effort to secure my silence was because of her own guilt; that she intended to bind me to a compact in her own nefarious interests. "i am quite well aware of the strangeness of the conditions i am imposing upon you, but they are necessary." "and if i accept them will the mystery of to-night ever be explained?" i inquired, eager to learn the truth. "of that i know not," she answered vaguely. "your silence is required to preserve the secret." "but tell me," i said quickly, "how many persons were there present in that house beside yourself?" "no, no!" she ejaculated in a tone of horror. "make no further inquiry. try and forget all--everything--as i shall try and forget. you cannot know--you will never know--therefore it is utterly useless to seek to learn the truth." "and may i not even know your identity?" i inquired, putting forth my hand until it rested upon her well-formed shoulder. "may i not touch your face, so as to give me an impression of your personal appearance?" she laughed at what, of course, must have seemed to her a rather amusing request. "give me permission to do this," i urged. "if there is to be mutual trust between us it is only fair that i should know whether you are young or old." she hesitated. i felt her hand trembling. "remember, i cannot see you," i went on. "by touch i can convey to my mind an impression of the contour of your features, and thus know with whom i am dealing." "very well," she said at last. "you have my permission." then eagerly, with both my hands, i touched her face, while she stood rigid and motionless as a statue. i could feel by the contraction of the muscles that this action of mine amused her, and that she was laughing. her skin was soft as velvet, her lashes long, her features regular and finely cut like those of some old cameo. her hair was dressed plainly, and she had about her shoulders a large cape of rich fur--sable i believed it to be. there was no doubt she was young, perhaps not more than twenty-one or so, and certainly she was very handsome of countenance, and dressed with an elegance quite unusual. her mouth was small, her chin pointed, and her cheeks with a firm contour which spoke of health and happiness. as i carefully passed my hands backwards and forwards, obtaining a fresh mental impression with each movement, she laughed outright. of a sudden, however, she sprang aside quickly, and left me grasping at air. "ah!" she cried, wildly horrified at a sudden discovery. "there is blood upon your hands--_his blood_!" "i had forgotten," i apologised quickly. "forgive me; i cannot see, and was not aware that my hands were unclean." "it's too terrible," she gasped hoarsely. "you have placed those stained hands upon my face, as though to taunt me." "with what?" i inquired, breathlessly interested. but she did not reply. she only held her breath, while her heart beat quickly, and by her silence i felt convinced that by her involuntary ejaculation she had nearly betrayed herself. the sole question which occupied my thoughts at that moment was whether she was not the actual assassin. i forgot my own critical position. i recollected not the remarkable adventures that had befallen me that night. i thought not of the ghastly fate prepared for me by my unknown enemies. all my thoughts were concentrated upon the one problem--the innocence or guilt of that unseen, soft-spoken woman before me. "and now," she said at last--"now that you have satisfied yourself of my personal appearance, are you prepared to accept the conditions?" "i confess to having some hesitation in doing so," i answered, quite frankly. "that is not at all surprising. but the very fact of your own defencelessness should cause you to ally yourself with one who has shown herself to be your protectress, and seeks to remain your friend." "what motive can you possibly have for thus endeavouring to ally yourself with me?" i inquired, without attempting to disguise my suspicion. "a secret one." "for your own ends, of course?" "not exactly. for our mutual interests. by my own action in taking you in when you were knocked down by the cab i have placed your life in serious jeopardy; therefore, it is only just that i should now seek to rescue you. yet if i do so without first obtaining your promise of silence and of assistance, i may, for aught i know, bring an overwhelming catastrophe upon myself." "you assure me, upon your honour as a woman, that no harm shall befall me if i carry out the instructions in those mysterious letters?" "if you obey without seeking to elucidate their mystery, or the identity of their sender, no harm shall come to you," she answered solemnly. "and regarding the silence which you seek to impose upon me? may i not explain my adventures to my friend, in order to account for the blood upon my clothes and the injury to my head?" "only if you find it actually necessary. recollect, however, that no statement whatever must be made to the police. you must give an undertaking never to divulge to them one single word of what occurred last night." there was a dead silence, broken only by the lapping of water, which had already risen and had flooded the chamber to the depth of about two inches. the place was a veritable death-trap, for, being a kind of cellar and below high-water mark, the thames flood entered by a hole near the floor too small to permit the escape of a man, and would rise until it reached the roof. "come," she urged at last. "give me your undertaking, and let us at once get away from this horrible place." i remained silent. anxious to escape and save my life, i nevertheless entertained deep suspicions of her, because of her anxiety that i should give no information to the police. she had drawn back in horror at the sight of the blood of the murdered man! had she not, by her hesitation, admitted her own guilt? "you don't trust me," she observed, with an air of bitter reproach. "no," i answered, very bluntly; "i do not." "you are at least plain and outspoken," she responded. "but as our interests are mutual, i surely may presume to advise you to accept the conditions. life is better than death, even though one may be blind." "and you hold back from me the chance to escape from this slow but inevitable fate unless i conform to your wishes?" "i do." "such action as yours cannot inspire confidence." "i am impelled by circumstances beyond my own control," she answered, with a momentary touch of sadness. "if you knew the truth you certainly would not hesitate." "will you not tell me your name?" "no. it is useless." "at least, you can so far confide in me as to tell me your christian name," i said. "edna." "and you refuse your surname?" "i do so under compulsion." the water had by this time risen rapidly. my legs had become benumbed, for it now reached nearly to my knees. "why do you longer hesitate?" she went on. "give me your word that you will render the assistance i require, and we will at once escape. let us lose no time. all this seems strange to you, i know; but some day, when you learn the real reason, you will thank me rather than think ill of my present actions." her determination was, i saw plainly, the outcome of some terror which held her fettered, and i knew that, in order to save myself, i must give her the promise she had so persistently desired to extract from me. therefore, with sudden determination, prompted by the natural, instinct of self-preservation than by any desire to assist her, i gave her my bond of secrecy. again she sighed deeply, as though released of some oppressive weight by my words. then our hands clasped in mutual trust, and without further word she led me to the opposite side of the noisome cellar into which my enemies had cast me. "you shall never regret this decision," she assured me in a strained voice, trembling with emotion--"never, never!" and with a sudden movement she raised my hand and touched it lightly with her dry, fevered lips. chapter six. hand and heart. this impulsive action of hers was as though she were deeply indebted to me. i stood motionless in wonderment. but only for an instant. she left my side for a moment, and from the sound that escaped her lips appeared to be struggling to open some means of egress from the place. "remain where you are," she said, "and i will return to you in a moment. the way out is rather difficult, and i shall be compelled to assist you." her voice sounded above me, as though she had somehow climbed to the roof of the place. i heard the drawing of a bolt and the clang of iron; then she climbed down again to where i anxiously awaited her. the river flood had risen alarmingly, and was still entering rapidly. "come, let me guide you," she said, taking my arm and leading me to the wall. "lift your foot, so!" and taking my foot, she placed it in a kind of narrow step in the rough stone wall, at the same time placing my hand upon a piece of iron that seemed to be a large nail driven into the masonry. "now climb very carefully," she went on. without hesitation, i raised myself from the ground slowly, and with infinite care commenced to scale the wall, while she remained below, wading almost up to her waist in water. "take care that you don't strike your head," she cried warningly. "above you is a small hole just large enough for you to get through. be very careful, and take your time." the one hand at liberty i stretched above my head, and found, as she described, a square hole in the roof of the place, and, grasping the stone, i eventually managed to escape through it, finding myself at last standing upon a boarded floor. a few moments later she was again at my side, and by the clang of iron i knew that the aperture of that fatal place was closed again. i inquired of her where we were, but she only replied-- "i've already explained to you that to seek to elucidate the mystery of these adventures of yours is entirely useless. we have promised to each other mutual faith. that is, in itself, sufficient." then, taking my arm, she hurriedly led me across the room, up some steps, and along two long passages that ran at right angles to each other, until at length we emerged into the street. where we were i had not the slightest idea. i only knew that we were beside the river bank, for upon my ears there fell the shrill whistle of a steam-tug. with her arm linked in mine, and heedless of the water dripping from her skirts, she led me forward through a number of narrow turnings, until by the bustle about me i knew that we must have reached a main road. i heard the approaching hoot of a taxi, and the vehicle, at her demand, pulled up at the kerb. "we must now part," she said, in a low, earnest voice. "remember that in this remarkable affair our interests are absolutely identical. any order that you receive you will obey without seeking to discover the why or wherefore, and above all, silence to the police." "i have promised," i answered. "and whatever may occur in the future, recollect that i am still your protectress, as i have been to-day. i have forced you to your promise, but for that i ask your forgiveness, because it is essential, if the mystery is ever to be solved." "are you, too, seeking the truth?" "yes," she responded. "but we must not talk here. the condition of our clothes is attracting attention." "i shall think always of the mysterious edna who refuses all information," i laughed. "and i, too, shall not easily forget you--and all i owe to you. farewell." her soft hand grasped mine for an instant, that same cool hand that had soothed my brow. afterwards she assisted me into the cab. "good-bye," she cried. then she became lost to me. i told the driver where to go, and sat back in the vehicle, plunged in my own thoughts. i was like a man in a dream. the mystery was most tantalising. feeling weak, i stopped at a public-house and had some brandy. indeed, i felt so unwell that i sat in the bar-parlour fully half an hour before resuming my drive. suddenly i recollected that i might gather something from the driver, and i inquired where he had taken me up. "in albert road, battersea, sir." this surprised me, for i had no idea that i had been on the surrey side of the river. i explained to the man my blindness, and asked him to describe the lady who had put me into this cab. "well, sir," he said, "she was very pretty indeed, with grey eyes and darkish hair." "she was good-looking--eh?" "yes, sir. i don't think i've ever seen a much prettier young lady." i sighed. how tantalising it was that my poor sightless eyes had been unable to gaze upon her. "describe her more closely," i urged. "i'm anxious to know exactly what she's like." "she had lovely eyes, sir. her hair seemed a bit untidy, but it was a pretty shade of dark-brown. her face seemed innocent-looking, like a child's. i was surprised to see her like that." "like what?" "half-drowned like. she had on a black skirt that seemed soaking wet through, and covered with mud. she looked in an awful plight, and yet her face was merry and smiling. she took another cab as soon as she parted from you, and drove after us across the albert bridge, and then down oakley street. there she stopped the cab to speak to some one." "who was it?" i asked eagerly. "a woman. but i couldn't see distinctly. they were too far away, and turned down cheyne walk, so i didn't see 'em any more." "you say that her clothes were very dirty?" "yes, worse than yours, and, great scott! sir, they're bad enough. you'll want to send 'em to the cleaners when you get 'ome." what the man said was perfectly true. the slime of the river emitted a sickening stench, but it fortunately served to conceal one thing, namely, the blood-stains upon my coat. i laughed at this remark of his, but i had no intention to enter upon explanations. "from her appearance did my companion lead you to believe that she was a lady?" "oh yes, sir. by her manner you'd tell her as a lady among ten thousand." "there was nothing noticeable about whereby i might recognise her again? try and recollect." "no, sir," answered the man. "she was a very beautiful young lady, and that's all i noticed." "you'd know her again if you saw her?" "i should just say i would," laughed the man. "when a chap sees a woman as lovely as she is it ain't likely he'll forget her, even though he may have a wife and 'arf a dozen kids at 'ome." "you're smitten by her beauty, it seems," i laughed. "what's your name?" "west, sir--tom west. number l.c. . i stand on the rank at hyde park corner." "well, west," i said, taking a card out of my case, and handing it to him, "if you ever see that lady again, and can find out who and what she is, and where she lives, i'll give you a present--say twenty pounds." "twenty quid!" the man echoed with a whistle. "i'd like to touch the oof, sir, and you bet i'll keep my weather eye open." "as soon as you've found her, let me know, and the money is yours. you understand that's a bargain." "right you are, sir. i'll do my very best." "if you only knew the driver of the cab she took after we parted you might, perhaps, learn something." "that's just what i'm thinking," he said. "the man who drove her was, i believe, an old fellow that we know as `doughy' but i'm not at all sure. however, as soon as i set you down i'll go and find him. a driver is difficult to recognise if he wears another overcoat, you see. that's why i'm not certain that it really was `doughy'." by the sharp descent of the roadway i knew that we were already in essex street, and a few moments later i had paid the man west and was ascending the stair to my own chambers. the enlistment into my service of this man, the only person who had seen the mysterious edna, was, i congratulated myself, a very shrewd and clever commencement of the investigation which i intended, at all hazards, to carry out. indeed, my only means of tracing her was through the intermediary of this one man, who had seen her and remarked upon her marvellous beauty. he seemed a sharp, witty fellow, and i therefore entertained every confidence in his efforts to earn the promised reward. he was now on his way to find his colleague, the old driver "doughy," and if edna had actually taken his cab i should, without doubt, soon be in possession of some information. thus, with a light step and reassured feeling, i ascended the stairs, wondering what old mrs parker would say to my protracted absence, and how i should explain it to her. i took out my latch-key and opened the door. as i entered the tiny lobby that served the dual purpose of hall and a place in which to hang coats, a startling sound broke upon my ears--the sound of a woman's cry. in an instant i drew back. fresh mystery greeted me. i stood there rigid, speechless, aghast. chapter seven. the mystery is increased. the voice which greeted me was that of a woman surprised by my sudden entrance; and walking swiftly forward to investigate, i passed into my own dingy sitting-room. "i have a visitor, it seems," i exclaimed, stopping short. "may i not know your name?" there was no response. instinctively i knew that the woman i had thus disturbed was still present in that room wherein i spent so many lonely hours. her startled cry was sufficient to convince me that she was there for some secret purpose. what, i wondered, could it be? "speak," i urged. "kindly explain your business with me, and the reason of your presence here." yet she uttered no word of response, and apparently did not move. i advanced, crossing towards the window, where i believed she must be standing, but with a quick movement my mysterious visitor eluded me, passing me by so near that her warm breath fanned my cheek, and next instant she had escaped and slammed the outer door of my chambers. i stood wondering. her presence there was most extraordinary. the faithful parker, too, was absent, a circumstance which aroused misgivings within me. could this strange female visitor have entered the place with a false key; or was she a mere pilferer whom i had disturbed in her search for plunder? numbers of female thieves haunt the london streets, and it seemed more than likely that she was one who had ascended the stairs on pretence of selling something or other. at any rate, i had returned at an unexpected moment, or she would not have given vent to that involuntary cry of dismay. i groped about the familiar room in order to ascertain whether it were disordered, but could find nothing whatsoever out of place. i called parker loudly by name, but all was silence save the quick ticking of the timepiece upon the mantelshelf. the clock of st clement danes chimed merrily, then slowly struck the hour. i counted, and found that it was eleven o'clock in the morning. how much had happened during the past fifteen hours! i had twice nearly lost my life. having cast aside my hat, i sank into my armchair, muddy and dirty, just as i was. my head, where it had been struck in the accident, pained me considerably, and i felt that i had a touch of fever coming on. yet all my thoughts were concentrated upon the future and what the curious alliance with my strange protectress might bring upon me. surely no man had ever found himself in a more remarkable situation than i was at that moment; certainly no man could be more mystified and puzzled. deeply i pondered again and again, but could make nothing of that tangled web of startling facts. by no desire or inclination of my own i had fallen among what appeared to be very undesirable company, and had involuntarily promised to become the assistant of some person whom i could not see. the strange oppression that fell upon me seemed precursory of evil. my wet clothes sticking to me chilled me to the bone, and, with a sudden resolve to shake off the gloomy apprehensions that seemed to have gripped my heart, i rose and passed into my own room to wash and get a change of clothing. the prolonged absence of parker caused me much wonder. she never went out unless to go into the strand to purchase the diurnal steak or tri-weekly chop which constituted my chief sustenance; or, perhaps, on sunday afternoon she would, on rare occasions, go "to take a cup o' tea" with her daughter, who was a music-hall artiste, and lived somewhere off the kensington road. having cleaned myself, i proceeded to dress the wound on my head, my own medical knowledge standing me in good stead, and when i had satisfactorily bandaged it and put on a dry suit of clothes, i groped about through the several small rooms which were my home. nothing seemed disarranged, nothing missing--only the woman who had ever been so faithful to me and had treated me as tenderly in my helplessness as though i had been her own son. in impatience i took a cigar, lit it, and sat down to wait. no doubt, when she returned i should find that she had been absent upon some errand connected with her not-over-extensive _cuisine_. the thought grew upon me that my promise to the mysterious edna, whoever she might be, was a rashly foolish one, and must result in some very serious _contretemps_ for me. i had willingly given up my liberty of action and become the instrument of a person who had, without doubt, imposed upon me. it seemed most probable, now that i reflected, that she was acting in concert with the man who had so cleverly practised deception upon me and led me to believe that he was a police-constable. that man, it now seemed plain, had followed me from the house of mystery, allowed me to wander sufficiently far to lose my bearings, and then got on in front of me so that i might approach and accost him. the whole affair had been carried out with amazing ingenuity, and every precaution had apparently been taken to conceal the remarkable tragedy. yet the chief feature of the affair which puzzled me was the motive in endeavouring to take my life in that cellar beside the thames. i had surely harmed no one, and, being utterly ignorant of the house wherein the affair had taken place, and also knowing me to be blind, they certainly could not fear any revelations that i might make. it was an enigma which i strove in vain to solve. my gloomy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a latch-key in the outer door, and as i rose old mrs parker entered with an expression of profound surprise. "why, sir?" she cried. "i understood that you'd gone away into the country!" "into the country?" i echoed. "who told you so?" "the lady you sent to tell me." "lady? what lady?" i inquired, amazed. "surely, parker, you've taken leave of your senses?" "the lady came about an hour ago, sir, and said that you had sent her to tell me that you would be absent for perhaps a week or so--that you had gone down to your uncle's in hampshire." "i've sent no one," i responded, astounded at this fresh phase of the affair. "what kind of lady was she--old or young?" "middle-aged." "well-dressed?" "yes, sir. she spoke with a funny kind of lisp, which made me think she might be a foreigner. she said she knew you quite well, being a friend of your aunt's, and that you were travelling down to hampshire this morning, your uncle having been taken ill. i remarked that it was strange that you shouldn't come home for your bag and things, but she gave me a message from you to send a bag packed with your clothes by train from waterloo to christchurch station marked `to be called for.'" "but didn't you think her story a very lame one, parker?" i asked, angry that my old serving-woman should have thus been misled and deceived. "of course i did, sir, especially as you were absent all night. i told her that, and she said that you had called upon her, and finding your aunt, lady durrant, there on a visit, remained to supper. while at supper a telegram had arrived summoning your aunt home, as your uncle had been taken dangerously ill, and at once you had resolved to accompany her. but you've hurt your head, sir, haven't you?" she added, noticing my bandages. "yes," i answered. "i fell down. it is nothing--my own carelessness." the story was, to say the least, a most ingenious one. whoever the mysterious woman was she apparently knew that my uncle, sir charles durrant, lived in the neighbourhood of christchurch; that he was at that moment in a very critical state of health, suffering from paralysis, and further, that i had considerable expectations from him, and would not hesitate to travel down to see him if i knew him to be worse. one thing, therefore, was quite plain, namely, that my family affairs were perfectly well known to these persons whose movements were so mystifying. "it was foolish of you, parker, very foolish indeed, to have given credence to such an absurd tale as that," i said, annoyed. "you are usually a shrewd woman, but you have displayed no discretion in this affair--none whatever." "i'm very sorry, sir," the woman answered. "but i knew that if sir charles were worse you'd go down to the manor at once. did you really send nobody, sir?" "no; nobody at all. there's some underhand business in all this, parker, so keep your wits about you." "and haven't you seen her ladyship at all, sir?" she inquired, in her turn astonished. "no, and, moreover, i know nothing of this mysterious woman who came to you with this cock-and-bull story. did she say where she lived, or give any card?" "no, she didn't, sir." "i suppose you'd know her again if you saw her?" "well," she answered with considerable hesitancy, "i don't know as i should, sir. you see, she wore one of them white lace veils which makes it difficult to distinguish the features." "but what object could any one have in coming to you and telling a falsehood in that manner?" i cried, my anger increased by the knowledge of parker's inability to again recognise the bearer of the false message. "i don't know, i'm sure, sir," was the woman's reply, in a voice which showed how deeply she regretted the occurrence. "how long was she here?" i inquired. "about five minutes. she asked me to let her see your sitting-room and the reading-books with the embossed letters, as she was much interested in you, and had heard so much of you from lady durrant." "and you showed them to her?" "yes, sir." "then you had no right to do so without my permission, parker," i said angrily. "you are an old and trusted servant, and should have known better." "i'm very sorry, sir. the truth was that she seemed such a well-spoken lady, and her manner was so perfect that i thought you would not like to offend her." "recollect that if any other persons call they are not to enter my rooms on any pretext," i said decisively. "very well, sir. i acknowledge that i was entirely in the wrong in allowing her to pry about the place." "and when she had gone?" "then i went over to the butcher's in the strand to get a bit of steak." "and saw nothing more of her?" "yes, sir. i did see her again. as i was coming back i met her in the strand, at the corner of arundel street, walking with a gentleman who looked like a city man. she said something to him, and he turned and had a good look at me." "then it must have been this same woman who was in my chambers here when i returned," i said. "a woman here?" she ejaculated. "yes; when i entered there was a woman here, and she escaped as though she were a thief. she must have gone out and rejoined the man, who was awaiting her somewhere in the vicinity. that would bear out the fact that you encountered her again." "but how could she get in? i'm always careful to see that the door is properly closed." "probably she stole the extra latch-key while prying about the place. see whether it is still on the nail." she crossed the room, and next moment gasped--"it's gone, sir!" "ah!" i said. "just as i thought! the story she told you was a mere excuse to obtain admittance to the place, and, if possible, to get possession of the key. this she obtained, and, having watched you out, returned and continued her search for something she desired to secure. we must at once examine the whole place, and seek to discover what's been stolen." "do you think she was a common thief, sir?" inquired parker, dumbfounded by the ingenuity with which the latch-key had been secured. "i don't know what to believe at present," i answered. "we must investigate first, and form our conclusions afterwards. now, make a thorough search and see what has been disturbed and what is missing." i had no intention of entering into a long explanation with parker regarding the events of that fateful night, or to disturb her peace of mind by relating any of the tragic circumstances. therefore, i went to my room and locked away my muddy, blood-stained clothing, and afterwards returned, and with my hands felt the various objects in my sitting-room, to assure myself that none was displaced or missing. chapter eight. the stranger. the visit of this mysterious woman in the white lace veil--at that time a fashionable feminine adornment--was, i felt assured, more than a coincidence. that it had some connexion with the strange events of the past night seemed certain, yet, try how i would, i could form no definite idea of either the motive of the visit or the object of her search. as far as parker could discover, nothing whatever had been taken. a writing-table, the drawers of which contained some family papers, had apparently been hastily examined, but no object of value, nor any paper, had been extracted. therefore i concluded that i had returned before the intruder had had time to make the complete examination of my effects which she had intended. a curious thought occurred to me. was the intruder in the white veil none other than the mysterious edna herself? as the day wore on i became more and more impressed by the belief that my surmise was the actual truth. yet the cabman west had declared that she was young and pretty, while parker expressed herself positive that she was middle-aged. but of the two statements i accepted that of the cabman as the more reliable. he had seen her in the broad daylight without the veil. the fact of her concealing her features in a species of fine window-curtain proved an attempt at disguise, therefore what more likely than that she should contrive to render her features older, and thus impose upon parker, whose sight was not over good? in any case, however, if it were really edna, she had certainly lost no time in carrying out her design, and further, she must have been fully aware of my intended return. days passed, hot blazing days and stifling nights, when the dust of throbbing, ever-roaring london seemed over my heart. each morning, with parker's assistance, i searched the newspapers, but nothing appeared to show that that strange midnight crime had been discovered. were there two victims, or only one? how strange it was that although i had been present i could not tell i only knew that the male victim was young and well-dressed, probably a gentleman, and that he had been stabbed by a cowardly blow which had proved almost instantly fatal. that woman's scream that had sounded so shrill and agonised in the dead stillness of the night i remembered plainly as though it were but an hour ago-- indeed, i remember it now as distinctly as ever. was it the cry of edna herself? in my helplessness i could do nothing but remain silent, and keep my terrible secret to myself. unable either to communicate with the police or seek the assistance of my friend, i found that any endeavour to seek a solution of the problem was mere sowing of the wind. my thoughts hour by hour, as i sat alone in my dingy room, my poor blind eyes a black void, were of the ghastly affair, and in all its phases i considered it, trying to find some motive in the subsequent actions of the unscrupulous persons into whose hands i had had the misfortune to fall. i heard of dick through the office of his journal. he was down with fever at some outlandish place on the afghan frontier, and would certainly not be home for a couple of months or so. at first i was puzzled how to get rid of my soiled and blood-stained clothes so that parker should not discover them, and at last hit upon the expedient of making them into a bundle and going forth one night when she was over at kennington with her daughter lily, the dancing-girl, and casting them into the thames from the embankment. it was a risky operation, for that part of london is well guarded by police after dark; nevertheless i accomplished it in safety, and was much amused a few days later by reading in an evening paper that they had been found near london bridge and handed over to the river police, who, of course, scented a mystery. the blood-stains puzzled them, and the journal hinted that scotland yard had instituted inquiries into the ownership of the discarded suit of clothes. the paragraph concluded with that sentence, indispensable in reporting a mystery, "the police are very reticent about the matter." fortunately, having cut out the maker's name, and taken everything from the pockets which might serve as a clue to ownership, i felt perfectly safe, and eagerly read the issue of the same journal on the following evening, which told how the stains had been analysed, and found to be those of human blood. a little more than a week had passed since my remarkable midnight adventure, when one morning i received a brief note by post, which parker read to me. it consisted of only two typewritten lines stating that at mid-day i would receive a visitor, and was signed with the strange word "avel." it was, i knew, a message from edna, and i dressed myself with greater care in expectation that she herself would visit me. in this, however, i was disappointed, for after existing some three hours on tiptoe with anxiety i found my visitor to be a well-spoken, middle-aged man, whose slight accent when introducing himself betrayed that he was an american. when we were alone, with the door closed, he made the following explanation-- "i have called upon you, mr heaton, at the request of a lady who is our mutual friend. you have, i presume, received a letter signed `avel'?" "yes," i said, remembering how that i had promised to blindly and obediently render my protectress whatever assistance she desired. "i presume you desire some service of me. what is it?" "no," he said. "you are mistaken. it is with regard to the terrible affliction from which i see you are suffering that i have been sent." "are you a medical man?" i inquired, with some astonishment. "i am an oculist," was his reply. "and your name?" "slade--james slade." "and you have been sent here by whom?" "by a lady whose real name i do not know." "but you will kindly explain, before we go further, the circumstance in which she sought your aid on my behalf," i said firmly. "you are mutual friends," he answered, somewhat vaguely. "it is no unusual thing for a patient to seek my aid on behalf of a friend. she sent me here to see you, and to examine your eyes, if you will kindly permit me." the man's bearing irritated me, and i was inclined to resent this enforced subjection to an examination by one of whose reputation i knew absolutely nothing. some of the greatest oculists in the world had looked into my sightless eyes and pronounced my case utterly hopeless. therefore i had no desire to be tinkered with by this man, who, for aught i knew, might be a quack whose sole desire was to run up a long bill. "i have no necessity for your aid," i answered, somewhat bluntly. "therefore any examination is entirely waste of time." "but surely the sight is one of god's most precious gifts to man," he answered, in a smooth, pleasant voice; "and if a cure is possible, you yourself would, i think, welcome it." "i don't deny that," i answered. "i would give half that i possess-- nay, more--to have my sight restored, but sir leopold fry, dr measom, and harker halliday have all three seen me, and agree in their opinion that my sight is totally lost for ever. you probably know them as specialists?" "exactly. they are the first men in my profession," he answered. "yet sometimes one treatment succeeds where another fails. mine is entirely and totally different to theirs, and has, i may remark, been successful in quite a number of cases which were pronounced hopeless." mere quackery, i thought. i am no believer in new treatments and new medicines. the fellow's style of talk prejudiced me against him. he actually placed himself in direct opposition to the practice of the three greatest oculists in the world. "then you believe that you can actually cure me?" i remarked, with an incredulous smile. "all i ask is to be permitted to try," he answered blandly, in no way annoyed by my undisguised sneer. "plainly speaking," i answered, "i have neither inclination nor intention to place myself at your disposal for experiments. my case has been pronounced hopeless by the three greatest of living specialists, and i am content to abide by their decision." "oculists are liable to draw wrong conclusions, just as other persons may do," he remarked. "in a matter of this magnitude you should--permit me to say so--endeavour to regain your sight and embrace any treatment likely to be successful. blindness is one of man's most terrible afflictions, and assuredly no living person who is blind would wish to remain so." "i have every desire to regain my sight, but i repeat that i have no faith whatever in new treatment." "your view is not at all unnatural, bearing in mind the fact that you have been pronounced incurable by the first men of the profession," he answered. "but may i not make an examination of your eyes? it is, of course, impossible to speak with any degree of authority without a diagnosis. you appear to think me a charlatan. well, for the present i am content that you should regard me as such;" and he laughed as though amused. he seemed so perfectly confident in his own powers that i confess my hastily formed opinion became moderated and my prejudice weakened. he spoke as though he had detected the disease which had deprived me of vision, and knew how to successfully combat it. "will you kindly come forward to the window?" he requested, without giving me time to reply to his previous observations. i obeyed his wish. then i felt his fingers open my eyelids wide, and knew that he was gazing into my eyes through one of those glasses like other oculists had used. he took a long time over the right eye, which he examined first, then having apparently satisfied himself, he opened the left, felt it carefully, and touched the surface, of the eyeball, causing me a twinge of pain. "as i thought!" he ejaculated when he had finished. "as i thought! a slight operation only is necessary. the specialists whom you consulted were wrong in their conclusions. they have all three made an error which is very easy to make, yet it might have deprived you of sight for your whole life." "what!" i cried, in sudden enthusiasm. "do you mean to tell me solemnly that you can perform a miracle?--that you can restore my sight to me?" "i tell you, sir," he answered quite calmly, "that if you will undergo a small operation, and afterwards subject yourself to a course of treatment, in a fortnight--or, say three weeks--you will again open your eyes and look upon the world." his words were certainly startling to me, shut out so long from all the pleasures of life. this stranger promised me a new existence, a world of light and movement, of colour, and of all the interests which combine to make life worth living. at first i was inclined to scorn this statement of his, yet so solemnly had he uttered it, and with such an air of confidence, that i became half convinced that he was more than a mere quack. "your words arouse within me a new interest," i said. "when do you propose this operation?" "to-morrow, if you will." "will it be painful?" "not very--a slight twinge, that's all." i remained again in doubt. he noticed my hesitation, and urged me to submit. but my natural caution asserted itself, and i felt disinclined to place myself in the hands of one of whose _bona fides_ i knew absolutely nothing. as politely as i could i told him this, but he merely replied-- "i have been sent by the lady whom we both know as edna. have you no confidence in her desire to assist you?" "certainly i have." "she has already explained to me that you have promised to carry out her wishes. it is at her urgent request that i have come to you with the object of giving you back your sight." "she wishes me to submit to the experiment?" "pardon me. it is no experiment," he said. "she desires you to submit yourself to my treatment. if you do, i have entire confidence that in a week or so you will see almost as well as i do." i hesitated. this stranger offered me the one great desire of my life-- the desire of every person who is afflicted with blindness--in return for a few moment's pain. edna had sent him, prefaced by the mysterious letter signed "avel." it was her desire that i should regain my sight; it was my desire to discover her and look upon her face. "if i find your name in the _medical register_ i will undergo the operation," i said at last. "to search will be in vain," he responded, in the same even tone. "then your name is assumed?" "my practice is not a large one, and i have no need to be registered," he said evasively. his words again convinced me that he was a mere quack. i had cornered him, for he was palpably confused. "as i have already told you," i said, with some warmth, "your attempts at persuasion are utterly useless. i refuse to allow my eyes to be tampered with by one who is not a medical man." he laughed, rather superciliously i thought. "you prefer your present affliction?" "yes," i snapped. "then, now that you force me to the last extremity," he said firmly, "i have this to present to you." and next moment i felt within my hand a paper neither the nature of which, nor the writing thereon, could i distinguish; yet from his voice i knew instinctively that this stranger, whoever he was, held triumph over me. chapter nine. from the unknown. "i have no knowledge of what this is," i said, puzzled, holding the paper he had given me. "then i will read it to you," he responded; and taking it from my hand, he repeated the words written there. even then i doubted him, therefore i took the paper into the kitchen and bade parker read it. then i knew that he had not deceived me, for parker repeated the very same words that he had read, namely-- "the first request made to you, wilford heaton, is that you shall repose every confidence in doctor slade, and allow him to restore your sight. obey. "avel." the note was very brief and pointed, written, i learnt, like the first note, with a typewriter, so that no clue might be afforded by the calligraphy. it was an order from the unknown person whom i had promised to blindly and faithfully obey. at the time i had given the mysterious edna that promise i was in deadly peril of my life. indeed, the promise had been extracted from me under threat of death, and now, in the security of my own home, i felt very disinclined to conform with the wishes of some person or persons whom i knew not. i saw in what a very serious position i had placed myself by this rash promise, for i might even be ordered to commit a crime, or, perhaps, for aught i knew, have unwittingly allied myself with some secret society. the one desire which ever possessed me, that of being able to look upon the unseen woman with the musical voice, who had at one time been my protectress and my captor, urged me, however, in this instance, to accede. there was evidently some object in making this attempt to give me back my sight, and if it really succeeded i alone would be the gainer. understand that i had no faith whatever in the stranger who had thus come to me with a promise of a miraculous cure; on the other hand, i felt that he was a mere charlatan and impostor. nevertheless, i could not be rendered more blind than i was, and having nothing to lose in the experiment, any gain would be to my distinct advantage. therefore, after further argument, i very reluctantly promised to allow him to operate upon me on the morrow. "good," he answered. "i felt sure that your natural desire for the restoration of your sight would not allow your minor prejudices to stand in the way. shall we say at noon to-morrow." "any hour will suit me," i answered briefly, with a rather bad grace. "then let it be at noon. i and my assistant will be here by eleven-thirty." "i should prefer to come to your surgery," i said, with the idea of obtaining some knowledge of the stranger's address. if i knew where he lived i could easily find out his real name. "that is, unfortunately, impossible," he answered blandly. "i am staying at an hotel. i do not practise in london." he seemed to have an ingenious answer always upon the tip of his tongue. so, after some further conversation, in which he continually foiled any attempt i made to gain further knowledge of edna or of himself, he rose and bade me adieu, promising to return on the morrow with the necessary instruments. with a rather unnecessary show of punctuality he arrived next day, accompanied by a younger, sad-voiced man, and after some elaborate preparations, the nature of which i guessed from my own medical knowledge, i sat in my big armchair, and placed myself entirely at his disposal. from the first moment that he approached me and examined me prior to producing anaesthesia of the part to be operated upon i knew that my prejudice had been hastily formed. he was no quack, but careful, confident, and skilled, with a firm hand evidently used to such cases. to fully describe what followed can be of no interest to any save medical men, therefore suffice it to relate that the operation lasted about an hour, after which my eyes were carefully bandaged, and my attendant and his assistant left. slade called each day at noon, and carefully dressed my eyes, on each occasion expressing satisfaction at my progress, but always impressing upon me the absolute necessity for remaining with the blinds closely drawn, so that no ray of light should reach me. darkness did not trouble me, yet parker found it rather difficult to serve my meals in the gloom, and was very incredulous regarding the mysterious doctor's talents. she viewed the whole affair just as i had once done, and, without mincing words, denounced him as a quack, who was merely running up a long bill for nothing. for nearly three weeks i lived with the venetian blinds of my sitting-room always down, and with a thick curtain drawn across them, shutting out all light, as well as a good deal of air, until the summer heat became stifling. hour after hour i sat alone, my hands idly in my lap, ever wondering what the success of this experiment would be. should i ever again see, after those grave and distinct pronouncements of fry and the rest, who had plainly told me that my sight was for ever destroyed? i dared not to hope, and only remained inert and thoughtful, congratulating myself that i had at least obeyed the dictum of my mysterious and unknown correspondent, under whose influence i had so foolishly placed myself. at last, however--it was on a sunday--slade came, and as usual raised the bandages and bathed my eyes in a solution of atropine. then, having made a careful examination, he went to the window, drew aside the curtains, and slightly opened the venetian blinds. in an instant i cried aloud for joy. my sight had been restored. the desire of my life was an accomplished fact. i could actually see! dimly i could distinguish his short, burly form between myself and the faint light of the half-opened blinds, but even though all was as yet misty and indistinct, i knew that what had been averred was the actual truth--the specialists had been mistaken. with care and continued treatment my sight would strengthen until i became like other men. "i can see!" i cried excitedly. "i can see you, doctor--and the light--and the blinds!" "then you acknowledge that what i told you was the truth--that i did not lie to you when i told you that your case was not beyond recovery?" "certainly. you told me the truth," i said hastily. "at the time it seemed too improbable, but now that you have shown me proof, i must ask your pardon if any words of mine have given you offence." "you've not offended me in the slightest, my dear sir," he answered pleasantly. "persevere with the treatment, and continue for another few days in darkness, and then i feel confident that a perfectly satisfactory cure will have been effected. of course, we must not expect a clear vision at once, but by degrees your sight will slowly become stronger." and with those words he closed the blinds and drew the curtain close, so that the room was again darkened. imagine the thankfulness that filled my heart! it was no illusion. i had actually seen the narrow rays of sunlight between the half-opened blind and the dark silhouette of the short, stout, full-bearded man who was effecting such a marvellous cure. i gripped his hand in the darkness, and thanked him. "how can i sufficiently repay you?" i said. "this service you have rendered me has opened up to me an absolutely new life." "i desire no repayment, mr heaton," he answered in his deep, hearty voice. "that my treatment of malignant sclerotitis is successful, and that i have been the means of restoring sight to one of my fellow-men, is sufficient in itself." "but i have one question i wish to ask you," i said. "the mode in which you were introduced to me is extremely puzzling. do you know nothing of the lady named edna?" "i know her--that is all." "where does she live?" "i regret that i am not able to answer your question." "you are bound to secrecy regarding her?" "i may as well admit the truth--i am." "it's extraordinary," i ejaculated. "very extraordinary!" "not so extraordinary as the recovery of your vision," he observed. "remain perfectly quiet, and don't take upon yourself any mental problems. a great deal now depends upon your own calmness." the fact that my sight was gradually returning to me seemed too astonishing to believe. this man slade, whoever he was, had performed a feat in surgery which seemed to me miraculous. again and again i thanked him, but when he had gone and i told parker she only gave vent to a grunt of incredulity. yet had i not actually seen the silhouette of slade, and the streaks of sunlight beyond? had i not already had ocular proof that a cure was being effected? what would dick, dear old dick, say on his return when he found me cured? i laughed as i pictured to myself his amazement at finding me at the railway-station on his arrival--looking for him. through a whole month slade came regularly each day at noon, and surely, by slow degrees, my vision became strengthened, until at length i found that, even though i wore smoke-darkened glasses, i could see almost as well as i had done in the days of my youth. the glasses destroyed all colour, it was true, yet i could now go forth into the busy strand, mingle with the bustling crowds, and revel in their life and movement. indeed, in those first days of the recovery of my vision i went about london in taxis and omnibuses, hither and thither, with all the enthusiasm of a country cousin or a child on his first visit to the metropolis. all was novel and interesting on my return to a knowledge of life. slade, i found, was a gentlemanly fellow with the air of a clever physician, but all my efforts to discover his abode proved unavailing, and, moreover, just as the cure was complete he one day failed to call as usual. without word he relinquished me just as suddenly as he had come; but he had restored to me that precious sense which is one of god's chief gifts. in those september days, when all the world seemed gay and bright, i went forth into the world with a new zest for life. i took short trips to richmond and hampton court, so that i might again gaze upon the green trees, the winding river, and the fields that i loved so well; and i spent a day at brighton, and stood for a full couple of hours watching the rolling sea beating upon the beach. six weeks before i was a hopeless misanthrope, whose life had been utterly sapped by the blighting affliction upon me. now i was strong and healthy in mind and in body; prepared to do anything or to go anywhere. it was a fancy of mine to go down to the home of my youth, heaton manor, a place well known to those acquainted with the district around tewkesbury. the great old mansion, standing in the centre of a wide, well-wooded park that slopes down to the severn close to the haw bridge, had long been closed, and in the hands of the old servant baxter and his wife. indeed, i had never lived there since, on my father's death, it had passed into my possession. the rooms were opened for my inspection, and as i wandered through them and down the long oak-panelled gallery, from the walls of which rows of my time-dimmed ancestors, in their ruffles, velvets, and laces looked down solemnly, a flood of recollections of my sunny days of childhood crowded upon me. seven years had passed since my last visit there. the old ivy covered manor was, indeed, dilapidated, and sadly out of repair. the furniture and hangings in many of the rooms seemed rotting with damp and neglect, and as i entered the nursery, and was shown my own toys, it seemed as though, like rip van winkle, i had returned again to life after a long absence. alone, i wandered in the park down the avenue of grand old elms. the wide view across the brimming river, with hasfield church, and the old tithe barn at chaceley standing prominent in the landscape, had, i saw, in no way changed. i looked back upon the house--a grand old home it was, one that any man might have been proud of, yet of what use was it to me? should i sell it? or should i allow it to still rot and decay until my will became proved, and it passed into the hands of my heirs and assigns? i felt loth to part with it, for the old place had been built soon after the fierce and historic battle had been fought at tewkesbury, and ever since richard heaton had commanded one of the frigates which went forth to meet the armada, it had been the ancestral home of the heatons. how strange it all was! at every turn i peered upon the world through my grey glass spectacles, and took as keen an interest in it as does a child. all seemed new to me; my brain, like a child's, became filled with new impressions and fresh ideas. after my dull, colourless existence of sound and touch, this bright life of movement filled me with a delight that pen cannot describe. imagine, however, what joy it is to one who has been pronounced incurably blind to look upon the world again and taste of its pleasures. it was that joy which gave lightness to my heart. yet over all was one grim shadow--the remembrance of that fateful night with its grim tragedy. who was edna? where was she? what was she? through her instrumentality i had regained my sight, but her identity and her whereabouts still remained hidden, as she had plainly told me they would be before we had parted. hither and thither i went, feted and feasted by my friends at the savage, the devonshire, and other clubs, yet my mind was ever troubled by the mystery of the woman who had, from motives that were entirely hidden, exerted herself on my behalf, first in saving my life from unscrupulous assassins, and, secondly, in restoring my vision. i entertained a strong desire to meet her, to grasp her small hand, to thank her. i longed to see her. chapter ten. the girl in blue. the man who abandons all hope is constantly haunted by fears. this is as strange as it is unjust, like much else in our everyday life. even though there had returned to me all the joys of existence, yet i was still haunted by an ever-present dread--a terror lest some terrible mandate should suddenly be launched upon me by the unknown director of my actions. my situation was, to say the least, a most extraordinary one. valiantly i strove to rid myself of the obsession which constantly crept upon me whenever my attention was not actually distracted by the new existence that had so mysteriously been opened up to me. for a little while i would let my mind dwell upon the terrifying thought that i was entirely helpless in the hands of one who was, without doubt, unscrupulous. i had pledged my honour to keep secret that appalling midnight crime, and to act always as directed. edna herself, the woman whose voice sounded so tender, whose hands were so small and soft to the touch, had forced me to this. to her alone was due this state of constant anxiety as to what might next be demanded of me. the thought would creep upon me, now pausing, now advancing, until at length it wrapped me round and round, and stifled out my breath, like a death-mask of cold clay. then my heart would sink, my sight seemed to die, even sound would die until there seemed an awful void--the void of death for ever and for ever dumb, a dreadful, conquering silence. a thousand times i regretted that i had in that moment of my utter helplessness given my promise to conceal the mysterious crime. yet, when i recollected with what extraordinary ingenuity i had been deceived by the man whom i had believed to be a police-constable, the deep cunning which had been displayed in obtaining from my lips a statement of all the facts i knew, and the subsequent actions of the cool-headed edna, my mind became confused. i could see no solution of the extraordinary problem, save that i believed her to be deeply implicated in some plot which had culminated in the murder of the young man, and that she herself had some strong personal motive in concealing the terrible truth. with the return of my vision my sense of hearing had, curiously enough, become both weakened and distorted. sounds i had heard when blind presented quite a different impression now that i could see. the blind hear where those with eyesight can detect nothing. the ears of the former train themselves to act as eyes also, yet the moment the vision is recovered the sharpened sense of hearing again assumes its normal capacity. hence i found that i could not distinguish voices and sounds so quickly as before; indeed, the voices of those about me sounded some how different now i had recovered my sight. my friends, into whose circle they declared i had returned like one from the grave, welcomed me everywhere, and i confess that, notwithstanding the oppression constantly upon me, i enjoyed myself to the top of my bent. i still remained in my dingy, smoke-grimed rooms in essex street, really more for parker's sake than for my own, and also, of course, in order to be near dick when he returned, but nearly every evening i was out somewhere or other, going here and there about town. in the middle of october, when most men i knew were away on the moors, i had a dinner engagement one evening with the channings, in cornwall gardens. colonel channing, a retired officer of the guards, was a man i had known during greater part of my lifetime. his service had been mainly of a diplomatic character, for he had served as british military _attache_ at berlin and vienna, and now lived with his wife and daughter in london, and seemed to divide his time mainly between the st james's and the united service clubs. he was a merry old fellow, with white hair and moustache and a florid complexion, the dandified air of _attache_ still clinging to him. as he sat at the head of his table, his habitual monocle in his eye, and the tiny green ribbon of the order of the crown of italy in the lapel of his dining-jacket, he looked a perfect type of the _ex-attache_. his wife, a rather spare woman of fifty, who seemed to exist externally in a toilette of black satin and lace, was pleasant, though just a trifle stiff, probably because of her long association with other diplomatists' wives; while nellie channing was a happy, fair-haired girl, who wore pretty blouses, motored, golfed, flirted and shopped in the high street in the most approved manner of the average girl of south kensington. nellie and i had always been good friends. she had been at school in england while her parents had been abroad, but on completing her education she had lived some five years or so in vienna, and had thus acquired something of the cosmopolitan habit of her father. she looked charming in her pink blouse, a trifle _decollete_, as she sat on my left at dinner, and congratulated me upon my recovery. if, however, nellie channing was pretty, her beauty was far eclipsed by that of my neighbour on my right, a tall, dark-haired girl in blue, a miss anson, who with her mother, a quiet, white-haired elderly lady, were the only other guests in addition to myself. from the moment we were introduced i saw that mrs anson's daughter possessed a face that was absolutely perfect, rather oval in shape, with large, beautiful eyes, that seemed to shine as they looked upon me, and to search me through and through. her complexion was good, her cheeks well-moulded, her mouth small and perfectly formed; her teeth gleamed white ever and anon as she smiled at the colonel's humorous remarks, and her nose was just sufficiently tip-tilted to give her countenance a piquant air of coquetry. her costume, rich and without any undue exaggeration of trimming or style, spoke mutely of the handiwork of a first-class _couturiere_. the shade of turquoise suited her dark beauty admirably, and the bodice, cut discreetly low, revealed a neck white and firmly moulded as that of the venus of milo. around her throat, suspended by a golden chain so fine as to be almost imperceptible, was a single diamond set in a thin ring of gold, a large stone of magnificent lustre. it was her only ornament, but, flashing and glittering with a thousand fires, it was quite sufficient. she wore no rings. her hands, white and well-formed, were devoid of any jewels. the single diamond gleamed and glittered as it rose and fell upon her breast, an ornament assuredly fit to adorn a princess. mrs anson sat opposite me, chatting pleasantly during the meal, and now and then her daughter would turn, raise her fine eyes to mine for an instant, and join in our conversation. that she was exceedingly clever and well-informed i at once detected by her terse and smart criticism of the latest play, which we discussed. she compared it, with a display of knowledge that surprised me, to a french play but little known save to students of the french drama, and once or twice her remarks upon stage technicalities caused me to suspect that she was an actress. mrs anson, however, dispelled this notion by expressing her disapproval of the stage as a profession for women, an opinion with which her daughter at once agreed. no, she could not be an actress, i felt assured. both mother and daughter bore the unmistakable hallmark of gentlewomen. i sat beside mabel anson in rapt admiration. never before in all my life had my eyes fallen upon so perfect an incarnation of feminine grace and marvellous beauty; never before until that moment had a woman's face held me in such enchantment. presently the conversation turned, as it so often does at dinner-tables, upon certain engagements recently announced, whereupon the colonel, in the merry, careless manner habitual to him, advanced the theory that most girls married with a view to improve their social position. "as to a husband's fortune," remarked his wife, with that stiff formality which was her peculiar characteristic, "it really isn't so important to a woman as the qualities which lead to fortune--ambition, determination, industry, thrift--and position such a man may attain for himself." "and in education?" inquired miss anson, softly, apparently interested in the argument. "in education a man certainly should be his wife's equal," answered mrs channing. "and is not good temper essential with a husband?--come, now. let's hear your ideas on that point," said the colonel, chaffingly, from behind the big epergne. mabel anson hesitated. for an instant her lustrous eyes met mine, and she at once lowered them with a downward sweep of her long dark lashes. "i don't argue that a girl thinking seriously of her future husband should lay any great stress on good temper," she answered, in a sweet musical voice. "a soldierly form, a pair of good eyes, a noble profile--any of these might easily outweigh good temper." "ah! there, i fear, i disagree with you," i remarked smilingly. "it has always appeared to me that after the first year or so married people rarely think of each other's features, because they are always in each other's presence. they become heedless of whether each other's features are classical or ugly; but they never fail to be cognisant of one another's temper or shortcomings." "you speak as though from experience," she laughed, without, however, attempting to combat my argument. another outburst of laughter greeted this bantering remark of hers. "no," observed nellie, on my other hand. "mr heaton is the most confirmed bachelor i know. i believe he's a woman-hater--if the truth were told." "oh, really, miss channing!" i protested. "that's certainly too bad of you. i assure you i'm no hater of the sex, but an admirer." "heaton's about to make a pretty speech," observed the jovial, red-faced colonel. "go on, wilford, my dear fellow, we're all attention." "no," i said, laughing. "i've been drawn quite unfairly into this controversy. therefore i'll preserve a masterly silence." "mr heaton is, i think, diplomatic," laughed the dark, handsome girl next to me. "he has cleared his character of the aspersion cast upon it, and preserves a dignified attitude." and she turned and smiled gaily upon me in triumph. she was exquisitely charming. i sat at her side gossiping merrily, while to my dazzled gaze she presented a beautiful picture of youthful airy delicacy--feminine sweetness combined with patrician grace. for the first time in all my life that petticoated paradox, woman, conveyed to me the impression of perfect beauty, of timidity and grace, combined with a natural, inborn dignity. there was nothing forced or unnatural in her manner as with other women i had met; none of that affected mannishness of deportment and slangy embellishments of conversation which are so characteristic of girls of to-day, be they daughters of tradesmen or of peers. she gave me the impression--why, i cannot tell--of one who had passed under the ennobling discipline of suffering and self-denial. a melancholy charm tempered the natural vigour of her mind; her spirit seemed to stand upon an eminence and look down upon me as one inferior to her in intellect, in moral principle--in fact, in everything. from the very first moment when i had bowed to her on our introduction she held me spell-bound in fascination. when the ladies had left, and i sat alone with the colonel, smoking over a liqueur, i inquired about her. "mrs anson is the widow of old general anson," he said. "he died about twelve years ago, and they've since lived a great deal abroad." "well off?" i inquired, with affected carelessness. "very comfortably, i should say. mrs anson has a fortune of her own, i believe. they have a house at present in the boltons." "mabel is extremely good-looking," i remarked. "of course, my dear boy," laughed the colonel, with his liqueur-glass poised in his hand, a twinkle in his eye. "between us, she's the prettiest girl in london. she creates a sensation wherever she goes, for beauty like hers isn't met with twice in a lifetime. lucky chap, whoever marries her." "yes," i said reflectively, and then diligently pursued the topic in an endeavour to learn further details regarding her. my host either knew very little, or purposely affected ignorance--which, i was unable to determine. he had known her father intimately, having been in his regiment long ago. that was about all i learnt further. so we tossed away our cigars, drained our glasses, and rejoined the four ladies who were awaiting us in the drawing-room, where later, at mrs channing's urgent persuasion, my divinity in blue seated herself at the piano, and in a sweet, clear contralto sang in italian a charming solo from puccini's _boheme_, the notable opera of that season. then, with the single diamond glittering at her throat, she came back to where i stood, and sinking into the cosy-corner with its pretty hangings of yellow silk, she accepted my congratulations with a delicate grace, a charming dignity, and a grateful smile. at last, however, the hour of parting came, and reluctantly--very reluctantly--i took her small hand, bent over it, and handed her into her carriage beside her mother. "good-night," she cried merrily, and next instant the fine pair of bays plunged away into the rainy night. i returned into the hall, and my host helped me into my overcoat. we were alone, for i had made my adieux to his wife and daughters. "wilford," he said very gravely, as he gripped my hand prior to my departure, "we are old friends. will you permit me to say one word without taking offence at it?" "certainly," i answered, surprised. "what is it?" "i've noticed to-night that, like many another man, you are entranced by the beauty of mabel anson. be careful not to make a fool of yourself." "i don't understand," i said quickly. "well, all i would say is, that if you desire happiness and peace of mind, steel your heart against her," he answered with a distinct air of mystery. "you speak in enigmas." "i merely give you a timely warning, that's all, my dear fellow. now, don't be offended, but go home and think it over, and resolve never again to see her--never, you understand--never." chapter eleven. the fourteenth of october. long and deeply i pondered over the colonel's words. that he had some underlying motive in thus warning me against the woman by whom i had become so fascinated was vividly apparent, yet to all my demands he remained dumb. on the afternoon following i found him in the st james's club--that club of diplomatists--and reverted to the subject. but all the response he vouchsafed was-- "i've merely warned you, my dear fellow. i shall say no more. i, of course, don't blame you for admiring her, i only tell you to pull yourself up short." "but why?" "because if you go further than admiration you'll be treading dangerous ground--devilish dangerous, i can assure you." "you mean that she has a jealous lover?" i suggested. "she has no lover, as far as i'm aware," he answered. "then, speaking candidly, channing," i said, "i don't see why you should turn prophet like this without giving me any reason." "my reason is briefly told," he said with unusual gravity. "i don't wish to see you upset and unhappy, now that you've recovered your sight." his words seemed very lame ones. "why should i be unhappy?" "because mabel anson can never be more to you than an acquaintance; she can never reciprocate your love. i tell you plainly that if you allow yourself to become entranced and all that sort of thing, you'll only make a confounded ass of yourself." "you certainly speak very plainly," i observed, annoyed that he should interfere so prematurely in a matter which was assuredly my affair alone. "i speak because i have your welfare at heart, wilford," he answered in a kindly tone. "i only regret now that i asked you to my table to meet her. it is my fault--entirely my fault." "you talk as though she were some genius of evil," i laughed. "let me act as i think fit, my dear channing." "let you go headlong to the devil, eh?" he snapped. "but to love her is not to go on the downward path, surely?" i cried incredulously. "i warn you, once and for all, to have nothing whatever to do with her," he said. "i know her--you do not." but i laughed him to scorn. his words seemed utterly absurd, as though his mind were filled by some strong prejudice which he dared not to utter for fear of laying himself open to an action for slander. if her acquaintance were so extremely undesirable, why did he invite her and her mother to his table? his words were not borne out by his own actions. so i bade him farewell rather coolly, and left the club abruptly, in anger with myself at having sought him, or bestowed a single thought upon his extraordinary warning. in the days that followed my mind was fully engrossed by recollections of her charm and beauty. like every other man, i had had, before my blindness, one or two minor affairs of the heart, but never before had i experienced the grand passion. i had, indeed, admired several other women of various ages and various stations, but none had ever approached in grace, beauty, or refinement the woman who had so suddenly come into my life, and so quickly gone out of it. yes, i openly confess that i, who had of later years determined to remain a bachelor, was deeply in love with her. indeed, for the time, i actually forgot the grim shadow of evil which had in my blindness fallen upon me. hither and thither in the great world of london i went with my eyes ever open in eagerness to catch a glimpse of her. i lounged in the row at the fashionable hour; went to the opera, and swept boxes and stalls with my glasses; and strolled about regent street, oxford street, and high street, kensington, in the vicinity of those great drapery emporiums so dear alike to the feminine heart and to the male pocket. for ten days or so i spent greater part of my time in searching for her slim, erect figure among the bustling london crowds. i knew her address, it was true, but my acquaintance was not sufficient to warrant a call, therefore i was compelled to seek a chance encounter. all, however, was in vain. i had firmly resolved to take no heed of the colonel's extraordinary premonition, and laughed at his dehortatory suggestions; for i meant at all costs to meet her again. one day i suddenly recollected that in conversation mrs anson had mentioned that her daughter was a student at the royal academy of music. if so, then she would undoubtedly go there alone on certain days to take her lessons. by carefully watching i might, i thought, meet her as if by accident. so i at once set to work to make inquiries, and discovered through tipping one of the hall-porters of the institution that miss anson came there every tuesday and friday at two o'clock in the afternoon. the next day chanced to be tuesday, therefore i went to hanover square and waited for her at the corner of tenterden street. as i watched i saw quite a number of smart-looking lady students pass into the institution, but, although i remained on the alert for nearly two hours, she did not come, and at length i was compelled to return home wearied, unsuccessful, and dispirited. that night, however, a blow fell upon me. an incident which i had constantly dreaded occurred, for by the last post was delivered one of those strange typewritten mandates from the unknown. the envelope was a blue-grey one, such as lawyers use, and the postmark showed that it had been dispatched from the lombard street office, in the city. i tore it open in fear and trepidation, and glanced at the few even lines it contained. the lines i read were signed by the word "avel," traced with a heavy hand in rough roman capitals, and were as follows:-- "to-morrow, the fourteenth of october, enter the park at grosvenor gate at four o'clock, and wait at the third seat on the path which leads to the band-stand." i stood silent, with the mysterious missive in my hand. some secret service was evidently required of me. the shadow of that fateful night had again fallen, crushing me beneath its weight of mystery and crime. i thought of the unknown edna, and pictured her in comparison with mabel. in my helplessness i had become an unwilling tool in the hands of the former, and now i hated and despised her. this galling servitude which she had imposed upon me under penalty of death was doubly irksome now that i loved; yet so mysterious and tragic were all the circumstances that i feared to break the bond that i had given. in ordinary circumstances i think i should have been eager to obey this sudden demand to go to the park on the following day. there was a distinct air of adventure in the appointment, and, eager to fathom the mystery surrounding edna, i saw that this meeting might furnish me with some clue. but i recollected mabel, all sweetness and purity, and hated it all. edna had declared that she herself was not the mysterious "avel," yet i had no reason to disbelieve her statement. to me it seemed as though she were acting under instructions which had for their object the preservation of the secret of the midnight crime. who was the young man who had fallen victim? his identity puzzled me always, until the problem had become so perplexing as to drive me to despair. although time after time i had searched the newspapers, i had found no one answering to his description mentioned as missing. he had evidently been done to death and his body disposed of without a single inquiry, while the crime had been concealed with an ingenuity which appalled me. might i, myself, not fall victim in a similar manner if i refused to obey these strange mandates of an unknown hand? these thoughts were the reverse of reassuring, for even if i went to the police they would be unable to assist me. a detective might keep the appointment in the park, but it was certain on seeing a stranger in the vicinity the person who intended to meet me would give him a very wide berth. that hot night i lay awake through many hours calmly reviewing the whole situation. on the last occasion when i had obeyed the order of my mysterious correspondent--sent undoubtedly at edna's instigation--i had profited considerably. was the present order for good or for evil? naturally, i had always been fond of adventure, for i came of a family of sailors. but the gruesome incidents of that single night when i had wandered alone in london had utterly unnerved me. i had become so surrounded by mystery that each effort of mine to elucidate it caused me to sink deeper and deeper into the complex quagmire of uncertainty. perhaps edna herself desired to speak with me, now that i could see. this suggestion took possession of me, and next morning i was anxious and interested in the appointment. soon after three i took an omnibus from the strand to the corner of park lane, and on the stroke of four entered the park at grosvenor gate and glanced eagerly around. no one was in the vicinity save one or two loungers of the "unemployed" type and two or three nursemaids with children. without difficulty i soon found the seat indicated, and sat down to wait. it was a pleasant spot beneath a large chestnut tree, quiet and more secluded than any of the others. evidently my correspondent knew the park well. i lit a cigarette and possessed myself in patience. after some five minutes or so a female figure entered the gate and approached in my direction. it was that of an elderly woman of rather common type, and as she came straight towards me i waited her with some curiosity, but she passed me by without a look, and continued on her way. then i knew that she was not the person who intended to meet me, and laughed within myself. my position was one of curiosity, sitting there prepared to meet some person unknown. we have all of us, at one time or another, sat awaiting persons we have never before seen, and we have invariably found mental pictures of their appearance utterly different from their real aspect. it was so with me at that moment. i sat waiting and wondering for half an hour or so, watching narrowly all who chanced to approach, until i began to suspect that for some reason or other the appointment would not be kept. a glance at my watch showed it to be already twenty minutes to five. my patience was exhausted, and i felt annoyed that i should be thus brought here on a purposeless errand. of one man who had passed, a dark-faced, ill-dressed lounger, i had had my suspicions. he had idled past, feigning to take no notice of my presence, yet i saw that he was covertly watching me. perhaps he had been sent to see whether i had come there alone. i waited and waited, but in vain. the shadows had lengthened, the sun was sinking behind the trees in kensington gardens, and at length i cast away the end of my last remaining cigarette and rose to depart. perhaps some untoward incident had occurred, and i should receive a further communication from my unknown correspondent. i had, at least, carried out my part of the compact, and was therefore free. so i took my stick and set forth towards grosvenor gate at a brisk pace, for i was tired of waiting, and my limbs were cramped by my long and fruitless vigil. i had almost reached the gate leading out to park lane when of a sudden, at a sharp bend of the path, a dark figure loomed up before me. in an instant i drew up speechless, aghast, amazed. the mystery was absolutely dumbfounding. chapter twelve. "it is his!" the figure before me was that of a woman, calm, sweet-faced, her countenance rendered piquant by its expression of surprise. it was none other than mabel anson. dressed in a tight-fitting tailor-made gown of some dark cloth, and a neat toque, she looked dignified and altogether charming. the slight severity of attire became her well, for it showed her marvellous figure to perfection, while the dash of red in her hat gave the necessary touch of colour to complete a tasteful effect. her countenance was concealed by the thinnest of gauze veils, and as she held forth her well-gloved hand with an expression of pleasure at the unexpected meeting, her bangles jingled musically. "this is indeed a most pleasant surprise, miss anson," i said, when i recovered speech, for so sudden had been our encounter that in the moment of my astonishment my tongue refused to utter a sound. "and to me also," she laughed. "i've been wondering and wondering when we should meet again," i blurted forth. "i'm so very glad to see you." for the first few moments after she had allowed her tiny hand to rest for an instant in mine we exchanged conventionalities, and then suddenly, noting a roll of music in her hand, i asked-- "are you going home?" "yes, across the park," she laughed. "mother forbids it, but i much prefer the park to those stuffy omnibuses." "and you've been to your music, i suppose?" i inquired. "yes. i've not been well for the past few days, and have missed several lessons. now, like a good pupil, i'm endeavouring to make them up, you know." and she laughed merrily. "how many times a week do you go to the academy?" i asked, surprised that she should have gone there that day, after what the hall-porter had told me. "twice, as a general rule," she remarked; "but just now i'm rather irregular." "and so you prefer to cross the park rather than ride by omnibus?" "certainly. mother doesn't approve of girls riding on the tops of 'buses, and says it's fast. therefore i'd much rather walk, for at this hour half london seems to be going from piccadilly circus to hammersmith. i go right across, past the serpentine, through kensington gardens to the broad walk, and out by the small gate next the _palace hotel_," she added, with a sweep of her gloved hand. her eyes were lovely. as she stood there in the fading sunlight she seemed the fairest vision i had ever seen. i stood spell-bound by her marvellous beauty. "and may i not act as your escort on your walk to-day?" i asked. "certainly. i have no objection," she answered with graceful dignity, therefore i turned and walked beside her, carrying her music. we took the road, which leads straight away to the magazine, and crosses the serpentine beyond. there in the yellow glow of the october sunset i lounged at her side and drank my fill of her loveliness. surely, i thought, there could be no more beautiful woman in all the world. the colonel's strange warning recurred to me, but i laughed it to scorn. as we passed beneath the rustling trees the sun's last rays lit up her beautiful face with a light that seemed ethereal and tipped her hair until there seemed a golden halo about her. i was no lovesick youth, be it remembered, but a man who had had a bitter experience of the world and its suffering. yet at that hour i was fascinated by the grace of her superb carriage, the suppleness of her figure, the charm of her sweet smile, and the soft music of her voice as she chatted to me. she told me of her love for music; and from the character of the pieces which formed her studies i knew that she must be a musician of a no mean order. the operatic melody which she had sung at the colonel's was, she declared, a mere trifle. we discussed the works of rossini and massent, of wagner and mendelssohn, and of verdi, puccini, mascagni, perosi, and such latter-day composers. i had always prided myself that i knew something of music, but her knowledge was far deeper than mine. and so we gossiped on, crossing the park and entering kensington gardens--those beautiful pleasure grounds that always seem so neglected by the majority of londoners--while the sun sank and disappeared in its blood-red afterglow. she spoke of her life abroad, declaring that she loved london and was always pleased to return to its wild, turbulent life. she had spent some time in paris, in vienna, in berlin, but no one was half as interesting, she declared, as london. "but you are not a londoner, are you?" i asked. "no, not exactly," she responded, "although i've lived here such a long time that i've become almost a cockney. are you a londoner?" "no," i answered; "i'm a countryman, born and bred." "i heard the colonel remark that other night that you had been afflicted by blindness for some time. is that so?" i responded in the affirmative. "terrible!" she ejaculated, glancing at me with those wonderful dark eyes of hers that seemed to hold me in fascination and look me through and through. "we who possess our eyesight cannot imagine the great disadvantages under which the blind are placed. how fortunate that you are cured!" "yes," i explained. "the cure is little short of a miracle. the three greatest oculists in london all agreed that i was incurable, yet there one day came to me a man who said he could give me back my sight. i allowed him to experiment, and he was successful. from the day that i could see plainly he, curiously enough, disappeared." "how strange! did he never come and see you afterwards?" "no. he took no reward, but simply discontinued his visits. i do not even know his real name." "how extraordinary!" she observed, greatly interested. "i really believe that there is often more romance and mystery in real life than in books. such a circumstance appears absolutely bewildering." "if to you, miss anson, then how much more to me! i, who had relinquished all hope of again looking upon the world and enjoying life, now find myself actually in possession of my vision and able to mix with my fellow-men. place yourself for a moment in my position, and try to imagine my constant thankfulness." "you must feel that a new life is opened to you--that you have begun a fresh existence," she observed with a true touch of sympathy in her sweet voice. then she added, as if by afterthought. "how many of us would be glad to commence life afresh!" the tone in which she uttered that sentence seemed incongruous. a few moments before she had been all brightness and gaiety, but in those words there vibrated a distinctly gloomy note. "surely you do not desire to commence your life again?" i said. she sighed slightly. "all of us have our burden of regrets," she answered vaguely, raising her eyes for an instant to mine, and then lowering them. we appeared in those moments to grow confidential. the crimson and orange was fast fading from the sky. it was growing dark beneath the shadow of the great elms, and already the line of street lamps out in kensington gore were twinkling through the foliage on our left. no one was in the vicinity, and we were walking very slowly, for, truth to tell, i desired to delay our parting until the very last moment. of all the leafy spots in giant london, there is none so rural, so romantic, or so picturesque in summer as that portion of kensington gardens lying between queen's gate and the broad walk. save for the dull roar of distant traffic, one might easily fancy one's self far in the country, a hundred miles from the sound of bow bells. "but you are young, miss anson," i observed philosophically, after a brief pause. "and if i may be permitted to say so, you have scarcely begun to live your life. yet you actually wish to commence afresh!" "yes," she responded briefly, "i do. strange, is it not?" "is the past, then, so full of bitterness?" i asked, the colonel's strange warning recurring to me at the same moment. "its bitterness is combined with regrets," she answered huskily, in a low voice. "but you, young, bright, happy, and talented, who need not think of the trials of everyday life, should surely have no regrets so deep as to cause you this anxiety and despair," i said, with a feeling of tenderness. "i am ten years older than you, therefore i may be permitted to speak like this, even though my words may sound presumptuous." "continue," she exclaimed. "i assure you that in my present position i appreciate any words of sympathy." "you have my deepest sympathy, miss anson; of that i assure you," i declared, detecting in her words a desire to confide in me. "if at your age you already desire to recommence life, your past cannot have been a happy one." "it has been far from happy," she answered in a strange, mechanical voice. "sometimes i think that i am the unhappiest woman in all the world." "no, no," i hastened to reassure her. "we all, when in trouble, imagine that our burden is greater than that of any of our fellows, and that while others escape, upon us alone fall the graver misfortunes." "i know, i know," she said. "but a pleasant face and an air of carelessness ofttimes conceal the most sorrowful heart. it is so in my case." "and your sorrow causes you regret, and makes you wish to end your present life and commence afresh," i said gravely. "to myself, ignorant of the circuit stances, it would seem as though you repented of some act or other." "what do you mean?" she gasped quickly, looking at me with a strange expression in her dark eyes. "i do not repent--i repent nothing!" i saw that i had made a grave mistake. in my fond and short-sighted enthusiasm i had allowed myself to speak a little too confidentially, whereupon her natural dignity had instantly rebelled. at once i apologised, and in an instant she became appeased. "i regret extremely that you should have such a weight of anxiety upon your heart," i said. "if i can do anything to assist you, rely upon me." "you are extremely kind," she answered in a gloomy tone; "but there is nothing--absolutely nothing." "i really can't understand the reason why, with every happiness around you, you should find yourself thus plunged in this despair," i remarked, puzzled. "your home life is, i presume, happy enough?" "perfectly. i am entirely my own mistress, save in those things which might break through the ordinary conventionalities of life. i must admit to you that i am rather unconventional sometimes." i had wondered whether, like so many other girls, she had some imaginary grievance in her home; but now, finding that this was not so, it naturally occurred to me that the cause of her strange desire to live her life over again arose through the action of some faithless lover. how many hundreds of girls with wealth and beauty, perfectly happy in all else, are daily wearing out their lives because of the fickleness of the men to whom they have foolishly given their hearts! the tightly-laced corsets of every eight girls in ten conceals a heart filled by the regrets of a love long past; the men smile airily through the wreaths of their tobacco-smoke, while the women, in those little fits of melancholy which they love to indulge in, sit and reflect in silence upon the might-have-beens. is there, i wonder, a single one of us, man or woman, who does not remember our first love, the deep immensity of that pair of eyes; the kindly sympathy of that face, which in our immature years we thought our ideal, and thereupon bowed the knee in worship? if such there be, then they are mere unrefined boors without a spark of romance in their nature, or poetry within their soul. indeed, the regrets arising from a long-forgotten love ofttimes mingle pleasure with sadness, and through one's whole life form cherished memories of those flushed days of a buoyant youth. to how many of those who read these lines will be recalled vivid recollections of a summer idyll of long ago; a day when, with the dainty or manly object of their affections, they wandered beside the blue sea, or on the banks of the tranquil, willow-lined river, or perhaps hand-in-hand strolled beneath the great old forest trees, where the sunlight glinted and touched the gnarled trunks with grey and gold! to each will come back the sweet recollection of a sunset hour now long, long ago, when they pressed the lips of the one they loved, and thought the rough world as rosy as that summer afterglow. the regret of those days always remains--often only a pleasant memory, but, alas! sometimes a lamentation bordering upon despair, until the end of our days. "and may i not know something, however little, of the cause of this oppression upon you?" i asked of her, after we had walked some distance in silence. "you tell me that you desire to wipe out the past and commence afresh. the reason of this interests me," i added. "i don't know why you should interest yourself in me," she murmured. "it is really unnecessary." "no, no," i exclaimed hastily. "although our acquaintance has been of but brief duration, i am bold enough to believe that you count me among your friends. is it not so?" "certainly, or i would not have given you permission to walk with me here," she answered with a sweetness which showed her unostentatious delicacy of character. "then, as your friend, i beg of you to repose whatever confidence in me you may think fit, and to be assured that i will never abuse it." "confidences are unnecessary between us," she responded. "i have to bear my grief alone." "your words sound strange, coming from one whom i had thought so merry and light-hearted," i said. "are you, then, ignorant of the faculty a woman has of concealing her sorrows behind an outward show of gaiety--that a woman always possesses two countenances, the face and the mask?" "you are scarcely complimentary to your own sex," i answered with a smile. "yet that is surely no reason why you should be thus wretched and downhearted." her manner puzzled me, for since the commencement of our conversation she had grown strangely melancholy--entirely unlike her own bright self. i tried to obtain from her some clue to the cause of her sadness, but in vain. my short acquaintance with her did not warrant me pressing upon her a subject which was palpably distasteful; nevertheless, it seemed to me more than strange that she should thus acknowledge to me her sorrow at a moment when any other woman would have practised coquetry. "i can only suffer in silence," she responded when i asked her to tell me something of the cause of her unhappiness. "excuse my depression this evening. i know that to you i must seem a hypochondriac, but i will promise you to wear the mask--if ever we meet again." "why do you speak so vaguely?" i inquired in quick apprehension. "i certainly hope that we shall meet again, many, many times. your words would make it appear as though such meeting is improbable." "i think it is," she answered simply. "you are very kind to have borne with me like this," she added, her manner quickly changing; "and if we do meet, i'll try not to have another fit of melancholy." "yes, miss anson," i said, halting in the path, "let us meet again. remember that we have to-day commenced a friendship--a friendship which i trust will last always." but she slowly shook her head, as though the heavy sadness of her heart still possessed her. "friendship may exist between us, but frequent meetings are, i fear, impossible." "why? you told me only a moment ago that you were your own mistress," i observed. "and so i am in most things," she answered. "but as far as meeting you, we can only leave that to chance." "why?" "please do not endeavour to force me to explanations," she answered with firmness. "i merely tell you that frequent meetings with you are unlikely--that is all." we had walked on, and were nearing the gate leading out into the high street, kensington. "in other words, then, you are not altogether pleased with my companionship?" "no, really," she laughed sweetly. "i didn't say that. you have no reason to jump at such a conclusion. i thank you very much indeed for your words of sympathy." "and you have no desire to see me again?" i interrupted, in a tone of bitter disappointment. "if such were the case, ours would be a very extraordinary friendship, wouldn't it?" and she lifted her eyes to mine with a kindly look. "then i am to take it that my companionship on this walk has not been distasteful to you?" i asked anxiously. she inclined her head with dignified air, saying. "certainly. i feel that this evening i have at least found a friend--a pleasant thought when one is comparatively friendless." "and as your friend--your devoted friend--i ask to be permitted to see you sometimes," i said earnestly, for, lingering at her side, i was very loth to part from her. "if i can ever be of any assistance, command me." "you are very kind," she answered, with a slight tremor in her voice. "i shall remember your words always." then, putting forth her well-gloved hand, as we stood upon the kerb of the high street, she added, "it is getting late. we've taken such a long time across the park that i must drive home;" and she made a gesture to a passing hansom. "before we part," i said, "i will give you a card, so that should you require any service of me you will know where to write;" and, as we stood beneath the street lamp, i drew out a card and, with a pencil i took from my vest-pocket, scribbled my address. in silence she watched, but just as i had finished she suddenly gripped my hand, uttering a loud cry of amazement. "what's that you have there?" she demanded. "let me see it!" next instant--before, indeed, i could be aware of her intention--she had snatched the pencil from my grasp, and was examining it closely beneath the gaslight. "ah!" she gasped, glaring at me in alarm. "it is--yes, it is his!" the small gold pencil which i had inadvertently used was the one i had taken from the pocket of the dead unknown on that fateful august night. chapter thirteen. the enchantment of a face. the face of mabel anson, my new-found friend and idyll, had in that instant changed. her countenance was pale as death, while the hand holding the small pencil trembled. "whence did you obtain this?" she demanded in an awe-stricken tone, which showed plainly that she recognised it. she held her breath in expectancy. what could i reply? to explain the truth was impossible, for i had pledged my honour to edna to preserve the secret. besides, i had no wish to horrify her by the strange story of my midnight adventure. hence a lie arose involuntarily to my lips. "i found it," i stammered. "found it? where?" "i found it when groping about during the time i was blind, and i've carried it ever since, wondering whether one day i should discover its owner." "it is extraordinary?" she gasped--"most extraordinary." "you appear to recognise it," i observed, much puzzled at her attitude. "if you can tell me to whom it belongs i will return it." she hesitated, and with a quick effort regained her self-control. "i mean it possesses an extraordinary resemblance to one i have seen many times before--but i suppose there are lots of pencil-cases of the same shape," she added with affected carelessness. "but there is a curious, unintelligible cypher engraved upon it," i said. "did you notice it?" "yes. it is the engraving which makes me doubt that i know its owner. his initials were not those." "you speak in the past tense," i observed. "why!" "because--well, because we are no longer friends--if you desire to know the truth;" and she handed me back the object, which, with the dress-stud, formed the only clue i had to the identity of the unfortunate victim of the assassin. there was something in her manner which was to me the reverse of convincing. i felt absolutely certain that this unimportant object had, in reality, been identified by her, and that with some hidden motive she was now intentionally misleading me. "then you do not believe that this really belonged to your friend?" i asked, holding it up to her gaze. "no," she answered quickly, averting her face as though the sight of it were obnoxious. "i feel certain that it did not. its resemblance is striking--that's all." "it would have been a remarkable coincidence if it really were the property of your friend," i said. "very remarkable," she admitted, still regarding me strangely. "yet the trite saying that `the world is small' is nevertheless very true. when i first saw it i felt certain it belonged to a gentleman i knew, but on closer examination i find it is older, more battered, and bears initials which have evidently been engraved several years." "where did your friend lose his?" i inquired, reflecting upon the lameness of her story. the mere recognition of a lost pencil-case would never have affected her in the manner that sight of this one had if there were not some deeper meaning attached to it. "i have no idea. indeed, i am not at all sure that it is not still in his possession." "and how came you to be so well acquainted with its aspect?" i asked, in eagerness to ascertain the truth. she hesitated for a few moments. "because," she faltered--"because it was a present from me." "to an admirer?" she did not answer, but even in that dim lamplight i detected the tell-tale flush mounting to her cheeks. then, in order, apparently, to cover her confusion, she added-- "i must really go. i shall be late for dinner, and my mother hates to wait for me. good-bye." our hands clasped, our eyes met, and i saw in hers a look of deep mystery, as though she held me in suspicion. her manner and her identification of that object extracted from the pocket of the dead man were very puzzling. "good-bye," i said. "i hope soon to have the pleasure of meeting you again. i have enjoyed this walk of ours immensely." "when we meet--if ever we do," she answered with a mischievous smile, "remember that i have promised to wear the mask. good-bye." and she twisted her skirts gracefully, entered the cab, and a moment later was driven off, leaving me alone on the kerb. i hesitated whether to return home by 'bus or underground railway, but, deciding on the latter, continued along the high street to the station, and journeyed to the temple by that sulphurous region of dirt and darkness known as the "inner circle." the reader may readily imagine how filled with conflicting thoughts was my mind on that homeward journey. although i adored mabel anson with a love beyond all bounds, and would on that evening have declared my passion for her had i dared, yet i could not disguise from myself that sight of the pencil-case i had taken from the dead unknown had wrought an instant and extraordinary change in her. she had identified it. of that fact there was no doubt. her lame explanation that it bore a resemblance to the one she had given to her friend was too palpably an afterthought. i was vexed that she should have thus attempted a deception. it was certainly true that one gold pencil-case is very like another, and that a birmingham maker may turn out a thousand of similar pattern, yet the intricate cypher engraved on the one in question was sufficient by which to identify it. it was these very initials which had caused her to deny that it was really the one she had purchased and presented; yet i felt convinced that what she had told me was untrue, and that those very initials had been placed upon it by her order. again, had she not spoken of its owner in the past tense? this, in itself, was a very suspicious circumstance, and led me to the belief that she was aware of his death. if he were dead, then certainly he would no longer be her friend. her sudden and abject amazement at seeing the pencil in my hand; her exclamation of surprise; her eagerness to examine it; all were facts which showed plainly that she knew that it remained no longer in his possession, and was yet dumbfounded to find it in my hand. had she not also regarded me with evident suspicion? perhaps, having identified her present, she suspected me of foul play? the thought held me petrified. for aught i knew she might be well aware of that man's tragic end, and the discovery of part of his property in my possession was to her evidence that i had committed murder. my position was certainly growing serious. i detected in the rather formal manner in which she took leave of me a disinclination to shake my hand. perhaps she believed it to be the hand of the murderer. indeed, my declaration that i had found that incriminating object was in itself sufficient to strengthen her suspicion if, as seemed quite probable, she was aware of her friend's tragic end. yet i had really found it. it was no lie. i had found it in his pocket, and taken it as a clue by which afterwards to identify him. now, if it were true that the man who had been struck dead at my side was actually mabel's friend, then i was within measurable distance of elucidating the mystery of that fateful night and ascertaining the identity of the mysterious edna, and also of that ruler of my destiny, who corresponded with me under the pseudonym of "avel." this thought caused me to revert to that hour when i had sat upon the seat in the park, keeping a tryst with some person unknown. seated in the corner of the railway-carriage i calmly reflected. more than a coincidence it seemed that at the moment my patience became exhausted, and i rose to leave the spot my mysterious correspondent had appointed for the meeting, i should have come face to face with the woman whose grace and beauty held me beneath their spell. for some purpose--what i knew not--i had been sent to that particular seat to wait. i had remained there in vain, smoking a dozen cigarettes, reading through my paper even to the advertisements, or impatiently watching every person who approached, yet the moment i rose i encountered the very person for whom i had for days past been in active search. had mabel's presence there any connexion with the mysterious order which i had obeyed? upon this point i was filled with indecision. first, what possible connecting link could there be between her natural movements and the letter from that unknown hand? as far as i could discern there was absolutely none, i tried to form theories, but failed. i knew that mabel attended at the royal academy of music, and what was more natural than that she should cross the park on her way home? her way did not lie along the path where i had kept such a watchful vigil, and had i not risen and passed towards grosvenor gate at that moment we should not have met. there, indeed, seemed no possible combination between the request i had received from my unknown correspondent and her presence there. in my wild imaginings i wondered whether she were actually the woman whom in my blindness i had known as edna, but next instant flouted the idea. the voice, the touch, the hand, all were different. again, her personal appearance was not at all that of the woman described by west, the cabman who had driven me home after my strange adventures. no; she could not be edna. as the train roared through the stifling tunnels city-wards, i strove to arrive at some decision. puzzled and perplexed at the various phases presented by the enigma which ever grew more and more complicated, i found any decision an extremely difficult matter. i am not a man given to forming theories upon insufficient evidence, nor jumping to immature conclusions, therefore i calmly and carefully considered each fact in its sequence as related in this narrative. the absence of motives in several instances prevented any logical deduction. nevertheless, i could not somehow prevent a suspicion arising within me that the appointment made by my anonymous correspondent had some remote connexion with my meeting with the woman who had so suddenly come into my life--a mere suspicion, it is true, but the fact that no one had appeared to keep the appointment strengthened it considerably. whenever i thought of mabel, recollections of channing's strange admonition arose within me. why had he uttered that warning ere i had been acquainted with her a few hours? to say the least, it was extraordinary. and more especially so as he refused to give any explanation of his reasons. the one dark spot in my life, now that i had recovered my sight, was the ever-present recollection of that midnight tragedy. its remembrance held me appalled when i thought of it. and when i reflected upon my own culpability in not giving information to the police, and that in all probability this neglect of mine had allowed the assassin to escape scot free, i was beside myself with vexation and regret. my thoughts for ever tortured me, being rendered the more bitter by the reflection that i had placed myself in the power of one who had remained concealed, and whose identity was inviolable. as i declared in the opening of the narrative, it seems almost incredible that in these end-of-the-century-days a man could find himself in such a plight, surrounded by mysterious enemies, and held in bondage by one unknown and unrevealed. laboriously i tried to unravel the tangled skein of events and so extricate myself, but, tired with the overtask, i found that the mystery grew only more inscrutable. the woman i loved--the woman to whom i had fondly hoped some day ere long to make the declaration of the secret of my heart--had discovered in my possession an object which might well be viewed as evidence of a foul and cowardly crime. i feared--indeed, i felt assured--that her sweet sympathy had, in an instant, been turned to hatred. i loved her. i adored her with all the strength of my being, and i knew that without her my life, in the future must only be an aimless blank. in the sweetest natures there can be no completeness and consistency without moral energy, and that mabel possessed it was plainly shown. in her confidences with me as we traversed the park and kensington gardens she had shown, with the most perfect artfulness, that she had that instinctive unconscious address of her sex which always renders a woman doubly charming. persons who unite great sensibility and lively fancy possess unconsciously the power of placing themselves in the position of another and imagining rather than perceiving what is in their hearts. a few women possess this faculty, but men never. it is not inconsistent with extreme simplicity of character, and quite distinct from that kind of art which is the result of natural acuteness and habits of observation--quick to perceive the foibles of others, and as quick to turn them to its own purpose; which is always conscious of itself, and if united with strong intellect, seldom perceptible to others. in her chat with me she had no design formed or conclusion previously drawn, but her intuitive quickness of feeling, added to her imagination, caused her to half-confide in me her deep sorrow. her compassionate disposition, her exceeding gentleness, which gave the prevailing tone to her character, her modesty, her tenderness, her grace, her almost ethereal refinement and delicacy, all showed a true poetic nature within, while her dark, fathomless eyes betrayed that energy of passion which gave her character its concentrated power. was it any wonder, even though she might have been betrayed into a momentary tergiversation, that i bowed down and worshipped her? she was my ideal; her personal beauty and the tender sweetness of her character were alike perfect. therefore my love for her was a passion--that headlong vehemence, that fluttering and hope, fear and transport, that giddy intoxication of heart and sense which belongs to the novelty of true love which we feel once, and but once, in our lives. yet i was held perplexed and powerless by her unexpected and unacknowledged identification of that clue to the unknown dead. chapter fourteen. a revelation. although many days passed, no word of apology came from my mysterious correspondent for not having kept the appointment. i watched every post for nearly a fortnight, and as i received no explanation, my suspicion regarding mabel's connexion with the strange affair became, of course, strengthened. with heart-sinking i had taken leave of her on the kerb in kensington high street on that well-remembered evening, feeling that the likelihood of our frequent meeting was very remote, especially now that she apparently held me in suspicion. in this case, however, i was mistaken, for within a week we met again quite accidentally in bond street, and, finding her disposed to accept my companionship, i accompanied her shopping, and spent an extremely pleasant afternoon. her mother was rather unwell, she explained, and that accounted for her being alone. she was dressed entirely in black, but with a quiet elegance that was surprising. i had never known before that day how smart and _chic_ a woman could appear in a gown of almost funereal aspect. her manner towards me retained nothing of its previous suspicion; she was bright and merry, without that cloud of unhappiness that had so strangely overshadowed her on the last occasion we had been together. she possessed a clever wit, and gossiped and joked amusingly as we went from shop to shop, ordering fruit for dessert, and flowers for table-decoration. that her mother was wealthy appeared certain from the extravagant prices which she gave for fruits out of season and choice hothouse flowers. she bought the best she could procure, and seemed utterly regardless of expense. i remarked how dear were some grapes which she had ordered, but she only smiled and gave her shoulders a little shrug. this recklessness was not done to impress me, for i was quick to detect that the shopkeepers knew her as a good customer, and brought forward their most expensive wares as a matter of course. although at first she declined my invitation, as though she considered it a breach of the _convenances_, i at length persuaded her to take some tea with me at blanchard's, and we continued our gossip as we sat together at one of the little tables surrounded by other ladies out shopping with their male encumbrances. i had, rather unwisely, perhaps, passed a critical remark regarding a lady who had entered in an unusually striking toilette, in which she looked very hot and extremely uncomfortable, and laughing at what i had said, she replied-- "you are certainly right. we women always overweigh ourselves in our garments, to say nothing of other and more fatiguing things. half of life's little worries accrue from our clothes. from tight collar to tight shoe, and not forgetting a needlessly befeathered hat, we take unto ourselves burdens that we should be much happier without." "i agree entirely," i said, smiling at her philosophy. "some blatant crank bent on self-advertisement might do worse than found an anti-ornamental dress league. just think how much of life's trials would at once slip off a man if he wore neither collar nor tie-- especially the dress-tie!" "and off a woman, if she wore neither belt, gloves, nor neck arrangement!" "exactly. it would be actually making us a present for life of nearly an hour a day. that would be seven hours a week, or nearly a fortnight a year," i said. "it's worth consideration." "do you remember the derision heaped upon that time-saving arrangement of our ancestors, the elastic-side boot?" she observed, with a merry smile. "but just fancy the trouble they must have saved in lacing and buttoning! sewing on shoe-buttons ought always to be done by criminals condemned to hard labour. button-sewing tries the conscientiousness and thoroughness of the work more than anything else, and i'm certain oakum-picking can't be worse. it also tries the quality of the thread more than anything else; and as to cottons, well, it treats them as samson did the withs." the carriage met her outside the stores in the haymarket at five o'clock, and before she took leave of me she mischievously asked-- "well, and how do you find me when i wear my mask?" "charming," i responded with enthusiasm. "mask or no mask, you are always the same to me, the most charming friend i have ever had." "no, no," she laughed. "it isn't good form to flatter. good-bye." and she stretched forth her small hand, which i pressed warmly, with deep regret at parting. a moment later the footman in his brown livery assisted her into the carriage. then she smiled merrily, and bowed as i raised my hat, and she was borne away westward in the stream of fine equipages, hers the smartest of them all. a week later, having seen nothing further of her, i wrote and received a prompt response. then in the happy autumn days that followed we contrived to meet often, and on each occasion i grew deeper and deeper in love with her. since that evening when we had stood together beneath the street lamp in kensington, she had made no mention of the pencil-case or of its owner. indeed, it seemed that her sudden identification of it had betrayed her into acknowledging that its owner had been her lover, and that now she was trying to do all she could to remove any suspicion from my mind. nevertheless, the remembrance of that crime and of all the events of that midnight adventure was ever within my mind, and i had long ago determined to make its elucidation the chief object of my life. i had placed myself beneath the thrall of some person unknown, and meant to extricate myself and become again a free agent at all costs. on several occasions i had seen the cabman west on the rank at hyde park corner, but although he had constantly kept his eyes open in search of edna, his efforts had all been in vain. i had seen also the old cab-driver who bore the nickname "doughy," but it turned out that it had not been his cab which my mysterious protectress had taken after parting from me. one point, however, i settled satisfactorily. on one of our walks together i contrived that, the man west should see mabel, but he afterwards declared that the woman of whom he was in search did not in the least resemble her. therefore, it was certain that mabel and edna were not, as i had once vaguely suspected, one and the same person. sometimes i would meet my idol after her studies at the royal academy of music, and accompany her across the park; at others we would stroll together in the unfrequented part of kensington gardens, or i would walk with her shopping and carry her parcels, all our meetings being, of course, clandestine ones. one morning in the middle of november i was overfed at receiving an invitation from mrs anson to dine at the boltons, and a couple of days later the sum of my happiness was rendered complete by finding myself seated beside mabel in her own home. the house possessed an air of magnificence and luxury which i scarcely expected. it was furnished with great elegance and taste, while the servants were of an even more superior character than the house itself. among the homes of my many friends in the west end this was certainly the most luxurious, for money seemed to have been literally squandered upon its appointments, and yet withal there was nothing whatever garish nor any trace of a plebeian taste. there was a combined richness and quietness about the whole place which impressed one with an air of severity, while the footman who ushered me in was tall, almost a giant in stature, and solemn as a funeral mute. mrs anson rose and greeted me pleasantly, while mabel, in a pretty gown of coral-pink, also shook my hand and raised her fine dark eyes to mine with a glance of pleasure and triumph. it was, no doubt, due to her that i had been bidden there as guest. a red-headed, ugly-faced man named hickman, and a thin, angular, irritating woman, introduced to me as miss wells, were my only fellow-guests. the man regarded me with some suspicion as i entered, and from the first i took a violent dislike to him. it may have been his forbidding personal appearance which caused my distrust. now that i reflect, i think it was. his face was bloated and deeply furrowed, his eyes large, his lips thick and flabby, his reddish beard was ill-trimmed and scanty. he was thick-necked; his face was further disfigured by a curious dark-blue scar upon the left jaw, and i could not help remarking within myself, that if some faces resembled those of animals, his was closely allied to that of a savage bulldog. indeed, i had never before seen such an eminently ugly face as his. yet he spoke with the air and perfect manner of a gentleman. he bowed with refined dignity as i was introduced, although i thought his smile seemed supercilious, while i was almost certain that he exchanged a curious, contemptuous look with mabel, who stood behind me. was he aware of our little exchanges of confidences? had he secretly watched us in our walks along the leafy byways of kensington gardens, and detected that i loved her? it seemed very much as though he had, and that he had endeavoured to disparage me in her eyes. at mrs anson's invitation, i took mabel in to dinner, and sat next her, while opposite us sat the dog-faced man with the irritating spinster. the latter was a fitting companion for him, bony of countenance, her back straight as a board, her age uncertain, and her voice loud, high-pitched, and rasping. she wore a number of bangles on her left wrist; one of them had pigs and elephants hanging on it, with hearts, crosses, bells, and framed and glazed shamrock leaves mixed in. that would not have mattered much had she not been eating, but as dinner progressed the room grew a trifle warm, and she unfortunately had a fan as well as those distressing bangles, which fan she rhythmically waved to and fro, playing the orchestra softly when fanning herself, or loudly as she plied her knife and fork "click-clack, jingle-jingle, tinkle-tinkle, click-clack!" until the eternal music of those pigs, elephants, crosses, hearts and bells prevented anything beyond a jerky conversation. she turned and twisted and toyed with her _menu_, tinkling and jingling the whole time like a coral consoler or an infant's rattle. little wonder, i thought, that she remained a spinster. with such an irritating person to head his household, the unfortunate husband would be a candidate for colney hatch within a month. yet she was evidently a very welcome guest at mrs anson's table, for my hostess addressed her as "dear," and seemed to consider whatever positive opinion she expressed as entirely beyond dispute. i liked mrs anson. although of that extremely frigid type of mother, very formal and unbending, observing all the rules of society to the letter, and practically making her life a burden by the conventionalities, she possessed, nevertheless, a warm-hearted affection for her child, and seemed constantly solicitous of her welfare. she spoke with the very faintest accent with her "r's," and i had, on the first evening we had met at the colonel's, wondered whether she were of scotch, or perhaps foreign, extraction. the general conversation in the interval of the irritating woman's orchestra turned upon foreign travel, and incidentally, in answer to an ingenious question i put to her, she told me that her father had been german, but that she had nearly all her life lived in england. the irritating woman spoke of going to the riviera in december, whereupon mabel remarked-- "i hope mother will go too. i'm trying to persuade her. london is so dull and miserable in winter compared with cannes or nice." "you know the riviera well, i suppose?" i inquired of her. "oh, very well," she responded. "mother and i have spent four winters in the south. there's no place in europe in winter like the cote d'azur--as the french call it." "i much prefer the italian riviera," chimed miss wells's high-pitched voice. she made it a point of honour to differ with everybody. "at bordighera, ospedaletti, san remo, and alassio you have much better air, the same warmth, and at about half the price. the hotels in nice and cannes are simply ruinous." then, turning to mrs anson, she added, "you know, dear, what you said last year." "we go to the grand, at nice, always," answered mrs anson. "it is dear, certainly, but not exaggeratedly so in comparison with the other large hotels." "there seems of late to have been a gradual rise in prices all along the riviera," remarked hickman. "i've experienced it personally. ten or twelve years ago lived in nice for the season for about half what it costs me now." "that exactly bears out my argument," exclaimed the irritating woman, in triumph. "the fact is that the french riviera has become far too dear, and english people are, fortunately for themselves, beginning to see that by continuing their journey an extra twenty miles beyond nice they can obtain just as good accommodation, live better, breathe purer air, and not be eternally worried by those gaudy tinsel-shows called carnivals, or insane attempts at hilarity miscalled battles of flowers." "oh, come, miss wells," protested mabel, "surely you won't condemn the battles of flowers at nice! why, they're acknowledged to be amongst the most picturesque spectacles in the world!" "i consider, my dear, that they are mere rubbishy ruses on the part of the nicois to cause people to buy their flowers and throw them into the roadway. it's only a trick to improve their trade." we all laughed. "and the carnival?" inquired hickman, much amused. "carnival!" she snorted. "a disgraceful exhibition of a town's lawlessness. a miserable pageant got up merely to attract the unsuspecting foreigner into the web spread for him by extortionate hotel-keepers. all the so-called fun is performed by paid mountebanks; the cars are not only inartistic, but there is always something extremely offensive in their character, while the orgies which take place at the masked balls at the casino are absolutely disgraceful. the whole thing is artificial, and deserves no support at all from winter visitors." mrs anson, for once, did not agree with this sweeping condemnation, while mabel declared that she always enjoyed the fun of the battles of flowers and paper confetti, although she admitted that she had never had the courage to go out on those days when the pellets of lime, or "harp confetti," are permitted. both hickman and myself supported mabel in defence of the annual fetes at nice as being unique in all the world. but the irritating woman was not to be convinced that her opinions were either ill-formed or in the least distorted. she had never been present at a carnival ball, she admitted, but it had been described to her by two estimable ladies who had, and that was, for her, sufficient. they were a pair of pious souls, and would, of course, never exaggerate to the length of a lie. dinner over, the ladies retired, and hickman and myself were left to smoke and gossip. he was certainly a very ugly man, and at times asserted an overbearing superiority in conversation; but having watched him very closely, i at length arrived at the conclusion that this was his natural manner, and was not intended to be offensive. indeed, ever since that first moment when i had entered and been introduced, he had shown himself to be very pleasant and affable towards me. "poor miss wells!" he laughed, after the door had closed. "she's so infernally positive about everything. it would be as good as an entertainment to induce her to expound her views upon religious matters." "any argument seems utterly useless," i remarked. "do you know nice well?" he inquired, after reflecting a moment. "i've spent three winters there," i answered. "and at monte carlo, i suppose?" "yes, of course," i responded, laughing. "i suppose scarcely any man goes to nice without going over to monty and risking a few louis." "were you lucky?" "so, so. one season i won five thousand francs. in fact, i've never lost on the whole season. i've always left the riviera with some of the bank's money." "then you can heartily congratulate yourself," he said, "i'm the reverse. i generally lose. do you believe in any system at roulette?" "no; they are all frauds," i answered promptly. "except one," he interposed. "there's one based on the law of averages, which must turn up in your favour if you're only patient enough. the reason why it is so difficult is because it's such a long and tedious affair." "explain it," i urged, for a new system that was infallible was, to me, of greatest interest. i had, in the days before my blindness, made a study of the chances at roulette, and had played carefully upon principles which had, to me, appeared most natural. the result had been that with care i had won--not much, it was true--but it was better than leaving one's money to swell the company's dividends. "the system," he said, tossing off his glass of curacoa at one gulp, "is not at all a complicated one. if you study the permanences of any table--you can get them from the _gazette rose_--you'll find that each day the largest number of times either colour comes up in succession is nine. now, all you have to do is to go to a table at the opening of the play, and taking one colour, red or black it makes no difference, stake upon it, and allow your money to accumulate until it is swept away. if the colour you stake upon comes up eight times in succession, and you have originally staked twenty francs, your gains lying on the table will amount to two thousand five hundred and sixty francs. even then, don't touch it. the colour must, in the law of averages, come up nine times in succession each day, taking the week through. if it comes up, you'll win five thousand and twenty francs for the louis you staked, and then at once leave the table, for it will not come up nine times again that day. of course, this may occur almost at the opening of the play, or not until the table is near closing, therefore it requires great patience and constant attendance. to-day it may not come up nine times, but it will probably come up nine times on two occasions to-morrow, and so the average always rights itself." his theory was certainly a novel one, and impressed me. there might, i thought, be something in it. he had never had patience to try it, he admitted, but he had gone through a whole year's "permanences," and found that only on three or four occasions had it failed. for half an hour or so he sat lucidly explaining the results of his studies of the game with the air of a practised gambler. in these i became at once interested--as every man is who believes he has found the secret of how to get the right side of the bank; but we were at length compelled to put down our cigars, and he led the way into the drawing-room, where the ladies awaited us. the room was a large, handsome one, elegantly furnished, and lit by two great lamps, which shed a soft, subdued light from beneath their huge shades of silk and lace. mabel was sitting at the open grand piano, the shaded candlelight causing the beautiful diamond star in the coils of her dark-brown hair to flash with a dazzling iridescence, and as i entered she turned and gave me a sweet smile of welcome. a second time i glanced around that spacious apartment, then next instant stood breathless--transfixed. i could not believe my own eyes. it seemed absolutely incredible. yet the truth was beyond all doubt. in the disposition of the furniture, and in the general appointments of that handsome salon, the home of the woman i so dearly loved, i recognised the very room which i had once explored with my keen sense of touch--the room in which had been committed that ghastly, mysterious, midnight crime! chapter fifteen. what i saw. "how you men gossip!" mabel exclaimed, tingling upon the piano-stool, and laughing merrily. "i wasn't aware that we had been very long," i answered, sinking into a low armchair near her. "if so, i'm sure i apologise. the fact is, that mr hickman was explaining a new system of how to break the bank at monte carlo." "oh, mr hickman!" she cried, turning at once to him. "do explain it, and i'll try it when we go to the riviera." "mabel, my dear," exclaimed her mother, scandalised, "you'll do nothing of the kind. you know i don't approve of gambling." "oh, i think it's awfully good fun," her daughter declared. "if you win," i added. "of course," she added; then, turning again to hickman, she induced him to explain his new and infallible system just as he had explained it to me. the trend of the conversation was, however, lost to me. my ears were closed to all sound, and now that i reflect i am surprised that i succeeded in retaining my self-possession. i know i sat there rigid, as one held motionless in terror; i only replied in monosyllables to any remark addressed to me, and i knew instinctively that the colour had left my countenance. the discovery was as bewildering as it was unexpected. every detail of that handsome room was exactly as i had pictured it. the blind, with their keen sense of touch, are quick to form mental impressions of places and things, and the general character of this apartment i had riveted upon my mind with the fidelity of a photograph. the furniture was of gilt, just as i had detected from its smoothness, and covered with a rich brocade in wide stripes of art green and dull red-brown--an extremely handsome pattern; the carpet was dark, with a pile so thick that one's feet fell noiselessly; the three long windows, covered by heavy curtains of brocade to match the furniture, reached from the high-painted ceiling to the ground, exactly as i had found them in my blind gropings. about the room were two or three tables with glass tops, in trays beneath which were collections of choice _bric-a-brac_, including some wonderful chinese carvings in ivory, while before the fireplace was spread the great tiger-skin, with paws and head preserved, which i so well remembered. i sat there speechless, breathless. not a single detail was there wanting. never before, in all my life, had amazement held me so absolutely dumbfounded. close to where i saw was a spacious couch, over the centre of which was thrown an antimacassar of silken crochet-work. it was covered with the same brocade as the rest of the furniture, and i stretched forth my hand, with feigned carelessness and touched it. its contact was the same, its shape exact; its position in the room identical. upon that very couch i had reclined while the foul tragedy had been enacted in that room. my head swam; i closed my eyes. the great gilt clock, with its pendulum representing the figure of a girl swinging beneath the trees, standing on the mantelshelf, ticked out low and musically, just as it had done on that fateful night. in an instant, as i sat with head turned from my companions and my eyes shut, the whole of that tragic scene was re-enacted. i heard the crash, the woman's scream, the awe-stricken exclamation that followed in the inner room. i heard, too, the low swish of a woman's skirts, the heavy blow struck by an assassin's hand, and in horror felt the warm life-blood of the unknown victim as it trickled upon my hand. mabel suddenly ran her white fingers over the keys, and the music brought me back to a realisation of my true position. i had at length discovered the actual house in which the mysterious tragedy had been enacted, and it became impressed upon me that by the exercise of greatest care i might further be enabled to prosecute secret investigations to a successful issue, and at length solve the enigma. my eyes fixed themselves upon the couch. it was the very spot where i had rested, sightless, helpless, while those strange events had taken place about me. was it any wonder that i became filled with apprehensions, or that i sat there petrified as one turned to stone? the square, dark-green antimacassar had been placed in the exact centre of the couch, and sewed down in order to keep it in its place. where i was sitting was fortunately in the shadow, and when mabel commenced playing i rose--unsteadily i think--and reseated myself upon the couch, as being more comfortable. then, while the woman who held me entranced played a selection from the "trovatore," i, unnoticed by the others, succeeded in breaking the stitches which tacked the antimacassar to the brocade. the feat was a difficult one, for one does not care to be detected tearing the furniture of one's hostess. nevertheless, after ten minutes or so i succeeded in loosening it, and then, as if by the natural movement of my body, commenced to work aside. the music ceased, and even though all my attention was now centred upon my investigations, i congratulated mabel upon her accurate execution. hickman was standing beside her, and together they began to search for some piece he had requested her to play, while miss wells, with her hearts and elephants jingling, turned to me and commenced to talk. by this i was, of course, interrupted; nevertheless, some ten minutes later, i rose, and naturally turned back to straighten the rumpled antimacassar. in doing so i managed to lift it and glance beneath. in an instant the truth was plain. concealed beneath that square of green crochet-work was a large dark-brown stain upon the brocade. it was the mark of the life-blood of that thin, well-dressed, unknown victim, who had, in an instant, been struck to the heart! the shock at its discovery caused me to start, but next instant i smoothed out the antimacassar into its former place without attracting any attention, and passed across the room with the motive of inspecting an object which i well remembered discovering when i had made my blind search. upon a pedestal of black marble stood an exquisite little statuette of a neapolitan dancing-woman, undoubtedly the work of some italian master. without pausing to examine it, i took in its every detail as i passed. it was exactly as i had felt it, and in the self-same spot as on that fatal night. beside the couch, as i turned again to look, i saw that a large skin rug had been thrown down. without doubt it had been placed there to conceal the ugly stain of blood upon the carpet. and yet there, on the scene of one of the foulest and most cowardly assassinations, we were actually spending the evening quietly, as became a respectable household. the thing seemed absolutely incredible. a dozen times i endeavoured to persuade myself that the whole discovery was but a chimera, arising from my disordered imagination. nevertheless, it was impossible to disguise from myself the fact that in every detail the truth was borne out. in that very room the unknown man had been struck dead. the marks of his blood still remained as evidence of the truth. i saw that beside the high lamps at that moment in use, there was a magnificent candelabra suspended from the ceiling, and in this were electric lamps. then, at the door, i noticed the switch, and knew that it was the same which i had heard turned off by the assassin before leaving the house. at the end of the room, too, were the folding doors, now concealed by curtains. it was through those very doors that edna, my mysterious protectress, had passed and repassed to that inner room whence had come the sound of champagne being uncorked and the woman's piercing scream. mabel leaned over and spoke to me, whereupon i sank again into the chair i had previously occupied. she began to chat, but although her beautiful eyes held me fixed, and her face seemed more handsome than any i had ever seen, the diamonds in her hair dazzled my eyes, and i fear that my responses were scarcely intelligible. "you are not quite yourself to-night, i think," she remarked at last, rising from the piano, and taking the low chair that i drew up for her. "are you unwell?" "why?" i asked, laughing. "because you look rather pale. what's the matter?" "nothing," i answered, as carelessly as i could. "a slight headache. but it has passed now." my eyes wandered to those curtains of green plush. how i longed to enter that room beyond! at that moment she took out her handkerchief. even that action added to the completion of the mental picture i had formed. her tiny square of lawn and lace exhaled a sweet odour. it was that of _peau d'espagne_, the same subtle perfume used by the mysterious edna! it filled my nostrils until i seemed intoxicated by its fragrance combined with her beauty. her dress was discreetly _decollete_, and as she sat chatting to me with that bright vivaciousness which was so charming, her white neck slowly heaved and fell. she had, it seemed, been striving all the evening to get a tete-a-tete chat with me, but the chatter of that dreadful irritating woman and the requests made by hickman had prevented her. as she gossiped with me, now and then waving her big feather fan, she conveyed to my mind an impression of extreme simplicity in the midst of the most wonderful complexity. she seemed to take the peculiar traits from many characters, and so mingle them that, like the combination of hues in a sunbeam, the effect was as one to the eye. i had studied her carefully each time we had met, and had found that she had something of the romantic enthusiasm of a juliet, of the truth and constancy of a helen, of the dignified purity of an isabel, of the tender sweetness of a viola, of the self-possession and intellect of a portia--combined together so equally and so harmoniously that i could scarcely say that one quality predominated over the other. her dignity was imposing, and stood rather upon the defensive; her submission, though unbounded, was not passive, and thus she stood wholly distinct in her sweetness from any woman i had ever met. the following day was one on which she was due to take her music-lesson, and i inquired whether i might, as usual, meet her and escort her across the park. "you are really very kind," she responded; "but i fear i take up far too much of your time." "not at all," i hastened to assure her. "i always enjoy our walks together." she smiled, but a moment later said-- "i fear that i shall be prevented from going to hanover square to-morrow, as i shall be making calls with mother. we've been neglecting to call of late, and have such a host to make." "then i shan't see you at all to-morrow?" i said in deep disappointment. "no, i fear not," she answered. "as a matter of fact, my movements for the next few days are rather uncertain." "but you'll write and tell me when you are free?" i urged earnestly. "if you wish," she responded, smiling sweetly. apparently she was in no wise averse to my companionship, a fact which had become to me more apparent now that she had induced her mother to invite me to their table. i endeavoured to extract from her some appointment, but she only whispered-- "remember that our meetings are clandestine. don't let them overhear us. let's change the subject." and then she began to discuss several of the latest novels. she had apparently a wide knowledge of french fiction, for she explained how a friend of hers, an old schoolfellow, who had married a french baron and lived in paris, sent her regularly all the notable novels. of english fiction, too, she was evidently a constant reader, for she told me much about recent novels that i was unaware of, and criticised style in a manner which betrayed a deep knowledge of her subject. "one would almost think you were a lady novelist, or a book-reviewer," i remarked, in response to a sweeping condemnation which she made regarding the style of a much-belauded writer. "well, personally, i like books with some grit in them," she declared. "i can't stand either the so-called problem novel, or a story interlarded with dialect. if any one wants nasty problems, let them spend a few shillings in the works of certain french writers, who turn out books on the most unwholesome themes they can imagine, and fondly believe themselves realists. we don't want these _queue-de-siecle_ works in england. let us stick to the old-fashioned story of love, adventure, or romance. english writers are now beginning to see the mistake they once made in trying to follow the french style, and are turning to the real legitimate novel of action--the one that interests and grips from the first page to the last." she spoke sensibly, and i expressed my entire accord with her opinion. but this discussion was only in order to hide our exchange of confidences uttered in an undertone while hickman and the two ladies were chatting at the further end of the room. all the time i was longing to get a sight of the interior of the adjoining apartment, the room whence had burst forth that woman's agonised cry in the stillness of the night. i racked my brain to find some means of entering there, but could devise none. a guest can hardly wander over his hostess's house on the first occasion he receives an invitation. besides, to betray any interest in the house might, i reflected, arouse some suspicion. to be successful in these inquiries would necessitate the most extreme caution. the fragrant odour of _peau d'espagne_ exhaled by her chiffons seemed to hold me powerless. the gilt clock with its swinging girl had already struck eleven on its silver bell, and been re-echoed by another clock in the hall playing the westminster chimes, when suddenly mrs anson, with a book in her hand, looked across to her daughter, saying-- "mabel, dear, i've left my glasses on the table in the library. will you kindly fetch them for me?" in an instant i saw my chance, and, jumping to my feet, offered to obtain them. at first she objected, but finding me determined, said-- "the library is the next room, there. you'll find them on the writing-table. mother always leaves them there. it's really too bad to thus make a servant of you. i'll ring for arnold." "no, no," i protested, and at once went eagerly in search of them. chapter sixteen. the inner room. the adjoining room was, i found, in the front part of the house--a rather small one, lined on one side with books, but furnished more as a boudoir than a library, for there were several easy-chairs, a work-table, and a piano in a corner. at this instrument the mysterious player had on that night sat executing chopin's "andante-spinato" the moment before it became interrupted by some tragic and unexpected spectacle. i glanced around and noted that the furniture and carpet were worn and faded, that the books were dusty and evidently unused, and that the whole place presented an air of neglect, and had nothing whatever in keeping with the gorgeousness of the other handsome apartments. the glasses were, as mrs anson had said, lying beside the blotting-pad upon a small rosewood writing-table. i took them up, and, having made a tour of inspection, was about to leave the place, when suddenly, on the top of some books upon a shelf close to the door, i espied a small volume. the curious incident of the birthday book occurred to me; therefore i took down the little volume and found that it really was a birthday book. no name was inscribed on the title-page as owner, but there were many names scribbled therein. in swift eagerness i turned to the page of my own birthday--the nd of july. it was blank. i stood pondering with the book still in my hand. the absence of my name there proved one or two things, either i had not signed a birthday book at all, or, if i had, it was not the one i had discovered. now, there are frequently two birthday-books in one house, therefore i resolved, ere i gave the matter reflection, to prosecute my investigations further and ascertain whether there was not a second book. with this object i made a second tour around the room, noting the position of every article of furniture. some music lay scattered beside the piano, and, on turning it over, i found the actual copy of chopin's "andante" which had been played on the night of the tragedy. the cover had been half torn away, but, on examining it closely beneath the light, i detected plainly a small smear of blood upon it. truly the house was one of mystery. in that room several persons had drunk champagne on that memorable night when blind fate led me thither; in that room a woman had, according to the man's shout of alarm, been foully done to death, although of this latter fact i was not altogether sure. at any rate, however, it was plain that some tragic event had previously taken place there, as well as in that room beyond where i had reclined blind and helpless. it was strange also that the apartment should remain neglected and undusted, as though the occupants entertained some dislike to it. but i had been absent long enough, and, returning to the drawing-room with the missing glasses, handed them to mrs anson. hickman had, in my absence, crossed to mabel, and was sitting beside her in earnest conversation, therefore i was compelled to seat myself with my hostess and the irritating woman and chat with them. but ere long i contrived again to reach the side of the woman whom i adored, and to again press her for an appointment. "it is far better forme to write to you," she answered, beneath her breath. "as i've told you, we have so many calls to make and cards to leave." "your mother tells me that you have a box for the prince of wales's on saturday night, and has asked me to join you," i said. her eyes brightened, and i saw that she was delighted at the prospect. but she expressed a hope that i wouldn't be bored. "bored!" i echoed. "why, i'm never bored when in your company. i fear that it's the other way about--that i bore you." "certainly not," she responded decisively. "i very soon contrive to give persons who are bores their _conge_. mother accuses me of rudeness to them sometimes, but i assure you i really can't help being positively insulting. has mother asked you to dine on saturday?" "yes," i answered. "but shan't i see you before then?" "no; i think it is very unlikely. we'll have a jolly evening on saturday." "but i enjoy immensely those walks across the park," i blurted forth in desperation. "and i also," she admitted with a sweet frankness. "but this week it is utterly impossible to make any arrangements." mention of the theatre afforded me an opportunity of putting to her a question upon which, during the past couple of hours, i had reflected deeply. "you've, of course, been to the exhibition at earl's court, living here in the immediate vicinity," i said. "i've only been once," she answered. "although we've had this house nearly two years, exhibitions don't appeal to me very much. i was there at night, and the gardens were prettily illuminated, i thought." "yes," i said. "with the exception of the gardens, there is far too much pasteboard scenic effect. i suppose you noticed that serrated line of mountains over which the eternal switchback runs? those self-same mountains, repainted blue, grey, or purple, with tips of snow, have, within my personal knowledge, done duty as the alps, the pyrenees, the rockies, and the atlas, not counting half a dozen other notable ranges." she laughed, slowly fanning herself the while. by her reply i had obtained from her own lips a most important fact in the inquiry i intended now to prosecute, namely, that this house had been her home for nearly two years. therefore it had been in mrs anson's possession at the time of the tragedy. since the moment when i had first recognised that; room as the one in which i had been present on the night of the mysterious assassination, the possibility had more than once occurred to me that mrs anson might have; unwittingly taken it ready furnished after the committal of the crime. such, however, was not the fact. mabel had asserted that for nearly two years she had lived, there. again, even as i sat there at her side, deep in admiration of her magnificent figure in that striking toilette of coral-pink, with its soft garniture of lace and chiffons, i could not help reflecting upon the curious fact that she should have recognised the dead man's pencil-case. and she had, by her silence, assented to my suggestion that he had been her lover. that little gold pencil-case that i had found in his pocket when he lay dead at that very spot where we were now sitting had been one of her love-gifts to him. the mystery hourly grew more puzzling and bewildering. yet so also each hour that i was at her side i fell deeper and deeper in love with her, longing always for opportunity to declare to her the secret of my heart, yet ever fearing to do so lest she should turn from me. our unexpected meeting at grosvenor gate, after i had received that letter from my anonymous correspondent, combined with the startling discovery that it was actually in her house that the mysterious tragedy had been enacted; that in that very room the smart, refined young man who had been her lover had fought so fiercely for life, and had yet been struck down so unerringly, formed an enigma inscrutable and perplexing. the mystery, however, did not for one moment cause me to waver in my affection for her. i had grown to love her fondly and devotedly; to adore her as my idol, as the one who held my whole future in her hands, therefore whatever suspicion arose within my mind--and i admit that grave suspicion did arise on many occasions--i cast it aside and fell down to worship at the shrine of her incomparable beauty. miss wells's carriage was announced at last, and the irritating woman, tinkling and jingling, rose with a wearied sigh and took her leave, expressing her thanks for "a most delightful evening, my dear." mabel, mischievous as a school-girl, pulled a grimace when the music of the bangles had faded in the hall outside, at which we laughed in merry chorus. with hickman i remained ten minutes or so longer, then rose, also declaring that it was time we left. the grave man-servant arnold served us with whiskies and sodas in the dining-room, and, mabel having helped me on with my covert-coat, we shook hands with our hostess and her daughter, and left in company. the night was bright and starlit, and the air refreshing. turning to the left after leaving the house, we came immediately to a road which gave entrance to that secluded oval called the boltons. i looked at the name-plate, and saw it was named gilston road. it must have been at this corner that i had been knocked down by a passing cab when, on my first adventurous journey alone, i had wandered so far westward. i turned to look back, and noticed that from the dining-room window of the house we had just left any occurrence at the corner in question could be distinctly seen. edna had explained that she had witnessed my accident from that window, and in this particular had apparently told me the truth. the remarkable and unexpected discoveries of that evening had produced a veritable tumult of thoughts within my brain, and as i walked with hickman i took no note of his merry, irresponsible gossip, until he remarked-- "you're a bit preoccupied, i think. you're pondering over mabel's good looks, i suppose?" "no," i answered, starting at this remark. then, to excuse myself, i added, "i was thinking of other things. i really beg your pardon." "i was asking your opinion of mabel. don't you consider her extremely handsome?" "of course," i answered, trying to suppress my enthusiasm. "she's charming." "a splendid pianist, too." "excellent." "it has always been a wonder to me that she has never become engaged," he remarked. "a girl with her personal charms ought to make an excellent match." "has she never been engaged?" i inquired quickly, eager to learn the truth about her from this man, who was evidently an old friend of the family. "never actually engaged. there have been one or two little love-affairs, i've heard, but none of them was really serious." "he'd be a lucky fellow who married her," i remarked, still striving to conceal the intense interest i felt. "lucky!" he echoed. "i should rather think so, in many ways. it is impossible for a girl of her beauty and nobility of character to go about without lots of fellows falling in love with her. yet i happen to know that she holds them all aloof, without even a flirtation." i smiled at this assertion of his, and congratulated myself that i was the only exception; for had she not expressed pleasure at my companionship on her walks? but recollecting her admission that the victim of the assassin's knife had been her lover, i returned to the subject, in order to learn further facts. "who were the men with whom she had the minor love-affairs--any one i know?" i inquired. "i think not, because it all occurred before they returned to live in england," he answered. "then you knew them abroad?" "slightly. we met in a casual sort of way at pau, on the riviera, and elsewhere." "both mother and daughter are alike extremely pleasant," i said. "in high spirits mrs anson is sometimes almost as juvenile as mabel." "quite so," he laughed. "one would never believe that she's nearly sixty. she's as vivacious and merry as a woman half her age. i've myself been surprised at her sprightliness often and often." again and again i endeavoured to turn the conversation back to the identity of mabel's former lover, but he either did not know or purposely refused to tell me. he spoke now and then with an intentional vagueness, as though his loyalty to the ansons prevented him from betraying any confidences reposed in him as a friend of the family. indeed, this cautiousness showed him to be a trustworthy man, and his character became thereby strengthened in my estimation. on first acquaintance i had instantly experienced a violent aversion to him, but now, on this walk together along the fulham road, i felt that we should probably end by becoming friends. he walked with long strides and a swinging, easy gait that seemed almost military, while his air of careless merriment as he laughed and joked, smoking the choice cigar which the man had handed to him in the hall just before our departure, gave him the aspect of an easy-going man-about-town. "i fully expect, my dear fellow," he laughed--"i fully expect that you'll be falling in love with the pretty mabel if you're in her company very much." "you're chaffing," i protested, echoing his laugh. "not at all," he asserted. "only take care. love-making with her is a dangerous pastime--devilish dangerous, i assure you." "dangerous to the man's heart--eh?" "yes," he responded in a vague tone, glancing at me curiously; "if you like to put it in that way." we had passed from the fulham road into the king's road, chelsea, and at that moment he halted suddenly at the corner of a street of high, regularly built houses, most of which were in darkness, saying--"i live down here. come in and have a final whisky and soda with me; then you can take a cab back to the strand. there are cabs all night on the rank in sloane square." "i fear it's too late," i protested, glancing at my watch, and finding it past one o'clock. "no, no, my dear fellow, come along," he urged. "you'll want a drink before you get home;" and, thus persuaded, i accompanied him up the street to one of the high houses, each exactly similar to its neighbour, with a flight of hearthstoned steps leading up to its front door, and a deep, grimy basement protected by a few yards of iron railings. in the hall, although the gas had been extinguished, there remained a small hand-lamp alight, evidently placed there for his use. this he took, and conducted me to a front room, upon what the landlady of such a residence would term her "drawing-room floor." the house smelled close and stuffy; the furniture of the sitting-room was covered with plush which had once been crimson, but which was now sadly worn and badly moth-eaten; the threadbare carpet had been perforated in many places by hot cigarette-ends carelessly thrown down, and there was a general air of disorder about the place which seemed incongruous with my friend's smart air and general demeanour. i believed him to be a gentleman, yet found that he lived in a not over-clean lodging. to the practical londoner, whose fate it is to live in "diggings," apartments in the neighbourhood of the king's road are notable as being both dear and dirty. he threw off his overcoat, tossed his hat aside, and pulled up a long, comfortable wicker-chair for me. then he opened the buffet, and took therefrom a bottle of whisky and a couple of sodas, with which he proceeded to mix the drinks, his cigar-stump still in his mouth, even though he talked all the time, recounting some amusing stories which caused me to laugh. i could not quite make him out. the remarks he let fall while, over our coffee, we had discussed the chances at roulette, led me to the suspicion that he was a practised gambler, and here in his rooms i detected evidence that he was fond of sport, of betting, and of other games of hazard. we had lit fresh cigars from his own box, and as he sat in his big armchair he lifted his glass to me merrily, expressing pleasure at our meeting. "i hope," he added, "that we shall meet very often. but take my tip, my dear fellow, and don't fall in love with mabel anson." why he should emphasise this warning just as channing had done struck me as very curious. it might be, of course, that he was in love with her himself, and regarded me as a possible rival. this, indeed, was the impression conveyed to me by his words, and it aroused within me a vague feeling of distrust. that quick sinister glance when i had been introduced still lingered in my memory. "i can't think why you should so repeatedly warn me," i remarked, laughing with affected amusement. "it really isn't likely that i shall fall in love with her." he made no response. he only puffed slowly at his cigar, and smiled cynically through the veil of smoke he created. i replaced my cigar in my mouth--for my friend was evidently a connoisseur of havanas, and this was an excellent one--but at that instant my tongue, as i twisted it in my mouth, came in contact with the cut end of the weed, and i felt pricked as if by some sharp point. quickly i removed it and examined it closely, exclaiming-- "do they wrap up needles in your cigars? look!" and i passed it across to him, indicating where, protruding from the end, which i had chopped off with the cutter on my watchguard, was the tiny point of either a needle or a pin. "extraordinary!" he ejaculated, taking it from my hand and examining it carefully. but ere a few moments had elapsed i felt a strange sensation creeping upon me; a curious chilliness ran down my spine, my tongue seemed swelling until it filled my mouth, and my brain felt aflame. "god?" i cried, springing to my feet in alarm. "why, i believe i'm poisoned!" "nonsense!" he laughed. his voice seemed to sound afar off, and i saw his dog's face slowly assume an expression of evil as he sat opposite, intently watching me. a sudden dizziness seized me; a spasm of sharp pain shot through all my limbs from head to toe; my senses reeled, i could see nothing distinctly. the man hickman's ugly visage seemed slowly to fade in a blurred, blood-red mist. at that same instant my blood was frozen by terror, for i felt convinced that this abrasion of my tongue had been planned by my companion's devilish ingenuity, and that upon that needle-point had been placed some baneful substance, the action of which was rapid and certain. i saw it all, now that it was, alas! too late. with a wild cry i stretched forth both hands to steady myself, but, staggering, only clutched the air. then a strange and utterly unaccountable thing happened to me--stranger than has ever happened to any other living man. chapter seventeen. the marble hand. i approach this and the following chapters of my secret personal history with feelings of amazement and of thankfulness that i should still be alive and able to write down the truth freely and without fear, for the events were certainly most remarkable and utterly mystifying. in no man's history has there ever been such a strange, bewildering page as the one i am about to reveal to you. reader, as i have taken you into my confidence, so also i tell you confidentially that i myself, an ordinary man, would never have believed that in this life of ours such things were possible, had i not myself experienced them, and personally endured the frightful agony of mind which they entailed. but i am writing down in black and white upon these pages the solid unvarnished facts, fearless of contradiction, so that the whole of the strange truth shall be known, and hat she who is dearest to me on earth may be adjudged by the world with fairness and with justice. for that sole reason i have resolved to relate this romance of real life, otherwise it would ever remain in that crabbed writing in that small portfolio, or secret dossier as it is called, numbered, docketed, and reposing in the archives of the ministry of the interior of a certain european power. well, i have written the truth here, so that all who read may judge. immediately after the slight abrasion of my tongue, caused by the scratch of the needle so cunningly concealed in the cigar, i must have lost all consciousness. of that i have no doubt. the recollections i have are only the faintest ones, blurred and indistinct, like shadows in a dream. i remember shouting in alarm and fighting fiercely against the drowsiness and general debility which seemed to overcome me, but all was with little or no effect. the last i remember was the ugly face of hickman glaring evilly into mine. his hideous grin seemed to render his dog's face the more repulsive, and his laugh of triumph sounded in my ears harsh and discordant, showing plainly that the spirit of murder was in his heart. at the same instant that i had made a movement towards him, i seemed to have received a stunning blow upon the top of the skull, which so dulled my senses that i was powerless to combat the curious giddiness that seized me, and sank senseless upon the floor of that shabby room, helpless as a log. the last thought that surged through my brain was the reflection that i was powerless in the hands of an enemy. my first estimate of this man hickman had been correct, and i regretted that i did not allow my instinctive caution to overrule my desire to become on friendly terms with him. he had enticed me to that place with an evil purpose-- possibly that i might share the same fate as did that young man on the fateful night at the boltons. the prick of an ordinary needle upon the tongue would never have created such an electrical effect upon me, therefore it was certain that the point had been smeared with some powerful drug or poison. the ingenuity with which the cigar had been prepared was shown by the fact that a needle placed within would, as the tobacco became moistened by the saliva, gradually work downward towards the tongue, while the heat at the further end of the needle would, of course, render liquid any coating placed upon it. without doubt i had been the victim of a deeply-laid plot, prepared with a cunning that seemed almost beyond comprehension. the blank in my mind, caused by my sudden unconsciousness, did not appear to me to be of very long duration. all i know is that i was utterly ignorant of every event that transpired about me, and knew nothing whatever of any of the incidents which afterwards took place in that dark, obscure house, or elsewhere. and yet they must have been of a character absolutely unheard of. i have said that the period of my benighted senses did not appear to be prolonged. indeed, now on reflection in the calmness of the present, i am inclined to put down the lapse of time during which, in my estimation, i was lost to all knowledge of things about me at two, or perhaps three, hours. of course, it is difficult to fix time when we awaken after sleeping, except by the degree of light in the heavens. if it is still dark, it is always difficult to gauge the hour. so it was with me when, with a heavy, bruised feeling about the top of my skull, i slowly struggled back to a knowledge of the world. my first thought as i opened my eyes was of hickman. my second was a feeling of surprise that i had been unconscious so long, for while it was about two o'clock in the morning when my tongue had, been pricked by the concealed needle, and my adversary had dealt me a crushing blow upon my skull as i had rushed upon him, yet straight before my eyes the sun was shining full upon the carpet, and the particles of dust were dancing in its golden rays. surely, i thought, i could not have remained unconscious for nearly twelve hours. the pain in my skull was excruciating. i put my hand to the wound, and when i withdrew it found blood upon it. i felt a huge bump, but the abrasion of the skin was, i discovered, only slight. at first my brain was confused and puzzled, as though my dulled senses were wrapped in cotton wool. at a loss to account for the time that had elapsed, i lay upon the carpet just as i was, in vague, ignorant wonderment. my eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, pained me, and i closed them. perhaps i dozed. of that i am not quite sure. all i know is that when i opened my eyes again the pain in my head seemed better, and my senses seemed gradually to recognise, appreciate, and perceive. i was lying on my side upon the carpet, and slowly, with a careful effort involuntarily made by the march of intellect, i gazed around me. the place was unfamiliar--utterly unfamiliar. i wondered if i were actually dreaming. i felt my head, and again glanced at my hand. no. there was sufficient proof that my skull had been injured, and that i was lying alone in that room with the bar of sunlight slanting straight before my eyes. gradually, and not without considerable difficulty--for i was still half-dazed--i made out the objects about me, and became aware of my surroundings. my eyes were amazed at every turn. whereas hickman's apartment was a dirty, shabby lodging-house sitting-room of that stereotyped kind so well known to londoners, the place wherein i found myself was a rather large, handsomely furnished drawing-room, the two long windows of which opened out upon a wide lawn, with a park and a belt of high trees far beyond. from where i was i could see a wealth of roses, and across the lawn i saw the figure of a woman in a white summer blouse. the carpet whereon i was stretched was soft and rich, the furniture was of ebony, with gilt ornamentations--i think french, of the empire period--while close to me was a grand piano, and upon a chair beside it a woman's garden hat. i looked at that hat critically. it belonged to a young woman, no doubt, for it was big and floppy, of soft yellow straw, with cherries, and had strings to tie beneath the chin. i pictured its owner as pretty and attractive. about that room there were screens from cairo, little inlaid coffee-tables from algiers, quaint wood-carvings of the madonna beneath glass shades, fashioned by the peasants of central russia, italian statuary, and modern french paintings. the room seemed almost a museum of souvenirs of cosmopolitan travel. whoever was its owner, he evidently knew the value of _bric-a-brac_, and had picked up his collection in cities far afield. the door was closed, and over it hung a rich _portiere_ of dark-blue plush edged with gold. the sculptured over-mantel, in white marble, was, i quickly detected, a replica of one i had seen and admired in the bargello, in florence. one object, however, aroused my wonder. it was lying on the floor straight before me, an object in white marble, the sculptured arm of a woman with the index-finger outstretched. the limb was of life-size proportions, and had apparently been broken off at the elbow. i staggered unevenly to my feet, in order to further pursue my investigations, and then i saw, upon a pedestal close to me, the marble figure of a phryne with its arm broken. in the centre of that handsome apartment i stood and gazed wonderingly around. my transition from that bizarre sitting-room in chelsea to this house, evidently in the country, had been effected in a manner beyond comprehension. my surprising surroundings caused my weakened brain to reel again. i was without hat or overcoat, and as i glanced down at my trousers they somehow did not seem to be the same that i had been wearing on the previous night. instinctively i felt that only by some extraordinary and mysterious means could i have been conveyed from that close-smelling lodging in chelsea to this country mansion. the problem uppermost in my mind was the identity of the place where i had thus found myself on recovering my senses, and how i got there. my eyes fell upon the push of an electric-bell. my position, lying there injured upon the carpet, demanded explanation, and without further hesitation i walked across and pressed the ivory button. i heard no sound. the bell must have rung far away, and this gave me the idea that the house was a large one. intently i listened, and a few minutes later heard a footstep. the door opened, and an elderly man-servant, with grey whiskers, appeared in the entry asking--"did you ring, sir?" "yes," i answered. "will you kindly inform me where i am?" he regarded me with a strange, puzzled expression, and then, in alarm, he rushed forward to me, crying--"why, sir! you've hurt your head! look! you're covered with blood!" his grey face was pale, and for an instant he stood regarding me open-mouthed. "can't you answer my question?" i demanded hastily. "i know that i've injured my head. i didn't call you in order to learn that. i want to know where i am." the man's countenance slowly assumed a terrified expression as he regarded me, and then, without further word, he flew from the room as fast as his legs could carry him. i heard him shouting like a lunatic, in some other part of the house, and stood utterly dumbfounded at his extraordinary behaviour. he had escaped from my presence as though he had seen an apparition. a few minutes later, however, he returned, accompanied by a dark-haired, well-dressed man of about thirty, tall, rather good-looking, and apparently a gentleman. the instant the latter saw me he rushed forward, crying, in a voice of distress-- "oh, my dear sir, whatever has happened?" "my head," i explained. "it was that ugly-faced scoundrel hickman. where is he?" "hickman?" echoed the new-comer. "hickman? who's he?" "oh, it's all very well for you to pretend to know nothing about it," i cried angrily. "but i tell you that as soon as i'm able i'll apply for a warrant for his arrest on a charge of attempted murder. last night he tried to kill me." "i don't understand you," the stranger responded. "i don't, of course, expect you to admit any complicity in the affair," i snapped. "you'd be a fool if you did. all i tell you is that an attempt has been made upon my life by a man to whom i was introduced as hickman." "not in this room?" i hesitated. "no, not in this room," i admitted. "it was in a house at chelsea." the young man exchanged meaning glances with the man-servant. "at chelsea!" repeated the stranger. "in london?" "in london." "well, that's very curious," he remarked. then, turning to the servant, said-- "gill, go and fetch doctor britten at once. say nothing of this to any one in the house." "yes, sir," answered the servant, who instantly withdrew. "i suppose you've sent for the doctor to bandage my head?" i remarked cynically. "i'm perfectly competent to do that if you'll kindly oblige me with a little warm water, a sponge, and some clean old linen." "no, no," he urged. "wait in patience until britten comes. he'll be here in a moment. i saw him returning home only ten minutes ago." "but how came i here?" i demanded. he hesitated, regarding me with evident distrust, mingled with considerable alarm. "i--i really don't know," he responded lamely. "that's all nonsense," i cried, with more force than politeness. "i find myself here, in this room, wounded and weak through loss of blood, after having been half murdered, and then you have the cool impudence to deny all knowledge of how i came here. you're a liar--that's plain." i had grown angry at this lame attempt of his to feign ignorance. "you are extremely complimentary," he answered, colouring slightly. "well, perhaps you won't mind telling me the time. i find that that cunning scoundrel hickman, not content with trying to poison me with a prepared cigar and striking me on the head in that cowardly way, has also robbed me of my watch and chain." he glanced at his watch. "it's half-past two," he answered abruptly. "half-past two! then it happened more than twelve hours ago," i observed. "i wish britten would hurry," the young man remarked. "i don't like the look of that wound. it's such a very nasty place." "only a scalp-wound," i said lightly. "properly bandaged, it will be all right in a few days. there's fortunately no fracture." "well, you're in a pretty mess, at any rate." "and so would you be," i said, "if you had been entrapped as i've been." his face seemed bloodless, as though the discovery of my presence there had caused him the utmost alarm. he fidgeted and glanced eagerly now and then towards the door. at last i distinguished advancing footsteps, and there entered an elderly, dapper, white-bearded little man, whose general demeanour and buttoned frock-coat gave him the air of the medical practitioner. he held his silk hat in his hand, and as he placed it down i noticed that his stethoscope reposed cross-wise in the lining. "my dear sir! my dear sir! what's this?" he began fussily. "come, sit down;" and he drew me towards a chair, and seated himself upon the edge of another close to me. "my head has been injured. examine for yourself." "ah!" he exclaimed, first regarding me fixedly, and then rising and examining my head. "a nasty scalp-wound, i see." he felt it carefully with his fingers, causing me a sharp twinge of pain. "no fracture, no fracture. that's fortunate--very fortunate. it's not serious at all, i'm glad to tell you--nothing serious. how did it occur?" "i was struck, that's all i remember," i answered, turning to him and looking into his face. "with something sharp-pointed, evidently;" and he looked extremely puzzled. "i don't know what it was." "from what i can feel, i think you must have had a previous blow upon the same spot at some time or another. do you remember it?" "not at all," i answered. "i once received a blow on the head by the kick of a horse, but it was at the side." "ah, perhaps this was a blow in infancy, and you don't recollect it." then, as he exchanged a strange look with the young man who stood eager and anxious at his side, his quick eyes suddenly fell upon the broken arm of the statue. "why, what's this?" he cried, a sudden light apparently dawning upon him. "look here, there's blood and hair upon this marble finger. you've evidently struck your head against it in passing, and so violently as to break the marble. see!" i looked, and there, sure enough upon the outstretched index-finger of the marble hand was a trace of blood, to which two or three hairs still clung. "we've solved the mystery!" he cried. "i must dress your wound, and then, my dear sir, you must rest--rest. it will do your head good, you know." "but i was struck down last night by a man named hickman in his rooms at chelsea. he attempted to murder me." "yes, yes," he said, as though intentionally humouring me. "we've heard all about that. but come with me upstairs and let me dress your wound at once. gill," he added, turning to the servant, "get me some lukewarm water at once." then he took my arm and led me upstairs to a well-fitted dressing-room, where he fussily washed and bandaged my head, while i sat silent, dazed, and wondering. chapter eighteen. mystery inexplicable. britten was, i immediately detected, one of those men whose well-feigned air of fussy sympathy, whose unruffled good humour, and whose quick perception enabled him to gauge to a nicety his patient's character, and to thus ingratiate himself. by the younger people he was, no doubt, pronounced clever on account of his age and known experience, while old ladies--those whose very life depended upon regularly seeing the doctor--declared him to be "such a dear, kind man." upon the family doctor's manner alone depends the extent of his popularity and the size of his practice. the most ignorant charlatan who ever held a diploma can acquire a wide practice if he is only shrewd enough to humour his patients, to take pains to feign the deepest interest in every case, and assume an outward show of superior knowledge. in medicine be the man ever so clever, if he has no tact with his patients his surgery bell will remain for ever silent. dr britten was a shrewd old fellow; a bit of a bungler, who made up for all defects by that constant good humour which people like in a medical man. "don't worry, my dear sir; don't worry," he urged, when he had finished. "rest well, and you'll be right again very soon." "but the events of last night?" i said. "a man made a dastardly attempt upon my life, and i intend to secure his arrest." "yes, yes, i know," he answered, patting me on the shoulder with a familiarity curious when i reflected that i had never set eyes upon him till half an hour before. "but take my advice, and don't reflect upon it." "if you know, then perhaps you'll kindly give me some explanation?" i said, resenting his manner. he was treating me as he would a child. "i only know what you've told me," he responded. "it's a strange story, certainly. but don't you think that it is, greater part of it, imagination?" "imagination!" i cried, starting up angrily. "i tell you, doctor britten--or whatever your name is--that it is no imagination. the wound on my head is sufficient proof of that." "the wound was inflicted by yourself," he answered calmly. "you accidentally ran against the statue." "i don't believe it," i said, bluntly. "it's all a confounded conspiracy, and, moreover, you are staking your professional reputation by assisting in it." he shrugged his shoulders and raised his grey eyebrows with an expression of regret. "i have been called to you, my dear sir, because you have met with an accident," he said. "i have merely given you the best of my advice-- namely, to remain quiet, and not trouble about anything that has passed. your brain requires rest after the severe shock it has received." "doctor britten," i said determinedly, "i quite understand the meaning of your vague words. you believe that i'm not quite right in my mind." "no, no," he assured me quickly. "i did not say that. pray do not misunderstand me. i merely advise rest and perfect quiet. indeed, you would be far better in bed for a few days--far better." "i know my own feelings best, thanks," i replied, for his manner, although it might impress nervous old ladies, aroused within me a strong resentment. "exactly. but surely you should, for your own sake, attend to the suggestions of your medical adviser?" "you have formed wrong conclusions--entirely wrong conclusions," i laughed. "is it likely that i shall take notice of anything you say when you believe that i'm not responsible for my actions?" i had watched his face carefully, and i knew that, like the dark-faced young man and gill, the servant, he believed my brain unbalanced. "i assure you, my dear sir, you entirely misunderstand me," he protested. "i merely say--" "oh, enough!" i cried angrily, turning upon my heel and leaving the room abruptly. i was sick of the chattering old idiot, who evidently believed that i was not responsible for my actions. down the wide oak stairs i passed, and in the great hall, which seemed to run the whole length of the house, and was filled with stands of armour, tattered banners, and trophies of the chase, i encountered the pale-faced man who had sent for old britten. i was passing him by, intent upon exploring this strange house in which i found myself, when, approaching me, he said-- "would you please come into the library for one moment?" "the library?" i asked, looking at him, puzzled. "where is it?" he opened a door close by, and i followed him into a comfortable study, lined with books from floor to ceiling. in the centre was a large writing-table littered with papers, while close beside was another smaller table, very severe and business-like. "well?" i inquired. "what do you want?" "this telegram has just arrived," he answered excitedly, unlocking a drawer in the smaller writing-table, and taking out a telegram, which he handed to me. puzzled, i took the flimsy paper and read the words written thereon, as follows:-- "we are to-day in receipt of following telegram from our vancouver branch--`inform wilford heaton that charles mawson, dawson city, has struck it seven dollars to pan.' bank of british north america, london." such a message was utterly unintelligible to me. "well?" i inquired, raising my eyes and looking at him, surprised. "i don't see why this charles mawson, whoever he is, need hasten to tell me that. what does it matter to me?" "matter? my dear sir? matter?" he cried, staring at me, as though in wonder. "there must, i think, be something the matter with you." "well, perhaps you'll kindly explain what it means?" i said, "i have, i assure you, no idea." "why, it means," he said, his face betraying his intense excitement--"it means that woodford's report is correct, that there is, after all, rich gold on the concession; in short, that, being owner of one of the most valuable placer concessions, you are a millionaire!" "that's all very interesting," i remarked with a smile, while he stood staring at me in abject wonder. "i fear," he said, "that you're not quite yourself to-day. the injury to your head has possibly affected you." "no, it hasn't," i snapped quickly. "i'm quite as clear-headed as you are." "then i should have thought that to any man in his sane senses such a telegram as that would have been extremely gratifying," he observed. "now, tell me," i said; "do you know who i am?" "i think i do. you are mr wilford heaton." "and you tell me that i'm a millionaire?" "i do, most certainly." "then, much as i regret to be compelled to say it, young man," i answered, "i am of opinion that you're a confounded liar." "but mawson has struck the gold seven dollars to the pan," he pointed out in protest. "well, what in the name of fortune has it to do with me if he's struck it a thousand dollars to the handful?" i cried. "i should be inclined to say it had a great deal to do with you as holder of the concession," he answered quite coolly. "oh, bother the concession," i said hastily. "i don't understand anything whatever about it, and, what's more, i don't want to be worried over any mining swindles." then i added, sinking into the padded chair before the writing-table. "you seem to know all about me. tell me, now--what's your name?" "my name?" he echoed, staring at me blankly, as though utterly puzzled. "well, i thought you knew it long ago. i'm gedge--reginald gedge." "and what are you, pray?" "i'm your secretary." "my secretary!" i echoed, gasping in amazement. then i added, "look here, you're trying to mislead me, all of you. i have no secretary-- i've never had one. all this chatter about mines and concessions and such things is pure and simple rubbish." "very well," he answered with a slight sigh. "if you would have it so it must be. britten has already said that you are somewhat confused after your accident." "britten be hanged!" i roared. "i'm no more confused than you are. all i want is a straightforward explanation of how i came here, in this house." he smiled, pityingly i thought. that old medical idiot had apparently hinted to both the servant and this young prig, who declared himself my secretary, that i was not responsible for my actions; therefore, what could i expect? "the explanation is one which i regret i cannot give you," he answered. "all i want is your instructions what to wire to mawson." "oh, bother mawson!" i cried angrily. "wire him whatever you like, only don't mention his name again to me. i don't know him, and don't desire to make any acquaintance either with him or his confounded pans." "i shall send him congratulations, and tell him to remain in dawson city pending further instructions." "he can remain there until the day of judgment, for all i care," i said, a remark which brought a smile to his pale features. a brief silence fell between us. all this was absolutely bewildering. i had been struck down on the previous night in a street at chelsea, to find myself next day in a country house, and to be coolly informed by a man who called himself my secretary that i was owner of a great gold concession and a millionaire. the whole thing seemed too utterly incredible. i felt my head, and found it bandaged. there was no mistake about the reality of it all. it was no curious chimera of the imagination. before me upon the blotting-pad were some sheets of blank notepaper. i turned them over in idle curiosity, and found embossed upon them the address in bold, black characters: "denbury court, near budleigh-salterton." "is this place denbury court?" i inquired. "yes." "and whose guest am i, pray?" "you are no one's guest. this is your own house," was his amazing response. i turned towards him determinedly, and in a hard voice said-- "i think, mr gedge, that you've taken leave of your senses. i've never heard of this place before, and am certainly not its owner. are you certain you are not confounding me with some one else--some one resembling me in personal appearance?" "absolutely certain," he replied. "your name is wilford heaton, and i repeat that i am your confidential private secretary." i shook my head. "well," he said quickly, "here is some further proof," and bending beside me he opened one of the drawers of the big writing-table, and took therefrom a number of blank memorandum forms, which he placed before me. in eagerness i read their printed heading. it was "from wilford heaton, a, winchester house, old broad street, london, e.c." "well, what are those used for?" i asked in wonder. "they are used at the city office," he answered, tossing them back into the drawer. "and you tell me i am wealthy?" i said, with a cynical laugh. "your banker's pass-book should be sufficient proof of that," he answered; and taking the book from an iron safe let into the opposite wall, he opened it and placed it before me. i glanced at the cover. yes, there was no mistake. it was my own pass-book. my eyes fell upon the balance, standing to my credit, and the largeness of the figures held me open-eyed in astonishment. it was wealth beyond all my wildest dreams. "and that is mine--absolutely mine?" i inquired, when at last i found tongue. "certainly," he replied, a moment later adding: "it is really very strange that i have to instruct you in your own private affairs." "why have i an office in the city?" i asked, for that point was puzzling. "in order to carry on your business." "what business?" "that of financial agent." i smiled at the absurdity of the idea. i had never been a thrifty man; in fact, i had never had occasion to trouble my head about finance, and, truth to tell, had always been, from a lad, a most arrant dunce at figures. "i fear i'm a sorry financier," i remarked for want of something better to say. "you are acknowledged to be one of the shrewdest and the soundest in the city of london," gedge answered. "well," i remarked, closing the pass-book, securing the flap, and handing it back to him, "all i have to say is that this last hour that has passed has been absolutely replete with mystery. i can make nothing of all these things you tell me--absolutely nothing. i shall begin to doubt whether i'm actually myself very soon." "it would be better to rest a little, if i might advise," he said, in a more deferential tone than before. "britten suggested repose. that blow has upset you a little. to-morrow you'll be quite right again, i feel sure." "i don't intend to rest until i've cleared up this mystery," i said determinedly, rising from the table. at that moment, however, the door opened, and turning quickly, i was confronted by an angular, bony-faced, lantern-jawed woman, whose rouged and powdered face and juvenility of dress struck me as utterly ludicrous. she was fifty, if a day, and although her face was wrinkled and brown where the artificial complexion had worn off, she was nevertheless attired in a manner becoming a girl of twenty. "oh, my dear wilford! whatever has happened?" she cried in alarm, in a thin, unmusical voice, when she beheld the bandages around my head. i looked at her in mingled surprise and amusement; she was so doll-like and ridiculous in her painted juvenility. "mr heaton accidentally struck his head against the statue in the drawing-room, madam," explained gedge. "doctor britten has assured me that the injury is not at all serious. a little rest is all that is necessary." "my dear wilford! oh, my dear wilford! why didn't you call me at once?" "well, madam," i answered, "that was scarcely possible, considering that i had not the honour of your acquaintance." "what!" she wailed. "you--you can't really stand there and coolly tell me that you don't know me?" "i certainly assert, madam, that i have absolutely no knowledge whatever of whom you may be," i said with some dignity. "is your brain so affected, then, that you actually fail to recognise me--mary, your wife!" "you!" i gasped, glaring at her, dumbfounded. "you, my wife! impossible!" chapter nineteen. my unknown wife's story. "my dear wilford!" exclaimed the thin-faced, angular woman. "i really think you must have taken leave of your senses." "my dear madam," i cried excitedly, "i haven't the slightest notion of your name. to the best of my knowledge, i've never had the pleasure of meeting you before this moment. yet you have the boldness to assert that you are my wife! the thing is absolutely preposterous!" i laughed cynically. "you must be mad to talk like this!" the woman answered with some asperity. "i tell you that i'm not mad, madam," i protested, "and further, i declare that i have never married." "what rubbish you talk!" she said. "this accident to your head has evidently affected your intellect. you must rest, as doctor britten has ordered." "the doddering old idiot thinks, like yourself, that i'm not quite responsible for my actions," i laughed. "well, we shall see." "if you were in your right senses you would never deny that i am your wife," answered the overdressed woman. "the thing's too absurd." "my dear madam," i cried, growing angry, "your allegations are utterly ridiculous, to say the least. all this is either some confounded conspiracy, or else you mistake me for somebody else. i tell you that i am wilford heaton, of essex street, strand, a bachelor who has neither thought nor inclination of marrying." "and i tell you that you are wilford heaton, my husband, and owner of this house," she answered, her face growing redder with excitement. the situation was certainly stranger than any other in which a man could possibly be placed. that it was no dream, but a stern reality, was entirely plain. i glanced around the comfortable library, and saw there evidences of wealth and refinement, while through the window beyond my gaze fell upon the wide park sloping away to a large lake glistening in the sunshine, and through the trees beyond could be seen a distant glimpse of the blue waters of the english channel. i stood utterly nonplussed by the startling declaration of this artificial-looking person, who aped youth so ridiculously, and yet spoke with such an air of confidence and determination. "and you actually expect me to believe this absurd story of yours, that i am your husband, when only last night i dined at the boltons, and was then a bachelor? besides, madam," i added with a touch of sarcasm, for i confess that my anger was now thoroughly aroused, "i think the--well, the difference in our ages is sufficient to convince any one that--" "no, no," she hastened to interrupt me, as though that point were very distasteful to her. "age is entirely out of the question. am i to understand that you distinctly deny having made me your wife?" "i do, most decidedly," i laughed, for the very idea was really too ridiculous to entertain. she exchanged a pitying look with gedge, who stood at a little distance, watching in silence. "poor wilford! poor wilford?" she ejaculated in a tone of sympathy, and, addressing the man who called himself my secretary, said, "it seems quite true what the doctor has declared; the blow has upset the balance of his mind." "madam," i cried very determinedly, "you will oblige me by not adding further insult to your attempted imposture--for such sympathy is insulting to me." she clasped her hands, turned her eyes upwards, and sighed in the manner of the elderly. "you believe that i'm mad. therefore you are trying to impose upon me!" i went on furiously. "but i tell you, my dear madam, that i am just as sane as yourself, and am fully prepared to prove that i am not your husband." "ask mr gedge whether i speak the truth or not," she said, turning to the secretary. "certainly," answered the man addressed, looking straight into my face. "i have no hesitation whatever in bearing out mrs heaton's statement." "it's all humbug!" i cried, turning savagely upon him. "i don't know this woman from adam!" "well," he laughed cynically, "you ought to know her pretty well, at any rate." it was apparent from his tone that he had no very high opinion of her. "i'm pleased to say that until this present moment we have been strangers," i said, for i was not in a humour to mince words. "you are extremely complimentary, wilford," she observed resentfully. "it appears to me that compliments are entirely unnecessary in this affair," i said. "you are endeavouring to thrust yourself upon me as my wife, in order, i suppose, to achieve some object you have in view. but i tell you once and for all, madam, that any such attempt will be futile. to speak plainly, i don't know you, neither have i any desire to add you to my list of acquaintances." "well," she cried; "of all the stories i've ever heard, this is the most extraordinary!" "i think, madam, i may say the same," i remarked coldly. "your story is the wildest and most incredible that i've ever heard. last night, as a bachelor, i dined with friends in kensington, and left at a late hour, calling at a house in chelsea on my way home to essex street. to-day i awake to be told that i am the owner of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice; master of this house--in devonshire, i believe, isn't it; and your lawful husband. now, if you think me capable of swallowing such a pack of palpable fictions as these, you must certainly consider me absolutely insane, for none but a madman would give credence to such a tissue of lies." "doctor britten considers that your brain is unbalanced, because you do not know the truth," she said calmly. "i quite agree with him." "he's a fool--a drivelling idiot," i cried, forgetting myself in the heat of the moment, and using an unwriteable word. mention of that pottering old fossil's name was to me as a red rag to a bull. "i surely know who and what i am!" i cried. "no, my dear wilford, that's just it. you don't know who you are," the woman answered with a smile. "oh!" i exclaimed. "then perhaps you'll kindly inform me. all this may be very amusing to you, but i assure you that to me it's the very reverse." "i can only tell you who you are as i know you to be," answered the powdered-faced, doll-like old lady, whose attempts at juvenile coquetry sickened me. "go on," i said, preparing myself for more attempts to befool me. "i ask you first whether you are not wilford heaton, of heaton manor, near tewkesbury?" "certainly." "and you were once stricken by blindness?" "that is so, unfortunately." "and you are now carrying on business as a financier in the city of london?" "i know nothing of finance," i answered. "this mr gedge--or whatever his name is--has told me some absurd fairy tale about my position in london, but knowing myself, as i do, to be an arrant duffer at figures, i'm quite positive that the story is all bunkum." "then how do you account for these memorandum forms?" inquired gedge, taking some from the table, "and for these letters? are they not in your handwriting?" i glanced at the letters he held. they referred to some huge financial transaction, and were certainly in a hand that appeared wonderfully like my own. "some one has been imposing upon you, i tell you. this is a case of mistaken identity--it must be, my dear sir." "but i tell you it isn't," protested gedge. "all that your wife has said is the absolute truth." "my wife!" i cried angrily. "i have no wife--thank heaven!" "no, no," whined the painted old woman, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, very lightly, however, so as not to disturb their artificiality. "no, don't say that, my dear wilfred, don't say that! you know that you are my husband--you know you are!" "i know, my dear madam, quite well that i do not occupy that distinguished position," i responded very firmly. "but i can prove it--i can prove it!" she cried, with a futile effort at tears. "then i shall be most interested to see this extraordinary fiction proved," i said. "perhaps we shall then get down to facts." "the facts are as already stated," gedge remarked. "then let me see proof. there must be a certificate or official entry somewhere if what this lady says is really correct. where is it?" "my certificate was stolen when my jewel-case was rifled in the train between waterloo and exeter," she answered. "but, of course, a copy can easily be obtained. your solicitor in london can get a copy at once from somerset house." "certificate stolen!" i cried. "a most ingenious excuse. i quite anticipated it, although it, unfortunately, exhibits no originality. thieves don't usually steal marriage certificates. they can't pawn them, you know." the woman before me glanced around the room with an air of bewilderment, and i then knew that i had cornered her. "and where did this extraordinary marriage between us take place, pray?" i inquired, not without some bitter irony. "at st andrew's, wells street." "wells street, in london?" "yes. you surely remember it, don't you? the church is close by oxford circus." "i know the church quite well," i answered. "but i most firmly and distinctly deny ever having been inside it in my life." "if you examine the marriage register there you'll find your signature, together with that of your wife," gedge observed, with a confidence that rather surprised me. "i shall certainly take no trouble in such a matter," i declared. "it is alleged that i am the husband of this lady, therefore it is for her to bring proof--not for me to seek it." "very well, then," cried the woman who called herself mrs heaton. "within three days a copy of the certificate shall be placed in your hands." "i'm not very partial to copies of documents," i observed very dubiously. "i always prefer originals." "the original is, unfortunately, lost." "stolen, or strayed away of its own accord--eh?" i added with a doubtful laugh. "are you content to wait until the certificate can be obtained from somerset house?" she inquired. "no," i responded. "if you are actually my wife as you allege, madam, perhaps you will kindly explain the mystery of my presence here, in a house that until an hour ago i had never seen in all my life." the woman and the secretary again exchanged glances. i saw they considered me an utterly irresponsible agent. they believed me to be demented. "none of us can explain it," gedge answered. "there is some mystery, but what it is we can't yet fathom." "mystery!" i echoed. "i should think there was some mystery--and devilishly complicated it must be too, when i find myself in this amazing position. why, it's sufficient to turn the brain of any man to be told of one's marriage to a--to a woman one has never set eyes upon before, and--well, old enough to be his own mother!" "hush, hush!" said the secretary, who apparently wished to avoid a scene. he evidently knew that this angular woman, notwithstanding her affected juvenility, possessed a fiendish temper. i had detected it by the keen look in her eyes and the twitchings of her thin, hard lips. "if i'm in my own house," i cried wrathfully, "i am surely permitted to say what i like. am i master here, or not?" "certainly you are, sir," he responded, instantly humbled. "then listen," i said. "until the arrival of the certificate from london i have no wish to meet this lady who alleges that she is my wife." then, turning to her, i made her a mock bow, adding, ironically-- "i think, madam, that it will avoid any further words of a disagreeable nature if we remain apart for the present." "certainly, wilford," she cried, putting her hands out to me with an imploring gesture. "go and rest, there's a dear, and carry out doctor britten's orders. you will soon be right again if you do. you've been puzzling your head too much over your figures, and the blow has affected you. go and rest. but before you go i would ask you one favour." "well?" i inquired in a hard voice. she drew nearer to me, and with that detestable artificial coquetry lifted her face to mine that i might kiss her. "no!" i cried roughly, for i was beside myself with anger. "let me remain in peace. i don't want to meet you again, my dear madam, until-- until i know the worst." "what have i done, wilford, that you should treat me thus?" she wailed bitterly, bursting into a torrent of tears. "oh, what have i done? tell me." "i don't know what you've done, and i'm sure i'm not interested in it," i responded. "all i know is that when you declare that you are my wife you tell a deliberate and downright lie." for a moment she stood in hesitation, then, with tears flowing fast, she covered her face with her hands and staggered from the room. was she only acting the broken-hearted wife, or was that emotion real? which, i could not decide. if all this were part of some conspiracy, it was certainly one of no ordinary character. but what a confounded old hag the woman was! i shuddered. surely she could not be my wife! the suggestion was too utterly preposterous to be entertained for a single moment, and within myself i laughed her allegation to scorn. chapter twenty. how many yesterdays? "now," i said, turning to gedge, "perhaps you will show me over this new domain of mine. they seem to be pretty comfortable quarters, at any rate." he looked at me strangely. "you surely don't mean, sir, that you wish me to show you over your own house?" he said with incredulity. "of course i do," i answered. "i've never been over it yet, and i think i may as well embrace the opportunity now." "but hadn't you better go to your room and rest? it will surely do you good. i'll ring for rayner, the valet." he spoke as though solicitous of my welfare. "i want no valets, neither do i require rest," i answered impatiently. "i mean to fathom this mystery." "but pardon me," he said deferentially, "there is no mystery, as far as i can see. you accidentally struck your head against the statue while passing through the drawing-room, and were rendered unconscious. the blow has, according to the doctor, impaired your mental capacity a little. in a few days you'll be all right again. poor mrs heaton!-- she's awfully upset." "i will not have her called mrs heaton!" i cried in indignation. "understand that! i have no wife--and a hag like that i certainly would never marry." he raised his eyebrows with a gesture of regret, sighed, but hazarded no remark. "come," i said, "show me over the place. it will be a most interesting visit, i'm sure." and i laughed, reflecting upon my extraordinary position, one absolutely unparalleled in man's history. "but before doing so will you not sign one or two cheques?" he urged, glancing at his watch. "the postman will call for the letters in half an hour, and they must be dispatched to-day." "what cheques?" "there are six," he answered, taking out a large cheque-book and opening it. "i've already made them out, if you will kindly sign them." i glanced at them. all six were for large amounts, each considerably over a thousand pounds. "they relate to business transactions, all of which are exceedingly good bargains," he explained. "well," i said, laughing again. "i've never before signed cheques for such big amounts as these. but here goes, if you wish. whether they'll be honoured is quite another thing." and i took up a pen and appended my signature to each, while he placed one by one in envelopes ready directed to receive them. "now," he said at last, "if you really wish me to take you round i'll do so, but the whole thing seems so droll and absurd that i hope, sir, you'll excuse my doubts as to your sanity." "well, why do you think i'm insane?" i asked, looking straight at him. "do i look like a madman?" "not at all. with your head swathed in those bandages, you look like a man who's received a serious injury." "of course, that confounded old charlatan britten put forward the suggestion that i'm not in my right mind!" i said. "but i tell you quite calmly, and without fear of contradiction--indeed, i could swear upon oath--that never in my life have i entered this place or set eyes upon you or upon that painted old girl before to-day. now, if you were in my place, surely you would resent, being called husband by a woman whom you don't know from adam; you wouldn't relish being condemned as a lunatic by an idiotic old country quack, and being imposed upon all round by persons in whom you have not the slightest interest." his face relaxed into a smile. "if i may be permitted to advise," he said, "i think it best not to discuss the matter further at present. a solution must present itself before long. meanwhile your intellect will be rendered the clearer by repose." "i've already told you that i don't intend to rest until i've extricated myself from this absurdly false position," i said determinedly. "i feel absolutely certain that i've been mistaken for some one of the same name." he shrugged his shoulders. he was evidently a shrewd fellow, this man who said he was my secretary, and was apparently a very confidential servant. "i'd like to know what to reply to mawson's cable," he said. "you really ought to take some notice of such a marvellous stroke of good fortune. his discovery means fabulous wealth for you as holder of the concession." "my dear sir," i said, "for mercy's sake don't bother me about this fellow and his confounded pans. reply just as you like. you seem to know all about it. i don't--nor do i want to know." "but in a case like this i do not care to act on my own discretion alone," he protested. "they are evidently awaiting a reply in dawson city." "let them wait," i said. "i don't want to bother my head over matters in which i can have no possible concern. this alleged matrimonial alliance of mine is of far more importance to me than all the gold in the klondyke." "well, the lady is your wife, so why worry further about it?" he said. "and how do you know, pray?" "because i was present at the ceremony." i looked at him for a moment, unable to utter further words. "i suppose you'll tell me next that you were my secretary in my bachelor days?" i said at last. "certainly i was." "and you say that you were actually present at the church, and saw me married?" i cried, absolutely incredulous. "i was. you were married at st andrew's, wells street. it was a smart wedding, too, for mrs fordyce was very well known in society, and had a large circle of friends." "fordyce?" i echoed, puzzled. "yes, that was mrs heaton's name before her marriage with you." "then she was a widow?" i gasped. he nodded in the affirmative. i groaned. the affair grew more puzzling now that he declared himself an actual witness of my matrimonial misfortune. but how could such a thing have taken place without my knowledge? it was impossible. the mystery, like the strange incidents which had preceded this remarkable situation in which i found myself, grew more and more inexplicable each hour. we went forth, together, passing from room to room through the great country mansion. the place was handsome, of rather modern type, furnished glaringly in the manner which bespoke the parvenu. it possessed no mellow, time-worn appearance, as did the dear old manor house beside the severn. the furniture and hangings were too apparently of the tottenham court road type, and the art displayed was that of the art furnisher given _carte blanche_ to furnish with the newest and most fashionable fancies in the matter of wallpapers, dadoes, cornices, and art-pottery. there were art-carpets and art-curtains, art-cupboards and art-chairs, art-china and art-chintzes. art was everywhere in painful enamel and impossible greens. there were pictures, too, but different, indeed, to the long row of noble faces with their ruffles and doublets and their arms painted on shields in the corners that looked down so solemnly in the great hall at heaton. the pictures in that modern mansion were of the _queue-de-siecle_ french school, daubs by the miscalled impressionists, some being rather too _chic_ to be decent. that a large amount of money had been expended upon the place i could not doubt, but the effect was that of dazzling the gaze by colour, and nowhere seemed there a good, comfortable old-fashioned sitting-room. all the apartments were arranged to please the eye, and not for personal comfort. the house was just the kind that a man suddenly successful in the city might set up in the vain endeavour to develop into a country gentleman; for to become such is the ideal of every silk-hatted business man, whether he trades in stocks or stockings. "that i should be compelled to show you over your own house is, to say the least, very amusing," said gedge, as we were passing up the grand staircase. "if people were told of this they wouldn't believe it possible." "i myself don't believe what you tell me is possible," i remarked. "but who gave orders for this furniture?" "you did." "and who chose it--approved of the designs, and all that sort of thing?" "you certainly did," he answered. "some of the ideas were, of course, mrs heaton's." "i thought so. i don't believe myself capable of such barbaric taste as those awful blues and greens in the little sitting-room." "the morning-room you mean." "i suppose so. the whole place is like a furniture show-room--this style complete, thirty-five guineas, and so on. you know the sort of thing i mean." he smiled in amusement at my words. "your friends all admire the place," he remarked. "what friends?" "sir charles stimmel, mr larcombe, lady fraser, and people of that class." "i never heard of them in all my life. who are they?" i inquired, interested. "friends of yours. they visit here often enough. you surely ought to know them. lady fraser is your wife's dearest friend." "fraser?" i said reflectively. "the only fraser i know is a baker in clare market, who supplies my old servant, mrs parker, with bread." then, after a pause, i added, "and you say that these people are friends of mine? have i many friends?" "lots. a rich man has always plenty of good-humoured acquaintances." "they like to come down here for a breath of country air, i suppose, eh?" i laughed. "that's about it," he answered. "a good many of them are not very sincere in their friendship, i fear. the man who has money, lives well, keeps a good table, and has choice wines in his cellar need never be at a loss for genial companions." "you seem to be a bit of a philosopher, my friend." i remarked. he smiled knowingly. "i haven't acted as your secretary without learning a few of the crooked ways of the world." "what?" i exclaimed. "don't i always act honestly, then?" this was something entirely new. "nobody can be honest in finance." "well," i said, resenting his imputation, "i wasn't aware that i had ever swindled a person of sixpence in my life." "sixpences in such sums as they deal in at winchester house don't count. it's the thousands." we passed a couple of gaping maid-servants in long-stringed caps, who stood aside, looking at me in wonder. no doubt the news that a demented man was in the house had reached the servants' hall. i was, in fact, on show to the domestics. "then you mean to imply that these financial dealings of mine--of which, by the way, i have no knowledge whatsoever--are not always quite straight?" i said, as we walked together down a long carpeted corridor. he looked at me in hesitation. "it's, of course, business," he answered--"sharp business. i don't mean to imply that the dealings at winchester house are any more unfair than those of any other financier in the city; but sometimes, you know, there's just a flavour of smartness about them that might be misconstrued by a clever counsel in a criminal court." "what?" i cried, halting and glaring at him. "now, be frank with me, gedge. tell me plainly, have i ever swindled anybody?" "certainly not," he said, laughing. "why, it's this very smartness that has made you what you are to-day--a millionaire. if you had not been very wide awake and shrewd you'd have been ruined long ago." "then, i suppose, i'm well known in the city, eh?" "your name's as well known as bennett's clock, and your credit stands as high as any one's between ludgate hill and fenchurch street." "extraordinary!" i said. "what you tell me sounds like some remarkable fairy tale." "the balance at your banker's is sufficient proof that what i say is truth," he remarked. "there may be a good many fairy tales in certain prospectuses, but there certainly is none in your financial soundness." we wandered on from room to room. there must, i think, have been quite thirty sleeping apartments, guests' rooms, etc, all furnished in that same glaring style, that greenery-yellow abomination miscalled art. "the next room," explained my secretary, as we approached the end of the corridor, "is mrs heaton's boudoir. i expect she's in there. i saw dalton, her maid, enter a moment ago." "oh, for heaven's sake, leave her alone!" i said, turning at once on my heel. i had no wish to meet that awful rejuvenated hag again. i fancy gedge smiled, but if he did he was very careful to hide his amusement from me. he was, without doubt, a very well-trained secretary. the thought of mabel anson crossed my mind. all the recollections of the dinner on the previous night, and the startling discoveries i subsequently made recurred to me at that moment, and i felt dazed and bewildered. this painted and powdered person could surely not be my wife, when i loved mabel anson with all my soul! only yesterday i had sat at her side at dinner, and had felt the pressure of her soft, delicate hand upon mine. no; it could not be that i was actually married. such a thing was utterly impossible, for surely no man could go through the marriage ceremony without knowing something about it. hickman's treachery angered me. why, i wondered, had he enticed me to his rooms in order to make that extraordinary attempt upon my life? the wound upon my head was undoubtedly due to the blow he had dealt me. the theory that i had accidentally knocked my head against the marble statue and broken it was, i felt assured, only one of that fool britten's brilliant ideas with which he misled his too-confiding patients. if this were so, then all the incidents subsequent to my recovery of consciousness were part of the conspiracy which had commenced on the previous night with hickman's attempt. we descended the stairs, passing the footman gill, who with a bow, said-- "i hope, sir, you feel better." "a little," i answered. "bring me a whisky and soda to the library." and the man at once disappeared to do my bidding. "i suppose he think's i'm mad," i remarked. "this is a very remarkable _menage_, to say the least." in the great hall, as i walked towards the library, was a long mirror, and in passing i caught sight of my own figure in it. i stopped, and with a loud cry of wonder and dismay stood before it, glaring at my own reflection. the bandages about my head gave me a terribly invalid appearance, but reflected by that glass i saw a sight which struck me dumb with amazement. i could not believe my eyes; the thing staggered belief. on the morning before i had shaved as usual, but the glass showed that i now wore a well cut, nicely reddish-brown beard! my face seemed to have changed curiously. i presented an older appearance than on the day before. my hair seemed to have lost its youthful lustre, and upon my brow were three distinct lines--the lines of care. i felt my beard with eager hands. yes, there was no mistake. it was there, but how it had grown was inconceivable. beyond, through the open door, i saw the brilliant sunlight, the green lawn, the bright flowers and cool foliage of the rustling trees. it was summer. yet only yesterday was chill, dark winter, with threatening snow. had i been asleep like rip van winkle in the legend? "tell me," i cried excitedly, turning to the man standing behind me, "what's the day of the month to-day?" "the seventeenth of july." "july?" i echoed. "and what year is this?" "why, eighteen hundred and ninety-six, of course." "ninety-six!" i gasped, standing glaring at him in blank amazement. "ninety-six?" "certainly. why?" "am i really losing my senses?" i cried, dismayed. "_yesterday was six years ago_!" chapter twenty one. gedge tells the truth. "yesterday six years ago!" he echoed, looking at me in blank bewilderment. "what do you mean?" "i mean that if what you've told me is really the truth," i cried, agape in wonder, "then it is the most astounding thing i've ever heard of. are you absolutely certain of the date?" "certain? why, of course." "of the year, i mean?" "positive. it's eighteen ninety-six." "for how long, then, have you been my secretary?" i inquired. "nearly five years." "and how long have i lived in this place?" "for nearly four." "and that woman," i demanded, breathlessly--"is she actually my wife?" "most certainly," he answered. i stood stupefied, stunned by this amazing statement. "but," i protested, lost in wonder, "yesterday was years ago. how do you account for that? are you certain that you're not deceiving me?" "i've told you the absolute truth," he responded. "on that i stake my honour." i stood aghast, glaring at my reflection in the mirror, open-mouthed, as though i gazed upon some object supernatural. my personal appearance had certainly changed, and that in itself convinced me that there must be some truth in this man gedge's statement. i was older, a trifle stouter than before, i think, and my red-brown beard seemed to give my face a remarkably grotesque appearance. i had always hated beards, and considered them a relic of prehistoric barbarity. it was surprising that i should now have grown one. "then according to your account i must have spent yesterday here-- actually in this house?" "why, of course you did," he responded. "we were engaged the greater part of the day over laffan's affair. walter halliburton, the mining engineer, came down to see you, and we were together all the afternoon. he left for london at five." "and where did i dine?" "here. with mrs heaton." "don't speak of her as mrs heaton!" i cried in anger. "she's not my wife, and i will not have her regarded as such." he gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "now, look here, mr gedge," i said, speaking for the first time with confidence. "if you were in my place, awakening suddenly to find that six years of your life had vanished in a single night, and that you were an entirely different person to that of twelve hours ago, what would you believe?" he looked at me with a somewhat sympathetic expression upon his thin features. "well, i don't know what i should think." then he added, "but surely such a thing can't be possible." "it is possible," i cried. "it has happened to me. i tell you that last night was six years ago." he turned from me, as though he considered further argument unavailing. my head reeled. what he had told me was utterly incredible. it seemed absolutely impossible that six whole years should have passed without my knowledge; that i should have entered upon a business of which i had previously known nothing; that i should have rapidly amassed a fortune; and, most of all, that i should have married that powdered and painted woman who had presented herself as my wife. yet such were the unaccountable facts which this man gedge asked me to believe. he saw that i was extremely dubious about the date, therefore he led me back to the library, where there hung upon the wall a large calendar, which quickly convinced me. six; years had really elapsed since yesterday. in that vexing and perplexing present i reflected upon the puzzling past. that happy dinner with mabel at the boltons, the subsequent discoveries in that drawing-room where she had sat at the piano calmly playing; her soft words of tenderness, and the subsequent treachery of that dog-faced man hickman, all passed before me with extraordinary vividness. yet, in truth, all had happened long ago. alas! i was not like other men. to the practical, level-headed man of affairs "to-day" may be sufficient, all-engrossing; but to the very large majority--a majority which, i believe, includes also many of the practical, the business of to-day admits of constant pleasant excursions into the golden mists of "long ago," and many happy flights to the rosy heights of "some day." most of those who read this strange story of my life will remember with a melancholy affection, with a pain that is more soothing than many pleasures, the house wherein they were born, or at any rate the abode in which they passed the earlier years of their lives. the agonising griefs of childhood, the disappointments, the soul-racking terrors, mellowed by the gentle touch of passing years, have no sting for our mature sensibilities, but come back to us now with a pathos that is largely tinctured with amusement. i stood there reviewing the past, puzzled, utterly unable to account for it. age, the iconoclast, had shattered most of the airy idols which my youth had set up in honour of itself. i had lost six of the most precious years of my life--years that i had not lived. yet this man before me declared most distinctly that i had lived them; that i had enjoyed a second existence quite apart and distinct from my own self. incredible though it seemed, yet it became gradually impressed upon me that what this man gedge had told me was the actual, hideous truth, and that i had really lived and moved and prospered throughout those six unknown years, while my senses had at the same time remained dormant, and i had thus been utterly unconscious of existence. but could such a thing be? as a prosaic man of the world i argued, as any one in his right mind would argue, that such a thing was beyond the bounds of possibility. nevertheless, be it how it might, the undisputed fact remained that i had lapsed into unconsciousness on that winter's night six years before, and had known absolutely nothing of my surroundings until i found myself lying upon the floor of the drawing-room of what was alleged to be my country house. six years out of a man's life is a large slice. the face of the world changes considerably in that space of time. i found myself living a life which was so artificial and incongruous to my own tastes as to appear utterly unreal. yet, as i made further inquiry of this man gedge, every moment that passed showed me plainly that what he had said was the truth. he related to me the routine of my daily life, and i stood listening agape in wonder. he told me things of which i had no knowledge; of my own private affairs, and of my business profits; he took big leather-bound ledgers from the great green-painted safe, and showed me formidable sums entered therein, relating, he explained, to the transactions at the office up in london. some documents he showed me, large official-looking sheets with stamps and seals and signatures, which he said were concessions obtained from a certain foreign government, and opened my private letter-book, exhibiting letters i had actually written with my own hand, but without having any knowledge of having done so. these revelations took away my breath. it could not be mere loss of memory from which i was suffering. i had actually lived a second and entirely different life to that i had once led in essex street. apparently i had become a changed man, had entered business, had amassed a fortune--and had married. assuredly, i reflected, i could never have been in my right senses to have married that angular person with the powdered cheeks. that action, in itself, was sufficient to convince me that my brain had been unbalanced during those six lost years. alone, i stood, without a single sympathiser--without a friend. how this astounding gap in my life had been produced was absolutely beyond explanation. i tried to account for it, but the reader will readily understand that the problem was, to me, utterly inexplicable. i, the victim of the treachery of that man hickman, had fallen unconscious one night, and had awakened to discover that six whole years had elapsed, and that i had developed into an entirely different person. it was unaccountable, nay, incredible. i think i should have grown confidential towards gedge were it not that he apparently treated me as one whose mind was wandering. he believed, and perhaps justly so, that my brain had been injured by the accidental blow. to him, of course, it seemed impossible that i, his master, should know nothing of my own affairs. the ludicrousness of the situation was to me entirely apparent, yet what could i do to avert it? by careful questions i endeavoured to obtain from him some facts regarding my past. "you told me," i said, "that i have many friends. among them are there any persons named anson?" "anson?" he repeated reflectively. "no, i've never heard the name." "or hickman?" he shook his head. "i lived once in essex street, strand," i said. "have i been to those chambers during the time--the five years you have been in my service?" never, to my knowledge. "have i ever visited a house in the boltons, at kensington?" "i think not," he responded. "curious! very curious!" i observed, thinking deeply of the graceful, dark-eyed mabel whom i had loved six years before, and who was now lost to me for ever. "among my friends is there a man named doyle?" i inquired, after a pause. "doyle? do you mean mr richard doyle, the war correspondent?" "certainly," i cried excitedly. "is he back?" "he is one of your friends, and has often visited here," gedge replied. "what is his address? i'll wire to him at once." "he's in egypt. he left london last march, and has not yet returned." i drew a long breath. dick had evidently recovered from fever in india, and was still my best friend, although i had had no knowledge of it. what, i wondered, had been my actions in those six years of unconsciousness? mine were indeed strange thoughts at that moment. of all that had been told me i was unable to account for anything. i stood stunned, confounded, petrified. for knowledge of what had transpired during those intervening years, or of my own career and actions during that period, i had to rely upon the statements of others. my mind during all that time had, it appeared, been a perfect blank, incapable of receiving any impression whatsoever. nevertheless, when i came to consider how i had in so marvellous a manner established a reputation in the city, and had amassed the sum now lying at my bankers, i reflected that i could not have accomplished that without the exercise of considerable tact and mental capacity. i must, after all, have retained shrewd senses, but they had evidently been those of my other self--the self who had lived and moved as husband of that woman who called herself mrs heaton. "tell me," i said, addressing gedge again, "has my married life been a happy one?" he looked at me inquiringly. "tell me the truth," i urged. "don't conceal anything from me, for i intend to get at the bottom of this mystery." "well," he said, with considerable hesitation, "scarcely what one might call happy, i think." "ah, i understand," i said. "i know from your tone that you sympathise with me, gedge." he nodded without replying. strange that i had never known this man until an hour ago, and yet i had grown so confidential with him. he seemed to be the only person who could present to me the plain truth. those six lost years were utterly puzzling. i was as one returned from the grave to find his world vanished, and all things changed. i tried to reflect, to see some ray of light through the darkness of that lost period, but to me it seemed utterly non-existent. those years, if i had really lived them, had melted away and left not a trace behind. the events of my life prior to that eventful night when i had dined at the boltons had no affinity to those of the present. i had ceased to be my old self, and by some inexplicable transition, mysterious and unheard of, i had, while retaining my name, become an entirely different man. six precious years of golden youth had vanished in a single night. all my ideals, all my love, all my hope, nay, my very personality, had been swept away and effaced for ever. "have i often visited heaton--my own place?" i inquired, turning suddenly to gedge. "not since your marriage, i believe," he answered. "you have always entertained some curious dislike towards the place. i went up there once to transact some business with your agent, and thought it a nice, charming old house." "ay, and so it is," i sighed, remembering the youthful days i had spent there long ago. all the year round was sunshine then, with the most ravishing snow-drifts in winter, and ice that sparkled in the sun so brilliantly that it seemed almost as jolly and frolicsome as the sunniest of sunlit streams, dancing and shimmering over the pebbles all through the cloudless summer. did it ever rain in those old days long ago? why, yes; and what splendid times i used to have on those occasions--toffee-making in the schoolroom, or watching old dixon, the gamekeeper, cutting gun-wads in the harness-room. and i had entertained a marked dislike to the place! all my tastes and ideas during those blank years had apparently become inverted. i had lived and enjoyed a world exactly opposite to my own--the world of sordid money-making and the glaring display of riches. i had, in a word, aped the gentleman. there was a small circular mirror in the library, and before it i stood, marking every line upon my face, the incredible impress of forgotten years. "it is amazing, incredible!" i cried, heart-sick with desire to penetrate the veil of mystery that enshrouded that long period of unconsciousness. "all that you have told me, gedge, is absolutely beyond belief. there must be some mistake. it is impossible that six years can have passed without my knowledge." "i think," he said, "that, after all, britten's advice should be followed. you are evidently not yourself to-day, and rest will probably restore your mental power to its proper calibre." "bah!" i shouted angrily. "you still believe i'm mad. i tell you i'm not. i'll prove to you that i'm not." "well," he remarked, quite calmly, "no sane man could be utterly ignorant of his own life. it doesn't stand to reason that he could." "i tell you i'm quite as sane as you are," i cried. "yet i've been utterly unconscious these six whole years." "nobody will believe you." "but i swear it to be true," i protested. "since the moment when consciousness left me in that house in chelsea i have been as one dead." he laughed incredulously. the slightly confidential tone in which i had spoken had apparently induced him to treat me with indifference. this aroused my wrath. i was in no mood to argue whether or not i was responsible for my actions. "a man surely can't be unconscious, while at the same time he transacts business and lives as gaily as you live," he laughed. "then you impute that all i've said is untrue, and is due merely to the fact that i'm a trifle demented, eh?" "britten has said that you are suffering from a fit of temporary derangement, and that you will recover after perfect rest." "then, by taking me around this house, showing me those books, and explaining all to me, you've merely been humouring me as you would a harmless lunatic!" i cried furiously. "you don't believe what i say, that i'm perfectly in my right mind, therefore leave me. i have no further use for your presence, and prefer to be alone," i added harshly. "very well," he answered, rather piqued; "if you wish i'll, of course, go." "yes, go; and don't return till i send for you. understand that! i'm in no humour to be fooled, or told that i'm a lunatic." he shrugged his shoulders, and muttering some words i did not catch, turned and left the library. chapter twenty two. broken threads. he is a faint-hearted creature indeed who, while struggling along some dark lane of life, cannot, at least intermittently, extract some comfort to himself from the thought that the turn must come at last--the turn which, presumably, will bring him out upon the well-metalled high-road of happy contentment. i do not know that i was exactly faint-hearted. the mystery of it all had so stunned me that i felt myself utterly incapable of believing anything. the whole thing seemed shadowy and unreal. and yet the facts remained that i was alive, standing there in that comfortable room, in possession of all my faculties, both mental and physical, an entirely different person to my old self, with six years of my past lost and unaccountable. beyond the lawn the shadow of the great trees looked cool and inviting, therefore i went forth, wandering heedlessly across the spacious park, my mind full of thoughts of that fateful night when i had fallen among that strange company, and of mabel, the woman i had loved so fondly and devotedly. sweet were the recollections that came back to me. how charming she had seemed to me as we had lingered hand-in-hand on our walks across the park and kensington gardens, how soft and musical her voice! how full of tenderness her bright dark eyes! how idyllic was our love! she had surely read my undeclared passion. she had known the great secret in my heart. nevertheless, all had changed. in a woman's life half a dozen years is a long time, for she may develop from girl to matron in that space. the worst aspect of the affair presented itself to me. i had, in all probability, left her without uttering a word of farewell, and she--on her part--had, no doubt, accepted some other suitor. what more natural, indeed, than she should have married? that thought held me rigid. again, as i strolled on beneath the rustling elms which led straight away in a wide old avenue towards where a distant village church stood, a prominent figure in the landscape, there recurred to me vivid recollections of that last night of my old self--of the astounding discovery i had made in the drawing-room at the boltons. how was i to account for that? i paused and glanced around upon the view. all was quiet and peaceful there in the mid-day sunlight. behind me stood the great white facade of denbury; before, a little to the right, lay a small village with its white cottages--the villages of littleham, i afterwards discovered--and to the left white cliffs and the blue stretch of the english channel gleaming through the greenery. from the avenue i turned and wandered down a by-path to a stile, and there i rested, in full uninterrupted view of the open sea. deep below was a cove--littleham cove, it proved to be--and there, under shelter of the cliffs, a couple of yachts were riding gaily at anchor, while far away upon the clear horizon a dark smoke-trail showed the track of a steamer outward bound. the day was brilliant. it was july in devonshire, that fairest of all counties--and july there is always a superb month. the air, warm and balmy, was laden with the scent of roses and honeysuckle, the only sounds that broke the quiet were the songs of the birds and the soft rustling of the trees. i sat there trying to decide how to act. for the first time it occurred to me that my position was one of a certain peril, for if i did not act with tact and caution, that woman who called herself my wife, aided by that idiot britten, might declare that i was mad, and cause me to be placed beneath restraint. therefore, to gain my freedom, it was evidently necessary that i should act with discretion and keep my own counsel. i looked around upon the fair panorama of nature spread before me. the world was six years older than when i had known it. what national events had, i wondered, happened in that time? place yourself in my position, and picture to yourself the feeling of bewilderment that overcame me when i reflected upon what might or might not have transpired. there crept over me a longing to escape from that place, the habitation of that awful woman with the powdered cheeks, and to return to london. all my life and pleasure had been centred in the giant capital, and to it i intended now to go back and seek, if possible, the broken thread of my history, which might lead me to an elucidation of the marvellous mystery. the world around me, the calm blue sea, the cloudless sky, the green grass-lands, the soft whispering of the foliage seemed so peaceful that i could scarce believe that so much evil, so much of human malice, could exist. the tranquillity of my surroundings induced within me a quieter frame of mind, and i set to planning carefully how i might escape and return to london. to endeavour to do so openly would, i saw, be to draw upon me the spies of my hideous wife. was i not believed by all to be insane? then certainly i should not be allowed to go at large without some one at my side. i wanted to be alone. the presence of a second person entertaining suspicions as to my sanity would seriously hamper me, and prevent me prosecuting the inquiries i intended to institute regarding my past. no. to escape successfully i should be compelled to fly to london, and once there alter my appearance and assume another name. search would undoubtedly be made for me, but once in london i felt confident in being able to foil any efforts of my wife's agents. therefore i sat upon the stile and calmly matured my plans. the chiming of a clock, apparently in the turret upon my own stables at denbury, fell upon my ears. it struck one. then the sharp ringing of a bell--the luncheon-bell--followed. gedge had told me that the place was near budleigh-salterton. was it near enough, i wondered, for me to walk there, and was there a station? there might, i reflected, be a map in the library. i would be compelled to trace it out and seek my route, for i was absolutely ignorant of that corner of devonshire. yes, my best policy, i decided, was to return to the house, act as indifferently as possible, and meanwhile complete my plans for escape. i retraced my steps to the house by the path i had traversed, and upon the lawn was met by the man gill, who announced-- "the luncheon-bell has rung, sir. i hope you feel a little better, sir." "oh, much better," i answered airily, and with an effort at self-possession followed him into the imitation old-oak dining-room, which gedge had shown me during our tour of the place. the woman with the powdered cheeks was already seated at the head of the table, erect and stately, with an expression of _hauteur_ which ill became her. "i hope you feel better after your walk," she said, as i seated myself. "oh, much better," i responded in a tone of irony. "the pain has practically passed." "you should really rest," she said, in that squeaky, artificial tone which so jarred upon my nerves. "do take the doctor's advice." it was on the tip of my tongue to make a further unwriteable remark regarding the doctor, but i managed to control myself and reply-- "yes, i think after luncheon i shall lie down for a little time. i have, however, some pressing letters to write first." "let gedge attend to your correspondence for to-day," she urged, with that mock juvenility which rendered her so hideously ridiculous. "no," i responded. "i have, unfortunately, to attend to several pressing matters personally. afterwards i will rest." "do, there's a dear," she said. i bit my lip. she nauseated me when she used that affectionate term. the only woman i loved was mabel anson, but whether she were still alive, or whether married, i knew not. the very thought that i was bound in matrimony to this woman sitting in the high-backed chair of carved oak was disgusting. i loathed her. how i continued to eat the dishes gill handed me i know not, nor do i remember what conversation passed between my pseudo-wife and myself as we sat there. many were the abrupt and painful silences which fell between us. she struck me as an ascetic, strong-minded woman, who, before others, fawned upon me with an affected devotion which in one of her age was ludicrous; yet when we were alone she was rigid and overbearing, with the positive air of one who believed me far beneath her alike in social station and in intellect. when gill was absent she spoke in a hard, patronising tone, which so angered me that with great difficulty i retained my temper. yet it was my policy, i knew, to conceal my thoughts, and to lead her to believe that the words i had uttered, and my failure to recognise her, were owing to the blow i accidentally received, and that i was now, just as i had been before, her husband. what a hollow sham that meal was! now that i think of it i cannot refrain from smiling at my extraordinary position, and how i showed her delicate attention in order to the more impress her of my solicitude for her welfare. when at last she rose it was with a hope that i would go to my room and rest. i seized that opportunity. "i shall," i answered. "but don't let them call me for dinner. i will have something when i awake. britten has ordered perfect quiet." "very well," she answered. then, turning to gill, she said, "you hear. mr heaton is not to be aroused at dinner." "yes, madam," answered the man, bowing as we both passed out. at once i walked along to the library, shut the door, and locked it. i had much to do to prepare for my flight. yes, as i had expected, there was an ordnance map of the teignmouth district tacked to the wall; and searching, i quickly found denbury marked upon it, standing on the exmouth road over the high land of orcombe, halfway between that place and budleigh-salterton. the south-western railway ran; i saw, from exmouth to london, by way of exeter, and my first impulse was to walk into exmouth, and take train thence. the fact that i was probably known at that station occurred to me, therefore i made up my mind to avoid the terminus and join the train at lympston, a small station further towards exeter. taking up my pen i made a rough sketch-plan of my route, which passed littleham church, then by the left-hand road struck across country, crossing the high-road to exmouth at right angles, continuing through the village of withycombe raleigh, and keeping straight on until it joined the main road to exeter. at the commencement of the village of lympston it was necessary, i saw, to turn sharp to the left, and at the end of the road i should find the station, close to the river exe. in order to avoid mistaking the road and entering the town of exmouth, i made a full and careful plan, which when completed i placed in my pocket. the distance, i calculated roughly, was between five and six miles over a road rather difficult to find without a map. among the books on the table i found a bradshaw, with the page of local trains turned down, and from it learned that a train with connexion from london stopped at lympston at : p.m., while the train in connexion with the up-mail from exeter stopped there at : . the latter i decided upon taking. the fact that i had expressed my desire to sleep would prevent gill coming to call me at the dinner hour, and by the time i was missed i should be well on my way to london. the question of money occurred to me. i had noticed some loose gold and a couple of five-pound notes in one of the drawers which gedge had opened, and having a duplicate set of keys in my pocket, i transferred the whole--a little under fourteen pounds--to my pocket. then i took out my cheque-book. it was too large to be carried in my pocket, therefore i tore out a couple of dozen or so, folded them, and placed them in an envelope. i recognised that i could draw money with them, yet the bank need not know my whereabouts. if these people, who would, i suppose, call themselves "my friends," made active search to find the fugitive "madman," they would certainly obtain no clue from my bankers. in the same drawer as the cheque-book i found a black leather portfolio, securely locked. the latter fact impressed me. everything else was open to my secretary, who possessed keys, both to writing-table and safe. but this was locked, apparently because therein were contained certain private papers that i had wished to keep from his eyes. no man, whoever he may be, reposes absolute confidence in his secretary. every one has some personal matter, the existence of which he desires to preserve secret to himself alone. i drew forth the locked portfolio, and placed it upon the blotting-pad before me. it was an expansive wallet, of a kind such as i remembered having seen carried by bankers' clerks in the city from bank to bank, attached by chains to the belts around their waists. surely upon my ring i must possess a key to it. i looked, and found a small brass key. it fitted, and a moment later i had unlocked the wallet and spread my own private papers before me. what secrets of my lost life, i wondered, might not those carefully preserved letters and documents contain? in eager, anxious wonder i turned them over. next instant a cry of dismay broke involuntarily from my lips, as within trembling fingers i held one of those papers--a letter addressed to me. i could scarce believe my own eyes as i read it. yet the truth was plain--hideously plain. chapter twenty three. i make a discovery. reader, i must take you still further into my confidence. what you have already read is strange, but certain things which subsequently happened to me were even still stranger. i held that astounding letter in my hand. my eyes were riveted upon it. the words written there were puzzling indeed. a dozen times i read them through, agape with wonder. the communication, upon the notepaper of the _bath hotel_ at bournemouth, was dated june , --five years before--and ran as follows:-- "dear mr heaton,-- "i very much regret that you should have thus misunderstood me. i thought when we met at windermere you were quite of my opinion. you, however, appear to have grown tired after the five months of our engagement, and your love for me has suddenly cooled; therefore our paths in life must in future lie apart. you have at least told me the truth honestly and straightforwardly. i, of course, believed that your declarations were true, and that you really loved me truly, but alas! it is evidently not so. i can only suffer in silence. good-bye for ever. we shall never, never meet again. but i tell you, wilford, that i bear you no malice, and that my prayers will ever be for your welfare and your happiness. perhaps sometimes you will give a passing thought to the sorrowful, heart-broken woman who still loves you. "mabel anson." what could this mean? it spoke of our engagement for five months! i had no knowledge whatever of ever having declared the secret of my love, much less becoming her affianced husband. was it possible that in the first few months of my unconscious life i had met her and told her of my affection, of how i worshipped her with all the strength of my being? as i sat there with the carefully preserved letter in my hand there arose before my eyes a vision of her calm, fair face, bending over the piano, her handsome profile illumined by the candles on either side, the single diamond suspended by its invisible chain, gleaming at her throat like a giant's eye. the impression i had obtained of her on that night at the boltons still remained indelibly with me. yes, her beauty was superb, her sweetness unsurpassed by that of any other woman i had ever met. among the other private papers preserved within the wallet were four scraps of notepaper with typewriting upon them. all bore the same signature--that of the strange name "avel." all of them made appointments. one asked me to meet the writer in the writing-room of the _hotel victoria_ in london, another made an appointment to meet me "on the promenade at eastbourne opposite the wish tower"; a third suggested my office at winchester house as a meeting-place, and the fourth gave a rendezvous on the departure platform at king's cross station. i fell to wondering whether i had kept any of these engagements. the most recent of the letters was dated nearly two years ago. but the afternoon was wearing on, therefore i placed the puzzling communications in my pocket and ascended to my room in order to rest, and thus carry out the feint of attending to old britten's directions. the dressing-bell awakened me, but, confident in the knowledge that i should remain undisturbed, i removed the bandages from my head, bathed the wound, and applied some plaster in the place of the handkerchief. then, with my hat on, my injury was concealed. the sun was declining when i managed to slip out of the house unobserved, and set forth down the avenue to littleham village. the quaint old place was delightful in the evening calm, but, heedless of everything, i hurried forward down the hill to withycombe raleigh, and thence straight across the open country to lympston station, where i took a third-class ticket for exeter. at a wayside station a passenger for london is always remarked, therefore i only booked as far as the junction with the main-line. at exeter i found that the up-mail was not due for ten minutes, therefore i telegraphed to london for a room at the _grand hotel_, and afterwards bought some newspapers with which to while away the journey. sight of newspapers dated six years later than those i had last seen aroused within me a lively curiosity. how incredible it all seemed as in that dimly lit railway-carriage i sat gathering from those printed pages the history of the lost six years of my life! the only other occupant of the compartment besides myself was a woman. i had sought an empty carriage, but failing to find one, was compelled to accept her as travelling companion. she was youngish, perhaps thirty-five, and neatly dressed, but her face, as far as i could distinguish it through her spotted veil, was that of a woman melancholy and bowed down by trouble. in her dark hair were premature threads of silver, and her deep-sunken eyes, peering forth strangely at me, were the eyes of a woman rendered desperate. i did not like the look of her. in travelling one is quick to entertain an instinctive dislike to one's companion, and it was so in my case. i found myself regretting that i had not entered a smoking-carriage. but i soon became absorbed in my papers, and forgot her presence. it was only her voice, a curiously high-pitched one, that made me start. she inquired if i minded her closing the window because of the draught, and i at once closed it, responding rather frigidly, i believe. but she was in no humour to allow the conversation to drop and commenced to chat with a familiarity that surprised me. she noticed how puzzled i became, and at length remarked with a laugh-- "you apparently don't recognise me, mr heaton." "no, madam," i answered, taken aback. "you have certainly the advantage of me." this recognition was startling, for was i not flying to london to escape my friends? this woman, whoever she was, would without doubt recount her meeting with me. "it is really very droll," she laughed. "i felt sure from the first, when you entered the compartment, that you didn't know me." "i certainly don't know you," i responded coldly-- she smiled. "ah! i expect it's my veil," she said. "but it's really remarkable that you should not recognise joliot, your wife's maid." "you! my wife's maid!" i gasped, recognising in an instant how cleverly i had been run to earth. "yes," she replied. "surely you recognise me?" and she raised her veil, displaying a rather unprepossessing face, dark and tragic, as though full of some hidden, sorrow. i had never seen the woman before in my life, but instantly i resolved to display no surprise and act with caution. "ah, of course!" i said lamely. "the light here is so bad, you know, that i didn't recognise you. and where are you going?" "to london--to the dressmaker's." "mrs heaton has sent you on some commission, i suppose?" "yes, sir." "you joined this train at exeter, then?" "i came from exmouth to exeter, and changed," she explained. "i saw you get in at lympston." my heart sank within me. it was evident that this woman had been sent by my self-styled wife to keep watch upon my movements. if i intended to escape i should be compelled to make terms with her. those sharp dark eyes, with a curious light in them--eyes that seemed strangely staring and vacant at times--were fixed upon me, while the smile about her thin lips was clearly one of triumph, as though she had caught me in the act of flying from my home. i reflected, but next moment resolved to take her into my confidence. i disliked her, for her manner was somewhat eccentric, and, furthermore, i had only her own word that she was really maid to that angular woman who called herself my wife. nevertheless, i could do naught else than make a bargain with her. "now," i said at last, after some desultory conversation, "i want to make a suggestion to you. do you think that if i gave you a ten-pound note you could forget having met me to-night? do you think that you could forget having seen me at all?" "forget? i don't understand." "well, to put it plainly, i'm going to london, and i have no desire that anybody should know that i'm there," i explained. "when i am found to be missing from denbury, mrs heaton will do all in her power to discover me. you are the only person who knows that i've gone to london, and i want you to hold your tongue." she smiled again, showing an even row of white teeth. "i was sent by my mistress to travel by this train and to see where you went," she said bluntly. "exactly as i thought," i answered. "now, you will accept this as a little present, and return to denbury to-morrow after a fruitless errand--utterly fruitless, you understand?" she took the ten sovereigns i handed her, and transferred them to her purse, promising to say nothing of having met me. i gathered from her subsequent conversation that she had been maid to mrs heaton ever since her marriage, and that she had acted as confidential servant. many things she mentioned incidentally were of the greatest interest to me, yet they only served to show how utterly ignorant i was of all the past. "but why did you disclose your identity?" i inquired, when the lights showed that we were entering the london suburbs. "because i felt certain that you didn't recognise me," she laughed; "and i had no wish to spy upon you, knowing as i do that your life is the reverse of happy." "then you pity me, eh?" "i scarcely think that is the word that one of my position ought to use," she answered, with some hesitation. "your life has, since your marriage, not been of the happiest, that's certain." "and so you have no intention of telling any one where i've gone?" i asked eagerly. "none in the least, sir. rest assured that i shall say nothing--not a single word." "i thank you," i said, and sat back pondering in silence until the train ran into waterloo, where we parted, she again reassuring me of her intention to keep my secret. i congratulated myself upon a very narrow escape, and, taking a cab, drove straight to trafalgar square. as i crossed waterloo bridge the long line of lights on the embankment presented the same picture as they had ever done. though six years had passed since i had last had knowledge of london, nothing had apparently changed. the red night-glare in the leaden sky was still the same; the same unceasing traffic; the same flashing of bright dresses and glittering jewels as hansoms passed and repassed in the strand--just as i had known london by night during all my life. the gold-braided porter at the _grand_ handed me out of the cab, and i ascended by the lift to the room allotted to me like a man in a dream. it hardly seemed possible that i could have been absent in mind from that whirling, fevered world of london for six whole years. i had given a false name in the reception bureau, fearing that those people who called themselves my friends--heaven save the mark!--might make inquiries and cause my arrest as a wandering lunatic. i had no baggage, and i saw that the hotel-clerk looked upon me with some suspicion. indeed, i threw down a couple of sovereigns, well knowing the rules that no person without luggage was taken unless he paid a deposit beforehand. i laughed bitterly within myself. how strange it was! next morning i went forth and wandered down the strand--the dear old strand that i had once loved so well. no; it had in no wise changed, except, perhaps, that two or three monster buildings had sprung up, and that the theatres announced pieces quite unknown to me. a sudden desire seized me to see what kind of place was my own office. if, however, i went near there, i might, i reflected, be recognised by some one who knew me. therefore i turned into a barber's and had my beard cut off, then, further on, bought a new dust coat and another hat. in that disguise i took a hansom to old broad street. i was not long in finding the business headquarters of my own self. how curious it all was! my name was marked upon a huge brass plate in the entrance-hall of that colossal block of offices, and i ascended to the first floor to find my name inscribed upon the door of one of the largest of the suites. i stood in the corridor carelessly reading a paper, and while doing so witnessed many persons, several of them smart-looking city men, leave, as though much business was being conducted within. fortunately, no one recognised me, and descending, i regained the street. when outside i glanced up, and there saw my name, in big gilt letters, upon the wire blinds of six big windows. if i were actually as well known in the city as gedge had alleged, then it was dangerous for me to remain in that vicinity. therefore i entered another cab and drove to my old chambers in essex street. up the thin-worn creaking stairs of the dismal, smoke-begrimed old place i climbed, but on arrival at my door a plate confronting me showed that percival and smale, solicitors, were now the occupants. from inquiries i made of mr smale, it appeared that they had occupied the floor as offices for the past three years, and that the tenants previous to them had been a firm of accountants. he knew nothing of my tenancy, and could tell me no word of either old mrs parker or of dick doyle, who had, it appeared, also vacated his quarters long ago. that afternoon i wandered in the park, over that same road where i had lingered with mabel in those cherished days bygone. every tree and every object brought back to me sweet memories of her. but i remembered her letters reposing in my pocket, and bit my lip. truly, in the unconscious life when i had been my other self, my real tastes had been inverted. my love for her had cooled. i had actually, when engaged to her, cast her aside. it was incredible. surely my experience was unique in all the world. unable to decide how to act in those puzzling circumstances, i spent fully a couple of hours in the park. the row was hot, dusty, and almost deserted, but at last i turned into the shady walks in kensington gardens, and wandered until i came out into the high street by that same gate where she had once discovered the dead man's pencil-case in my possession. as i stood there in the full light of that glaring afternoon, the whole scene came back vividly to me. she had known that man who had been so foully murdered in her mother's home. i must, at all costs, find her, clear myself, and elucidate the truth. hence, with that object, i hailed another cab, and, giving the man directions to drive to the boltons, sat back, eager and wondering. as the conveyance drew up my heart gave a leap for joy, for i saw by the blinds that the house was still occupied. i sprang out and rang the visitors' bell. chapter twenty four. the master hand. a man-servant answered my summons. "mrs anson?" i inquired. "mrs anson is out of town, sir," answered the man. "the house is let." "furnished?" "yes, sir." "is your mistress at home?" i inquired. "i don't know, sir," answered the man, diplomatically. "oh, of course!" i exclaimed, taking out a card. it was the first i found within my cigarette-case, and was intentionally not my own. "will you take this to your mistress, and ask her if she will kindly spare me a few moments. i am a friend of mrs anson's." "i'll see if she's at home, sir," said the man, dubiously; and then, asking me into the entrance-hall, he left me standing while he went in search of his mistress. that hall was the same down which i had groped my way when blind. i saw the closed door of the drawing-room, and knew that within that room the young man whose name i knew not had been foully done to death. there was the very umbrella stand from which i had taken the walking-stick, and the door of the little-used library, which i had examined on that night when i had dined there at mrs anson's invitation--the last night of my existence as my real self. the man returned in a few moments and invited me into a room on the left--the morning-room, i supposed it to be--saying: "my mistress is at home, sir, and will see you." i had not remained there more than a couple of minutes before a youngish woman of perhaps thirty or so entered, with a rather distant bow. she was severely dressed in black; dark-haired, and not very prepossessing. her lips were too thick to be beautiful, and her top row of teeth seemed too much in evidence. her face was not exactly ugly, but she was by no means good-looking. "i have to apologise," i said, rising and bowing. "i understand that mrs anson has let her house, and i thought you would kindly give me her address. i wish to see her on a most pressing personal matter." she regarded me with some suspicion, i thought. "if you are a friend of mrs anson's, would it not be better if you wrote to her and addressed the letter here? her letters are always forwarded," she answered. she was evidently a rather shrewd and superior person. "well, to tell the truth," i said, "i have reasons for not writing." "then i must regret, sir, that i am unable to furnish you with her address," she responded, somewhat stiffly. "i have been absent from london for six years," i exclaimed. "it is because of that long absence that i prefer not to write." "i fear that i cannot assist you," she replied briefly. there was a strange, determined look in her dark-grey eyes. she did not seem a person amenable to argument. "but it is regarding an urgent and purely private affair that i wish to see mrs anson," i said. "i have nothing whatever to do with the private affairs of mrs anson," she replied. "i merely rent this house from her, and, in justice to her, it is not likely that i give the address to every chance caller." "i am no chance caller," i responded. "during her residence here six years ago i was a welcome guest at her table." "six years ago is a long time. you may, for aught i know, not be so welcome now." did she, i wondered, speak the truth? "you certainly speak very plainly, madam," i answered, rising stiffly. "if i have put you to any inconvenience i regret it. i can, no doubt, obtain from some other person the information i require." "most probably you can, sir," she answered, in a manner quite unruffled. "i tell you that if you write i shall at once forward your letter to her. more than that i cannot do." "i presume you are acquainted with miss mabel anson?" i inquired. she smiled with some sarcasm. "the anson family do not concern me in the least, sir," she replied, also rising as sign that my unfruitful interview was at an end. mention of mabel seemed to have irritated her, and although i plied her with further questions, she would tell me absolutely nothing. when i bowed and took my leave i fear that i did not show her very much politeness. in my eagerness for information, her hesitation to give me mrs anson's address never struck me as perfectly natural. she, of course, did not know me, and her offer to forward a letter was all that she could do in such circumstances. yet at the time i did not view it in that light, but regarded the tenant of that house of mystery as an ill-mannered and extremely disagreeable person. in despair i returned to st james's street and entered my club, the devonshire. several men whom i did not know greeted me warmly in the smoking-room, and, from their manner, i saw that in my lost years i had evidently not abandoned that institution. they chatted to me about politics and stocks, two subjects upon which i was perfectly ignorant, and i was compelled to exercise considerable tact and ingenuity in order to avoid betraying the astounding blank in my mind. after a restless hour i drove back westward and called at old channing's in cornwall gardens in an endeavour to learn mabel's address. the colonel was out, but i saw mrs channing, and she could, alas! tell me nothing beyond the fact that mrs anson and her daughter had been abroad for three years past--where, she knew not. they had drifted apart, she said, and never now exchanged letters. "is mabel married?" i inquired as carelessly as i could, although in breathless eagerness. "i really don't know," she responded. "i have heard some talk of the likelihood of her marrying, but whether she has done so i am unaware." "and the man whom rumour designated as her husband? who was he?" i inquired quickly. "a young nobleman, i believe." "you don't know his name?" "no. it was mentioned at the time, but it has slipped my memory. one takes no particular notice of teacup gossip." "well, mrs channing," i said confidently, "i am extremely desirous of discovering the whereabouts of mabel anson. i want to see her upon a rather curious matter which closely concerns herself. can you tell me of any one who is intimate with them?" "unfortunately, i know of no one," she answered. "the truth is, that they left london quite suddenly; and, indeed, it was a matter for surprise that they neither paid farewell visits nor told any of their friends where they were going." "curious," i remarked--"very curious!" then there was, i reflected, apparently some reason for the present tenant at the boltons refusing the address. "yes," mrs channing went on, "it was all very mysterious. nobody knows the real truth why they went abroad so suddenly and secretly. it was between three and four years ago now, and nothing, to my knowledge, has since been heard of them." "very mysterious," i responded. "it would seem almost as though they had some reason for concealing their whereabouts." "that's just what lots of people have said. you may depend upon it that there is something very mysterious in it all. we were such very close friends for years, and it is certainly strange that mrs anson has never confided in me the secret of her whereabouts." i remembered the old colonel's strange warning on that evening long ago, when i had first met mabel at his table. what, i wondered, could he know of them to their detriment? i remained for a quarter of an hour longer. the colonel's wife was full of the latest tittle-tattle, as the wife of an _ex-attache_ always is. it is part of the diplomatic training to be always well-informed in the sayings and doings of our neighbours; and as i allowed her to gossip on she revealed to me many things of which i was in ignorance. nellie, her daughter, had, it appeared, married the son of a newcastle shipowner a couple of years before, and now lived near berwick-on-tweed. suddenly a thought occurred to me, and i asked whether she knew miss wells or the man hickman, who had been my fellow-guests on that night when i had dined at the boltons. "i knew a miss wells--a very pronounced old maid, who was a friend of hers," answered mrs channing. "but she caught influenza about a year ago, and died of it. she lived in edith villas, kensington." "and hickman, a fair man, of middle age, with a very ugly face?" she reflected. "i have no recollection of ever having met him, or of hearing of him," she answered. "was he an intimate friend?" "i believe so," i said. then, finding that she could explain nothing more, i took my leave. next day and the next i wandered about london aimlessly and without hope. mabel and her mother had, for some unaccountable reason, gone abroad and carefully concealed their whereabouts. had this fact any connexion with the mysterious tragedy that had been enacted at the boltons? that one thought was ever uppermost in my mind. a week passed, and i still remained at the _grand_, going forth each day, wandering hither and thither, but never entering the club or going to places where i thought it likely that i might be recognised. i could not return to the life at denbury with that angular woman at the head of my table--the woman who called herself my wife. if i returned i felt that the mystery of it all must drive me to despair, and i should, in a fit of desperation, commit suicide. i ask any of those who read this strange history of my life, whether they consider themselves capable of remaining calm and tranquil in such circumstances, or of carefully going over all the events in their sequence and considering them with logical reasoning. i tried to do so, but in vain. for hours i sat within the hotel smoking and thinking. i was living an entirely false life, existing in the fear of recognition by unknown friends, and the constant dread that sooner or later i must return to that hated life in devonshire. that a hue-and-cry had been raised regarding my disappearance was plain from a paragraph which i read in one of the morning papers about ten days after my departure from denbury. in the paragraph i was designated as "a financier well known in the city," and it was there stated that i had left my home suddenly "after betraying signs of insanity," and had not since been heard of. "insanity!" i laughed bitterly as i read those lines supplied by the exeter correspondent of the central news. the police had, no doubt, received my description, and were actively on the watch to trace me and restore me to my "friends." for nearly a fortnight i had been in hiding, and was now on the verge of desperation. by means of one of the cheques i had taken from denbury i succeeded in drawing a good round sum without my bankers being aware of my address, and was contemplating going abroad in order to avoid the possibility of being put under restraint as a lunatic, when one evening, in the dusky, sunset, i went forth and wandered down northumberland avenue to the victoria embankment. in comparison with the life and bustle of the strand and trafalgar square, the wide roadway beside the thames is always quiet and reposeful. upon that same pavement over which i now strolled in the direction of the temple i had, in the days of my blindness, taken my lessons in walking alone. that pavement had been my practice-ground on summer evenings under the tender guidance of poor old parker, the faithful servant now lost to me. my eyesight had now grown as strong as that of other men. the great blank in my mind was all that distinguished me from my fellows. during those past fourteen days i had been probing a period which i had not lived, and ascertaining by slow degrees the events of my unknown past. and as i strolled along beneath the plane trees over that broad pavement i recollected that the last occasion i had been there was on that memorable evening when i had lost myself, and was subsequently present at the midnight tragedy in that house of mystery. i gazed around. in the ornamental gardens, bright with geraniums, some tired londoners were taking their ease upon the seats provided by that most paternal of all metropolitan institutions, the london county council; children were shouting as they played at ball and hopscotch, that narrow strip of green being, alas! all they knew of nature's beauty outside their world of bricks and mortar. the slight wind stirred the dusty foliage of the trees beneath which i walked, while to the left river-steamers belched forth volumes of black smoke, and barges slowly floated down with the tide. on either side were great buildings, and straight before the dome of st paul's. over all was that golden, uncertain haze which in central london is called sunset, the light which so quickly turns to cold grey, without any of those glories of crimson and gold which those in the country associate with the summer sun's decline. that walk induced within me melancholy thoughts of a wasted life. i loved mabel anson--i loved her with all my soul. now that marriage with her was no longer within the range of possibility i was inert and despairing, utterly heedless of everything. i had, if truth be told, no further desire for life. all joy within me was now blotted out. at length, at blackfriars bridge, i retraced my steps, and some twenty minutes later, as i took my key from the hotel bureau, the clerk handed me a note, addressed to "burton lawrence, esquire," the fictitious name i had given. it had been delivered by boy-messenger. then i was discovered! my heart leapt into my mouth. i tore open the envelope, and read its contents. they were brief and to the point. "the undersigned will be obliged," it ran, "if mr burton lawrence will be present this evening at eight o'clock, in the main-line booking-office of the brighton railway, at victoria station. an interview is of very pressing importance." the note was signed, by that single word which had always possessed such mysterious signification, the word "avel." hitherto, in my old life long ago, receipt of communications from that mysterious correspondent had caused me much anxiety of mind. i had always feared their advent; now, however, i actually welcomed it, even though it were strange and unaccountable that the unknown writer should know my whereabouts and the name beneath which i had sought to conceal my identity. i made a hasty dinner in the coffee-room, and went forthwith to victoria, wondering whom i should meet. the last time i had kept one of those strange appointments on that summer evening long ago in hyde park, i had come face to face with the woman i loved. would that i could meet her now! i entered the booking-office, searching it with eager eyes. two lines of persons were taking tickets at the pigeon-holes, while a number of loungers were, like myself, awaiting friends. beyond, upon the platform, all was bustle as is usual at that hour, when the belated portion of business london is bound for the southern suburbs. from that busy terminus of the west end trains were arriving and departing each minute. the big illumined clock showed that it was yet five minutes to the hour. therefore i strolled out upon the platform, lounged around the bookstalls, and presently returned to the spot indicated in the letter. as i re-entered the booking-office my eager eyes fell upon a figure standing before me--a well-dressed figure, with a face that smiled upon me. an involuntary cry of surprise escaped my lips. the encounter was sudden and astounding; but in that instant, as i rushed forward to greet the new-comer, i knew myself to be on the verge of a startling and remarkable discovery. chapter twenty five. the person who knew. the encounter was a startling one. at the moment when my eyes first fell upon the figure standing patiently in the booking-office awaiting me, i halted for a second in uncertainty. the silhouette before me was that of a youngish, brown-haired, and rather good-looking woman, neatly dressed in dead black, wearing a large hat and a feather boa round her neck. by the expression of her face i saw that she had recognised me. i had, of course, never seen her before, yet her personal appearance--the grey eyes and brown hair--were exactly similar to those described so minutely on several occasions by west, the cab-driver. i regarded her for a moment in silent wonder, then advanced to meet her. she was none other than the unknown woman who had saved my life on that fateful night at the boltons--the mysterious edna! as i raised my hat she bowed gracefully, and with a merry smile, said: "i fear that, to you, i am a stranger. i recognise you, however, as mr heaton." "that is certainly my name," i responded, still puzzled. "and you-- well, our recognition is, i believe, mutual--you are edna." she glanced at me quickly, as though suspicious. "how did you know that?" she inquired. "you have never seen me before. you were totally blind on the last occasion we met." "i recognised you from your description," i answered with a light laugh. "my description!" she echoed in a tone of distinct alarm. "yes, the description given of you by the cabman who drove me home on that memorable morning." "ah! of course," she ejaculated in sudden remembrance. then, for a few seconds, she remained in silence. it seemed as though the fact that i had recognised her had somewhat confused her. "but i am extremely glad that we have met at last," i assured her. "i have, times without number, hoped to have an opportunity of thanking you for the great services you once rendered me." "i find with satisfaction that although six years have gone by you have not forgotten your promise made to me," she said, her large serious eyes fixed upon mine. "i gave you that promise in exchange for my life," i remarked, as, at her suggestion, we turned and walked out of the station. "and as acknowledgement of the service you rendered by preserving secret your knowledge of the events of that terrible night i was enabled to render you a small service in return," she said. "your sight was restored to you." "for that, how can i sufficiently thank you?" i exclaimed. "i owe it all to you, and rest assured that, although we have not met until this evening, i have never forgotten--nor shall i ever forget." she smiled pleasantly, while i strolled slowly at her side across the station-yard. to me those moments were like a dream. edna, the woman who had hitherto been but a strange ghost of the past, was now actually beside me in the flesh. "i have received other notes making appointments--the last, i think, a couple of years ago," i observed after a pause. "did you not meet me then?" she glanced at me with a puzzled expression. of course she knew nothing of those lost years of my life. "meet you?" she repeated. "certainly not." "who met me, then?" "i really don't know," she answered. "this is the first time i have approached you, and i only come to you now in order to ask you to grant me a favour--a very great favour." "a favour! what is it?" "i cannot explain here, in the street," she said quickly. "if you will come to my hotel i will place the facts before you." "where are you staying?" "at the _bath hotel_, in arlington street." i knew the place well. it stood at the corner of arlington street and piccadilly, and was an eminently respectable, old-fashioned place, patronised by a high-class clientele. "and you are alone?" i inquired, thinking it strange that she should thus ask me to her hotel. "of course. i have come to london expressly to see you," she responded. "i went down to budleigh-salterton two days ago, but i ascertained at denbury that you had left suddenly." "whom did you see there?" i inquired, much interested. "your butler. he told me some absurd story, how that you had become temporarily irresponsible for your actions, and had disappeared, leaving no address." "and you came to london?" "of course." "and how did you find out where i was hidden, and my assumed name?" she smiled mysteriously. "it was easy enough, i assure you. a man of your influence in the city, and as well known as you are, has considerable difficulty in effectively concealing his identity." "but who told you where i was staying?" i demanded. "nobody. i discovered it for myself." "and yet the police have been searching for me everywhere, and have not yet discovered me!" i remarked, surprised. "the police have one method," she said. "i have an entirely different one." "tell me one thing," i said, halting in our walk, for we were already at the commencement of victoria street--that street down which i had wandered blindly on that night long ago when i had lost myself--"tell me for what reason those previous appointments were made with me at grosvenor gate, at king's cross, at eastbourne, and elsewhere?" "you kept them," she replied. "you surely know." "no, that's just it," i said. "of course, i don't expect you to give credence to what i say--it sounds too absurd--but i have absolutely no knowledge of keeping those appointments except the one at grosvenor gate, and i am totally ignorant of having met anybody." she paused, looking me full in the face with those grey eyes so full of mystery. "i begin to think that what the butler told me contains some truth," she observed bluntly. "no," i protested. "my mind is in no way unhinged. i am fully aware of all that transpired at the boltons, of--" "at the boltons?" she interrupted, turning a trifle pale. "what do you mean?" "of the crime enacted at that house--in the boltons." she held her breath. plainly she was not before aware that i had discovered the spot where the tragedy had taken place. my words had taken her by surprise, and it was evident that she was utterly confounded. my discovery i had kept a profound secret unto myself, and now, for the first time, had revealed it. her face showed how utterly taken aback she was. "there is some mistake, i think," she said lamely, apparently for want of something other to say. "surely your memory carries you back to that midnight tragedy!" i exclaimed rather hastily, for i saw she would even now mislead me, if she could. "i have discovered where it took place--i have since re-entered that room?" "you have!" she gasped in the low, hoarse voice of one fearful lest her secret should be discovered. "you have actually re-discovered the house--even though you were stone blind?" "yes," i answered. "how did you accomplish it?" i shrugged my shoulders, answering: "there is an old saying--a very true one--that `murder will out.'" "but tell me more. explain more fully," she urged in an earnest tone. i hesitated. next instant, however, i decided to keep my own counsel in the matter. her readiness to deny that the events occurred in that house had re-aroused within me a distinct suspicion. "it is a long story, and cannot be told here," i answered evasively. "then come along to the hotel," she suggested. "i, too, have much to say to you." i do not know that i should have obeyed her were it not for the mystery which had hitherto, veiled her identity. she had saved my life, it is true, and i supposed that i ought to consider her as a friend, yet in those few minutes during which i had gazed upon her a curious dislike of her had arisen within me. she was, i felt certain, not the straightforward person i had once believed her to be. not that there was anything in her appearance against her. on the contrary, she was a pleasant, smiling, rather pretty woman of perhaps thirty-five, who spoke with the air and manner of a lady, and who carried herself well, with the grace of one in a higher social circle. after a few moments' hesitation my curiosity got the better of my natural caution, and i determined to hear what she had to say. therefore we drove together to the _bath hotel_. in her own private sitting-room, a cosy little apartment overlooking piccadilly, opposite dover street, she removed her big black hat, drew off her gloves, and having invited me to a chair, took one herself on the opposite side of the fireplace. her maid was there when we entered, but retired at word from her mistress. "you, of course, regard it as very curious, mr heaton, that after these six years i should again seek you," she commenced, leaning her arm lightly upon the little table, and gazing straight into my face without flinching. "it is true that once i was enabled to render you a service, and now in return i ask you also to render me one. of course, it is useless to deny that a secret exists between us--a secret which, if revealed, would be disastrous." "to whom?" "to certain persons whose names need not be mentioned." "why not?" "think," she said, very gravely. "did you not promise that, in return for your life when you were blind and helpless, you would make no effort to learn the true facts? it seems that you have already learnt at least one--the spot where the crime was committed." "i consider it my duty to learn what i can of this affair," i answered determinedly. she raised her eyebrows with an expression of surprise, for she saw that i was in earnest. "after your vow to me?" she asked. "remember that, to acknowledge my indebtedness for that vow, i searched for the one specialist who could restore your sight. to my efforts, mr heaton, you are now in possession of that sense that was lost to you." "i acknowledge that freely," i answered. "yet, even in that you have sought to deceive me." "how?" "you told me you were not the writer of those letters signed with a pseudonym." "and that is true. i was not the actual writer, even though i may have caused them to be written." "having thus deceived me, how can you hope that i can be free with you?" "i regret," she answered, "that slight deception has been necessary to preserve the secret?" "the secret of the crime?" she nodded. "well, and what do you wish to tell me this evening?" she was silent for a moment, toying with her rings. "i want to appeal to your generosity. i want you to assist me." "in what manner?" "as before." "as before!" i repeated, greatly surprised. "i have no knowledge of having assisted you before." "what?" she cried. "is your memory so defective that you do not recollect your transactions with those who waited upon you--those who kept the previous appointments of which you have spoken?" "i assure you, madam," i said, quite calmly, "i have not the least idea of what you mean." "mr heaton!" she cried. "have you really taken leave of your senses? is it actually true what your butler has said of you--that on the day you left denbury you behaved like a madman?" "i am no madman!" i cried with considerable warmth. "the truth is that i remember nothing since one evening, nearly six years ago, when i was smoking with--with a friend--in chelsea, until that day to which my servant has referred." "you remember nothing? that is most extraordinary." "if strange to you, madam, how much more strange to me? i have told you the truth, therefore kindly proceed to explain the object of these previous visits of persons you have apparently sent to me." "i really think that you must be joking," she said. "it seems impossible that you should actually be unaware." "i tell you that i have no knowledge whatsoever of their business with me." "then if such is really the case, let me explain," she said. "first, i think you will admit that your financial transactions with our government have brought you very handsome profits." "i am not aware of having had any transactions with the british government," i answered. "i refer to that of bulgaria," she explained. "surely you are aware that through my intermediary you have obtained great concessions--the docks at varna, the electric trams at sofia, the railway from timova to the servian frontier, not to mention other great undertakings which have been floated as companies, all of which are now earning handsome profits. you cannot be ignorant of that!" i remembered that gedge had shown me some official parchment which he had explained were concessions obtained from prince ferdinand of bulgaria. that this woman had been the means of securing to me the greater part of the enormous profits which i had apparently made within the past five years was certainly surprising. "on the day i recovered consciousness--the day of my departure from denbury--i was shown some documents, but took but little heed of them," i said. "you admit, however, that the employment of british capital in bulgaria has realised a very handsome profit, and that the greater part of it has gone into your own pockets?" "i suppose that is so," i responded. "is it to you that i am indebted for those concessions?" "certainly." "are you, then, an ambassadress of the principality of bulgaria?" "well, yes--if you choose to put it so." "then, as i understand, it is with some further financial object that you have sought me this evening?" "exactly." this latest development of the affair was certainly most remarkable. i had never dreamed that to this hitherto unknown woman i had been indebted for the unparalleled success which had attended my career during those past six years. yet, from the facts she subsequently placed before me, it would seem that it was at her instigation that i first dabbled in finance. she, or rather her agents, had obtained for me the negotiation of a substantial loan to prince ferdinand, and this had been followed by all sorts of concessions, not one of which had tuned out badly. the mysterious edna, whom i had always believed to be a typical blouse-and-bicycle girl of the true kensington type, was actually a political agent of that most turbulent of all the european states. i sat looking at her in wonderment. she possessed a superb carriage, a smart, well-dressed figure, a smiling, intelligent face, white, even teeth, a complexion just a trifle dark, but betraying no trace of foreign birth. her english was perfect, her manner purely that of the patrician, while her surprising tact possessed all the _finesse_ of an accomplished diplomatist. "i confess that i have all along been in entire ignorance of my indebtedness to you," i said, after listening to her while she explained how obediently i had followed the instructions contained in the letters signed "avel," and how i had so materially advanced the interests of the principality that the thanks of the bulgarian parliament, or sobranje had been tendered to me, and the prince himself had a couple of years ago conferred upon me the highest distinction within his power. yet it was more than strange that while this shrewd grey-eyed woman, the possessor of the secret of that puzzling crime, held aloof from me, she had ingeniously contrived that i should become the unwitting catspaw of an unstable state. i was thinking of mabel--my thoughts were always of my lost love--and i was wondering how i might obtain from this woman the secret of her whereabouts. chapter twenty six. edna makes a proposal. "well," i inquired at last; "and your reason for seeing me this evening?" she hesitated, as though uncertain in what manner to place her project before me. she moved uneasily, and, rising, drew forth a large dispatch-box from its leathern case and placed it upon the table. i noticed that the outer case bore a count's coronet with a cipher beneath. having opened the box with a tiny gold master-key which hung upon her bracelet, she drew forth some official-looking papers, and with them returned to her chair. "you have already been entrusted with a secret, which you have not betrayed--the secret of that unfortunate occurrence on the evening when accident first brought us together," she commenced gravely. "therefore i feel convinced that any further confidence placed in you will not be abused." "i am honoured to think, madam, that you should entertain such an opinion of me," i said, not, however, without the slightest touch of sarcasm. i did not forget that she had only rescued me from my enemies in return for my silence. she was not a woman to act without strong motives. moreover, she had admitted knowledge of that strange midnight crime at the boltons, and was, therefore, an accessory after the fact. "you are the prince's confidential agent here, in london, and i come to you on a mission direct from his serene highness." "from bulgaria?" i inquired. "yes. i left sofia a week ago," she answered. "it was at first proposed to place the matter in the hands of guechoff, our diplomatic representative at the court of st james's, but, on consideration, his serene highness, knowing that with the present state of high feeling in the sobranje a single hint leaking out might prove disastrous, to the dynasty, and perhaps to the nation, resolved to place the matter unreservedly in my hands. the prince did me the honour of referring in terms of praise to my previous dealings with you, and instructed me to lose no time in seeing you and invoking your aid." "in what direction?" was it not amazing that i should awake from my years of unconsciousness to find myself so powerful in the world of finance that reigning princes sought my assistance? "i have here a letter from his serene highness;" and she handed me a note which bore the bulgarian royal arms, and had apparently been written by the prince's own hand. it was merely a formal note asking me to consider the secret proposals which would be placed before me by the bearer. "well?" i inquired, when i had read it. "explain." "briefly," she said, "the facts are as follows: the throne of bulgaria, never very safe owing to the eternal bickering between st petersburg and the porte, is at this moment in imminent danger. the people's party in the sobranje have been defeated, and the police have learnt of a projected popular uprising against his highness in favour of a republic, the agitation being, of course, caused by paid agents of russia. it is an open secret that russia, at the first sign of an outbreak, would endeavour to annex the country, hence the position of the throne grows each moment more perilous. fear of giving offence to russia prevents orders being issued for the arrest of the secret agitators, and it seems therefore as though a revolution cannot long be delayed. it is your aid his serene highness seeks--your aid to negotiate a loan of half a million sterling." "half a million!" i ejaculated. "a large sum! it seems incredible that i should be a dealer in millions." "a large sum, certainly, but you can easily obtain it," she quickly assured me. "i have all the necessary preliminaries of the securities here;" and she pointed to the pile of papers at her side. "i take it that the money is required for the prince's private purse?" "no; solely for defence--to purchase arms and ammunition; to pay the army the arrears due, so as to secure their support in case of an outbreak, and to pay certain heavy sums as secret-service money. all this is imperative in order to save the country from falling into the hands of russia. but it must be done, of course, in strictest secrecy, his highness, as i have already explained, hesitated to entrust the matter to his recognised minister here because the spies of russia are everywhere, and if any knowledge of his intentions leaked out it would be fatal to his plans." "and so he trusts me!" i said, smiling. "he does, absolutely." "and where does his highness think that i am going to get half a million of money from at a moment's notice, pray?" i asked with a smile. "with these in your possession there will be no difficulty," she responded coolly, indicating the papers. "there is not a financial agent in the city of london who would not be only too delighted to, without its intentions being known." "but you say it is all a secret," i observed. "how do you think it possible that i can raise such a loan without its intentions being known?" she laughed outright. "the money, you will find from the documents here, is ostensibly for the construction of a new railway from philippopolis, by the shipka to rustchuk. the plans are here, properly prepared, so that you need have no hesitation in showing them to any railway engineer." i saw that she had been trained in a school of clever diplomacy. "and you say that security will be given?" "certainly. the proposal is to give the customs receipts. they would be ample. failing that, it is probable that the princess's jewels, which, as you know, include some of the finest pearls in europe, might be available. of the latter, however, i am not sure." i remained silent, turning over the papers she had passed across to me. they were mostly in french, and, therefore, easily understood. the documents related to "the long projected scheme of constructing a railway from philippopolis to eski saghra, thence across the shipka to rasgrad, joining the line already in operation between varna and rustchuk." appended were official declarations from the bulgarian minister of finance, countersigned by the prince himself. the documents were certainly very ingeniously contrived so as to conceal the real purpose of the loan. i remarked this, and my companion, laughing lightly, said-- "deception, to some extent, is always necessary in delicate diplomacy." the discovery that the mysterious woman--whose name she had withheld from me--was actually a secret agent of the autonomous principality created by the berlin treaty--that turbulent state mostly notable for the assassination of its ministers--was entirely unlooked for. on the night when accident had thrown us together, and she had smoothed my brow with her cool hand, i had believed her to be a young girl who had taken pity upon me in my helplessness; but the revelations she had made during that half-hour showed that there had been some firm purpose underlying it all. she alone knew the truth of that tragic occurrence at the boltons, and i saw that in this matter i had to deal with a very clever and ingenious woman. i had now a double purpose in life--to discover mabel, and to elucidate the mystery of the crime. towards that end i intended to strive, and as i sat with my glance fixed upon those mysterious grey eyes, i endeavoured to form some plan of action. "madam," i said gravely, at last, "as you appear not to place sufficient confidence in me to tell me your name, i regret that i can place no confidence in these documents." "my name!" she laughed. "ah, of course; i had quite forgotten. there is no secret about it;" and from her purse she drew forth a folded, much-worn blue paper, which she handed to me. it was an english passport, bearing the name of "lucy edna grainger." "grainger?" i repeated. "then you are english?" "yes, i am legally a british subject, because my father was english. i was, however, born abroad." a silence fell between us. the roar of the traffic in piccadilly came up from below; the summer night was warm, and the window stood open. at last i determined upon a bold course. "now that we have met," i said, "i wish to ask you one or two questions. first, i am desirous of knowing the whereabouts of mrs anson and her daughter." i was watching her narrowly, and saw her give a distinct start at my mention of the same. next instant, however, she recovered herself, and with marvellous tact repeated-- "anson? anson? i have no acquaintance with any person of that name." i smiled. "i think it unnecessary that you should deny this, when the truth is so very plain," i observed sarcastically. "you will, perhaps, next deny that a young man was foully murdered within that house in the boltons; that you were present, and that you are aware of the identity of those who committed the crime?" the pallor of her cheeks showed plainly that i had recalled unwelcome memories. "the unfortunate affair is all of the past," she said hoarsely. "why need we discuss it?" "in the interests of justice," i answered, with firm determination. "have you not agreed to remain silent? have you not, as recompense, received back your sight, and become enriched beyond your wildest dreams? surely you, at least, should not complain." "i complain of the manner in which the secret of the crime has been preserved," i said. "i have determined, however, that it shall remain secret no longer." "you would inform the police!" she gasped, for the moment unable to conceal her alarm. "if you have no knowledge of mrs anson, then i intend to invoke the aid of scotland yard in order to discover her." my words perplexed her. that she was acquainted with the ansons i had no doubt, and i was likewise certain that she would never risk information being given to the police. more than once in the days long past i had entertained a shrewd suspicion that she herself was the actual murderer of that young unknown man. i looked at her pale face, and vaguely wondered again whether such were the truth. the fact that she had secured my silence in return for my life as an outcome of that most ingenious conspiracy had seemed to me proof conclusive of her guilt, and now that we had met in those strange circumstances the idea became impressed upon me more forcibly than ever. what might be her real position in the secret diplomacy of bulgaria i knew not. it was evident that considerable confidence was reposed in her. she had come to me with a cool demand to raise a loan of half a million sterling, and it was plain from what she had explained that the money was urgently needed for the protection of the state against enemies both internal and external. my own position was unique. had not gedge shown me those official documents, which gave me concessions in the principality of bulgaria, i should have laughed this woman's curious story to scorn as a piece of impossible fiction. but i had glanced over some of those papers at denbury, and was satisfied that i had actually had many dealings with that state during the six years of my unconscious but prosperous existence. there seemed every truth in her statement that to her had been due my success in the city in the first instance. "and supposing you broke your promise and went to scotland yard?" she suggested at length, her eyes still fixed upon me. "what would you expect to find?" "to find?" i echoed. "i should find traces of the crime within that room." she nodded. i had expected my words to have some confusing effect upon her, nevertheless, on the contrary, she remained perfectly calm. her self-control was extraordinary. "and what would it profit you, pray?" she asked. "i should at least know that i had endeavoured to bring to justice those responsible for the poor fellow's death." "it would only be an endeavour--a vain one, i assure you." "you mean that the secret is too well concealed ever to be revealed," i observed quickly. "yes," she said; "you have guessed aright." "and, in other words, you defy me to discover the truth?" "i have not said so. the word defy is scarcely one which should be used between us, i think, considering that our interests are to-day mutual-- just as they were on the night of the crime." "i fail to see that," i answered. "i have no interest whatever in keeping this terrible secret hidden, for while i do so i am acting the part of accessory." "but surely you have an interest in preserving your own life?" she urged. "then you imply that if i were to lay information at scotland yard i should be in peril of my life?" i asked, looking straight into those calm eyes that ever and anon seemed full of mystery. "of that i cannot speak with any degree of certainty," she responded. "i would only warn you that in this matter continued silence is by far the best." "but you have uttered a veiled threat!" i cried. "you are aware of the whole facts, and yet refuse to impart to me the simple information of the whereabouts of mrs anson. do you think it possible in such a case that i can entertain any confidence in you, or in your extraordinary story regarding the affairs of bulgaria and its prince?" "i am unable to give you any information regarding the lady you mention," she replied, with a slight frown of annoyance. "but you are acquainted with her?" "i may be--what then?" "i demand to know where she is." "and in reply i tell you that i am in ignorance." "in that case," i said angrily, "i refuse to have any further dealings whatsoever with you. from the first i became drawn into a trap by you, bound down and for six years held silent by your threats. but, madam, i now tell you plainly of my intentions. i mean to-morrow to lay the whole facts before the director of criminal investigations, including this story of yours regarding the prince and his people." she rose slowly from her chair, perfectly calm, her dignity unruffled. her manner was absolutely perfect. had she been a princess herself she could not have treated my sudden ebullition of anger with greater disdain. she gathered up the papers she had put before me, and, replacing them in the dispatch-box, locked it with the golden master-key upon her bangle. afterwards, she turned to me and said, in a hard distinct voice-- "then i understand that i have to inform his serene highness that you refuse to assist him further?" "tell him whatever you choose, madam," i answered, rising and taking up my hat and cane. "i shall, in future, act according to my own inclinations." "and at your own risk!" she added, in a harsh voice, as, bowing stiffly before her, i turned towards the door. "yes, madam," i answered; "i accept your challenge--at my own risk." chapter twenty seven. more scheming. the mellow summer twilight was fast deepening into night as i strode along piccadilly towards the circus, after leaving the grey-eyed woman who held the secret. what she had revealed to me was startling, yet the one fact which caused me more apprehension than all others was the curious means by which she had discovered my whereabouts. if she had been enabled to do this, then the police would, no doubt, very soon find me and return me to my so-called "friends." in despair i thought of mabel. long ago i had surrendered my whole heart to her. she had at first placed a strong and high-minded confidence in me, judging me by her own lofty spirit, but that unaccountable rupture had occurred, and she had gone from me crushed and heart-broken. in my pocket i carried her letter, and the more i thought over it the more puzzled i became. daily, hourly, i lamented over the broken and shattered fragments of all that was fairest on earth; i had been borne at once from calm, lofty, and delighted speculations into the very heart of fear and tribulations. my love for her was now ranked by myself as a fond record which i must erase for ever from my heart and brain. once i had thought to link my destiny with hers; but, alas! i could not now marry her, nor could i reveal to her, knowing them not, the mysterious influences which had changed the whole current of my life and purposes. my secret burden was that of a heart bursting with its own unuttered grief. the whole of the events swept past me like a torrent which hurried along in its dark and restless course all those about me towards some overwhelming catastrophe. tormented by remorseful doubts and pursued by distraction, i felt assured that mabel, in her unresisting tenderness, her mournful sweetness, her virgin innocence, was doomed to perish by that relentless power which had linked her destiny with crime and contest in which she had no part but as a sufferer. it is, alas! the property of crime to extend its mischiefs over innocence, as it is of virtue to extend its blessing over many that deserve them not. plunged in that sea of troubles, of perplexities, of agonies, and of terrors, i reflected upon all that the woman edna had told me. it seemed inconceivable that bulgaria's ruler should demand assistance of me--and yet it was undoubtedly true. presently i turned down the haymarket, still walking slowly, deep in reflection. should i inform the police? very calmly i thought it over. my first impulse was to go to scotland yard and make a plain statement of the whole facts, laying stress upon the suspicion against the woman grainger as an accessory. yet when i came to consider the result of such action i saw with dismay that my lips were sealed. such statement could only reflect upon myself. first, i should, by going to scotland yard, be compelled to reveal my own identity, which would mean my return to denbury; secondly, i could give no account of those six lost years of my life; and, thirdly, the statement of one believed not to be exactly responsible for his actions must be regarded with but little credence. no, circumstances themselves had conspired to hold me to silence. i went on in blind despair towards my hotel. determined upon tracing mabel and ascertaining from her own lips the reason that our engagement had been terminated, i travelled on the following day down to bournemouth, and made inquiries at the hotel from which her letter had been dated. after searching the books the hotel-clerk showed me certain entries from which it appeared that mrs anson and her daughter had arrived there on may , , and had occupied one of the best suites of rooms until june , when they paid their bill and left suddenly. i glanced at mabel's letter. it was dated june . she had left on the following day. i could learn nothing further. in an excited, unsettled state of mind, unable to decide how to act, i returned to london, and then, out of sheer want of something to do, i travelled down to heaton. the old place was the same: neglected and deserted, but full of memories of days bygone. old baxter and his wife were both dead, and the caretakers were fresh servants whom my agent had apparently engaged. i also learnt that parker, the faithful old woman who had tended to my wants in essex street, had also passed away more than two years before. i spent a dismal day wandering through the house and park, then drove back to tewkesbury, and on the following morning returned to london. in the six years that had elapsed since my last visit to the manor nothing had changed save, perhaps, that the grass had grown more luxuriantly over the gravelled drive, and the stone exterior was being gradually rendered grey by the lichen which in those parts overgrows everything. the mystery of the crime, and of the singular events which had followed, formed an enigma which seemed utterly beyond solution. my nerves were shattered. as the days went by an increasing desire possessed me to ascertain more of that woman who called herself grainger and was the confidential emissary of a reigning prince. she alone knew the truth, therefore why should i not carefully watch her movements, and endeavour to discover her intentions? from the veiled threat she had muttered, it was evident that although she did not fear any revelations that i might make, yet she regarded me as a person detrimental to her interests. as long as i had acted as her agent in negotiating loans for the principality, she had secured for me high favour in the eyes of prince ferdinand. but the fact that i had gained consciousness and refused to assist her further had taken her completely by surprise. that same evening i called at the _bath hotel_, and ascertained that "mrs grainger" had left some days before. she had not, it appeared, given any address where letters might be forwarded, but a judicious tip administered to a hall-porter caused him suddenly to recollect that a couple of days before her departure she had sent a dressing-bag to a trunk-maker's a little further down piccadilly, to be repaired. this bag had not been returned to the hotel, therefore it was quite probable, thought the hall-porter, that the trunk-maker had forwarded it to her. "you know the people at the trunk-maker's, of course?" i said. "yes, sir. many visitors here want repairs done to their boxes and bags." "the _bath hotel_ is therefore a good customer?" i remarked. "they would certainly give you her address if you asked for it." he seemed a trifle dubious, but at my request went along to the shop, and a quarter of an hour later returned with an address. she had not moved far, it appeared. only to the _midland hotel_ at st pancras. late that night i myself left the _grand_, and, assuming a name that was not my own, took a room at the _midland_, in order to commence my observations upon her movements. it was certainly a risky business, for i knew not when i might encounter her in the vestibule, in the lift, or in the public rooms. as soon as my room was assigned to me, i glanced through the list eagerly, but it was evident that if she were there she, too, had changed her name. in the long list of visitors was one, that of mrs slade. slade? the name was familiar. it was that of the doctor who had given me back my sight. that name struck me as being the most probable. she occupied a room on the same floor as mine, numbered . the door of that room i intended to watch. my vigilance on the morrow was rewarded, for about eleven o'clock in the morning i saw edna emerge from the room dressed to go out. she passed my door and descended by the stairs, while i took my hat and swiftly followed her at a safe distance from observation. the porter called her a hansom, and i saw her neat, black-robed figure mount into the conveyance. she had a letter in her hand, and read the address to the porter, who in turn repeated it to the driver. meanwhile, i had entered another cab, and telling the man to keep edna's cab in sight, we drove along king's cross road and farringdon street to the city, passing along gresham street and lothbury. suddenly the cab i was following turned into austin friars, while my driver, an intelligent young fellow, pulled up at the corner of throgmorton street and said-- "we'd better wait here, sir, if you don't want the lady to notice us. she's going into an office at number , opposite the dutch church." "get down," i said, "and try and find out whose office she's gone into," and i added a promise to give him an extra gratuity for so doing. "very well, sir," he answered. i sat back, hiding my face in a newspaper for fear of being recognised in that great highway of business, while he went along austin friars to endeavour to discover whose offices she had entered. some ten minutes later he returned with the information that the lady had entered the office of a moneylender named morrison. the thought occurred to me that she was perhaps still endeavouring to raise the loan for prince ferdinand. if so, however, why had she left the _bath hotel_ and endeavoured to conceal her identity under another name? after twenty minutes or so she came out rather flushed and excited, stood for a moment in hesitation upon the kerb, and then giving her cabman an address was driven off. i, of course, followed, but judge my astonishment when the cab pulled up in old broad street and she alighted at winchester house. after a few moments she found the brass plate bearing my name, and ascending to my office, for what purpose i knew not, and, fearing to reveal my presence in london, i could not ascertain. i sat there in the cab in full view of that row of windows, with their wire blinds bearing my name, an exile and a fugitive, wondering what might be the object of her visit. it was not, however, of long duration, but when she descended again she was accompanied by my secretary gedge, who handed her into her cab and afterwards took his seat beside her. by his manner it was evident they were not strangers, and it became impressed upon me that, in those lost days of mine, i must have had considerable dealings with her and her princely employer. they drove to the liverpool street railway-station, where she dispatched a telegram; then they lunched at crosby hall. i feared, of courser to approach them sufficiently near to overhear their conversation, but i peered into the restaurant and saw them sitting at a table in earnest conversation, the subject of which was evidently myself. it was a wearisome task waiting for her in bishopsgate street, but i lunched in a neighbouring public-house off a glass of sherry and a biscuit, while my cabman partook gladly of the homely "half-pint" at my expense, until at length they both came forth. gedge called her a cab, and then took leave of her, while i followed her back to the _midland_, having successfully accomplished my first essay at watching her movements. chapter twenty eight. two words. for two days the woman i was watching did not go out. i learnt from the chambermaid who, like all her class, was amenable to half a sovereign in her palm, that she was unwell, suffering from a slight cold. then i took the servant into my confidence, and told her that i was in the hotel in order to watch mrs slade's movements, giving her to understand that any assistance she rendered me would be well paid for. i had an object in view, namely, to enter her room in her absence, and ascertain the nature of any letters or papers which might be in her possession. this i managed to effect, with the connivance of the chambermaid, on the following afternoon. indeed, the chambermaid assisted me in my eager search, but beyond a few tradesmen's bills and one or two unimportant private letters from friends addressed to her at the _royal hotel_ at ryde, i found nothing. the dispatch-box with the coronet was locked, and she carried the key upon her bangle. i made careful search through all her belongings, the chambermaid standing guard at the door the while, and in the pocket of one of her dresses hanging in the wardrobe i discovered a crumpled telegram. i smoothed it out, and saw that it had been dispatched from philippopolis, in bulgaria, about three weeks before, and was addressed to "mrs grainger, _royal hotel_, ryde." its purport, however, i was unable to learn, for it was either in cipher, or in the slav language, of which i had no knowledge whatever. again baffled, i was about to relinquish my search, when, in the pocket of a long driving-coat of a light drab cloth, i found a letter addressed to her at ryde, and evidently forwarded by the hotel-clerk. i caught sight of my own name, and read it through with interest. "i suppose you have already heard from your friend gedge, who keeps you in touch with everything, all the most recent news of heaton," the letter ran. "it appears that he was found on the floor of one of the rooms at denbury, with a wound in his head. he had suddenly gone out of his mind. the doctor said that the case was a serious one, but before arrangements could be made for placing him under restraint he had escaped, and nothing since has been heard of him. the common idea is that he has committed suicide owing to business complications. they are, to tell the truth, beginning to smell a rat in the city. the prince's concessions have not turned out all that they were supposed to be, and by a side wind i hear that your friend's financial status, considerably weakened during the past few weeks, has, owing to his sudden and unaccountable disappearance, dropped down to zero. if you can find him, lose no time in doing so. remember that he must not be allowed to open his mouth. he may, however, be still of use, for his credit has not altogether gone, and i hear he has a very satisfactory balance at his bankers. but find out all from gedge, and then write to me." there was neither signature nor address. the words, "he must not be allowed to open his mouth," were, in themselves, ominous. who, i wondered, was the writer of that letter? the postmark was that of "london, e.c.," showing that it had been posted in the city. i read it through a second time, then replaced it, and after some further search returned to my own room. when the maid brought my hot water next morning she told me that mrs slade had announced her intention to leave at eleven o'clock; therefore i packed, and leaving slightly earlier, was enabled to follow her cab to victoria station, whence she travelled to brighton, putting up at the _metropole_. i pursued similar tactics to those i had adopted in london, staying in the same hotel and yet contriving never to be seen by her. she went out but seldom. sometimes in the morning she would stroll beneath her pale mauve sunshade along the king's road, or at evening take an airing on the pier, but she apparently lived an aimless life, spending her time in reading novels in her own apartment. as far as i could learn, she met no one there, and only appeared to be killing time and waiting. after a fortnight she moved along to hastings, thence to ilfracombe, and afterwards to hull. we arrived at the _north-eastern hotel_ at hull one evening towards the end of august, having travelled by the express from london. through nearly a month i had kept close watch upon her, yet none of her movements had been in the least suspicious. she lived well, always having her own sitting-room, although she had no maid. those days of watchfulness were full of anxiety, and i had to resort to all sorts of ingenious devices to prevent observation and recognition. the station hotel at hull is comfortable, but by no means a gay place of residence, and for several days i wondered what might be her object in visiting that yorkshire port. the room adjoining her sitting-room on the second floor became vacant on the third day after our arrival, and i fortunately succeeded in obtaining it. she entertained no suspicion that i was following her, although i dogged her movements everywhere. in hull she only went out twice, once to a stationer's in whitefriar-gate, and on the other occasion to the telegraph office. as at brighton and ilfracombe, she still appeared to be waiting in patience for the arrival of some one whom she expected. about nine o'clock one evening, after she had remained nearly a week in hull, always taking her meals in her own room and passing her time in reading, i had returned from the coffee-room, and was about to go forth for a stroll, when suddenly i heard a waiter rap at her door and announce a visitor. a locked door separated her sitting-room from mine, and standing by it, listening eagerly, i heard the sound of rustling paper, the hurried closing of a box, and her permission to show the visitor up. a few minutes passed in silence. then i heard some one enter, and a man's voice exclaimed with a distinctly foreign accent-- "ah, my dear edna! at last! i feared that you would have left before my arrival." "i expected you days ago," she answered, and i knew from the man's sigh that he had sunk wearily into a chair. "i was delayed," he explained. "i had a narrow escape. oustromoff has guessed the truth." "what?" she gasped in alarm, "the secret is out?" "yes," he answered gruffly. "impossible!" "i tell you it's the truth," he answered. "i escaped over the frontier by the merest chance. oustromoff's bloodhounds were at my heels. they followed me to vienna, but there i managed to escape them and travel to berlin. i knew that there was a warrant out for me--roesch sent me word that orders had been issued by the minister of police--therefore i feared to cross to england by any of the mail routes. i knew the police would be on the look-out at calais, antwerp, ostend, folkestone, and dieppe. therefore i travelled to copenhagen, thence by steamer to gothenburg, and rail to christiania. i arrived by the weekly mail steamer from there only an hour ago." "what a journey!" exclaimed the woman i had been watching so long and patiently. "do you actually mean that you are unsafe--here, in england?" "unsafe? of course. the ministry have telegraphed my description to all police centres, with a request for my extradition." "it is inconceivable," she cried, "just at the moment when all seemed safest, that this catastrophe should fall! what of roesch, blumhardt, and schaefer?" "schaefer was arrested in sofia on the day i left. blumhardt escaped to varna, but was taken while embarking on board a cargo-boat for england. i tell you i had a narrow escape--a very narrow escape." "then don't speak so loud," she urged. "some one might be in the next room, you know." he rose and tried the door at which i stood. it was locked, and that apparently reassured him. "whom do you think informed the ministry of police?" "ah! at present no one knows," he responded. "what do you think they say?" "what?" "that some of your precious friends in london have exposed the whole thing." "my friends? whom do you mean?" "you know best who are your friends," he replied, with sarcasm. "but no one is aware of the whole facts." "are you absolutely certain?" "absolutely." "and the loan for the prince?" he said. "have you raised it?" "no; the thing is too dangerous in these circumstances. i have made a full report. you received it, i suppose?" "no; i must have left sofia before it arrived. tell me." "that very useful fool named heaton has suddenly gone out of his mind." "insane?" "yes," she responded. "at least, he seems so to me. i placed the matter before him, but he refused to have anything whatever to do with it. his standing in the city has been utterly shattered by all sorts of rumours regarding the worthlessness of certain of the concessions, and as far as we are concerned our hopes of successfully raising the loan have now disappeared into thin air." "what!" he cried. "have you utterly failed?" "yes," she answered. "heaton assisted us while all was square, but now, just when we want a snug little sum for ourselves, he has suddenly become obstinate and refuses to raise a finger." "curse him! he shall assist us--by heaven! i'll--i'll compel him!" cried her mysterious companion furiously. "to talk like that is useless," she responded. "remember that he knows something." "something, yes. but what?" "he knows more than we think." "where is he now?" "nobody can discover. i saw him once, but he has disappeared. they say he's a wandering lunatic. he left denbury suddenly after showing signs of madness, and although that terror of a woman, his wife, strove to trace him, she was unsuccessful. his insanity, coupled with the fact that financial ruin overtook him suddenly, apparently preyed upon her mind. she fell ill, and according to a letter i received from gedge a few days ago, she died suddenly of an aneurism, and was buried last thursday at budleigh-salterton. the announcement of her death was in yesterday's papers." i listened to those words open-mouthed. my wife was dead! then i was free! with my strained ear close to the thin wood of the door i stood breathless, fearing that they might distinguish the rapid beating of my heart. "your ingenuity has always been extraordinary, madame," he said reflectively, "but in this last affair you have not shown your usual tact." "in what manner?" "his highness places confidence in you, yet you sit idly here, and profess yourself unable to assist him." "a warrant is out against you; nevertheless, you still consider the prince your friend. that is curious!" she remarked, with a touch of sarcasm. "most certainly. it was oustromoff's doings. his highness is powerless to control the ministry of police." "and you believe that you will be safe in england?" she inquired dubiously. "i believe so, providing that i exercise care," he responded. "after to-night it is best that we should remain strangers--you understand?" "of course." "and mrs anson and her charge? are they at a safe distance?" "yes. when i met heaton he inquired after them. he particularly wished to discover them, and of course i assisted him." they both laughed in chorus. but her words in themselves were sufficient proof that she feared the result of our re-union. they impressed upon me the truth of my suspicion, namely, that mabel held the key to the enigma. "what does he know?" asked the man, evidently referring to me. "he is aware of the spot where the affair took place," she answered. "what?" gasped her companion in alarm. "that can't be. he was stone blind, you said!" "certainly he was. but by some means--how i can't say--he has ascertained at least one fact." "did he make any remark to you?" "of course he did. he gave me to understand that he was acquainted with the details of the whole affair." a long silence fell between them. the mention of mrs anson and her charge held me breathless. the "charge" referred to was evidently mabel. i only hoped that from this conversation i might obtain some clue to the whereabouts of my darling. "i wonder how much heaton really does know?" observed her visitor reflectively at last. "too much, i fear," she answered. no doubt she recollected how i had expressed my determination to go to scotland yard. again there was a prolonged pause. "roesch has arrived in london. i must see him," exclaimed the man. "in london? i thought he was still at his post in the ministry at sofia," she said in a tone of surprise. "he was fortunate enough to obtain early intimation of oustromoff's intentions, and after warning me, escaped the same evening. he took steamer, i heard, from trieste to london." "why associate yourself further with that man?" she urged. "surely it will only add to the danger." "what concerns myself likewise concerns him," he answered rather ambiguously. "you have apparently of late become closer friends. for what reason?" "you will see later." "with some distinctly evil purpose, i have no doubt," she observed, "but remember that i have no further interest in any of your future schemes." he grunted dubiously. "now that you think our fortunes have changed you contemplate deserting us, eh?" he snapped. "a single word to the prince and you would conclude your career rather abruptly, i'm thinking." "is that intended as a threat?" she inquired in a calm voice. "take it as such, if you wish," the man responded angrily. "through your confounded bungling you've brought exposure upon us. we have only you to thank for it. you know me quite well enough to be aware that when i make threats they are never idle ones." "and you are sufficiently well acquainted with me to know that i never run unnecessary risks." "i know you to be a devilishly clever woman," he said. "but in your dealings with that man heaton you showed weakness--a coward's weakness. all that he knows is through your own folly. you attempted to mislead him by your actions and letters, but he has, it seems, been a little too shrewd for you." "and if he does know the truth--even, indeed, if he dared to inform the police--what direct evidence can he give, pray?" she queried. "he was blind, and therefore saw nothing. he is now mad, and nobody will believe him." "even though he may be an idiot his mouth is better closed," her companion growled. his words startled me. this unseen man's intention was apparently to make a further attempt upon my life. but i chuckled within myself. forewarned is forearmed. just at that moment i heard the waiter tap at the door, and opening it, announce the arrival of another visitor--a mr roesch. "why, i wonder, has he sought you here?" exclaimed the man when the waiter had gone. "he must have some important news!" next moment the door was again thrown open, and the new arrival entered. all three spoke quickly together in a foreign tongue. the man roesch then made a brief statement, which apparently held his two companions for some moments speechless in alarm. then again they all commenced talking in low confidential tones in that strange language--slav i believe it was. whatever it might have been, and although i understood no word of it, it brought back vividly to my memory the indelible recollection of the night of the tragedy at the boltons. i listened attentively. yes, there was no mistake--those tones were familiar. that trio of voices were the same that with my sharpened ears i had overheard conversing in the inner room immediately before the commission of the crime. i have said that my nerves were shattered. all the past was a torturing memory to me, but the quintessence of that torture was my failure to discover my love. i believed that she alone could supply the solution of the enigma, and what truth there was in that suspicion you shall duly see. the three voices continued to speak in that foreign tongue for perhaps half an hour, during which period i was unable to form any idea of the trend of the new-comer's announcement. then i heard the visitors taking their leave, apparently with many of those gesticulated reassurances of respect which mark the shallow foreigner. i extinguished my light and opened my door cautiously. as they passed on their way down the corridor i succeeded in obtaining a very good view of the interesting pair. they were talking together, and i distinguished the man who had first called upon edna by his deep voice. he was a short, thick-set, black-bearded man of forty, well-dressed in black, with a heavy gold albert across his ample vest. his companion, whose name was apparently roesch, was considerably older, about fifty-five or so, of spare build, erect, thin-faced, with long grey whiskers descending from either cheek, and shaven chin. he wore a frock-coat and silk hat, and was of a type altogether superior to his companion. the woman grainger's coffee was brought to her as usual in the morning, but about ten o'clock she rang again, and when the chambermaid responded, said-- "here are two letters. post them for me in the box in the bureau, and tell them to send my bill at once. i leave at ten forty-five." "yes'm." and the girl departed to post the letters. to whom, i wondered, were those letters addressed? within my mind i strove to devise some plan whereby i could obtain a glance at the addresses. the box, however, was only at the foot of the stairs, therefore ere i could resolve upon any plan the girl had dropped them into it, and i heard her linen flounces beating along the corridor again. those letters were in the post, and beyond my reach. she had written those two missives during the night, and after the departure of her visitors. they had, no doubt, some connexion with the matter which the trio had so earnestly discussed in that tantalising foreign tongue. in hesitancy i remained some little time, then a sudden thought occurred to me. i addressed an envelope to the hall-porter of my club, enclosing a blank sheet of paper, and then descending, posted it. the box was placed outside the bureau, and the instant i had dropped the letter in i turned, as though in anger with myself, and, entering the bureau, said to the clerk-- "i've unfortunately posted a letter without a stamp. have you the key of the box?" "the box belongs to the post office, sir," he answered. "but we have a key to it." "then i should esteem it a favour if you would recover my letter for me. it is most important that the addressee should not be charged for its postage. i regret that my absent-mindedness should give you this trouble." the clerk took the key from a drawer at the end of the bureau, and opening the box, took out the half-dozen or so letters which it contained, and spread them upon the desk. among them were two square, pale-faced envelopes. as i took my own letter and affixed a stamp i glanced eagerly at the address of both. one bore the superscription: "mr p. gechkuloff, , king henry's road, hampstead, n.w." upon the other were words which caused my heart to leap joyfully within me. they were-- "miss mabel anson, _langham hotel_, london." i posted my letter, hurried upstairs and paid my bill. edna had already packed her trunk, but had changed her mind, and did not intend leaving hull that day. i heard her inform the chambermaid of her intention of remaining, then i left the hotel, and caught the ten-forty-five express for london. chapter twenty nine. the enigma. at five o'clock that same afternoon i alighted from a taxi before the _langham hotel_, and presenting my card at the bureau, inquired for miss anson. the clerk looked at me rather curiously, i thought, glanced at the card, and entering the telephone-box, spoke some words into the instrument. i was shown into a small room on the first floor, where i waited until a gentlemanly, middle-aged, fair-headed man entered, with my card in his hand. "good afternoon," he said, greeting me rather stiffly. "her highness is at present out driving. is there anything i can do? i am her secretary." "her highness?" i echoed, with a smile. "there must be some mistake. i have called to see miss mabel anson." he regarded me with some surprise. "are you, then, unaware that anson is the name adopted by her highness to preserve her _incognita_?" he asked, glancing at me in quick suspicion. "are you not aware of her real rank and station?" "no!" i cried, in blank amazement. "this is indeed a revelation to me! i have known miss anson intimately during the past six years. what is her true rank?" "the lady whom you know as miss anson is her imperial highness the archduchess marie elizabeth mabel, third daughter of his majesty the emperor francis joseph of austria." "mabel! the daughter of an emperor?" i gasped involuntarily. "impossible!" he shrugged his shoulders. he was a foreigner, although he spoke english well--an austrian most probably. "you are surprised," he laughed. "many people have also been surprised, as the archduchess, living in england nearly her whole life, has frequently been taken for an englishwoman." "i can't believe it!" i cried. "surely there must be some mistake!" i remembered those days of long ago when we had wandered together in kensington gardens. how charming and ingenuous she was: how sweet and unaffected by worldly vanities, how trustful was that look when she gazed into my eyes! her air was never that of the daughter of the reigning house of hapsbourg-lorraine. she had possessed all the enchantment of ideal grace without the dignity of rank, and it seemed incredible that she was actually a princess whose home was the most brilliant court of europe. "i can quite understand your surprise," observed the secretary. "but what is the nature of your business with her highness?" "it is of a purely private nature." he glanced at the card. "the archduchess does not receive callers," he answered coldly. "but at least you will give her my name, and tell her that i have something of urgent importance to communicate to her," i cried eagerly. he hesitated. "if you are, as you allege, an old friend, i will place your card before her," he said at last, with some hesitation. "you may leave your address, and if her highness consents to receive you i will communicate with you." "no," i answered in desperation; "i will remain and await her return." "that is impossible," he responded. "she has many engagements, and certainly cannot receive you to-day." i recollected that the letter i had found at denbury made it plain that we had parted abruptly. if this man gave her my card without any word, it was more than likely that she would refuse to see me. therefore i entered into argument with him, but while i was speaking the door opened suddenly, and my love stood before me. she halted there, elegantly dressed, having just returned from her drive, and for a moment we faced each other speechless. "mr heaton!" she cried, and then, in breathless hurry arising from the sudden and joyful surprise, she rushed forward. our hands grasped. for the moment i could utter no word. the secretary, noticing our mutual embarrassment, discreetly withdrew, closing the door after him. once again i found myself, after those six lost years, alone with my love. "at last!" i cried. "at last i have found you, after all these months!" i was earnestly gazing into her great dark eyes. she had altered but little since that night long ago at the boltons, when i had discovered the traces of that hideous tragedy. "and why have you come back to me now?" she inquired in a low, strained voice. "i have striven long and diligently to find you," i answered frankly, "because--because i wished to tell you how i love you--that i have loved you always--from the first moment that we met." a grave expression crossed her countenance. "and yet you forsook me! you calmly broke off the secret engagement that we had mutually made, and left me without a single word. you have married," she added resentfully, "therefore it is scarcely fitting that you should come here with a false declaration upon your lips." "it is no false declaration, i swear," i cried. "as for my wife, i knew her not, and she is now dead." "dead!" she gasped. "you knew her not! i don't understand." "i have loved you always--always, princess--for i have only ten minutes ago ascertained your true rank--" "mabel to you--as always," she said, softly interrupting me. "ah, thank you for those words!" i cried, taking her small gloved hand. "i have loved you from the first moment that we met at the colonel's, long ago--you remember that night?" "i shall never forget it," she faltered in that low tone as of old, which was as sweetest music to my ears. "and you remember that evening when i dined with you at the boltons?" i said. "incomprehensible though it may seem, i began a new life from that night, and for six whole years have existed in a state of utter unconsciousness of all the past. will you consider me insane if i tell you that i have no knowledge whatever of meeting you after that night, and only knew of our engagement by discovering this letter among my private papers a couple of months ago?" and i drew her letter from my pocket. "your words sound most remarkable," she said, deeply interested. "relate the whole of the facts to me. but first come along to my own sitting-room. we may be interrupted here." and she led the way to the end of the corridor, where we entered an elegant little salon, one of the handsome suite of rooms she occupied. she drew forth a chair for me, and allowing a middle-aged gentlewoman-- her lady-in-waiting, i presume--to take her hat and gloves, we once more found ourselves alone. how exquisitely beautiful she was! yet her royal birth, alas! placed her beyond my reach. all my hopes and aspirations had been in an instant crushed by the knowledge of her rank. i could only now relate to her the truth, and seek her forgiveness for what had seemed a cruel injustice. i took her unresisting hand, and told her how long ago i had loved her, not daring to expose to her the great secret of my heart. if we had mutually decided upon marriage, and i had deliberately deserted her, it was, i declared, because of that remarkable unconsciousness which had blotted out all knowledge of my life previous to that last night when we had dined together, and i had accompanied the man hickman to his lodgings. "but tell me all," she urged, "so that i can understand and judge accordingly." and then, beginning at the beginning, i recounted the whole of the amazing facts, just as i have narrated them to the reader in these foregoing chapters. i think the telling occupied most part of an hour; but she sat there, her lovely eyes fixed upon me, her mouth half open, held dumb and motionless by the strange story i unfolded. once or twice she gave vent to ejaculations of surprise, and i saw that only by dint of supreme effort did she succeed in preserving her self-control. i told her everything. i did not seek to conceal one single fact. "and he was actually murdered in my house?" she cried, starting up at last. "you were present?" i explained to her in detail the events of that fateful night. "then at last the truth is plain!" she exclaimed. "you have supplied the key to the enigma for which i have been so long in search!" "tell me," i said, in breathless earnestness. "all these years i have been striving in vain to solve the problem." she paused, her dark, fathomless eyes fixed upon me, as though lacking courage to tell me the truth. "i deceived you, wilford, from the first," she faltered, "i hid from you the secret of my birth, and it was at my request colonel channing--who, of course, knew me well when he was british attache at vienna--refused to tell you the truth. you wonder, of course, that i should live in england _incognita_. probably, however, you know that my poor mother, the late empress, loved england and the english. she gave me an english name at my baptism, and when only five years of age i was sent here to be educated. at seventeen i returned to vienna, but soon became tired of the eternal glitter of palace life, and a year or two later, as soon as i was of age and my own mistress, i returned to london, took into my service mrs anson, the widow of an english officer well known to my mother, and in order to preserve my _incognita_ caused her to pass as my mother. i took the house at the boltons, and only colonel and mrs channing knew my real station. i was passionately fond of music, and desired to complete my studies, besides which i am intensely fond of london and of life unfettered by the trammels which must hamper the daughter of an emperor." "you preferred a quiet, free life in london to that at your father's court?" "exactly," she answered. "at twenty-one i had had my fill of life at court, and found existence in london, where i was unknown, far more pleasant. besides mrs anson, i had as companion a young englishwoman who had been governess in a well-known family in vienna. her name was grainger." "grainger?" i cried. "edna grainger?" "the same. she was my companion. well, after i had been established at the boltons nearly a year i met, while on a visit to a country house, a young man with whom i became on very friendly terms--prince alexander, heir to the throne of bulgaria. we met often, and although i still passed as mabel anson, our acquaintanceship ripened into a mutual affection. with a disregard for the _convenances_, i induced mrs anson to invite him on several occasions to the boltons. one morning, however, i received a private message from count de walkenstein-trosburg, our ambassador here, saying that he had received a cipher telegraphic dispatch that my father, the emperor, was very unwell, and his excellency suggested that i should return to vienna. this i did, accompanied by mrs anson, and, leaving the woman grainger in charge of the household as usual, i wrote to the young prince from vienna, but received no reply, and when i returned a fortnight later searched for him in vain. he had mysteriously disappeared. a few days before, in my dreams, i had seen the fatal raven, the evil omen of my house, and feared the worst." "then the man who was murdered at the boltons on that night was none other than prince alexander, the heir to the throne of bulgaria!" i cried. "without a doubt," she answered. "what you have just told me makes it all plain. you took from the dead man's pocket a small gold pencil-case, and you will remember that i recognised it as one that i had given him. it was that fact which caused me to suspect you." "suspect me? did you believe me guilty of murder?" "i did not then know that murder had been committed. all that was known was that the heir to the throne had mysteriously disappeared. the terrible truth i have just learnt from your lips. the discovery that the little gift i had made to him was in your possession filled me with suspicion, and in order to solve the mystery i invoked the aid of the police-agent attached to our embassy, and invited both of you to dine, in order that he might meet you. you will remember the man you met on that night?" "hickman!" i cried. "was he really a police-agent?" "yes. he induced you, it appears, to go to a lodging he had taken for the purpose, and without my knowledge gave you a drugged cigar. you fell unconscious, and this enabled him to thoroughly overhaul your pockets, and also to go to your chambers during the night, either with your latch-key, and make a complete search, the result of which convinced us both that you had no hand in the missing man's disappearance, in spite of the fact that his dress-stud and pencil-case were in your possession. on the following morning, however, when you were but half conscious--hickman having then returned from making his search at essex street--you accidentally struck your head a violent blow on the corner of the stone mantelshelf. this blow, so severe that they were compelled to remove you to the hospital, apparently affected your brain, for when i met you again a month later you seamed curiously vacant in mind, and had no recollection whatever of the events that had passed." "i had none, i assure you," i said. "it seems marvellous that you should be utterly in ignorance of what followed," she went on, her sweet eyes still gazing deeply into mine. "you told me how you loved me, and i, loving you in return, we entered upon a clandestine engagement that was to be secret from all. a few summer months went by, happy, joyous months, the most blissful in all my life, and then your love suddenly cooled. you had embarked in financial schemes in the city--you were becoming enriched by some concessions in bulgaria, it was whispered--but your love for me slowly died, and you married a woman twice your age. can you imagine my feelings? i was heart-broken, wilford--utterly heart-broken." "but i knew not what i was doing," i hastened to declare. "i loved you always--always. my brain had been injured by that blow, and all my tastes and feelings thereby became inverted." "i remained in england a few weeks longer, wandering aimlessly hither and thither, and then at last returned to vienna and plunged into the vortex of gaiety at court, in order to forget my sorrow." "and that woman grainger? what of her?" "she left my service about a month after that night when you met with your accident at the boltons. i have not seen her since." i then related how for the past month i had been closely watching her, and repeated the conversation i had overheard at hull between her and her visitors on the previous night. "the woman, after leaving my service, has, it seems, somehow become an agent of the bulgarian government. she knows the truth," she said decisively. "we must obtain it from her." "it was a woman who struck the young prince down!" i exclaimed quickly. "of that i am certain." my wife reflected for a brief instant. "perhaps," she said. "that woman was jealous of the attention he paid me." chapter thirty. conclusion. "mrs slade is still in her room, sir, but she's not alone; her maid arrived from london last night," answered the chambermaid at the _north-eastern hotel_ at hull, when on the following morning, i made inquiry. i had been accompanied from king's cross by mabel and the police-agent, hickman, and we stood together in the hotel corridor prior to entering the woman's room. hickman, whom i had all along believed to be deeply implicated in the plot, if not the actual murderer, was, i found, a clever detective of english birth, who had for some years been an officer of the prefecture of police in vienna, but who had latterly been attached to the austro-hungarian embassy in belgrave square, and entrusted with the personal safety of the emperor's daughter. the revelations i had made utterly amazed him. by the last post on the previous night mabel had received the letter written from hull which merely asked for an interview, and we had all three set forth, determined to secure the arrest of the writer. with that object we entered her sitting-room without a word of warning. she was sitting at the table writing, but in an instant sprang to her feet, with a cry of profound alarm. when her eyes wandered from mabel to hickman and myself, her cheeks blanched. she apparently guessed our purpose. "you have expressed a desire to meet me," mabel said determinedly. "so i have come to you." "and--and these gentlemen?" edna inquired, glancing at us, puzzled. "they are present to hear what you have to say to me." she was taken aback. "i--i have nothing to say to your highness," the woman faltered. "i merely wished to know whether, when in london, i might call." "then listen," exclaimed mabel. "the truth is known, and it is useless for you to further conceal it. if you have nothing to say, mr hickman will at once call in the police, and i shall charge you with the murder of the prince." "the murder of the prince!" she gasped, white to the lips. "i--did not commit the crime. i can prove that i didn't!" her hands were trembling, and she stood beside the table, steadying herself by it. there was a haunted look in those cold grey eyes. our sudden descent upon her had taken her utterly by surprise. "then let us hear your statement," my love said in a hard voice quite unusual to her. "let it be the truth, or i shall charge you now, at once, with the capital offence. the prince was murdered in my house, and with your knowledge. do you deny that?" "no," she cried hoarsely, "i do not deny it." a long silence ensued. the woman grainger--or slade, as she was known there--hung her head. hickman spoke authoritatively, demanding full explanation, but she maintained a dogged silence. a sudden fire flashed in her eyes--the fire of defiance and hatred. "then, as you refuse to speak," said mabel at length, "you will have no further opportunity until you stand in the criminal dock." "no, no!" cried the wretched woman quickly. "hear me! i will tell you all--everything. listen," she implored. "do not call the police ere i have explained my exact position, and how the tragedy occurred." "proceed," mabel said harshly. "we are all attention." "you will remember that three days before the tragedy your highness left london suddenly because of the illness of the emperor, and i remained in charge of the household. it was on a sunday you left, and you had invited the young prince to dine on the following wednesday evening. on the afternoon following your departure a visitor was announced. his name was petrovitch gechkuloff, a bulgarian gentleman whom i knew slightly, he having been a visitor at the house in vienna where i had previously been in service as english governess. he asked me whether i wished to earn a thousand pounds, and then, under promise of strictest secrecy, unfolded to me an ingenious and extraordinary scheme. he was acting, he said, together with danilo roesch, the bulgarian minister of finance, whom he would later introduce to me, in the interests of the people's party in the sobranje, and they desired the young prince alexander to sign a certain deed. he told me nothing of the contents of the document, but asked me to assist them. i was to send no notice of your highness's departure to the prince, but, on the contrary, when he arrived on the wednesday evening i was to entertain him, make some excuse for your highness's absence, and afterwards introduce the minister roesch and his friend. there was nothing risky about the proceedings, he declared most emphatically. the pair merely wished to obtain the young prince's signature." "but did not this request strike you as extraordinary?" asked mabel. "you knew the prince quite well." "it was the money which tempted me," the wretched woman cried. "i hesitated for some time, and at last yielded. the prince arrived, and although greatly surprised and disappointed to find your highness absent, remained and dined with myself and the man gechkuloff, of whom he, of course, knew nothing save that he was one of his father's subjects. near the conclusion of dinner we witnessed a cab accident opposite the window, a blind gentleman--mr heaton--being run over, and i ordered the people to carry him into the drawing-room. dr slater was fetched, and having bandaged his head, told us to let him remain quiet for an hour or so, then left. in the meantime the bulgarian minister, roesch, arrived, apparently in a great hurry, was introduced, and had a long interview with the prince in private. afterwards we adjourned into the library. some champagne was drunk, and the three men smoked, speaking often in their own language, so that i might not understand all that was said. subsequently the deed was produced, and after a considerable amount of hesitation and many promises on the part of the minister of finance, his highness signed it. then a witness was required. gechkuloff whispered to me the suggestion that the signature of mr heaton, who was lying in the adjoining room half conscious, should be obtained, and having made him believe that he was signing a birthday book i got from him the desired signature. shortly afterwards, while sitting at the piano playing i felt a heavy blow, which for a few moments stunned me. then gazing through into the adjoining room i saw two figures struggling--the prince and a woman. for a few seconds he held her tightly, but with a furious twist she freed herself and struck him full in the chest with the small dagger in her hand. he staggered and fell backward upon the couch dying. the scene struck terror into the hearts of all of us, the two men standing near me rigid in amazement. the woman closed and locked the door communicating between the two rooms, and left the house, while a few minutes later we also followed." "you saw the woman's face?" inquired hickman. "most certainly," she answered. then, continuing, said, "the tragic _denouement_ was so unexpected and startling that at first neither man appeared to know how to act. quickly, however, they saw that suspicion of the murder must fall upon them, owing, i suppose, to the part they had played in bulgarian politics, and they at once made it imperative that i should join in and carry out their scheme. as together we hurried along gilston road, they confessed to me how they had contemplated the assassination of the young prince after he had signed the document, in order to remove the heir to the throne, and thus strengthen the hands of the people's party. they explained how they had discovered a cellar beside the thames, close to the turpentine factory at battersea bridge, and had intended that on the prince emerging from the house at the boltons he should be accosted by a man in police uniform, and asked to walk to the police-station, only to find himself entrapped. now they pointed out that the witness to the crime was the blind gentleman who had met with the accident, and as his signature was upon the document executed, it was necessary that he should be silenced." "they intended to kill me!" i cried. "most assuredly," she responded, turning towards me. "when you emerged from the house you were met by the man who acted the part of police-constable, a london ruffian, and being blind, at once fell into the trap. i saved you, for i saw that by securing your silence in exchange for your life i should also secure you as an agent who might be useful to the two men into whose clutches i had so suddenly and hopelessly fallen. this proved correct, for ere long your assistance became of greatest use. on the morning when we parted, accompanied by gechkuloff, i visited your chambers, and made a search there to ascertain who and what you were. having once embarked on the conspiracy with these two men, whom i found were powerful factors in bulgarian politics, i was compelled to assist them in disposing of the body--which was placed in the cellar beside the thames, and allowed to float out with the tide. then, having sent the servants on holiday, i removed the blood-stains, and worked the crochet cover for the couch." "you told me that those stains were of coffee that you had spilled there," mabel said. "true," she answered. "but i was compelled to deceive you. i left you soon afterwards, for by roesch's influence i became appointed english governess to the two youngest children of prince ferdinand, and it was while at sofia that i suggested to the minister of finance the scheme for placing the concessions in the hands of mr heaton, whom i had heard was now suffering from an unaccountable loss of memory, and recollected nothing of the past. the subject was mooted to prince ferdinand, who in all good faith empowered me to treat with mr heaton, and before long several formidable concessions were floated in the city. the most remarkable thing was mr heaton's absolute ignorance of all the past. he was as wax in the hands of the two men who had become my masters. only at the last coup, when they desired to raise a loan of half a million sterling, intending to appropriate it to their own uses, did he refuse to render us further assistance. it was as though his memory had suddenly returned to him, and he suspected." "my memory had then returned," i said briefly, marvelling at her remarkable narrative. "but what reason had the men in making those elaborate preparations for the assassination of the prince?" "there were two reasons. one was that by the execution of the deed they were empowered to raise upon post-obits large sums, repayable when the young prince came to the accession, and, secondly, they had found out that he had, by some means, discovered the huge defalcations which had been made in the ministry of finance at sofia, and feared that he might expose them." "but you say that, although they had intention of assassinating him, they did not actually do so?" hickman observed. "no. they were not the actual assassins." "then who was?" demanded mabel. the woman stood in silence, her lips hard-set, her face drawn. "the truth must be told," she said at last. "it is, i suppose, useless to try and conceal it now." and with a sudden movement she flung open the door leading to a small ante-chamber, crying in a hoarse, desperate voice-- "enter! the guilty one is there?" we pressed forward, and there saw a thin grey-haired woman who had guilt written plainly upon her drawn white face. she had overheard all our conversation, and had been compelled to remain in that chamber, there being no outlet. "joliot!" gasped mabel, amazed. "my maid!" then, addressing the cowering, trembling woman, she demanded the truth. we stood there astonished. there was a silence, long and painful. the contortions of the guilty woman's features were horrible; in her black eyes burned a fierce light, and she trembled in every limb. "yes," she cried hoarsely, after the question had been repeated, "i killed him! i killed him because i was jealous! i thought that instead of coming to visit your highness he, in reality, came to visit miss grainger. therefore without knowing why i did it, i dashed into the room where miss grainger was at the piano and attacked her. the prince rose quickly and stretched out his arm to save her. then rushing upon him i stabbed him to the heart! since that day," she added, in her low voice, scarcely audible, "since that day i have lived upon the meagre charity of roesch, and yesterday came here to take up a position as miss grainger's maid." "your interests were mutual in the preservation of your secret, therefore you resolved to adjust your differences and live together, eh?" remarked hickman. she gave vent to a shrill peal of hideous laughter, as though there were something humorous in that grim and terrible tragedy. it jarred upon our nerves, but it also explained to us the ghastly truth. the woman natalie joliot was hopelessly insane. "your highness recognises the state of the wretched woman's mind," observed edna grainger, with a pitying look. "she has been so ever since the homicidal frenzy which seized her on that fatal night, and i have now taken her beneath my charge, for with me she is as docile as a child." the truth was a startling one. we all three stood by in wondering silence. the crime had been committed in a sudden access of madness by that miserable creature who could not be held responsible for her actions. "roesch and gechkuloff, with their elaborate preparations for the assassination of the heir to the bulgarian throne, were murderers at heart, but, by that strange combination of circumstances which so often render truth stranger than fiction, their work was accomplished by another hand," i remarked. "there seems no doubt," said edna, "that large sums were raised in london and in paris upon the deed executed by the young prince, who evidently had no knowledge of its true nature, and during the first six months before the hue-and-cry as to his disappearance all was plain sailing. when, however, suspicion arose that the heir had met with foul play they feared to continue using the deed, and hit upon the expedient of the concessions which i induced you to negotiate." "and these two men, roesch and gechkuloff, where are they?" inquired hickman. "they were in england yesterday. the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of prince alexander has been used for political purposes in bulgaria, with the result that the ministry has been forced to resign. the defalcations of the head of the treasury and his assistant being discovered, they were both forced to fly. they are, i believe, on their way to australia." "we must arrest them," said hickman briefly. "such a pair of villains must, not be allowed to go scot free." "and to you," exclaimed mabel, turning to me with the bright light of unshed tears in her fine eyes, "to your patience and careful watchfulness is due the unravelling of this extraordinary mystery, which might otherwise have remained an enigma always." she took my hand. i saw in her beautiful countenance that love-look as of old. but i bent over her bejewelled fingers as a courtier would over those of a princess of an imperial house, my heart too full for words. the madwoman railed at us, shrieking and hurling imprecations interspersed with all sorts of rambling sentences, while edna held her tightly by the wrist and strove to calm her. the scene was a hideous one. neither of us could bear it longer, therefore we withdrew, leaving hickman with edna and her charge. the chronicle of this strange chapter of my life's history is finished. there is no more to tell, save perhaps to explain--as sir henry blundell, the specialist on mental diseases, explained to me in his consulting-room in harley street--the cause of my six lost years. such an experience, it seemed, was not unknown in medical science, and he made it clear to me that the blow i had accidentally dealt myself in hickman's rooms had so altered the balance of my brain--already affected by the cab accident during my blindness--that my intellect stopped like a watch. i lost all knowledge of the past, and from the moment of recovering consciousness commenced an entirely new life. this extended through the long period, nearly six years, until i had struck my head against the marble statue in the drawing-room at denbury, when my brain, restored again to its normal capacity, lost all impression of events which had occurred during its abnormal state. this, of course, accounted for my extraordinary unconscious life, my inverted tastes, and my parting with the woman i loved so fondly. and what of her, you ask? she had, during that period of my unconsciousness, become satiated by the gaiety of the brilliant court at vienna, and the tragic death of her devoted mother, the empress, at the hand of luccheni, the anarchist, caused her to prefer a life quiet, free, and untrammelled. knowing her royal birth, however, i dared not ask her hand in marriage, and it was not until many weeks later, after the woman natalie joliot had been confined as a homicidal patient in woking asylum, edna grainger had, owing to mabel's clemency, escaped to the continent, the ex-minister roesch and his companion gechkuloff had been extradited from bow street to sofia to take their trial for their gigantic defalcations upon the state treasury, and i had sold denbury and made an end of the financial business which stood in my name, that she complained to me of her loneliness. with eager, trembling heart i took her white hand in mine and put to her the question. i knew it was presumptuous, almost unheard of. but, reader, you may readily imagine what overwhelming joy arose within me when she threw her arms passionately about my neck, and as answer raised her face and gave me a warm fond kiss. our life to-day is very even, very uneventful, idyllically happy. under her second title of countess of klagenfurt we were soon afterwards married. we spent part of our time at heaton, with which she is charmed now that it is swept and garnished, and the remainder at her own mediaeval castle of mohaes, one of the great ancestral estates of the hapsbourg-lorraines in the tyrol, not far from innsbruck, which was presented to her as a marriage gift by the emperor. her imperial highness the archduchess marie-elizabeth-mabel no longer exists. at the outset i made it quite plain that i had not written here my true name. i did so at my wife's suggestion, for although my real name is probably known to most of those who read this record of my strange adventures, yet the world is still in ignorance of mabel's actual social position. she said that she had no desire to be pointed at as a princess who married a commoner, and i have, of course, respected her wish. she sacrificed all for my sake, and peace and joy are ours at last. with a fond and devoted love she gave up everything in order to become my wife, and as such has renounced for ever that world in which she was born--the world of purple and fine linen. the end. the sorrows of satan or the strange experience of one geoffrey tempest, millionaire a romance by marie corelli methuen & co. ltd., london _ essex street w.c._ _first published november second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth editions eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first, twenty-second, twenty-third, twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, thirtieth, thirty-first, thirty-second editions thirty-third, thirty-fourth, thirty-fifth, thirty-sixth editions thirty-seventh, thirty-eighth, thirty-ninth editions fortieth and forty-first editions forty-second edition forty-third and forty-fourth editions forty-fifth and forty-sixth editions forty-seventh edition forty-eighth edition forty-ninth and fiftieth editions fifty-first edition fifty-second and fifty-third editions fifty-fourth edition fifty-fifth edition fifty-sixth edition fifty-seventh edition fifty-eighth edition fifty-ninth edition sixtieth edition sixty-first edition sixty-second and sixty-third editions sixty-fourth edition sixty-fifth edition (cheap edition) sixty-sixth edition " " sixty-seventh edition " " sixty-eighth edition " " reprinted, _ . catalogue no. /v printed in great britain the sorrows of satan i do you know what it is to be poor? not poor with the arrogant poverty complained of by certain people who have five or six thousand a year to live upon, and who yet swear they can hardly manage to make both ends meet, but really poor,--downright, cruelly, hideously poor, with a poverty that is graceless, sordid and miserable? poverty that compels you to dress in your one suit of clothes till it is worn threadbare,--that denies you clean linen on account of the ruinous charges of washerwomen,--that robs you of your own self-respect, and causes you to slink along the streets vaguely abashed, instead of walking erect among your fellow-men in independent ease,--this is the sort of poverty i mean. this is the grinding curse that keeps down noble aspiration under a load of ignoble care; this is the moral cancer that eats into the heart of an otherwise well-intentioned human creature and makes him envious and malignant, and inclined to the use of dynamite. when he sees the fat idle woman of society passing by in her luxurious carriage, lolling back lazily, her face mottled with the purple and red signs of superfluous eating,--when he observes the brainless and sensual man of fashion smoking and dawdling away the hours in the park, as if all the world and its millions of honest hard workers were created solely for the casual diversion of the so-called 'upper' classes,--then the good blood in him turns to gall, and his suffering spirit rises in fierce rebellion, crying out--"why in god's name, should this injustice be? why should a worthless lounger have his pockets full of gold by mere chance and heritage, while i, toiling wearily from morn till midnight, can scarce afford myself a satisfying meal?" why indeed! why should the wicked flourish like a green bay-tree? i have often thought about it. now however i believe i could help to solve the problem out of my own personal experience. but ... such an experience! who will credit it? who will believe that anything so strange and terrific ever chanced to the lot of a mortal man? no one. yet it is true;--truer than much so-called truth. moreover i know that many men are living through many such incidents as have occurred to me, under precisely the same influence, conscious perhaps at times, that they are in the tangles of sin, but too weak of will to break the net in which they have become voluntarily imprisoned. will they be taught, i wonder, the lesson i have learned? in the same bitter school, under the same formidable taskmaster? will they realize as i have been forced to do,--aye, to the very fibres of my intellectual perception,--the vast, individual, active mind, which behind all matter, works unceasingly, though silently, a very eternal and positive god? if so, then dark problems will become clear to them, and what seems injustice in the world will prove pure equity! but i do not write with any hope of either persuading or enlightening my fellow-men. i know their obstinacy too well;--i can gauge it by my own. my proud belief in myself was, at one time, not to be outdone by any human unit on the face of the globe. and i am aware that others are in similar case. i merely intend to relate the various incidents of my career in due order exactly as they happened,--leaving to more confident heads the business of propounding and answering the riddles of human existence as best they may. during a certain bitter winter, long remembered for its arctic severity, when a great wave of intense cold spread freezing influences not alone over the happy isles of britain, but throughout all europe, i, geoffrey tempest, was alone in london and well-nigh starving. now a starving man seldom gets the sympathy he merits,--so few can be persuaded to believe in him. worthy folks who have just fed to repletion are the most incredulous, some of them being even moved to smile when told of existing hungry people, much as if these were occasional jests invented for after-dinner amusement. or, with that irritating vagueness of attention which characterizes fashionable folk to such an extent that when asking a question they neither wait for the answer nor understand it when given, the well-dined groups, hearing of some one starved to death, will idly murmur 'how dreadful!' and at once turn to the discussion of the latest 'fad' for killing time, ere it takes to killing them with sheer _ennui_. the pronounced fact of being hungry sounds coarse and common, and is not a topic for polite society, which always eats more than sufficient for its needs. at the period i am speaking of however, i, who have since been one of the most envied of men, knew the cruel meaning of the word hunger, too well,--the gnawing pain, the sick faintness, the deadly stupor, the insatiable animal craving for mere food, all of which sensations are frightful enough to those who are, unhappily, daily inured to them, but which when they afflict one who has been tenderly reared and brought up to consider himself a 'gentleman,'--god save the mark! are perhaps still more painful to bear. and i felt that i had not deserved to suffer the wretchedness in which i found myself. i had worked hard. from the time my father died, leaving me to discover that every penny of the fortune i imagined he possessed was due to swarming creditors, and that nothing of all our house and estate was left to me except a jewelled miniature of my mother who had lost her own life in giving me birth,--from that time i say, i had put my shoulder to the wheel and toiled late and early. i had turned my university education to the only use for which it or i seemed fitted,--literature. i had sought for employment on almost every journal in london,--refused by many, taken on trial by some, but getting steady pay from none. whoever seeks to live by brain and pen alone is, at the beginning of such a career, treated as a sort of social pariah. nobody wants him,--everybody despises him. his efforts are derided, his manuscripts are flung back to him unread, and he is less cared for than the condemned murderer in gaol. the murderer is at least fed and clothed,--a worthy clergyman visits him, and his gaoler will occasionally condescend to play cards with him. but a man gifted with original thoughts and the power of expressing them, appears to be regarded by everyone in authority as much worse than the worst criminal, and all the 'jacks-in-office' unite to kick him to death if they can. i took both kicks and blows in sullen silence and lived on,--not for the love of life, but simply because i scorned the cowardice of self-destruction. i was young enough not to part with hope too easily;--the vague idea i had that my turn would come,--that the ever-circling wheel of fortune would perchance lift me up some day as it now crushed me down, kept me just wearily capable of continuing existence,--though it was merely a continuance and no more. for about six months i got some reviewing work on a well-known literary journal. thirty novels a week were sent to me to 'criticise,'--i made a habit of glancing hastily at about eight or ten of them, and writing one column of rattling abuse concerning these thus casually selected,--the remainder were never noticed at all. i found that this mode of action was considered 'smart,' and i managed for a time to please my editor who paid me the munificent sum of fifteen shillings for my weekly labour. but on one fatal occasion i happened to change my tactics and warmly praised a work which my own conscience told me was both original and excellent. the author of it happened to be an old enemy of the proprietor of the journal on which i was employed;--my eulogistic review of the hated individual, unfortunately for me, appeared, with the result that private spite outweighed public justice, and i was immediately dismissed. after this i dragged on in a sufficiently miserable way, doing 'hack work' for the dailies, and living on promises that never became realities, till, as i have said, in the early january of the bitter winter alluded to, i found myself literally penniless and face to face with starvation, owing a month's rent besides for the poor lodging i occupied in a back street not far from the british museum. i had been out all day trudging from one newspaper office to another, seeking for work and finding none. every available post was filled. i had also tried, unsuccessfully, to dispose of a manuscript of my own,--a work of fiction which i knew had some merit, but which all the 'readers' in the publishing offices appeared to find exceptionally worthless. these 'readers' i learned, were most of them novelists themselves, who read other people's productions in their spare moments and passed judgment on them. i have always failed to see the justice of this arrangement; to me it seems merely the way to foster mediocrities and suppress originality. common sense points out the fact that the novelist 'reader' who has a place to maintain for himself in literature would naturally rather encourage work that is likely to prove ephemeral, than that which might possibly take a higher footing than his own. be this as it may, and however good or bad the system, it was entirely prejudicial to me and my literary offspring. the last publisher i tried was a kindly man who looked at my shabby clothes and gaunt face with some commiseration. "i'm sorry," said he, "very sorry, but my readers are quite unanimous. from what i can learn, it seems to me you have been too earnest. and also, rather sarcastic in certain strictures against society. my dear fellow, that won't do. never blame society,--it buys books! now if you could write a smart love-story, slightly _risqué_,--even a little more than _risqué_ for that matter; that is the sort of thing that suits the present age." "pardon me," i interposed somewhat wearily--"but are you sure you judge the public taste correctly?" he smiled a bland smile of indulgent amusement at what he no doubt considered my ignorance in putting such a query. "of course i am sure,"--he replied--"it is my business to know the public taste as thoroughly as i know my own pocket. understand me,--i don't suggest that you should write a book on any positively indecent subject,--that can be safely left to the 'new' woman,"--and he laughed,--"but i assure you high-class fiction doesn't sell. the critics don't like it, to begin with. what goes down with them and with the public is a bit of sensational realism told in terse newspaper english. literary english,--addisonian english,--is a mistake." "and i am also a mistake i think," i said with a forced smile--"at any rate if what you say be true, i must lay down the pen and try another trade. i am old-fashioned enough to consider literature as the highest of all professions, and i would rather not join in with those who voluntarily degrade it." he gave me a quick side-glance of mingled incredulity and depreciation. "well, well!" he finally observed--"you are a little quixotic. that will wear off. will you come on to my club and dine with me?" i refused this invitation promptly. i knew the man saw and recognised my wretched plight,--and pride--false pride if you will--rose up to my rescue. i bade him a hurried good-day, and started back to my lodging, carrying my rejected manuscript with me. arrived there, my landlady met me as i was about to ascend the stairs, and asked me whether i would 'kindly settle accounts' the next day. she spoke civilly enough, poor soul, and not without a certain compassionate hesitation in her manner. her evident pity for me galled my spirit as much as the publisher's offer of a dinner had wounded my pride,--and with a perfectly audacious air of certainty i at once promised her the money at the time she herself appointed, though i had not the least idea where or how i should get the required sum. once past her, and shut in my own room, i flung my useless manuscript on the floor and myself into a chair, and--swore. it refreshed me to swear, and it seemed natural,--for though temporarily weakened by lack of food, i was not yet so weak as to shed tears,--and a fierce formidable oath was to me the same sort of physical relief which i imagine a fit of weeping may be to an excitable woman. just as i could not shed tears, so was i incapable of apostrophizing god in my despair. to speak frankly, i did not believe in any god--_then_. i was to myself an all-sufficing mortal, scorning the time-worn superstitions of so-called religion. of course i had been brought up in the christian faith; but that creed had become worse than useless to me since i had intellectually realized the utter inefficiency of christian ministers to deal with difficult life-problems. spiritually i was adrift in chaos,--mentally i was hindered both in thought and achievement,--bodily, i was reduced to want. my case was desperate,--i myself was desperate. it was a moment when if ever good and evil angels play a game of chance for a man's soul, they were surely throwing the dice on the last wager for mine. and yet, with it all, i felt i had done my best. i was driven into a corner by my fellow-men who grudged me space to live in, but i had fought against it. i had worked honestly and patiently;--all to no purpose. i knew of rogues who gained plenty of money; and of knaves who were amassing large fortunes. their prosperity appeared to prove that honesty after all was _not_ the best policy. what should i do then? how should i begin the jesuitical business of committing evil that good, personal good, might come of it? so i thought, dully, if such stray half-stupefied fancies as i was capable of, deserved the name of thought. the night was bitter cold. my hands were numbed, and i tried to warm them at the oil-lamp my landlady was good enough to still allow me the use of, in spite of delayed cash-payments. as i did so, i noticed three letters on the table,--one in a long blue envelope suggestive of either a summons or a returned manuscript,--one bearing the melbourne postmark, and the third a thick square missive coroneted in red and gold at the back. i turned over all three indifferently, and selecting the one from australia, balanced it in my hand a moment before opening it. i knew from whom it came, and idly wondered what news it brought me. some months previously i had written a detailed account of my increasing debts and difficulties to an old college chum, who finding england too narrow for his ambition had gone out to the wider new world on a speculative quest of gold mining. he was getting on well, so i understood, and had secured a fairly substantial position; and i had therefore ventured to ask him point-blank for the loan of fifty pounds. here, no doubt, was his reply, and i hesitated before breaking the seal. "of course it will be a refusal," i said half-aloud,--"however kindly a friend may otherwise be, he soon turns crusty if asked to lend money. he will express many regrets, accuse trade and the general bad times and hope i will soon 'tide over.' i know the sort of thing. well,--after all, why should i expect him to be different to other men? i've no claim on him beyond the memory of a few sentimental arm-in-arm days at oxford." a sigh escaped me in spite of myself, and a mist blurred my sight for the moment. again i saw the grey towers of peaceful magdalen, and the fair green trees shading the walks in and around the dear old university town where we,--i and the man whose letter i now held in my hand,--strolled about together as happy youths, fancying that we were young geniuses born to regenerate the world. we were both fond of classics,--we were brimful of homer and the thoughts and maxims of all the immortal greeks and latins,--and i verily believe, in those imaginative days, we thought we had in us such stuff as heroes are made of. but our entrance into the social arena soon robbed us of our sublime conceit,--we were common working units, no more,--the grind and prose of daily life put homer into the background, and we soon discovered that society was more interested in the latest unsavoury scandal than in the tragedies of sophocles or the wisdom of plato. well! it was no doubt extremely foolish of us to dream that we might help to regenerate a world in which both plato and christ appear to have failed,--yet the most hardened cynic will scarcely deny that it is pleasant to look back to the days of his youth if he can think that at least then, if only once in his life, he had noble impulses. the lamp burned badly, and i had to re-trim it before i could settle down to read my friend's letter. next door some-one was playing a violin, and playing it well. tenderly and yet with a certain amount of _brio_ the notes came dancing from the bow, and i listened, vaguely pleased. being faint with hunger i was somewhat in a listless state bordering on stupor,--and the penetrating sweetness of the music appealing to the sensuous and æsthetic part of me, drowned for the moment mere animal craving. "there you go!" i murmured, apostrophizing the unseen musician,--"practising away on that friendly fiddle of yours,--no doubt for a mere pittance which barely keeps you alive. possibly you are some poor wretch in a cheap orchestra,--or you might even be a street-player and be able to live in this neighbourhood of the _élite_ starving,--you can have no hope whatever of being the 'fashion' and making your bow before royalty,--or if you have that hope, it is wildly misplaced. play on, my friend, play on!--the sounds you make are very agreeable, and seem to imply that you are happy. i wonder if you are?--or if, like me, you are going rapidly to the devil!" the music grew softer and more plaintive, and was now accompanied by the rattle of hailstones against the window-panes. a gusty wind whistled under the door and roared down the chimney,--a wind cold as the grasp of death and searching as a probing knife. i shivered,--and bending close over the smoky lamp, prepared to read my australian news. as i opened the envelope, a bill for fifty pounds, payable to me at a well-known london banker's, fell out upon the table. my heart gave a quick bound of mingled relief and gratitude. "why jack, old fellow, i wronged you!" i exclaimed,--"your heart is in the right place after all." and profoundly touched by my friend's ready generosity, i eagerly perused his letter. it was not very long, and had evidently been written off in haste. dear geoff, i'm sorry to hear you are down on your luck; it shows what a crop of fools are still flourishing in london, when a man of your capability cannot gain his proper place in the world of letters, and be fittingly acknowledged. i believe it's all a question of wire-pulling, and money is the only thing that will pull the wires. here's the fifty you ask for and welcome,--don't hurry about paying it back. i am doing you a good turn this year by sending you a friend,--a real friend, mind you!--no sham. he brings you a letter of introduction from me, and between ourselves, old man, you cannot do better than put yourself and your literary affairs entirely in his hands. he knows everybody, and is up to all the dodges of editorial management and newspaper cliques. he is a great philanthropist besides,--and seems particularly fond of the society of the clergy. rather a queer taste you will say, but his reason for such preference is, as he has explained to me quite frankly, that he is so enormously wealthy that he does not quite know what to do with his money, and the reverend gentlemen of the church are generally ready to show him how to spend some of it. he is always glad to know of some quarter where his money and influence (he is very influential) may be useful to others. he has helped me out of a very serious hobble, and i owe him a big debt of gratitude. i've told him all about you,--what a smart fellow you are, and what a lot dear old alma mater thought of you, and he has promised to give you a lift up. he can do anything he likes; very naturally, seeing that the whole world of morals, civilization and the rest is subservient to the power of money,--and _his_ stock of cash appears to be limitless. _use him_; he is willing and ready to be used,--and write and let me know how you get on. don't bother about the fifty till you feel you have tided over the storm. ever yours boffles. i laughed as i read the absurd signature, though my eyes were dim with something like tears. 'boffles' was the nickname given to my friend by several of our college companions, and neither he nor i knew how it first arose. but no one except the dons ever addressed him by his proper name, which was john carrington,--he was simply 'boffles,' and boffles he remained even now for all those who had been his intimates. i refolded and put by his letter and the draft for the fifty pounds, and with a passing vague wonder as to what manner of man the 'philanthropist' might be who had more money than he knew what to do with, i turned to the consideration of my other two correspondents, relieved to feel that now, whatever happened, i could settle up arrears with my landlady the next day as i had promised. moreover i could order some supper, and have a fire lit to cheer my chilly room. before attending to these creature comforts however, i opened the long blue envelope that looked so like a threat of legal proceedings, and unfolding the paper within, stared at it amazedly. what was it all about? the written characters danced before my eyes,--puzzled and bewildered, i found myself reading the thing over and over again without any clear comprehension of it. presently a glimmer of meaning flashed upon me, startling my senses like an electric shock, ... no--no--!--impossible! fortune never could be so mad as this!--never so wildly capricious and grotesque of humour! it was some senseless hoax that was being practised upon me, ... and yet, ... if it were a joke, it was a very elaborate and remarkable one! weighted with the majesty of the law too! ... upon my word and by all the fantastical freakish destinies that govern human affairs, the news seemed actually positive and genuine! ii steadying my thoughts with an effort, i read every word of the document over again deliberately, and the stupefaction of my wonder increased. was i going mad, or sickening for a fever? or could this startling, this stupendous piece of information be really true? because,--if indeed it were true, ... good heavens!--i turned giddy to think of it,--and it was only by sheer force of will that i kept myself from swooning with the agitation of such sudden surprise and ecstasy. if it were true--why then the world was mine!--i was king instead of beggar;--i was everything i chose to be! the letter,--the amazing letter, bore the printed name of a noted firm of london solicitors, and stated in measured and precise terms that a distant relative of my father's, of whom i had scarcely heard, except remotely now and then during my boyhood, had died suddenly in south america, leaving me his sole heir. "_the real and personal estate now amounting to something over five millions of pounds sterling, we should esteem it a favour if you could make it convenient to call upon us any day this week in order that we may go through the necessary formalities together. the larger bulk of the cash is lodged in the bank of england, and a considerable amount is placed in french government securities. we should prefer going into further details with you personally rather than by letter. trusting you will call on us without delay, we are, sir, yours obediently...._" five millions! i, the starving literary hack,--the friendless, hopeless, almost reckless haunter of low newspaper dens,--i, the possessor of "over five millions of pounds sterling"! i tried to grasp the astounding fact,--for fact it evidently was,--but could not. it seemed to me a wild delusion, born of the dizzy vagueness which lack of food engendered in my brain. i stared round the room;--the mean miserable furniture,--the fireless grate,--the dirty lamp,--the low truckle bedstead,--the evidences of penury and want on every side;--and then,--then the overwhelming contrast between the poverty that environed me and the news i had just received, struck me as the wildest, most ridiculous incongruity i had ever heard of or imagined,--and i gave vent to a shout of laughter. "was there ever such a caprice of mad fortune!" i cried aloud--"who would have imagined it! good god! i! i, of all men in the world to be suddenly chosen out for this luck! by heaven!--if it is all true, i'll make society spin round like a top on my hand before i am many months older!" and i laughed loudly again; laughed just as i had previously sworn, simply by way of relief to my feelings. some one laughed in answer,--a laugh that seemed to echo mine. i checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened. rain poured outside, and the wind shrieked like a petulant shrew,--the violinist next door was practising a brilliant roulade up and down his instrument,--but there were no other sounds than these. yet i could have sworn i heard a man's deep-chested laughter close behind me where i stood. "it must have been my fancy;" i murmured, turning the flame of the lamp up higher in order to obtain more light in the room--"i am nervous i suppose,--no wonder! poor boffles!--good old chap!" i continued, remembering my friend's draft for fifty pounds, which had seemed such a godsend a few minutes since--"what a surprise is in store for you! you shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your generosity. and as for the new mæcenas you are sending to help me over my difficulties,--well, he may be a very excellent old gentleman, but he will find himself quite out of his element this time. i want neither assistance nor advice nor patronage,--i can buy them all! titles, honours, possessions,--they are all purchaseable,--love, friendship, position,--they are all for sale in this admirably commercial age and go to the highest bidder! by my soul!--the wealthy 'philanthropist' will find it difficult to match me in power! he will scarcely have more than five millions to waste, i warrant! and now for supper,--i shall have to live on credit till i get some ready cash,--and there is no reason why i should not leave this wretched hole at once, and go to one of the best hotels and swagger it!" i was about to leave the room on the swift impulse of excitement and joy, when a fresh and violent gust of wind roared down the chimney, bringing with it a shower of soot which fell in a black heap on my rejected manuscript where it lay forgotten on the floor, as i had despairingly thrown it. i hastily picked it up and shook it free from the noisome dirt, wondering as i did so, what would be its fate now?--now, when i could afford to publish it myself, and not only publish it but advertise it, and not only advertise it, but 'push' it, in all the crafty and cautious ways known to the inner circles of 'booming'! i smiled as i thought of the vengeance i would take on all those who had scorned and slighted me and my labour,--how they should cower before me!--how they should fawn at my feet like whipt curs, and whine their fulsome adulation! every stiff and stubborn neck should bend before me;--this i resolved upon; for though money does not always conquer everything, it only fails when it is money apart from brains. brains and money together can move the world,--brains can very frequently do this alone without money, of which serious and proved fact those who have no brains should beware! full of ambitious thought, i now and then caught wild sounds from the violin that was being played next door,--notes like sobbing cries of pain, and anon rippling runs like a careless woman's laughter,--and all at once i remembered i had not yet opened the third letter addressed to me,--the one coroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained where it was on the table almost unnoticed till now. i took it up and turned it over with an odd sense of reluctance in my fingers, which were slow at the work of tearing the thick envelope asunder. drawing out an equally thick small sheet of notepaper also coroneted, i read the following lines written in an admirably legible, small and picturesque hand. dear sir. i am the bearer of a letter of introduction to you from your former college companion mr john carrington, now of melbourne, who has been good enough to thus give me the means of making the acquaintance of one, who, i understand, is more than exceptionally endowed with the gift of literary genius. i shall call upon you this evening between eight and nine o'clock, trusting to find you at home and disengaged. i enclose my card, and present address, and beg to remain, very faithfully yours lucio rimânez. the card mentioned dropped on the table as i finished reading the note. it bore a small, exquisitely engraved coronet and the words prince lucio rimÂnez. while, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address 'grand hotel.' i read the brief letter through again,--it was simple enough,--expressed with clearness and civility. there was nothing remarkable about it,--nothing whatever; yet it seemed to me surcharged with meaning. why, i could not imagine. a curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the characteristic bold handwriting, and made me fancy i should like the man who penned it. how the wind roared!--and how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of some forgotten musician in torment! my brain swam and my heart ached heavily,--the drip drip of the rain outside sounded like the stealthy footfall of some secret spy upon my movements. i grew irritable and nervous,--a foreboding of evil somehow darkened the bright consciousness of my sudden good fortune. then an impulse of shame possessed me,--shame that this foreign prince, if such he were, with limitless wealth at his back, should be coming to visit me,--_me_, now a millionaire,--in my present wretched lodging. already, before i had touched my riches, i was tainted by the miserable vulgarity of seeking to pretend i had never been really poor, but only embarrassed by a little temporary difficulty! if i had had a sixpence about me, (which i had not) i should have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to put him off. "but in any case," i said aloud, addressing myself to the empty room and the storm-echoes--"i will not meet him to-night. i'll go out and leave no message,--and if he comes he will think i have not yet had his letter. i can make an appointment to see him when i am better lodged, and dressed more in keeping with my present position,--in the meantime, nothing is easier than to keep out of this would-be benefactor's way." as i spoke, the flickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. with an exclamation more strong than reverent, i groped about the room for matches, or failing them, for my hat and coat,--and i was still engaged in a fruitless and annoying search, when i caught a sound of galloping horses' hoofs coming to an abrupt stop in the street below. surrounded by black gloom, i paused and listened. there was a slight commotion in the basement,--i heard my landlady's accents attuned to nervous civility, mingling with the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice,--then steps, firm and even, ascended the stairs to my landing. "the devil is in it!" i muttered vexedly--"just like my wayward luck!--here comes the very man i meant to avoid!" iii the door opened,--and from the dense obscurity enshrouding me i could just perceive a tall shadowy figure standing on the threshold. i remember well the curious impression the mere outline of this scarcely discerned form made upon me even then,--suggesting at the first glance such a stately majesty of height and bearing as at once riveted my attention,--so much so indeed that i scarcely heard my landlady's introductory words "a gentleman to see you sir,"--words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay at finding the room in total darkness. "well to be sure! the lamp must have gone out!" she exclaimed,--then addressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added--"i'm afraid mr tempest isn't in after all, sir, though i certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. if you don't mind waiting here a minute i'll fetch a light and see if he has left any message on his table." she hurried away, and though i knew that of course i ought to speak, a singular and quite inexplicable perversity of humour kept me silent and unwilling to declare my presence. meanwhile the tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me by my name-- "geoffrey tempest, are you there?" why could i not answer? the strangest and most unnatural obstinacy stiffened my tongue,--and, concealed in the gloom of my forlorn literary den i still held my peace. the majestic figure drew nearer, till in height and breadth it seemed to suddenly overshadow me; and once again the voice called-- "geoffrey tempest, are you there?" for very shame's sake i could hold out no longer,--and with a determined effort i broke the extraordinary dumb spell that had held me like a coward in silent hiding, and came forward boldly to confront my visitor. "yes i _am_ here," i said--"and being here i am ashamed to give you such a welcome as this. you are prince rimânez of course;--i have just read your note which prepared me for your visit, but i was hoping that my landlady, finding the room in darkness, would conclude i was out, and show you downstairs again. you see i am perfectly frank!" "you are indeed!" returned the stranger, his deep tones still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire--"so frank that i cannot fail to understand you. briefly, and without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish i had not come!" this open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that i made haste to deny it, though i knew it to be true. truth, even in trifles, always seems unpleasant! "pray do not think me so churlish,"--i said--"the fact is, i only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before i could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went out, with the awkward result that i am forced to greet you in this unsociable darkness, which is almost too dense to shake hands in." "shall we try?" my visitor enquired, with a sudden softening of accent that gave his words a singular charm; "here is my hand,--if yours has any friendly instinct in it the twain will meet,--quite blindly and without guidance!" i at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. at that moment a light flashed on the scene,--my landlady entered, bearing what she called 'her best lamp' alit, and set it on the table. i believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing me,--she may have said anything or nothing,--i did not hear or heed, so entirely was i amazed and fascinated by the appearance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. i am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a head taller than i, if not more than that,--and as i looked straightly at him, i thought i had never seen so much beauty and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any human being. the finely shaped head denoted both power and wisdom, and was nobly poised on such shoulders as might have befitted a hercules,--the countenance was a pure oval, and singularly pale, this complexion intensifying the almost fiery brilliancy of the full dark eyes, which had in them a curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and misery. the mouth was perhaps the most telling feature in this remarkable face,--set in the perfect curve of beauty, it was yet firm, determined, and not too small, thus escaping effeminacy,--and i noted that in repose it expressed bitterness, disdain and even cruelty. but with the light of a smile upon it, it signified, or seemed to signify, something more subtle than any passion to which we can give a name, and already with the rapidity of a lightning flash, i caught myself wondering what that mystic undeclared something might be. at a glance i comprehended these primary details of my new acquaintance's eminently prepossessing appearance, and when my hand dropped from his close grasp i felt as if i had known him all my life! and now face to face with him in the bright lamp-light, i remembered my actual surroundings,--the bare cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the nearly carpetless floor,--my own shabby clothes and deplorable aspect, as compared with this regal-looking individual, who carried the visible evidence of wealth upon him in the superb russian sables that lined and bordered his long overcoat which he now partially unfastened and threw open with a carelessly imperial air, the while he regarded me, smiling. "i know i have come at an awkward moment," he said--"i always do! it is my peculiar misfortune. well-bred people never intrude where they are not wanted,--and in this particular i'm afraid my manners leave much to be desired. try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this,"--and he held out a letter addressed to me in my friend carrington's familiar handwriting. "and permit me to sit down while you read my credentials." he took a chair and seated himself. i observed his handsome face and easy attitude with renewed admiration. "no credentials are necessary," i said with all the cordiality i now really felt--"i have already had a letter from carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most grateful terms. but the fact is----well!--really, prince, you must excuse me if i seem confused or astonished ... i had expected to see quite an old man ..." and i broke off, somewhat embarrassed by the keen glance of the brilliant eyes that met mine so fixedly. "no one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!" he declared lightly--"even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier at fifty than they were at fifteen. one does not talk of age at all now in polite society,--it is ill-bred, even coarse. indecent things are unmentionable--age has become an indecent thing. it is therefore avoided in conversation. you expected to see an old man you say? well, you are not disappointed--i _am_ old. in fact you have no idea how very old i am!" i laughed at this piece of absurdity. "why, you are younger than i,"--i said--"or if not, you look it." "ah, my looks belie me!" he returned gaily--"i am like several of the most noted fashionable beauties,--much riper than i seem. but come, read the introductory missive i have brought you,--i shall not be satisfied till you do." thus requested, and wishing to prove myself as courteous as i had hitherto been brusque, i at once opened my friend's note and read as follows,-- dear geoffrey. the bearer of this, prince rimânez, is a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, allied by descent to one of the oldest families in europe, or for that matter, in the world. you, as a student and lover of ancient history, will be interested to know that his ancestors were originally princes of chaldea, who afterwards settled in tyre,--from thence they went to etruria and there continued through many centuries, the last scion of the house being the very gifted and genial personage who, as my good friend, i have the pleasure of commending to your kindest regard. certain troublous and overpowering circumstances have forced him into exile from his native province, and deprived him of a great part of his possessions, so that he is, to a considerable extent a wanderer on the face of the earth, and has travelled far and seen much, and has a wide experience of men and things. he is a poet and musician of great skill, and though he occupies himself with the arts solely for his own amusement, i think you will find his practical knowledge of literary matters eminently useful to you in your difficult career. i must not forget to add that in all matters scientific he is an absolute master. wishing you both a cordial friendship, i am, dear geoffrey, yours sincerely john carrington. the signature of 'boffles' had evidently been deemed out of place this time and somehow i was foolishly vexed at its omission. there seemed to be something formal and stiff in the letter, almost as if it had been written to dictation, and under pressure. what gave me this idea i know not. i glanced furtively at my silent companion,--he caught my stray look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. fearing lest my momentary vague distrust of him had been reflected in my eyes i made haste to speak-- "this letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that i should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. no apology can condone my rudeness,--but you cannot imagine how mortified i felt and still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den,--it is not at all the sort of place in which i should have liked to welcome you...." and i broke off with a renewed sense of irritation, remembering how actually rich i now was, and that in spite of this, i was obliged to seem poor. meanwhile the prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand. "why be mortified?" he demanded. "rather be proud that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace,--is not that the generally accepted theory?" "rather a worn-out and mistaken one i consider,"--i replied; "genius might like to try the effect of a palace for once,--it usually dies of starvation." "true!--but in thus dying, think how many fools it afterwards fattens! there is an all-wise providence in this, my dear sir! schubert perished of want,--but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! it is a most beautiful dispensation of nature,--that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!" he laughed, and i looked at him in a little surprise. his remark touched so near my own opinions that i wondered whether he were in jest or earnest. "you speak sarcastically of course?" i said--"you do not really believe what you say?" "oh, do i not!" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes that was almost lightning-like in its intensity--"if i could not believe the teaching of my own experience, what would be left to me? i always realize the '_needs must_' of things--how does the old maxim go--'needs must when the devil drives.' there is really no possible contradiction to offer to the accuracy of that statement. the devil drives the world, whip in hand,--and oddly enough, (considering that some belated folk still fancy there is a god somewhere) succeeds in managing his team with extraordinary ease!" his brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened,--anon he laughed again lightly and continued--"but let us not moralize,--morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it,--every sensible man hates to be told what he _could_ be and what he _won't_ be. i am here to make friends with you if you permit,--and to put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where i have ordered supper?" by this time i had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice,--the satirical turn of his humour suited mine,--i felt we should get on well together,--and my first annoyance at being discovered by him in such poverty-stricken circumstances somewhat abated. "with pleasure!" i replied--"but first of all, you must allow me to explain matters a little. you have heard a good deal about my affairs from my friend john carrington, and i know from his private letter to me that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. for that generous intention i thank you! i know you expected to find a poor wretch of a literary man struggling with the direst circumstances of disappointment and poverty,--and a couple of hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. but now, things have changed,--i have received news which completely alters my position,--in fact i have had a very great and remarkable surprise this evening...." "an agreeable one i trust?" interposed my companion suavely. i smiled. "judge for yourself!" and i handed him the lawyer's letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune. he glanced it through rapidly,--then folded and returned it to me with a courteous bow. "i suppose i should congratulate you,"--he said--"and i do. though of course this wealth which seems to content you, to me appears a mere trifle. it can be quite conveniently run through and exhausted in about eight years or less, therefore it does not provide absolute immunity from care. to be rich, really rich, in my sense of the word, one should have about a million a year. then one might reasonably hope to escape the workhouse!" he laughed,--and i stared at him stupidly, not knowing how to take his words, whether as truth or idle boasting. five millions of money a mere trifle! he went on without apparently noticing my amazement-- "the inexhaustible greed of a man, my dear sir, can never be satisfied. if he is not consumed by desire for one thing, he is for another, and his tastes are generally expensive. a few pretty and unscrupulous women for example, would soon relieve you of your five millions in the purchase of jewels alone. horse-racing would do it still more quickly. no, no,--you are not rich,--you are still poor,--only your needs are no longer so pressing as they were. and in this i confess myself somewhat disappointed,--for i came to you hoping to do a good turn to some one for once in my life, and to play the foster-father to a rising genius--and here i am--forestalled,--as usual! it is a singular thing, do you know, but nevertheless a fact, that whenever i have had any particular intentions towards a man i am always forestalled! it is really rather hard upon me!" he broke off and raised his head in a listening attitude. "what is that?" he asked. it was the violinist next door playing a well-known "ave maria." i told him so. "dismal,--very dismal!" he said with a contemptuous shrug. "i hate all that kind of mawkish devotional stuff. well!--millionaire as you are, and acknowledged lion of society as you shortly will be, there is no objection i hope, to the proposed supper? and perhaps a music-hall afterwards if you feel inclined,--what do you say?" he clapped me on the shoulder cordially and looked straight into my face,--those wonderful eyes of his, suggestive of both tears and fire, fixed me with a clear masterful gaze that completely dominated me. i made no attempt to resist the singular attraction which now possessed me for this man whom i had but just met,--the sensation was too strong and too pleasant to be combated. only for one moment more i hesitated, looking down at my shabby attire. "i am not fit to accompany you, prince," i said--"i look more like a tramp than a millionaire." he glanced at me and smiled. "upon my life, so you do!" he averred.--"but be satisfied!--you are in this respect very like many another croesus. it is only the poor and proud who take the trouble to dress well,--they and the dear 'naughty' ladies, generally monopolize tasteful and becoming attire. an ill-fitting coat often adorns the back of a prime minister,--and if you see a woman clad in clothes vilely cut and coloured, you may be sure she is eminently virtuous, renowned for good works, and probably a duchess!" he rose, drawing his sables about him. "what matter the coat if the purse be full!" he continued gaily.--"let it once be properly paragraphed in the papers that you are a millionaire, and doubtless some enterprising tailor will invent a 'tempest' ulster coloured softly like your present garb, an artistic mildewy green! and now come along,--your solicitor's communication should have given you a good appetite, or it is not so valuable as it seems,--and i want you to do justice to my supper. i have my own _chef_ with me, and he is not without skill. i hope, by the way, you will at least do me this much service,--that pending legal discussion and settlement of your affairs, you will let me be your banker?" this offer was made with such an air of courteous delicacy and friendship, that i could do no more than accept it gratefully, as it relieved me from all temporary embarrassment. i hastily wrote a few lines to my landlady, telling her she would receive the money owing to her by post next day,--then, thrusting my rejected manuscript, my only worldly possession, into my coat-pocket, i extinguished the lamp, and with the new friend i had so suddenly gained, i left my dismal lodgings and all its miserable associations for ever. i little thought the time would come when i should look back to the time spent in that small mean room as the best period of my life,--when i should regard the bitter poverty i then endured, as the stern but holy angel meant to guide me to the highest and noblest attainment,--when i should pray desperately with wild tears to be as i was then, rather than as i am now! is it well or ill for us i wonder, that the future is hidden from our knowledge? should we steer our ways clearer from evil if we knew its result? it is a doubtful question,--at anyrate my ignorance for the moment was indeed bliss. i went joyfully out of the dreary house where i had lived so long among disappointments and difficulties, turning my back upon it with such a sense of relief as could never be expressed in words,--and the last thing i heard as i passed into the street with my companion, was a plaintive long-drawn wail of minor melody, which seemed to be sent after me like a parting cry, by the unknown and invisible player of the violin. iv outside, the prince's carriage waited, drawn by two spirited black horses caparisoned in silver; magnificent thoroughbreds, which pawed the ground and champed their bits impatient of delay,--at sight of his master the smart footman in attendance threw the door open, touching his hat respectfully. we stepped in, i preceding my companion at his expressed desire; and as i sank back among the easy cushions, i felt the complacent consciousness of luxury and power to such an extent that it seemed as if i had left my days of adversity already a long way behind me. hunger and happiness disputed my sensations between them, and i was in that vague light-headed condition common to long fasting, in which nothing seems absolutely tangible or real. i knew i should not properly grasp the solid truth of my wonderful good luck till my physical needs were satisfied and i was, so to speak, once more in a naturally balanced bodily condition. at present my brain was in a whirl,--my thoughts were all dim and disconnected,--and i appeared to myself to be in some whimsical dream from which i should wake up directly. the carriage rolled on rubber-tyred wheels and made no noise as it went,--one could only hear the even rapid trot of the horses. by-and-by i saw in the semi-darkness my new friend's brilliant dark eyes fixed upon me with a curiously intent expression. "do you not feel the world already at your feet?" he queried half playfully, half ironically--"like a football, waiting to be kicked? it is such an absurd world, you know--so easily moved. wise men in all ages have done their best to make it less ridiculous,--with no result, inasmuch as it continues to prefer folly to wisdom. a football, or let us say a shuttlecock among worlds, ready to be tossed up anyhow and anywhere, provided the battledore be of gold!" "you speak a trifle bitterly, prince"--i said--"but no doubt you have had a wide experience among men?" "i have," he returned with emphasis--"my kingdom is a vast one." "you are a ruling power then?" i exclaimed with some astonishment--"yours is not a title of honour only?" "oh, as your rules of aristocracy go, it _is_ a mere title of honour"--he replied quickly--"when i say that my kingdom is a vast one, i mean that i rule wherever men obey the influence of wealth. from this point of view, am i wrong in calling my kingdom vast?--is it not almost boundless?" "i perceive you are a cynic,"--i said--"yet surely you believe that there are some things wealth cannot buy,--honour and virtue for example?" he surveyed me with a whimsical smile. "i suppose honour and virtue _do_ exist--" he answered--"and when they are existent of course they cannot be bought. but my experience has taught me that i can always buy everything. the sentiments called honour and virtue by the majority of men are the most shifty things imaginable,--set sufficient cash down, and they become bribery and corruption in the twinkling of an eye! curious--very curious. i confess i found a case of unpurchaseable integrity once, but only once. i may find it again, though i consider the chance a very doubtful one. now to revert to myself, pray do not imagine i am playing the humbug with you or passing myself off under a _bogus_ title. i am a _bona-fide_ prince, believe me, and of such descent as none of your oldest families can boast,--but my dominions are long since broken up and my former subjects dispersed among all nations,--anarchy, nihilism, disruption and political troubles generally, compel me to be rather reticent concerning my affairs. money i fortunately have in plenty,--and with that i pave my way. some day when we are better acquainted, you shall know more of my private history. i have various other names and titles besides that on my card--but i keep to the simplest of them, because most people are such bunglers at the pronunciation of foreign names. my intimate friends generally drop my title, and call me lucio simply." "that is your christian name--?" i began. "not at all--i have no 'christian' name,"--he interrupted swiftly and with anger--"there is no such thing as 'christian' in my composition!" he spoke with such impatience that for a moment i was at a loss for a reply. at last-- "indeed!" i murmured vaguely. he burst out laughing. "'indeed!' that is all you can find to say! indeed and again indeed the word 'christian' vexes me. there is no such creature alive. _you_ are not a christian,--no one is really,--people pretend to be,--and in so damnable an act of feigning are more blasphemous than any fallen fiend! now i make no pretences of the kind,--i have only one faith--" "and that is?"-- "a profound and awful one!" he said in thrilling tones--"and the worst of it is that it is true,--as true as the workings of the universe. but of that hereafter,--it will do to talk of when we feel low-spirited and wish to converse of things grim and ghastly,--at present here we are at our destination, and the chief consideration of our lives, (it is the chief consideration of most men's lives) must be the excellence or non-excellence of our food." the carriage stopped and we descended. at first sight of the black horses and silver trappings, the porter of the hotel and two or three other servants rushed out to attend upon us; but the prince passed into the hall without noticing any of them and addressed himself to a sober-looking individual in black, his own private valet, who came forward to meet him with a profound salutation. i murmured something about wishing to engage a room for myself in the hotel. "oh, my man will see to that for you"--he said lightly--"the house is not full,--at anyrate all the best rooms are not taken; and of course you want one of the best." a staring waiter, who up to that moment, had been noting my shabby clothes with that peculiar air of contempt commonly displayed by insolent menials to those whom they imagine are poor, overheard these words, and suddenly changing the derisive expression of his foxy face, bowed obsequiously as i passed. a thrill of disgust ran through me, mingled with a certain angry triumph,--the hypocritical reflex of this low fellow's countenance, was, i knew, a true epitome of what i should find similarly reflected in the manner and attitude of all 'polite' society. for there the estimate of worth is no higher than a common servant's estimate, and is taken solely from the money standard;--if you are poor and dress shabbily you are thrust aside and ignored,--but if you are rich, you may wear shabby clothes as much as you like, you are still courted and flattered, and invited everywhere, though you may be the greatest fool alive or the worst blackguard unhung. with vague thoughts such as these flitting over my mind, i followed my host to his rooms. he occupied nearly a whole wing of the hotel, having a large drawing-room, dining-room and study _en suite_, fitted up in the most luxurious manner, besides bedroom, bathroom, and dressing-room, with other rooms adjoining, for his valet and two extra personal attendants. the table was laid for supper, and glittered with the costliest glass, silver and china, being furthermore adorned by baskets of the most exquisite fruit and flowers, and in a few moments we were seated. the prince's valet acted as head-waiter, and i noticed that now this man's face, seen in the full light of the electric lamps, seemed very dark and unpleasant, even sinister in expression,--but in the performance of his duties he was unexceptionable, being quick, attentive, and deferential, so much so that i inwardly reproached myself for taking an instinctive dislike to him. his name was amiel, and i found myself involuntarily watching his movements, they were so noiseless,--his very step suggesting the stealthy gliding of a cat or a tiger. he was assisted in his work by the two other attendants who served as his subordinates, and who were equally active and well-trained,--and presently i found myself enjoying the choicest meal i had tasted for many and many a long day, flavoured with such wine as connoisseurs might be apt to dream of, but never succeed in finding. i began to feel perfectly at my ease, and talked with freedom and confidence, the strong attraction i had for my new friend deepening with every moment i passed in his company. "will you continue your literary career now you have this little fortune left you?" he inquired, when at the close of supper amiel set the choicest cognac and cigars before us, and respectfully withdrew--"do you think you will care to go on with it?" "certainly i shall"--i replied--"if only for the fun of the thing. you see, with money i can force my name into notice whether the public like it or not. no newspaper refuses paying advertisements." "true!--but may not inspiration refuse to flow from a full purse and an empty head?" this remark provoked me not a little. "do you consider me empty-headed?" i asked with some vexation. "not at present. my dear tempest, do not let either the tokay we have been drinking, or the cognac we are going to drink, speak for you in such haste! i assure you i do not think you empty-headed,--on the contrary, your head, i believe from what i have heard, has been and is full of ideas,--excellent ideas, original ideas, which the world of conventional criticism does not want. but whether these ideas will continue to germinate in your brain, or whether, with the full purse, they will cease, is now the question. great originality and inspiration, strange to say, seldom endow the millionaire. inspiration is supposed to come from above,--money from below! in your case however both originality and inspiration may continue to flourish and bring forth fruit,--i trust they may. it often happens, nevertheless that when bags of money fall to the lot of aspiring genius, god departs and the devil walks in. have you never heard that?" "never!" i answered smiling. "well, of course the saying is foolish, and sounds doubly ridiculous in this age when people believe in neither god nor devil. it implies however that one must choose an up or a down,--genius is the up, money is the down. you cannot fly and grovel at the same instant." "the possession of money is not likely to cause a man to grovel"--i said--"it is the one thing necessary to strengthen his soaring powers and lift him to the greatest heights." "you think so?" and my host lit his cigar with a grave and pre-occupied air--"then i'm afraid, you don't know much about what i shall call natural psychics. what belongs to the earth tends earthwards,--surely you realize that? gold most strictly belongs to the earth,--you dig it out of the ground,--you handle it and dispose of it in solid wedges or bars--it is a substantial metal enough. genius belongs to nobody knows where,--you cannot dig it up or pass it on, or do anything with it except stand and marvel--it is a rare visitant and capricious as the wind, and generally makes sad havoc among the conventionalities of men. it is as i said an 'upper' thing, beyond earthly smells and savours,--and those who have it always live in unknown high latitudes. but money is a perfectly level commodity,--level with the ground;--when you have much of it, you come down solidly on your flat soles and down you stay!" i laughed. "upon my word you preach very eloquently against wealth!" i said--"you yourself are unusually rich,--are you sorry for it?" "no, i am not sorry, because being sorry would be no use"--he returned--"and i never waste my time. but i am telling you the truth--genius and great riches hardly ever pull together. now i, for example,--you cannot imagine what great capabilities i had once!--a long time ago--before i became my own master!" "and you have them still i am sure"--i averred, looking expressively at his noble head and fine eyes. the strange subtle smile i had noticed once or twice before lightened his face. "ah, you mean to compliment me!" he said--"you like my looks,--many people do. yet after all there is nothing so deceptive as one's outward appearance. the reason of this is that as soon as childhood is past, we are always pretending to be what we are not,--and thus, with constant practice from our youth up, we manage to make our physical frames complete disguises for our actual selves. it is really wise and clever of us,--for hence each individual is so much flesh-wall through which neither friend nor enemy can spy. every man is a solitary soul imprisoned in a self-made den,--when he is quite alone he knows and frequently hates himself,--sometimes he even gets afraid of the gaunt and murderous monster he keeps hidden behind his outwardly pleasant body-mask, and hastens to forget its frightful existence in drink and debauchery. that is what i do occasionally,--you would not think it of me, would you?" "never!" i replied quickly, for something in his voice and aspect moved me strangely--"you belie yourself, and wrong your own nature." he laughed softly. "perhaps i do!" he said carelessly--"this much you may believe of me--that i am no worse than most men! now to return to the subject of your literary career,--you have written a book, you say,--well, publish it and see the result--if you only make one 'hit' that is something. and there are ways of arranging that the 'hit' shall be made. what is your story about? i hope it is improper?" "it certainly is not;"--i replied warmly--"it is a romance dealing with the noblest forms of life and highest ambitions;--i wrote it with the intention of elevating and purifying the thoughts of my readers, and wished if i could, to comfort those who had suffered loss or sorrow--" rimânez smiled compassionately. "ah, it won't do!" he interrupted--"i assure you it won't;--it doesn't fit the age. it might go down, possibly, if you could give a 'first-night' of it as it were to the critics, like one of my most intimate friends, henry irving,--a 'first-night' combined with an excellent supper and any amount of good drinks going. otherwise it's no use. if it is to succeed by itself, it must not attempt to be literature,--it must simply be indecent. as indecent as you can make it without offending advanced women,--that is giving you a good wide margin. put in as much as you can about sexual matters and the bearing of children,--in brief, discourse of men and women simply as cattle who exist merely for breeding purposes, and your success will be enormous. there's not a critic living who won't applaud you,--there's not a school-girl of fifteen who will not gloat over your pages in the silence of her virginal bedroom!" such a flash of withering derision darted from his eyes as startled me,--i could find no words to answer him for the moment, and he went on-- "what put it into your head, my dear tempest, to write a book dealing with, as you say, 'the noblest forms of life'? there are no noble forms of life left on this planet,--it is all low and commercial,--man is a pigmy, and his aims are pigmy like himself. for noble forms of life seek other worlds!--there _are_ others. then again, people don't want their thoughts raised or purified in the novels they read for amusement--they go to church for that, and get very bored during the process. and why should you wish to comfort folks who, out of their own sheer stupidity generally, get into trouble? they wouldn't comfort _you_,--they would not give you sixpence to save you from starvation. my good fellow, leave your quixotism behind you with your poverty. live your life to yourself,--if you do anything for others they will only treat you with the blackest ingratitude,--so take my advice, and don't sacrifice your own personal interests for any consideration whatever." he rose from the table as he spoke and stood with his back to the bright fire, smoking his cigar tranquilly,--and i gazed at his handsome figure and face with just the faintest thrill of pained doubt darkening my admiration. "if you were not so good-looking i should call you heartless"--i said at last--"but your features are a direct contradiction to your words. you have not really that indifference to human nature which you strive to assume,--your whole aspect betokens a generosity of spirit which you cannot conquer if you would. besides, are you not always trying to do good?" he smiled. "always! that is, i am always at work endeavouring to gratify every man's desire. whether that is good of me, or bad, remains to be proved. men's wants are almost illimitable,--the only thing none of them ever seem to wish, so far as i am concerned, is to cut my acquaintance!" "why, of course not! after once meeting you, how could they!" i said, laughing at the absurdity of the suggestion. he gave me a whimsical side-look. "their desires are not always virtuous," he remarked, turning to flick off the ash of his cigar into the grate. "but of course you do not gratify them in their vices!" i rejoined, still laughing--"that would be playing the part of a benefactor somewhat too thoroughly!" "ah now i see we shall flounder in the quicksands of theory if we go any further"--he said--"you forget, my dear fellow, that nobody can decide as to what _is_ vice, or what _is_ virtue. these things are chameleon-like, and take different colours in different countries. abraham had two or three wives and several concubines, and he was the very soul of virtue according to sacred lore,--whereas my lord tom-noddy in london to-day has one wife and several concubines, and is really very much like abraham in other particulars, yet he is considered a very dreadful person. 'who shall decide when doctors disagree!' let's drop the subject, as we shall never settle it. what shall we do with the rest of the evening? there is a stout-limbed, shrewd wench at the tivoli, dancing her way into the affections of a ricketty little duke,--shall we go and watch the admirable contortions with which she is wriggling into a fixed position among the english aristocracy? or are you tired, and would you prefer a long night's rest?" to tell the truth i was thoroughly fatigued, and mentally as well as physically worn out with the excitements of the day,--my head too was heavy with the wine to which i had so long been unaccustomed. "upon my word i think i would rather go to bed than anything--" i confessed--"but what about my room?" "oh, amiel will have attended to that for you,--we'll ask him." and he touched the bell. his valet instantly appeared. "have you got a room for mr tempest?" "yes, your excellency. an apartment in this corridor almost facing your excellency's suite. it is not as well furnished as it might be, but i have made it as comfortable as i can for the night." "thanks very much!" i said--"i am greatly obliged to you." amiel bowed deferentially. "thank _you_, sir." he retired, and i moved to bid my host good-night. he took my proffered hand, and held it in his, looking at me curiously the while. "i like you, geoffrey tempest;" he said--"and because i like you, and because i think there are the makings of something higher than mere earthy brute in you, i am going to make you what you may perhaps consider rather a singular proposition. it is this,--that if you don't like _me_, say so at once, and we will part now, before we have time to know anything more of each other, and i will endeavour not to cross your path again unless you seek me out. but if on the contrary, you do like me,--if you find something in my humour or turn of mind congenial to your own disposition, give me your promise that you will be my friend and comrade for a while, say for a few months at any rate. i can take you into the best society, and introduce you to the prettiest women in europe as well as the most brilliant men. i know them all, and i believe i can be useful to you. but if there is the smallest aversion to me lurking in the depths of your nature"--here he paused,--then resumed with extraordinary solemnity--"in god's name give it full way and let me go,--because i swear to you in all sober earnest that i am not what i seem!" strongly impressed by his strange look and stranger manner, i hesitated one moment,--and on that moment, had i but known it, hung my future. it was true,--i had felt a passing shadow of distrust and repulsion for this fascinating yet cynical man, and he seemed to have guessed it. but now every suspicion of him vanished from my mind, and i clasped his hand with renewed heartiness. "my dear fellow, your warning comes too late!" i said mirthfully--"whatever you are, or whatever you choose to think you are, i find you most sympathetic to my disposition, and i consider myself most fortunate in knowing you. my old friend carrington has indeed done me a good turn in bringing us together, and i assure you i shall be proud of your companionship. you seem to take a perverse delight in running yourself down!--but you know the old adage, 'the devil is not so black as he is painted'?" "and that is true!" he murmured dreamily--"poor devil! his faults are no doubt much exaggerated by the clergy! and so we are to be friends?" "i hope so! i shall not be the first to break the compact!" his dark eyes rested upon me thoughtfully, yet there seemed to be a lurking smile in them as well. "compact is a good word"--he said--"so,--a compact we will consider it. i meant to improve your material fortunes,--you can dispense with that aid now; but i think i can still be of service in pushing you on in society. and love--of course you will fall in love if you have not already done so,--have you?" "not i!" i answered quickly, and with truth--"i have seen no woman yet who perfectly fulfils my notions of beauty." he burst out laughing violently. "upon my word you are not wanting in audacity!" he said--"nothing but perfect beauty will suit you, eh? but consider, my friend, you, though a good-looking well-built man, are not yourself quite a phoebus apollo!" "that has nothing to do with the matter"--i rejoined--"a man should choose a wife with a careful eye to his own personal gratification, in the same way that he chooses horses or wine,--perfection or nothing." "and the woman?"--rimânez demanded, his eyes twinkling. "the woman has really no right of choice"--i responded,--for this was my pet argument and i took pleasure in setting it forth--"she must mate wherever she has the chance of being properly maintained. a man is always a man,--a woman is only a man's appendage, and without beauty she cannot put forth any just claim to his admiration or his support." "right!--very right, and logically argued!"--he exclaimed, becoming preternaturally serious in a moment--"i myself have no sympathy with the new ideas that are in vogue concerning the intellectuality of woman. she is simply the female of man,--she has no real soul save that which is a reflex of his, and being destitute of logic, she is incapable of forming a correct opinion on any subject. all the imposture of religion is kept up by this unmathematical hysterical creature,--and it is curious, considering how inferior a being she is, what mischief she has contrived to make in the world, upsetting the plans of the wisest kings and counsellors, who as mere men, should undoubtedly have mastered her! and in the present age she is becoming more than ever unmanageable." "it is only a passing phase"--i returned carelessly--"a fad got up by a few unloved and unlovable types of the feminine sex. i care very little for women--i doubt whether i shall ever marry." "well you have plenty of time to consider, and amuse yourself with the fair ones, _en passant_"--he said watching me narrowly--"and in the meantime i can take you round the different marriage-markets of the world if you choose, though the largest one of them all is of course this very metropolis. splendid bargains to be had, my dear friend!--wonderful blonde and brunette specimens going really very cheap. we'll examine them at our leisure. i'm glad you have yourself decided that we are to be comrades,--for i am proud;--i may say damnably proud;--and never stay in any man's company when he expresses the slightest wish to be rid of me. good-night!" "good-night!" i responded. we clasped hands again and they were still interlocked, when a sudden flash of lightning blazed vividly across the room, followed instantaneously by a terrific clap of thunder. the electric lights went out, and only the glow of the fire illumined our faces. i was a little startled and confused,--the prince stood still, quite unconcerned, his eyes shining like those of a cat in the darkness. "what a storm!" he remarked lightly--"such thunder in winter is rather unusual. amiel!" the valet entered, his sinister countenance resembling a white mask made visible in the gloom. "these lamps have gone out,"--said his master--"it's very odd that civilized humanity has not yet learned the complete management of the electric light. can you put them in order, amiel?" "yes, your excellency." and in a few moments, by some dexterous manipulation which i did not understand and could not see, the crystal-cased jets shone forth again with renewed brilliancy. another peal of thunder crashed overhead, followed by a downpour of rain. "really remarkable weather for january,"--said rimânez, again giving me his hand--"good-night my friend! sleep well." "if the anger of the elements will permit!" i returned, smiling. "oh, never mind the elements. man has nearly mastered them or soon will do so, now that he is getting gradually convinced there is no deity to interfere in his business. amiel, show mr tempest to his room." amiel obeyed, and crossing the corridor, ushered me into a large, luxurious apartment, richly furnished, and lit up by the blaze of a bright fire. the comforting warmth shone welcome upon me as i entered, and i who had not experienced such personal luxury since my boyhood's days, felt more than ever overpowered by the jubilant sense of my sudden extraordinary good fortune. amiel waited respectfully, now and then furtively glancing at me with an expression which to my fancy had something derisive in it. "is there anything i can do for you sir?" he inquired. "no thank you,"--i answered, endeavouring to throw an accent of careless condescension into my voice--for somehow i felt this man must be kept strictly in his place--"you have been very attentive,--i shall not forget it." a slight smile flickered over his features. "much obliged to you, sir. good-night." and he retired, leaving me alone. i paced the room up and down more dreamily than consciously, trying to think,--trying to set in order the amazing events of the day, but my brain was still dazed and confused, and the only image of actual prominence in my mind was the striking and remarkable personality of my new friend rimânez. his extraordinary good looks, his attractive manner, his curious cynicism which was so oddly mixed with some deeper sentiment to which i could not give a name, all the trifling yet uncommon peculiarities of his bearing and humour haunted me and became indissolubly mingled as it were with myself and all the circumstances concerning me. i undressed before the fire, listening drowsily to the rain, and the thunder which was now dying off into sullen echoes. "geoffrey tempest, the world is before you--" i said, apostrophizing myself indolently--"you are a young man,--you have health, a good appearance, and brains,--added to these you now have five millions of money, and a wealthy prince for your friend. what more do you want of fate or fortune? nothing,--except fame! and that you will get easily, for now-a-days even fame is purchaseable--like love. your star is in the ascendant,--no more literary drudgery for you my boy!--pleasure and profit and ease are yours to enjoy for the rest of your life. you are a lucky dog!--at last you have your day!" i flung myself upon the soft bed, and settled myself to sleep,--and as i dozed off, i still heard the rumble of heavy thunder in the distance. once i fancied i heard the prince's voice calling "amiel! amiel!" with a wildness resembling the shriek of an angry wind,--and at another moment i started violently from a profound slumber under the impression that someone had approached and was looking fixedly at me. i sat up in bed, peering into the darkness, for the fire had gone out;--then i turned on a small electric night-lamp at my side which fully illumined the room,--there was no one there. yet my imagination played me such tricks before i could rest again that i thought i heard a hissing whisper near me that said-- "peace! trouble him not. let the fool in his folly sleep!" v the next morning on rising i learned that 'his excellency' as prince rimânez was called by his own servants and the employés of the 'grand,' had gone out riding in the park, leaving me to breakfast alone. i therefore took that meal in the public room of the hotel, where i was waited upon with the utmost obsequiousness, in spite of my shabby clothes, which i was of course still compelled to wear, having no change. when would i be pleased to lunch? at what hour would i dine? should my present apartment be retained?--or was it not satisfactory? would i prefer a 'suite' similar to that occupied by his excellency? all these deferential questions first astonished and then amused me,--some mysterious agency had evidently conveyed the rumour of my wealth among those best fitted to receive it, and here was the first result. in reply i said my movements were uncertain,--i should be able to give definite instructions in the course of a few hours, and that in the meantime i retained my room. the breakfast over i sallied forth to go to my lawyers, and was just about to order a hansom when i saw my new friend coming back from his ride. he bestrode a magnificent chestnut mare, whose wild eyes and strained quivering limbs showed she was fresh from a hard gallop and was scarcely yet satisfied to be under close control. she curveted and danced among the carts and cabs in a somewhat risky fashion, but she had her master in rimânez, who if he had looked handsome by night looked still more so by day, with a slight colour warming the natural pallor of his complexion and his eyes sparkling with all the zest of exercise and enjoyment. i waited for his approach, as did also amiel, who as usual timed his appearance in the hotel corridor in exact accordance with the moment of his master's arrival. rimânez smiled as he caught sight of me, touching his hat with the handle of his whip by way of salutation. "you slept late, tempest"--he said, as he dismounted and threw the reins to a groom who had cantered up after him,--"to-morrow you must come with me and join what they call in fashionable slang parlance the liver brigade. once upon a time it was considered the height of indelicacy and low breeding to mention the 'liver' or any other portion of one's internal machinery,--but we have done with all that now, and we find a peculiar satisfaction in discoursing of disease and unsavoury medical matters generally. and in the liver brigade you see at a glance all those interesting fellows who have sold themselves to the devil for the sake of the flesh-pots of egypt,--men who eat till they are well-nigh bursting, and then prance up and down on good horses,--much too respectable beasts by the way to bear such bestial burdens--in the hope of getting out of their poisoned blood the evil they have themselves put in. they think me one of them, but i am not." he patted his mare and the groom led her away, the foam of her hard ride still flecking her glossy chest and forelegs. "why do you join the procession then?" i asked him, laughing and glancing at him with undisguised approval as i spoke, for he seemed more admirably built than ever in his well-fitting riding gear--"you are a fraud!" "i am!" he responded lightly--"and do you know i am not the only one in london! where are you off to?" "to those lawyers who wrote to me last night;--bentham and ellis is the name of the firm. the sooner i interview them the better,--don't you think so?" "yes--but see here,"--and he drew me aside--"you must have some ready cash. it doesn't look well to apply at once for advances,--and there is really no necessity to explain to these legal men that you were on the verge of starvation when their letter arrived. take this pocket-book,--remember you promised to let me be your banker,--and on your way you might go to some well-reputed tailor and get properly rigged out. ta-ta!" he moved off at a rapid pace,--i hurried after him, touched to the quick by his kindness. "but wait--i say--lucio!" and i called him thus by his familiar name for the first time. he stopped at once and stood quite still. "well?" he said, regarding me with an attentive smile. "you don't give me time to speak"--i answered in a low voice, for we were standing in one of the public corridors of the hotel--"the fact is i have some money, or rather i can get it directly,--carrington sent me a draft for fifty pounds in his letter--i forgot to tell you about it. it was very good of him to lend it to me,--you had better have it as security for this pocket-book,--by-the-bye how much is there inside it?" "five hundred, in bank notes of tens and twenties,"--he responded with business-like brevity. "five hundred! my dear fellow, i don't want all that. it's too much!" "better have too much than too little nowadays,"--he retorted with a laugh--"my dear tempest, don't make such a business of it. five hundred pounds is really nothing. you can spend it all on a dressing-case for example. better send back john carrington's draft,--i don't think much of his generosity considering that he came into a mine worth a hundred thousand pounds sterling, a few days before i left australia." i heard this with great surprise, and, i must admit with a slight feeling of resentment too. the frank and generous character of my old chum 'boffles' seemed to darken suddenly in my eyes,--why could he not have told me of his good fortune in his letter? was he afraid i might trouble him for further loans? i suppose my looks expressed my thoughts, for rimânez, who had observed me intently, presently added-- "did he not tell you of his luck? that was not very friendly of him--but as i remarked last night, money often spoils a man." "oh i daresay he meant no slight by the omission," i said hurriedly, forcing a smile--"no doubt he will make it the subject of his next letter. now as to this five hundred"-- "keep it, man, keep it"--he interposed impatiently--"what do you talk about security for? haven't i got _you_ as security?" i laughed. "well, i am fairly reliable now"--i said--"and i'm not going to run away." "from _me_?" he queried, with a half cold half kind glance; "no,--i fancy not!" he waved his hand lightly and left me, and i, putting the leather case of notes in my inner breast-pocket, hailed a hansom and was driven off rapidly to basinghall street where my solicitors awaited me. arrived at my destination, i sent up my name, and was received at once with the utmost respect by two small chips of men in rusty black who represented 'the firm.' at my request they sent down their clerk to pay and dismiss my cab, while i, opening lucio's pocket book, asked them to change me a ten-pound note into gold and silver which they did with ready good-will. then we went into business together. my deceased relative, whom i had never seen as far as i myself remembered, but who had seen me as a motherless baby in my nurse's arms, had left me everything he possessed unconditionally, including several rare collections of pictures, jewels and curios. his will was so concisely and clearly worded that there were no possibilities of any legal hair-splitting over it,--and i was informed that in a week or ten days at the utmost everything would be in order and at my sole disposition. "you are a very fortunate man mr tempest;"--said the senior partner mr bentham, as he folded up the last of the papers we had been looking through and put it by--"at your age this princely inheritance may be either a great boon to you or a great curse,--one never knows. the possession of such enormous wealth involves great responsibilities." i was amused at what i considered the impertinence of this mere servant of the law in presuming to moralize on my luck. "many people would be glad to accept such responsibilities and change places with me"--i said with a flippant air--"you yourself, for example?" i knew this remark was not in good taste, but i made it wilfully, feeling that he had no business to preach to me as it were on the responsibilities of wealth. he took no offence however,--he merely gave me an observant side-glance like that of some meditative crow. "no mr tempest, no"--he said drily--"i do not think i should at all be disposed to change places with you. i feel very well satisfied as i am. my brain is my bank, and brings me in quite sufficient interest to live upon, which is all that i desire. to be comfortable, and pay one's way honestly is enough for me. i have never envied the wealthy." "mr bentham is a philosopher,"--interposed his partner, mr ellis smiling--"in our profession mr tempest, we see so many ups and downs of life, that in watching the variable fortunes of our clients, we ourselves learn the lesson of content." "ah, it is a lesson that i have never mastered till now!" i responded merrily--"but at the present moment i confess myself satisfied." they each gave me a formal little bow, and mr bentham shook hands. "business being concluded, allow me to congratulate you," he said politely--"of course, if you should wish at any time to entrust your legal affairs to other hands, my partner and myself are perfectly willing to withdraw. your deceased relative had the highest confidence in us...." "as i have also, i assure you,"--i interrupted quickly--"pray do me the favour to continue managing things for me as you did for my relative, and be assured of my gratitude in advance." both little men bowed again, and this time mr ellis shook hands. "we shall do our best for you, mr tempest, shall we not bentham?" bentham nodded gravely. "and now what do you say--shall we mention it bentham?--or shall we not mention it?" "perhaps," responded bentham sententiously--"it would be as well to mention it." i glanced from one to the other, not understanding what they meant. mr ellis rubbed his hands and smiled deprecatingly. "the fact is mr tempest, your deceased relative had one very curious idea--he was a shrewd man and a clever one, but he certainly had one very curious idea--and perhaps if he had followed it up to any extent, it might--yes, it might have landed him in a lunatic asylum and prevented his disposing of his extensive fortune in the--er--the very just and reasonable manner he has done. happily for himself and--er--for you, he did not follow it up, and to the last he retained his admirable business qualities and high sense of rectitude. but i do not think he ever quite dispossessed himself of the idea itself, did he bentham?" bentham gazed meditatively at the round black mark of the gas-burner where it darkened the ceiling. "i think not,--no, i think not," he answered--"i believe he was perfectly convinced of it." "and what was it?" i asked, getting impatient--"did he want to bring out some patent?--a new notion for a flying-machine, and get rid of his money in that way?" "no, no, no!" and mr ellis laughed a soft pleasant little laugh over my suggestion--"no, my dear sir--nothing of a purely mechanical or commercial turn captivated his imagination. he was too,--er--yes, i think i may say too profoundly opposed to what is called 'progress' in the world to aid it by any new invention or other means whatever. you see it is a little awkward for me to explain to you what really seems to be the most absurd and fantastic notion,--but--to begin with, we never really knew how he made his money, did we bentham?" bentham shook his head and pursed his lips closely together. "we had to take charge of large sums, and advise as to investments and other matters,--but it was not our business to inquire where the cash came from in the first place, was it, bentham?" again bentham shook his head solemnly. "we were entrusted with it;"--went on his partner, pressing the tips of his fingers together caressingly as he spoke--"and we did our best to fulfil that trust--with--er--with discretion and fidelity. and it was only after we had been for many years connected in business that our client mentioned--er--his idea;--a most erratic and extraordinary one, which was briefly this,--that he had sold himself to the devil, and that his large fortune was one result of the bargain!" i burst out laughing heartily. "what a ridiculous notion!" i exclaimed--"poor man!--a weak spot in his brain somewhere evidently,--or perhaps he used the expression as a mere figure of speech?" "i think not;"--responded mr ellis half interrogatively, still caressing his fingers--"i think our client did not use the phrase 'sold to the devil' as a figure of speech merely, mr bentham?" "i am positive he did not,"--said bentham seriously--"he spoke of the 'bargain' as an actual and accomplished fact." i laughed again with a trifle less boisterousness. "well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days"--i said; "what with blavatskyism, besantism and hypnotism, it is no wonder if some folks still have a faint credence in the silly old superstition of a devil's existence. but for a thoroughly sensible man...." "yes--er, yes;"--interrupted mr ellis--"your relative, mr tempest, _was_ a thoroughly sensible man, and this--er--this idea was the only fancy that ever appeared to have taken root in his eminently practical mind. being only an idea, it seemed hardly worth mentioning--but perhaps it is well--mr bentham agreeing with me--that we _have_ mentioned it." "it is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves,"--said mr bentham, "to have had it mentioned." i smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. they bowed to me once more, simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, so identically had their united practice of the law impressed itself upon their features. "good-day mr tempest,"--said mr bentham--"i need scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client, to the best of our ability. and in matters where advice may be pleasant or profitable, we may possibly be of use to you. may we ask whether you require any cash advances immediately?" "no, thank you,"--i answered, feeling grateful to my friend rimânez for having placed me in a perfectly independent position to confront these solicitors--"i am amply provided." they seemed, i fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were too discreet to offer any remark. they wrote down my address at the grand hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to the door. i gave this man half-a-sovereign to drink my health which he very cheerfully promised to do,--then i walked round by the law courts, trying to realize that i was not in a dizzy dream, but that i was actually and solidly, five times a millionaire. as luck would have it, in turning a corner i jostled up against a man coming the other way, the very publisher who had returned me my rejected manuscript the day before. "hullo!" he exclaimed stopping short. "hullo!" i rejoined. "where are you off to?" he went on--"going to try and place that unlucky novel? my dear boy, believe me it will never do as it is...." "it will do, it shall do;"--i said calmly--"i am going to publish it myself." he started. "publish it yourself! good heavens!--it will cost you--ah!--sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred pounds." "i don't care if it costs me a thousand!" a red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in astonishment. "i thought ... excuse me ..." he stammered awkwardly; "i thought money was scarce with you----" "it was," i answered drily--"it isn't now." then, his utterly bewildered look, together with the whole topsy-turviness of things in my altered position, struck me so forcibly that i burst out laughing, wildly, and with a prolonged noise and violence that apparently alarmed him, for he began looking nervously about him in all directions as if meditating flight. i caught him by the arm. "look here man," i said, trying to conquer my almost hysterical mirth--"i'm not mad--don't you think it,--i'm only a--millionaire!" and i began laughing again; the situation seemed to me so sublimely ridiculous. but the worthy publisher did not see it at all--and his features expressed so much genuine alarm that i made a further effort to control myself and succeeded. "i assure you on my word of honour i'm not joking--it's a fact. last night i wanted a dinner, and you, like a good fellow, offered to give me one,--to-day i possess five millions of money! don't stare so! don't have a fit of apoplexy! and as i have told you, i shall publish my book myself at my own expense, and it _shall_ succeed! oh i'm in earnest, grim earnest, grim as death!--i've more than enough in my pocketbook to pay for its publication _now_!" i loosed my hold of him, and he fell back stupefied and confused. "god bless my soul!" he muttered feebly--"it's like a dream!--i was never more astonished in my life!" "nor i!" i said, another temptation to laughter threatening my composure,--"but strange things happen in life, as in fiction. and that book which the builders--i mean the readers--rejected, shall be the headstone of the corner--or--the success of the season! what will you take to bring it out?" "take? i? i bring it out!" "yes, you--why not? if i offer you a chance to turn an honest penny shall your paid pack of 'readers' prevent your accepting it? fie! you are not a slave,--this is a free country. i know the kind of people who 'read' for you,--the gaunt unlovable spinster of fifty,--the dyspeptic book-worm who is a 'literary failure' and can find nothing else to do but scrawl growling comments on the manuscript of promising work,--why in heaven's name should you rely on such incompetent opinion? i'll pay you for the publication of my book at as stiff a price as you choose and something over for good-will. and i guarantee you another thing--it shall not only make my name as an author, but yours as a publisher. i'll advertise royally, and i'll work the press. everything in this world can be done for money ..." "stop, stop,"--he interrupted.--"this is so sudden! you must let me think of it--you must give me time to consider----" "take a day for your meditations then," i said--"but no longer. for if you don't say yes, i'll get another man, and he'll have the big pickings instead of you! be wise in time, my friend!--good-day!" he ran after me. "stay,--look here! you're so strange, so wild--so erratic you know! your head seems quite turned!" "it is! the right way round this time!" "dear dear me," and he smiled benevolently--"why, you don't give me a chance to congratulate you. i really do, you know--i congratulate you sincerely!" and he shook me by the hand quite fervently. "and as regards the book i believe there was really no fault found with it in the matter of literary style or quality,--it was simply too--too transcendental, and unlikely therefore to suit the public taste. the domestic-iniquity line is what we find pays best at present. but i will think about it--where will a letter find you?" "grand hotel," i responded, inwardly amused at his puzzled and anxious expression--i knew he was already mentally calculating how much he could make out of me in the pursuit of my literary whim--"come there, and lunch or dine with me to-morrow if you like--only send me a word beforehand. remember, i give you just a day's grace to decide,--it must be yes or no, in twenty-four hours!" and with this i left him, staring vaguely after me like a man who has seen some nameless wonder drop out of the sky at his feet. i went on, laughing to myself inaudibly, till i saw one or two passers-by looking at me so surprisedly that i came to the conclusion that i must put a disguise on my thoughts if i would not be taken for a madman. i walked briskly, and presently my excitement cooled down. i resumed the normal condition of the phlegmatic englishman who considers it the height of bad form to display any personal emotion whatever, and i occupied the rest of the morning in purchasing some ready-made apparel which by unusual good luck happened to fit me, and also in giving an extensive, not to say extravagant order to a fashionable tailor in sackville street who promised me everything with punctuality and despatch. i next sent off the rent i owed to the landlady of my former lodgings, adding five pounds extra by way of recognition of the poor woman's long patience in giving me credit, and general kindness towards me during my stay in her dismal house,--and this done i returned to the grand in high spirits, looking and feeling very much the better for my ready-made outfit. a waiter met me in the corridor and with the most obsequious deference, informed me that 'his excellency the prince' was waiting luncheon for me in his own apartments. thither i repaired at once, and found my new friend alone in his sumptuous drawing-room, standing near the full light of the largest window and holding in his hand an oblong crystal case through which he was looking with an almost affectionate solicitude. "ah, geoffrey! here you are!" he exclaimed--"i imagined you would get through your business by lunch time, so i waited." "very good of you!" i said, pleased at the friendly familiarity he displayed in thus calling me by my christian name--"what have you got there?" "a pet of mine,"--he answered, smiling slightly--"did you ever see anything like it before?" vi i approached and examined the box he held. it was perforated with finely drilled holes for the admission of air, and within it lay a brilliant winged insect coloured with all the tints and half-tints of the rainbow. "is it alive?" i asked. "it is alive, and has a sufficient share of intelligence,"--replied rimânez. "i feed it and it knows me,--that is the utmost you can say of the most civilized human beings; they know what feeds them. it is quite tame and friendly as you perceive,"--and opening the case he gently advanced his forefinger. the glittering beetle's body palpitated with the hues of an opal; its radiant wings expanded, and it rose at once to its protector's hand and clung there. he lifted it out and held it aloft, then shaking it to and fro lightly, he exclaimed-- "off, sprite! fly, and return to me!" the creature soared away through the room and round and round the ceiling, looking like a beautiful iridescent jewel, the whirr of its wings making a faint buzzing sound as it flew. i watched it fascinated, till after a few graceful movements hither and thither, it returned to its owner's still outstretched hand, and again settled there making no further attempt to fly. "there is a well-worn platitude which declares that 'in the midst of life we are in death'"--said the prince then softly, bending his dark deep eyes on the insect's quivering wings--"but as a matter of fact that maxim is wrong as so many trite human maxims are. it should be 'in the midst of death we are in life.' this creature is a rare and curious production of death, but not i believe the only one of its kind. others have been found under precisely similar circumstances. i took possession of this one myself in rather a weird fashion,--will the story bore you?" "on the contrary"--i rejoined eagerly, my eyes fixed on the radiant bat-shaped thing that glittered in the light as though its veins were phosphorescent. he paused a moment, watching me. "well,--it happened simply thus,--i was present at the uncasing of an egyptian female mummy;--her talismans described her as a princess of a famous royal house. several curious jewels were tied round her neck, and on her chest was a piece of beaten gold quarter of an inch thick. underneath this gold plate, her body was swathed round and round in an unusual number of scented wrappings; and when these were removed it was discovered that the mummified flesh between her breasts had decayed away, and in the hollow or nest thus formed by the process of decomposition, this insect i hold was found alive, as brilliant in colour as it is now!" i could not repress a slight nervous shudder. "horrible!" i said--"i confess, if i were you, i should not care to make a pet of such an uncanny object. i should kill it, i think." he kept his bright intent gaze upon me. "why?" he asked. "i'm afraid, my dear geoffrey, you are not disposed to study science. to kill the poor thing who managed to find life in the very bosom of death, is a cruel suggestion, is it not? to me, this unclassified insect is a valuable proof (if i needed one) of the indestructibility of the germs of conscious existence; it has eyes, and the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing,--and it gained these together with its intelligence, out of the dead flesh of a woman who lived, and no doubt loved and sinned and suffered more than four thousand years ago!" he broke off,--then suddenly added--"all the same i frankly admit to you that i believe it to be an evil creature. i do indeed! but i like it none the less for that. in fact i have rather a fantastic notion about it myself. i am much inclined to accept the idea of the transmigration of souls, and so i please my humour sometimes by thinking that perhaps the princess of that royal egyptian house had a wicked, brilliant, vampire soul,--and that ... _here it is_!" a cold thrill ran through me from head to foot at these words, and as i looked at the speaker standing opposite me in the wintry light, dark and tall, with the 'wicked, brilliant, vampire soul' clinging to his hand, there seemed to me to be a sudden hideousness declared in his excessive personal beauty. i was conscious of a vague terror, but i attributed it to the gruesome nature of the story, and, determining to combat my sensations, i examined the weird insect more closely. as i did so, its bright beady eyes sparkled, i thought, vindictively, and i stepped back, vexed with myself at the foolish fear of the thing which overpowered me. "it is certainly remarkable,"--i murmured--"no wonder you value it,--as a curiosity. its eyes are quite distinct, almost intelligent in fact." "no doubt she had beautiful eyes,"--said rimânez smiling. "she? whom do you mean?" "the princess, of course!" he answered, evidently amused; "the dear dead lady,--some of whose personality must be in this creature, seeing that it had nothing but her body to nourish itself upon." and here he replaced the creature in its crystal habitation with the utmost care. "i suppose"--i said slowly, "you, in your pursuit of science, would infer from this that nothing actually perishes completely?" "exactly!" returned rimânez emphatically. "there, my dear tempest, is the mischief,--or the deity,--of things. nothing can be entirely annihilated;--not even a thought." i was silent, watching him while he put the glass case with its uncanny occupant away out of sight. "and now for luncheon," he said gaily, passing his arm through mine--"you look twenty per cent. better than when you went out this morning, geoffrey, so i conclude your legal matters are disposed of satisfactorily. and what else have you done with yourself?" seated at table with the dark-faced amiel in attendance, i related my morning's adventures, dwelling at length on my chance meeting with the publisher who had on the previous day refused my manuscript, and who now, i felt sure, would be only too glad to close with the offer i had made him. rimânez listened attentively, smiling now and then. "of course!" he said, when i had concluded. "there is nothing in the least surprising in the conduct of the worthy man. in fact i think he showed remarkable discretion and decency in not at once jumping at your proposition,--his pleasant hypocrisy in retiring to think it over, shows him to be a person of tact and foresight. did you ever imagine that a human being or a human conscience existed that could not be bought? my good fellow, you can buy a king if you only give a long price enough; and the pope will sell you a specially reserved seat in his heaven if you will only hand him the cash down while he is on earth! nothing is given free in this world save the air and the sunshine,--everything else must be bought,--with blood, tears and groans occasionally,--but oftenest with money." i fancied that amiel, behind his master's chair, smiled darkly at this,--and my instinctive dislike of the fellow kept me more or less reticent concerning my affairs till the luncheon was over. i could not formulate to myself any substantial reason for my aversion to this confidential servant of the prince's,--but do what i would the aversion remained, and increased each time i saw his sullen, and as i thought, sneering features. yet he was perfectly respectful and deferential; i could find no actual fault with him,--nevertheless when at last he placed the coffee, cognac, and cigars on the table and noiselessly withdrew, i was conscious of a great relief, and breathed more freely. as soon as we were alone, rimânez lit a cigar and settled himself for a smoke, looking over at me with a personal interest and kindness which made his handsome face more than ever attractive. "now let us talk,"--he said--"i believe i am at present the best friend you have, and i certainly know the world better than you do. what do you propose to make of your life? or in other words how do you mean to begin spending your money?" i laughed. "well, i shan't provide funds for the building of a church, or the endowment of a hospital,"--i said--"i shall not even start a free library, for these institutions, besides becoming centres for infectious diseases, generally get presided over by a committee of local grocers who presume to consider themselves judges of literature. my dear prince rimânez, i mean to spend my money on my own pleasure, and i daresay i shall find plenty of ways to do it." rimânez fanned away the smoke of his cigar with one hand, and his dark eyes shone with a peculiarly vivid light through the pale grey floating haze. "with your fortune, you could make hundreds of miserable people happy;"--he suggested. "thanks, i would rather be happy myself first"--i answered gaily--"i daresay i seem to you selfish,--you are philanthropic i know; i am not." he still regarded me steadily. "you might help your fellow-workers in literature...." i interrupted him with a decided gesture. "that i will never do, my friend, though the heavens should crack! my fellow-workers in literature have kicked me down at every opportunity, and done their best to keep me from earning a bare livelihood,--it is my turn at kicking now, and i will show them as little mercy, as little help, as little sympathy as they have shown me!" "revenge is sweet!" he quoted sententiously--"i should recommend your starting a high-class half-crown magazine." "why?" "can you ask? just think of the ferocious satisfaction it would give you to receive the manuscripts of your literary enemies, and reject them! to throw their letters into the waste-paper basket, and send back their poems, stories, political articles and what not, with '_returned with thanks_' or '_not up to our mark_' type-written on the backs thereof! to dig knives into your rivals through the medium of anonymous criticism! the howling joy of a savage with twenty scalps at his belt would be tame in comparison to it! i was an editor once myself, and i know!" i laughed at his whimsical earnestness. "i daresay you are right,"--i said--"i can grasp the vengeful position thoroughly! but the management of a magazine would be too much trouble to me,--too much of a tie." "_don't_ manage it! follow the example of all the big editors, and live out of the business altogether,--but take the profits! you never see the real editor of a leading daily newspaper you know,--you can only interview the sub. the real man is, according to the seasons of the year, at ascot, in scotland, at newmarket, or wintering in egypt,--he is supposed to be responsible for everything in his journal, but he is generally the last person who knows anything about it. he relies on his 'staff'--a very bad crutch at times,--and when his 'staff' are in a difficulty, they get out of it by saying they are unable to decide without the editor. meanwhile the editor is miles away, comfortably free from worry. you could bamboozle the public in that way if you liked." "i could, but i shouldn't care to do so," i answered--"if i had a business i would not neglect it. i believe in doing things thoroughly." "so do i!" responded rimânez promptly. "i am a very thorough-going fellow myself, and whatever my hand findeth to do, i do it with my might!--excuse me for quoting scripture!" he smiled, a little ironically i thought, then resumed--"well, in what, at present does your idea of enjoying your heritage consist?" "in publishing my book," i answered. "that very book i could get no one to accept,--i tell you, i will make it the talk of london!" "possibly you will"--he said, looking at me through half-closed eyes and a cloud of smoke,--"london easily talks. particularly on unsavoury and questionable subjects. therefore,--as i have already hinted,--if your book were a judicious mixture of zola, huysmans and baudelaire, or had for its heroine a 'modest' maid who considered honourable marriage a 'degradation,' it would be quite sure of success in these days of new sodom and gomorrah." here he suddenly sprang up, and flinging away his cigar, confronted me. "why do not the heavens rain fire on this accursed city! it is ripe for punishment,--full of abhorrent creatures not worth the torturing in hell to which it is said liars and hypocrites are condemned! tempest, if there is one human being more than another that i utterly abhor, it is the type of man so common to the present time, the man who huddles his own loathly vices under a cloak of assumed broad-mindedness and virtue. such an one will even deify the loss of chastity in woman by the name of 'purity,'--because he knows that it is by her moral and physical ruin alone that he can gratify his brutal lusts. rather than be such a sanctimonious coward i would openly proclaim myself vile!" "that is because yours is a noble nature"--i said--"you are an exception to the rule." "an exception? i?"--and he laughed bitterly--"yes, you are right; i am an exception among men perhaps,--but i am one with the beasts in honesty! the lion does not assume the manners of the dove,--he loudly announces his own ferocity. the very cobra, stealthy though its movements be, evinces its meaning by a warning hiss or rattle. the hungry wolf's bay is heard far down the wind, intimidating the hurrying traveller among the wastes of snow. but man gives no clue to his intent--more malignant than the lion, more treacherous than the snake, more greedy than the wolf, he takes his fellow-man's hand in pretended friendship, and an hour later defames his character behind his back,--with a smiling face he hides a false and selfish heart,--flinging his pigmy mockery at the riddle of the universe, he stands gibing at god, feebly a-straddle on his own earth-grave--heavens!"--here he stopped short with a passionate gesture--"what should the eternities do with such a thankless, blind worm as he!" his voice rang out with singular emphasis,--his eyes glowed with a fiery ardour; startled by his impressive manner i let my cigar die out and stared at him in mute amazement. what an inspired countenance!--what an imposing figure!--how sovereignly supreme and almost god-like in his looks he seemed at the moment;--and yet there was something terrifying in his attitude of protest and defiance. he caught my wondering glance,--the glow of passion faded from his face,--he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "i think i was born to be an actor"--he said carelessly--"now and then the love of declamation masters me. then i speak--as prime ministers and men in parliament speak--to suit the humour of the hour, and without meaning a single word i say!" "i cannot accept that statement"--i answered him, smiling a little--"you do mean what you say,--though i fancy you are rather a creature of impulse." "do you really!" he exclaimed--"how wise of you!--good geoffrey tempest, how very wise of you! but you are wrong. there never was a being created who was less impulsive, or more charged with set purpose than i. believe me or not as you like,--belief is a sentiment that cannot be forced. if i told you that i am a dangerous companion,--that i like evil things better than good,--that i am not a safe guide for any man, what would you think?" "i should think you were whimsically fond of under-estimating your own qualities"--i said, re-lighting my cigar, and feeling somewhat amused by his earnestness--"and i should like you just as well as i do now,--perhaps better,--though that would be difficult." at these words, he seated himself, bending his steadfast dark eyes full upon me. "tempest, you follow the fashion of the prettiest women about town,--they always like the greatest scoundrels!" "but you are not a scoundrel;"--i rejoined, smoking peacefully. "no,--i'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the devil in me." "all the better!" i said, stretching myself out in my chair with lazy comfort--"i hope there's something of him in me too." "do you believe in him?" asked rimânez smiling. "the devil? of course not!" "he is a very fascinating legendary personage;"--continued the prince, lighting another cigar and beginning to puff at it slowly--"and he is the subject of many a fine story. picture his fall from heaven!--'lucifer son of the morning'--what a title, and what a birthright! to be born of the morning implies to be a creature formed of translucent light undefiled, with all the warm rose of a million orbs of day colouring his bright essence, and all the lustre of fiery planets flaming in his eyes. splendid and supreme, at the right hand of deity itself he stood, this majestic arch-angel, and before his unwearied vision rolled the grandest creative splendours of god's thoughts and dreams. all at once he perceived in the vista of embryonic things a new small world, and on it a being forming itself slowly as it were into the angelic likeness,--a being weak yet strong, sublime yet foolish,--a strange paradox, destined to work its way through all the phases of life, till imbibing the very breath and soul of the creator it should touch conscious immortality,--eternal joy. then lucifer, full of wrath, turned on the master of the spheres, and flung forth his reckless defiance, crying aloud--'wilt thou make of this slight poor creature an angel even as i? i do protest against thee and condemn! lo, if thou makest man in our image i will destroy him utterly, as unfit to share with me the splendours of thy wisdom,--the glory of thy love!' and the voice supreme in accents terrible and beautiful replied; 'lucifer, son of the morning, full well dost thou know that never can an idle or wasted word be spoken before me. for free-will is the gift of the immortals; therefore what thou sayest, thou must needs do! fall, proud spirit from thy high estate!--thou and thy companions with thee!--and return no more till man himself redeem thee! each human soul that yields unto thy tempting shall be a new barrier set between thee and heaven; each one that of its own choice doth repel and overcome thee, shall lift thee nearer thy lost home! when the world rejects thee, i will pardon and again receive thee,--but _not till then_.'" "i never heard exactly that version of the legend before,"--i said,--"the idea that man should redeem the devil is quite new to me." "is it?" and he looked at me fixedly--"well--it is one form of the story, and by no means the most unpoetical. poor lucifer! his punishment is of course eternal, and the distance between himself and heaven must be rapidly increasing every day,--for man will never assist him to retrieve his error. man will reject god fast enough and gladly enough--but never the devil. judge then, how, under the peculiar circumstances of his doom, this 'lucifer, son of the morning,' satan, or whatever else he is called, must hate humanity!" i smiled. "well he has one remedy left to him"--i observed--"he need not tempt anybody." "you forget!--he is bound to keep his word, according to the legend"--said rimânez--"he swore before god that he would destroy man utterly,--he must therefore fulfil that oath, if he can. angels, it would seem, may not swear before the eternal without endeavouring at least to fulfil their vows,--men swear in the name of god every day without the slightest intention of carrying out their promises." "but it's all the veriest nonsense,"--i said somewhat impatiently--"all these old legends are rubbish. you tell the story well, and almost as if you believed in it,--that is because you have the gift of speaking with eloquence. nowadays no one believes in either devils or angels;--i, for example, do not even believe in the soul." "i know you do not"--he answered suavely--"and your scepticism is very comfortable because it relieves you of all personal responsibility. i envy you! for--i regret to say, i am compelled to believe in the soul." "compelled!" i echoed--"that is absurd--no one can compel you to accept a mere theory." he looked at me with a flitting smile that darkened rather than lightened his face. "true! very true! there is no compelling force in the whole universe,--man is the supreme and independent creature,--master of all he surveys and owning no other dominion save his personal desire. true--i forgot! let us avoid theology, please, and psychology also,--let us talk about the only subject that has any sense or interest in it--namely, money. i perceive your present plans are definite,--you wish to publish a book that shall create a stir and make you famous. it seems a modest enough campaign! have you no wider ambitions? there are several ways, you know, of getting talked about. shall i enumerate them for your consideration?" i laughed. "if you like!" "well, in the first place i should suggest your getting yourself properly paragraphed. it must be known to the press that you are an exceedingly rich man. there is an agency for the circulation of paragraphs,--i daresay they'll do it sufficiently well for about ten or twenty guineas." i opened my eyes a little at this. "oh, is that the way these things are done?" "my dear fellow, how else should they be done?" he demanded somewhat impatiently--"do you think _anything_ in the world is done without money? are the poor, hard-working journalists your brothers or your bosom friends that they should lift you into public notice without getting something for their trouble? if you do not manage them properly in this way, they'll abuse you quite heartily and free of cost,--that i can promise you! i know a 'literary agent,' a very worthy man too, who for a hundred guineas down, will so ply the paragraph wheel that in a few weeks it shall seem to the outside public that geoffrey tempest, the millionaire, is the only person worth talking about, and the one desirable creature whom to shake hands with is next in honour to meeting royalty itself." "secure him!" i said indolently--"and pay him _two_ hundred guineas! so shall all the world hear of me!" "when you have been paragraphed thoroughly," went on rimânez--"the next move will be a dash into what is called 'swagger' society. this must be done cautiously and by degrees. you must be presented at the first levée of the season, and later on, i will get you an invitation to some great lady's house, where you will meet the prince of wales privately at dinner. if you can oblige or please his royal highness in any way so much the better for you,--he is at least the most popular royalty in europe, so it should not be difficult to you to make yourself agreeable. following upon this event, you must purchase a fine country seat, and have _that_ fact 'paragraphed'--then you can rest and look round,--society will have taken you up, and you will find yourself in the swim!" i laughed heartily,--well entertained by his fluent discourse. "i should not," he resumed--"propose your putting yourself to the trouble of getting into parliament. that is no longer necessary to the career of a gentleman. but i should strongly recommend your winning the derby." "i daresay you would!" i answered mirthfully--"it's an admirable suggestion,--but not very easy to follow!" "if you wish to win the derby," he rejoined quietly--"you _shall_ win it. i'll guarantee both horse and jockey!" something in his decisive tone impressed me, and i leaned forward to study his features more closely. "are you a worker of miracles?" i asked him jestingly--"do you mean it?" "try me!" he responded--"shall i enter a horse for you?" "you can't; it's too late," i said. "you would need to be the devil himself to do it. besides i don't care about racing." "you will have to amend your taste then,"--he replied--"that is, if you want to make yourself agreeable to the english aristocracy, for they are interested in little else. no really great lady is without her betting book, though she may be deficient in her knowledge of spelling. you may make the biggest literary _furore_ of the season, and that will count as nothing among 'swagger' people, but if you win the derby you will be a really famous man. personally speaking i have a great deal to do with racing,--in fact i am devoted to it. i am always present at every great race,--i never miss one; i always bet, and i never lose! and now let me proceed with your social plan of action. after winning the derby you will enter for a yacht race at cowes, and allow the prince of wales to beat you just narrowly. then you will give a grand dinner, arranged by a perfect _chef_,--and you will entertain his royal highness to the strains of 'britannia rules the waves,' which will serve as a pretty compliment. you will allude to the same well-worn song in a graceful speech,--and the probable result of all this will be one, or perhaps two royal invitations. so far, so good. with the heats of summer you will go to homburg to drink the waters there whether you require them or not,--and in the autumn you will assemble a shooting-party at the country seat before-mentioned which you will have purchased, and invite royalty to join you in killing the poor little partridges. then your name in society may be considered as made, and you can marry whatever fair lady happens to be in the market!" "thanks!--much obliged!" and i gave way to hearty laughter--"upon my word lucio, your programme is perfect! it lacks nothing!" "it is the orthodox round of social success," said lucio with admirable gravity--"intellect and originality have nothing whatever to do with it,--only money is needed to perform it all." "you forget my book"--i interposed--"i know there is some intellect in that, and some originality too. surely that will give me an extra lift up the heights of fashionable light and leading." "i doubt it!" he answered--"i very much doubt it. it will be received with a certain amount of favour of course, as a production of a rich man amusing himself with literature as a sort of whim. but, as i told you before, genius seldom develops itself under the influence of wealth. then again 'swagger' folks can never get it out of their fuddled heads that literature belongs to grub street. great poets, great philosophers, great romancists are always vaguely alluded to by 'swagger' society as 'those sort of people.' those sort of people are so 'interesting' say the blue-blooded noodles deprecatingly, excusing themselves as it were for knowing any members of the class literary. you can fancy a 'swagger' lady of elizabeth's time asking a friend--'o do you mind, my dear, if i bring one master william shakespeare to see you? he writes plays, and does something or other at the _globe_ theatre,--in fact i'm afraid he acts a little--he's not very well off poor man,--but _these sort of people_ are always so amusing!' now you, my dear tempest, are not a shakespeare, but your millions will give you a better chance than he ever had in his life-time, as you will not have to sue for patronage, or practise a reverence for 'my lord' or 'my lady,'--these exalted personages will be only too delighted to borrow money of you if you will lend it." "i shall not lend,"--i said. "nor give?" "nor give." his keen eyes flashed approval. "i am very glad," he observed, "that you are determined not to 'go about doing good' as the canting humbugs say, with your money. you are wise. spend on yourself,--because your very act of spending cannot but benefit others through various channels. now i pursue a different course. i always help charities, and put my name on subscription-lists,--and i never fail to assist a certain portion of clergy." "i rather wonder at that--" i remarked--"especially as you tell me you are not a christian." "yes,--it does seem strange,--doesn't it?"--he said with an extraordinary accent of what might be termed apologetic derision--"but perhaps you don't look at it in the proper light. many of the clergy are doing their utmost best to _destroy_ religion,--by cant, by hypocrisy, by sensuality, by shams of every description,--and when they seek my help in this noble work, i give it,--freely!" i laughed "you must have your joke evidently"--i said, throwing the end of my finished cigar into the fire--"and i see you are fond of satirizing your own good actions. hullo, what's this?" for at that moment amiel entered, bearing a telegram for me on a silver salver. i opened it,--it was from my friend the publisher, and ran as follows-- "accept book with pleasure. send manuscript immediately." i showed this to rimânez with a kind of triumph. he smiled. "of course! what else did you expect? only the man should have worded his telegram differently, for i do not suppose he would accept the book with pleasure if he had to lay out his own cash upon it. 'accept money for publishing book with pleasure' should have been the true message of the wire. well, what are you going to do?" "i shall see about this at once"--i answered, feeling a thrill of satisfaction that at last the time of vengeance on certain of my enemies was approaching--"the book must be hurried through the press as quickly as possible,--and i shall take a particular pleasure in personally attending to all the details concerning it. for the rest of my plans,--" "leave them to me!" said rimânez laying his finely shaped white hand with a masterful pressure on my shoulder; "leave them to me!--and be sure that before very long i shall have set you aloft like the bear who has successfully reached the bun on the top of a greased pole,--a spectacle for the envy of men, and the wonder of angels!" vii the next three or four weeks flew by in a whirl of excitement, and by the time they were ended i found it hard to recognize myself in the indolent, listless, extravagant man of fashion i had so suddenly become. sometimes at stray and solitary moments the past turned back upon me like a revolving picture in a glass with a flash of unwelcome recollection, and i saw myself worn and hungry, and shabbily clothed, bending over my writing in my dreary lodging, wretched, yet amid all my wretchedness receiving curious comfort from my own thoughts which created beauty out of penury, and love out of loneliness. this creative faculty was now dormant in me,--i did very little, and thought less. but i felt certain that this intellectual apathy was but a passing phase,--a mental holiday and desirable cessation from brain-work to which i was deservedly entitled after all my sufferings at the hands of poverty and disappointment. my book was nearly through the press,--and perhaps the chiefest pleasure of any i now enjoyed was the correction of the proofs as they passed under my supervision. yet even this, the satisfaction of authorship, had its drawback,--and my particular grievance was somewhat singular. i read my own work with gratification of course, for i was not behind my contemporaries in thinking well of myself in all i did,--but my complacent literary egoism was mixed with a good deal of disagreeable astonishment and incredulity, because my work, written with enthusiasm and feeling, propounded sentiments and inculcated theories which i personally did not believe in. now, how had this happened, i asked myself? why had i thus invited the public to accept me at a false valuation? i paused to consider,--and i found the suggestion puzzling. how came i to write the book at all, seeing that it was utterly unlike me as i now knew myself? my pen, consciously or unconsciously, had written down things which my reasoning faculties entirely repudiated,--such as belief in a god,--trust in the eternal possibilities of man's diviner progress,--i credited neither of these doctrines. when i imagined such transcendental and foolish dreams i was poor,--starving,--and without a friend in the world;--remembering all this, i promptly set down my so-called 'inspiration' to the action of an ill-nourished brain. yet there was something subtle in the teaching of the story, and one afternoon when i was revising some of the last proof sheets i caught myself thinking that the book was nobler than its writer. this idea smote me with a sudden pang,--i pushed my papers aside, and walking to the window, looked out. it was raining hard, and the streets were black with mud and slush,--the foot-passengers were drenched and miserable,--the whole prospect was dreary, and the fact that i was a rich man did not in the least lift from my mind the depression that had stolen on me unawares. i was quite alone, for i had my own suite of rooms now in the hotel, not far from those occupied by prince rimânez; i also had my own servant, a respectable, good sort of fellow whom i rather liked because he shared to the full the instinctive aversion i felt for the prince's man, amiel. then i had my own carriage and horses with attendant coachman and groom,--so that the prince and i, though the most intimate friends in the world, were able to avoid that 'familiarity which breeds contempt' by keeping up our own separate establishments. on this particular afternoon i was in a more miserable humour than ever my poverty had brought upon me, yet from a strictly reasonable point of view i had nothing to be miserable about. i was in full possession of my fortune,--i enjoyed excellent health, and i had everything i wanted, with the added consciousness that if my wants increased i could gratify them easily. the 'paragraph wheel' under lucio's management had been worked with such good effect that i had seen myself mentioned in almost every paper in london and the provinces as the 'famous millionaire,'--and for the benefit of the public, who are sadly uninstructed on these matters, i may here state as a very plain unvarnished truth, that for forty pounds,[ ] a well-known 'agency' will guarantee the insertion of _any_ paragraph, provided it is not libellous, in no less than four hundred newspapers. the art of 'booming' is thus easily explained, and level-headed people will be able to comprehend why it is that a few names of authors are constantly mentioned in the press, while others, perhaps more deserving, remain ignored. merit counts as nothing in such circumstances,--money wins the day. and the persistent paragraphing of my name, together with a description of my personal appearance and my 'marvellous literary gifts,' combined with a deferential and almost awe-struck allusion to the 'millions' which made me so interesting--(the paragraph was written out by lucio and handed for circulation to the 'agency' aforesaid with 'money down')--all this i say brought upon me two inflictions,--first, any amount of invitations to social and artistic functions,--and secondly, a continuous stream of begging-letters. i was compelled to employ a secretary, who occupied a room near my suite, and who was kept hard at work all day. needless to say i refused all appeals for money;--no one had helped _me_ in my distress, with the exception of my old chum 'boffles,'--no one save he had given me even so much as a word of sympathy,--i was resolved now to be as hard and as merciless as i had found my contemporaries. i had a certain grim pleasure in reading letters from two or three literary men, asking for work 'as secretary or companion,' or failing that, for the loan of a little cash to 'tide over present difficulties.' one of these applicants was a journalist on the staff of a well-known paper who had promised to find _me_ work, and who instead of doing so, had, as i afterwards learned, strongly dissuaded his editor from giving me any employment. he never imagined that tempest the millionaire, and tempest the literary hack, were one and the same person,--so little do the majority think that wealth can ever fall to the lot of authors! i wrote to him myself however and told him what i deemed it well he should know, adding my sarcastic thanks for his friendly assistance to me in time of need,--and herein i tasted something of the sharp delight of vengeance. i never heard from him again, and i am pretty sure my letter gave him material not only for astonishment but meditation. yet with all the advantages over both friends and enemies which i now possessed i could not honestly say i was happy. i knew i could have every possible enjoyment and amusement the world had to offer,--i knew i was one of the most envied among men, and yet,--as i stood looking out of the window at the persistently falling rain, i was conscious of a bitterness rather than a sweetness in the full cup of fortune. many things that i had imagined would give me intense satisfaction had fallen curiously flat. for example, i had flooded the press with the most carefully worded and prominent advertisements of my forthcoming book, and when i was poor i had pictured to myself how i should revel in doing this,--now that it was done i cared nothing at all about it. i was simply weary of the sight of my own advertised name. i certainly did look forward with very genuine feeling and expectation to the publication of my work when that should be an accomplished fact,--but to-day even that idea had lost some of its attractiveness owing to this new and unpleasant impression on my mind that the contents of that book were as utterly the reverse of my own true thoughts as they could well be. a fog began to darken down over the streets in company with the rain,--and disgusted with the weather and with myself, i turned away from the window and settled into an arm-chair by the fire, poking the coal till it blazed, and wondering what i should do to rid my mind of the gloom that threatened to envelop it in as thick a canopy as that of the london fog. a tap came at the door, and in answer to my somewhat irritable "come in!" rimânez entered. "what, all in the dark tempest!" he exclaimed cheerfully--"why don't you light up?" "the fire's enough,"--i answered crossly--"enough at any rate to think by." "and have you been thinking?" he inquired laughing--"don't do it. it's a bad habit. no one thinks now-a-days,--people can't stand it--their heads are too frail. once begin to think and down go the foundations of society,--besides thinking is always dull work." "i have found it so," i said gloomily--"lucio, there is something wrong about me somewhere." his eyes flashed keen, half-amused inquiry into mine. "wrong? oh no, surely not! what _can_ there be wrong about you, tempest? are you not one of the richest men living?" i let the satire pass. "listen, my friend," i said earnestly--"you know i have been busy for the last fortnight correcting the proofs of my book for the press,--do you not?" he nodded with a smiling air. "well i have arrived almost at the end of my work and i have come to the conclusion that the book is not me,--it is not a reflex of my feelings at all,--and i cannot understand how i came to write it." "you find it stupid perhaps?" said lucio sympathetically. "no," i answered with a touch of indignation--"i do not find it stupid." "dull then?" "no,--it is not dull." "melodramatic?" "no,--not melodramatic." "well, my good fellow, if it is not dull or stupid or melodramatic, what is it!" he exclaimed merrily--"it must be something!" "yes,--it is this,--it is beyond me altogether." and i spoke with some bitterness. "quite beyond me. i could not write it now,--i wonder i could write it then. lucio, i daresay i am talking foolishly,--but it seems to me i must have been on some higher altitude of thought when i wrote the book,--a height from which i have since fallen." "i'm sorry to hear this," he answered, with twinkling eyes--"from what you say it appears to me you have been guilty of literary sublimity. oh bad, very bad! nothing can be worse. to write sublimely is a grievous sin, and one which critics never forgive. i'm really grieved for you, my friend--i never thought your case was quite so desperate." i laughed in spite of my depression. "you are incorrigible, lucio!" i said--"but your cheerfulness is very inspiriting. all i wanted to explain to you is this,--that my book expresses a certain tone of thought which purporting to be _mine_, is not _me_,--in short, i, in my present self have no sympathy with it. i must have changed very much since i wrote it." "changed? why yes, i should think so!" and lucio laughed heartily--"the possession of five millions is bound to change a man considerably for the better--or worse! but you seem to be worrying yourself most absurdly about nothing. not one author in many centuries writes from his own heart or as he truly feels--when he does, he becomes well-nigh immortal. this planet is too limited to hold more than one homer, one plato, one shakespeare. don't distress yourself--you are neither of these three! you belong to the age, tempest,--it is a decadent ephemeral age, and most things connected with it are decadent and ephemeral. any era that is dominated by the love of money only, has a rotten core within it and must perish. all history tells us so, but no one accepts the lesson of history. observe the signs of the time,--art is made subservient to the love of money--literature, politics and religion the same,--_you_ cannot escape from the general disease. the only thing to do is to make the best of it,--no one can reform it--least of all you, who have so much of the lucre given to your share." he paused,--i was silent, watching the bright fire-glow and the dropping red cinders. "what i am going to say now," he proceeded in soft, almost melancholy accents--"will sound ridiculously trite,--still it has the perverse prosiness of truth about it. it is this--in order to write with intense feeling, you must first _feel_. very likely when you wrote this book of yours, you were almost a human hedge-hog in the way of feeling. every prickly point of you was erect and responsive to the touch of all influences, pleasant or the reverse, imaginative or realistic. this is a condition which some people envy and others would rather dispense with. now that you, as a hedge-hog, have no further need for either alarm, indignation or self-defence, your prickles are soothed into an agreeable passiveness, and you partially cease to feel. that is all. the 'change' you complain of is thus accounted for;--you have nothing to feel about,--hence you cannot comprehend how it was that you ever felt." i was conscious of irritation at the calm conviction of his tone. "do you take me for such a callous creature as all that?" i exclaimed--"you are mistaken in me, lucio. i feel most keenly----" "what do you feel?" he inquired, fixing his eyes steadily upon me--"there are hundreds of starving wretches in this metropolis,--men and women on the brink of suicide because they have no hope of anything in this world or the next, and no sympathy from their kind--do you feel for them? do _their_ griefs affect _you_? you know they do not,--you know you never think of them,--why should you? one of the chief advantages of wealth is the ability it gives us to shut out other people's miseries from our personal consideration." i said nothing,--for the first time my spirit chafed at the truth of his words, principally because they _were_ true. alas, lucio!--if i had only known then what i know now! "yesterday," he went on in the same quiet voice--"a child was run over here, just opposite this hotel. it was _only_ a poor child,--mark that 'only.' its mother ran shrieking out of some back-street hard by, in time to see the little bleeding body carted up in a mangled heap. she struck wildly with both hands at the men who were trying to lead her away, and with a cry like that of some hurt savage animal fell face forward in the mud--dead. she was only a poor woman,--another 'only.' there were three lines in the paper about it headed 'sad incident.' the hotel-porter here witnessed the scene from the door with as composed a demeanor as that of a fop at the play, never relaxing the serene majesty of his attitude,--but about ten minutes after the dead body of the woman had been carried out of sight, he, the imperial, gold-buttoned being, became almost crook-backed in his servile haste to run and open the door of your brougham, my dear geoffrey, as you drove up to the entrance. this is a little epitome of life as it is lived now-a-days,--and yet the canting clerics swear we are all equal in the sight of heaven! we may be, though it does not look much like it,--and if we are, it does not matter, as we have ceased to care how heaven regards us. i don't want to point a moral,--i simply tell you the 'sad incident' as it occurred,--and i am sure you are not the least sorry for the fate of either the child who was run over, or its mother who died in the sharp agony of a suddenly broken heart. now don't say you are, because i know you're not!" "how can one feel sorry for people one does not know or has never seen,--" i began. "exactly!--how is it possible? and there we have it--how can one feel, when one's self is so thoroughly comfortable as to be without any other feeling save that of material ease? thus, my dear geoffrey, you must be content to let your book appear as the reflex and record of your past when you were in the prickly or sensitive stage,--now you are encased in a pachydermatous covering of gold, which adequately protects you from such influences as might have made you start and writhe, perhaps even roar with indignation, and in the access of fierce torture, stretch out your hands and grasp--quite unconsciously--the winged thing called fame!" "you should have been an orator,"--i said, rising and pacing the room to and fro in vexation,--"but to me your words are not consoling, and i do not think they are true. fame is easily enough secured." "pardon me if i am obstinate;"--said lucio with a deprecatory gesture--"notoriety is easily secured--very easily. a few critics who have dined with you and had their fill of wine, will give you notoriety. but fame is the voice of the whole civilized public of the world." "the public!" i echoed contemptuously--"the public only care for trash." "it is a pity you should appeal to it then;"--he responded with a smile--"if you think so little of the public why give it anything of your brain? it is not worthy of so rare a boon! come, come tempest,--do not join in the snarl of unsuccessful authors who take refuge, when marked unsaleable, in pouring out abuse on the public. the public is the author's best friend and truest critic. but if you prefer to despise it, in company with all the very little literature-mongers who form a mutual admiration society, i tell you what to do,--print just twenty copies of your book and present these to the leading reviewers, and when they have written you up (as they will do--i'll take care of that) let your publisher advertise to the effect that the 'first and second large editions' of the new novel by geoffrey tempest, are exhausted, one hundred thousand copies having been sold in a week! if that does not waken up the world in general, i shall be much surprised!" i laughed,--i was gradually getting into a better humour. "it would be quite as fair a plan of action as is adopted by many modern publishers," i said--"the loud hawking of literary wares now-a-days reminds me of the rival shouting of costermongers in a low neighbourhood. but i will not go quite so far,--i'll win my fame legitimately if i can." "you can't!" declared lucio with a serene smile--"it's impossible. you are too rich. that of itself is not legitimate in literature, which great art generally elects to wear poverty in its button-hole as a flower of grace. the fight cannot be equal in such circumstances. the fact that you are a millionaire must weigh the balance apparently in your favour for a time. the world cannot resist money. if i, for example, became an author, i should probably with my wealth and influence, burn up every one else's laurels. suppose that a desperately poor man comes out with a book at the same time as you do, he will have scarcely the ghost of a chance against you. he will not be able to advertise in your lavish style,--nor will he see his way to dine the critics as you can. and if he should happen to have more genius than you, and you succeed, your success will _not_ be legitimate. but after all, that does not matter much--in art, if in nothing else, things always right themselves." i made no immediate reply, but went over to my table, rolled up my corrected proofs and directed them to the printers,--then ringing the bell i gave the packet to my man, morris, bidding him post it at once. this done, i turned again towards lucio and saw that he still sat by the fire, but that his attitude was now one of brooding melancholy, and that he had covered his eyes with one hand on which the glow from the flames shone red. i regretted the momentary irritation i had felt against him for telling me unwelcome truths,--and i touched him lightly on the shoulder. "are _you_ in the dumps now lucio?" i said--"i'm afraid my depression has proved infectious." he moved his hand and looked up,--his eyes were large and lustrous as the eyes of a beautiful woman. "i was thinking," he said, with a slight sigh--"of the last words i uttered just now,--_things always right themselves_. curiously enough in art they always do,--no charlatanism or sham lasts with the gods of parnassus. but in other matters it is different. for instance _i_ shall never right myself! life is hateful to me at times, as it is to everybody." "perhaps you are in love?" i said with a smile. he started up. "in love! by all the heavens and all the earths too, that suggestion wakes me with a vengeance! in love! what woman alive do you think could impress _me_ with the notion that she was anything more than a frivolous doll of pink and white, with long hair frequently not her own? and as for the tom-boy tennis-players and giantesses of the era, i do not consider them women at all,--they are merely the unnatural and strutting embryos of a new sex which will be neither male nor female. my dear tempest, i hate women. so would you if you knew as much about them as i do. they have made me what i am, and they keep me so." "they are to be much complimented then,"--i observed--"you do them credit!" "i do!" he answered slowly--"in more ways than one!" a faint smile was on his face, and his eyes brightened with that curious jewel-like gleam i had noticed several times before. "believe me, i shall never contest with you such a slight gift as woman's love, geoffrey. it is not worth fighting for. and _apropos_ of women, that reminds me,--i have promised to take you to the earl of elton's box at the haymarket to-night,--he is a poor peer, very gouty and somewhat heavily flavoured with port-wine, but his daughter, lady sibyl, is one of the belles of england. she was presented last season and created quite a _furore_. will you come?" "i am quite at your disposition"--i said, glad of any excuse to escape the dullness of my own company and to be in that of lucio, whose talk, even if its satire galled me occasionally, always fascinated my mind and remained in my memory--"what time shall we meet?" "go and dress now, and join me at dinner,"--he answered; "and we'll drive together to the theatre afterwards. the play is on the usual theme which has lately become popular with stage-managers,--the glorification of a 'fallen' lady, and the exhibition of her as an example of something superlatively pure and good, to the astonished eyes of the innocent. as a play it is not worth seeing,--but perhaps lady sibyl is." he smiled again as he stood facing me,--the light flames of the fire had died down to a dull uniform coppery red,--we were almost in darkness, and i pressed the small button near the mantelpiece that flooded the room with electric light. his extraordinary beauty then struck me afresh as something altogether singular and half unearthly. "don't you find that people look at you very often as you pass, lucio?" i asked him suddenly and impulsively. he laughed. "not at all. why should they? every man is so intent on his own aims, and thinks so much of his own personality that he would scarcely forget his _ego_ if the very devil himself were behind him. women look at me sometimes, with the affected coy and kitten-like interest usually exhibited by the frail sex for a personable man." "i cannot blame them!" i answered, my gaze still resting on his stately figure and fine head with as much admiration as i might have felt for a noble picture or statue--"what of this lady sibyl we are to meet to-night,--how does she regard you?" "lady sibyl has never seen me,"--he replied--"and i have only seen her at a distance. it is chiefly for the purpose of an introduction to her that the earl has asked us to his box this evening." "ha ha! matrimony in view!" i exclaimed jestingly. "yes--i believe lady sibyl is for sale,"--he answered with the callous coldness that occasionally distinguished him and made his handsome features look like an impenetrable mask of scorn--"but up to the present the bids have not been sufficiently high. and i shall not purchase. i have told you already, tempest, i hate women." "seriously?" "most seriously. women have always done me harm,--they have wantonly hindered me in my progress. and why i specially abominate them is, that they have been gifted with an enormous power for doing good, and that they let this power run to waste and will not use it. their deliberate enjoyment and choice of the repulsive, vulgar and common-place side of life disgusts me. they are much less sensitive than men, and infinitely more heartless. they are the mothers of the human race, and the faults of the race are chiefly due to them. that is another reason for my hatred." "do you want the human race to be perfect?" i asked astonished--"because, if you do, you will find that impossible." he stood for a moment apparently lost in thought. "everything in the universe is perfect,"--he said, "except that curious piece of work--man. have you never thought out any reason why he should be the one flaw,--the one incomplete creature in a matchless creation?" "no, i have not,"--i replied--"i take things as i find them." "so do i,"--and he turned away, "and as i find _them_, so they find _me_! au revoir! dinner in an hour's time remember!" the door opened and closed--he was gone. i remained alone for a little, thinking what a strange disposition was his,--what a curious mixture of philosophy, worldliness, sentiment and satire seemed to run like the veins of a leaf through the variable temperament of this brilliant, semi-mysterious personage who had by mere chance become my greatest friend. we had now been more or less together for nearly a month, and i was no closer to the secret of his actual nature than i had been at first. yet i admired him more than ever,--without his society i felt life would be deprived of half its charm. for though, attracted as human moths will be by the glare of my glittering millions, numbers of so-called 'friends' now surrounded me, there was not one among them who so dominated my every mood and with whom i had so much close sympathy as this man,--this masterful, half cruel, half kind companion of my days, who at times seemed to accept all life as the veriest bagatelle, and myself as a part of the trivial game. [ ] a fact. viii no man, i think, ever forgets the first time he is brought face to face with perfect beauty in woman. he may have caught fleeting glimpses of loveliness on many fair faces often,--bright eyes may have flashed on him like star-beams,--the hues of a dazzling complexion may now and then have charmed him, or the seductive outlines of a graceful figure;--all these are as mere peeps into the infinite. but when such vague and passing impressions are suddenly drawn together in one focus,--when all his dreamy fancies of form and colour take visible and complete manifestation in one living creature who looks down upon him as it were from an empyrean of untouched maiden pride and purity, it is more to his honour than his shame, if his senses swoon at the ravishing vision, and he, despite his rough masculinity and brute strength, becomes nothing but the merest slave to passion. in this way was i overwhelmed and conquered without any chance of deliverance when sibyl elton's violet eyes, lifted slowly from the shadow of their dark lashes, rested upon me with that indefinable expression of mingled interest and indifference which is supposed to indicate high breeding, but which more frequently intimidates and repulses the frank and sensitive soul. the lady sibyl's glance repelled, but i was none the less attracted. rimânez and i had entered the earl of elton's box at the haymarket between the first and second acts of the play, and the earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen to welcome us, seizing the prince's hand and shaking it with particular effusiveness. (i learned afterwards that lucio had lent him a thousand pounds on easy terms, a fact which partly accounted for the friendly fervour of his greeting.) his daughter had not moved; but a minute or two later when he addressed her somewhat sharply, saying "sibyl! prince rimânez and his friend, mr geoffrey tempest," she turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance i have endeavoured to describe, and the very faintest possible bow as an acknowledgment of our presence. her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish,--i could find nothing to say, and stood silent and confused, with a strange sensation of bewilderment upon me. the old earl made some remark about the play, which i scarcely heard though i answered vaguely and at hap-hazard,--the orchestra was playing abominably as is usual in theatres, and its brazen din sounded like the noise of the sea in my ears,--i had not much real consciousness of anything save the wondrous loveliness of the girl who faced me, clad in pure white, with a few diamonds shining about her like stray dewdrops on a rose. lucio spoke to her, and i listened. "at last, lady sibyl," he said, bending towards her deferentially. "at last i have the honour of meeting you. i have seen you often, as one sees a star,--at a distance." she smiled,--a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the corners of her lovely lips. "i do not think i have ever seen _you_," she replied. "and yet there is something oddly familiar in your face. i have heard my father speak of you constantly,--i need scarcely say his friends are always mine." he bowed. "to merely speak to lady sibyl elton is counted sufficient to make the man so privileged happy," he said. "to be her friend is to discover the lost paradise." she flushed,--then grew suddenly very pale, and shivering, she drew her cloak towards her. rimânez wrapped its perfumed silken folds carefully round her beautiful shoulders,--how i grudged him the dainty task! he then turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers. "will you sit here geoffrey?" he suggested--"i want to have a moment's business chat with lord elton." recovering my self-possession a little, i hastened to take the chance he thus generously gave me to ingratiate myself in the young lady's favour, and my heart gave a foolish bound of joy because she smiled encouragingly as i approached her. "you are a great friend of prince rimânez?" she asked softly, as i sat down. "yes, we are very intimate," i replied--"he is a delightful companion." "so i should imagine!" and she looked over at him where he sat next to her father talking earnestly in low tones--"he is singularly handsome." i made no reply. of course lucio's extraordinary personal attractiveness was undeniable,--but i rather grudged her praise bestowed on him just then. her remarks seemed to me as tactless as when a man with one pretty woman beside him loudly admires another in her hearing. i did not myself assume to be actually handsome, but i knew i was better looking than the ordinary run of men. so out of sudden pique i remained silent, and presently the curtain rose and the play was resumed. a very questionable scene was enacted, the 'woman with the past' being well to the front of it. i felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions to see if they too were similarly moved. there was no sign of disapproval on lady sibyl's fair countenance,--her father was bending forward eagerly, apparently gloating over every detail,--rimânez wore that inscrutable expression of his in which no feeling whatever could be discerned. the 'woman with the past' went on with her hysterical sham-heroics, and the mealy-mouthed fool of a hero declared her to be a 'pure angel wronged,' and the curtain fell amid loud applause. one energetic hiss came from the gallery, affecting the occupants of the stalls to scandalized amazement. "england has progressed!" said rimânez in soft half-bantering tones--"once upon a time this play would have been hooted off the stage as likely to corrupt the social community. but now the only voice of protest comes from the 'lower' classes." "are you a democrat, prince?" inquired lady sibyl, waving her fan indolently to and fro. "not i! i always insist on the pride and supremacy of worth,--i do not mean money value, but intellect. and in this way i foresee a new aristocracy. when the high grows corrupt, it falls and becomes the low;--when the low educates itself and aspires, it becomes the high. this is simply the course of nature." "but, god bless my soul!" exclaimed lord elton--"you don't call this play low or immoral do you? it's a realistic study of modern social life--that's what it is. these women you know,--these poor souls with a past--are very interesting!" "very!" murmured his daughter.--"in fact it would seem that for women with no such 'past' there can be no future! virtue and modesty are quite out of date, and have no chance whatever." i leaned towards her, half whispering, "lady sibyl, i am glad to see this wretched play offends you." she turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement. "oh no, it doesn't," she declared--"i have seen so many like it. and i have read so many novels on just the same theme! i assure you, i am quite convinced that the so-called 'bad' woman is the only popular type of our sex with men,--she gets all the enjoyment possible out of life,--she frequently makes an excellent marriage, and has, as the americans say 'a good time all round.' it's the same thing with our convicted criminals,--in prison they are much better fed than the honest working-man. i believe it is quite a mistake for women to be respectable,--they are only considered dull." "ah, now you are only joking!" i said with an indulgent smile. "you know that in your heart you think very differently!" she made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, disclosing the unclean 'lady' of the piece, "having a good time all round" on board a luxurious yacht. during the unnatural and stilted dialogue which followed, i withdrew a little back into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and assurance of which i had been suddenly deprived by a glance at lady sibyl's beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish excitement of my mind. i recalled lucio's words--"_i believe lady sibyl is for sale_"--and i thought triumphantly of my millions. i glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were evidently money schemes propounded by lucio. then my gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of lady sibyl's milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion,--and i murmured inwardly--"all this loveliness is purchaseable, and i will purchase it!" at that very instant she turned to me and said-- "you are the famous mr tempest, are you not?" "famous?" i echoed with a deep sense of gratification--"well,--i am scarcely that,--yet! my book is not published ..." her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly. "your book? i did not know you had written one?" my flattered vanity sank to zero. "it has been extensively advertised," i began impressively,--but she interrupted me with a laugh. "oh i never read advertisements,--it's too much trouble. when i asked if you were the famous mr tempest, i meant to say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked of lately?" i bowed a somewhat chill assent. she looked at me inquisitively over the lace edge of her fan. "how delightful it must be for you to have so much money!" she said--"and you are young too, and good-looking." pleasure took the place of vexed _amour-propre_ and i smiled. "you are very kind, lady sibyl!" "why?" she asked laughing,--such a delicious little low laugh--"because i tell you the truth? you _are_ young and you _are_ good-looking! millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. fortune, while giving them money, frequently deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. and now do tell me about your book!" she seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost confidential. her manner to me now was full of grace and charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became complete. the performance over, we all left the box together, and as lucio was still apparently engrossed with lord elton i had the satisfaction of escorting lady sibyl to her carriage. when her father joined her, lucio and i both stood together looking in at the window of the brougham, and the earl, getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous friendliness. "come and dine,--come and dine!" he spluttered excitedly; "come--let me see,--this is tuesday--come on thursday. short notice and no ceremony! my wife is paralysed i'm sorry to say,--she can't receive,--she can only see a few people now and then when she is in the humour,--her sister keeps house and does the honours,--aunt charlotte, eh sibyl?--ha-ha-ha! the deceased wife's sister's bill would never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die i shouldn't be anxious to marry miss charlotte fitzroy! ha ha ha! a perfectly unapproachable woman sir!--a model,--ha ha! come and dine with us, mr tempest,--lucio, you bring him along with you, eh? we've got a young lady staying with us,--an american, dollars, accent and all,--and by jove i believe she wants to marry me ha ha ha! and is waiting for lady elton to go to a better world first, ha ha! come along--come and see the little american, eh? thursday shall it be?" over the fair features of lady sibyl there passed a faint shadow of annoyance at her father's allusion to the "little american," but she said nothing. only her looks appeared to question our intentions as well as to persuade our wills, and she seemed satisfied when we both accepted the invitation given. another apoplectic chuckle from the earl and a couple of handshakes,--a slight graceful bow from her lovely ladyship, as we raised our hats in farewell, and the elton equipage rolled away, leaving us to enter our own vehicle, which amid the officious roarings of street-boys and policemen had just managed to draw up in front of the theatre. as we drove off, lucio peered inquisitively at me--i could see the steely glitter of his fine eyes in the semi-darkness of the brougham,--and said-- "well?" i was silent. "don't you admire her?" he went on--"i must confess she is cold,--a very chilly vestal indeed,--but snow often covers volcanoes! she has good features, and a naturally clear complexion." despite my intention to be reticent, i could not endure this tame description. "she is perfectly beautiful,"--i said emphatically. "the dullest eyes must see that. there is not a fault to be found with her. and she is wise to be reserved and cold--were she too lavish of her smiles and too seductive in manner, she might drive many men not only into folly, but madness." i felt rather than saw the cat-like glance he flashed upon me. "positively, geoffrey, i believe that notwithstanding the fact that we are only in february, the wind blows upon you due south, bringing with it odours of rose and orange-blossom! i fancy lady sibyl has powerfully impressed you?" "did you wish me to be impressed?" i asked. "i? my dear fellow, i wish nothing that you yourself do not wish. i accommodate my ways to my friends' humours. if asked for my opinion i should say it is rather a pity if you are really smitten with the young lady, as there are no obstacles to be encountered. a love-affair, to be conducted with spirit and enterprise should always bristle with opposition and difficulty, real or invented. a little secrecy and a good deal of wrong-doing, such as sly assignations and the telling of any amount of lies--such things add to the agreeableness of love-making on this planet--" i interrupted him. "see here, lucio, you are very fond of alluding to 'this' planet as if you knew anything about other planets"--i said impatiently. "_this_ planet, as you somewhat contemptuously call it, is the only one _we_ have any business with." he bent his piercing looks so ardently upon me that for the moment i was startled. "if that is so," he answered, "why in heaven's name do you not let the other planets alone? why do you strive to fathom their mysteries and movements? if men, as you say, have no business with any planet save this one why are they ever on the alert to discover the secret of mightier worlds,--a secret which haply it may some day terrify them to know!" the solemnity of his voice and the inspired expression of his face awed me. i had no reply ready, and he went on-- "do not let us talk, my friend, of planets, not even of this particular pin's point among them known as earth. let us return to a better subject--the lady sibyl. as i have already said, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. geoffrey tempest, as mere author of books would indeed be insolent to aspire to the hand of an earl's daughter, but geoffrey tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. poor lord elton's affairs are in a bad way--he is almost out-at-elbows;--the american woman who is boarding with him----" "boarding with him!" i exclaimed--"surely he does not keep a boarding-house?" lucio laughed heartily. "no, no!--you must not put it so coarsely, geoffrey. it is simply this, that the earl and countess of elton give the prestige of their home and protection to miss diana chesney (the american aforesaid) for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum. the countess being paralyzed, is obliged to hand over her duties of chaperonage to her sister miss charlotte fitzroy,--but the halo of the coronet still hovers over miss chesney's brow. she has her own suite of rooms in the house, and goes wherever it is proper for her to go, under miss fitzroy's care. lady sibyl does not like the arrangement, and is therefore never seen anywhere except with her father. she will not join in companionship with miss chesney, and has said so pretty plainly." "i admire her for it!" i said warmly--"i really am surprised that lord elton should condescend----" "condescend to what?" inquired lucio--"condescend to take two thousand guineas a year? good heavens man, there are no end of lords and ladies who will readily agree to perform such an act of condescension. 'blue' blood is getting thin and poor, and only money can thicken it. diana chesney is worth over a million dollars and if lady elton were to die conveniently soon, i should not be surprised to see that 'little american' step triumphantly into her vacant place." "what a state of topsy-turveydom!" i said, half angrily. "geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! is there a more flagrant example of topsy-turveydom than yourself for instance? six weeks ago, what were you? a mere scribbler, with flutterings of the wings of genius in your soul, but many uncertainties as to whether those wings would ever be strong enough to lift you out of the rut of obscurity in which you floundered, struggling and grumbling at adverse fate. now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an earl, because he ventures quite legitimately to add a little to his income by boarding an american heiress and launching her into society where she would never get without him. and you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of the earl's daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of kings. nothing can be more topsy-turvey than _your_ condition!" "my father was a gentleman," i said, with a touch of hauteur, "and a descendant of gentlemen. we were never common folk,--our family was one of the most highly esteemed in the counties." lucio smiled. "i do not doubt it, my dear fellow,--i do not in the least doubt it. but a simple 'gentleman' is a long way below--or above--an earl. have it which side you choose!--because it really doesn't matter nowadays. we have come to a period of history when rank and lineage count as nothing at all, owing to the profoundly obtuse stupidity of those who happen to possess it. so it chances, that as no resistance is made, brewers are created peers of the realm, and ordinary tradesmen are knighted, and the very old families are so poor that they have to sell their estates and jewels to the highest bidder, who is frequently a vulgar 'railway-king' or the introducer of some new manure. you occupy a better position than such, since you inherit your money with the farther satisfaction that you do not know how it was made." "true!" i answered meditatively,--then, with a sudden flash of recollection i added--"by the way i never told you that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material result!" lucio burst into a violent fit of laughter. "no! not possible!" he exclaimed derisively--"what an idea! i suppose he had a screw loose somewhere! imagine any sane man believing in a devil! ha, ha, ha! and in these advanced days too! well, well! the folly of human imaginations will never end! here we are!"--and he sprang lightly out as the brougham stopped at the grand hotel--"i will say good-night to you, tempest. i've promised to go and have a gamble." "a gamble? where?" "at one of the select private clubs. there are any amount of them in this eminently moral metropolis--no occasion to go to monte carlo! will you come?" i hesitated. the fair face of lady sibyl haunted my mind,--and i felt, with a no doubt foolish sentimentality, that i would rather keep my thoughts of her sacred, and unpolluted by contact with things of lower tone. "not to-night;"--i said,--then half smiling, i added--"it must be rather a one-sided affair for other men to gamble with you, lucio! you can afford to lose,--and perhaps they can't." "if they can't, they shouldn't play,"--he answered--"a man should at least know his own mind and his own capacity; if he doesn't, he is no man at all. as far as i have learned by long experience, those who gamble like it, and when _they_ like it, _i_ like it. i'll take you with me to-morrow if you care to see the fun,--one or two very eminent men are members of the club, though of course they wouldn't have it known for worlds. you shan't lose much--i'll see to that." "all right,--to-morrow it shall be!"--i responded, for i did not wish to appear as though i grudged losing a few pounds at play--"but to-night i think i'll write some letters before going to bed." "yes--and dream of lady sibyl!" said lucio laughing--"if she fascinates you as much when you see her again on thursday you had better begin the siege!" he waved his hand gaily, and re-entering his carriage, was driven off at a furious pace through the drifting fog and rain. ix my publisher, john morgeson,--the estimable individual who had first refused my book, and who now, moved by self-interest, was devoting his energies assiduously to the business of launching it in the most modern and approved style, was not like shakespeare's _cassio_, strictly 'an honourable man.' neither was he the respectable chief of a long-established firm whose system of the cheating of authors, mellowed by time, had become almost sacred;--he was a 'new' man, with new ways, and a good stock of new push and impudence. all the same, he was clever, shrewd and diplomatic, and for some reason or other, had secured the favour of a certain portion of the press, many of the dailies and weeklies always giving special prominence to his publications over the heads of other far more legitimately dealing firms. he entered into a partial explanation of his methods, when, on the morning after my first meeting with the earl of elton and his daughter, i called upon him to inquire how things were going with regard to my book. "we shall publish next week,"--he said, rubbing his hands complacently, and addressing me with all the deference due to my banking account--"and as you don't mind what you spend, i'll tell you just what i propose to do. i intend to write out a mystifying paragraph of about some seventy lines or so, describing the book in a vague sort of way as '_likely to create a new era of thought_'--or, '_ere long everybody who is anybody will be compelled to read this remarkable work_,'--or '_as something that must be welcome to all who would understand the drift of one of the most delicate and burning questions of the time_.' these are all stock phrases, used over and over again by the reviewers,--there's no copyright in them. and the last one always 'tells' wonderfully, considering how old it is, and how often it has been made to do duty, because any allusion to a '_delicate and burning question_' makes a number of people think the novel must be improper, and they send for it at once!" he chuckled at his own perspicuity, and i sat silent, studying him with much inward amusement. this man on whose decision i had humbly and anxiously waited not so many weeks ago was now my paid tool,--ready to obey me to any possible extent for so much cash,--and i listened to him indulgently while he went on unravelling his schemes for the gratification of _my_ vanity, and the pocketing of _his_ extras. "the book has been splendidly advertised"--he went on; "it could not have been more lavishly done. orders do not come in very fast yet--but they will,--they will. this paragraph of mine, which will take the shape of a 'leaderette,' i can get inserted in about eight hundred to a thousand newspapers here and in america. it will cost you,--say a hundred guineas--perhaps a trifle more. do you mind that?" "not in the least!" i replied, still vastly amused. he meditated a moment,--then drew his chair closer to mine and lowered his voice a little. "you understand i suppose, that i shall only issue two hundred and fifty copies at first?" this limited number seemed to me absurd, and i protested vehemently. "such an idea is ridiculous!" i said--"you cannot supply the trade with such a scanty edition." "wait, my dear sir, wait,--you are too impatient. you do not give me time to explain. all these two hundred and fifty will be _given away_ by me in the proper quarters on the day of publication,--never mind how,--they _must_ be given away--" "why?" "why?" and the worthy morgeson laughed sweetly--"i see, my dear mr tempest, you are like most men of genius--you do not understand business. the reason why we give the first two hundred and fifty copies away is in order to be able to announce at once in all the papers that '_the first large edition of the new novel by geoffrey tempest being exhausted on the day of publication, a second is in rapid preparation_.' you see we thus hoodwink the public, who of course are not in our secrets, and are not to know whether an edition is two hundred or two thousand. the second edition will of course be ready behind the scenes, and will consist of another two hundred and fifty." "do you call that course of procedure honest?" i asked quietly. "honest? my dear sir! honest?" and his countenance wore a virtuously injured expression--"of course it is honest! look at the daily papers! such announcements appear every day--in fact they are getting rather too common. i freely admit that there are a few publishers here and there who stick up for exactitude and go to the trouble of not only giving the number of copies in an edition, but also publishing the date of each one as it was issued,--this may be principle if they like to call it so, but it involves a great deal of precise calculation and worry! if the public like to be deceived, what is the use of being exact! now, to resume,--your second edition will be sent off 'on sale or return' to provincial booksellers, and then we shall announce--"in consequence of the enormous demand for the new novel by geoffrey tempest, the large second edition is out of print. a third will be issued in the course of next week." and so on, and so on, till we get to the sixth or seventh edition (always numbering two hundred and fifty each) in three volumes; perhaps we can by skilful management work it to a tenth. it is only a question of diplomacy and a little dexterous humbugging of the trade. then we shall arrive at the one-volume issue, which will require different handling. but there's time enough for that. the frequent advertisements will add to the expense a bit, but if you don't mind--" "i don't mind anything," i said--"so long as i have my fun." "your fun?" he queried surprisedly--"i thought it was fame you wanted, more than fun!" i laughed aloud. "i'm not such a fool as to suppose that fame is secured by advertisement," i said--"for instance i am one of those who think the fame of millais as an artist was marred when he degraded himself to the level of painting the little green boy blowing bubbles of pears's soap. that was an advertisement. and that very incident in his career, trifling though it seems, will prevent his ever standing on the same dignified height of distinction with such masters in art as romney, sir peter lely, gainsborough or reynolds." "i believe there is a great deal of justice in what you say;" and morgeson shook his head wisely--"viewed from a purely artistic and sentimental standpoint you are right." and he became suddenly downcast and dubious. "yes,--it is a most extraordinary thing how fame does escape people sometimes just when they seem on the point of grasping it. they are 'boomed' in every imaginable way, and yet after a time nothing will keep them up. and there are others again who get kicked and buffeted and mocked and derided----" "like christ?" i interposed with a half smile. he looked shocked,--he was a non-conformist,--but remembering in time how rich i was, he bowed with a meek patience. "yes"--and he sighed--"as you suggest, mr tempest, like christ. mocked and derided and opposed at every turn,--and yet by the queerest caprice of destiny, they succeed in winning a world-wide fame and power----" "like christ again!" i said mischievously, for i loved to jar his non-conformist conscience. "exactly!" he paused, looking piously down. then with a return of secular animation he added--"but i was not thinking of the great example just then, mr tempest--i was thinking of a woman." "indeed!" i said indifferently. "yes--a woman, who despite continued abuse and opposition is rapidly becoming celebrated. you are sure to hear of her in literary and social circles"--and he gave me a furtive glance of doubtful inquiry--"but she is not rich, you know,--only famous. however,--we have nothing to do with her just now--so let us return to business. the one uncertain point in the matter of your book's success is the attitude of the critics. there are only six leading men who do the reviews, and between them they cover all the english magazines and some of the american too, as well as the london papers. here are their names"--and he handed me a pencilled memorandum,--"and their addresses, as far as i can ascertain them, or the addresses of the papers for which they most frequently write. the man at the head of the list, david mcwhing, is the most formidable of the lot. he writes everywhere about everything,--being a scotchman he's bound to have his finger in every pie. if you can secure mcwhing, you need not trouble so much about the others, as he generally gives the 'lead,' and has his own way with the editors. he is one of the 'personal friends' of the editor of the _nineteenth century_ for example, and you would be sure to get a notice there, which would otherwise be impossible. no reviewer _can_ review anything for that magazine unless he _is_ one of the editor's friends.[ ] you must manage mcwhing, or he might, just for the sake of 'showing off,' cut you up rather roughly." "that would not matter," i said, diverted at the idea of 'managing mcwhing,'--"a little slating always helps a book to sell." "in some cases it does,"--and morgeson stroked his thin beard perplexedly--"but in others it most emphatically does _not_. where there is any very decided or daring originality, adverse criticism is always the most effective. but a work like yours requires fostering with favour,--wants 'booming' in short----" "i see!" and i felt distinctly annoyed--"you don't think my book original enough to stand alone?" "my dear sir!--you are really--really--! what shall i say?" and he smiled apologetically--"a little brusque? i think your book shows admirable scholarship and delicacy of thought,--if i find fault with it at all, it is perhaps because i am dense. the only thing it lacks in my opinion is what i should call _tenaciousness_, for want of a better expression,--the quality of holding the reader's fancy fixed like a nail. but after all this is a common failing of modern literature; few authors feel sufficiently themselves to make others feel." i made no reply for a moment. i was thinking of lucio's remarks on this very same subject. "well!" i said at last--"if i had no feeling when i wrote the book, i certainly have none now. why man, i felt every line of it!--painfully and intensely!" "ay, ay indeed!" said morgeson soothingly--"or perhaps you _thought_ you felt, which is another very curious phase of the literary temperament. you see, to convince people at all, you must first yourself be convinced. the result of this is generally a singular magnetic attraction between author and public. however i am a bad hand at argument,--and it is possible that in hasty reading i may have gathered a wrong impression of your intentions. anyhow the book shall be a success if we can make it so. all i venture to ask of you is that you should personally endeavour to manage mcwhing!" i promised to do my best, and on this understanding we parted. i realised that morgeson was capable of greater discernment than i had imagined, and his observations had given me material for thought which was not altogether agreeable. for if my book, as he said, lacked tenacity, why then it would not take root in the public mind,--it would be merely the ephemeral success of a season,--one of those brief 'booms' in literary wares for which i had such unmitigated contempt,--and fame would be as far off as ever, except that spurious imitation of it which the fact of my millions had secured. i was in no good humour that afternoon, and lucio saw it. he soon elicited the sum and substance of my interview with morgeson, and laughed long and somewhat uproariously over the proposed 'managing' of the redoubtable mcwhing. he glanced at the five names of the other leading critics and shrugged his shoulders. "morgeson is quite right,"--he said--"mcwhing is intimate with the rest of these fellows--they meet at the same clubs, dine at the same cheap restaurants and make love to the same painted ballet-girls. all in a comfortable little fraternal union together, and one obliges the other on their several journals when occasion offers. oh yes! i should make up to mcwhing if i were you." "but how?" i demanded, for though i knew mcwhing's name well enough having seen it signed _ad nauseam_ to literary articles in almost every paper extant, i had never met the man; "i cannot ask any favour of a press critic." "of course not!" and lucio laughed heartily again--"if you were to do such an idiotic thing what a slating you'd get for your pains! there's no sport a critic loves so much as the flaying of an author who has made the mistake of lowering himself to the level of asking favours of his intellectual inferiors! no, no, my dear fellow!--we shall manage mcwhing quite differently,--_i_ know him, though you do not." "come, that's good news!" i exclaimed--"upon my word lucio, you seem to know everybody." "i think i know most people worth knowing--" responded lucio quietly--"though i by no means include mr mcwhing in the category of worthiness. i happened to make his personal acquaintance in a somewhat singular and exciting manner. it was in switzerland, on that awkward ledge of rock known as the mauvais pas. i had been some weeks in the neighbourhood on business of my own, and being surefooted and fearless, was frequently allowed by the guides to volunteer my services with theirs. in this capacity of amateur guide, capricious destiny gave me the pleasure of escorting the timid and bilious mcwhing across the chasms of the mer de glace, and i conversed with him in the choicest french all the while, a language of which, despite his boasted erudition, he was deplorably ignorant. i knew who he was i must tell you, as i know most of his craft, and had long been aware of him as one of the authorised murderers of aspiring genius. when i got him on the mauvais pas, i saw that he was seized with vertigo; i held him firmly by the arm and addressed him in sound strong english thus--'mr mcwhing, you wrote a damnable and scurrilous article against the work of a certain poet' and i named the man--'an article that was a tissue of lies from beginning to end, and which by its cruelty and venom embittered a life of brilliant promise, and crushed a noble spirit. now, unless you promise to write and publish in a leading magazine a total recantation of this your crime when you get back to england,--_if_ you get back!--giving that wronged man the 'honourable mention' he rightly deserves,--down you go! i have but to loosen my hold!' geoffrey, you should have seen mcwhing then! he whined, he wriggled, he clung! never was an oracle of the press in such an unoracular condition. 'murder!--murder!' he gasped, but his voice failed him. above him towered the snow peaks like the summits of that fame he could not reach and therefore grudged to others,--below him the glittering ice-waves yawned in deep transparent hollows of opaline blue and green,--and afar off the tinkling cowbells echoed through the still air, suggestive of safe green pastures and happy homes. 'murder!' he whispered gurglingly. 'nay!' said i, ''tis i should cry murder!--for if ever an arresting hand held a murderer, mine holds one now! your system of slaying is worse than that of the midnight assassin, for the assassin can but kill the body,--_you_ strive to kill the soul. you cannot succeed, 'tis true, but the mere attempt is devilish. no shouts, no struggles will serve you here,--we are alone with eternal nature,--give the man you have slandered his tardy recognition, or else, as i said before--down you go!' well, to make my story short, he yielded, and swore to do as i bade him,--whereupon placing my arm round him as though he were my tender twin-brother, i led him safely off the mauvais pas and down the kindlier hill, where, what with the fright and the remains of vertigo, he fell a'weeping grievously. would you believe it, that before we reached chamounix we had become the best friends in the world? he explained himself and his rascally modes of action, and i nobly exonerated him,--we exchanged cards,--and when we parted, this same author's bug-bear mcwhing, overcome with sentiment and whisky toddy (he is a scotchman you know) swore that i was the grandest fellow in the world, and that if ever he could serve me he would. he knew my princely title by this time, but he would have given me a still higher name. 'you are not--_hic_--a poet yourself?' he murmured, leaning on me fondly as he rolled to bed. i told him no. 'i am sorry--very!' he declared, the tears of whisky rising to his eyes, 'if you had been i would have done a great thing for you,--i would have boomed you,--_for nothing_!' i left him snoring nobly, and saw him no more. but i think he'll recognize me, geoffrey;--i'll go and look him up personally. by all the gods!--if he had only known who held him between life and death upon the mauvais pas!" i stared, puzzled. "but he did know"--i said--"did you not say you exchanged cards?" "true, but that was afterwards!" and lucio laughed; "i assure you, my dear fellow, we can 'manage' mcwhing!" i was intensely interested in the story as he told it,--he had such a dramatic way of speaking and looking, while his very gestures brought the whole scene vividly before me like a picture. i spoke out my thought impulsively. "you would certainly have made a superb actor, lucio!" "how do you know i am not one?" he asked with a flashing glance, then he added quickly--"no,--there is no occasion to paint the face and prance over the boards before a row of tawdry footlights like the paid mimes, in order to be histrionically great. the finest actor is he who can play the comedy of life perfectly, as i aspire to do. to walk well, talk well, smile well, weep well, groan well, laugh well--and die well!--it is all pure acting,--because in every man there is the dumb dreadful immortal spirit who is real,--who cannot act,--who is,--and who steadily maintains an infinite though speechless protest against the body's lie!" i said nothing in answer to this outburst,--i was beginning to be used to his shifting humours and strange utterances,--they increased the mysterious attraction i had for him, and made his character a perpetual riddle to me which was not without its subtle charm. every now and then i realized, with a faintly startled sense of self-abasement, that i was completely under his dominance,--that my life was being entirely guided by his control and suggestion,--but i argued with myself that surely it was well it should be so, seeing he had so much more experience and influence than i. we dined together that night as we often did, and our conversation was entirely taken up with monetary and business concerns. under lucio's advice i was making several important investments, and these matters gave us ample subject for discussion. at about eleven o'clock, it being a fine frosty evening and fit for brisk walking, we went out, our destination being the private gambling club to which my companion had volunteered to introduce me as a guest. it was situated at the end of a mysterious little back street, not far from the respectable precincts of pall-mall, and was an unpretentious looking house enough outside, but within, it was sumptuously though tastelessly furnished. apparently, the premises were presided over by a woman,--a woman with painted eyes and dyed hair who received us first of all within the lamp-lighted splendours of an anglo-japanese drawing-room. her looks and manner undisguisedly proclaimed her as a _demi-mondaine_ of the most pronounced type,--one of those 'pure' ladies with a 'past' who are represented as such martyrs to the vices of men. lucio said something to her apart,--whereupon she glanced at me deferentially and smiled,--then rang the bell. a discreet looking man-servant in sober black made his appearance, and at a slight sign from his mistress who bowed to me as i passed her, proceeded to show us upstairs. we trod on a carpet of the softest felt,--in fact i noticed that everything was rendered as noiseless as possible in this establishment, the very doors being covered with thick baize and swinging on silent hinges. on the upper landing, the servant knocked very cautiously at a side-door,--a key turned in the lock, and we were admitted into a long double room, very brilliantly lit with electric lamps, which at a first glance seemed crowded with men playing at _rouge et noir_ and _baccarat_. some looked up as lucio entered and nodded smilingly,--others glanced inquisitively at me, but our entrance was otherwise scarcely noticed. lucio drawing me along by the arm, sat down to watch the play,--i followed his example and presently found myself infected by the intense excitement which permeated the room like the silent tension of the air before a thunderstorm. i recognised the faces of many well known public men,--men eminent in politics and society whom one would never have imagined capable of supporting a gambling club by their presence and authority. but i took care to betray no sign of surprise, and quietly observed the games and the gamesters with almost as impassive a demeanour as that of my companion. i was prepared to play and to lose,--i was not prepared however for the strange scene which was soon to occur and in which i, by force of circumstances was compelled to take a leading part. [ ] the author has mr knowles's own written authority for this fact. x as soon as the immediate game we were watching was finished, the players rose, and greeted lucio with a good deal of eagerness and effusion. i instinctively guessed from their manner that they looked upon him as an influential member of the club, a person likely to lend them money to gamble with, and otherwise to oblige them in various ways, financially speaking. he introduced me to them all, and i was not slow to perceive the effect my name had upon most of them. i was asked if i would join in a game of baccarat, and i readily consented. the stakes were ruinously high, but i had no need to falter for that. one of the players near me was a fair-haired young man, handsome in face and of aristocratic bearing,--he had been introduced to me as viscount lynton. i noticed him particularly on account of the reckless way he had of doubling his stakes suddenly and apparently out of mere bravado, and when he lost, as he mostly did, he laughed uproariously as though he were drunk or delirious. on first beginning to play i was entirely indifferent as to the results of the game, caring nothing at all as to whether i had losses or gains. lucio did not join us, but sat apart, quietly observant, and watching me, so i fancied, more than anyone. and as chance would have it, all the luck came my way, and i won steadily. the more i won the more excited i became, till presently my humour changed and i was seized by a whimsical desire to lose. i suppose it was the touch of some better impulse in my nature that made me wish this for young lynton's sake. for he seemed literally maddened by my constant winnings, and continued his foolhardy and desperate play,--his young face grew drawn and sharply thin, and his eyes glittered with a hungry feverishness. the other gamesters, though sharing in his run of ill-luck, seemed better able to stand it, or perhaps they concealed their feelings more cleverly,--anyhow i know i caught myself very earnestly wishing that this devil's luck of mine would desert me and set in the young viscount's direction. but my wishes were no use,--again and again i gathered up the stakes, till at last the players rose, viscount lynton among them. "well, i'm cleaned out!" he said, with a loud forced laugh. "you must give me my chance of a _revanche_ to-morrow, mr tempest!" i bowed. "with pleasure!" he called a waiter at the end of the room to bring him a brandy and soda, and meanwhile i was surrounded by the rest of the men, all of them repeating the viscount's suggestion of a 'revanche,' and strenuously urging upon me the necessity of returning to the club the next night in order to give them an opportunity of winning back what they had lost. i readily agreed, and while we were in the midst of talk, lucio suddenly addressed young lynton. "will you make up another game with me?" he inquired. "i'll start the bank with this,"--and he placed two crisp notes of five hundred pounds each on the table. there was a moment's silence. the viscount was thirstily drinking his brandy-and-soda, and glanced over the rim of his tall tumbler at the notes with covetous bloodshot eyes,--then he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "i can't stake anything," he said; "i've already told you i'm cleaned out,--'stony-broke,' as the slang goes. it's no use my joining." "sit down, sit down, lynton!" urged one man near him. "i'll lend you enough to go on with." "thanks, i'd rather not!" he returned, flushing a little. "i'm too much in your debt already. awfully good of you all the same. you go on, you fellows, and i'll watch the play." "let me persuade you viscount lynton," said lucio, looking at him with his dazzling inscrutable smile--"just for the fun of the thing! if you do not feel justified in staking money, stake something trifling and merely nominal, for the sake of seeing whether the luck will turn"--and here he took up a counter--"this frequently represents fifty pounds,--let it represent for once something that is not valuable like money,--your soul, for example!" a burst of laughter broke from all the men. lucio laughed softly with them. "we all have, i hope, enough instruction in modern science to be aware that there is no such thing as a soul in existence"--he continued. "therefore, in proposing it as a stake for this game at baccarat, i really propose less than one hair of your head, because the hair is a something, and the soul is a nothing! come! will you risk that non-existent quantity for the chance of winning a thousand pounds?" the viscount drained off the last drop of brandy, and turned upon us, his eyes flushing mingled derision and defiance. "done!" he exclaimed; whereupon the party sat down. the game was brief,--and in its rapid excitement, almost breathless. six or seven minutes sufficed, and lucio rose, the winner. he smiled as he pointed to the counter which had represented viscount lynton's last stake. "i have won!" he said quietly. "but you owe me nothing, my dear viscount, inasmuch as you risked--nothing! we played this game simply for fun. if souls had any existence of course i should claim yours;--i wonder what i should do with it by the way!" he laughed good-humouredly. "what nonsense, isn't it!--and how thankful we ought to be that we live in advanced days like the present, when such silly superstitions are being swept aside by the march of progress and pure reason! good-night! tempest and i will give you, your full revenge to-morrow,--the luck is sure to change by then, and you will probably have the victory. again--good-night!" he held out his hand,--there was a peculiar melting tenderness in his brilliant dark eyes,--an impressive kindness in his manner. something--i could not tell what--held us all for the moment spellbound as if by enchantment, and several of the players at other tables, hearing of the eccentric stake that had been wagered and lost, looked over at us curiously from a distance. viscount lynton, however, professed himself immensely diverted, and shook lucio's proffered hand heartily. "you are an awfully good fellow!" he said, speaking a little thickly and hurriedly--"and i assure you seriously if i had a soul i should be very glad to part with it for a thousand pounds at the present moment. the soul wouldn't be an atom of use to me and the thousand pounds would. but i feel convinced i shall win to-morrow!" "i am equally sure you will!" returned lucio affably, "in the meantime, you will not find my friend here, geoffrey tempest, a hard creditor,--he can afford to wait. but in the case of the lost soul,"--here he paused, looking straight into the young man's eyes,--"of course _i_ cannot afford to wait!" the viscount smiled vaguely at this pleasantry, and almost immediately afterwards left the club. as soon as the door had closed behind him, several of the gamesters exchanged sententious nods and glances. "ruined!" said one of them in a _sotto-voce_. "his gambling debts are more than he can ever pay"--added another--"and i hear he has lost a clear fifty thousand on the turf." these remarks were made indifferently, as though one should talk of the weather,--no sympathy was expressed,--no pity wasted. every gambler there was selfish to the core, and as i studied their hardened faces, a thrill of honest indignation moved me,--indignation mingled with shame. i was not yet altogether callous or cruel-hearted, though as i look back upon those days which now resemble a wild vision rather than a reality, i know that i was becoming more and more of a brutal egoist with every hour i lived. still i was so far then from being utterly vile, that i inwardly resolved to write to viscount lynton that very evening, and tell him to consider his debt to me cancelled, as i should refuse to claim it. while this thought was passing through my mind, i met lucio's gaze fixed steadily upon me. he smiled,--and presently signed to me to accompany him. in a few minutes we had left the club, and were out in the cold night air under a heaven of frostily sparkling stars. standing still for a moment, my companion laid his hand on my shoulder. "tempest, if you are going to be kind-hearted or sympathetic to undeserving rascals, i shall have to part company with you!" he said, with a curious mixture of satire and seriousness in his voice--"i see by the expression of your face that you are meditating some silly disinterested action of pure generosity. now you might just as well flop down on these paving stones and begin saying prayers in public. you want to let lynton off his debt,--you are a fool for your pains. he is a born scoundrel,--and has never seen his way to being anything else,--why should you compassionate him? from the time he first went to college till now, he has been doing nothing but live a life of degraded sensuality,--he is a worthless rake, less to be respected than an honest dog!" "yet some one loves him i daresay!" i said. "some one loves him!" echoed lucio with inimitable disdain--"bah! three ballet girls live on him if that is what you mean. his mother loved him,--but she is dead,--he broke her heart. he is no good i tell you,--let him pay his debt in full, even to the soul he staked so lightly. if i were the devil now, and had just won the strange game we played to-night, i suppose according to priestly tradition, i should be piling up the fire for lynton in high glee,--but being what i am, i say let the man alone to make his own destiny,--let things take their course,--and as he chose to risk everything, so let him pay everything." we were by this time walking slowly into pall mall,--i was on the point of making some reply, when catching sight of a man's figure on the opposite side of the way, not far from the marlborough club, i uttered an involuntary exclamation. "why there he is!" i said--"there is viscount lynton!" lucio's hand closed tightly on my arm. "you don't want to speak to him now, surely!" "no. but i wonder where he's going? he walks rather unsteadily." "drunk, most probably!" and lucio's face presented the same relentless expression of scorn i had so often seen and marvelled at. we paused a moment, watching the viscount strolling aimlessly up and down in front of the clubs,--till all at once he seemed to come to a sudden resolution, and stopping short, he shouted, "hansom!" a silent-wheeled smart vehicle came bowling up immediately. giving some order to the driver, he jumped in. the cab approached swiftly in our direction,--just as it passed us the loud report of a pistol crashed on the silence. "good god!" i cried reeling back a step or two--"he has shot himself!" the hansom stopped,--the driver sprang down,--club-porters, waiters, policemen and no end of people starting up from heaven knows where, were on the scene on an instant,--i rushed forward to join the rapidly gathering throng, but before i could do so, lucio's strong arm was thrown round me, and he dragged me by main force away. "keep cool, geoffrey!" he said--"do you want to be called up to identify? and betray the club and all its members? not while i am here to prevent you! check your mad impulses, my good fellow,--they will lead you into no end of difficulties. if the man's dead he's dead, and there's an end of it." "lucio! you have no heart!" i exclaimed, struggling violently to escape from his hold--"how can you stop to reason in such a case! think of it! _i_ am the cause of all the mischief!--it is my cursed luck at baccarat this evening that has been the final blow to the wretched young fellow's fortunes,--i am convinced of it!--i shall never forgive myself--" "upon my word, geoffrey, your conscience is very tender!" he answered, holding my arm still more closely and hurrying me away despite myself--"you must try and toughen it a little if you want to be successful in life. your 'cursed luck' you think, has caused lynton's death? surely it is a contradiction in terms to call luck 'cursed,'--and as for the viscount, he did not need that last game at baccarat to emphasise his ruin. you are not to blame. and for the sake of the club, if for nothing else, i do not intend either you or myself to be mixed up in a case of suicide. the coroner's verdict always disposes of these incidents comfortably in two words--'temporary insanity.'" i shuddered. my soul sickened as i thought that within a few yards of us was the bleeding corpse of the man i had so lately seen alive and spoken with,--and notwithstanding lucio's words i felt as if i had murdered him. "'temporary insanity'"--repeated lucio again, as if speaking to himself--"all remorse, despair, outraged honour, wasted love, together with the scientific modern theory of reasonable nothingness--life a nothing, god a nothing,--when these drive the distracted human unit to make of himself also a nothing, 'temporary insanity' covers up his plunge into the infinite with an untruthful pleasantness. however, after all, it is as shakespeare says, a mad world!" i made no answer. i was too overcome by my own miserable sensations. i walked along almost unconscious of movement, and as i stared bewilderedly up at the stars they danced before my sight like fireflies whirling in a mist of miasma. presently a faint hope occurred to me. "perhaps," i said, "he has not really killed himself? it may be only an attempt?" "he was a capital shot"--returned lucio composedly,--"that was his one quality. he has no principles,--but he was a good marksman. i cannot imagine his missing aim." "it is horrible! an hour ago alive, ... and now ... i tell you, lucio, it is horrible!" "what is? death? it is not half so horrible as life lived wrongly,"--he responded, with a gravity that impressed me in spite of my emotion and excitement--"believe me, the mental sickness and confusion of a wilfully degraded existence are worse tortures than are contained in the priestly notions of hell. come come, geoffrey, you take this matter too much to heart,--you are not to blame. if lynton has given himself the 'happy dispatch' it is really the best thing he could do,--he was of no use to anybody, and he is well out of it. it is positively weak of you to attach importance to such a trifle. you are only at the beginning of your career----" "well, i hope that career will not lead me into any more such tragedies as the one enacted to-night,"--i said passionately--"if it does, it will be entirely against my will!" lucio looked at me curiously. "nothing can happen to you against your will"--he replied; "i suppose you wish to imply that i am to blame for introducing you to the club? my good fellow, you need not have gone there unless you had chosen to do so! i did not bind and drag you there! you are upset and unnerved,--come into my room and take a glass of wine,--you will feel more of a man afterwards." we had by this time reached the hotel, and i went with him passively. with equal passiveness i drank what he gave me, and stood, glass in hand, watching him with a kind of morbid fascination as he threw off his fur-lined overcoat and confronted me, his pale handsome face strangely set and stern, and his dark eyes glittering like cold steel. "that last stake of lynton's, ... to you--" i said falteringly--"his soul----" "which _he_ did not believe in, and which _you_ do not believe in!" returned lucio, regarding me fixedly. "why do you now seem to tremble at a mere sentimental idea? if fantastic notions such as god, the soul, and the devil were real facts, there would perhaps be cause for trembling, but being only the brainsick imaginations of superstitious mankind, there is nothing in them to awaken the slightest anxiety or fear." "but you"--i began--"you say you believe in the soul?" "i? i am brainsick!" and he laughed bitterly--"have you not found that out yet? much learning hath driven me mad, my friend! science has led me into such deep wells of dark discovery, that it is no wonder if my senses sometimes reel,--and i believe--at such insane moments--in the soul!" i sighed heavily. "i think i will go to bed," i answered. "i am tired out,--and absolutely miserable!" "alas, poor millionaire!" said lucio gently,--"i am sorry, i assure you, that the evening has ended so disastrously." "so am i!" i returned despondently. "imagine it!" he went on, dreamily regarding me--"if my beliefs,--my crack-brained theories,--were worth anything,--which they are not--i could claim the only positive existing part of our late acquaintance viscount lynton! but,--where and how to send in my account with him? if i were satan now...." i forced a faint smile. "you would have cause to rejoice!" i said. he moved two paces towards me, and laid his hands gently on my shoulders. "no, geoffrey"--and his rich voice had a strange soft music in it--"no, my friend! if i were satan i should probably lament!--for every lost soul would of necessity remind me of my own fall, my own despair,--and set another bar between myself and heaven! remember,--the very devil was an angel once!" his eyes smiled, and yet i could have sworn there were tears in them. i wrung his hand hard,--i felt that notwithstanding his assumed coldness and cynicism, the fate of young lynton had affected him profoundly. my liking for him gained new fervour from this impression, and i went to bed more at ease with myself and things in general. during the few minutes i spent in undressing i became even able to contemplate the tragedy of the evening with less regret and greater calmness,--for it was certainly no use worrying over the irrevocable,--and, after all, what interest had the viscount's life for me? none. i began to ridicule myself for my own weakness and disinterested emotion,--and presently, being thoroughly fatigued, fell sound asleep. towards morning however, perhaps about four or five o'clock, i woke suddenly as though touched by an invisible hand. i was shivering violently, and my body was bathed in a cold perspiration. in the otherwise dark room there was something strangely luminous, like a cloud of white smoke or fire. i started up, rubbing my eyes,--and stared before me for a moment, doubting the evidence of my own senses. for, plainly visible and substantially distinct, at a distance of perhaps five paces from my bed, stood three figures, muffled in dark garments and closely hooded. so solemnly inert they were,--so heavily did their sable draperies fall about them that it was impossible to tell whether they were men or women,--but what paralysed me with amazement and terror was the strange light that played around and above them,--the spectral, wandering, chill radiance that illumined them like the rays of a faint wintry moon. i strove to cry out,--but my tongue refused to obey me--and my voice was strangled in my throat. the three remained absolutely motionless,--and again i rubbed my eyes, wondering if this were a dream or some hideous optical delusion. trembling in every limb, i stretched my hand towards the bell intending to ring violently for assistance,--when--a voice, low and thrilling with intense anguish, caused me to shrink back appalled, and my arm fell nerveless at my side. "_misery!_" the word struck the air with a harsh reproachful clang, and i nearly swooned with the horror of it. for now one of the figures moved, and a face gleamed out from beneath its hooded wrappings--a face white as whitest marble and fixed into such an expression of dreadful despair as froze my blood. then came a deep sigh that was more like a death-groan, and again the word, "_misery!_" shuddered upon the silence. mad with fear, and scarcely knowing what i did, i sprang from the bed, and began desperately to advance upon these fantastic masqueraders, determined to seize them and demand the meaning of this practical and untimely jest,--when suddenly all three lifted their heads and turned their faces on me,--such faces!--indescribably awful in their pallid agony,--and a whisper more ghastly than a shriek, penetrated the very fibres of my consciousness--"_misery!_" with a furious bound i flung myself upon them,--my hands struck _empty space_. yet there--distinct as ever--they stood, glowering down upon me, while my clenched fists beat impotently _through_ and _beyond_ their seemingly corporeal shapes! and then--all at once--i became aware of their eyes,--eyes that watched me pitilessly, stedfastly, and disdainfully,--eyes that like witch-fires, seemed to slowly burn terrific meanings into my very flesh and spirit. convulsed and almost frantic with the strain on my nerves, i abandoned myself to despair,--this awful sight meant death i thought,--my last hour had surely come! then--i saw the lips of one of those dreadful faces move ... some superhuman instinct in me leaped to life, ... in some strange way i thought i knew, or guessed the horror of what that next utterance would be, ... and with all my remaining force i cried out-- "no! no! not that eternal doom! ... not yet!" fighting the vacant air, i strove to beat back those intangible weird shapes that loomed above me, withering up my soul with the fixed stare of their angry eyes, and with a choking call for help, i fell, as it were, into a pit of darkness, where i lay mercifully unconscious. xi how the ensuing hours between this horrible episode and full morning elapsed i do not know. i was dead to all impressions. i woke at last, or rather recovered my senses to see the sunlight pouring pleasantly through the half-drawn curtains at my window, and to find myself in bed in as restful a position as though i had never left it. was it then merely a vision i had seen?--a ghastly sort of nightmare? if so, it was surely the most abhorrent illusion ever evolved from dreamland! it could not be a question of health, for i had never felt better in my life. i lay for some time quiescent, thinking over the matter, with my eyes fixed on that part of the room where those three shapes had seemingly stood; but i had lately got into such a habit of cool self-analysis, that by the time my valet brought my early cup of coffee, i had decided that the whole thing was a dreadful fantasy, born of my own imagination, which had no doubt been unduly excited by the affair of viscount lynton's suicide. i soon learned that there was no room left for doubt as to that unhappy young nobleman's actual death. a brief account of it was in the morning papers, though as the tragedy had occurred so late at night there were no details. a vague hint of 'money difficulties' was thrown out in one journal,--but beyond that, and the statement that the body had been conveyed to the mortuary there to await an inquest, there was nothing said, either personal or particular. i found lucio in the smoking-room, and it was he who first silently pointed out to me the short paragraph headed 'suicide of a viscount.' "i told you he was a good shot!" he commented. i nodded. somehow i had ceased to feel much interest in the subject. my emotion of the previous evening had apparently exhausted all my stock of sympathy and left me coldly indifferent. absorbed in myself and my own concerns, i sat down to talk and was not long before i had given a full and circumstantial account of the spectral illusion which had so unpleasantly troubled me during the night. lucio listened, smiling oddly. "that old tokay was evidently too strong for you!" he said, when i had concluded my story. "did you give me old tokay?" i responded laughing--"then the mystery is explained! i was already overwrought, and needed no stimulant. but what tricks the imagination plays us to be sure! you have no idea of the distinct manner in which those three phantoms asserted themselves! the impression was extraordinarily vivid." "no doubt!" and his dark eyes studied me curiously. "impressions often _are_ very vivid. see what a marvellously real impression this world makes upon us, for example!" "ah! but then the world _is_ real!" i answered. "is it? you accept it as such, i daresay, and things are as they appear to each separate individual. no two human beings think alike; hence there may be conflicting opinions as to the reality or non-reality of this present world. but we will not take unnecessary plunges into the infinite question of what _is_, as contrasted with what appears to be. i have some letters here for your consideration. you have lately spoken of buying a country estate--what say you to willowsmere court in warwickshire? i have had my eye on that place for you,--it seems to me just the very thing. it is a magnificent old pile; part of it dates from elizabeth's time. it is in excellent repair; the grounds are most picturesque, the classic river avon winds with rather a broad sweep through the park,--and the whole thing, with a great part of the furniture included, is to be sold for a mere song;--fifty thousand pounds cash. i think you had better go in for it; it would just suit your literary and poetic tastes." was it my fancy, or had his musical voice the faintest touch of a sneer as he uttered the last words? i would not allow myself to think this possible, and answered quickly,-- "anything _you_ recommend must be worth looking at, and i'll certainly go and see it. the description sounds well, and shakespeare's country always appeals to me. but wouldn't you like to secure it for yourself?" he laughed. "not i! i live nowhere for long. i am of a roving disposition, and am never happy tied down to one corner of the earth. but i suggest willowsmere to you for two reasons,--first that it is charming and perfectly appointed; secondly, that it will impress lord elton considerably if he knows you are going to buy it." "how so?" "why, because it used to be his property"--returned lucio quietly--"till he got into the hands of the jews. he gave them willowsmere as security for loans, and latterly they have stepped in as owners. they've sold most of the pictures, china, bric-a-brac and other valuables. by the way, have you noticed how the legended god still appears to protect the house of israel? particularly the 'base usurer' who is allowed to get the unhappy christian into his clutches nine times out of ten? and no remedy drops from heaven! the jew always triumphs. rather inconsistent isn't it, on the part of an equitable deity!" his eyes flashed strange scorn. anon he resumed--"as a result of lord elton's unfortunate speculations, and the jews' admirable shrewdness, willowsmere, as i tell you is in the market, and fifty thousand pounds will make you the envied owner of a place worth a hundred thousand." "we dine at the eltons' to-night, do we not?" i asked musingly. "we do. you cannot have forgotten that engagement and lady sibyl so soon surely!" he answered laughing. "no, i have not forgotten"--i said at last, after a little silence. "and i will buy this willowsmere. i will telegraph instructions to my lawyers at once. will you give me the name and address of the agents?" "with pleasure, my dear boy!" and lucio handed me a letter containing the particulars concerning the sale of the estate and other items. "but are you not making up your mind rather suddenly? hadn't you better inspect the property first? there may be things you object to----" "if it were a rat-infested barrack," i said resolutely--"i would still buy it! i shall settle the matter at once. i wish to let lord elton know this very night that i am the future owner of willowsmere!" "good!"--and my companion thrust his arm through mine as we left the smoking-room together--"i like your swiftness of action geoffrey. it is admirable! i always respect determination. even if a man makes up his mind to go to hell, i honour him for keeping to his word, and going there straight as a die!" i laughed, and we parted in high good-humour,--he to fulfil a club engagement, i to telegraph precise instructions to my legal friends messrs bentham and ellis, for the immediate purchase in my name at all costs, risks or inconveniences, of the estate known as willowsmere court in the county of warwick. that evening i dressed with more than common care, giving my man morris almost as much trouble as if i had been a fidgetty woman. he waited upon me however with exemplary patience, and only when i was quite ready did he venture to utter what had evidently been on his mind for some time. "excuse me sir,"--he then observed--"but i daresay you've noticed that there's something unpleasant-like about the prince's valet, amiel?" "well, he's rather a down-looking fellow if that's what you mean,"--i replied--"but i suppose there's no harm in him." "i don't know about that sir,"--answered morris severely; "he does a great many strange things i do assure you. downstairs with the servants he goes on something surprising. sings and acts and dances too, as if he were a whole music-hall." "really!" i exclaimed in surprise--"i should never have thought it." "nor should i sir, but it's a fact." "he must be rather an amusing fellow then,"--i continued, wondering that my man should take the accomplishments of amiel in such an injured manner. "oh, i don't say anything against his amusingness,"--and morris rubbed his nose with a doubtful air--"it's all very well for him to cut capers and make himself agreeable if he likes,--but it's the deceit of him that surprises me sir. you'd think to look at him that he was a decent sort of dull chap with no ideas beyond his duty, but really sir, it's quite the contrary, if you'll believe me. the language he uses when he's up to his games downstairs is something frightful! and he actually swears he learnt it from the gentlemen of the turf, sir! last night he was play acting, and taking off all the fashionable folks,--then he took to hypnotising--and upon my word it made my blood run cold." "why, what did he do?" i asked with some curiosity. "well, sir, he took one of the scullery-maids and sat her in a chair and just pointed at her. pointed at her and grinned, for all the world like a devil out of a pantomime. and though she is generally a respectable sober young woman, if she didn't get up with a screech and commence dancing round and round like a lunatic, while he kept on pointing. and presently she got to jumping and lifting her skirts that high that it was positively scandalous! some of us tried to stop her and couldn't; she was like mad, till all at once number twenty-two bell rang--that's the prince's room,--and he just caught hold of her, set her down in her chair again and clapped his hands. she came to directly, and didn't know a bit what she'd been doing. then twenty-two bell rang again, and the fellow rolled up his eyes like a clergyman and said, 'let us pray!' and off he went." i laughed. "he seems to have a share of humour at anyrate,"--i said; "i should not have thought it of him. but do you think these antics of his are mischievous?" "well that scullery girl is very ill to-day,"--replied morris; "i expect she'll have to leave. she has what she calls the 'jumps' and none of us dare tell her how she got them. no sir, believe me or not as you like, there's something very queer about that amiel. and another thing i want to know is this--what does he do with the other servants?" "what does he do with the other servants?" i repeated bewilderedly--"what on earth do you mean?" "well sir, the prince has a _chef_ of his own hasn't he?" said morris enumerating on his fingers--"and two personal attendants besides amiel,--quiet fellows enough who help in the waiting. then he has a coachman and groom. that makes six servants altogether. now none of these except amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. the _chef_ sends all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle--and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting at table, and they don't live in their own rooms all day, though they _may_ sleep there,--and nobody knows where the carriage and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom lodge. certain it is that both they and the _chef_ board out. it seems to me very mysterious." i began to feel quite unreasonably irritated. "look here, morris," i said--"there's nothing more useless or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people's affairs. the prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his servants--i am sure he pays royally for his privileges. and whether his cook lives in or out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter of mine. he has been a great traveller and no doubt has his peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very particular and fastidious. but i don't want to know anything about his ménage. if you dislike amiel, it's easy to avoid him, but for goodness sake don't go making mysteries where none exist." morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special care. i saw i had effectually checked his flow of confidence. "very well, sir,"--he observed, and said no more. i was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant's solemn account of amiel's peculiarities as exhibited among his own class,--and when we were driving to lord elton's that evening i told something of the story to lucio. he laughed. "amiel's spirits are often too much for him,"--he said--"he is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control himself." "why, what a wrong estimate i have formed of him!" i said--"i thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition." "you know the trite saying--appearances are deceptive?" went on my companion lightly--"it's extremely true. the professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. as for amiel, he is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. his only fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he serves me well, and i do not inquire further. is morris disgusted or alarmed?" "neither i think," i responded laughing--"he merely presents himself to me as an example of outraged respectability." "ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety;" said lucio--"very respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters! soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear geoffrey, and tell him that amiel is the very soul of virtue! i have had him in my service for a long time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. he does not pretend to be an angel. his tricks of speech and behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. he dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in india; i have often warned him of the danger there is in practising this force on the uninitiated. but--a scullery-maid!--heavens!--there are so many scullery-maids! one more or less with the 'jumps' will not matter. this is lord elton's." the carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a little back from park lane. we were admitted by a man-servant gorgeous in red plush, white silk hose and powdered wig, who passed us on majestically to his twin-brother in height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more disdainful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the air of one who should say "see to what ignominious degradation a cruel fate reduces so great a man!" in the drawing-room we found lord elton, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and directly opposite him in a low arm chair, reclined an elegantly attired young lady with very small feet. i mention the feet, because as i entered they were the most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced petticoats towards the warmth of the fire which the earl rather inconsiderately screened from view. there was another lady in the room sitting bolt upright with hands neatly folded on her lap, and to her we were first of all introduced when lord elton's own effusive greetings were over. "charlotte, allow me,--my friends, prince lucio rimânez--mr geoffrey tempest; gentlemen, my sister-in-law, miss charlotte fitzroy." we bowed; the lady gave us a dignified bend of the head. she was an imposing looking spinster, with a curious expression on her features which was difficult to construe. it was pious and prim, but it also suggested the idea that she must have seen something excessively improper once in her life and had never been able to forget it. the pursed-up mouth, the round pale-coloured eyes and the chronic air of insulted virtue which seemed to pervade her from head to foot all helped to deepen this impression. one could not look at miss charlotte long without beginning to wonder irreverently what it was that had in her long past youth so outraged the cleanly proprieties of her nature as to leave such indelible traces on her countenance. but i have since seen many english women look so, especially among the particularly 'high bred,' old and plain-featured of the "upper ten." very different was the saucy and bright physiognomy of the younger lady to whom we were next presented, and who, raising herself languidly from her reclining position, smiled at us with encouraging familiarity as we made our salutations. "miss diana chesney,"--said the earl glibly--"you perhaps know her father, prince,--you must have heard of him at any rate--the famous nicodemus chesney, one of the great railway-kings." "of course i know him"--responded lucio warmly--"who does not! i have met him often. a charming man, gifted with most remarkable humour and vitality--i remember him perfectly. we saw a good deal of each other in washington." "did you though?" said miss chesney with a somewhat indifferent interest,--"he's a queer sort of man to my thinking; rather a cross between the ticket-collector and custom-house officer combined, you know! i never see him but what i feel i must start on a journey directly--railways seem to be written all over him. i tell him so. i say 'pa, if you didn't carry railway-tracks in your face you'd be better looking.' and you found him humorous, did you?" laughing at the novel and free way in which this young person criticised her parent, lucio protested that he did. "well i don't,"--confessed miss chesney--"but that may be because i've heard all his stories over and over again, and i've read most of them in books besides,--so they're not much account to me. he tells some of them to the prince of wales whenever he can get a chance,--but he don't try them off on me any more. he's a real clever man too; he's made his pile quicker than most. and you're quite right about his vitality,--my!--his laugh takes you into the middle of next week!" her bright eyes flashed merrily as she took a comprehensive survey of our amused faces. "think i'm irreverent, don't you?" she went on--"but you know pa's not a 'stage parent' all dressed out in lovely white hair and benedictions,--he's just an accommodating railway-track, and he wouldn't like to be reverenced. do sit down, won't you?"--then turning her pretty head coquettishly towards her host--"make them sit down, lord elton,--i hate to see men standing. the superior sex, you know! besides you're so tall," she added, glancing with unconcealed admiration at lucio's handsome face and figure, "that it's like peering up an apple-tree at the moon to look at you!" lucio laughed heartily, and seated himself near her--i followed his example; the old earl still kept his position, legs a-straddle, on the hearth-rug, and beamed benevolence upon us all. certainly diana chesney was a captivating creature; one of those surface-clever american women who distinctly divert men's minds without in the least rousing their passions. "so you're the famous mr tempest?" she said, surveying me critically--"why, it's simply splendid for you isn't it? i always say it's no use having a heap of money unless you're young,--if you're old, you only want it to fill your doctor's pockets while he tries to mend your poor tuckered-out constitution. i once knew an old lady who was left a legacy of a hundred thousand pounds when she was ninety-five. poor old dear, she cried over it. she just had sense enough to understand what a good time she couldn't have. she lived in bed, and her only luxury was a halfpenny bun dipped in milk for her tea. it was all she cared for." "a hundred thousand pounds would go a long way in buns!" i said smiling. "wouldn't it just!" and the fair diana laughed--"but i guess _you'll_ want something a little more substantial for your cash mr tempest! a fortune in the prime of life is worth having. i suppose you're one of the richest men about just now, aren't you?" she put the question in a perfectly naïve frank manner and seemed to be unconscious of any undue inquisitiveness in it. "i may be one of the richest,"--i replied, and as i spoke the thought flashed suddenly across me how recently i had been one of the poorest!--"but my friend here, the prince, is far richer than i." "is that so!" and she stared straight at lucio, who met her gaze with an indulgent, half satirical smile--"well now! i guess pa's no better than a sort of pauper after all! why, you must have the world at your feet!" "pretty much so,"--replied lucio composedly--"but then, my dear miss chesney, the world is so very easily brought to one's feet. surely _you_ know that?" and he emphasized the words by an expressive look of his fine eyes. "i guess you mean compliments,"--she replied unconcernedly--"i don't like them as a rule, but i'll forgive you this once!" "do!" said lucio, with one of his dazzling smiles that caused her to stop for a moment in her voluble chatter and observe him with mingled fascination and wonderment. "and you too are young, like mr tempest,"--she resumed presently. "pardon me!" interrupted lucio--"i am many years older." "really!" exclaimed lord elton at this juncture--"you don't look it, does he charlotte?" miss fitzroy thus appealed to, raised her elegant tortoise-shell-framed glasses to her eyes and peered critically at us both. "i should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of mr tempest"--she remarked in precise high-bred accents--"but only very slightly." "anyhow," resumed miss chesney "you're young enough, to enjoy your wealth aren't you?" "young enough, or old enough;--just as you please;"--said lucio with a careless shrug--"but as it happens--i do _not_ enjoy it!" miss chesney's whole aspect now expressed the most lively astonishment. "what does money do for you?" went on lucio, his eyes dilating with that strange and wistful expression which had often excited my curiosity--"the world is at your feet, perhaps; yes--but _what_ a world! what a trumpery clod of kickable matter! wealth acts merely as a kind of mirror to show you human nature at its worst. men skulk and fawn about you, and lie twenty times in as many hours in the hope to propitiate you and serve their own interests; princes of the blood willingly degrade themselves and their position to borrow cash of you,--your intrinsic merit (if you have any) is thought nothing of,--your full pockets are your credentials with kings, prime ministers and councillors! you may talk like a fool, laugh like a hyena and look like a baboon, but if the chink-chink of your gold be only sufficiently loud, you may soon find yourself dining with the queen if such be your ambition. if, on the contrary you happen to be truly great, brave, patient, and enduring, with a spark in you of that genius which strengthens life and makes it better worth living,--if you have thoughts which take shape in work that shall endure when kingdoms are swept away like dust before the wind, and if, with all this you are yet poor in current coin, why then,--you shall be spurned by all the crowned dummies of the world,--you shall be snubbed by the affluent starch-maker and the croesus who lives on a patent pill,--the tradesman from whom you buy bedsteads and kitchen ware, can look down upon you with lordly scorn, for does he not by virtue of his wealth alone, drive a four-in-hand, and chat on easy and almost patronizing terms with the prince of wales? the wealthy denizens of snob-land delight in ignoring nature's elected noblemen." "but supposing" said miss chesney quickly, "you happen to be a nature's nobleman yourself, and have the advantage of wealth besides, surely you must fairly allow that to be rather a good thing, mustn't you?" lucio laughed a little-- "i will retort upon you in your own words fair lady, and say 'i guess you mean compliments.' what i venture to imply however, is that even when wealth does fall to the lot of one of these 'nature's noblemen,' it is not _because_ of his innate nobility that he wins social distinction. it is simply because he is rich. that is what vexes me. i for example, have endless friends who are not my friends so much as the friends of my income. they do not trouble to inquire as to my antecedents,--what i am or where i came from is of no importance. neither are they concerned in how i live or what i do; whether i am sick or well, happy or unhappy, is equally with them a matter of indifference. if they knew more about me, it would perhaps be better in the long run. but they do not want to know,--their aims are simple and unconcealed,--they wish to make as much out of me, and secure as much advantage to themselves by their acquaintance with me as possible. and i give them their full way,--they get all they want,--and more!" his musical voice lingered with a curiously melancholy impressiveness on the last word,--and this time, not only miss chesney, but we all, looked at him as though drawn by some irresistible magnetic spell, and for a moment there was silence. "very few people have any real friends,"--said lord elton presently. "and in that respect i suppose we're none of us worse off than socrates, who used to keep two chairs only in his house 'one for myself, and another for a friend--when i find him!' but you are a universal favourite lucio,--a most popular fellow--and i think you're rather hard on your set. people must look after themselves you know--eh?" lucio bowed his head gravely. "they must indeed," he replied--"especially as the latest news of science is that god has given up the business." miss fitzroy looked displeased,--but the earl laughed uproariously. at that moment a step was heard outside, approaching the open doorway of the drawing-room, and miss chesney's quick ears caught the sound. she shook herself out of her reclining attitude instantly and sat erect. "it's sibyl!" she said with a half-laughing half-apologetic flash of her brown eyes at us all--"i never can loll before sibyl!" my heart beat fast as the woman whom poets might have called the goddess of their dreams, but whom i was now disposed to consider as an object of beauty lawfully open to my purchase, entered, clad in simple white, unrelieved by any ornaments save a golden waistbelt of antique workmanship, and a knot of violets nestled among the lace at her bosom. she looked far lovelier than when i had first seen her at the theatre; there was a deeper light in her eyes and a more roseate flush on her cheeks, while her smile as she greeted us was positively dazzling. something in her presence, her movements, her manner, sent such a tide of passion through me that for a moment my brain whirled in a dizzy maze, and despite the cold calculations i had made in my own mind as to the certainty i had of winning her for my wife, there was a wondrous charm of delicate dignity and unapproachableness about her that caused me for the moment to feel ashamed, and inclined to doubt even the power of wealth to move this exquisite lily of maidenhood from her sequestered peace. ah, what fools men are! how little do we dream of the canker at the hearts of these women 'lilies' that look so pure and full of grace! "you are late, sibyl," said her aunt severely. "am i?" she responded with languid indifference--"so sorry! papa, are you an extemporized fire-screen?" lord elton hastily moved to one side, rendered suddenly conscious of his selfish monopoly of the blaze. "are you not cold, miss chesney?" continued lady sibyl, in accents of studied courtesy--"would you not like to come nearer the fire?" diana chesney had become quite subdued, almost timid in fact. "thank-you!"--she murmured, and her eyes drooped with what might have been called retiring maiden modesty, had not miss chesney's qualities soared far beyond that trite description. "we heard some shocking news this morning, mr tempest," said lady sibyl, looking at lucio rather than at me--"no doubt you read it in the papers,--an acquaintance of ours, viscount lynton, shot himself last night." i could not repress a slight start. lucio gave me a warning glance, and took it upon himself to reply. "yes, i read a brief account of the affair--terrible indeed! i also knew him slightly." "did you? well, he was engaged to a friend of mine," went on lady sibyl--"i myself think she has had a lucky escape, because though he was an agreeable man enough in society, he was a great gambler, and very extravagant, and he would have run through her fortune very quickly. but she cannot be brought to see it in that light,--she is dreadfully upset. she had set her heart on being a viscountess." "i guess," said miss chesney demurely, with a sly sparkle of her eyes--"it's not only americans who run after titles. since i've been over here i've known several real nice girls marry downright mean dough-heads just for the sake of being called 'my lady' or 'your grace.' i like a title very well myself--but i also like a man attached to it." the earl smothered a chuckling laugh,--lady sibyl gazed meditatively into the fire and went on as though she had not heard. "of course my friend will have other chances,--she is young and handsome--but i really think, apart from the social point of view, that she was a little in love with the viscount----" "nonsense! nonsense!" said her father somewhat testily. "you always have some romantic notion or other in your head sibyl,--one 'season' ought to have cured you of sentiment--ha-ha-ha! she always knew he was a dissolute rascal, and she was going to marry him with her eyes wide open to the fact. when i read in the papers that he had blown his brains out in a hansom, i said 'bad taste--bad taste! spoiling a poor cabby's stock-in-trade to satisfy a selfish whim!' ha-ha!--but i thought it was a good riddance of bad rubbish. he would have made any woman's life utterly miserable." "no doubt he would!" responded lady sibyl, listlessly; "but, all the same, there is such a thing as love sometimes." she raised her beautiful liquid eyes to lucio's face, but he was not looking her way, and her steadfast gaze met mine instead. what my looks expressed i know not; but i saw the rich blood mantle warmly in her cheeks, and a tremor seemed to pass through her frame,--then she grew very pale. at that moment one of the gorgeous footmen appeared at the doorway. "dinner is served, my lud." "good!" and the earl proceeded to 'pair' us all. "prince, will you take miss fitzroy,--mr tempest, my daughter falls to your escort,--i will follow with miss chesney." we set off in this order down the stairs, and as i walked behind lucio with lady sibyl on my arm, i could not help smiling at the extreme gravity and earnestness with which he was discussing church matters with miss charlotte, and the sudden enthusiasm that apparently seized that dignified spinster at some of his remarks on the clergy, which took the form of the most affectionate and respectful eulogies, and were totally the reverse of the ideas he had exchanged with me on the same subject. some spirit of mischief was evidently moving him to have a solemn joke with the high-bred lady he escorted, and i noted his behaviour with a good deal of inward amusement. "then you know the dear canon?" i heard miss charlotte say. "most intimately!" replied lucio with fervour--"and i assure you i am thankful to have the privilege of knowing him. a truly perfect man!--almost a saint--if not quite!" "so pure-minded!" sighed the spinster. "so free from every taint of hypocrisy!" murmured lucio with intense gravity. "ah yes! yes indeed! and so----" here they passed into the dining-room and i could hear no more. i followed with my beautiful partner, and in another minute we were all seated at table. xii the dinner went on in the fashion of most dinners at great houses,--commencing with arctic stiffness and formality, thawing slightly towards the middle course, and attaining to just a pleasant warmth of mutual understanding when ices and dessert gave warning of its approaching close. conversation at first flagged unaccountably, but afterwards brightened under lucio's influence to a certain gaiety. i did my best to entertain lady sibyl, but found her like most 'society' beauties, somewhat of a vague listener. she was certainly cold, and in a manner irresponsive,--moreover i soon decided that she was not particularly clever. she had not the art of sustaining or appearing to sustain interest in any one subject; on the contrary, she had, like many of her class, an irritating habit of mentally drifting away from you into an absorbed reverie of her own in which you had no part, and which plainly showed you how little she cared for anything you or anyone else happened to be saying. many little random remarks of hers however implied that in her apparently sweet nature there lurked a vein of cynicism and a certain contempt for men, and more than once her light words stung my sense of self-love almost to resentment, while they strengthened the force of my resolve to win her and bend that proud spirit of hers to the meekness befitting the wife of a millionaire and--a genius. a genius? yes,--god help me!--that is what i judged myself to be. my arrogance was two-fold,--it arose not only from what i imagined to be my quality of brain, but also from the knowledge of what my wealth could do. i was perfectly positive that i could buy fame,--buy it as easily as one buys a flower in the market,--and i was more than positive that i could buy love. in order to commence proving the truth of this, i threw out a 'feeler' towards my object. "i believe," i said suddenly, addressing the earl--"you used to live in warwickshire at willowsmere court did you not?" lord elton flushed an apoplectic red, and swallowed a gulp of champagne hastily. "yes-er-yes. i--er had the place for some time,--rather a bore to keep up,--wants quite an army of servants." "just so;" i replied with a nod of appreciative comprehension--"i presume it will require a considerable domestic retinue. i have arranged to purchase it." lady sibyl's frigid composure was at last disturbed--she looked strangely agitated,--and the earl stared till his eyes seemed likely to fall out of his head. "you? _you_ are going to buy willowsmere?" he ejaculated. "yes. i have wired to my lawyers to settle the matter as quickly as possible"--and i glanced at lucio whose steel-bright eyes were fixed on the earl with curious intentness,--"i like warwickshire,--and as i shall entertain a great deal i think the place will suit me perfectly." there was a moment's silence. miss charlotte fitzroy sighed deeply, and the lace bow on her severely parted hair trembled visibly. diana chesney looked up with inquisitive eyes and a little wondering smile. "sibyl was born at willowsmere,"--said the earl presently in rather a husky voice. "a new charm is added to its possession by that knowledge,"--i said gently, bowing to lady sibyl as i spoke--"have you many recollections of the place?" "indeed, indeed i have!" she answered with a touch of something like passion vibrating in her accents--"there is no corner of the world i love so well! i used to play on the lawns under the old oak-trees, and i always gathered the first violets and primroses that came out on the banks of the avon. and when the hawthorn was in full flower i used to make believe that the park was fairyland and i the fairy queen----" "as you were and are!" interposed lucio suddenly. she smiled and her eyes flashed,--then she went on more quietly-- "it was all very foolish, but i loved willowsmere, and love it still. and i often saw in the fields on the other side of the river which did not belong to the estate, a little girl about my own age, playing all by herself and making long daisy-chains and buttercup balls,--a little girl with long fair curls and a sweet baby face. i wanted to know her and speak to her, but my nurse would never let me because she was supposed to be 'beneath' me." lady sibyl's lip curled scornfully at this recollection. "yet she was well-born; she was the orphan child of a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, and had been adopted by the physician who attended her mother's deathbed, she having no living relatives left to take care of her. and she--that little fair-haired girl,--was mavis clare." as this name was uttered, a sort of hush fell on our party as though an 'angelus' had rung; and lucio looking across at me with peculiar intentness asked, "have you never heard of mavis clare, tempest?" i thought a moment before replying. yes,--i had heard the name,--connected with literature in some dim and distant way, but i could not remember when or how. for i never paid any attention to the names of women who chose to associate themselves with the arts, as i had the usual masculine notion that all they did, whether in painting, music or writing, must of necessity be trash and unworthy of comment. women, i loftily considered, were created to amuse men,--not to instruct them. "mavis clare is a genius,"--lady sibyl said presently--"if mr tempest has not heard of her, there is no doubt he _will_ hear. i often regret that i never made her acquaintance in those old days at willowsmere,--the stupidity of my nurse often rankles in my mind. 'beneath me'--indeed!--and how very much she is above me now! she still lives down there,--her adopted parents are dead and she rents the lovely little house they inhabited. she has bought some extra land about it and improved the place wonderfully. indeed i have never seen a more ideal poet's corner than lily cottage." i was silent, feeling somewhat in the background on account of my ignorance as to the gifts and the position of the individual they all seemed to recognize as a celebrity of importance. "rather an odd name, mavis, isn't it?"--i at last ventured to observe. "yes,--but it suits her wonderfully. she sings quite as sweetly as any thrush, so she merits her designation." "what has she done in literature?" i continued. "oh,--only a novel!" replied lucio with a smile--"but it has a quality unusual to novels; it lives! i hope, tempest, that your forthcoming work will enjoy the same vitality." here lord elton who had been more or less brooding darkly over his glass of wine ever since i had mentioned my purchase of willowsmere, roused himself from his reverie. "why, god bless my soul!" he exclaimed--"you don't mean to tell me you have written a novel mr tempest?" (was it possible he had never noticed all the prominent advertisements of my book in every paper, i thought indignantly!) "what do you want to do that for, with your immense position?" "he hankers after fame!" said lucio half kindly, half satirically. "but you've got fame!" declared the earl emphatically--"everybody knows who you are by this time." "ah, my dear lord, that is not enough for the aspirations of my gifted friend"--responded lucio, speaking for me, his eyes darkening with that mystic shadow of mingled sorrow and scorn which so frequently clouded their lustrous brilliancy; "he does not particularly care for the 'immense position' that is due to wealth alone, because that does not lift him a jot higher than maple of tottenham court road. he seeks to soar beyond the furniture man,--and who shall blame him? he would be known for that indescribable quality called genius,--for high thoughts, poetry, divine instincts, and prophetic probings into the heart of humanity,--in short, for the power of the pen, which topples down great kingdoms like card-houses and sticks foolscaps on the heads of kings. generally it is the moneyless man or woman who is endowed with this unpurchaseable power,--this independence of action and indifference to opinion,--the wealthy seldom do anything but spend or hoard. but tempest means to unite for once in his own person the two most strenuously opposed forces in nature,--genius and cash,--or in other words, god and mammon." lady sibyl turned her head towards me;--there was a look of doubt and wonder on her beautiful face. "i am afraid,"--she said half smiling, "that the claims of society will take up too much of your time, mr tempest, to allow you to continue the writing of books. i remember you told me the other evening that you were about to publish a novel. i suppose you were--originally i mean--an author by profession?" a curious sense of anger burned dully within me. 'originally' an author? was i not one still? was i to be given credit for nothing but my banking-book? 'originally'? why, i had never been an actual 'author' till now,--i had simply been a wandering literary hack,--a stray 'super' of grub street, occasionally engaged to write articles 'to order' on any subject that came uppermost, at a starvation rate of pay, without any visible prospect of rising from that lowest and dirtiest rung of the literary ladder. i felt myself growing red, then pale,--and i saw that lucio was looking at me fixedly. "i _am_ an author, lady sibyl"--i said at last--"and i hope i may soon prove my right to be acknowledged as one. 'author' is in my opinion, a prouder title than king, and i do not think any social claims will deter me from following the profession of literature, which i look upon as the highest in the world." lord elton fidgetted uneasily in his chair. "but your people"--he said--"your family--are they literary?" "no members of my family are now living,"--i answered somewhat stiffly--"my father was john tempest of rexmoor." "indeed!" and the earl's face brightened considerably--"dear me, dear me! i used to meet him often in the hunting field years ago. you come of a fine old stock, sir!--the tempests of rexmoor are well and honourably known in county chronicles." i said nothing, feeling a trifle heated in temper, though i could not have quite explained why. "one begins to wonder,"--said lucio then in his soft smooth accents--"when one is the descendant of a good english county family,--a distinct cause for pride!--and moreover has the still more substantial fact of a large fortune to support that high lineage, why one should trouble to fight for merely literary honours! you are far too modest in your ambitions, tempest!--high-seated as you are upon bank-notes and bullion, with all the glory of effulgent county chronicles behind you, you still stoop to clutch the laurel! fie, my dear fellow! you degrade yourself by this desire to join the company of the immortals!" his satirical tone was not lost upon the company; and i, who saw that in his own special way he was defending the claims of literature against those of mere place and money, felt soothed and grateful. the earl looked a trifle annoyed. "that's all very fine," he said--"but you see it isn't as if mr tempest were driven by necessity to write for his living"-- "one may love work for the work's sake without any actual necessity for doing it,"--i interposed--"for example,--this mavis clare you speak of,--is she,--a woman,--driven by necessity?" "mavis clare hasn't a penny in the world that she does not earn,"--said lord elton gruffly--"i suppose that if she did not write she would starve." diana chesney laughed. "i guess she's a long way off starvation just now,"--she remarked, her brown eyes twinkling--"why, she's as proud as the proudest,--drives in the park in her victoria and pair with the best in the land, and knows all the 'swagger' people. she's nowhere near grub street _i_ should say. i hear she's a splendid business woman, and more than a match for the publishers all round." "well i should rather doubt that,"--said the earl with a chuckle. "it needs the devil himself to match the publishers." "you are right!"--said lucio--"in fact i daresay that in the various 'phases' or transmigrations of the spirit into differing forms of earthy matter, the devil (should he exist at all) has frequently become a publisher,--and a particularly benevolent publisher too!--by way of diversion." we all smiled. "well, i should imagine mavis clare to be a match for anybody or anything,"--said lady sibyl--"of course she is not rich,--but she spends her money wisely and to effective advantage. i do not know her personally,--i wish i did; but i have read her books, which are quite out of the common. she is a most independent creature too; quite indifferent to opinions"-- "i suppose she must be extremely plain then"--i observed; "plain women always try to do something more or less startling in order to attract the attention denied to their personality." "true,--but that would not apply to miss clare. she is pretty, and knows how to dress besides." "_such_ a virtue in literary women!" exclaimed diana chesney--"some of them _are_ such dowdies!" "most people of culture," went on lady sibyl--"in our set at any rate, are accustomed to look upon miss clare as quite an exception to the usual run of authors. she is charming in herself as well as in her books, and she goes everywhere. she writes with inspiration,--and always has something so new to say--" "that of course all the critics are down upon her?" queried lucio. "oh, naturally! but _we_ never read reviews." "nor anyone else i should hope,"--said lord elton with a laugh--"except the fellows who write them, ha--ha--ha! i call it damned impertinence--excuse the word--on the part of a newspaper hack to presume to teach _me_ what i ought to read, or what i ought to appreciate. i'm quite capable of forming my own judgment on any book that ever was written. but i avoid all the confounded 'new' poets,--avoid 'em like poison, sir--ha--ha! anything but a 'new' poet; the old ones are good enough for me! why sir, these reviewers who give themselves such airs with a pennorth of ink and a pen, are mostly half-grown half-educated boys who for a couple of guineas a week undertake to tell the public what _they_ think of such and such a book, as if anyone cared a jot about their green opinions! ridiculous--quite ridiculous!--what do they take the public for i wonder! editors of responsible journals ought to know better than to employ such young coxcombs just because they can get them cheap----" at this juncture the butler came up behind his master's chair and whispered a few words. the earl's brow clouded,--then he addressed his sister-in-law,-- "charlotte, lady elton sends word that she will come into the drawing-room to-night. perhaps you had better go and see that she is made comfortable." and, as miss charlotte rose, he turned to us saying--"my wife is seldom well enough to see visitors, but this evening she feels inclined for a little change and distraction from the monotony of her sick-room. it will be very kind of you two gentlemen to entertain her,--she cannot speak much, but her hearing and sight are excellent, and she takes great interest in all that is going on. dear dear me!" and he heaved a short troubled sigh--"she used to be one of the brightest of women!" "the sweet countess!" murmured miss chesney with patronizing tenderness--"she is quite lovely still!" lady sibyl glanced at her with a sudden haughty frown which showed me plainly what a rebellious temper the young beauty held in control; and i fell straightway more in love,--according to _my_ idea of love,--than ever. i confess i like a woman to have a certain amount of temper. i cannot endure your preternaturally amiable female who can find nothing in all the length or breadth of the globe to move her to any other expression than a fatuous smile. i love to see the danger-flash in bright eyes,--the delicate quiver of pride in the lines of a lovely mouth, and the warm flush of indignation on fair cheeks. it all suggests spirit, and untamed will; and rouses in a man the love of mastery that is born in his nature, urging him to conquer and subdue that which seems unconquerable. and all the desire of such conquest was strong within me, when at the close of dinner i rose and held the door open for the ladies to pass out of the room. as the fair sibyl went, the violets she wore at her bosom dropped. i picked them up and made my first move. "may i keep these?" i said in a low tone. her breath came and went quickly,--but she looked straight in my eyes with a smile that perfectly comprehended my hidden meaning. "you may!" she answered. i bowed,--closed the door behind her, and secreting the flowers, returned, well-satisfied, to my place at table. xiii left with myself and lucio, lord elton threw off all reserve, and became not only familiar, but fawning in his adulation of us both. an abject and pitiable desire to please and propitiate us expressed itself in his every look and word; and i firmly believe that if i had coolly and brutally offered to buy his fair daughter by private treaty for a hundred thousand pounds, that sum to be paid down to him on the day of marriage, he would have gladly agreed to sell. apart however from his personal covetousness, i felt and knew that my projected courtship of lady sibyl would of necessity resolve itself into something more or less of a market bargain, unless indeed i could win the girl's love. i meant to try and do this, but i fully realized how difficult, nay, almost impossible it would be for her to forget the fact of my unhampered and vast fortune, and consider me for myself alone. herein is one of the blessings of poverty which the poor are frequently too apt to forget. a moneyless man if he wins a woman's love knows that such love is genuine and untainted by self-interest; but a rich man can never be truly certain of love at all. the advantages of a wealthy match are constantly urged upon all marriageable girls by both their parents and friends,--and it would have to be a very unsophisticated feminine nature indeed that could contemplate a husband possessing five millions of money, without a touch of purely interested satisfaction. a very wealthy man can never be sure even of friendship,--while the highest, strongest and noblest kind of love is nearly always denied to him, in this way carrying out the fulfilment of those strange but true words--"how hardly shall he that is a rich man, enter the kingdom of heaven!" the heaven of a woman's love, tried and proved true through disaster and difficulty,--of her unflinching faithfulness and devotion in days of toil and bitter anguish,--of her heroic self-abnegation, sweetness and courage through the darkest hours of doubt and disappointment;--this bright and splendid side of woman's character is reserved by divine ordinance for the poor man. the millionaire can indeed wed whomsoever he pleases among all the beauties of the world,--he can deck his wife in gorgeous apparel, load her with jewels and look upon her in all the radiance of her richly adorned loveliness as one may look upon a perfect statue or matchless picture,--but he can never reach the deeper secrets of her soul or probe the well-springs of her finer nature. i thought this even thus early in the beginning of my admiration for lady sibyl elton, though i did not then dwell upon it as i have often done since. i was too elated with the pride of wealth to count the possibilities of subtle losses amid so many solid gains; and i enjoyed to the full and with a somewhat contemptuous malice the humble prostration of a 'belted earl' before the dazzling mine of practically unlimited cash as represented to him in the persons of my brilliant comrade and myself. i took a curious sort of pleasure in patronizing him, and addressed him with a protecting air of indulgent kindness whereat he seemed gratified. inwardly i laughed as i thought how differently matters would have stood, supposing i had been indeed no more than 'author'! i might have proved to be one of the greatest writers of the age, but if, with that, i had been poor or only moderately well off, this same half bankrupt earl who privately boarded an american heiress for two thousand guineas a year, would have deemed it a 'condescension' to so much as invite me to his house,--would have looked down upon me from his titled nothingness and perhaps carelessly alluded to me as 'a man who writes--er--yes--er--rather clever i believe!' and then would have thought no more about me. for this very cause as 'author' still, though millionaire, i took a fantastic pleasure in humiliating his lordship as much as possible, and i found the best way to do this was to talk about willowsmere. i saw that he winced at the very name of his lost estate, and that notwithstanding this, he could not avoid showing his anxiety as to my intentions with regard to its occupation. lucio, whose wisdom and foresight had suggested my becoming the purchaser of the place, assisted me in the most adroit fashion to draw him out and to make his character manifest, and by the time we had finished our cigars and coffee i knew that the 'proud' earl of elton, who could trace his lineage to the earliest days of the crusaders, was as ready to bend his back and crawl in the dust for money as the veriest hotel-porter expectant of a sovereign 'tip.' i had never entertained a high opinion of the aristocracy, and on this occasion it was certainly not improved, but remembering that the spendthrift nobleman beside me was the father of lady sibyl, i treated him on the whole with more respect than his mean and grasping nature deserved. on returning to the drawing-room after dinner i was struck by the chill weirdness that seemed to be imparted to it by the addition of lady elton's couch, which, placed near the fire, suggested a black sarcophagus in bulk and outline. it was practically a narrow bed on wheels, though partially disguised by a silk coverlet draped skilfully so as to somewhat hide its coffin-like shape. the extended figure of the paralysed countess herself presented a death-like rigidity; but her face as she turned it towards us on our entrance, was undisfigured as yet and distinctly handsome, her eyes especially being large, clear, and almost brilliant. her daughter introduced us both in a low tone, and she moved her head slightly by way of acknowledgment, studying us curiously the while. "well, my dear"--said lord elton briskly, "this is an unexpected pleasure! it is nearly three months since you honoured us with your company. how do you feel?" "better," she replied slowly, yet distinctly, her gaze now fixed with wondering intentness on prince rimânez. "mother found the room rather cold"--explained lady sibyl--"so we brought her as near to the fire as possible. it _is_ cold"--and she shivered--"i fancy it must be freezing hard." "where is diana?" asked the earl, looking about in search of that lively young lady. "miss chesney has gone to her own room to write a letter;" replied his daughter somewhat frigidly--"she will be back directly." at this moment lady elton feebly raised her hand and pointed to lucio, who had moved aside to answer some question asked of him by miss charlotte. "who is that?" she murmured. "why, mother dear, i told you"--said lady sibyl gently--"that is prince lucio rimânez, papa's great friend." the countess's pallid hand still remained lifted, as though it were frozen in air. "_what_ is he?" the slow voice again inquired,--and then the hand dropped suddenly like a dead thing. "now helena, you must not excite yourself"--said her husband, bending over her couch with real or assumed anxiety; "surely you remember all i have told you about the prince? and also about this gentleman, mr geoffrey tempest?" she nodded, and her eyes, turning reluctantly away from rimânez, regarded me fixedly. "you are a very young man to be a millionaire,"--were her next words, uttered with evident difficulty--"are you married?" i smiled, and answered in the negative. her looks wandered from me to her daughter's face,--then back to me again with a singularly intent expression. finally, the potent magnetism of lucio's presence again attracted her, and she indicated him by a gesture. "ask your friend ... to come here ... and speak to me." rimânez turned instinctively at her request, and with his own peculiar charm and gallant grace of bearing, came to the side of the paralysed lady, and taking her hand, kissed it. "your face seems familiar to me,"--she said, speaking now, as it seemed, with greater ease--"have i ever met you before?" "dear lady, you may have done so"--he replied in dulcet tones and with a most captivating gentleness of manner--"it occurs to me, now i think of it, that years ago, i saw once, as a passing vision of loveliness, in the hey-day of youth and happiness, helena fitzroy, before she was countess of elton." "you must have been a mere boy--a child,--at that time!" she murmured faintly smiling. "not so!--for you are still young, madame, and i am old. you look incredulous? alas, why is it i wonder, i may not look the age i am! most of my acquaintances spend a great part of their lives in trying to look the age they are not; and i never came across a man of fifty who was not proud to be considered thirty-nine. my desires are more laudable,--yet honourable eld refuses to impress itself upon my features. it is quite a sore point with me i assure you." "well, how old are you really?" asked lady sibyl smiling at him. "ah, i dare not tell you!" he answered, returning the smile; "but i ought to explain that in my countings i judge age by the workings of thought and feeling, more than by the passing of years. thus it should not surprise you to hear that i feel myself old,--old as the world!" "but there are scientists who say that the world is young;" i observed, "and that it is only now beginning to feel its forces and put forth its vigour." "such optimistic wise-acres are wrong," he answered,--"the world is a veritable husk of a planet; humanity has nearly completed all its allotted phases, and the end is near." "the end?" echoed lady sibyl,--"do you believe the world will ever come to an end?" "i do, most certainly. or, to be more correct, it will not actually perish, but will simply change. and the change will not agree with the constitution of its present inhabitants. they will call the transformation the day of judgment. i should imagine it would be a fine sight." the countess gazed at him wonderingly,--lady sibyl seemed amused. "i would rather not witness it,"--said lord elton gruffly. "oh, why?" and rimânez looked about with quite a cheerful air--"a final glimpse of the planet ere we _a_scend or _de_scend to our future homes elsewhere, would be something to remember! madame"--here he addressed lady elton; "are you fond of music?" the invalid smiled gratefully, and bent her head in acquiescence. miss chesney had just entered the room and heard the question. "do you play?" she exclaimed vivaciously, touching him on the arm with her fan. he bowed. "i do. in an erratic sort of fashion. i also sing. music has always been one of my passions. when i was very young,--ages ago,--i used to imagine i could hear the angel israfel chanting his strophes amid the golden glow of heavenly glory,--himself white-winged and wonderful, with a voice out-ringing beyond the verge of paradise!" as he spoke, a sudden silence fell upon us all. something in his accent touched my heart to a strange sense of sorrow and yearning, and the countess of elton's dark eyes, languid with long suffering, grew soft as though with repressed tears. "sometimes," he continued more lightly--"just at odd moments--i like to believe in paradise. it is a relief, even to a hardened sinner like myself, to fancy that there _may_ exist something in the way of a world better than this one." "surely sir," said miss charlotte fitzroy severely--"you believe in heaven?" he looked at her and smiled slightly. "madame, forgive me! i do not believe in the clerical heaven. i know you will be angry with me for this frank confession! but i cannot picture the angels in white smocks with goose wings, or the deity as a somewhat excitable personage with a beard. personally i should decline to go to any heaven which was only a city with golden streets; and i should object to a sea of glass, resenting it as a want of invention on the part of the creative intelligence. but----do not frown, dear miss fitzroy!--i do believe in heaven all the same,--a different kind of heaven,--i often see it in my dreams!" he paused, and again we were all silent, gazing at him. lady sibyl's eyes indeed, rested upon him with such absorbed interest, that i became somewhat irritated, and was glad, when turning towards the countess once more, he said quietly. "shall i give you some music now, madame?" she murmured assent, and followed him with a vaguely uneasy glance as he crossed over to the grand piano and sat down. i had never heard him either play or sing; in fact so far as his accomplishments went, i knew nothing of him as yet except that he was a perfect master of the art of horsemanship. with the first few bars he struck i half started from my chair in amazement;--could a mere pianoforte produce such sounds?--or was there some witchery hidden in the commonplace instrument, unguessed by any other performer? i stared around me, bewildered,--i saw miss charlotte drop her knitting abstractedly,--diana chesney, lying lazily back in one corner of the sofa, half closed her eyelids in dreamy ecstasy,--lord elton stood near the fire resting one arm on the mantelpiece and shading his fuzzy brows with his hand,--and lady sibyl sat beside her mother, her lovely face pale with emotion, while on the worn features of the invalided lady there was an expression of mingled pain and pleasure difficult to describe. the music swelled into passionate cadence,--melodies crossed and re-crossed each other like rays of light glittering among green leaves,--voices of birds and streams and tossing waterfalls chimed in with songs of love and playful merriment;--anon came wilder strains of grief and angry clamour; cries of despair were heard echoing through the thunderous noise of some relentless storm,--farewells everlastingly shrieked amid sobs of reluctant shuddering agony;--and then, as i listened, before my eyes a black mist gathered slowly, and i thought i saw great rocks bursting asunder into flame, and drifting islands in a sea of fire,--faces, wonderful, hideous, beautiful, peered at me out of a darkness denser than night, and in the midst of this there came a tune, complete in sweetness and suggestion,--a piercing sword-like tune that plunged into my very heart and rankled there,----my breath failed me,--my senses swam,--i felt that i must move, speak, cry out, and implore that this music, this horribly insidious music should cease ere i swooned with the voluptuous poison of it,--when, with a full chord of splendid harmony that rolled out upon the air like a breaking wave, the intoxicating sounds ebbed away into silence. no one spoke,--our hearts were yet beating too wildly with the pulsations roused by that wondrous lyric storm. diana chesney was the first to break the spell. "well, that beats everything i've ever heard!" she murmured tremulously. i could say nothing,--i was too occupied with my own thoughts. something in the music had instilled itself into my blood, or so i fancied, and the clinging subtle sweetness of it, moved me to strange emotions that were neither wise, nor worthy of a man. i looked at lady sibyl; she was very pale,--her eyes were cast down and her hands were trembling. on a sudden impulse i rose and went to rimânez where he still sat at the piano, his hands dumbly wandering over the keys. "you are a great master"--i said--"a wonderful performer! but do you know what your music suggests?" he met my fixed gaze, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. "crime!" i whispered--"you have roused in me evil thoughts of which i am ashamed. i did not think that was possible to so divine an art." he smiled, and his eyes glittered with the steely brightness of stars on a wintry night. "art takes its colours from the mind, my dear friend;"--he said--"if you discover evil suggestions in my music, the evil, i fear, must be in your own nature." "or in yours!" i said quickly. "or in mine;"--he agreed coldly--"i have often told you i am no saint." i stood hesitatingly, looking at him. for one moment his great personal beauty appeared hateful to me, though i knew not why. then the feeling of distrust and repulsion slowly passed, leaving me humiliated and abashed. "pardon me, lucio!" i murmured regretfully--"i spoke in haste; but truly your music almost put me in a state of frenzy,--i never heard anything in the least like it----" "nor i,"--said lady sibyl, who just then moved towards the piano--"it was marvellous! do you know, it quite frightened me?" "i am sorry!" he answered with a penitent air--"i know i am quite a failure as a pianist--i am not sufficiently 'restrained,' as the press men would say." "a failure? good god!" exclaimed lord elton at this juncture--"why, if you played like that in public, you'd drive everyone frantic!" "with alarm?" queried lucio, laughing--"or with disgust?" "nonsense! you know what i mean very well. i have always had a contempt for the piano as an instrument, but by jove! i never heard such music as yours even in a full orchestra. it is extraordinary!--it is positively magnificent! where in the world did you study?" "in nature's conservatoire;"--replied rimânez lazily. "my first 'maestro' was an amiable nightingale. he, singing on a branch of fir when the moon was full, explained with liquid-noted patience, how to construct and produce a pure roulade, cadenza and trill,--and when i had learned thus far, he showed me all the most elaborate methods of applying rhythmic tune to the upward and downward rush of the wind, thus supplying me with perfect counterpoint. chords i learned from old neptune, who was good enough to toss a few of his largest billows to the shore for my special benefit. he nearly deafened me with his instructions, being somewhat excitable and loud-voiced,--but on finding me an apt pupil, he drew back his waves to himself with so much delicacy among the pebbles and sand, that at once i mastered the secret of playing _arpeggi_. once too i had a finishing lesson from a dream,--a mystic thing with wild hair and wings--it sang one word in my ears, and the word was unpronounceable in mortal speech,--but after many efforts i discovered it lurking in the scale of sound. the best part of it all was, that my instructors asked no fees!" "i think you are a poet as well as a musician,"--said lady sibyl. "a poet! spare me!--my dear young lady, why are you so cruel as to load me with so vile an imputation! better be a murderer than a poet,--one is treated with much more respect and courteous consideration,--by the press at anyrate. the murderer's breakfast-menu will be given due place in many of the most estimable journals,--but the poet's lack of both breakfast and dinner will be deemed his fitting reward. call me a live-stock producer, a horse-breeder, a timber-merchant,--anything but a poet! why even tennyson became an amateur milkman to somewhat conceal and excuse the shame and degradation of writing verse!" we all laughed. "well, you must admit," said lord elton, "that we've had rather too much of poets lately. it's no wonder we're sick of them, and that poetry has fallen into disrepute. poets are such a quarrelsome lot too--effeminate, puling, unmanly humbugs!" "you are speaking of the newly 'discovered' ones of course," said lucio--"yes, they are a weedy collection. i have sometimes thought that out of pure philanthropy i would start a bon-bon manufactory, and employ them to write mottoes for the crackers. it would keep them out of mischief and provide them with a little pocket-money, for as matters stand they do not make a farthing by their books. but i do not call them 'poets' at all,--they are mere rhymers. one or two real poets do exist, but, like the prophets of scripture, they are not 'in society,' nor can they get their logs rolled by any of their contemporaries. they are not favourites with any 'set'; that is why i am afraid my dear friend tempest will never be accepted as the genius he is; society will be too fond of him to let him go down into dust and ashes to gather the laurel." "it is not necessary to go down into dust and ashes for that," i said. "i assure you it is!--" he answered gaily--"positively imperative. the laurel flourishes best so,--it will not grow in a hot-house." at that moment diana chesney approached. "lady elton would like to hear you sing, prince--" she said--"will you give us that pleasure? do! something quite simple, you know,--it will set our nerves straight after your terribly beautiful music! you'd hardly believe it perhaps,--but i really feel quite unstrung!" he folded his hands with a droll air of penitence. "forgive me!" he said, "i'm always, as the church service says, doing those things i ought not to do." miss chesney laughed, a trifle nervously. "oh, i forgive you!" she replied--"on condition that you sing." "i obey!" and with that he turned again to the piano, and playing a strange wild minor accompaniment sang the following stanzas: sleep, my belovëd, sleep! be patient!--we shall keep our secret closely hid beneath the coffin-lid,-- there is no other place in earth or air for such a love as ours, or such despair! and neither hell nor heaven shall care to win our loathëd souls, rejoicing in their sin! sleep!--for my hand is sure,-- the cold steel bright and pure strikes through thy heart and mine shedding our blood like wine;-- sin's sweetness is too sweet, and if the shame of love must be our curse, we hurl the blame back on the gods who gave us love with breath and tortured us from passion into death! this strange song, sung in the most glorious of baritones, full and rich, and vibrating with power and sweetness, had a visibly thrilling effect upon us all. again we were struck dumb with surprise and something like fear,--and again diana chesney broke the silence. "you call that simple!" she said, half petulantly. "quite so. love and death are the simplest things in the world"--replied lucio.--"the ballad is a mere trifle,--it is entitled 'the last love-song' and is supposed to be the utterance of a lover about to kill his mistress and himself. such events happen every day,--you know that by the newspapers,--they are perfectly common-place----" he was interrupted by a sharp clear voice ringing imperatively across the room-- "where did you learn that song?" xiv it was the paralysed countess who spoke. she had managed to partly raise herself on her couch, and her face expressed positive terror. her husband hurried to her side,--and, with a curiously cynical smile on his lips, rimânez rose from the piano. miss charlotte, who had sat rigidly upright and silent for some time, hastened to attend upon her sister, but lady elton was singularly excited, and appeared to have gained a sudden access of unnatural vigour. "go away,--i'm not ill,"--she said impatiently--"i feel better,--much better than i have done for months. the music does me good." and addressing her husband, she added--"ask your friend to come and sit here by me,--i want to talk to him. he has a magnificent voice,--and--i know that song he sang,--i remember reading it--in a manuscript album--long ago. i want to know where he found it--" rimânez here advanced with his gentle tread and courteous bearing, and lord elton gave him a chair beside the invalid. "you are working miracles on my wife,"--he said--"i have not seen her so animated for years." and leaving the two to talk, he crossed over to where lady sibyl, myself and miss chesney were all seated in a group, chatting more or less unrestrainedly. "i have just been expressing the hope that you and your daughter will pay me a visit at willowsmere, lord elton," i said. his brows contracted a little, but he forced a smile. "we shall be delighted,"--he mumbled--"when do you take possession?" "as soon as it is at all feasible"--i replied--"i shall wait in town till the next levée is over, as both my friend and myself have arranged to be presented." "oh--ah--yes!--er--yes! that is always advisable. and it's not half such a troublesome business as a drawing-room is for the ladies. it's soon over,--and low bodices are not _de rigeur_--ha--ha--ha! who is your presenter?" i named a distinguished personage, closely connected with the court, and the earl nodded. "a very good man,--you could not have a better"--he said complacently--"and this book of yours,--when does it come out?" "next week." "we must get it,--we must certainly get it,"--said lord elton, assuming interest,--"sybil, you must put it down on your library list." she assented, though, as i thought a trifle indifferently. "on the contrary you must allow me to present it to you;" i said--"it will be a pleasure to me which i hope you will not deny." "you are very kind,"--she answered, lifting her beautiful eyes to mine as she spoke--"but the librarian at mudie's is sure to send it--he knows i read everything. though i confess i never buy any books except those by mavis clare." again that woman's name! i felt annoyed, but took care not to show my annoyance. "i shall be jealous of mavis clare," i said playfully. "most men are!" she replied quietly. "you are indeed an enthusiastic partisan of hers!" i exclaimed, somewhat surprised. "yes, i suppose i am. i like to see any member of my sex distinguish herself as nobly as she does. i have no genius of my own, and that is one of the reasons why i honour it so much in other women." i was about to make some suitable compliment by way of response to this remark, when we were all violently startled from our seats by a most horrible cry,--a gasping scream such as might be wrung from some tortured animal. aghast at the sound we stood for a moment inert, staring at rimânez, who came quickly towards us with an air of grave concern. "i am afraid," he said softly--"that the countess is not so well,--perhaps you had better go to her--" another shriek interrupted his words, and transfixed with horror we saw lady elton struggling in the throes of some sudden and terrific convulsion, her hands beating the air as if she were fighting with an unseen enemy. in one second her face underwent such hideous contortions as robbed it of all human semblance, and between the agonized pantings of her difficult breath, her half-choked voice could be heard uttering wild cries-- "mercy!--mercy!--oh god--god! tell sibyl!--pray--pray to god,--pray--" and with that she fell heavily back, speechless and unconscious. all was instant confusion. lady sibyl rushed to her mother's side, with miss charlotte,--diana chesney hung back trembling and afraid,--lord elton sprang to the bell and rang it furiously. "fetch the doctor!" he cried to the startled servant--"lady elton has had another shock! she must be taken to her room at once!" "can i be of any service?" i inquired, with a side-glance at rimânez, who stood gravely apart, a statuesquely composed figure of silence. "no no,--thanks all the same!" and the earl pressed my hand gratefully--"she should not have come downstairs,--it has been too exciting for her. sybil, don't look at her, my dear--it will only unnerve you,--miss chesney, pray go to your room,--charlotte can do all that is possible----" as he spoke two of the men-servants came in to carry the insensible countess upstairs,--and as they slowly bore her on her coffin-like couch past me, one of them drew the coverlet across her face to conceal it. but not so quickly that i could not see the awful change impressed upon it,--the indelible horror that was stamped on the drawn features,--horror such as surely never was seen except in a painter's idea of some lost soul in torment. the eyes were rolled up and fixed in their sockets like balls of glass, and in them also was frozen the same frenzied desperate look of fear. it was a dreadful face!--so dreadful in its ghastly immovableness that i was all at once reminded of my hideous vision of the previous night, and the pallid countenances of the three phantoms that had scared me in my sleep. lady elton's looks now resembled theirs! sickened and appalled i averted my eyes, and was glad to see rimânez taking farewell of his host, the while he expressed his regret and sympathy with him in his domestic affliction. i myself, approaching lady sibyl, pressed her cold and trembling hand in mine, and respectfully kissed it. "i am deeply sorry!" i murmured--"i wish i could do anything to console you!" she looked at me with dry calm eyes. "thank-you. but the doctors have always said that my mother would have another shock depriving her of speech. it is very sad; she will probably live for some years like that." i again expressed my sympathy. "may i come and inquire about you all to-morrow?" i asked. "it will be very kind of you,"--she answered quietly. "shall i see you if i come?" i said in a lower tone. "if you wish it,--certainly!" our eyes met; and i knew by instinct that she read my thoughts. i pressed her hand again and was not repulsed,--then bowing profoundly, i left her to make my adieux to lord elton and miss chesney, who seemed terribly upset and frightened. miss charlotte fitzroy had left the room in attendance on her sister, and she did not return to bid us good-night. rimânez lingered a moment behind me to say another word or two to the earl, and when he joined me in the hall and threw on his opera-coat, he was smiling to himself somewhat singularly. "an unpleasant end for helena, countess of elton"--he said, when we were in our brougham, driving away--"paralysis is perhaps the worst of all the physical punishments that can befall a 'rapid' lady." "was she 'rapid'?" "well,--perhaps 'rapid' is too mild a term, but i can find no other;"--he answered--"when she was young,--she is barely fifty now,--she did everything that could be done by woman at her worst and wildest. she had scores of lovers,--and i believe one of them cleared off her husband's turf-debts,--the earl consenting gladly,--on a rather pressing occasion." "what disgraceful conduct!" i exclaimed. he looked at me with an expression of cynical amusement. "think so? the 'upper ten' quite condone that sort of thing in their own set now-a-days. it is all right. if a lady has lovers, and her husband beams benevolence on the situation what can be said? nothing. how very tender your conscience is, geoffrey!" i sat silent, thinking. my companion lit a cigarette and offered me one. i took it mechanically without lighting it. "i made a mistake this evening,"--he went on--"i should not have sung that 'last love-song.' the fact is, the words were written by one of her ladyship's former admirers, a man who was something of a poet in his way,--and she had an idea that she was the only person living who had ever seen the lines. she wanted to know if i knew the man who composed them, and i was able to say that i did--very intimately. i was just explaining how it was, and why i knew him so well, when the distressing attack of convulsions came on, and finished our conversation." "she looked horrible!" i said. "the paralysed helen of a modern troy? yes,--her countenance at the last was certainly not attractive. beauty combined with wantonness frequently ends in the drawn twitch, fixed eye and helpless limbs of life-in-death. it is nature's revenge on the outraged body,--and do you know, eternity's revenge on the impure soul is extremely similar?" "what do you know about it?" i said, smiling in spite of myself as i looked at his fine face, expressive of perfect health and splendid intellectuality--"your absurd fancies about the soul are the only traces of folly i discover in you." "really? well i am glad i have something of the fool in my disposition,--foolishness being the only quality that makes wisdom possible. i confess i have odd, very odd notions about the soul." "i will excuse them--" i said, laughing--god forgive me, in my own insensate blind conceit,--the while he regarded me fixedly--"in fact i will excuse anything for the sake of your voice. i do not flatter you, lucio,--you sing like an angel." "don't use impossible comparisons;"--he replied--"have you ever heard an angel sing?" "yes!" i answered smiling--"i have,--this very night!" he turned deadly pale. "a very open compliment!" he said, forcing a laugh,--and with almost rough haste, he suddenly let down the window of the carriage though the night was bitter cold--"this vehicle is suffocating me,--let us have some air. see how the stars are shining!--like great crown jewels--deity's regalia! hard frost, like hard times, brings noble works into prominence. yonder, far off, is a star you can hardly perceive; red as a cinder at times and again blue as the lightning,--i can always discover it, though many cannot. it is algol,--judged by superstitious folk to be an evil star. i love it chiefly on account of its bad reputation,--it is no doubt much maligned. it may be a cold quarter of hell where weeping spirits sit frozen in ice made of their own congealed tears,--or it may be a preparatory school for heaven--who knows! yonder too, shines venus,--your star geoffrey!--for you are in love my friend!--come confess it! are you not?" "i am not sure;"--i answered slowly--"the phrase 'in love' scarcely describes my present feeling...." "you have dropped these,"--he said suddenly, picking up a fast fading knot of violets from the floor of the brougham and holding them towards me. he smiled, as i uttered an exclamation of annoyance. they were lady sibyl's flowers which i had inadvertently let fall, and i saw he knew it. i took them from his hand in silence. "my dear fellow, do not try to hide your intentions from your best friend,"--he said seriously and kindly--"you wish to marry the earl of elton's beautiful daughter, and you shall. trust me!--i will do everything i can to promote your desire." "you will?" i exclaimed with unconcealed delight, for i fully recognised the influence he had over sibyl's father. "i will, i promise--" he answered gravely--"i assure you that such a marriage would be one after my own heart. i'll do all i can for you,--and i have made many matches in my time!" my heart beat high with triumph,--and when we parted that night i wrung his hand fervently and told him i was devoutly grateful to the fates for sending me such a good friend as he was. "grateful to--whom did you say?" he asked with a whimsical look. "to the fates!" "are you really? they are very ugly sisters i believe. perhaps they were your ghostly visitors of last night!" "god forbid!" i ejaculated. "ah! god never forbids the fulfilment of his own laws!" he answered--"to do so he would have to destroy himself." "if he exists at all!" i said carelessly. "true! if--!" and with this, we separated to our different quarters in the 'grand.' xv after that evening i became a regular and welcome visitor at lord elton's house, and was soon on terms of the most friendly intimacy with all the members of his family, including even the severely pious miss charlotte fitzroy. it was not difficult for me to see that my matrimonial aspirations were suspected,--and though the encouragement i received from lady sibyl herself was so slight as to make me doubtful whether after all my hopes of winning her would ever be realized, the earl made no secret of his delight at the idea of securing me as a son-in-law. such wealth as mine was not to be met with every day,--and even had i been a blackleg of the turf or a retired jockey, instead of an 'author,' i should, with five millions at my back, have been considered quite as desirable a suitor for the lady sibyl's hand. rimânez scarcely ever went with me to the eltons' now, pleading as excuse much pressing business and many social engagements. i was not altogether sorry for this. greatly as i admired and honoured him, his extraordinary physical beauty and fascination of manner were in dangerous contrast to my merely 'ordinary good-looking' personality, and it seemed to me impossible that any woman, seeing much of him, could be expected to give me the preference. all the same i had no fear that he would ever voluntarily become my rival,--his antipathy to women was too deep-rooted and sincere for that. on this point indeed his feelings were so strong and passionate that i often wondered why the society sirens who eagerly courted his attention remained so blind and unconscious to the chill cynicism that lurked beneath his seeming courtesy,--the cutting satire that was coupled with apparent compliment, and the intensity of hatred that flamed under the assumed expression of admiring homage in his flashing eyes. however it was not my business to point out to those who could not, or would not, see the endless peculiarities of my friend's variable disposition. i did not pay much heed to them even so far as i myself was concerned, for i had grown accustomed to the quick changes he was wont to ring on all the gamut of human feeling, and absorbed in my own life-schemes i did not trouble myself to intimately study the man who had in a couple of months become my _fidus achates_. i was engrossed at the moment in doing all i could to increase the earl of elton's appreciative sense of my value as a man and a millionaire, and to this end i paid some of his pressing debts, lent him a large sum of money without demanding interest or promise of repayment, and stocked his cellar with presents of such rare old wines as he had not been able to afford to purchase for himself for many years. thus was confidence easily engendered between us, even to that point of affection which displayed itself in his lordship's readiness to thrust his arm through mine when we sauntered together down piccadilly, and his calling me 'my dear boy' in public. never shall i forget the bewildered amazement of the scrubby little editor of a sixpenny magazine who met me face to face thus accompanied in the park one morning! that he knew the earl of elton by sight was evident, and that he also knew me his apoplectic stare confessed. he had pompously refused to even read any of my offered contributions on the ground that i had 'no name,'--and now--! he would have given a month's salary if i had but condescended to recognize him! i did not so condescend,--but passed him by, listening to, and laughing with my intended future father-in-law, who was retailing an extremely ancient joke for my benefit. the incident was slight, even trumpery,--yet it put me in a good humour, for one of the chiefest pleasures i had out of my wealth was the ability to repay with vengeful interest all the contempt and insult that had beaten me back from every chance of earning a livelihood while i was poor. in all my visits to the eltons, i never saw the paralysed countess again. since the last terrible visitation of her dread disease, she had not moved. she merely lived and breathed--no more. lord elton told me that the worst part of her illness at present, so far as it affected those who had to attend upon her, was the particularly hideous alteration of her face. "the fact is," he said, not without a shudder--"she's dreadful to look at,--positively dreadful!--no longer human, you know. she used to be a lovely woman,--now she is literally frightful. her eyes especially;--they are as scared and wild as if she had seen the devil. quite an awful expression i assure you!--and it never alters. the doctors can do nothing--and of course it's very trying for sibyl, and everybody." i assented sympathetically; and realising that a house holding such a figure of living death within it must of necessity be more or less gloomy and depressing to a young and vigorous nature, i lost no opportunity of giving lady sibyl whatever slight pleasures were in my power to procure, for her distraction and entertainment. costly flowers, boxes for the opera and 'first nights' at the play,--every sort of attention that a man can pay to a woman without being considered officious or intrusive i offered, and was not repulsed. everything progressed well and favourably towards the easy attainment of my wishes,--i had no difficulties, no troubles of any kind,--and i voluntarily led a life of selfishly absorbed personal gratification, being commended and encouraged therein by a whole host of flatterers and interested acquaintances. willowsmere court was mine, and every newspaper in the kingdom had commented on the purchase, in either servile or spiteful paragraphs. my lawyers had warmly congratulated me on the possession of so admirable a property which they, in strict accordance with what they conceived to be their duty, had personally inspected and approved. the place was now in the hands of a firm of decorators and furnishers, recommended by rimânez, and it was expected to be in perfect order for my habitation in early summer, at which time i purposed entertaining a large house-party of more or less distinguished people. meantime, what i had once considered would be the great event of my life, took place,--namely the publication of my book. trumpeted forth by the most heraldic advertisements, it was at last launched on the uncertain and fluctuating tide of public favour, and special 'advance' copies were sent to the office of every magazine and journal in london. the day after this was done, lucio, as i now familiarly called him, came in to my room with a mysterious and mischievous air. "geoffrey," he said--"i'm going to lend you five hundred pounds!" i looked up with a smile. "what for?" he held out a cheque towards me. glancing at it i saw that the sum he mentioned was filled in and endorsed with his signature, but that the name of the person to whom the money was to be made payable, had not yet been written. "well? what does it mean?" "it means"--replied he--"that i am going to see mr mcwhing this morning. i have an appointment with him at twelve. you, as geoffrey tempest, the author of the book mr mcwhing is going to criticise and make a 'boom' of, could not possibly put your name to such a cheque. it would not be 'good form'--it might crop up afterwards and so betray 'the secrets of the prison-house.' but for me it is another affair. i am going to 'pose' as your businessman--your 'literary agent' who pockets ten per cent. of the profits and wants to make a 'big thing' out of you, and i'm going to talk the matter over with the perfectly practical mcwhing who has, like every true scot, a keen eye for the main chance. of course it will be in confidence,--strict confidence!" and he laughed--"it's all a question of business you know,--in these commercial days, literature has become a trade like everything else, and even critics only work for what pays them. as indeed why should they not?" "do you mean to tell me mcwhing will take that five hundred?" i asked dubiously. "i mean to tell you nothing of the kind. i would not put the matter so coarsely for the world! this money is not for mcwhing,--it is for a literary charity." "indeed! i thought you had an idea perhaps of offering a bribe...." "bribe! good heavens! bribe a critic! impossible, my good geoffrey!--such a thing was never heard of--never, never, never!" and he shook his head and rolled up his eyes with infinite solemnity--"no no! press people never take money for anything--not even for 'booming' a new gold-mining company,--not even for putting a notice of a fashionable concert into the morning post. everything in the english press is the just expression of pure and lofty sentiment, believe me! this little cheque is for a charity of which mr mcwhing is chief patron,--you see the civil list pensions all go by favour to the wrong persons nowadays; to the keeping of lunatic versifiers and retired actresses who never could act--the actual bona-fide 'genius' never gets anything out of government, and moreover would scorn to take a farthing from that penurious body, which grudges him anything higher than a money-recognition. it is as great an insult to offer a beggarly pension of fifty or a hundred pounds a year to a really great writer as to give him a knighthood,--and we cannot fall much lower than to be a knight, as knights go. the present five hundred pounds will help to relieve certain 'poor and proud' but pressing literary cases known to mcwhing alone!" his expression at this moment was so extraordinary, that i entirely failed to fathom it. "i have no doubt i shall be able to represent the benevolent and respectable literary agent to perfection--of course i shall insist on my ten per cent.!"--and he began laughing again. "but i can't stop to discuss the matter now with you--i'm off. i promised mcwhing to be with him at twelve o'clock precisely, and it's now half-past-eleven. i shall probably lunch with him, so don't wait for me. and concerning the five hundred, you needn't be in my debt an hour longer than you like--i'll take a cheque for the money back from you this evening." "all right"--i said--"but perhaps the great oracle of the cliques will reject your proposals with scorn." "if he does, then is utopia realized!"--replied lucio, carefully drawing on his gloves as he spoke--"where's a copy of your book? ah--here's one--smelling newly of the press," and he slipped the volume into his overcoat pocket; "allow me, before departure, to express the opinion that you are a singularly ungrateful fellow, geoffrey! here am i, perfectly devoted to your interests,--and despite my princedom actually prepared to 'pose' to mcwhing as your 'acting manager' _pro tem_, and you haven't so much as a thank-you to throw at me!" he stood before me smiling, the personification of kindness and good humour. i laughed a little. "mcwhing will never take _you_ for an acting manager or literary agent,"--i said--"you don't look it. if i seem churlish i'm sorry--but the fact is i am disgusted ..." "at what?" he inquired, still smiling. "oh, at the humbug of everything,"--i answered impatiently; "the stupid farce of it all. why shouldn't a book get noticed on its own merits without any appeal to cliquism and influential wire-pulling on the press?" "exactly!" and he delicately flicked a grain of dust off his coat while speaking--"and why shouldn't a man get received in society on his own merits, without any money to recommend him or any influential friend to back him up?" i was silent. "the world is as it is made,"--he went on, regarding me fixedly--"it is moved by the lowest and pettiest motives,--it works for the most trivial, ridiculous and perishable aims. it is not a paradise. it is not a happy family of united and affectionate brethren. it is an over-populated colony of jabbering and quarrelsome monkeys, who fancy they are men. philosophers in old days tried to teach it that the monkey-type should be exterminated for the growth and encouragement of a nobler race,--but they preached in vain--there never were enough real men alive to overcome the swarming majority of the beasts. god himself, they say, came down from heaven to try and set wrong things right, and to restore if possible his own defaced image to the general aspect of humanity,--and even he failed." "there is very little of god in this world"--i said bitterly; "there is much more devil!" he smiled,--a musing, dreamy smile that transfigured his countenance and made him look like a fine apollo absorbed in the thought of some new and glorious song. "no doubt!" he said, after a little pause--"mankind certainly prefer the devil to any other deity,--therefore if they elect him as their representative, it is scarcely to be wondered at that he governs where he is asked to govern. and yet--do you know geoffrey--this devil,--if there is one,--can hardly, i think, be quite so bad as his detractors say. i myself don't believe he is a whit worse than a nineteenth-century financier!" i laughed aloud at the comparison. "after that," i said--"you had better go to mcwhing. i hope you will tell him that i am the triple essence of all the newest 'discoveries' rolled into one!" "never fear!" returned lucio,--"i've learned all my stock-phrases by heart--a 'star of the first magnitude' etc.,--i've read the _athenæum_ till i've got the lingo of the literary auctioneer well-nigh perfect, and i believe i shall acquit myself admirably. au revoir!" he was gone; and i, after a little desultory looking over my papers, went out to lunch at arthur's, of which club i was now a member. on my way i stopped to look in at a bookseller's window to see if my 'immortal' production was yet on show. it was not,--and the volume put most conspicuously to the front among all the 'newest books' was one entitled 'differences. by mavis clare.' acting on a sudden impulse i went in to purchase it. "has this a good sale?" i asked, as the volume was handed to me. the clerk at the counter opened his eyes wide. "sale?" he echoed--"well, i should think so--rather! why everybody's reading it!" "indeed!" and i turned over the uncut pages carelessly--"i see no allusion whatever to it in the papers." the clerk smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "no--and you're not likely to, sir"--he said--"miss clare is too popular to need reviews. besides, a large number of the critics,--the 'log-rollers' especially, are mad against her for her success, and the public know it. only the other day a man came in here from one of the big newspaper offices and told me he was taking a few notes on the books which had the largest sales,--would i tell him which author's works were most in demand? i said miss clare took the lead,--as she does,--and he got into a regular rage. said he--'that's the answer i've had all along the line, and however true it is, it's no use to me because i dare not mention it. my editor would instantly scratch it out--he hates miss clare.' 'a precious editor you've got!' i said, and he looked rather queer. there's nothing like journalism, sir, for the suppression of truth!" i smiled, and went away with my purchase, convinced that i had wasted a few shillings on a mere piece of woman's trash. if this mavis clare was indeed so 'popular,' then her work must naturally be of the 'penny dreadful' order, for i, like many another literary man, laboured under the ludicrous inconsistency of considering the public an 'ass' while i myself desired nothing so much as the said 'ass's' applause and approval!--and therefore i could not imagine it capable of voluntarily selecting for itself any good work of literature without guidance from the critics. of course i was wrong; the great masses of the public in all nations are always led by some instinctive sense of right, that moves them to reject the false and unworthy, and select the true. completely prepared, like most men of my type to sneer and cavil at the book, chiefly because it was written by a feminine hand, i sat down in a retired corner of the club reading-room, and began to cut and skim the pages. i had not read many sentences before my heart sank with a heavy sense of fear and,--jealousy!--the slow fire of an insidious envy began to smoulder in my mind. what power had so gifted this author--this mere _woman_,--that she should dare to write better than i! and that she should force me, by the magic of her pen to mentally acknowledge, albeit with wrath and shame, my own inferiority! clearness of thought, brilliancy of style, beauty of diction, all these were hers, united to consummate ease of expression and artistic skill,--and all at once, in the very midst of reading, such a violent impulse of insensate rage possessed me that i flung the book down, dreading to go on with it. the potent, resistless, unpurchaseable quality of genius!--ah, i was not yet so blinded by my own conceit as to be unable to recognize that divine fire when i saw it flashing up from every page as i saw it now; but, to be compelled to give that recognition to a woman's work, galled and irritated me almost beyond endurance. women, i considered, should be kept in their places as men's drudges or toys--as wives, mothers, nurses, cooks, menders of socks and shirts, and housekeepers generally,--what right had they to intrude into the realms of art and snatch the laurels from their masters' brows! if i could but get the chance of reviewing this book, i thought to myself savagely!--i would misquote, misrepresent, and cut it to shreds with a joy too great for words! this mavis clare, 'unsexed,' as i at once called her in my own mind simply because she had the power i lacked,--wrote what she had to say with a gracious charm, freedom, and innate consciousness of strength,--a strength which forced me back upon myself and filled me with the bitterest humiliation. without knowing her i hated her,--this woman who could win fame without the aid of money, and who was crowned so brightly and visibly to the world that she was beyond criticism. i took up her book again and tried to cavil at it,--over one or two dainty bits of poetic simile and sentiment i laughed,--enviously. when i left the club later in the day, i took the book with me, divided between a curious desire to read it honestly through with justice to it and its author, and an impulse to tear it asunder and fling it into the road to be crushed in the mud under rolling cab and cart wheels. in this strange humour rimânez found me, when at about four o'clock he returned from his mission to david mcwhing, smiling and--triumphant. "congratulate me geoffrey!" he exclaimed as he entered my room--"congratulate me, and yourself! i am _minus_ the five hundred pound cheque i showed you this morning!" "mcwhing has pocketed it then,"--i said sullenly--"all right! much good may it do him, and his 'charity'!" rimânez gave me a quick observant glance. "why, what has happened to you since we parted?" he inquired, throwing off his overcoat and sitting down opposite to me--"you seem out of temper! yet you ought to be a perfectly happy man--for your highest ambition is about to be gratified. you said you wished to make your book and yourself 'the talk of london,'--well, within the next two or three weeks you will see yourself praised in a very large number of influential newspapers as the newest discovered 'genius' of the day, only a little way removed from shakespeare himself (three of the big leading magazines are guaranteed to say that) and all this through the affability of mr mcwhing, and the trifling sum of five hundred pounds! and are you not satisfied? really, my friend, you are becoming difficult!--i warned you that too much good fortune spoils a man." with a sudden movement i flung down mavis clare's book before him. "look at this"--i said--"does _she_ pay five hundred pounds to david mcwhing's charity?" he took up the volume and glanced at it. "certainly not. but then,--she gets slandered--not criticized!" "what does that matter!" i retorted--"the man from whom i bought this book says that everybody is reading it." "exactly!" and rimânez surveyed me with a curious expression, half of pity, half of amusement--"but you know the old axiom, my dear geoffrey?--'you may lead a horse to the water but you cannot make him drink.' which statement, interpreted for the present occasion, means that though certain log-rollers, headed by our estimable friend mcwhing, may drag the horse--i.e. the public, up to their own particularly prepared literary trough, they cannot force it to swallow the mixture. the horse frequently turns tail and runs away in search of its own provender,--it has done so in the case of miss clare. when the public choose an author for themselves, it is a dreadful thing of course for other authors,--but it really can't be helped!" "why should they choose mavis clare?" i demanded gloomily. "ah, why indeed!" he echoed smiling--"mcwhing would tell you they do it out of sheer idiotcy;--the public would answer that they choose her because she has genius." "genius!" i repeated scornfully--"the public are perfectly incapable of recognizing such a quality!" "you think so?" he said still smiling--"you really think so? in that case it's very odd isn't it, how everything that is truly great in art and literature becomes so widely known and honoured, not only in this country but in every civilized land where people think or study? you must remember that all the very famous men and women have been steadily 'written down' in their day, even to the late english laureate, tennyson, who was 'criticized' for the most part in the purest billingsgate,--it is only the mediocrities who are ever 'written up.' it seems as if the stupid public really had a hand in selecting these 'great,' for the reviewers would never stand them at any price, till driven to acknowledge them by the popular _force majeure_. but considering the barbarous want of culture and utter foolishness of the public, geoffrey, what _i_ wonder at, is that you should care to appeal to it at all!" i sat silent,--inwardly chafing under his remarks. "i am afraid--" he resumed, rising and taking a white flower from one of the vases on the table to pin in his button-hole--"that miss clare is going to be a thorn in your side, my friend! a man rival in literature is bad enough,--but a woman rival is too much to endure with any amount of patience! however you may console yourself with the certainty that _she_ will never get 'boomed,'--while you--thanks to my tender fostering of the sensitive and high-principled mcwhing, will be the one delightful and unique 'discovery' of the press for at least one month, perhaps two, which is about as long as any 'new star of the first magnitude' lasts in the latter-day literary skies. shooting-stars all of them!--such as poor old forgotten béranger sang of-- "les etoiles qui filent, 'qui filent,--qui filent--et disparaissent!'" "except--mavis clare!" i said. "true! except mavis clare!" and he laughed aloud,--a laugh that jarred upon me because there was a note of mockery in it--"she is a small fixture in the vast heavens,--or so it seems--revolving very contentedly and smoothly in her own appointed orbit,--but she is not and never will be attended by the brilliant meteor-flames that will burst round _you_, my excellent fellow, at the signal of mcwhing! fie geoffrey!--get over your sulks! jealous of a woman! be ashamed,--is not woman the inferior creature?, and shall the mere spectre of a feminine fame cause a five-fold millionaire to abase his lofty spirit in the dust? conquer your strange fit of the spleen, geoffrey, and join me at dinner!" he laughed again as he left the room,--and again his laughter irritated me. when he had gone, i gave way to the base and unworthy impulse that had for some minutes been rankling within me, and sitting down at my writing table, penned a hasty note to the editor of a rather powerful magazine, a man whom i had formerly known and worked for. he was aware of my altered fortunes and the influential position i now occupied, and i felt confident he would be glad to oblige me in any matter if he could. my letter, marked '_private and confidential_' contained the request that i might be permitted to write for his next number, an anonymous 'slashing' review of the new novel entitled 'differences' by mavis clare. xvi it is almost impossible for me to describe the feverish, irritated and contradictory state of mind in which i now began to pass my days. with the absolute fixity of my fortunes, my humours became more changeful than the wind, and i was never absolutely contented for two hours together. i joined in every sort of dissipation common to men of the day, who with the usual inanity of noodles, plunged into the filth of life merely because to be morally dirty was also at the moment fashionable and much applauded by society. i gambled recklessly, solely for the reason that gambling was considered by many leaders of the 'upper ten' as indicative of 'manliness' and 'showing _grit_.' "i hate a fellow who grudges losing a few pounds at play,"--said one of these 'distinguished' titled asses to me once--"it shows such a cowardly and currish disposition." guided by this 'new' morality, and wishing to avoid the possibility of being called "cowardly and currish," i indulged in baccarat and other ruinous games almost every night, willingly losing the 'few pounds' which in my case meant a few hundreds, for the sake of my occasional winnings, which placed a number of 'noble' rakes and blue-blooded blacklegs in my power for 'debts of honour,' which are supposed to be more strictly attended to and more punctually paid than any debts in the world, but which, as far as i am concerned, are still owing. i also betted heavily, on everything that could be made the subject of a bet,--and not to be behind my peers in 'style' and 'knowledge of the world' i frequented low houses and allowed a few half-nude brandy-soaked dancers and vulgar music-hall 'artistes' to get a couple of thousand pounds worth of jewels out of me, because this sort of thing was called 'seeing life' and was deemed part of a 'gentleman's' diversion. heavens!--what beasts we all were, i and my aristocratic boon companions!--what utterly worthless, useless, callous scoundrels!--and yet,--we associated with the best and the highest in the land;--the fairest and noblest ladies in london received us in their houses with smiles and softly-worded flatteries--we--whose presence reeked with vice; we, 'young men of fashion' whom, if he had known our lives as they were, an honest cobbler working patiently for daily bread, might have spat upon, in contempt and indignation that such low rascals should be permitted to burden the earth! sometimes, but very seldom, rimânez joined our gambling and music-hall parties, and on such occasions i noticed that he, as it were, 'let himself go' and became the wildest of us all. but though wild he was never coarse,--as _we_ were; his deep and mellow laughter had a sonorous richness in it that was totally unlike the donkey's 'hee-haw' of our 'cultured' mirth,--his manners were never vulgar; and his fluent discourse on men and things, now witty and satirical, now serious almost to pathos, strangely affected many of those who heard him talk, myself most of all. once, i remember, when we were returning late from some foolish carouse,--i with three young sons of english peers, and rimânez walking beside us,--we came upon a poorly clad girl sobbing and clinging to the iron railing outside a closed church door. "oh god!" she wailed--"oh dear god! do help me!" one of my companions seized her by the arm with a lewd jest, when all at once rimânez stepped between. "leave her alone!" he said sternly--"let her find god if she can!" the girl looked up at him terrified, her eyes streaming with tears, and he dropped two or three gold pieces into her hand. she broke out crying afresh. "oh god bless you!" she cried wildly--"god bless you!" he raised his hat and stood uncovered in the moonlight, his dark beauty softened by a strangely wistful expression. "i thank you!" he said simply--"you make me your debtor." and he passed on; we followed, somewhat subdued and silenced, though one of my lordling friends sniggered idiotically. "you paid dearly for that blessing, rimânez!" he said--"you gave her three sovereigns;--by jove! i'd have had something more than a blessing if i had been you." "no doubt!" returned rimânez--"you deserve more,--much more! i hope you will get it! a blessing would be of no advantage whatever to _you_;--it is, to _me_." how often i have thought of this incident since! i was too dense to attach either meaning or importance to it then,--self-absorbed as i was, i paid no attention to circumstances which seemed to have no connection with my own life and affairs. and in all my dissipations and so-called amusements, a perpetual restlessness consumed me,--i obtained no real satisfaction out of anything except my slow and somewhat tantalizing courtship of lady sibyl. she was a strange girl; she knew my intentions towards her well enough; yet she affected not to know. each time i ventured to treat her with more than the usual deference, and to infuse something of the ardour of a lover into my looks or manner, she feigned surprise. i wonder why it is that some women are so fond of playing the hypocrite in love? their own instinct teaches them when men are amorous; but unless they can run the fox to earth, or in other words, reduce their suitors to the lowest pitch of grovelling appeal, and force them to such abasement that the poor passion-driven fools are ready to fling away life, and even honour, dearer than life, for their sakes, their vanity is not sufficiently gratified. but who, or what am i that i should judge of vanity,--i whose egregious and flagrant self-approbation was of such a character that it blinded me to the perception and comprehension of everything in which my own ego was not represented! and yet,--with all the morbid interest i took in myself, my surroundings, my comfort, my social advancement, there was one thing which soon became a torture to me,--a veritable despair and loathing,--and this, strange to say, was the very triumph i had most looked forward to as the crown and summit of all my ambitious dreams. my book,--the book i had presumed to consider a work of genius,--when it was launched on the tide of publicity and criticism, resolved itself into a sort of literary monster that haunted my days and nights with its hateful presence; the thick, black-lettered, lying advertisements scattered broadcast by my publisher, flared at me with an offensive insistence in every paper i casually opened. and the praise of the reviewers! ... the exaggerated, preposterous, fraudulent 'boom'! good god!--how sickening it was!--how fulsome! every epithet of flattery bestowed upon me filled me with disgust, and one day when i took up a leading magazine and saw a long article upon the 'extraordinary brilliancy and promise' of my book, comparing me to a new Æschylus and shakespeare combined, with the signature of david mcwhing appended to it, i could have thrashed that erudite and assuredly purchased scot within an inch of his life. the chorus of eulogy was well-nigh universal; i was the 'genius of the day'--the 'hope of the future generation,'--i was the "book of the month,"--the greatest, the wittiest, most versatile, most brilliant scribbling pigmy that had ever honoured a pot of ink by using it! of course i figured as mcwhing's 'discovery,'--five hundred pounds bestowed on his mysterious 'charity' had so sharpened his eyesight that he had perceived me shining brightly on the literary horizon before anyone else had done so. the press followed his 'lead' obediently,--for though the press,--the english press at least,--is distinctly unbribable, the owners of newspapers are not insensible to the advantages of largely paying advertisements. moreover, when mr mcwhing announced me as his 'find' in the oracular style which distinguished him, some other literary gentlemen came forward and wrote effective articles about me, and sent me their compositions carefully marked. i took the hint,--wrote at once to thank them, and invited them to dinner. they came, and feasted royally with rimânez and myself;--(one of them wrote an 'ode' to me afterwards),--and at the conclusion of the revels, we sent two of the 'oracles' home, considerably overcome by champagne, in a carriage with amiel to look after them, and help them out at their own doors. and my 'boom' expanded,--london 'talked' as i had said it should; the growling monster metropolis discussed me and my work in its own independent and peculiar fashion. the 'upper ten' subscribed to the circulating libraries, and these admirable institutions made a two or three hundred copies do for all demands, by the simple expedient of keeping subscribers waiting five or six weeks till they grew tired of asking for the book, and forgot all about it. apart from the libraries, the public did not take me up. from the glowing criticisms that appeared in all the papers, it might have been supposed that 'everybody who was anybody' was reading my 'wonderful' production. such however was not the case. people spoke of me as 'the great millionaire,' but they were indifferent to the bid i had made for literary fame. the remark they usually made to me wherever i went was--"you have written a novel, haven't you? what an odd thing for _you_ to do!"--this, with a laugh;--"i haven't read it,--i've so little time--i must ask for it at the library." of course a great many never did ask, not deeming it worth their while; and i whose money, combined with the resistless influence of rimânez, had started the favourable criticisms that flooded the press, found out that the majority of the public never read criticisms at all. hence, my anonymous review of mavis clare's book made no effect whatever on _her_ popularity, though it appeared in the most prominent manner. it was a sheer waste of labour,--for everywhere this woman author was still looked upon as a creature of altogether finer clay than ordinary, and still her book was eagerly devoured and questioned and admired; and still it sold by thousands, despite a lack of all favourable criticism or prominent advertisement. no one guessed that i had written what i am now perfectly willing to admit was a brutally wanton misrepresentation of her work,--no one, except rimânez. the magazine in which it appeared was a notable one, circulating in every club and library, and he, taking it up casually one afternoon, turned to that article at once. "you wrote this!" he said, fixing his eyes upon me,--"it must have been a great relief to your mind!" i said nothing. he read on in silence for a little; then laying down the magazine looked at me with a curiously scrutinizing expression. "there are some human beings so constituted," he said, "that if they had been with noah in the ark according to the silly old legend, they would have shot the dove bearing the olive-leaf, directly it came in sight over the waste of waters. you are of that type geoffrey." "i do not see the force of your comparison," i murmured. "do you not? why, what harm has this mavis clare done to you? your positions are entirely opposed. you are a millionaire; she is a hard-working woman dependent on her literary success for a livelihood, and you, rolling in wealth do your best to deprive her of the means of existence. does this redound to your credit? she has won her fame by her own brain and energy alone,--and even if you dislike her book need you abuse her personally as you have done in this article? you do not know her; you have never seen her, ..." "i hate women who write!" i said vehemently. "why? because they are able to exist independently? would you have them all the slaves of man's lust or convenience? my dear geoffrey, you are unreasonable. if you admit that you are jealous of this woman's celebrity and grudge it to her, then i can understand your spite, for jealousy is capable of murdering a fellow-creature with either the dagger or the pen." i was silent. "is the book such wretched stuff as you make it out to be?" he asked presently. "i suppose some people might admire it,"--i said curtly, "i do not." this was a lie; and of course he knew it was a lie. the work of mavis clare had excited my most passionate envy,--while the very fact that sibyl elton had read her book before she had thought of looking at mine, had accentuated the bitterness of my feelings. "well," said rimânez at last, smiling as he finished reading my onslaught--"all i can say geoffrey, is that this will not touch mavis clare in the least. you have overshot the mark, my friend! her public will simply cry "what a shame!" and clamour for her work more than ever. and as for the woman herself,--she has a merry heart, and she will laugh at it. you must see her some day." "i don't want to see her," i said. "probably not. but you will scarcely be able to avoid doing so when you live at willowsmere court." "one is not obliged to know everybody in the neighbourhood,"--i observed superciliously. lucio laughed aloud. "how well you carry your fortunes, geoffrey!" he said--"for a poor devil of a grub-street hack who lately was at a loss for a sovereign, how perfectly you follow the fashions of your time! if there is one man more than another that moves me to wondering admiration it is he who asserts his wealth strenuously in the face of his fellows, and who comports himself in this world as though he could bribe death and purchase the good-will of the creator. it is such splendid effrontery,--such superlative pride! now i, though over-wealthy myself, am so curiously constituted that i cannot wear my bank-notes in my countenance as it were,--i have put in a claim for intellect as well as gold,--and sometimes, do you know, in my travels round the world, i have been so far honoured as to be taken for quite a poor man! now _you_ will never have that chance again;--you are rich and you look it!" "and you,--" i interrupted him suddenly, and with some warmth--"do you know what _you_ look? you imply that i assert my wealth in my face; do you know what _you_ assert in your every glance and gesture?" "i cannot imagine!" he said smiling. "contempt for us all!" i said--"immeasurable contempt,--even for me, whom you call friend. i tell you the truth, lucio,--there are times, when in spite of our intimacy i feel that you despise me. i daresay you do; you have an extraordinary personality united to extraordinary talents; you must not however expect all men to be as self-restrained and as indifferent to human passions as yourself." he gave me a swift, searching glance. "expect!" he echoed--"my good fellow, i expect nothing at all,--from men. they, on the contrary,--at least all those _i_ know--expect everything from me. and they get it,--generally. as for 'despising' you, have i not said that i admire you? i do. i think there is something positively stupendous in the brilliant progress of your fame and rapid social success." "my fame!" i repeated bitterly--"how has it been obtained? what is it worth?" "that is not the question;" he retorted with a little smile; "how unpleasant it must be for you to have these gouty twinges of conscience geoffrey! of course no fame is actually worth much now-a-days,--because it is not classic fame, strong in reposeful old-world dignity,--it is blatant noisy notoriety merely. but yours, such as it is, is perfectly legitimate, judged by its common-sense commercial aspect, which is the only aspect in which anyone looks at anything. you must bear in mind that no one works out of disinterestedness in the present age,--no matter how purely benevolent an action may appear on the surface, self lies at the bottom of it. once grasp this fact, and you will perceive that nothing could be fairer or more straightforward than the way you have obtained your fame. you have not 'bought' the incorruptible british press; you could not do that; that is impossible, for it is immaculate, and bristles stiffly all over with honourable principles. there is no english paper existing that would accept a cheque for the insertion of a notice or a paragraph; not one!" his eyes twinkled merrily,--then he went on--"no,--it is only the foreign press that is corrupt, so the british press says;--john bull looks on virtuously aghast at journalists who, in dire stress of poverty, will actually earn a little extra pay for writing something or somebody 'up' or 'down.' thank heaven, _he_ employs no such journalists; his pressmen are the very soul of rectitude, and will stoically subsist on a pound a week rather than take ten for a casual job 'to oblige a friend.' do you know geoffrey, when the judgment day arrives, who will be among the first saints to ascend to heaven with the sounding of trumpets?" i shook my head, half vexed, half amused. "all the english (not foreign) editors and journalists!" said lucio with an air of pious rapture--"and why? because they are so good, so just, so unprejudiced! their foreign brethren will be reserved for the eternal dance of devils of course--but the britishers will pace the golden streets singing alleluia! i assure you i consider british journalists generally the noblest examples of incorruptibility in the world--they come next to the clergy as representatives of virtue, and exponents of the three evangelical counsels,--voluntary poverty, chastity, and obedience!" such mockery glittered in his eyes, that the light in them might have been the reflection of clashing steel. "be consoled, geoffrey," he resumed--"your fame is honourably won. you have simply, through me, approached one critic who writes in about twenty newspapers and influences others to write in other twenty,--that critic being a noble creature, (all critics are noble creatures) has a pet 'society' for the relief of authors in need (a noble scheme you will own) and to this charity i subscribe out of pure benevolence, five hundred pounds. moved by my generosity and consideration, (particularly as i do not ask what becomes of the five hundred) mcwhing 'obliges' me in a little matter. the editors of the papers for which he writes accept him as a wise and witty personage; _they_ know nothing about the charity or the cheque,--it is not necessary for them to know. the whole thing is really quite a reasonable business arrangement;--it is only a self-tormenting analyst like you who would stop to think of such a trifle a second time." "if mcwhing really and conscientiously admired my book for itself;" i began. "why should you imagine he does not?" asked lucio--"myself, i believe that he is a perfectly sincere and honorable man. i think he means all he says and writes. i consider that if he had found your work not worthy of his commendation, he would have sent me back that cheque for five hundred pounds, torn across in a noble scorn!" and with this, throwing himself back in his chair, he laughed till the tears came into his eyes. but i could not laugh; i was too weary and depressed. a heavy sense of despair was on my mind; i felt that the hope which had cheered me in my days of poverty,--the hope of winning real fame, so widely different a thing to notoriety, had vanished. there was some quality in the subtle glory which could not be won by either purchase or influence. the praise of the press could not give it. mavis clare, working for her bread, had it,--i, with millions of money, had not. like a fool i had thought to buy it; i had yet to learn that all the best, greatest, purest and worthiest things in life are beyond all market-value and that the gifts of the gods are not for sale. about a fortnight after the publication of my book, we went to court, my comrade and i, and were presented by a distinguished officer connected with the immediate and intimate surroundings of the royal household. it was a brilliant scene enough,--but, without doubt, the most brilliant personage there was rimânez. i was fairly startled at the stately and fascinating figure he made in his court suit of black velvet and steel ornaments; accustomed as i was to his good looks, i had never seen them so enhanced by dress as on this occasion. i had been tolerably well satisfied with my own appearance in the regulation costume till i saw him; then my personal vanity suffered a decided shock, and i realized that i merely served as a foil to show off and accentuate the superior attractions of my friend. but i was not envious of him in any way,--on the contrary i openly expressed the admiration i frankly felt. he seemed amused. "my dear boy, it is all flunkeydom;" he said--"all sham and humbug. look at this--" and he drew his light court rapier from its sheath--"there is no real use in this flimsy blade,--it is merely an emblem of dead chivalry. in old times, if a man insulted you, or insulted a woman you admired, out flashed a shining point of tempered toledo steel that could lunge--so!" and he threw himself into a fencing attitude of incomparable grace and ease--"and you pricked the blackguard neatly through the ribs or arm and gave him cause to remember you. but now--" and he thrust the rapier back in its place--"men carry toys like these as a melancholy sign to show what bold fellows they were once, and what spiritless cravens they are now,--relying no more on themselves for protection, but content to go about yelling 'police! police!' at the least threat of injury to their worthless persons. come, it's time we started, geoffrey!--let us go and bow our heads before another human unit formed precisely like ourselves, and so act in defiance of death and the deity, who declare all men to be equal!" we entered our carriage and were soon on our way to st james's palace. "his royal highness the prince of wales is not exactly the creator of the universe;"--said lucio suddenly, looking out of the window as we approached the line of soldiery on guard outside. "why no!" i answered laughing--"what do you say that for?" "because there is as much fuss about him as if he were,--in fact, more. the creator does not get half as much attention bestowed upon him as albert edward. we never attire ourselves in any special way for entering the presence of god; we don't put so much as a clean mind on." "but then,"--i said indifferently--"god is _non est_,--and albert edward is _est_." he smiled,--and his eyes had a scornful gleam in their dark centres. "that is your opinion?" he queried--"well, it is not original,--many choice spirits share it with you. there is at least one good excuse for people who make no preparation to enter the presence of god,--in going to church, which is called the 'house of god,' they do not find god at all; they only discover the clergyman. it is somewhat of a disappointment." i had no time to reply, as just then the carriage stopped, and we alighted at the palace. through the intervention of the high court official who presented us, we got a good place among the most distinguished arrivals, and during our brief wait, i was considerably amused by the study of their faces and attitudes. some of the men looked nervous,--others conceited; one or two radical notabilities comported themselves with an air as if they and they alone were to be honoured for allowing royalty to hold these functions at all; a few gentlemen had evidently donned their levée dress in haste and carelessness, for the pieces of tissue-paper in which their steel or gilt coat-buttons had been wrapped by the tailor to prevent tarnish, were still unremoved. discovering this fortunately before it was too late, they occupied themselves by taking off these papers and casting them on the floor,--an untidy process at best, and one that made them look singularly ridiculous and undignified. each man present turned to stare at lucio; his striking personality attracted universal attention. when we at last entered the throne-room, and took our places in line, i was careful to arrange that my brilliant companion should go up before me, as i had a strong desire to see what sort of an effect his appearance would produce on the royal party. i had an excellent view of the prince of wales from where i myself waited; he made an imposing and kingly figure enough, in full uniform with his various orders glittering on his broad breast; and the singular resemblance discovered by many people in him to henry viii. struck me more forcibly than i should have thought possible. his face however expressed a far greater good-humour than the pictured lineaments of the capricious but ever popular 'bluff king hal,'--though on this occasion there was a certain shade of melancholy, even sternness on his brow, which gave a firmer character to his naturally mobile features,--a shadow, as i fancied of weariness, tempered with regret,--the look of one dissatisfied, yet resigned. a man of blunted possibilities he seemed to me,--of defeated aims, and thwarted will. few of the other members of the royal family surrounding him on the daïs, possessed the remarkable attraction he had for any observant student of physiognomy,--most of them were, or assumed to be, stiff military figures merely who bent their heads as each guest filed past with an automatic machine-like regularity implying neither pleasure, interest, nor good-will. but the heir-apparent to the greatest empire in the world expressed in his very attitude and looks, an unaffected and courteous welcome to all,--surrounded as he was, and as such in his position must ever be, by toadies, parasites, sycophants, hypocritical self-seekers, who would never run the least risk to their own lives to serve him, unless they could get something personally satisfactory out of it, his presence impressed itself upon me as full of the suggestion of dormant but none the less resolute power. i cannot even now explain the singular excitation of mind that seized me as our turn to be presented arrived;--i saw my companion advance, and heard the lord chamberlain announce his name;--'prince lucio rimânez'; and then;--why then,--it seemed as if all the movement in the brilliant room suddenly came to a pause! every eye was fixed on the stately form and noble countenance of my friend as he bowed with such consummate courtliness and grace as made all other salutations seem awkward by comparison. for one moment he stood absolutely still in front of the royal daïs,--facing the prince as though he sought to impress him with the fact of his presence there,--and across the broad stream of sunshine which had been pouring into the room throughout the ceremony, there fell the sudden shadow of a passing cloud. a fleeting impression of gloom and silence chilled the atmosphere,--a singular magnetism appeared to hold all eyes fixed on rimânez; and not a man either going or coming, moved. this intense hush was brief as it was curious and impressive;--the prince of wales started slightly, and gazed at the superb figure before him with an expression of eager curiosity and almost as if he were ready to break the frigid bonds of etiquette and speak,--then controlling himself with an evident effort he gave his usual dignified acknowledgment of lucio's profound reverence, whereupon my comrade passed on,--slightly smiling. i followed next,--but naturally made no impression beyond the fact of exciting a smothered whisper from some-one among the lesser royalties who caught the name 'geoffrey tempest,' and at once murmured the magic words "five millions!"--words which reached my ears and moved me to the usual weary contempt which was with me growing into a chronic malady. we were soon out of the palace, and while waiting for our carriage in the covered court-yard entrance, i touched rimânez on the arm. "you made a veritable sensation lucio!" "did i?" he laughed. "you flatter me geoffrey." "not at all. why did you stop so long in front of the daïs?" "to please my humour!" he returned indifferently--"and partly, to give his royal highness the chance of remembering me the next time he sees me." "but he seemed to recognise you,"--i said--"have you met him before?" his eyes flashed. "often! but i have never till now made a public appearance at st james's. court costume and 'company manners' make a difference to the looks of most men,--and i doubt,--yes, i very much doubt, whether, even with his reputed excellent memory for faces, the prince really knew me to-day for what i am!" xvii it must have been about a week or ten days after the prince of wales's levée that i had the strange scene with sibyl elton i am about to relate; a scene that left a painful impression on my mind and should have been sufficient to warn me of impending trouble to come had i not been too egotistical to accept any portent that presaged ill to myself. arriving at lord elton's house one evening, and ascending the stairs to the drawing-room as was now my usual custom, unannounced and without ceremony, i found diana chesney there alone and in tears. "why, what's the matter?" i exclaimed in a rallying tone, for i was on very friendly and familiar terms with the little american--"you, of all people in the world, having a private 'weep'! has our dear railway papa 'bust up'?" she laughed, a trifle hysterically. "not just yet, you bet!" she answered, lifting her wet eyes to mine and showing that mischief still sparkled brightly in them,--"there's nothing wrong with the funds as far as i know. i've only had a,----well, a sort of rumpus here with sibyl." "with sibyl?" "yes,"--and she rested the point of her little embroidered shoe on a footstool and looked at it critically--"you see it's the catsup's 'at home' to-night, and i'm invited and sibyl's invited; miss charlotte is knocked up with nursing the countess, and of course i made sure that sibyl would go. well, she never said a word about it till she came down to dinner, and then she asked me what time i wanted the carriage. i said 'aren't you going too?' and she looked at me in that provoking way of hers,--_you_ know!--a look that takes you in from your topmost hair to your shoe-edge,--and answered 'did you think it possible!' well, i flared up, and said of course i thought it possible,--why shouldn't it be possible? she looked at me in the same way again and said--'to the _catsups_? with _you_!' now, you know, mr tempest, that was real downright rudeness, and more than i could stand so i just gave way to my mind. 'look here,' i said--'though you are the daughter of an earl, you needn't turn up your nose at mrs catsup. she isn't half bad,--i don't speak of her money,--but she's a real good sort, and has a kind heart, which it appears to me is more than you have. mrs catsup would never treat me as unkindly as you do.' and then i choked,--i could have burst out in a regular yell, if i hadn't thought the footman might be outside the door listening. and sibyl only smiled, that patent ice-refrigerator smile of hers, and asked--'would you prefer to live with mrs catsup?' of course i told her no,--nothing would induce me to live with mrs catsup, and then she said--'miss chesney, you pay my father for the protection and guarantee of his name and position in english social circles, but the companionship of my father's daughter was not included in the bargain. i have tried to make you understand as distinctly as i can that i will not be seen in society with you,--not because i dislike you,--far from it,--but simply because people would say i was acting as your paid companion. you force me to speak plainly, and i am sorry if i offend. as for mrs catsup, i have only met her once, and she seemed to me very common and ill-bred. besides i do not care for the society of tradespeople.' and with that she got up and sailed out,--and i heard her order the carriage for me at ten. it's coming round directly, and just look at my red eyes! it's awfully hard on me,--i know old catsup made his pile out of varnish, but varnish is as good as anything else in the general market. and----and----it's all out now, mr tempest,--and you can tell sibyl what i've said if you like; i know you're in love with her!" i stared, bewildered by her voluble and almost breathless outburst. "really, miss chesney," i began formally. "oh yes, miss chesney, miss chesney--it's all very well!" she repeated impatiently, snatching up a gorgeous evening cloak which i mutely volunteered to put on, an offer she as mutely accepted--"i'm only a girl, and it isn't my fault if i've got a vulgar man for a father who wants to see me married to an english nobleman before he dies,--that's _his_ look-out--_i_ don't care about it. english noblemen are a ricketty lot in _my_ opinion. but i've as good a heart as anyone, and i could love sibyl if she'd let me, but she _won't_. she leads the life of an ice-berg, and doesn't care a rap for anyone. she doesn't care for you, you know!--i wish she did,--she'd be more human!" "i'm very sorry for all this,"--i said, smiling into the piquante face of the really sweet-natured girl, and gently fastening the jewelled clasp of her cloak at her throat--"but you mustn't mind it so much. you are a dear little soul diana,--kind and generous and impulsive and all the rest of it,--but,--well----english people are very apt to misunderstand americans. i can quite enter into your feelings,--still you know lady sibyl is very proud----" "proud!" she interrupted--"my! i guess it must feel something splendid to have an ancestor who was piked through the body on bosworth field, and left there for the birds to eat. it seems to give a kind of stiffness in the back to all the family ever afterwards. shouldn't wonder if the descendants of the birds who ate him felt kinder stuck up about it too!" i laughed,--she laughed with me, and was quite herself again. "if i told you _my_ ancestor was a pilgrim father, you wouldn't believe me i expect!" she said, the corners of her mouth dimpling. "i should believe anything from _your_ lips!" i declared gallantly. "well, believe that, then! swallow it down if you can! i can't! he was a pilgrim father in the _mayflower_, and he fell on his knees and thanked god as soon as he touched dry land in the true pilgrim-father way. but he couldn't hold a candle to the piked man at bosworth." here we were interrupted by the entrance of a footman. "the carriage is waiting, miss." "thanks,--all right. good-night mr tempest,--you'd better send word to sibyl you are here; lord elton is dining out, but sibyl will be at home all the evening." i offered her my arm, and escorted her to the carriage, feeling a little sorry for her as she drove off in solitary state to the festive 'crush' of the successful varnisher. she was a good girl, a bright girl, a true girl,--vulgar and flippant at times, yet on the whole sincere in her better qualities of character and sentiment,--and it was this very sincerity which, being quite unconventional and not at all _la mode_, was misunderstood, and would always be misunderstood by the higher and therefore more hypocritically polished circles of english society. i returned to the drawing-room slowly and meditatively, telling one of the servants on my way to ask lady sibyl if she could see me for a few moments. i was not kept waiting long; i had only paced the room twice up and down when she entered, looking so strangely wild and beautiful that i could scarcely forbear uttering an exclamation of wonder. she wore white as was always her custom in the evenings,--her hair was less elaborately dressed than usual, and clustered over her brow in loose wavy masses,--her face was exceedingly pale, and her eyes appeared larger and darker by comparison--her smile was vague and fleeting like that of a sleep-walker. she gave me her hand; it was dry and burning. "my father is out--" she began. "i know. but i came to see _you_. may i stay a little?" she murmured assent, and sinking listlessly into a chair, began to play with some roses in a vase on the table beside her. "you look tired lady sibyl,"--i said gently--"are you not well?" "i am quite well--" she answered--"but you are right in saying i am tired. i am dreadfully tired!" "you have been doing too much perhaps?--your attendance on your mother tries you----" she laughed bitterly. "attendance on my mother!--pray do not credit me with so much devotion. i never attend on my mother. i cannot do it; i am too much of a coward. her face terrifies me; and whenever i do venture to go near her, she tries to speak, with such dreadful, such ghastly efforts, as make her more hideous to look at than anyone can imagine. i should die of fright if i saw her often. as it is, when i do see her i can scarcely stand--and twice i have fainted with the horror of it. to think of it!--that that living corpse with the fearful fixed eyes and distorted mouth should actually be _my mother_!" she shuddered violently, and her very lips paled as she spoke. i was seriously concerned, and told her so. "this must be very bad for your health,"--i said, drawing my chair closer to hers--"can you not get away for a change?" she looked at me in silence. the expression of her eyes thrilled me strangely,--it was not tender or wistful, but fierce, passionate and commanding. "i saw miss chesney for a few moments just now"--i resumed,--"she seemed very unhappy." "she has nothing to be unhappy about--" said sibyl coldly--"except the time my mother takes in dying. but she is young; she can afford to wait a little for the elton coronet." "is not----may not this be a mistaken surmise of yours?" i ventured gently--"whatever her faults, i think the girl admires and loves you." she smiled scornfully. "i want neither her love nor her admiration,"--she said--"i have few women-friends and those few are all hypocrites whom i mistrust. when diana chesney is my step-mother, we shall still be strangers." i felt i was on delicate ground, and that i could not continue the conversation without the risk of giving offence. "where is _your_ friend?" asked sibyl suddenly, apparently to change the subject--"why does he so seldom come here now?" "rimânez? well, he is a very queer fellow, and at times takes an abhorrence for all society. he frequently meets your father at the club, and i suppose his reason for not coming here is that he hates women." "all women?" she queried with a little smile. "without exception!" "then he hates me?" "i did not say that--" i answered quickly--"no one could hate you, lady sibyl,--but truly, as far as prince rimânez is concerned, i expect he does not abate his aversion to womankind (which is his chronic malady) even for you." "so he will never marry?" she said musingly. i laughed. "oh, never! that you may be quite sure of." still playing with the roses near her, she relapsed into silence. her breath came and went quickly; i saw her long eyelashes quiver against the pale rose-leaf tint of her cheeks,--the pure outline of her delicate profile suggested to my mind one of fra angelico's meditative saints or angels. all at once, while i yet watched her admiringly, she suddenly sprang erect, crushing a rose in her hand,--her head thrown back, her eyes flashing, her whole frame trembling. "oh, i cannot bear it!" she cried wildly--"i cannot bear it!" i started up astonished, and confronted her. "sibyl!" "oh, why don't you speak, and fill up the measure of my degradation!" she went on passionately--"why don't you tell _me_, as you tell my father, your purpose in coming here?--why don't you say to _me_, as you say to him, that your sovereign choice has fastened upon me,--that i am the woman out of all the world you have elected to marry! look at me!" and she raised her arms with a tragic gesture; "is there any flaw in the piece of goods you wish to purchase? this face is deemed worthy of the fashionable photographer's pains; worthy of being sold for a shilling as one of england's 'beauties,'--this figure has served as a model for the showing-off of many a modiste's costume, purchased at half-cost on the understanding that i must state to my circle of acquaintance the name of the maker or designer,--these eyes, these lips, these arms are all yours for the buying! why do you expose me to the shame of dallying over your bargain?--by hesitating and considering as to whether, after all, i am worthy of your gold!" she seemed seized by some hysterical passion that convulsed her, and in mingled amazement, alarm and distress, i sprang to her and caught her hands in my own. "sibyl, sibyl!" i said--"hush--hush! you are overwrought with fatigue and excitement,--you cannot know what you are saying. my darling, what do you take me for?--what is all this nonsense in your mind about buying and selling? you know i love you,--i have made no secret of it,--you must have seen it in my face,--and if i have hesitated to speak, it is because i feared your rejection of me. you are too good for me, sibyl,--too good for any man,--i am not worthy to win your beauty and innocence. my love, my love--do not give way in this manner"--for as i spoke she clung to me like a wild bird suddenly caged--"what can i say to you, but that i worship you with all the strength of my life,--i love you so deeply that i am afraid to think of it; it is a passion i dare not dwell upon, sibyl,--i love you too well,--too madly for my own peace----" i trembled, and was silent,--her soft arms clinging to me robbed me of a portion of my self-control. i kissed the rippling waves of her hair; she lifted her head and looked up at me, her eyes alit with some strange lustre that was not love as much as fear,--and the sight of her beauty thus yielded as it were to my possession, broke down the barriers of restraint i had hitherto imposed upon myself. i kissed her on the lips,--a long passionate kiss that, to my excited fancy, seemed to mingle our very beings into one,--but while i yet held her in my arms, she suddenly released herself and pushed me back. standing apart from me she trembled so violently that i feared she would fail,--and i took her hand and made her sit down. she smiled,--a very wan smile. "what did you feel then?" she asked. "when, sibyl?" "just now,--when you kissed me?" "all the joys of heaven and fires of hell in a moment!" i said. she regarded me with a curious musing frown. "strange! do you know what _i_ felt?" i shook my head smiling, and pressed my lips on the soft small hand i held. "nothing!" she said, with a kind of hopeless gesture--"i assure you, absolutely nothing! i cannot feel. i am one of your modern women,--i can only think,--and analyse." "think and analyse as much as you will, my queen,"--i answered playfully--"if you will only think you can be happy with me. that is all i desire." "can you be happy with _me_?" she asked--"wait--do not answer for a moment, till i tell you what i am. you are altogether mistaken in me." she was silent for some minutes, and i watched her anxiously. "i was always intended for this"--she said slowly at last,--"this, to which i have now come,--to be the property of a rich man. many men have looked at me with a view to purchase, but they could not pay the price my father demanded. pray do not look so distressed!--what i say is quite true and quite commonplace,--all the women of the upper classes,--the unmarried ones,--are for sale now in england as utterly as the circassian girls in a barbarian slave-market. i see you wish to protest, and assure me of your devotion,--but there is no need of this,--i am quite sure you love me,--as much as any man can love,--and i am content. but you do not know me really,--you are attracted by my face and form,--and you admire my youth and innocence, which you think i possess. but i am not young--i am old in heart and feeling. i was young for a little while at willowsmere, when i lived among flowers and birds and all the trustful honest creatures of the woods and fields,--but one season in town was sufficient to kill my youth in me,--one season of dinners and balls, and--fashionable novel-reading. now _you_ have written a book, and therefore you must know something about the duties of authorship,--of the serious and even terrible responsibility writers incur when they send out to the world books full of pernicious and poisonous suggestion to contaminate the minds that have hitherto been clean and undiseased. your book has a noble motive; and for this i admire it in many parts, though to me it is not as convincing as it might have been. it is well written too; but i gained the impression while reading it, that you were not altogether sincere yourself in the thoughts you strove to inculcate,--and that therefore you just missed what you should have gained." "i am sure you are right,"--i said, with a wholesome pang of humiliation--"the book is worthless as literature,--it is only the 'boom' of a season!" "at any rate,"--she went on, her eyes darkening with the intensity of her feeling--"you have not polluted your pen with the vileness common to many of the authors of the day. i ask you, do you think a girl can read the books that are now freely published, and that her silly society friends tell her to read,--'because it is so dreadfully _queer_!'--and yet remain unspoilt and innocent? books that go into the details of the lives of outcasts?--that explain and analyse the secret vices of men?--that advocate almost as a sacred duty 'free love' and universal polygamy?--that see no shame in introducing into the circles of good wives and pure-minded girls, a heroine who boldly seeks out a man, _any_ man, in order that she may have a child by him, without the 'degradation' of marrying him? i have read all those books,--and what can you expect of me? not innocence, surely! i despise men,--i despise my own sex,--i loathe myself for being a woman! you wonder at my fanaticism for mavis clare,--it is only because for a time her books give me back my self-respect, and make me see humanity in a nobler light,--because she restores to me, if only for an hour, a kind of glimmering belief in god, so that my mind feels refreshed and cleansed. all the same, you must not look upon me as an innocent young girl geoffrey,--a girl such as the great poets idealized and sang of,--i am a contaminated creature, trained to perfection in the lax morals and prurient literature of my day." i looked at her in silence, pained, startled, and with a sense of shock, as though something indefinably pure and precious had crumbled into dust at my feet. she rose and began pacing the room restlessly, moving to and fro with a slow yet fierce grace that reminded me against my wish and will of the movement of some imprisoned and savage beast of prey. "you shall not be deceived in me,"--she said, pausing a moment and eyeing me sombrely--"if you marry me, you must do so with a full realization of the choice you make. for with such wealth as yours, you can of course wed any woman you fancy. i do not say you could find a girl better than i am; i do not think you could in _my_ 'set,' because we are all alike,--all tarred with the same brush, and filled with the same merely sensual and materialistic views of life and its responsibilities as the admired heroines of the 'society' novels we read. away in the provinces, among the middle classes it is possible you might discover a really good girl of the purest blush-rose innocence,--but then you might also find her stupid and unentertaining, and you would not care for that. my chief recommendation is that i am beautiful,--you can see that; everybody can see that,--and i am not so affected as to pretend to be unconscious of the fact. there is no sham about my external appearance; my hair is not a wig,--my complexion is natural,--my figure is not the result of the corset-maker's art,--my eyebrows and eyelashes are undyed. oh yes,--you can be sure that the beauty of my body is quite genuine!--but it is not the outward expression of an equally beautiful soul. and this is what i want you to understand. i am passionate, resentful, impetuous,--frequently unsympathetic, and inclined to morbidness and melancholy, and i confess i have imbibed, consciously or unconsciously, that complete contempt of life and disbelief in a god, which is the chief theme of nearly all the social teachings of the time." she ceased,--and i gazed at her with an odd sense of mingled worship and disillusion, even as a barbarian might gaze at an idol whom he still loved, but whom he could no longer believe in as divine. yet what she said was in no way contrary to my own theories,--how then could i complain? i did not believe in a god; why should i inconsistently feel regret that she shared my unbelief? i had involuntarily clung to the old-fashioned idea that religious faith was a sacred duty in womanhood; i was not able to offer any reason for this notion, unless it was the romantic fancy of having a good woman to pray for one, if one had no time and less inclination to pray for one's self. however, it was evident sibyl was 'advanced' enough to do without superstitious observances; _she_ would never pray for me;--and if we had children, she would never teach them to make their first tender appeals to heaven for my sake or hers. i smothered a slight sigh, and was about to speak, when she came up to me and laid her two hands on my shoulders. "you look unhappy, geoffrey,"--she said in gentler accents--"be consoled!--it is not too late for you to change your mind!" i met the questioning glance of her eyes,--beautiful, lustrous eyes as clear and pure as light itself. "i shall never change, sibyl," i answered--"i love you,--i shall always love you. but i wish you would not analyse yourself so pitilessly,--you have such strange ideas--" "you think them strange?" she said--"you should not,--in these 'new women' days! i believe that, thanks to newspapers, magazines and 'decadent' novels, i am in all respects eminently fitted to be a wife!" and she laughed bitterly--"there is nothing in the rôle of marriage that i do not know, though i am not yet twenty. i have been prepared for a long time to be sold to the highest bidder, and what few silly notions i had about love,--the love of the poets and idealists,--when i was a dreamy child at willowsmere, are all dispersed and ended. ideal love is dead,--and worse than dead, being out of fashion. carefully instructed as i have been in the worthlessness of everything but money, you can scarcely be surprised at my speaking of myself as an object of sale. marriage for me _is_ a sale, as far as my father is concerned,--for you know well enough that however much you loved me or i loved you, he would never allow me to marry you if you were not rich, and richer than most men. i want you to feel that i fully recognize the nature of the bargain struck; and i ask you not to expect a girl's fresh, confiding love from a woman as warped in heart and mind as i am!" "sibyl,"--i said earnestly--"you wrong yourself; i am sure you wrong yourself! you are one of those who can be in the world yet not of it; your mind is too open and pure to be sullied, even by contact with evil things. i will believe nothing you say against your own sweet and noble character,--and, sibyl, let me again ask you not to distress me by this constant harping on the subject of my wealth, or i shall be inclined to look upon it as a curse,--i should love you as much if i were poor----" "oh, you might love me"--she interrupted me, with a strange smile--"but you would not dare to say so!" i was silent. suddenly she laughed, and linked her arms caressingly round my neck. "there, geoffrey!" she said--"i have finished my discourse,--my bit of ibsenism, or whatever other ism affects me,--and we need not be miserable about it. i have said what was in my mind; i have told you the truth, that in heart i am neither young nor innocent. but i am no worse than all my 'set' so perhaps you had better make the best of me. i please your fancy, do i not?" "my love for you cannot be so lightly expressed, sibyl!" i answered in rather a pained tone. "never mind,--it is my humour so to express it"--she went on--"i please your fancy, and you wish to marry me. well now, all i ask is, go to my father and buy me at once! conclude the bargain! and when you have bought me,--don't look so tragic!" and she laughed again--"and when you have paid the clergyman, and paid the bridesmaids (with monogram lockets or brooches) and paid the guests (with wedding-cake and champagne) and cleared up all scores with everybody, even to the last man who shuts the door of the nuptial brougham,--will you take me away,--far away from this place--this house, where my mother's face haunts me like a ghost in the darkness; where i am tortured by terrors night and day,--where i hear such strange sounds, and dream of such ghastly things,--" here her voice suddenly broke, and she hid her face against my breast--"oh yes, geoffrey, take me away as quickly as possible! let us never live in hateful london, but at willowsmere; i may find some of the old joys there,--and some of the happy bygone days." touched by the appealing pathos of her accents, i pressed her to my heart, feeling that she was scarcely accountable for the strange things she said in her evidently overwrought and excitable condition. "it shall be as you wish, my darling," i said--"the sooner i have you all to myself the better. this is the end of march,--will you be ready to marry me in june?" "yes," she answered, still hiding her face. "and now sibyl," i went on--"remember,--there must be no more talk of money and bargaining. tell me what you have not yet told me,--that you love me,--and would love me even if i were poor." she looked up, straightly and unflinchingly full into my eyes. "i cannot tell you that,"--she said,--"i have told you i do not believe in love; and if you were poor i certainly should not marry you. it would be no use!" "you are frank, sibyl!" "it is best to be frank, is it not?" and she drew a flower from the knot at her bosom, and began fastening it in my coat--"geoffrey what is the good of pretence? you would hate to be poor, and so should i. i do not understand the verb 'to love,'--now and then when i read a book by mavis clare, i believe love may exist, but when i close the book my belief is shut up with it. so do not ask for what is not in me. i am willing--even glad to marry you; that is all you must expect." "all!" i exclaimed, with a sudden mingling of love and wrath in my blood, as i closed my arms about her and kissed her passionately--"all!--you impassive ice-flower, it is not all!--you shall melt to my touch and learn what love _is_,--do not think you can escape its influence, you dear, foolish, beautiful child! your passions are asleep,--they must wake!" "for you?" she queried, resting her head back against my shoulder, and gazing up at me with a dreamy radiance in her lovely eyes. "for me!" she laughed. "'oh bid me love, and i will love!'"--she hummed softly under her breath. "you will, you must, you shall!" i said ardently. "i will be your master in the art of loving!" "it is a difficult art!" she said--"i am afraid it will take a life-time to complete my training, even with my 'master.'" and a smile still lingered in her eyes, giving them a witch-like glamour, when i kissed her again and bade her good-night. "you will tell prince rimânez the news?" she said. "if you wish it." "of course i wish it. tell him at once. i should like him to know." i went down the stairs,--she leaned over the balustrade looking after me. "good-night geoffrey!" she called softly. "good-night sibyl!" "be sure you tell prince rimânez!" her white figure disappeared; and i walked out of the house in a chaotic state of mind, divided between pride, ecstasy and pain,--the engaged husband of an earl's daughter,--the lover of a woman who had declared herself incapable of love and destitute of faith. xviii looking back through the space of only three years to this particular period of my life, i can remember distinctly the singular expression of lucio's face when i told him that sibyl elton had accepted me. his sudden smile gave a light to his eyes that i had never seen in them before,--a brilliant yet sinister glow, strangely suggestive of some inwardly suppressed wrath and scorn. while i spoke he was, to my vexation, toying with that uncanny favourite of his, the 'mummy-insect,'--and it annoyed me beyond measure to see the repulsive pertinacity with which the glittering bat-like creature clung to his hand. "women are all alike,"--he said with a hard laugh, when he had heard my news,--"few of them have moral force enough to resist that temptation of a rich marriage." i was irritated at this. "it is scarcely fair of you to judge everything by the money-standard,"--i said,--then, after a little pause i added what in my own heart i knew to be a lie,--"she,--sibyl,--loves me for myself alone." his glance flashed over me like lightning. "oh!--sets the wind in that quarter! why then, my dear geoffrey, i congratulate you more heartily than ever. to conquer the affections of one of the proudest girls in england, and win her love so completely as to be sure she would marry you even if you had not a sou to bless yourself with--this is a victory indeed!--and one of which you may well be proud. again and yet again i congratulate you!" tossing the horrible thing he called his 'sprite' off to fly on one of its slow humming circuits round the room, he shook my hand fervently, still smiling,--and i,--feeling instinctively that he was as fully aware of the truth as i was, namely, that had i been a poor author with nothing but what i could earn by my brains, the lady sibyl elton would never have looked at me, much less agreed to marry me,--kept silence lest i should openly betray the reality of my position. "you see"--he went on, with a cheerful relentlessness--"i was not aware that any old-world romance graced the disposition of one so apparently impassive as your beautiful fiancée. to love for love's sake only, is becoming really an obsolete virtue. i thought lady sibyl was an essentially modern woman, conscious of her position, and the necessity there was for holding that position proudly before the world at all costs,--and that the pretty pastoral sentiments of poetical phyllises and amandas had no place in her nature. i was wrong, it seems; and for once i have been mistaken in the fair sex!" here he stretched out his hand to the 'sprite,' that now came winging its way back, and settled at once on its usual resting-place; "my friend, i assure you, if you have won a true woman's true love, you have a far greater fortune than your millions,--a treasure that none can afford to despise." his voice softened,--his eyes grew dreamy and less scornful,--and i looked at him in some astonishment. "why lucio, i thought you hated women?" "so i do!" he replied quickly--"but do not forget why i hate them! it is because they have all the world's possibilities of good in their hands, and the majority of them deliberately turn these possibilities to evil. men are influenced entirely by women, though few of them will own it,--through women they are lifted to heaven or driven to hell. the latter is the favourite course, and the one almost universally adopted." his brow darkened, and the lines round his proud mouth grew hard and stern. i watched him for a moment,--then with sudden irrelevance i said-- "put that abominable 'sprite' of yours away, will you? i hate to see you with it!" "what, my poor egyptian princess!" he exclaimed with a laugh--"why so cruel to her geoffrey? if you had lived in her day, you might have been one of her lovers! she was no doubt a charming person,--i find her charming still! however, to oblige you--" and here, placing the insect in its crystal receptacle he carried it away to the other end of the room. then, returning towards me slowly, he said--"who knows what the 'sprite' suffered as a woman, geoffrey! perhaps she made a rich marriage, and repented it! at anyrate i am sure she is much happier in her present condition!" "i have no sympathy with such a ghastly fancy,"--i said abruptly--"i only know that _she_ or _it_ is a perfectly loathsome object to me." "well,--some 'transmigrated' souls _are_ loathsome objects to look at;"--he declared imperturbably--"when they are deprived of their respectable two-legged fleshly covering, it is extraordinary what a change the inexorable law of nature makes in them!" "what nonsense you talk, lucio!" i said impatiently--"how can you know anything about it!" a sudden shadow passed over his face, giving it a strange pallor and impenetrability. "have you forgotten"--he said in deliberately measured accents--"that your friend john carrington, when he wrote that letter of introduction i brought from him to you, told you in it, that in all matters scientific i was an 'absolute master?' in these 'matters scientific' you have not tested my skill,--yet you ask--'how can i know?' i answer that i do know--many things of which you are ignorant. do not presume too much on your own intellectual capability my friend,--lest i prove it naught!--lest i demonstrate to you, beyond all possibility of consoling doubt, that the shreds and strippings of that change you call death, are only so many embryos of new life which you _must_ live, whether you will or no!" somewhat abashed by his words and still more by his manner, i said-- "pardon me!--i spoke in haste of course,--but you know my theories--" "most thoroughly!" and he laughed, with an immediate resumption of his old manner--"'every man his own theory' is the fashionable motto of the hour. each little biped tells you that he has his 'own idea' of god, and equally 'his own' idea of the devil. it is very droll! but let us return to the theme of love. i feel i have not congratulated you half enough,--for surely fortune favours you singularly. out of the teeming mass of vain and frivolous femininity, you have secured a unique example of beauty, truth and purity,--a woman, who apart from all self-interest and worldly advantage, weds you, with five millions, for yourself alone! the prettiest poem in the world could be made out of such an exquisitely innocent maiden type! you are one of the luckiest men alive; in fact, you have nothing more to wish for!" i did not contradict him, though in my own mind i felt that the circumstances of my engagement left much to be desired. i, who scoffed at religion, wished it had formed part of the character of my future wife,--i, who sneered at sentiment, craved for some expression of it in the woman whose beauty attracted my desires. however i determinedly smothered all the premonitions of my own conscience, and accepted what each day of my idle and useless life brought me without considering future consequences. the papers soon had the news that "a marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between sibyl, only daughter of the earl of elton, and geoffrey tempest, the famous millionaire." not 'famous author' mark you!--though i was still being loudly 'boomed.' morgeson, my publisher, could offer me no consolation as to my chances of winning and keeping a steady future fame. the tenth edition of my book was announced, but we had not actually disposed of more than two thousand copies, including a one-volume issue which had been hastily thrust on the market. and the work i had so mercilessly and maliciously slated,--'differences' by mavis clare was in its thirtieth thousand! i commented on this with some anger to morgeson, who was virtuously aggrieved at my complaint. "dear me, mr tempest, you are not the only writer who has been 'boomed' by the press and who nevertheless does not sell,"--he exclaimed--"no one can account for the caprices of the public; they are entirely beyond the most cautious publisher's control or calculation. miss clare is a sore subject to many authors besides yourself,--she always 'takes' and no one can help it. i sympathize with you in the matter heartily, but i am not to blame. at any rate the reviewers are all with you,--their praise has been almost unanimous. now mavis clare's 'differences,' though to my thinking a very brilliant and powerful book, has been literally cut to pieces whenever it has been noticed at all,--and yet the public go for her and don't go for you. it isn't my fault. you see people have got compulsory education now, and i'm afraid they begin to mistrust criticism, preferring to form their own independent opinions; if this is so, of course it will be a terrible thing, because the most carefully organized clique in the world will be powerless. everything has been done for you that can be done, mr tempest,--i am sure i regret as much as yourself that the result has not been all you expected or desired. many authors would not care so much for the public approval; the applause of cultured journalism such as you have obtained, would be more than sufficient for them." i laughed bitterly. 'the applause of cultured journalism!' i thought i knew something of the way in which such applause was won. almost i began to hate my millions,--golden trash that could only secure me the insincere flattery of fair-weather friends,--and that could not give me fame,--such fame as has sometimes been grasped in a moment by a starving and neglected genius, who in the very arms of death, succeeds in mastering the world. one day in a fit of disappointment and petulance i said to lucio-- "you have not kept all your promises, my friend!--you told me you could give me fame!" he looked at me curiously. "did i? well,--and are you not famous?" "no. i am merely notorious," i retorted. he smiled. "the word fame, my good geoffrey, traced to its origin means 'a breath'--the breath of popular adulation. you have that--for your wealth." "but not for my work!" "you have the praise of the reviewers!" "what is that worth!" "everything!" he answered smiling--"in the reviewers' own opinion!" i was silent. "you speak of work;" he went on--"now the nature of work i cannot exactly express, because it is a divine thing and is judged by a divine standard. one must consider in all work two things; first, the object for which it is undertaken, and secondly the way in which it is performed. all work should have a high and unselfish intent,--without this, it perishes and is not considered work at all,--not at least by the eternal judges invisible. if it _is_ work, truly and nobly done in every sense of the word, it carries with it its own reward, and the laurels descend from heaven shaped ready for wearing,--no earthly power can bestow them. i cannot give you _that_ fame,--but i have secured you a very fair imitation of it." i was obliged to acquiesce, though more or less morosely,--whereat i saw that he was somewhat amused. unwilling to incur his contempt i said no more concerning the subject that was the nearest to my heart, and wore out many sleepless hours at night in trying to write a new book,--something novel and daring, such as should force the public to credit me with a little loftier _status_ than that obtained by the possession of a huge banking account. but the creative faculty seemed dead in me,--i was crushed by a sense of impotence and failure; vague ideas were in my brain that would not lend themselves to expression in words,--and such a diseased love of hypercriticism controlled me, that after a miserably nervous analysis of every page i wrote, i tore it up as soon as it was written, thus reducing myself to a state of mind that was almost unbearable. early in april i made my first visit to willowsmere, having received information from the head of the firm of decorators and furnishers employed there, that their work was close on completion, and that they would be glad of a visit of inspection from me. lucio and i went down together for the day, and as the train rushed through a green and smiling landscape, bearing us away from the smoke, dirt and noise of the restless modern babylon, i was conscious of a gradually deepening peace and pleasure. the first sight of the place i had recklessly purchased without so much as looking at it, filled me with delight and admiration. it was a beautiful old house, ideally english and suggestive of home-happiness. ivy and jessamine clung to its red walls and picturesque gables,--through the long vista of the exquisitely wooded grounds, the silver gleam of the avon river could be discerned, twisting in and out like a ribbon tied in true love-knots,--the trees and shrubs were sprouting forth in all their fresh spring beauty,--the aspect of the country was indescribably bright and soothing, and i began to feel as if a burden had been suddenly lifted from my life leaving me free to breathe and enjoy my liberty. i strolled from room to room of my future abode, admiring the taste and skill with which the whole place had been fitted and furnished, down to the smallest detail of elegance, comfort and convenience. here my sibyl was born, i thought, with a lover-like tenderness,--here she would dwell again as my wife, amid the lovely and beloved surroundings of her childhood,--and we should be happy--yes, we should be happy, despite all the dull and heartless social doctrines of the modern world. in the spacious and beautiful drawing-room i stopped to look out from the windows on the entrancing view of lawn and woodland that stretched before me,--and as i looked, a warm sense of gratitude and affection filled me for the friend to whose good offices i owed this fair domain. turning, i grasped him by the hand. "it is all your doing, lucio!" i said--"i feel i can never thank you enough! without you i should perhaps never have met sibyl,--i might never have heard of her, or of willowsmere; and i never could have been as happy as i am to-day!" "oh, you are happy then?" he queried with a little smile--"i fancied you were not!" "well--i have not been as happy as i expected to be;" i confessed,--"something in my sudden accession to wealth seems to have dragged me down rather than lifted me up,----it is strange----" "it is not strange at all"--he interrupted,--"on the contrary it is very natural. as a rule the most miserable people in the world are the rich." "are you miserable, for instance?" i asked, smiling. his eyes rested on me with a dark and dreary pathos. "are you too blind to see that i am?" he answered, his accents vibrating with intense melancholy--"can you think i am happy? does the smile i wear,--the disguising smile men put on as a mask to hide their secret agonies from the pitiless gaze of unsympathetic fellow-creatures,--persuade you that i am free from care? as for my wealth,--i have never told you the extent of it; if i did, it might indeed amaze you, though i believe it would not now arouse your envy, considering that your trifling five millions have not been without effect in depressing your mind. but i,--i could buy up kingdoms and be none the poorer,--i could throne and unthrone kings and be none the wiser,--i could crush whole countries under the iron heel of financial speculation,--i could possess the world,--and yet estimate it at no higher value than i do now,--the value of a grain of dust circling through infinity, or a soap-bubble blown on the wind!" his brows knitted,--his face expressed pride, scorn and sorrow. "there is some mystery about you lucio;"--i said--"some grief or loss that your wealth cannot repair--and that makes you the strange being you are. one day perhaps you will confide in me ..." he laughed loudly,--almost fiercely;--and clapped me heavily on the shoulder. "i will!" he said--"i will tell you my history! and you, excellent agnostic as you are, shall 'minister to a mind diseased,' and 'pluck out the memory of a rooted sorrow!' what a power of expression there was in shakespeare, the uncrowned but actual king of england! not the 'rooted sorrow' alone was to be 'plucked out' but the very 'memory' of it. the apparently simple line holds complex wisdom; no doubt the poet knew, or instinctively guessed the most terrible fact in all the universe ..." "and what is that?" "the eternal consciousness of memory--" he replied--"god can not forget,--and in consequence of this, his creatures _may_ not!" i forbore to reply, but i suppose my face betrayed my thoughts, for the cynical smile i knew so well played round his mouth as he looked at me. "i go beyond your patience, do i not!" he said, laughing again--"when i mention god,--who is declared by certain scientists to be non-existent except as a blind, indifferent natural force or atom-producer;--you are bored! i can see that at a glance. pray forgive me! let us resume our tour of inspection through this charming abode. you will be very difficult to satisfy if you are not a very emperor of contentment here;--with a beautiful wife and plenty of cash, you can well afford to give fame the go-by." "i may win it yet!" i said hopefully--"in this place, i feel i could write something worthy of being written." "good! the 'divine flutterings' of winged thoughts are in your brain! apollo grant them strength to fly! and now let us have luncheon,--afterwards we shall have time to take a stroll." in the dining-room i found an elegant repast prepared, which rather surprised me, as i had given no orders, having indeed forgotten to do so. lucio however had, it appeared, not forgotten, and an advance telegram from him had placed certain caterers at leamington on their mettle, with the result that we sat down to a feast as delicate and luxurious as any two epicures could desire. "now i want you to do me a favour, geoffrey,"--said lucio, during our luncheon--"you will scarcely need to reside here till after your marriage; you have too many engagements in town. you spoke of entertaining a big house-party down here,--i wouldn't do that if i were you,--it isn't worth while. you would have to get in a staff of servants, and leave them all afterwards to their own devices while you are on your honeymoon. this is what i propose,--give a grand fête here in honour of your betrothal to lady sibyl, in may--and let me be the master of the revels!" i was in the mood to agree to anything,--moreover the idea seemed an excellent one. i said so and rimânez went on quickly-- "you understand of course, that if i undertake to do a thing i always do it thoroughly, and brook no interference with my plans. now as your marriage will be the signal for our parting,--at any rate for a time,--i should like to show my appreciation of your friendship, by organizing a brilliant affair of the kind i suggest,--and if you will leave it all to me, i guarantee you shall hold such a fête as has never been seen or known in england. and it will be a personal satisfaction to me if you consent to my proposal." "my dear fellow--" i answered--"of course i consent--willingly! i give you _carte blanche_,--do as you like; do all you like! it is most friendly and kind of you! but when are we to make this sensation?" "you are to be married in june?" he asked. "yes,--in the second week of the month." "very well. the fête shall be held on the twenty-second of may,--that will give society time to recover from the effect of one burst of splendour in order to be ready for another,--namely the wedding. now we need not talk of this any more--it is settled,--the rest devolves on me. we've got three or four hours to spare before we take the train back to town,--suppose we take a saunter through the grounds?" i assented to this, and accompanied him readily, feeling in high spirits and good humour. willowsmere and its peaceful loveliness seemed to cleanse my mind of all corroding influences;--the blessed silence of the woods and hills, after the rush and roar of town life, soothed and cheered me, and i walked beside my companion with a light heart and smiling face,--happy, and filled with a dim religious faith in the blue sky, if not in the god beyond it. we sauntered through the fair gardens which were now mine, and then out through the park into a lovely little lane,--a true warwickshire lane, where the celandines were strewing the grass with their bright gold coinage, and the star-wort thrust up fairy bouquets of white bloom between buttercups and lover, and where the hawthorn-buds were beginning to show themselves like minute snow-pellets among the glossy young green. a thrush warbled melodiously,--a lark rose from almost our very feet and flung itself joyously into the sky with a wild outburst of song,--a robin hopped through a little hole in the hedge to look at us in blithe inquisitiveness as we passed. all at once lucio stopped and laid his hand on my shoulder,--his eyes had the beautiful melancholy of a far-off longing which i could neither understand nor define. "listen, geoffrey!" he said--"listen to the silence of the earth while the lark sings! have you ever observed the receptive attitude in which nature seems to wait for sounds divine!" i did not answer,--the silence around us was indeed impressive;--the warbling of the thrush had ceased, and only the lark's clear voice pealing over-head, echoed sweetly through the stillness of the lane. "in the clerical heaven," went on lucio dreamily--"there are no birds. there are only conceited human souls braying forth 'alleluia'! no flowers are included,--no trees; only 'golden streets.' what a poor and barbarous conception! as if a world inhabited by deity would not contain the wonders, graces and beauties of all worlds! even this little planet is more naturally beautiful than the clerical heaven,--that is, it is beautiful wherever man is not. i protest--i have always protested,--against the creation of man!" i laughed. "you protest against your own existence then!" i said. his eyes darkened slowly to a sombre brooding blackness. "when the sea roars and flings itself in anger on the shore, it craves its prey--mankind!--it seeks to wash the fair earth clean of the puny insect that troubles the planet's peace! it drowns the noxious creature when it can, with the aid of its sympathizing comrade the wind! when the thunder crashes down a second after the lightning, does it not seem to you that the very clouds combine in the holy war? the war against god's one mistake;--the making of humanity,--the effort to sweep it out of the universe as one erases a weak expression in an otherwise perfect poem! you and i, for example, are the only discords in to-day's woodland harmony. we are not particularly grateful for life,--we certainly are not content with it,--we have not the innocence of a bird or a flower. we have more knowledge you will say,--but how can we be sure of that? our wisdom came from the devil in the first place, according to the legend of the tree of knowledge,--the fruit of which taught both good and evil, but which still apparently persuades man to evil rather than good, and leads him on to a considerable amount of arrogance besides, for he has an idea he will be immortal as a god in the hereafter,--ye majestic heavens!--what an inadequately stupendous fate for a grain of worthless dust,--a dwarfish atom such as he!" "well, _i_ have no ideas of immortality"--i said--"i have told you that often. this life is enough for me,--i want and expect no other." "aye, but if there were another!" answered lucio, fixing me with a steady look--"and--if you were not asked your opinion about it--but simply plunged headlong into a state of terrible consciousness in which you would rather not be----" "oh come," i said impatiently--"do not let us theorise! i am happy to-day!--my heart is as light as that of the bird singing in the sky; i am in the very best of humours, and could not say an unkind word to my worst enemy." he smiled. "is that your humour?" and he took me by the arm--"then there could be no better opportunity for showing you this pretty little corner of the world;"--and walking on a few yards, he dexterously turned me down a narrow path, leading from the lane, and brought me face to face with a lovely old cottage, almost buried in the green of the young spring verdure, and surrounded by an open fence overgrown with hawthorn and sweet-briar,--"keep firm hold over your temper geoffrey,--and maintain the benignant tranquillity of your mind!--here dwells the woman whose name and fame you hate,--mavis clare!" xix the blood rushed to my face, and i stopped abruptly. "let us go back," i said. "why?" "because i do not know miss clare and do not want to know her. literary women are my abhorrence,--they are always more or less unsexed." "you are thinking of the 'new' women i suppose,--but you flatter them,--they never had any sex to lose. the self-degrading creatures who delineate their fictional heroines as wallowing in unchastity, and who write freely on subjects which men would hesitate to name, are unnatural hybrids of no-sex. mavis clare is not one of them,--she is an 'old-fashioned' young woman. mademoiselle derino, the dancer, is 'unsexed,' but you did not object to her on that score,--on the contrary i believe you have shown your appreciation of her talents by spending a considerable amount of cash upon her." "that's not a fair comparison"--i answered hotly--"mademoiselle derino amused me for a time." "and was not your rival in art!" said lucio with a little malicious smile--"i see! still,--as far as the question of being 'unsexed' goes, i, personally, consider that a woman who shows the power of her intellect is more to be respected than the woman who shows the power of her legs. but men always prefer the legs,--just as they prefer the devil to the deity. all the same, i think, as we have time to spare, we may as well see this genius." "genius!" i echoed contemptuously. "feminine twaddler, then!" he suggested, laughing--"let us see this feminine twaddler. she will no doubt prove as amusing as mademoiselle derino in her way. i shall ring the bell and ask if she is at home." he advanced towards the creeper-covered porch,--but i stood back, mortified and sullen, determined not to accompany him inside the house if he were admitted. suddenly a blithe peal of musical laughter sounded through the air, and a clear voice exclaimed-- "oh tricksy! you wicked boy! take it back directly and apologise!" lucio peered through the fence, and then beckoned to me energetically. "there she is!" he whispered, "there is the dyspeptic, sour, savage old blue-stocking,--there, on the lawn,--by heaven!--she's enough to strike terror into the heart of any man--and millionaire!" i looked where he pointed, and saw nothing but a fair-haired woman in a white gown, sitting in a low basket-chair, with a tiny toy terrier on her lap. the terrier was jealously guarding a large square dog-biscuit nearly as big as himself, and at a little distance off sat a magnificent rough-coated st bernard, wagging his feathery tail to and fro, with every sign of good-humour and enjoyment. the position was evident at a glance,--the small dog had taken his huge companion's biscuit from him and had conveyed it to his mistress,--a canine joke which seemed to be appreciated and understood by all the parties concerned. but as i watched the little group, i did not believe that she whom i saw was mavis clare. that small head was surely never made for the wearing of deathless laurels, but rather for a garland of roses, (sweet and perishable) twined by a lover's hand. no such slight feminine creature as the one i now looked upon could ever be capable of the intellectual grasp and power of 'differences,' the book i secretly admired and wondered at, but which i had anonymously striven to 'quash' in its successful career. the writer of such a work, i imagined, must needs be of a more or less strong physique, with pronounced features and an impressive personality. this butterfly-thing, playing with her dog, was no type of a 'blue-stocking,' and i said as much to lucio. "that cannot be miss clare," i said--"more likely a visitor,--or perhaps the companion-secretary. the novelist must be very different in appearance to that frivolous young person in white, whose dress is distinctly parisian, and who seems to have nothing whatever to do but amuse herself." "tricksy!" said the clear voice again--"take back the biscuit and apologise!" the tiny terrier looked round with an innocently abstracted air, as if in the earnestness of his own thoughts, he had not quite caught the meaning of the sentence. "tricksy!" and the voice became more imperative--"take it back and apologise!" with a comical expression of resignation to circumstances, 'tricksy' seized the large biscuit, and holding it in his teeth with gingerly care, jumped from his mistress's knee and trotting briskly up to the st bernard who was still wagging his tail and smiling as visibly as dogs often can smile, restored his stolen goods with three short yapping barks as much as to say "there! take it!" the st bernard rose in all his majestic bulk and sniffed at it,--then sniffed his small friend, apparently in dignified doubt as to which was terrier and which was biscuit,--then lying down again, he gave himself up to the pleasure of munching his meal, the while "tricksy" with wild barks of delight performed a sort of mad war-dance round and round him by way of entertainment. this piece of dog-comedy was still going on, when lucio turned away from his point of observation at the fence, and going up to the gate, rang the bell. a neat maid-servant answered the summons. "is miss clare at home?" he asked. "yes sir. but i am not sure whether she will receive you,--" the maid replied--"unless you have an appointment?" "we have no appointment,"--said lucio,--"but if you will take these cards,--" here he turned to me--"geoffrey, give me one of yours!" i complied, somewhat reluctantly. "if you will take these cards"--he resumed--"to miss clare, it is just possible she may be kind enough to see us. if not, it will be our loss." he spoke so gently and with such an ingratiating manner that i could see the servant was at once prepossessed in his favour. "step in, sir, if you please,--" she said smiling and opening the gate. he obeyed with alacrity,--and i, who a moment ago had resolved not to enter the place, found myself passively following him under an archway of sprouting young leaves and early budding jessamine into 'lily cottage'--which was to prove one day, though i knew it not then, the only haven of peace and security i should ever crave for,--and, craving, be unable to win! the house was much larger than it looked from the outside; the entrance-hall was square and lofty, and panelled with fine old carved oak, and the drawing-room into which we were shown was one of the most picturesque and beautiful apartments i had ever seen. there were flowers everywhere,--books,--rare bits of china,--elegant trifles that only a woman of perfect taste would have the sense to select and appreciate,--on one or two of the side-tables and on the grand piano were autograph-portraits of many of the greatest celebrities in europe. lucio strolled about the room, making soft comments. "here is the autocrat of all the russias," he said, pausing before a fine portrait of the tsar--"signed by the imperial hand too. now what has the 'feminine twaddler' done to deserve that honour i wonder! here in strange contrast, is the wild-haired paderewski,--and beside him the perennial patti,--there is her majesty of italy, and here we have the prince of wales,--all autographed likenesses. upon my word, miss clare seems to attract a great many notabilities around her without the aid of hard cash. i wonder how she does it, geoffrey?"--and his eyes sparkled half maliciously--"can it be a case of genius after all? look at those lilies!" and he pointed to a mass of white bloom in one of the windows--"are they not far more beautiful creatures than men and women? dumb--yet eloquent of purity!--no wonder the painters choose them as the only flowers suitable for the adornment of angels." as he spoke the door opened, and the woman we had seen on the lawn entered, carrying her toy terrier on one arm. was she mavis clare? or some-one sent to say that the novelist could not receive us? i wondered silently, looking at her in surprise and something of confusion,--lucio advanced with an odd mingling of humility and appeal in his manner which was new to me. "we must apologise for our intrusion, miss clare,"--he said--"but happening to pass your house, we could not resist making an attempt to see you. my name is----rimânez"--he hesitated oddly for a second, then went on--"and this is my friend mr geoffrey tempest, the author,----" the young lady raised her eyes to mine with a little smile and courteous bend of her head--"he has, as i daresay you know, become the owner of willowsmere court. you will be neighbours, and i hope, friends. in any case if we have committed a breach of etiquette in venturing to call upon you without previous introduction, you must try and forgive us! it is difficult,--to me impossible,--to pass the dwelling of a celebrity without offering homage to the presiding genius within." mavis clare,--for it was mavis clare,--seemed not to have heard the intended compliment. "you are very welcome," she said simply, advancing with a pretty grace, and extending her hand to each of us in turn, "i am quite accustomed to visits from strangers. but i already know mr tempest very well by reputation. won't you sit down?" she motioned us to chairs in the lily-decked window-corner, and rang the bell. her maid appeared. "tea, janet." this order given, she seated herself near us, still holding her little dog curled up against her like a small ball of silk. i tried to converse, but could find nothing suitable to say,--the sight of her filled me with too great a sense of self-reproach and shame. she was such a quiet graceful creature, so slight and dainty, so perfectly unaffected and simple in manner, that as i thought of the slaughtering article i had written against her work i felt like a low brute who had been stoning a child. and yet,--after all it was her genius i hated,--the force and passion of that mystic quality which wherever it appears, compels the world's attention,--this was the gift she had that i lacked and coveted. moved by the most conflicting sensations i gazed abstractedly out on the shady old garden,--i heard lucio conversing on trifling matters of society and literature generally, and every now and then her bright laugh rang out like a little peal of bells. soon i felt, rather than saw, that she was looking steadily at me,--and turning, i met her eyes,--deep dense blue eyes, candidly grave and clear. "is this your first visit to willowsmere court?" she asked. "yes," i answered, making an effort to appear more at my ease--"i bought the place,--on the recommendation of my friend the prince here,--without looking at it." "so i heard,"--she said, still observing me curiously--"and you are satisfied with it?" "more than satisfied--i am delighted. it exceeds all my best expectations." "mr tempest is going to marry the daughter of the former owner of willowsmere,"--put in lucio,--"no doubt you have seen it announced in the papers?" "yes;"--she responded with a slight smile--"i have seen it--and i think mr tempest is much to be congratulated. lady sibyl is very lovely,--i remember her as a beautiful child when i was a child myself--i never spoke to her, but i often saw her. she must be charmed at the prospect of returning as a bride to the old home she loved so well." here the servant entered with the tea, and miss clare, putting down her tiny dog, went to the table to dispense it. i watched her move across the room with a sense of vague wonder and reluctant admiration,--she rather resembled a picture by greuze in her soft white gown with a pale rose nestled amid the old flemish lace at her throat,--and as she turned her head towards us, the sunlight caught her fair hair and turned it to the similitude of a golden halo circling her brows. she was not a beauty; but she possessed an undoubted individual charm,--a delicate attractiveness, which silently asserted itself, as the breath of honeysuckle hidden in the tangles of a hedge, will delight the wayfarer with sweet fragrance though the flowers be unseen. "your book was very clever, mr tempest"--she said suddenly, smiling at me--"i read it as soon as it came out. but do you know i think your article was even cleverer?" i felt myself growing uncomfortably red in the face. "to what article do you allude, miss clare?" i stammered confusedly--"i do not write for any magazine." "no?" and she laughed gaily--"but you did on this occasion! you 'slated' me very smartly!--i quite enjoyed it. i found out that you were the author of the philippic,--not through the editor of the journal--oh no, poor man! he is very discreet; but through quite another person who must be nameless. it is very difficult to prevent me from finding out whatever i wish to know, especially in literary matters! why, you look quite unhappy!" and her blue eyes danced with fun as she handed me my cup of tea--"you really don't suppose i was hurt by your critique, do you? dear me, no! nothing of that kind ever affronts me,--i am far too busy to waste any thought on reviews or reviewers. only your article was so exceptionally funny!" "funny?" i echoed stupidly, trying to smile, but failing in the effort. "yes, funny!" she repeated--"it was so very angry that it became amusing. my poor 'differences'! i am really sorry it put you into such a temper,--temper does exhaust one's energies so!" she laughed again and sat down in her former place near me, regarding me with a frankly open and half humorous gaze which i found i could not meet with any sort of composure. to say i felt foolish, would inadequately express my sense of utter bafflement. this woman with her young unclouded face, sweet voice and evidently happy nature, was not at all the creature i had imagined her to be,--and i struggled to say something,--anything,--that would furnish a reasonable and coherent answer. i caught lucio's glance,--one of satirical amusement,--and my thoughts grew more entangled than ever. a distraction however occurred in the behaviour of the dog tricksy, who suddenly took up a position immediately opposite lucio, and lifting his nose in air began to howl with a desolate loudness astonishing in so small an animal. his mistress was surprised. "tricksy, what _is_ the matter?" she exclaimed, catching him up in her arms where he hid his face shivering and moaning;--then she looked steadily at lucio--"i never knew him do such a thing before"--she said--"perhaps you do not like dogs, prince rimânez?" "i am afraid they do not like _me_!" he replied, deferentially. "then pray excuse me a moment!" she murmured, and left the room, to return immediately without her canine favorite. after this i noticed that her blue eyes often rested on lucio's handsome countenance with a bewildered and perplexed expression, as if she saw something in his very beauty that she disliked or distrusted. meanwhile i had recovered a little of my usual self-possession, and i addressed her in a tone which i meant to be kind, but which i knew was somewhat patronizing. "i am very glad, miss clare, that you were not offended at the article you speak of. it was rather strong i admit,--but you know we cannot all be of the same opinion ..." "indeed no!" she said quietly and with a slight smile--"such a state of things would make a very dull world! i assure you i was not and am not in the least offended--the critique was a smart piece of writing, and made not the slightest effect on me or on my book. you remember what shelley wrote of critics? no? you will find the passage in his preface to 'the revolt of islam,' and it runs thus,--'i have sought to write as i believe that homer, shakespeare, and milton wrote, with an utter disregard of anonymous censure. i am certain that calumny and misrepresentation, though it may move me to compassion cannot disturb my peace. i shall understand the expressive silence of those sagacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. i shall endeavour to extract from the midst of insult and contempt and maledictions, those admonitions which may tend to correct whatever imperfections such censurers may discern in my appeal to the public. if certain critics were as clear-sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their virulent writings! as it is, i fear i shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks and lame invectives. should the public judge that my composition is worthless, i shall indeed bow before the tribunal from which milton received his crown of immortality, and shall seek to gather, if i live, strength from that defeat, which may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may _not_ be worthless!'" as she gave the quotation, her eyes darkened and deepened,--her face was lighted up as by some inward illumination,--and i discovered the rich sweetness of the voice which made the name of 'mavis' suit her so well. "you see i know my shelley!" she said with a little laugh at her own emotion--"and those words are particularly familiar to me, because i have had them painted up on a panel in my study. just to remind me, in case i should forget, what the really great geniuses of the world thought of criticism,--because their example is very encouraging and helpful to a humble little worker like myself. i am not a press-favourite--and i never get good reviews,--but--" and she laughed again--"i like my reviewers all the same! if you have finished your tea, will you come and see them?" come and see them! what did she mean? she seemed delighted at my visible surprise, and her cheeks dimpled with merriment. "come and see them!" she repeated--"they generally expect me at this hour!" she led the way into the garden,--we followed,--i, in a bewildered confusion of mind, with all my ideas respecting 'unsexed females' and repulsive blue-stockings upset by the unaffected behaviour and charming frankness of this 'celebrity' whose fame i envied, and whose personality i could not but admire. with all her intellectual gifts she was yet a lovable woman,--ah mavis!--how lovable and dear i was destined in misery to know! mavis, mavis!--i whisper your sweet name in my solitude,--i see you in my dreams, and kneeling before you i call you angel!--my angel at the gate of a lost paradise, whose sword of genius turning every way, keeps me back from all approach to my forfeited tree of life! xx scarcely had we stepped out on the lawn before an unpleasant incident occurred which might have ended dangerously. at his mistress's approach the big st bernard dog rose from the sunny corner where he had been peacefully dozing, and prepared to greet her,--but as soon as he perceived us he stopped short with an ominous growl. before miss clare could utter a warning word, he made a couple of huge bounds and sprang savagely at lucio as though to tear him in pieces,--lucio with admirable presence of mind caught him firmly by the throat and forced him backwards. mavis turned deathly pale. "let me hold him! he will obey me!" she cried, placing her little hand on the great dog's neck--"down, emperor! down! how dare you! down sir!" in a moment 'emperor' dropped to the ground, and crouched abjectly at her feet, breathing heavily and trembling in every limb. she held him by the collar, and looked up at lucio who was perfectly composed, though his eyes flashed dangerously. "i am so very sorry!" she murmured,--"i forgot,--you told me dogs do not like you. but what a singularly marked antipathy, is it not? i cannot understand it. emperor is generally so good-natured,--i must apologize for his bad conduct--it is quite unusual. i hope he has not hurt you?" "not at all!" returned lucio affably but with a cold smile; "i hope i have not hurt _him_,--or distressed _you_!" she made no reply, but led the st bernard away and was absent for a few minutes. while she was gone, lucio's brow clouded, and his face grew very stern. "what do you think of her?" he asked me abruptly. "i hardly know what to think," i answered abstractedly--"she is very different to what i imagined. her dogs are rather unpleasant company!" "they are honest animals!" he said morosely--"they are no doubt accustomed to candour in their mistress, and therefore object to personified lies." "speak for yourself!" i said irritably--"they object to you, chiefly." "am i not fully aware of that?" he retorted--"and do i not speak for myself? you do not suppose i would call you a personified lie, do you,--even if it were true! i would not be so uncivil. but i am a living lie, and knowing it i admit it, which gives me a certain claim to honesty above the ordinary run of men. this woman-wearer of laurels is a personified truth!--imagine it!--she has no occasion to pretend to be anything else than she is! no wonder she is famous!" i said nothing, as just then the subject of our conversation returned, tranquil and smiling, and did her best, with the tact and grace of a perfect hostess, to make us forget her dog's ferocious conduct, by escorting us through all the prettiest turns and twisting paths of her garden, which was quite a bower of spring beauty. she talked to us both with equal ease, brightness and cleverness, though i observed that she studied lucio with close interest, and watched his looks and movements with more curiosity than liking. passing under an arching grove of budding syringas, we presently came to an open court-yard paved with blue and white tiles, having in its centre a picturesque dove-cote built in the form of a chinese pagoda. here pausing, mavis clapped her hands. a cloud of doves, white, grey, brown, and opalescent answered the summons, circling round and round her head, and flying down in excited groups at her feet. "here are my reviewers!" she said laughing--"are they not pretty creatures? the ones i know best are named after their respective journals,--there are plenty of anonymous ones of course, who flock in with the rest. here, for instance, is the 'saturday review'"--and she picked up a strutting bird with coral-tinted feet, who seemed to rather like the attention shown to him--"he fights with all his companions and drives them away from the food whenever he can. he is a quarrelsome creature!"--here she stroked the bird's head--"you never know how to please him,--he takes offence at the corn sometimes and will only eat peas, or _vice versa_. he quite deserves his name,--go away, old boy!" and she flung the pigeon in the air and watched it soaring up and down--"he _is_ such a comical old grumbler! there is the 'speaker'"--and she pointed to a fat fussy fantail--"he struts very well, and fancies he's important, you know, but he isn't. over there is 'public opinion,'--that one half-asleep on the wall; next to him is the 'spectator,'--you see he has two rings round his eyes like spectacles. that brown creature with the fluffy wings all by himself on that flower-pot is the 'nineteenth century,'--the little bird with the green neck is the 'westminster gazette,' and the fat one sitting on the platform of the cote is the 'pall-mall.' he knows his name very well--see!" and she called merrily--"pall mall! come boy!--come here!" the bird obeyed at once, and flying down from the cote settled on her shoulder. "there are so many others,--it is difficult to distinguish them sometimes,"--she continued,--"whenever i get a bad review i name a pigeon,--it amuses me. that draggle-tailed one with the muddy feet is the 'sketch,'--he is not at all a well-bred bird i must tell you!--that smart-looking dove with the purple breast is the 'graphic,' and that bland old grey thing is the 'i. l. n.' short for 'illustrated london news.' those three white ones are respectively 'daily telegraph,' 'morning post,' and 'standard.' now see them all!" and taking a covered basket from a corner she began to scatter corn and peas and various grains in lavish quantities all over the court. for a moment we could scarcely see the sky, so thickly the birds flocked together, struggling, fighting, swooping downwards, and soaring upwards,--but the wingëd confusion soon gave place to something like order when they were all on the ground and busy, selecting their respective favourite foods from the different sorts provided for their choice. "you are indeed a sweet-natured philosopher"--said lucio smiling, "if you can symbolize your adverse reviewers by a flock of doves!" she laughed merrily. "well, it is a remedy against all irritation,"--she returned; "i used to worry a good deal over my work, and wonder why it was that the press people were so unnecessarily hard upon me, when they showed so much leniency and encouragement to far worse writers,--but after a little serious consideration, finding that critical opinion carried no sort of conviction whatever to the public, i determined to trouble no more about it,--except in the way of doves!" "in the way of doves, you feed your reviewers,"--i observed. "exactly! and i suppose i help to feed them even as women and men!" she said--"they get something from their editors for 'slashing' my work,--and they probably make a little more out of selling their 'review copies.' so you see the dove-emblem holds good throughout. but you have not seen the 'athenæum,'--oh, you _must_ see him!" with laughter still lurking in her blue eyes, she took us out of the pigeon-court, and led the way round to a sequestered and shady corner of the garden, where, in a large aviary-cage fitted up for its special convenience, sat a solemn white owl. the instant it perceived us, it became angry, and ruffling up its downy feathers, rolled its glistening yellow eyes vindictively and opened its beak. two smaller owls sat in the background, pressed close together,--one grey, the other brown. "cross old boy!" said mavis, addressing the spiteful-looking creature in the sweetest of accents--"haven't you found any mice to kill to-day? oh, what wicked eyes!--what a snappy mouth!" then turning to us, she went on--"isn't he a lovely owl? doesn't he look wise?--but as a matter of fact he's just as stupid as ever he can be. that is why i call him the 'athenæum'! he looks so profound, you'd fancy he knows everything, but he really thinks of nothing but killing mice all the time,--which limits his intelligence considerably!" lucio laughed heartily, and so did i,--she looked so mischievous and merry. "but there are two other owls in the cage"--i said--"what are their names?" she held up a little finger in playful warning. "ah, that would be telling secrets!" she said--"they're all the 'athenæum'--the holy three,--a sort of literary trinity. but why a trinity i do not venture to explain!--it is a riddle i must leave you to guess!" she moved on, and we followed across a velvety grass-plot bordered with bright spring-flowers, such as crocuses, tulips, anemones, and hyacinths, and presently pausing she asked--"would you care to see my work-room?" i found myself agreeing to this proposition with an almost boyish enthusiasm. lucio glanced at me with a slight half-cynical smile. "miss clare, are you going to name a pigeon after mr tempest?" he inquired--"he played the part of an adverse critic, you know--but i doubt whether he will ever do so again!" she looked round at me and smiled. "oh, i have been merciful to mr tempest,"--she replied; "he is among the anonymous birds whom i do not specially recognise!" she stepped into the arched embrasure of an open window which fronted the view of the grass and flowers, and entering with her we found ourselves in a large room, octagonal in shape, where the first object that attracted and riveted the attention was a marble bust of the pallas athene whose grave impassive countenance and tranquil brows directly faced the sun. a desk strewn with papers occupied the left-hand side of the window-nook,--in a corner draped with olive-green velvet, the white presence of the apollo belvedere taught in his inscrutable yet radiant smile, the lesson of love and the triumphs of fame,--and numbers of books were about, not ranged in formal rows on shelves as if they were never read, but placed on low tables and wheeled stands, that they might be easily taken up and glanced at. the arrangement of the walls chiefly excited my interest and admiration, for these were divided into panels, and every panel had, inscribed upon it in letters of gold, some phrase from the philosophers, or some verse from the poets. the passage from shelley which mavis had recently quoted to us, occupied, as she had said, one panel, and above it hung a beautiful bas-relief of the drowned poet copied from the monument at via reggio. another and broader panel held a fine engraving of shakespeare, and under the picture appeared the lines-- "to thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." byron was represented,--also keats; but it would have taken more than a day to examine the various suggestive quaintnesses and individual charms of this 'workshop' as its owner called it, though the hour was to come when i should know every corner of it by heart, and look upon it as a haunted outlaw of bygone ages looked upon 'sanctuary.' but now time gave us little pause,--and when we had sufficiently expressed our pleasure and gratitude for the kindness with which we had been received, lucio, glancing at his watch, suggested departure. "we could stay on here for an indefinite period miss clare,"--he said with an unwonted softness in his dark eyes; "it is a place for peace and happy meditation,--a restful corner for a tired soul." he checked a slight sigh,--then went on--"but trains wait for no man, and we are returning to town to-night." "then i will not detain you any longer," said our young hostess, leading the way at once by a side-door, through a passage filled with flowering plants, into the drawing-room where she had first entertained us--"i hope, mr tempest," she added, smiling at me,--"that now we have met, you will no longer desire to qualify as one of my pigeons! it is scarcely worth while!" "miss clare," i said, now speaking with unaffected sincerity--"i assure you, on my honour, i am very sorry i wrote that article against you. if i had only known you as you are--" "oh, that should make no difference to a critic!" she answered merrily. "it would have made a great difference to me"--i declared; "you are so unlike the objectionable 'literary woman,'--" i paused, and she regarded me smilingly with her bright clear candid eyes,--then i added--"i must tell you that sibyl,--lady sibyl elton--is one of your most ardent admirers." "i am very pleased to hear that,"--she said simply--"i am always glad when i succeed in winning somebody's approval and liking." "does not everyone approve and admire you?" asked lucio. "oh no! by no means! the 'saturday' says i only win the applause of shop-girls!" and she laughed--"poor old 'saturday'!--the writers on its staff are so jealous of any successful author. i told the prince of wales what it said the other day, and he was very much amused." "you know the prince?" i asked, in a little surprise. "well, it would be more correct to say that he knows me," she replied--"he has been very amiable in taking some little interest in my books. he knows a good deal about literature too,--much more than people give him credit for. he has been here more than once,--and has seen me feed my reviewers--the pigeons, you know! he rather enjoyed the fun i think!" and this was all the result of the 'slating' the press gave to mavis clare! simply that she named her doves after her critics, and fed them in the presence of whatever royal or distinguished visitors she might have (and i afterwards learned she had many) amid, no doubt, much laughter from those who saw the 'spectator'-pigeon fighting for grains of corn, or the 'saturday review' pigeon quarrelling over peas! evidently no reviewer, spiteful or otherwise, could affect the vivacious nature of such a mischievous elf as she was. "how different you are--how widely different--to the ordinary run of literary people!" i said involuntarily. "i am glad you find me so,"--she answered--"i hope i _am_ different. as a rule literary people take themselves far too seriously, and attach too much importance to what they do. that is why they become such bores. i don't believe anyone ever did thoroughly good work who was not perfectly happy over it, and totally indifferent to opinion. i should be quite content to write on, if i only had a garret to live in. i was once very poor,--shockingly poor; and even now i am not rich, but i've got just enough to keep me working steadily, which is as it should be. if i had more, i might get lazy and neglect my work,--then you know satan might step into my life, and it would be a question of idle hands and mischief to follow, according to the adage." "i think you would have strength enough to resist satan,--" said lucio, looking at her stedfastly, with sombre scrutiny in his expressive eyes. "oh, i don't know about that,--i could not be sure of myself!" and she smiled--"i should imagine he must be a dangerously fascinating personage. i never picture him as the possessor of hoofs and a tail,--common-sense assures me that no creature presenting himself under such an aspect would have the slightest power to attract. milton's conception of satan is the finest"--and her eyes darkened swiftly with the intensity of her thoughts--"a mighty angel fallen!--one cannot but be sorry for such a fall, if the legend were true!" there was a sudden silence. a bird sang outside, and a little breeze swayed the lilies in the window to and fro. "good-bye, mavis clare!" said lucio very softly, almost tenderly. his voice was low and tremulous--his face grave and pale. she looked up at him in a little surprise. "good-bye!" she rejoined, extending her small hand. he held it a moment,--then, to my secret astonishment, knowing his aversion to women, stooped and kissed it. she flushed rosily as she withdrew it from his clasp. "be always as you are mavis clare!"--he said gently--"let nothing change you! keep that bright nature of yours,--that unruffled spirit of quiet contentment, and you may wear the bitter laurel of fame as sweetly as a rose! i have seen the world; i have travelled far, and have met many famous men and women,--kings and queens, senators, poets and philosophers,--my experience has been wide and varied, so that i am not altogether without authority for what i say,--and i assure you that the satan of whom you are able to speak with compassion, can never trouble the peace of a pure and contented soul. like consorts with like,--a fallen angel seeks the equally fallen,--and the devil,--if there be one,--becomes the companion of those only who take pleasure in his teaching and society. legends say he is afraid of a crucifix,--but if he is afraid of anything i should say it must be of that 'sweet content' concerning which your country's shakespeare sings, and which is a better defence against evil than the church or the prayers of the clergy! i speak as one having the right of age to speak,--i am so many many years older than you!----you must forgive me if i have said too much!" she was quite silent; evidently moved and surprised at his words; and she gazed at him with a vaguely wondering, half-awed expression,--an expression which changed directly i myself advanced to make my adieu. "i am very glad to have met you, miss clare,"--i said--"i hope we shall be friends!" "there is no reason why we should be enemies i think," she responded frankly--"i am very pleased you came to-day. if ever you want to 'slate' me again, you know your fate!--you become a dove,--nothing more! good-bye!" she saluted us prettily as we passed out, and when the gate had closed behind us we heard the deep and joyous baying of the great dog 'emperor,' evidently released from 'durance vile' immediately on our departure. we walked on for some time in silence, and it was not till we had re-entered the grounds of willowsmere, and were making our way to the drive where the carriage which was to take us to the station already awaited us, that lucio said-- "well; now, what do you think of her?" "she is as unlike the accepted ideal of the female novelist as she can well be," i answered, with a laugh. "accepted ideals are generally mistaken ones,"--he observed, watching me narrowly--"an accepted ideal of divinity in some church pictures is an old man's face set in a triangle. the accepted ideal of the devil is a nondescript creature, with horns, hoofs (one of them cloven) and a tail, as miss clare just now remarked. the accepted ideal of beauty is the venus de medicis,--whereas your lady sibyl entirely transcends that much over-rated statue. the accepted ideal of a poet is apollo,--he was a god,--and no poet in the flesh ever approaches the god-like! and the accepted ideal of the female novelist, is an elderly, dowdy, spectacled, frowsy fright,--mavis clare does not fulfil this description, yet she is the author of 'differences.' now mcwhing, who thrashes her continually in all the papers he can command, _is_ elderly, ugly, spectacled and frowsy,--and he is the author of--nothing! women-authors are invariably supposed to be hideous,--men-authors for the most part _are_ hideous. but their hideousness is not noted or insisted upon,--whereas, no matter how good-looking women-writers may be, they still pass under press-comment as frights, because the fiat of press-opinion considers they ought to be frights, even if they are not. a pretty authoress is an offence,--an incongruity,--a something that neither men nor women care about. men don't care about her, because being clever and independent, she does not often care about them,--women don't care about her, because she has the effrontery to combine attractive looks with intelligence, and she makes an awkward rival to those who have only attractive looks without intelligence. so wags the world!-- o wild world!--circling through æons untold,-- 'mid fires of sunrise and sunset,--through flashes of silver and gold,-- grain of dust in a storm,--atom of sand by the sea,-- what is your worth, o world, to the angels of god and me! he sang this quite suddenly, his rich baritone pealing out musically on the warm silent air. i listened entranced. "what a voice you have!" i exclaimed--"what a glorious gift!" he smiled, and sang on, his dark eyes flashing-- o wild world! mote in a burning ray flung from the spherical heavens millions of spaces away-- sink in the ether or soar! live with the planets or die!-- what should i care for your fate, who am one with the infinite sky! "what strange song is that?" i asked, startled and thrilled by the passion of his voice--"it seems to mean nothing!" he laughed, and took my arm. "it does mean nothing!" he said--"all drawing-room songs mean nothing. mine is a drawing-room song--calculated to waken emotional impulses in the unloved spinster religiously inclined!" "nonsense!" i said, smiling. "exactly! that is what i say. it _is_ nonsense!" here we came up to the carriage which waited for us--"just twenty minutes to catch the train, geoffrey! off we go!" and off we did go,--i watching the red gabled roofs of willowsmere court shining in the late sunshine, till a turn in the road hid them from view. "you like your purchase?" queried lucio presently. "i do. immensely!" "and your rival, mavis clare? do you like her?" i paused a moment, then answered frankly, "yes. i like her. and i will admit something more than that to you now. i like her book. it is a noble work,--worthy of the most highly-gifted man. i always liked it--and because i liked it, i slated it." "rather a mysterious course of procedure!" and he smiled; "can you not explain?" "of course i can explain,"--i said--"explanation is easy. i envied her power--i envy it still. her popularity caused me a smarting sense of injury, and to relieve it i wrote that article against her. but i shall never do anything of the kind again. i shall let her grow her laurels in peace." "laurels have a habit of growing without any permission,"--observed lucio significantly--"in all sorts of unexpected places too. and they can never be properly cultivated in the forcing-house of criticism." "i know that!" i said quickly, my thoughts reverting to my own book, and all the favourable criticisms that had been heaped upon it--"i have learned that lesson thoroughly, by heart!" he looked at me fixedly. "it is only one of many you may have yet to learn"--he said--"it is a lesson in fame. your next course of instruction will be in love!" he smiled,--but i was conscious of a certain dread and discomfort as he spoke. i thought of sibyl and her incomparable beauty----sibyl, who had told me she could not love,--had we both to learn a lesson? and should we master it?--or would it master us? xxi the preparations for my marriage now went on apace,--shoals of presents began to arrive for sibyl as well as for myself, and i was introduced to an hitherto undemonstrated phase (as far as i personally was concerned) of the vulgarity and hypocrisy of fashionable society. everyone knew the extent of my wealth, and how little real necessity there was for offering me or my bride-elect costly gifts; nevertheless, all our so-called 'friends' and acquaintances, strove to outvie each other in the gross cash-value, if not in the good taste, of their various donations. had we been a young couple bravely beginning the world on true love, in more or less uncertainty as to our prospects and future income, we should have received nothing either useful or valuable,--everyone would have tried to do the present-giving in as cheap and mean a way as possible. instead of handsome services of solid silver, we should have had a meagre collection of plated teaspoons; instead of costly editions of books sumptuously enriched with fine steel engravings, we might possibly have had to express our gratitude for a ten-shilling family bible. of course i fully realized the actual nature and object of the lavish extravagance displayed on this occasion by our social 'set,'--their gifts were merely so many bribes, sent with a purpose which was easy enough to fathom. the donors wished to be invited to the wedding in the first place,--after that, they sought to be included in our visiting-list, and foresaw invitations to our dinners and house-parties;--and more than this they calculated on our influence in society, and the possible chance there might be in the dim future of our lending some of them money should pressing occasion require it. in the scant thankfulness and suppressed contempt their adulatory offerings excited, sibyl and i were completely at one. she looked upon her array of glittering valuables with the utmost weariness and indifference, and flattered my self-love by assuring me that the only things she cared at all for were the riviére of sapphires and diamonds i had given her as a betrothal-pledge, together with an engagement-ring of the same lustrous gems. yet i noticed she also had a great liking for lucio's present, which was a truly magnificent masterpiece of the jeweller's art. it was a girdle in the form of a serpent, the body entirely composed of the finest emeralds, and the head of rubies and diamonds. flexible as a reed, when sibyl put it on, it appeared to spring and coil round her waist like a living thing, and breathe with her breathing. i did not much care for it myself as an ornament for a young bride,--it seemed to me quite unsuitable,--but as everyone else admired it and envied the possessor of such superb jewels, i said nothing of my own distaste. diana chesney had shown a certain amount of delicate sentiment and refinement in her offering,--it was a very exquisite marble statue of psyche, mounted on a pedestal of solid silver and ebony. sibyl thanked her, smiling coldly. "you have given me an emblem of the soul,"--she said; "no doubt you remembered i have no soul of my own!" and her airy laugh had chilled poor diana 'to the marrow,' as the warm-hearted little american herself, with tears, assured me. at this period i saw very little of rimânez. i was much occupied with my lawyers on the question of 'settlements.' messrs bentham and ellis rather objected to the arrangement by which i gave the half of my fortune to my intended wife unconditionally; but i would brook no interference, and the deed was drawn up, signed, sealed and witnessed. the earl of elton could not sufficiently praise my 'unexampled generosity'--my 'noble character;'--and walked about, eulogising me everywhere, till he almost turned himself into a public advertisement of the virtues of his future son-in-law. he seemed to have taken a new lease of life,--he flirted with diana chesney openly,--and of his paralysed spouse with the fixed stare and deathly grin, he never spoke, and, i imagine, never thought. sibyl herself was always in the hands of dressmakers and milliners,--and we only saw each other every day for a few minutes' hurried chat. on these occasions she was always charming,--even affectionate; and yet,--though i was full of passionate admiration and love for her, i felt that she was mine merely as a slave might be mine; that she gave me her lips to kiss as if she considered i had a right to kiss them because i had bought them, and for no other reason,--that her pretty caresses were studied, and her whole behaviour the result of careful forethought and not natural impulsiveness. i tried to shake off this impression, but it still remained persistently, and clouded the sweetness of my brief courtship. meanwhile, slowly and almost imperceptibly, my 'boomed' book dropped out of notice. morgeson presented a heavy bill of publishing costs which i paid without a murmur; now and then an allusion to my 'literary triumphs' cropped up in one or other of the newspapers, but otherwise no one spoke of my 'famous' work, and few read it. i enjoyed the same sort of cliquey reputation and public failure attending a certain novel entitled 'marius the epicurean.' the journalists with whom i had come in contact began to drift away like flotsam and jetsam; i think they saw i was not likely to give many more 'reviewing' dinners or suppers, and that my marriage with the earl of elton's daughter would lift me into an atmosphere where grub-street could not breathe comfortably or stretch its legs at ease. the heap of gold on which i sat as on a throne, divided me gradually from even the back courts and lower passages leading to the temple of fame,--and almost unconsciously to myself i retreated step by step, shading my eyes as it were from the sun, and seeing the glittering turrets in the distance, with a woman's slight figure entering the lofty portico, turning back her laurelled head to smile sorrowfully and with divinest pity upon me, ere passing in to salute the gods. yet, if asked about it, everyone on the press would have said that i had had a great success. i--only i--realized the bitterness and truth of my failure. i had not touched the heart of the public;--i had not succeeded in so waking my readers out of the torpor of their dull and commonplace every-day lives, that they should turn towards me with outstretched hands, exclaiming--"more,--more of these thoughts which comfort and inspire us!--which make us hear god's voice proclaiming 'all's well!' above the storms of life!" i had not done it,--i could not do it. and the worst part of my feeling on this point was the idea that possibly i might have done it had i remained poor! the strongest and healthiest pulse in the composition of a man,--the necessity for hard work,--had been killed in me. i knew i need not work; that the society in which i now moved thought it ridiculous if i did work; that i was expected to spend money and 'enjoy' myself in the idiotic fashion of what the 'upper ten' term enjoyment. my acquaintances were not slow in suggesting plans for the dissipation of my surplus cash,--why did i not build for myself a marble palace on the riviera?--or a yacht to completely outshine the prince of wales's 'britannia'? why did i not start a theatre? or found a newspaper? not one of my social advisers once proposed my doing any private personal good with my fortune. when some terrible case of distress was published, and subscriptions were raised to relieve the object or objects of suffering, i invariably gave ten guineas, and allowed myself to be thanked for my 'generous assistance.' i might as well have given ten pence, for the guineas were no more to me in comparison than the pence. when funds were started to erect a statue to some great man who had, in the usual way of the world, been a victim of misrepresentation till his death, i produced my ten guineas again, when i could easily have defrayed the whole cost of the memorial, with honour to myself, and been none the poorer. with all my wealth i did nothing noteworthy; i showered no unexpected luck in the way of the patient, struggling workers in the hard schools of literature and art; i gave no 'largesse' among the poor;--and when a thin, eager-eyed curate, with a strong earnest face called upon me one day, to represent, with much nervous diffidence, the hideous sufferings of some of the sick and starving in his district down by the docks, and suggested that i might possibly care to alleviate a few of these direful sorrows as a satisfaction to myself, as well as for the sake of human brotherhood, i am ashamed to say i let him go with a sovereign, for which he heaped coals of fire on my head by his simple 'god bless you, and thank you.' i could see he was himself in the grip of poverty,--i could have made him and his poor district gloriously happy by a few strokes of my pen on a cheque for an amount i should never have missed,--and yet--i gave him nothing but that one piece of gold, and so allowed him to depart. he invited me, with earnest good-will, to go and see his starving flock,--"for, believe me mr tempest," said he--"i should be sorry if you thought, as some of the wealthy are unhappily apt to do, that i seek money simply to apply it to my own personal uses. if you would visit the district yourself, and distribute whatever you pleased with your own hand, it would be infinitely more gratifying to me, and would have a far better effect on the minds of the people. for, sir, the poor will not always be patient under the cruel burdens they have to bear." i smiled indulgently, and assured him, not without a touch of satire in my tone, that i was convinced all clergymen were honest and unselfish,--and then i sent my servant to bow him out with all possible politeness. and that very day i remember, i drank at my luncheon chateau yquem at twenty-five shillings a bottle. i enter into these apparently trifling details because they all help to make up the sum and substance of the deadly consequences to follow,--and also because i wish to emphasize the fact that in my actions i only imitated the example of my compeers. most rich men to-day follow the same course as i did,--and active personal good to the community is wrought by very few of them. no great deed of generosity illumines our annals. royalty itself leads no fashion in this,--the royal gifts of game and cast-off clothing sent to our hospitals are too slight and conventional to carry weight. the 'entertainments for the poor' got up by some of the aristocrats at the east end, are nothing, and less than nothing. they are weak sops to our tame 'lion couchant' offered in doubtful fear and trembling. for our lion is wakeful and somewhat restive,--there is no knowing what may happen if the original ferocity of the beast is roused. a few of our over-rich men might considerably ease the load of cruel poverty in many quarters of the metropolis if they united themselves with a noble unselfishness in the strong and determined effort to do so, and eschewed red-tapeism and wordy argument. but they remain inert;--spending solely on their own personal gratification and amusement,--and meanwhile there are dark signs of trouble brooding. the poor, as the lean and anxious curate said, will not always be patient! i must not here forget to mention, that through some secret management of rimânez, my name, much to my own surprise, appeared on the list of competitors for the derby. how, at so late an hour, this had been effected, i knew no more than where my horse 'phosphor' came from. it was a superb animal, but rimânez, whose gift to me it was, warned me to be careful as to the character of the persons admitted into the stables to view it, and to allow no one but the horse's own two attendants to linger near it long on any pretext. speculation was very rife as to what 'phosphor's' capabilities really were; the grooms never showed him off to advantage during exercise. i was amazed when lucio told me his man amiel would be the jockey. "good heavens!--not possible!" i exclaimed. "can he ride?" "like the very devil!"--responded my friend with a smile: "he will ride 'phosphor' to the winning-post." i was very doubtful in my own mind of this; a horse of the prime minister's was to run, and all the betting was on that side. few had seen 'phosphor,' and those few, though keen admirers of the animal's appearance, had little opportunity of judging its actual qualities, thanks to the careful management of its two attendants, who were dark-faced, reticent-looking men, somewhat after amiel's character and complexion. i myself was quite indifferent as to the result of the contest. i did not really care whether 'phosphor' lost or won the race. i could afford to lose; and it would be little to me if i won, save a momentary passing triumph. there was nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in the victory,--there _is_ nothing lasting, intellectual or honourable in anything connected with racing. however, because it was 'fashionable' to be interested in this particular mode of wasting time and money, i followed the general 'lead,' for the sake of 'being talked about,' and nothing more. meanwhile, lucio, saying little to me concerning it, was busy planning the betrothal-fête at willowsmere, and designing all sorts of 'surprise' entertainments for the guests. eight hundred invitations were sent out; and society soon began to chatter volubly and excitedly on the probable magnificence of the forthcoming festival. eager acceptances poured in; only a few of those asked were hindered from attending by illness, family deaths or previous engagements, and among these latter, to my regret, was mavis clare. she was going to the sea-coast to stay with some old friends, and in a prettily-worded letter explained this, and expressed her thanks for my invitation, though she found herself unable to accept it. how curious it was that when i read her little note of refusal i should experience such a keen sense of disappointment! she was nothing to me,--nothing but a 'literary' woman who, by strange chance, happened to be sweeter than most women _un_literary; and yet i felt that the fête at willowsmere would lose something in brightness lacking her presence. i had wanted to introduce her to sibyl, as i knew i should thus give a special pleasure to my betrothed,--however, it was not to be, and i was conscious of an inexplicable personal vexation. in strict accordance with the promise made, i let rimânez have his own way entirely with regard to all the arrangements for what was to be the _ne plus ultra_ of everything ever designed for the distraction, amusement and wonderment of listless and fastidious 'swagger' people, and i neither interfered, nor asked any questions, content to rely on my friend's taste, imagination and ingenuity. i only understood that all the plans were being carried out by foreign artists and caterers,--and that no english firms would be employed. i did venture once to inquire the reason of this, and got one of lucio's own enigmatical replies:-- "nothing english is good enough for the english,"--he said--"things have to be imported from france to please the people whom the french themselves angrily designate as 'perfide albion.' you must not have a 'bill of fare'; you must have a 'menu'; and all your dishes must bear french titles, otherwise they will not be in good form. you must have french 'comediennes' and 'danseuses' to please the british taste, and your silken draperies must be woven on french looms. lately too, it has been deemed necessary to import parisian morality as well as parisian fashions. it does not suit stalwart great britain at all, you know,--stalwart great britain, aping the manners of paris, looks like a jolly open-faced, sturdy-limbed giant, with a doll's bonnet stuck on his leonine head. but the doll's bonnet is just now _la mode_. some day i believe the giant will discover it looks ridiculous, and cast it off with a burst of genuine laughter at his own temporary folly. and without it, he will resume his original dignity;--the dignity that best becomes a privileged conqueror who has the sea for his standing-army." "evidently you like england!" i said smiling. he laughed. "not in the very least! i do not like england any more than any other country on the globe. i do not like the globe itself; and england comes in for a share of my aversion as one of the spots on the trumpery ball. if i could have my way, i should like to throne myself on a convenient star for the purpose and kick out at earth as she whirls by in space, hoping by that act of just violence to do away with her for ever!" "but why?" i asked, amused--"why do you hate the earth? what has the poor little planet done to merit your abhorrence?" he looked at me very strangely. "shall i tell you? you will never believe me!" "no matter for that!" i answered smiling--"say on!" "what has the poor little planet done?" he repeated slowly--"the poor little planet has done--nothing. but it is what the gods have done with this same poor little planet, that awakens my anger and scorn. they have made it a living sphere of wonders,--endowed it with beauty borrowed from the fairest corners of highest heaven,--decked it with flowers and foliage,--taught it music,--the music of birds and torrents and rolling waves and falling rains,--rocked it gently in clear ether, among such light as blinds the eyes of mortals,--guided it out of chaos, through clouds of thunder and barbëd shafts of lightning, to circle peacefully in its appointed orbit, lit on the one hand by the vivid splendours of the sun, and on the other by the sleepy radiance of the moon;--and more than all this, they have invested it with a divine soul in man! oh, you may disbelieve as you will,--but notwithstanding the pigmy peeps earth takes at the vast and eternal ocean of science, the soul is here, and all the immortal forces with it and around it! nay, the gods--i speak in the plural, after the fashion of the ancient greeks--for to my thinking there are many gods emanating from the supreme deity,--the gods, i say, have so insisted on this fact, that one of them has walked the earth in human guise, solely for the sake of emphasizing the truth of immortality to these frail creatures of seemingly perishable clay! for this i hate the planet;--were there not, and are there not, other and far grander worlds that a god should have chosen to dwell on than this one!" for a moment i was silent, out of sheer surprise. "you amaze me!" i said at last--"you allude to christ, i suppose; but everybody is convinced by this time that he was a mere man like the rest of us; there was nothing divine about him. what a contradiction you are! why, i remember you indignantly denied the accusation of being a christian." "of course,--and i deny it still"--he answered quickly--"i have not a fat living in the church that i should tell a lie on such a subject. i am not a christian; nor is anyone living a christian. to quote a very old saying 'there never was a christian save one, and he was crucified.' but though i am not a christian i never said i doubted the existence of christ. that knowledge was forced upon me,--with considerable pressure too!" "by a reliable authority?" i inquired with a slight sneer. he made no immediate reply. his flashing eyes looked, as it were, through me and beyond me at something far away. the curious pallor that at times gave his face the set look of an impenetrable mask, came upon him then, and he smiled,--an awful smile. so might a man smile out of deadly bravado, when told of some dim and dreadful torture awaiting him. "you touch me on a sore point,"--he said at last, slowly, and in a harsh tone--"my convictions respecting certain religious phases of man's development and progress, are founded on the arduous study of some very unpleasant truths to which humanity generally shuts its eyes, burying its head in the desert-sands of its own delusions. these truths i will not enter upon now. some other time i will initiate you into a few of my mysteries." the tortured smile passed from his face, leaving it intellectually composed and calm as usual,--and i hastily changed the subject, for i had made up my mind by this time that my brilliant friend had, like many exceptionally gifted persons, a 'craze' on one topic, and that topic a particularly difficult one to discuss as it touched on the superhuman and therefore (to my thinking) the impossible. my own temperament, which had, in the days of my poverty, fluctuated between spiritual striving and material gain, had, with my sudden access to fortune, rapidly hardened into the character of a man of the world worldly, for whom all speculations as to the unseen forces working in and around us, were the merest folly, not worth a moment's waste of thought. i should have laughed to scorn anyone who had then presumed to talk to me about the law of eternal justice, which with individuals as well as nations, works, not for a passing 'phase,' but for all time towards good, and not evil,--for no matter how much a man may strive to blind himself to the fact, he has a portion of the divine within him, which if he wilfully corrupts by his own wickedness, he must be forced to cleanse again and yet again, in the fierce flames of such remorse and such despair as are rightly termed the quenchless fires of hell! xxii on the afternoon of the twenty-first of may, i went down, accompanied by lucio, to willowsmere, to be in readiness for the reception of the social swarm who were to flock thither the next day. amiel went with us,--but i left my own man, morris, behind, to take charge of my rooms in the grand, and to forward late telegrams and special messages. the weather was calm, warm and bright,--and a young moon showed her thin crescent in the sky as we got out at the country station and stepped into the open carriage awaiting us. the station-officials greeted us with servile humility, eyeing lucio especially with an almost gaping air of wonderment; the fact of his lavish expenditure in arranging with the railway company a service of special trains for the use of the morrow's guests, had no doubt excited them to a speechless extent of admiration as well as astonishment. when we approached willowsmere, and entered the beautiful drive, bordered with oak and beech, which led up to the house, i uttered an exclamation of delight at the festal decorations displayed, for the whole avenue was spanned with arches of flags and flowers, garlands of blossoms being even swung from tree to tree, and interlacing many of the lower branches. the gabled porch at the entrance of the house was draped with crimson silk and festooned with white roses,--and as we alighted, the door was flung open by a smart page in brilliant scarlet and gold. "i think," said lucio to me as we entered--"you will find everything as complete as this world's resources will allow. the retinue of servants here are what is vulgarly called 'on the job'; their payment is agreed upon, and they know their duties thoroughly,--they will give you no trouble." i could scarcely find words to express my unbounded satisfaction, or to thank him for the admirable taste with which the beautiful house had been adorned. i wandered about in an ecstasy of admiration, triumphing in such a visible and gorgeous display of what great wealth could really do. the ball-room had been transformed into an elegant bijou theatre, the stage being concealed by a curtain of thick gold-coloured silk on which the oft-quoted lines of shakespeare were embroidered in raised letters,-- "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." turning out of this into the drawing-room, i found it decorated entirely round with banks of roses, red and white, the flowers forming a huge pyramid at one end of the apartment, behind which, as lucio informed me, unseen musicians would discourse sweet harmony. "i have arranged for a few 'tableaux vivants' in the theatre to fill up a gap of time;"--he said carelessly--"fashionable folks now-a-days get so soon tired of one amusement that it is necessary to provide several in order to distract the brains that cannot think, or discover any means of entertainment in themselves. as a matter of fact, people cannot even converse long together because they have nothing to say. oh, don't bother to go out in the grounds on a tour of inspection just now,--leave a few surprises for yourself as well as for your company to-morrow. come and have dinner!" he put his arm through mine and we entered the dining-room. here the table was laid out with costly fruit, flowers and delicacies of every description,--four men-servants in scarlet and gold stood silently in waiting, with amiel, in black as usual, behind his master's chair. we enjoyed a sumptuous repast served to perfection, and when it was finished, we strolled out in the grounds to smoke and talk. "you seem to do everything by magic, lucio;"--i said, looking at him wonderingly--"all these lavish decorations,--these servants--" "money, my dear fellow,--nothing but money"--he interrupted with a laugh--"money, the devil's pass-key! you can have the retinue of a king without any of a king's responsibilities, if you only choose to pay for it. it is merely a question of cost." "and taste!" i reminded him. "true,--and taste. some rich men there are who have less taste than a costermonger. i know one who has the egregious vulgarity to call the attention of his guests to the value of his goods and chattels. he pointed out for my admiration one day, an antique and hideous china plate, the only one of that kind in the world, and told me it was worth a thousand guineas. 'break it,'--i said coolly--'you will then have the satisfaction of knowing you have destroyed a thousand guineas' worth of undesirable ugliness.' you should have seen his face! he showed me no more _curios_!" i laughed, and we walked slowly up and down for a few minutes in silence. presently i became aware that my companion was looking at me intently, and i turned my head quickly to meet his eyes. he smiled. "i was just then thinking," he said, "what you would have done with your life if you had not inherited this fortune, and if,--if _i_ had not come your way?" "i should have starved, no doubt,"--i responded--"died like a rat in a hole,--of want and wretchedness." "i rather doubt that;" he said meditatively--"it is just possible you might have become a great writer." "why do you say that now?" i asked. "because i have been reading your book. there are fine ideas in it,--ideas that might, had they been the result of sincere conviction, have reached the public in time, because they were sane and healthy. the public will never put up for long with corrupt 'fads' and artificial 'crazes.' now you write of god,--yet according to your own statement, you did not believe in god even when you wrote the words that imply his existence,--and that was long before i met you. therefore the book was not the result of sincere conviction, and that's the key-note of your failure to reach the large audience you desired. each reader can see you do not believe what you write,--the trumpet of lasting fame never sounds triumph for an author of that calibre." "don't let us talk about it for heaven's sake!" i said irritably--"i know my work lacks something,--and that something may be what you say or it may not,--i do not want to think about it. let it perish, as it assuredly will; perhaps in the future i may do better." he was silent,--and finishing his cigar, threw the end away in the grass where it burned like a dull red coal. "i must turn in," he then observed,--"i have a few more directions to give to the servants for to-morrow. i shall go to my room as soon as i have done,--so i'll say good-night." "but surely you are taking too much personal trouble,"--i said--"can't i help in any way?" "no, you can't,"--he answered smiling. "when i undertake to do anything i like to do it in my own fashion, or not at all. sleep well, and rise early." he nodded, and sauntered slowly away over the dewy grass. i watched his dark tall figure receding till he had entered the house; then, lighting a fresh cigar, i wandered on alone through the grounds, noting here and there flowery arbours and dainty silk pavilions erected in picturesque nooks and corners for the morrow. i looked up at the sky; it was clear and bright,--there would be no rain. presently i opened the wicket-gate that led into the outer by-road, and walking on slowly, almost unconsciously, i found myself in a few minutes opposite 'lily cottage.' approaching the gate i looked in,--the pretty old house was dark, silent and deserted. i knew mavis clare was away,--and it was not strange that the aspect of her home-nest emphasized the fact of her absence. a cluster of climbing roses hanging from the wall, looked as if they were listening for the first sound of her returning footsteps; across the green breadth of the lawn where i had seen her playing with her dogs, a tall sheaf of st john's lilies stood up white against the sky, their pure hearts opened to the star-light and the breeze. the scent of honey-suckle and sweet-briar filled the air with delicate suggestions,--and as i leaned over the low fence, gazing vaguely at the long shadows of the trees on the grass, a nightingale began to sing. the sweet yet dolorous warble of the 'little brown lover of the moon,' palpitated on the silence in silver-toned drops of melody; and i listened, till my eyes smarted with a sudden moisture as of tears. strangely enough, i never thought of my betrothed bride sibyl then, as surely, by all the precedents of passion, i should have done at such a moment of dreamful ecstasy. it was another woman's face that floated before my memory;--a face not beautiful,--but merely sweet,--and made radiant by the light of two tender, wistful, wonderfully innocent eyes,--a face like that of some new daphne with the mystic laurel springing from her brows. the nightingale sang on and on,--the tall lilies swayed in the faint wind as though nodding wise approval of the bird's wild music,--and, gathering one briar-rose from the hedge, i turned away with a curious heaviness at my heart,--a trouble i could not analyse or account for. i explained my feeling partly to myself as one of regret that i had ever taken up my pen to assault, with sneer and flippant jest, the gentle and brilliantly endowed owner of this little home where peace and pure content dwelt happily in student-like seclusion;--but this was not all. there was something else in my mind,--something inexplicable and sad,--which then i had no skill to define. i know now what it was,--but the knowledge comes too late! returning to my own domains, i saw through the trees a vivid red light in one of the upper windows of willowsmere. it twinkled like a lurid star, and i guided my steps by its brilliancy as i made my way across the winding garden-paths and terraces back to the house. entering the hall, the page in scarlet and gold met me, and with a respectful obeisance, escorted me to my room where amiel was in waiting. "has the prince retired?" i asked him. "yes, sir." "he has a red lamp in his window has he not?" amiel looked deferentially meditative. yet i fancied i saw him smile. "i think----yes,--i believe he has, sir." i asked no more questions, but allowed him to perform his duties as valet in silence. "good-night sir!" he said at last, his ferret eyes fastened upon me with an expressionless look. "good-night!" i responded indifferently. he left the room with his usual cat-like stealthy tread, and when he had gone, i,--moved by a sudden fresh impulse of hatred for him,--sprang to the door and locked it. then i listened, with an odd nervous breathlessness. there was not a sound. for fully quarter of an hour i remained with my attention more or less strained, expectant of i knew not what; but the quiet of the house was absolutely undisturbed. with a sigh of relief i flung myself on the luxurious bed,--a couch fit for a king, draped with the richest satin elaborately embroidered,--and falling soundly asleep i dreamed that i was poor again. poor,--but unspeakably happy,--and hard at work in the old lodging, writing down thoughts which i knew, by some divine intuition and beyond all doubt, would bring me the whole world's honour. again i heard the sounds of the violin played by my unseen neighbour next door, and this time they were triumphal chords and cadences of joy, without one throb of sorrow. and while i wrote on in an ecstasy of inspiration, oblivious of poverty and pain, i heard, echoing through my visions, the round warble of the nightingale, and saw, in the far distance, an angel floating towards me on pinions of light, with the face of mavis clare. xxiii the morning broke clear, with all the pure tints of a fine opal radiating in the cloudless sky. never had i beheld such a fair scene as the woods and gardens of willowsmere when i looked upon them that day illumined by the unclouded sunlight of a spring half-melting into summer. my heart swelled with pride as i surveyed the beautiful domain i now owned,--and thought how happy a home it would make when sibyl, matchless in her loveliness, shared with me its charm and luxury. "yes,"--i said half-aloud--"say what philosophers will, the possession of money does insure satisfaction and power. it is all very well to talk about fame, but what is fame worth, if, like carlyle, one is too poor to enjoy it! besides, literature no longer holds its former high prestige,--there are too many in the field,--too many newspaper-scribblers, all believing they are geniuses,--too many ill-educated lady-paragraphists and 'new' women, who think they are as gifted as georges sand or mavis clare. with sibyl and willowsmere, i ought to be able to resign the idea of fame--literary fame--with a good grace." i knew i reasoned falsely with myself,--i knew that my hankering for a place among the truly great of the world, was as strong as ever,--i knew i craved for the intellectual distinction, force, and pride which make the thinker a terror and a power in the land, and which so sever a great poet or great romancist from the commoner throng that even kings are glad to do him or her honour,--but i would not allow my thoughts to dwell on this rapidly vanishing point of unattainable desire. i settled my mind to enjoy the luscious flavour of the immediate present, as a bee settles in the cup of honey-flowers,--and, leaving my bedroom, i went downstairs to breakfast with lucio in the best and gayest of humours. "not a cloud on the day!" he said, meeting me with a smile, as i entered the bright morning-room, whose windows opened on the lawn--"the fête will be a brilliant success, geoffrey." "thanks to you!" i answered--"personally i am quite in the dark as to your plans,--but i believe you can do nothing that is not well done." "you honour me!" he said with a light laugh--"you credit me then with better qualities than the creator! for what he does, in the opinion of the present generation, is exceedingly ill done! men have taken to grumbling at him instead of praising him,--and few have any patience with or liking for his laws." i laughed. "well, you must admit those laws are very arbitrary!" "they are. i entirely acknowledge the fact!" we sat down to table, and were waited upon by admirably-trained servants who apparently had no idea of anything else but attendance on our needs. there was no trace of bustle or excitement in the household,--no sign whatever to denote that a great entertainment was about to take place that day. it was not until the close of our meal that i asked lucio what time the musicians would arrive. he glanced at his watch. "about noon i should say,"--he replied--"perhaps before. but whatever their hour, they will all be in their places at the proper moment, depend upon it. the people i employ--both musicians and 'artistes'--know their business thoroughly, and are aware that i stand no nonsense." a rather sinister smile played round his mouth as he regarded me. "none of your guests can arrive here till one o'clock,--as that is about the time the special train will bring the first batch of them from london,--and the first 'déjeuner' will be served in the gardens at two. if you want to amuse yourself there's a maypole being put up on the large lawn,--you'd better go and look at it." "a maypole!" i exclaimed--"now that's a good idea!" "it used to be a good idea,"--he answered--"when english lads and lasses had youth, innocence, health and fun in their composition, a dance round the maypole hand in hand, did them good and did nobody harm. but now there are no lads and lasses,--enervated old men and women in their teens walk the world wearily, speculating on the uses of life,--probing vice, and sneering down sentiment, and such innocent diversions as the maypole no longer appeal to our jaded youth. so we have to get 'professionals' to execute the may-revels,--of course the dancing is better done by properly trained legs; but it means nothing, and _is_ nothing, except a pretty spectacle." "and are the dancers here?" i asked, rising and going towards the window in some curiosity. "no, not yet. but the may-pole is;--fully decorated. it faces the woods at the back of the house,--go and see if you like it." i followed his suggestion, and going in the direction indicated, i soon perceived the gaily-decked object which used to be the welcome signal of many a village holiday in shakespeare's old-world england. the pole was already set up and fixed in a deep socket in the ground, and a dozen or more men were at work, unbinding its numerous trails of blossom and garlands of green, tied with long streamers of vari-coloured ribbon. it had a picturesque effect in the centre of the wide lawn bordered with grand old trees,--and approaching one of the men, i said something to him by way of approval and admiration. he glanced at me furtively and unsmilingly, but said nothing,--and i concluded from his dark and foreign cast of features, that he did not understand the english language. i noted, with some wonder and slight vexation that all the workmen were of this same alien and sinister type of countenance, very much after the unattractive models of amiel and the two grooms who had my racer 'phosphor' in charge. but i remembered what lucio had told me,--namely, that all the designs for the fête were carried out by foreign experts and artists,--and after some puzzled consideration, i let the matter pass from my mind. the morning hours flew swiftly by, and i had little time to examine all the festal preparations with which the gardens abounded,--so that i was almost as ignorant of what was in store for the amusement of my guests as the guests themselves. i had the curiosity to wait about and watch for the coming of the musicians and dancers, but i might as well have spared myself this waste of time and trouble, for i never saw them arrive at all. at one o'clock, both lucio and i were ready to receive our company,--and at about twenty minutes past the hour, the first instalment of 'swagger society' was emptied into the grounds. sibyl and her father were among these,--and i eagerly advanced to meet and greet my bride-elect as she alighted from the carriage that had brought her from the station. she looked supremely beautiful that day, and was, as she deserved to be, the cynosure of all eyes. i kissed her little gloved hand with a deeper reverence than i would have kissed the hand of a queen. "welcome back to your old home, my sibyl!" i said to her in a low voice tenderly, at which words she paused, looking up at the red gables of the house with such wistful affection as filled her eyes with something like tears. she left her hand in mine, and allowed me to lead her towards the silken-draped, flower-decked porch, where lucio waited, smiling,--and as she advanced, two tiny pages in pure white and silver glided suddenly out of some unseen hiding-place, and emptied two baskets of pink and white rose-leaves at her feet, thus strewing a fragrant pathway for her into the house. they vanished as completely and swiftly as they had appeared,--some of the guests uttered murmurs of admiration, while sibyl gazed about her, blushing with surprise and pleasure. "how charming of you, geoffrey!" she said, "what a poet you are to devise so pretty a greeting!" "i wish i deserved your praise!" i answered, smiling at her--"but the poet in question is prince rimânez,--he is the master and ruler of to-day's revels." again the rich colour flushed her cheeks, and she gave lucio her hand. he bowed over it in courtly fashion,--but did not kiss it as he had kissed the hand of mavis clare. we passed into the house, through the drawing-room, and out again into the gardens, lord elton being loud in his praise of the artistic manner in which his former dwelling had been improved and embellished. soon the lawn was sprinkled with gaily attired groups of people,--and my duties as host began in hard earnest. i had to be greeted, complimented, flattered, and congratulated on my approaching marriage by scores of hypocrites who nearly shook my hand off in their enthusiasm for my wealth. had i become suddenly poor, i thought grimly, not one of them would have lent me a sovereign! the guests kept on arriving in shoals, and when there were about three or four hundred assembled, a burst of exquisite music sounded, and a procession of pages in scarlet and gold, marching two by two appeared, carrying trays full of the rarest flowers tied up in bouquets, which they offered to all the ladies present. exclamations of delight arose on every side,--exclamations which were for the most part high-pitched and noisy,--for the 'swagger set' have long ceased to cultivate softness of voice or refinement of accent,--and once or twice the detestable slang word, 'ripping' escaped from the lips of a few dashing dames, reputed to be 'leaders' of style. repose of manner, dignity and elegance of deportment, however, are no longer to be discovered among the present 'racing' duchesses and gambling countesses of the bluest blue blood of england, so one does not expect these graces of distinction from them. the louder they can talk, and the more slang they can adopt from the language of their grooms and stable-boys, the more are they judged to be 'in the swim' and 'up to date.' i speak, of course, of the modern scions of aristocracy. there are a few truly 'great ladies' left, whose maxim is still '_noblesse oblige_,'--but they are quite in the minority and by the younger generation are voted either 'old cats' or 'bores.' many of the 'cultured' mob that now swarmed over my grounds had come out of the sheerest vulgar curiosity to see what 'the man with five millions' could do in the way of entertaining,--others were anxious to get news, if possible, of the chances of 'phosphor' winning the derby, concerning which i was discreetly silent. but the bulk of the crowd wandered aimlessly about, staring impertinently or enviously at each other, and scarcely looking at the natural loveliness of the gardens or the woodland scenery around them. the brainlessness of modern society is never so flagrantly manifested as at a garden-party, where the restless trousered and petticoated bipeds move vaguely to and fro, scarcely stopping to talk civilly or intelligently to one another for five minutes, most of them hovering dubiously and awkwardly between the refreshment-pavilion and the band-stand. in my domain they were deprived of this latter harbour of refuge, for no musicians could be seen, though music was heard,--beautiful wild music which came first from one part of the grounds and then from another, and to which few listened with any attention. all were, however, happily unanimous in their enthusiastic appreciation of the excellence of the food provided for them in the luxurious luncheon tents of which there were twenty in number. men ate as if they had never eaten in their lives before, and drank the choice and exquisite wines with equal greed and gusto. one never entirely realises the extent to which human gourmandism can go till one knows a few peers, bishops and cabinet-ministers, and watches those dignitaries feed _ad libitum_. soon the company was so complete that there was no longer any need for me to perform the fatiguing duty of 'receiving'; and i therefore took sibyl in to luncheon, determining to devote myself to her for the rest of the day. she was in one of her brightest and most captivating moods,--her laughter rang out as sweetly joyous as that of some happy child,--she was even kind to diana chesney, who was also one of my guests, and who was plainly enjoying herself with all the _verve_ peculiar to pretty american women, who consider flirtation as much of a game as tennis. the scene was now one of great brilliancy, the light costumes of the women contrasting well with the scarlet and gold liveries of the seemingly innumerable servants that were now everywhere in active attendance. and, constantly through the fluttering festive crowd, from tent to tent, from table to table, and group to group, lucio moved,--his tall stately figure and handsome face always conspicuous wherever he stood, his rich voice thrilling the air whenever he spoke. his influence was irresistible, and gradually dominated the whole assemblage,--he roused the dull, inspired the witty, encouraged the timid, and brought all the conflicting elements of rival position, character and opinion into one uniform whole, which was unconsciously led by his will as easily as a multitude is led by a convincing orator. i did not know it then, but i know now, that metaphorically speaking, he had his foot on the neck of that 'society' mob, as though it were one prostrate man;--that the sycophants, liars and hypocrites whose utmost idea of good is wealth and luxurious living, bent to his secret power as reeds bend to the wind,--and that he did with them all whatsoever he chose,--as he does to this very day! god!--if the grinning, guzzling sensual fools had only known what horrors were about them at the feast!--what ghastly ministers to pleasurable appetite waited obediently upon them!--what pallid terrors lurked behind the gorgeous show of vanity and pride! but the veil was mercifully down,--and only to me has it since been lifted! luncheon over, the singing of mirthful voices, tuned to a kind of village roundelay, attracted the company, now fed to repletion, towards the lawn at the back of the house, and cries of delight were raised as the maypole came into view, i myself joining in the universal applause, for i had not expected to see anything half so picturesque and pretty. the pole was surrounded by a double ring of small children,--children so beautiful in face and dainty in form, that they might very well have been taken for little fairies from some enchanted woodland. the boys were clad as tiny foresters, in doublets of green, with pink caps on their curly locks,--the girls were in white, with their hair flowing loosely over their shoulders, and wreaths of may-blossom crowning their brows. as soon as the guests appeared on the scene, these exquisite little creatures commenced their dance, each one taking a trail of blossom or a ribbon pendant from the may-pole, and weaving it with the others into no end of beautiful and fantastic designs. i looked on, as amazed and fascinated as anyone present, at the wonderful lightness and ease with which these children tripped and ran;--their tiny twinkling feet seemed scarcely to touch the turf,--their faces were so lovely,--their eyes so bright, that it was a positive enchantment to watch them. each figure they executed was more intricate and effective than the last, and the plaudits of the spectators grew more and more enthusiastic, till presently came the _finale_, in which all the little green foresters climbed up the pole and clung there, pelting the white-robed maidens below with cowslip-balls, knots of roses, bunches of violets, posies of buttercups, daisies and clover, which the girl-children in their turn laughingly threw among the admiring guests. the air grew thick with flowers, and heavy with perfume, and resounded with song and laughter;--and sibyl, standing at my side, clapped her hands in an ecstasy. "oh, it is lovely--lovely!" she cried--"is this the prince's idea?" then as i answered in the affirmative, she added, "where, i wonder, did he find such exquisitely pretty little children!" as she spoke, lucio himself advanced a step or two in front of the other spectators and made a slight peremptory sign. the fairy-like foresters and maidens, with extraordinary activity, all sprang away from the may-pole, pulling down the garlands with them, and winding the flowers and ribbons about themselves so that they looked as if they were all tied together in one inextricable knot,--this done, they started off at a rapid run, presenting the appearance of a rolling ball of blossom, merry pipe-music accompanying their footsteps, till they had entirely disappeared among the trees. "oh do call them back again!" entreated sibyl, laying her hand coaxingly on lucio's arm,--"i should so like to speak to two or three of the prettiest!" he looked down at her with an enigmatical smile. "you would do them too much honour, lady sibyl," he replied--"they are not accustomed to such condescension from great ladies and would not appreciate it. they are paid professionals, and, like many of their class, only become insolent when praised." at that moment diana chesney came running across the lawn, breathless. "i can't see them anywhere!" she declared pantingly--"the dear little darlings! i ran after them as fast as i could; i wanted to kiss one of those perfectly scrumptious boys, but they're gone!--not a trace of them left! it's just as if they had sunk into the ground!" again lucio smiled. "they have their orders,--" he said curtly--"and they know their place." just then, the sun was obscured by a passing black cloud, and a peal of thunder rumbled over-head. looks were turned to the sky, but it was quite bright and placid save for that one floating shadow of storm. "only summer thunder,"--said one of the guests--"there will be no rain." and the crowd that had been pressed together to watch the 'maypole dance' began to break up in groups, and speculate as to what diversion might next be provided for them. i, watching my opportunity, drew sibyl away. "come down by the river;"--i whispered--"i must have you to myself for a few minutes." she yielded to my suggestion, and we walked away from the mob of our acquaintance, and entered a grove of trees leading to the banks of that part of the avon which flowed through my grounds. here we found ourselves quite alone, and putting my arm round my betrothed, i kissed her tenderly. "tell me," i said with a half-smile--"do you know how to love yet?" she looked up with a passionate darkness in her eyes that startled me. "yes,--i know!" was her unexpected answer. "you do!" and i stopped to gaze intently into her fair face--"and how did you learn?" she flushed red,--then grew pale,--and clung to me with a nervous, almost feverish force. "very strangely!" she replied--"and--quite suddenly! the lesson was easy, i found;--too easy! geoffrey,"--she paused, and fixed her eyes full on mine--"i will tell you how i learnt it, ... but not now, ... some other day." here she broke off, and began to laugh rather forcedly. "i will tell you ... when we are married." she glanced anxiously about her,--then, with a sudden abandonment of her usual reserve and pride, threw herself into my arms and kissed my lips with such ardour as made my senses reel. "sibyl--sibyl!" i murmured, holding her close to my heart----"oh my darling,--you love me!--at last you love me!" "hush!--hush!" she said breathlessly--"you must forget that kiss,----it was too bold of me--it was wrong--i did not mean it, ... i, ... i was thinking of something else. geoffrey!"--and her small hand clenched on mine with a sort of eager fierceness--"i wish i had never learned to love; i was happier before i knew!" a frown knitted her brows. "now"--she went on in the same breathless hurried way--"i _want_ love! i am starving, thirsting for it! i want to be drowned in it, lost in it, killed by it! nothing else will content me!" i folded her still closer in my arms. "did i not say you would change, sibyl?" i whispered--"your coldness and insensibility to love was unnatural and could not last,--my darling, i always knew that!" "you always knew!" she echoed a little disdainfully--"ah, but you do not know even now what has chanced to me. nor shall i tell you--yet. oh geoffrey!--" here she drew herself out of my embrace, and stooping, gathered some bluebells in the grass--"see these little flowers growing so purely and peacefully in the shade by the avon!--they remind me of what i was, here in this very place, long ago. i was quite as happy, and i think as innocent as these blossoms; i had no thought of evil in my nature,--and the only love i dreamed of was the love of the fairy prince for the fairy princess,--as harmless an idea as the loves of the flowers themselves. yes!--i was then all i should like to be now,--all that i am not!" "you are everything that is beautiful and sweet!"--i told her, admiringly, as i watched the play of retrospective and tender expression on her perfect face. "so you judge,--being a man who is perfectly satisfied with his own choice of a wife!" she said with a flash of her old cynicism--"but i know myself better than you know me. you call me beautiful and sweet,--but you cannot call me good! i am not good. why, the very love that now consumes me is----" "what?" i asked her quickly, seizing her hands with the blue-bells in them, and gazing searchingly into her eyes--"i know before you speak, that it is the passion and tenderness of a true woman!" she was silent for a moment. then she smiled, with a bewitching languor. "if you know, then i need not tell you"--she said--"so, do not let us stay here any longer talking nonsense;--'society' will shake its head over us and accuse us of 'bad form,' and some lady-paragraphist will write to the papers, and, say--'mr tempest's conduct as a host left much to be desired, as he and his bride-elect were "spooning" all the day.'" "there are no lady-paragraphists here,"--i said laughing, and encircling her dainty waist with one arm as i walked. "oh, are there not, though!" she exclaimed, laughing also, "why, you don't suppose you can give any sort of big entertainment without them do you? they permeate society. old lady maravale, for example, who is rather reduced in circumstances, writes a guinea's worth of scandal a week for one of the papers. and _she_ is here,--i saw her simply gorging herself with chicken salad and truffles an hour ago!" here pausing, and resting against my arm, she peered through the trees. "there are the chimneys of lily cottage where the famous mavis clare lives," she said. "yes, i know,"--i replied readily--"rimânez and i have visited her. she is away just now, or she would have been here to-day." "do you like her?" sibyl queried. "very much. she is charming." "and ... the prince ... does he like her?" "well, upon my word," i answered with a smile--"i think he likes her more than he does most women! he showed the most extraordinary deference towards her, and seemed almost abashed in her presence. are you cold, sibyl?" i added hastily, for she shivered suddenly and her face grew pale--"you had better come away from the river,--it is damp under these trees." "yes,--let us go back to the gardens and the sunshine;"--she answered dreamily--"so your eccentric friend,--the woman-hater,--finds something to admire in mavis clare! she must be a very happy creature i think,--perfectly free, famous, and believing in all good things of life and humanity, if one may judge from her books." "well, taken altogether, life isn't so very bad!" i observed playfully. she made no reply,--and we returned to the lawns where afternoon tea was now being served to the guests, who were seated in brilliant scattered groups under the trees or within the silken pavilions, while the sweetest music,--and the strangest, if people had only had ears to hear it,--both vocal and instrumental, was being performed by those invisible players and singers whose secret whereabouts was unknown to all, save lucio. xxiv just as the sun began to sink, several little pages came out of the house, and with low salutations, distributed among the guests daintily embossed and painted programmes of the 'tableaux vivants,' prepared for their diversion in the extemporized bijou theatre. numbers of people rose at once from their chairs on the lawn, eager for this new spectacle, and began to scramble along and hustle one another in that effective style of 'high-breeding' so frequently exhibited at her majesty's drawing-rooms. i, with sibyl, hastily preceded the impatient, pushing crowd, for i wished to find a good seat for my beautiful betrothed before the room became full to over-flowing. there proved however, to be plenty of accommodation for everybody,--what space there was seemed capable of limitless expansion, and all the spectators were comfortably placed without difficulty. soon we were all studying our programmes with considerable interest, for the titles of the 'tableaux' were somewhat original and mystifying. they were eight in number, and were respectively headed--'society,'--'bravery: ancient and modern,'--'a lost angel,'--'the autocrat,'--'a corner of hell,'--'seeds of corruption,'--'his latest purchase,'--and 'faith and materialism.' it was in the theatre that everyone became at last conscious of the weirdly beautiful character of the music that had been surging round them all day. seated under one roof in more or less enforced silence and attention, the vague and frivolous throng grew hushed and passive,--the 'society' smirk passed off certain faces that were as trained to grin as their tongues were trained to lie,--the dreadful giggle of the unwedded man-hunter was no longer heard,--and soon the most exaggerated fashion-plate of a woman forgot to rustle her gown. the passionate vibrations of a violoncello, superbly played to a double harp accompaniment, throbbed on the stillness with a beseeching depth of sound,--and people listened, i saw, almost breathlessly, entranced, as it were, against their wills, and staring as though they were hypnotized, in front of them at the gold curtain with its familiar motto-- "all the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players." before we had time to applaud the violoncello solo however, the music changed,--and the mirthful voices of violins and flutes rang out in a waltz of the giddiest and sweetest tune. at the same instant a silvery bell tinkled, and the curtain parted noiselessly in twain, disclosing the first tableau--"society." an exquisite female figure, arrayed in evening-dress of the richest and most extravagant design, stood before us, her hair crowned with diamonds, and her bosom blazing with the same lustrous gems. her head was slightly raised,--her lips were parted in a languid smile,--in one hand she held up-lifted a glass of foaming champagne,--her gold-slippered foot trod on an hour-glass. behind her, catching convulsively at the folds of her train, crouched another woman in rags, pinched and wretched, with starvation depicted in her face,--a dead child lay near. and, overshadowing this group, were two supernatural shapes,--one in scarlet, the other in black,--vast and almost beyond the stature of humanity,--the scarlet figure represented anarchy, and its blood-red fingers were advanced to clutch the diamond crown from 'society's' brow,--the sable-robed form was death, and even as we looked, it slowly raised its steely dart in act to strike! the effect was weird and wonderful,--and the grim lesson the picture conveyed, was startling enough to make a very visible impression. no one spoke,--no one applauded,--but people moved restlessly and fidgetted on their seats,--and there was an audible sigh of relief as the curtain closed. opening again, it displayed the second tableau--'bravery--ancient and modern.' this was in two scenes;--the first one depicted a nobleman of elizabeth's time, with rapier drawn, his foot on the prostrate body of a coarse ruffian who had evidently, from the grouping, insulted a woman whose slight figure was discerned shrinking timidly away from the contest. this was 'ancient bravery,'--and it changed rapidly to 'modern,' showing us an enervated, narrow-shouldered, pallid dandy in opera-coat and hat, smoking a cigarette and languidly appealing to a bulky policeman to protect him from another young noodle of his own class, similarly attired, who was represented as sneaking round a corner in abject terror. we all recognised the force of the application, and were in a much better humour with this pictured satire than we had been at the lesson of 'society.' next followed 'a lost angel,' in which was shown a great hall in the palace of a king, where there were numbers of brilliantly attired people, all grouped in various attitudes, and evidently completely absorbed in their own concerns, so much so as to be entirely unconscious of the fact that in their very midst, stood a wondrous angel, clad in dazzling white, with a halo round her fair hair, and a glory, as of the sunset, on her half drooping wings. her eyes were wistful,--her face was pensive and expectant; she seemed to say, "will the world ever know that i am here?" somehow,--as the curtain slowly closed again, amid loud applause, for the picture was extraordinarily beautiful, i thought of mavis clare, and sighed. sibyl looked up at me. "why do you sigh?" she said--"it is a lovely fancy,--but the symbol is wasted in the present audience,--no one with education believes in angels now-a-days." "true!" i assented; yet there was a heaviness at my heart, for her words reminded me of what i would rather have forgotten,--namely her own admitted lack of all religious faith. 'the autocrat,' was the next tableau, and represented an emperor enthroned. at his footstool knelt a piteous crowd of the starving and oppressed, holding up their lean hands to him, clasped in anguished petition, but he looked away from them as though he saw them not. his head was turned to listen to the side-whisper of one who seemed, by the courtly bend and flattering smile, to be his adviser and confidant,--yet that very confidant held secreted behind his back, a drawn dagger, ready to strike his sovereign to the heart. "russia!" whispered one or two of the company, as the scene was obscured; but the scarcely-breathed suggestion quickly passed into a murmur of amazement and awe as the curtain parted again to disclose "a corner of hell." this tableau was indeed original, and quite unlike what might have been imagined as the conventional treatment of such a subject. what we saw was a black and hollow cavern, glittering alternately with the flashings of ice and fire,--huge icicles drooped from above, and pale flames leaped stealthily into view from below, and within the dark embrasure, the shadowy form of a man was seated, counting out gold, or what seemed to be gold. yet as coin after coin slipped through his ghostly fingers, each one was seen to change to fire,--and the lesson thus pictured was easily read. the lost soul had made its own torture, and was still at work intensifying and increasing its own fiery agony. much as this scene was admired for its rembrandt effect of light and shade, i, personally, was glad when it was curtained from view; there was something in the dreadful face of the doomed sinner that reminded me forcibly and unpleasantly of those ghastly three i had seen in my horrid vision on the night of viscount lynton's suicide. 'seeds of corruption' was the next picture, and showed us a young and beautiful girl in her early teens, lying on a luxurious couch _en deshabille_, with a novel in her hand, of which the title was plainly seen by all;--a novel well-known to everyone present, and the work of a much-praised living author. round her, on the floor, and cast carelessly on a chair at her side, were other novels of the same 'sexual' type,--all their titles turned towards us, and the names of their authors equally made manifest. "what a daring idea!" said a lady in the seat immediately behind me--"i wonder if any of those authors are present!" "if they are they won't mind!" replied the man next to her with a smothered laugh--"those sort of writers would merely take it as a first-class advertisement!" sibyl looked at the tableau with a pale face and wistful eyes. "that is a _true_ picture!" she said under her breath--"geoffrey, it is painfully true!" i made no answer,--i thought i knew to what she alluded; but alas!--i did not know how deeply the 'seeds of corruption' had been sown in her own nature, or what a harvest they would bring forth. the curtain closed,--to open again almost immediately on "his latest purchase." here we were shown the interior of a luxurious modern drawing-room, where about eight or ten men were assembled, in fashionable evening-dress. they had evidently just risen from a card-table,--and one of them, a dissipated looking brute, with a wicked smile of mingled satire and triumph on his face was pointing to his 'purchase,'--a beautiful woman. she was clad in glistening white like a bride,--but she was bound, as prisoners are bound, to an upright column, on which the grinning head of a marble silenus leered above her. her hands were tied tightly together,--with chains of diamonds; her waist was bound,--with thick ropes of pearls;--a wide collar of rubies encircled her throat;--and from bosom to feet she was netted about and tied,--with strings of gold and gems. her head was flung back defiantly with an assumption of pride and scorn,--her eyes alone expressed shame, self-contempt, and despair at her bondage. the man who owned this white slave was represented, by his attitude, as cataloguing and appraising her 'points' for the approval and applause of his comrades, whose faces variously and powerfully expressed the differing emotions of lust, cruelty, envy, callousness, derision, and selfishness, more admirably than the most gifted painter could imagine. "a capital type of most fashionable marriages!" i heard some-one say. "rather!" another voice replied--"the orthodox 'happy couple' to the life!" i glanced at sibyl. she looked pale,--but smiled as she met my questioning eyes. a sense of consolation crept warmly about my heart as i remembered that now, she had, as she told me 'learnt to love,'--and that therefore her marriage with me was no longer a question of material advantage alone. she was not my 'purchase,'--she was my love, my saint, my queen!--or so i chose to think, in my foolishness and vanity! the last tableau of all was now to come,--"faith and materialism," and it proved to be the most startling of the series. the auditorium was gradually darkened,--and the dividing curtain disclosed a ravishingly beautiful scene by the sea-shore. a full moon cast its tranquil glory over the smooth waters, and,--rising on rainbow-wings from earth towards the skies, one of the loveliest creatures ever dreamed of by poet or painter, floated angel-like upwards, her hands holding a cluster of lilies clasped to her breast,--her lustrous eyes full of divine joy, hope, and love. exquisite music was heard,--soft voices sang in the distance a chorale of rejoicing;--heaven and earth, sea and air,--all seemed to support the aspiring spirit as she soared higher and higher, in ever-deepening rapture, when,--as we all watched that aerial flying form with a sense of the keenest delight and satisfaction,--a sudden crash of thunder sounded,--the scene grew dark,--and there was a distant roaring of angry waters. the light of the moon was eclipsed,--the music ceased; a faint lurid glow of red shone at first dimly, then more vividly,--and 'materialism' declared itself,--a human skeleton, bleached white and grinning ghastly mirth upon us all! while we yet looked, the skeleton itself dropped to pieces,--and one long twining worm lifted its slimy length from the wreck of bones, another working its way through the eye-holes of the skull. murmurs of genuine horror were heard in the auditorium,--people on all sides rose from their seats--one man in particular, a distinguished professor of sciences, pushed past me to get out, muttering crossly--"this may be very amusing to some of you, but to me, it is disgusting!" "like your own theories, my dear professor!" said a rich laughing voice, as lucio met him on his way, and the bijou theatre was again flooded with cheerful light--"they are amusing to some, and disgusting to others!----pardon me!--i speak of course in jest! but i designed that tableau specially in your honour!" "oh, you did, did you?" growled the professor--"well, i didn't appreciate it." "yet you should have done, for it is quite scientifically correct,"--declared lucio laughing still. "faith,--with the wings, whom you saw joyously flying towards an impossible heaven, is _not_ scientifically correct,--have you not told us so?--but the skeleton and the worms were quite of your _cult_! no materialist can deny the correctness of that 'complexion to which we all must come at last.' positively, some of the ladies look quite pale! how droll it is, that while everybody (to be fashionable, and in favour with the press) must accept materialism as the only creed, they should invariably become affrighted, or let us say offended, at the natural end of the body, as completed by material agencies!" "well, it was not a pleasant subject, that last tableau,"--said lord elton, as he came out of the theatre with diana chesney hanging confidingly on his arm--"you cannot say it was festal!" "it was,--for the worms!" replied lucio gaily--"come, miss chesney,--and you tempest, come along with lady sibyl,--let us go out in the grounds again, and see my will-o'-the-wisps lighting up." fresh curiosity was excited by this remark; the people quickly threw off the gruesome and tragic impression made by the strange 'tableaux' just witnessed,--and poured out of the house into the gardens chattering and laughing more noisily than ever. it was just dusk,--and as we reached the open lawn we saw an extraordinary number of small boys, clad in brown, running about with will-o'-the-wisp lanterns. their movements were swift and perfectly noiseless,--they leaped, jumped and twirled like little gnomes over flowerbeds, under shrubberies, and along the edges of paths and terraces, many of them climbing trees with the rapidity and agility of monkeys, and wherever they went they left behind them a trail of brilliant light. soon, by their efforts, all the grounds were illuminated with a magnificence that could not have been equalled even by the historic fêtes at versailles,--tall oaks and cedars were transformed to pyramids of fire-blossoms,--every branch was loaded with coloured lamps in the shape of stars,--rockets hissed up into the clear space showering down bouquets, wreaths and ribbons of flame,--lines of red and azure ran glowingly along the grass-borders, and amid the enthusiastic applause of the assembled spectators, eight huge fire-fountains of all colours sprang up in various corners of the garden, while an enormous golden balloon, dazzlingly luminous, ascended slowly into the air and remained poised above us, sending from its glittering car hundreds of gem-like birds and butterflies on fiery wings, that circled round and round for a moment and then vanished. while we were yet loudly clapping the splendid effect of this sky-spectacle, a troop of beautiful girl-dancers in white came running across the grass, waving long silvery wands that were tipped with electric stars, and to the sound of strange tinkling music, seemingly played in the distance on glass bells, they commenced a fantastic dance of the wildest yet most graceful character. every shade of opaline colour fell upon their swaying figures from some invisible agency as they tripped and whirled,--and each time they waved their wands, ribbons and flags of fire were unrolled and tossed high in air where they gyrated for a long time like moving hieroglyphs. the scene was now so startling, so fairy-like and wonderful, that we were well-nigh struck speechless with astonishment,--too fascinated and absorbed even to applaud, we had no conception how time went, or how rapidly the night descended,--till all at once without the least warning, an appalling crash of thunder burst immediately above our heads, and a jagged fork of lightning tore the luminous fire-balloon to shreds. two or three women began to scream,--whereupon lucio advanced from the throng of spectators and stood in full view of all, holding up his hand. "stage thunder, i assure you!" he said playfully, in a clear somewhat scornful voice--"it comes and goes at my bidding. quite a part of the game, believe me!--these sort of things are only toys for children. again--again, ye petty elements!" he cried, laughing, and lifting his handsome face and flashing eyes to the dark heavens--"roar your best and loudest!--roar, i say!" such a terrific boom and clatter answered him as baffled all description,--it was as if a mountain of rock had fallen into ruins,--but having been assured that the deafening noise was 'stage thunder' merely, the spectators were no longer alarmed, and many of them expressed their opinion that it was 'wonderfully well done.' after this, there gradually appeared against the sky a broad blaze of red light like the reflection of some great prairie fire,--it streamed apparently upward from the ground, bathing us all where we stood, in its blood-like glow. the white-robed dancing-girls waltzed on and on, their arms entwined, their lovely faces irradiated by the lurid flame, while above them now flew creatures with black wings, bats and owls, and great night-moths, that flapped and fluttered about for all the world as if they were truly alive and not mere 'stage properties.' another flash of lightning,--and one more booming thud of thunder,----and lo!--the undisturbed and fragrant night was about us, clear, dewy and calm,--the young moon smiled pensively in a cloudless heaven,--all the dancing-girls had vanished,--the crimson glow had changed to a pure silvery radiance, and an array of pretty pages in eighteenth century costumes of pale pink and blue, stood before us with lighted flaming torches, making a long triumphal avenue, down which lucio invited us to pass. "on, on fair ladies and gallant gentlemen!" he cried--"this extemporized path of light leads,--not to heaven--no! that were far too dull an ending!--but to supper! on!--follow your leader!" every eye was turned on his fine figure and striking countenance, as with one hand he beckoned the guests,--between the double line of lit torches he stood,--a picture for a painter, with those dark eyes of his alit with such strange mirth as could not be defined, and the sweet, half-cruel, wonderfully attractive smile playing upon his lips;--and with one accord the whole company trooped pell-mell after him, shouting their applause and delight. who could resist him!--not one in that assemblage at least;--there are few 'saints' in society! as i went with the rest, i felt as though i were in some gorgeous dream,--my senses were all in a whirl,--i was giddy with excitement and could not stop to think, or to analyse the emotions by which i was governed. had i possessed the force or the will to pause and consider, i might possibly have come to the conclusion that there was something altogether beyond the ordinary power of man displayed in the successive wonders of this brilliant 'gala,'--but i was, like all the rest of society, bent merely on the pleasure of the moment, regardless of how it was procured, what it cost me, or how it affected others. how many i see and know to-day among the worshippers of fashion and frivolity who are acting precisely as i acted then! indifferent to the welfare of everyone save themselves, grudging every penny that is not spent on their own advantage or amusement, and too callous to even listen to the sorrows or difficulties or joys of others when these do not in some way, near or remote, touch their own interests, they waste their time day after day in selfish trifling, wilfully blind and unconscious to the fact that they are building up their own fate in the future,--that future which will prove all the more a terrible reality in proportion to the extent of our presumption in daring to doubt its truth. more than four hundred guests sat down to supper in the largest pavilion,--a supper served in the most costly manner and furnished with luxuries that represented the utmost pitch of extravagance. i ate and drank, with sybil at my side, hardly knowing what i said or did in the whirling excitement of the hour,--the opening of champagne-bottles, the clink of glasses, the clatter of plates, the loud hum of talk interspersed with monkey-like squeals or goat-like whinnies of laughter, over-ridden at intervals by the blare of trumpet-music and drums,--all these sounds were as so much noise of rushing waters in my ears,--and i often found myself growing abstracted and in a manner confused by the din. i did not say much to sibyl,--one cannot very well whisper sentimental nothings in the ear of one's betrothed when she is eating ortolans and truffles. presently, amid all the hubbub, a deep bell struck twelve times, and lucio stood up at the end of one of the long tables, a full glass of foaming champagne in his hand-- "ladies and gentlemen!" there was a sudden silence. "ladies and gentlemen!" he repeated, his brilliant eyes flashing derisively, i thought, over the whole well-fed company, "midnight has struck and the best of friends must part! but before we do so, let us not forget that we have met here to wish all happiness to our host, mr geoffrey tempest and his bride-elect, the lady sibyl elton." here there was vociferous applause. "it is said"--continued lucio, "by the makers of dull maxims, that 'fortune never comes with both hands full'--but in this case the adage is proved false and put to shame,--for our friend has not only secured the pleasures of wealth, but the treasures of love and beauty combined. limitless cash is good, but limitless love is better, and both these choice gifts have been bestowed on the betrothed pair whom to-day we honour. i will ask you to give them a hearty round of cheering,--and then it must be good-night indeed, though not farewell,--for with the toast of the bride and bridegroom-elect, i shall also drink to the time,--not far distant perhaps,--when i shall see some of you, if not all of you again, and enjoy even more of your charming company than i have done to-day!" he ceased amid a perfect hurricane of applause,--and then everyone rose and turned towards the table where i sat with sibyl, and naming our names aloud, drank wine, the men joining in hearty shouts of "hip, hip, hip hurrah!" yet,--as i bowed repeatedly in response to the storm of cheering, and while sibyl smiled and bent her graceful head to right and left, my heart sank suddenly with a sense of fear. was it my fancy--or did i hear peals of wild laughter circling round the brilliant pavilion and echoing away, far away into distance? i listened, glass in hand. "hip, hip, hip hurrah!" shouted my guests with gusto. "ha--ha--! ha--ha!" seemed shrieked and yelled in my ears from the outer air. struggling against this delusion, i got up and returned thanks for myself and my future bride in a few brief words which were received with fresh salvos of applause,--and then we all became aware that lucio had sprung up again in his place, and was standing high above us all, with one foot on the table and the other on the chair, confronting us with a fresh glass of wine in his hand, filled to the brim. what a face he had at that moment!--what a smile! "the parting cup, my friends!" he exclaimed--"to our next merry meeting!" with plaudits and laughter the guests eagerly and noisily responded,--and as they drank, the pavilion was flooded by a deep crimson illumination as of fire. every face looked blood-red!--every jewel on every woman flashed like a living flame!--for one brief instant only,--then it was gone, and there followed a general stampede of the company,--everybody hurrying as fast as they could into the carriages that waited in long lines to take them to the station, the last two 'special' trains to london being at one a.m. and one thirty. i bade sibyl and her father a hurried good-night,--diana chesney went in the same carriage with them, full of ecstatic thanks and praise to me for the splendours of the day which she described in her own fashion as "knowing how to do it,--" and then the departing crowd of vehicles began to thunder down the avenue. as they went an arch of light suddenly spanned willowsmere court from end to end of its red gables, blazing with all the colours of the rainbow, in the middle of which appeared letters of pale blue and gold, forming what i had hitherto considered as a funereal device, "sic transit gloria mundi! vale!" but, after all, it was as fairly applicable to the ephemeral splendours of a fête as it was to the more lasting marble solemnity of a sepulchre, and i thought little or nothing about it. so perfect were all the arrangements, and so admirably were the servants trained, that the guests were not long in departing,--and the grounds were soon not only empty, but dark. not a vestige of the splendid illuminations was left anywhere,--and i entered the house fatigued, and with a dull sense of bewilderment and fear on me which i could not explain. i found lucio alone in the smoking-room at the further end of the oak-panelled hall, a small cosily curtained apartment with a deep bay window which opened directly on to the lawn. he was standing in this embrasure with his back to me, but he turned swiftly round as he heard my steps and confronted me with such a wild, white, tortured face that i recoiled from him, startled. "lucio, you are ill!" i exclaimed--"you have done too much to-day." "perhaps i have!" he answered in a hoarse unsteady voice, and i saw a strong shudder convulse him as he spoke,--then, gathering himself together as it were by an effort, he forced a smile--"don't be alarmed, my friend!--it is nothing,--nothing but the twinge of an old deep-seated malady,--a troublesome disease that is rare among men, and hopelessly incurable." "what is it?" i asked anxiously, for his death-like pallor alarmed me. he looked at me fixedly, his eyes dilating and darkening, and his hand fell with a heavy pressure on my shoulder. "a very strange illness!" he said, in the same jarring accents. "remorse! have you never heard of it, geoffrey? neither medicine nor surgery are of any avail,--it is 'the worm that dieth not, and the flame that cannot be quenched.' tut!--let us not talk of it,--no one can cure me,--no one will! i am past hope!" "but remorse,--if you have it, and i cannot possibly imagine why, for you have surely nothing to regret,--is not a physical ailment!" i said wonderingly. "and physical ailments are the only ones worth troubling about, you think?" he queried, still smiling that strained and haggard smile--"the body is our chief care,--we cosset it, and make much of it, feed it and pamper it, and guard it from so much as a pin-prick of pain if we can,--and thus we flatter ourselves that all is well,--all _must_ be well! yet it is but a clay chrysalis, bound to split and crumble with the growth of the moth-soul within,--the moth that flies with blind instinctiveness straight into the unknown, and is dazzled by excess of light! look out here,"--he went on with an abrupt and softer change of tone--"look out at the dreamful shadowy beauty of your gardens now! the flowers are asleep,--the trees are surely glad to be disburdened of all the gaudy artificial lamps that lately hung upon their branches,--there is the young moon pillowing her chin on the edge of a little cloud and sinking to sleep in the west,--a moment ago there was a late nightingale awake and singing. you can feel the breath of the roses from the trellis yonder! all this is nature's work,--and how much fairer and sweeter it is now than when the lights were ablaze and the blare of band-music startled the small birds in their downy nests!--yet 'society' would not appreciate this cool dusk, this happy solitude;--'society' prefers a false glare to all true radiance. and what is worse it tries to make true things take a second place as adjuncts to sham ones,--and there comes in the mischief." "it is just like you to run down your own indefatigable labours in the splendid successes of the day,"--i said laughing--"you may call it a 'false glare' if you like, but it has been a most magnificent spectacle,--and certainly in the way of entertainments it will never be equalled or excelled." "it will make you more talked about than even your 'boomed' book could do!" said lucio, eyeing me narrowly. "not the least doubt of that!" i replied--"society prefers food and amusement to any literature,--even the greatest. by-the-by, where are all the 'artistes,'--the musicians and dancers?" "gone!" "gone!" i echoed amazedly--"already! good heavens! have they had supper?" "they have had everything they want, even to their pay," said lucio, a trifle impatiently--"did i not tell you geoffrey, that when i undertake to do anything, i do it thoroughly or not at all?" i looked at him,--he smiled, but his eyes were sombre and scornful. "all right!" i responded carelessly, not wishing to offend him,--"have it your own way! but, upon my word, to me it is all like devil's magic!" "what is?" he asked imperturbably. "everything!--the dancers,--the number of servants and pages--why, there must have been two or three hundred of them,--those wonderful 'tableaux,'--the illuminations,--the supper,--everything i tell you!--and the most astonishing part of it now is, that all these people should have cleared out so soon!" "well, if you elect to call money devil's magic, you are right,"--said lucio. "but surely in some cases, not even money could procure such perfection of detail"----i began. "money can procure anything!"--he interrupted, a thrill of passion vibrating in his rich voice,--"i told you that long ago. it is a hook for the devil himself. not that the devil could be supposed to care about world's cash personally,--but he generally conceives a liking for the company of the man who possesses it;--possibly he knows what that man will do with it. i speak metaphorically of course,--but no metaphor can exaggerate the power of money. trust no man or woman's virtue till you have tried to purchase it with a round sum in hard cash! money, my excellent geoffrey, has done everything for _you_,--remember that!--you have done nothing for yourself." "that's not a very kind speech,"--i said, somewhat vexedly. "no? and why? because it's true? i notice most people complain of 'unkindness' when they are told a truth. it _is_ true, and i see no unkindness in it. you've done nothing for yourself and you're not expected to do anything--except," and he laughed--"except just now to get to bed, and dream of the enchanting sibyl!" "i confess i am tired,"--i said, and an unconscious sigh escaped me--"and you?" his gaze rested broodingly on the outer landscape. "i also am tired," he responded slowly--"but i never get away from my fatigue, for i am tired of myself. and i always rest badly. good-night!" "good-night!" i answered,--and then paused, looking at him. he returned my look with interest. "well?" he asked expressively. i forced a smile. "well!" i echoed--"i do not know what i should say,--except--that i wish i knew you as you are. i feel that you were right in telling me once that you are not what you seem." he still kept his eyes fixed upon me. "as you have expressed the wish,"--he said slowly--"i promise you you _shall_ know me as i am some-day! it may be well for you to know,--for the sake of others who may seek to cultivate my company." i moved away to leave the room. "thanks for all the trouble you have taken to-day,"--i said in a lighter tone--"though i shall never be able to express my full gratitude in words." "if you wanted to thank anybody, thank god that you have lived through it!" he replied. "why?" i asked, astonished. "why? because life hangs on a thread,--a society crush is the very acme of boredom and exhaustion,--and that we escape with our lives from a general guzzle and giggle is matter for thanksgiving,--that's all! and god gets so few thanks as a rule that you may surely spare him a brief one for to-day's satisfactory ending." i laughed, seeing no meaning in his words beyond the usual satire he affected. i found amiel, waiting for me in my bedroom, but i dismissed him abruptly, hating the look of his crafty and sullen face, and saying i needed no attendance. thoroughly fatigued, i was soon in bed and asleep,--and the terrific agencies that had produced the splendours of the brilliant festival at which i had figured as host, were not revealed to me by so much as a warning dream! xxv a few days after the entertainment at willowsmere, and before the society papers had done talking about the magnificence and luxury displayed on that occasion, i woke up one morning, like the great poet byron, "to find myself famous." not for any intellectual achievement,--not for any unexpected deed of heroism,--not for any resolved or noble attitude in society or politics,--no!--i owed my fame merely to a quadruped;--'phosphor' won the derby. it was about a neck-and-neck contest between my racer and that of the prime minister, and for a second or so the result seemed doubtful,--but, as the two jockeys neared the goal, amiel, whose thin wiry figure clad in the brightest of bright scarlet silk, stuck to his horse as though he were a part of it, put 'phosphor' to a pace he had never yet exhibited, appearing to skim along the ground at literally flying speed, the upshot being that he scored a triumphant victory, reaching the winning-post a couple of yards or more ahead of his rival. acclamations rent the air at the vigour displayed in the 'finish'--and i became the hero of the day,--the darling of the populace. i was somewhat amused at the premier's discomfiture,--he took his beating rather badly. he did not know me, nor i him,--i was not of his politics, and i did not care a jot for his feelings one way or the other, but i was gratified, in a certain satirical sense, to find myself suddenly acknowledged as a greater man than he, because i was the owner of the derby-winner! before i well knew where i was, i found myself being presented to the prince of wales, who shook hands with me and congratulated me;--all the biggest aristocrats in england were willing and eager to be introduced to me;--and inwardly i laughed at this exhibition of taste and culture on the part of 'the gentlemen of england that live at home at ease.' they crowded round 'phosphor,' whose wild eye warned strangers against taking liberties with him, but who seemed not a whit the worse for his exertions, and who apparently was quite ready to run the race over again with equal pleasure and success. amiel's dark sly face and cruel ferret eyes were evidently not attractive to the majority of the gentlemen of the turf, though his answers to all the queries put to him, were admirably ready, respectful and not without wit. but to me the whole sum and substance of the occasion was the fact that i, geoffrey tempest, once struggling author, now millionaire, was simply by virtue of my ownership of the derby-winner, 'famous' at last!--or what society considers famous,--that fame that secures for a man the attention of 'the nobility and gentry,' to quote from tradesmen's advertisements,--and also obtains the persistent adulation and shameless pursuit of all the _demi-mondaines_ who want jewels and horses and yachts presented to them in exchange for a few tainted kisses from their carmined lips. under the shower of compliments i received, i stood, apparently delighted,--smiling, affable and courteous,--entering into the spirit of the occasion, and shaking hands with my lord that, and sir something nobody, and his serene highness the grand duke so-and-so of beer-land, and his other serene lowness of small-principality,--but in my secret soul i scorned these people with their social humbug and hypocrisy,--scorned them with such a deadly scorn as almost amazed myself. when presently i walked off the course with lucio, who as usual seemed to know and to be friends with everybody, he spoke in accents that were far more grave and gentle than i had ever heard him use before. "with all your egotism, geoffrey, there is something forcible and noble in your nature,--something which rises up in bold revolt against falsehood and sham. why, in heaven's name do you not give it way?" i looked at him amazed, and laughed. "give it way? what do you mean? would you have me tell humbugs that i know them as such?,--and liars that i discern their lies? my dear fellow, society would become too hot to hold me!" "it could not be hotter--or colder--than hell, if you believed in hell, which you do not,"--he rejoined, in the same quiet voice--"but i did not assume that you should say these things straight out and bluntly, to give offence. an affronting candour is not nobleness,--it is merely coarse. to act nobly is better than to speak." "and what would you have me do?" i asked curiously. he was silent for a moment, and seemed to be earnestly, almost painfully considering,--then he answered,-- "my advice will seem to you singular, geoffrey,--but if you want it, here it is. give, as i said, the noble, and what the world would call the quixotic part of your nature full way,--do not sacrifice your higher sense of what is right and just for the sake of pandering to anyone's power or influence,--and--say farewell to _me_! i am no use to you, save to humour your varying fancies, and introduce you to those great,--or small,--personages you wish to know for your own convenience or advantage,--believe me, it would be much better for you and much more consoling at the inevitable hour of death, if you were to let all this false and frivolous nonsense go, and me with it! leave society to its own fool's whirligig of distracted follies,--put royalty in its true place, and show it that all its pomp, arrogance and glitter are worthless, and itself a nothing, compared to the upright standing of a brave soul in an honest man,--and, as christ said to the rich ruler--'sell half that thou hast and give to the poor.'" i was silent for a minute or so out of sheer surprise, while he watched me earnestly, his face pale and expectant. a curious shock of something like compunction startled my conscience, and for a brief space i was moved to a vague regret,--regret that with all the enormous capability i possessed of doing good to numbers of my fellow-creatures with the vast wealth i owned, i had not attained to any higher moral attitude than that represented by the frivolous folk who make up what is called the 'upper ten' of society. i took the same egotistical pleasure in myself and my own doings as any of them,--and i was to the full as foolishly conventional, smooth-tongued and hypocritical as they. they acted their part and i acted mine,--none of us were ever our real selves for a moment. in very truth, one of the reasons why 'fashionable' men and women cannot bear to be alone is, that a solitude in which they are compelled to look face to face upon their secret selves becomes unbearable because of the burden they carry of concealed vice and accusing shame. my emotion soon passed however, and slipping my arm through lucio's, i smiled, as i answered-- "your advice, my dear fellow, would do credit to a salvationist preacher,--but it is quite valueless to me, because impossible to follow. to say farewell for ever to you, in the first place, would be to make myself guilty of the blackest ingratitude,--in the second instance, society, with all its ridiculous humbug, is nevertheless necessary for the amusement of myself and my future wife,--royalty moreover, is accustomed to be flattered, and we shall not be hurt by joining in the general inane chorus;--thirdly, if i did as the visionary jew suggested----" "what visionary jew?" he asked, his eyes sparkling coldly. "why, christ of course!" i rejoined lightly. the shadow of a strange smile parted his lips. "it is the fashion to blaspheme!" he said,--"a mark of brilliancy in literature, and wit in society! i forgot! pray go on,--if you did as christ suggested----" "yes,--if i gave half my goods to the poor, i should not be thanked for it, or considered anything but a fool for my pains." "you would wish to be thanked?" he said. "naturally! most people like a little gratitude in return for benefits." "they do. and the creator, who is always giving, is supposed to like gratitude also,"--he observed--"nevertheless he seldom gets it!" "i do not talk of hyperphysical nothingness,"--i said with impatience--"i am speaking of the plain facts of this world and the people who live in it. if one gives largely, one expects to be acknowledged as generous,--but if i were to divide my fortune, and hand half of it to the poor, the matter would be chronicled in about six lines in one of the papers, and society would exclaim 'what a fool!'" "then let us talk no more about it,"--said lucio, his brows clearing, and his eyes gathering again their wonted light of mockery and mirth--"having won the derby, you have really done all a nineteenth-century civilization expects you to do, and for your reward, you will be in universal demand everywhere. you may hope soon to dine at marlborough house,--and a little back-stair influence and political jobbery will work you into the cabinet if you care for it. did i not tell you i would set you up as successfully as the bear who has reached the bun on the top of the slippery pole, a spectacle for the envy of men and the wonder of angels? well, there you are!--triumphant!--a great creature geoffrey!--in fact, you are the greatest product of the age, a man with five millions and owner of the derby-winner! what is the glory of intellect compared to such a position as yours! men envy you,--and as for angels,--if there are any,--you may be sure they _do_ wonder! a man's fame guaranteed by a horse, is something indeed to make an angel stare!" he laughed uproariously, and from that day he never spoke again of his singular proposition that i should 'part with him,' and let the "nobler" nature in me have its way. i was not to know then that he had staked a chance upon my soul and lost it,--and that from henceforward he took a determined course with me, implacably on to the appalling end. my marriage took place on the appointed day in june with all the pomp and extravagant show befitting my position, and that of the woman i had chosen to wed. it is needless to describe the gorgeousness of the ceremony in detail,--any fashionable 'ladies paper' describing the wedding of an earl's daughter to a five-fold millionaire, will give an idea, in hysterical rhapsody, of the general effect. it was an amazing scene,--and one in which costly millinery completely vanquished all considerations of solemnity or sacredness in the supposed 'divine' ordinance. the impressive command: "i require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment,"--did not obtain half so much awed attention as the exquisite knots of pearls and diamonds which fastened the bride's silver-embroidered train to her shoulders. 'all the world and his wife' were present,--that is, the social world, which imagines no other world exists, though it is the least part of the community. the prince of wales honoured us by his presence: two great dignitaries of the church performed the marriage-rite, resplendent in redundant fulness of white sleeve and surplice, and equally imposing in the fatness of their bodies and unctuous redness of their faces; and lucio was my 'best man.' he was in high, almost wild spirits,--and, during our drive to the church together, had entertained me all the way with numerous droll stories, mostly at the expense of the clergy. when we reached the sacred edifice, he said laughingly as he alighted-- "did you ever hear it reported, geoffrey, that the devil is unable to enter a church, because of the cross upon it, or within it?" "i have heard some such nonsense,"--i replied, smiling at the humour expressed in his sparkling eyes and eloquent features. "it _is_ nonsense,--for the makers of the legend forgot one thing;" he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper as we passed under the carved gothic portico--"the cross may be present,----but----so is the clergyman! and wherever a clergyman is, the devil may surely follow!" i almost laughed aloud at his manner of making this irreverent observation, and the look with which he accompanied it. the rich tones of the organ creeping softly on the flower-scented silence however, quickly solemnized my mood,--and while i leaned against the altar-rails waiting for my bride, i caught myself wondering for the hundredth time or more, at my comrade's singularly proud and kingly aspect, as with folded arms and lifted head, he contemplated the lily-decked altar and the gleaming crucifix upon it, his meditative eyes bespeaking a curious mingling of reverence and contempt. one incident i remember, as standing out particularly in all the glare and glitter of the brilliant scene, and this occurred at the signing of our names in the register. when sibyl, a vision of angelic loveliness in all her bridal white, affixed her signature to the entry, lucio bent towards her,-- "as 'best man' i claim an old-fashioned privilege!" he said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. she blushed a vivid red,--then suddenly grew ghastly pale,--and with a kind of choking cry, reeled back in a dead faint in the arms of one of her bridesmaids. it was some minutes before she was restored to consciousness,--but she made light both of my alarm and the consternation of her friends,--and assuring us that it was nothing but the effect of the heat of the weather and the excitement of the day, she took my arm and walked down the aisle smilingly, through the brilliant ranks of her staring and envious 'society' friends, all of whom coveted her good fortune, not because she had married a worthy or gifted man,--that would have been no special matter for congratulation,--but simply because she had married five millions of money! i was the appendage to the millions--nothing further. she held her head high and haughtily, though i felt her tremble as the thundering strains of the 'bridal march' from lohengrin poured sonorous triumph on the air. she trod on roses all the way,--i remembered that too, ... afterwards! her satin slipper crushed the hearts of a thousand innocent things that must surely have been more dear to god than she;--the little harmless souls of flowers, whose task in life, sweetly fulfilled, had been to create beauty and fragrance by their mere existence, expired to gratify the vanity of one woman to whom nothing was sacred. but i anticipate,--i was yet in my fool's dream,--and imagined that the dying blossoms were happy to perish thus beneath her tread! a grand reception was held at lord elton's house after the ceremony,--and in the midst of the chattering, the eating and the drinking, we,--my newly made wife and i,--departed amid the profuse flatteries and good wishes of our 'friends' who, primed with the very finest champagne, made a very decent show of being sincere. the last person to say farewell to us at the carriage-door was lucio,--and the sorrow i felt at parting with him was more than i could express in words. from the very hour of the dawning of my good fortune we had been almost inseparable companions,--i owed my success in society,--everything, even my bride herself,--to his management and tact,--and though i had now won for my life's partner the most beautiful of women, i could not contemplate even the temporary breaking of the association between myself and my gifted and brilliant comrade, without a keen pang of personal pain amid my nuptial joys. leaning his arms on the carriage-window, he looked in upon us both, smiling. "my spirit will be with you both in all your journeyings!" he said--"and when you return, i shall be one of the first to bid you welcome home. your house-party is fixed for september, i believe?" "yes,--and you will be the most eagerly desired guest of all invited!" i replied heartily, pressing his hand. "fie, for shame!" he retorted laughingly--"be not so disloyal of speech, geoffrey! are you not going to entertain the prince of wales?--and shall anyone be more 'eagerly-desired' than he? no,--i must play a humble third or even fourth on your list where royalty is concerned,--_my_ princedom is alas! not that of wales,--and the throne i might claim (if i had anyone to help me, which i have not) is a long way removed from that of england!" sibyl said nothing,--but her eyes rested on his handsome face and fine figure with an odd wonder and wistfulness, and she was very pale. "good-bye lady sibyl!" he added gently--"all joy be with you! to us who are left behind, your absence will seem long,--but to _you_,--ah!--love gives wings to time, and what would be to ordinary folks a month of mere dull living, will be for you nothing but a moment's rapture! love is better than wealth,--you have found that out already i know!--but i think--and hope--that you are destined to make the knowledge more certain and complete! think of me sometimes! au revoir!" the horses started,--a handful of rice flung by the society idiot who is always at weddings, rattled against the door and on the roof of the brougham, and lucio stepped back, waving his hand. to the last we saw him,--a tall stately figure on the steps of lord elton's mansion,--surrounded by an ultra-fashionable throng, ... bridesmaids in bright attire and picture-hats,--young girls all eager and excited-looking, each of them no doubt longing fervently for the day to come when they might severally manage to secure as rich a husband as myself, ... match-making mothers and wicked old dowagers, exhibiting priceless lace on their capacious bosoms, and ablaze with diamonds, ... men with white button-hole bouquets in their irreproachably fitting frock-coats,--servants in gay liveries, and the usual street-crowd of idle sight-seers;--all this cluster of faces, costumes and flowers, was piled against the grey background of the stone portico,--and in the midst, the dark beauty of lucio's face and the luminance of his flashing eyes made him the conspicuous object and chief centre of attraction, ... then, ... the carriage turned a sharp corner,--the faces vanished,--and sibyl and i realised that from henceforward we were left alone,--alone to face the future and ourselves,--and to learn the lesson of love ... or hate ... for evermore together! xxvi i cannot now trace the slow or swift flitting by of phantasmal events, ... wild ghosts of days or weeks that drifted past, and brought me gradually and finally to a time when i found myself wandering, numb and stricken and sick at heart, by the shores of a lake in switzerland,--a small lake, densely blue, with apparently a thought in its depths such as is reflected in a child's earnest eye. i gazed down at the clear and glistening water almost unseeingly,--the snow-peaked mountains surrounding it were too high for the lifting of my aching sight,--loftiness, purity, and radiance were unbearable to my mind, crushed as it was beneath a weight of dismal wreckage and ruin. what a fool was i ever to have believed that in this world there could be such a thing as happiness! misery stared me in the face,--life-long misery,--and no escape but death. misery!--it was the word which like a hellish groan, had been uttered by the three dreadful phantoms that had once, in an evil vision, disturbed my rest. what had i done, i demanded indignantly of myself, to deserve this wretchedness which no wealth could cure?--why was fate so unjust? like all my kind, i was unable to discern the small yet strong links of the chain i had myself wrought, and which bound me to my own undoing,--i blamed fate, or rather god,--and talked of injustice, merely because _i_ personally suffered, never realizing that what i considered unjust was but the equitable measuring forth of that eternal law which is carried out with as mathematical an exactitude as the movement of the planets, notwithstanding man's pigmy efforts to impede its fulfilment. the light wind blowing down from the snow peaks above me ruffled the placidity of the little lake by which i aimlessly strolled,--i watched the tiny ripples break over its surface like the lines of laughter on a human face, and wondered morosely whether it was deep enough to drown in! for what was the use of living on,--knowing what i knew! knowing that she whom i had loved, and whom i loved still in a way that was hateful to myself, was a thing viler and more shameless in character than the veriest poor drab of the street who sells herself for current coin,--that the lovely body and angel-face were but an attractive disguise for the soul of a harpy,--a vulture of vice, ... my god!--an irrepressible cry escaped me as my thoughts went on and on in the never-ending circle and problem of incurable, unspeakable despair,--and i threw myself down on a shelving bank of grass that sloped towards the lake and covered my face in a paroxysm of tearless agony. still inexorable thought worked in my brain, and forced me to consider my position. was she,--was sibyl--more to blame than i myself for all the strange havoc wrought? i had married her of my own free will and choice,--and she had told me beforehand--"i am a contaminated creature, trained to perfection in the lax morals and prurient literature of my day." well,--and so it had proved! my own blood burned with shame as i reflected how ample and convincing were the proofs!--and, starting up from my recumbent posture i paced up and down again restlessly in a fever of self-contempt and disgust. what could i do with a woman such as she to whom i was now bound for life? reform her? she would laugh me to scorn for the attempt. reform myself? she would sneer at me for an effeminate milksop. besides, was not i as willing to be degraded as she was to degrade me?--a very victim to my brute passions? tortured and maddened by my feelings i roamed about wildly, and started as if a pistol-shot had been fired near me when the plash of oars sounded on the silence and the keel of a small boat grated on the shore, the boatman within it respectfully begging me in mellifluous french to employ him for an hour. i assented, and in a minute or two was out on the lake in the middle of the red glow of sunset which turned the snow-summits to points of flame, and the waters to the hue of ruby wine. i think the man who rowed me saw that i was in no very pleasant humour, for he preserved a discreet silence,--and i, pulling my hat partly over my eyes, lay back in the stern, still busy with my wretched musings. only a month married!--and yet,--a sickening satiety had taken the place of the so-called 'deathless' lover's passion. there were moments even, when my wife's matchless physical beauty appeared hideous to me. i knew her as she was,--and no exterior charm could ever again cover for me the revolting nature within. and what puzzled me from dawn to dusk was her polished, specious hypocrisy,--her amazing aptitude for lies! to look at her,--to hear her speak,--one would have deemed her a very saint of purity,--a delicate creature whom a coarse word would startle and offend,--a very incarnation of the sweetest and most gracious womanhood,--all heart and feeling and sympathy. everyone thought thus of her,--and never was there a greater error. heart she had none; that fact was borne in upon me two days after our marriage while we were in paris, for there a telegram reached us announcing her mother's death. the paralysed countess of elton had, it appeared, expired suddenly on our wedding-day, or rather our wedding night,--but the earl had deemed it best to wait forty-eight hours before interrupting our hymeneal happiness with the melancholy tidings. he followed his telegram by a brief letter to his daughter, in which the concluding lines were these--"as you are a bride and are travelling abroad, i should advise you by no means to go into mourning. under the circumstances it is really not necessary." and sibyl had readily accepted his suggestion, keeping generally however to white and pale mauve colourings in her numerous and wonderful toilettes, in order not to outrage the proprieties too openly in the opinions of persons known to her, whom she might possibly meet casually in the foreign towns we visited. no word of regret passed her lips, and no tears were shed for her mother's loss. she only said, "what a good thing her sufferings are over!" then, with a little sarcastic smile, she had added-- "i wonder when we shall receive the elton-chesney wedding cards!" i did not reply, for i was pained and grieved at her lack of all gentle feeling in the matter, and i was also, to a certain extent, superstitiously affected by the fact of the death occurring on our marriage-day. however this was now a thing of the past; a month had elapsed,--a month in which the tearing-down of illusions had gone on daily and hourly,--till i was left to contemplate the uncurtained bare prose of life and the knowledge that i had wedded a beautiful feminine animal with the soul of a shameless libertine. here i pause and ask myself,--was not i also a libertine? yes,--i freely admit it,--but the libertinage of a man, while it may run to excess in hot youth, generally resolves itself, under the influence of a great love, into a strong desire for undefiled sweetness and modesty in the woman beloved. if a man has indulged in both folly and sin, the time comes at last, when, if he has any good left in him at all, he turns back upon himself and lashes his own vices with the scorpion-whip of self-contempt till he smarts with the rage and pain of it,--and then, aching in every pulse with his deserved chastisement, he kneels in spirit at the feet of some pure, true-hearted woman whose white soul, like an angel, hovers compassionately above him, and there lays down his life, saying "do what you will with it,--it is yours!" and woe to her who plays lightly with such a gift, or works fresh injury upon it! no man, even if he has in his day, indulged in 'rapid' living, should choose a 'rapid' woman for his wife,--he had far better put a loaded pistol to his head and make an end of it! the sunset-glory began to fade from the landscape as the little boat glided on over the tranquil water, and a great shadow was on my mind, like the shadow of that outer darkness which would soon be night. again i asked myself--was there no happiness possible in all the world? just then the angelus chimed from a little chapel on the shore, and as it rang, a memory stirred in my brain moving me well-nigh to tears. mavis clare was happy!--mavis, with her frank fearless eyes, sweet face and bright nature,--mavis, wearing her crown of fame as simply as a child might wear a wreath of may-blossom,--she, with a merely moderate share of fortune which even in its slight proportion was only due to her own hard incessant work,--she was happy. and i,--with my millions,--was wretched! how was it? why was it? what had i done? i had lived as my compeers lived,--i had followed the lead of all society,--i had feasted my friends and effectually 'snubbed' my foes,--i had comported myself exactly as others of my wealth comport themselves,--and i had married a woman whom most men, looking upon once, would have been proud to win. nevertheless there seemed to be a curse upon me. what had i missed out of life? i knew,--but was ashamed to own it, because i had previously scorned what i called the dream-nothings of mere sentiment. and now i had to acknowledge the paramount importance of those 'dream-nothings' out of which all true living must come. i had to realize that my marriage was nothing but the mere mating of the male and female animal,--a coarse bodily union, and no more;--that all the finer and deeper emotions which make a holy thing of human wedlock, were lacking,--the mutual respect, the trusting sympathy,--the lovely confidence of mind with mind,--the subtle inner spiritual bond which no science can analyse, and which is so much closer and stronger than the material, and knits immortal souls together when bodies decay--these things had no existence, and never would exist between my wife and me. thus, as far as i was concerned, there was a strange blankness in the world,--i was thrust back upon myself for comfort and found none. what should i do with my life, i wondered drearily! win fame,--true fame,--after all? with sibyl's witch-eyes mocking my efforts?--never! if i had ever had any gifts of creative thought within me, _she_ would have killed it! the hour was over,--the boatman rowed me in to land, and i paid and dismissed him. the sun had completely sunk,--there were dense purple shadows darkening over the mountains, and one or two small stars faintly discernible in the east. i walked slowly back to the villa where we were staying,--a 'dépendance' belonging to the large hotel of the district, which we had rented for the sake of privacy and independence, some of the hotel-servants being portioned off to attend upon us, in addition to my own man morris, and my wife's maid. i found sibyl in the garden, reclining in a basket-chair, her eyes fixed on the after-glow of the sunset, and in her hands a book,--one of the loathliest of the prurient novels that have been lately written by women to degrade and shame their sex. with a sudden impulse of rage upon me which i could not resist, i snatched the volume from her and flung it into the lake below. she made no movement of either surprise or offence,--she merely turned her eyes away from the glowing heavens, and looked at me with a little smile. "how violent you are to-day, geoffrey!" she said. i gazed at her in sombre silence. from the light hat with its pale mauve orchids that rested on her nut-brown hair, to the point of her daintily embroidered shoe, her dress was perfect,--and _she_ was perfect. _i_ knew that,--a matchless piece of womanhood ... outwardly! my heart beat,--there was a sense of suffocation in my throat,--i could have killed her for the mingled loathing and longing which her beauty roused in me. "i am sorry!" i said hoarsely, avoiding her gaze--"but i hate to see you with such a book as that!" "you know its contents?" she queried, with the same slight smile. "i can guess." "such things have to be written, they say nowadays,"--she went on--"and, certainly, to judge from the commendation bestowed on these sort of books by the press, it is very evident that the wave of opinion is setting in the direction of letting girls know all about marriage before they enter upon it, in order that they may do so with their eyes wide open,--_very_ wide open!" she laughed, and her laughter hurt me like a physical wound. "what an old-fashioned idea the bride of the poets and sixty-years-ago romancists seems now!" she continued--"imagine her!--a shrinking tender creature, shy of beholders, timid of speech, ... wearing the emblematic veil, which in former days, you know, used to cover the face entirely, as a symbol that the secrets of marriage were as yet hidden from the maiden's innocent and ignorant eyes. now the veil is worn flung back from the bride's brows, and she stares unabashed at everybody,--oh yes, indeed we know quite well what we are doing now when we marry, thanks to the 'new' fiction!" "the new fiction is detestable,"--i said hotly--"both in style and morality. even as a question of literature i wonder at your condescending to read any of it. the woman whose dirty book i have just thrown away--and i feel no compunction for having done it,--is destitute of grammar as well as decency." "oh, but the critics don't notice that,"--she interrupted, with a delicate mockery vibrating in her voice--"it is apparently not their business to assist in preserving the purity of the english language. what they fall into raptures over is the originality of the 'sexual' theme, though i should have thought all such matters were as old as the hills. i never read reviews as a rule, but i did happen to come across one on the book you have just drowned,--and in it, the reviewer stated he had cried over it!" she laughed again. "beast!" i said emphatically--"he probably found in it some glozing-over of his own vices. but you, sibyl--why do you read such stuff?--how can you read it?" "curiosity moved me in the first place,"--she answered listlessly--"i wanted to see what makes a reviewer cry! then when i began to read, i found that the story was all about the manner in which men amuse themselves with the soiled doves of the highways and bye-ways,--and as i was not very well instructed in that sort of thing, i thought i might as well learn! you know these unpleasant morsels of information on unsavoury subjects are like the reputed suggestions of the devil,--if you listen to one, you are bound to hear more. besides, literature is supposed to reflect the time we live in,--and that kind of literature being more prevalent than anything else, we are compelled to accept and study it as the mirror of the age." with an expression on her face that was half mirth and half scorn, she rose from her seat, and looked down into the lovely lake below her. "the fishes will eat that book,--" she observed--"i hope it will not poison them! if they could read and understand it, what singular ideas they would have of us human beings!" "why don't you read mavis clare's books?" i asked suddenly--"you told me you admired her." "so i do,--immensely!" she answered,--"i admire her and wonder at her, both together. how that woman can keep her child's heart and child's faith in a world like this, is more than i can understand. it is always a perfect marvel to me,--a sort of supernatural surprise. you ask me why don't i read her books,--i do read them,--i've read them all over and over again,--but she does not write many, and one has to wait for her productions longer than for those of most authors. when i want to feel like an angel, i read mavis clare,--but i more often am inclined to feel the other way, and then her books are merely so many worries to me." "worries?" i echoed. "yes. it is worrying to find somebody believing in a god when _you_ can't believe in him,--to have beautiful faiths offered to you which _you_ can't grasp,--and to know that there is a creature alive, a woman like yourself in everything except mind, who is holding fast a happiness which you can never attain,--no, not though you held out praying hands day and night and shouted wild appeals to the dull heavens!" at that moment she looked like a queen of tragedy,--her violet eyes ablaze,--her lips apart,--her breast heaving;----i approached her with a strange nervous hesitation and touched her hand. she gave it to me passively,--i drew it through my arm, and for a minute or two we paced silently up and down the gravel walk. the lights from the monster hotel which catered for us and our wants, were beginning to twinkle from basement to roof,--and just above the châlet we rented, a triad of stars sparkled in the shape of a trefoil. "poor geoffrey!" she said presently, with a quick upward glance at me,--"i am sorry for you! with all my vagaries of disposition i am not a fool, and at anyrate i have learned how to analyse myself as well as others. i read you as easily as i read a book,--i see what a strange tumult your mind is in! you love me--and you loathe me!--and the contrast of emotion makes a wreck of you and your ideals. hush,--don't speak; i know,--i know! but what would you have me be? an angel? i cannot realize such a being for more than a fleeting moment of imagination. a saint? they were all martyred. a good woman? i never met one. innocent?--ignorant? i told you before we married that i was neither; there is nothing left for me to discover as far as the relations between men and women are concerned,--i have taken the measure of the inherent love of vice in both sexes. there is not a pin to choose between them,--men are no worse than women,--women no worse than men. i have discovered everything--except god!--and i conclude no god could ever have designed such a crazy and mean business as human life." while she thus spoke, i could have fallen at her feet and implored her to be silent. for she was, unknowingly, giving utterance to some of the many thoughts in which i myself had frequently indulged,--and yet, from her lips they sounded cruel, unnatural, and callous to a degree that made me shrink from her in fear and agony. we had reached a little grove of pines,--and here in the silence and shadow i took her in my arms and stared disconsolately upon the beauty of her face. "sibyl!" i whispered--"sibyl, what is wrong with us both? how is it that we do not seem to find the loveliest side of love?--why is it that even in our kisses and embraces, some impalpable darkness comes between us, so that we anger or weary each other when we should be glad and satisfied? what is it? can you tell? for you know the darkness is there!" a curious look came into her eyes,--a far-away strained look of hungry yearning, mingled, as i thought, with compassion for me. "yes, it is there!" she answered slowly--"and it is of our own mutual creation. i believe you have something nobler in your nature, geoffrey, than i have in mine,--an indefinable something that recoils from me and my theories despite your wish and will. perhaps if you had given way to that feeling in time, you would never have married me. you speak of the loveliest side of love,--to me there is no lovely side,--it is all coarse and horrible! you and i for instance,--cultured man and woman,--we cannot, in marriage, get a flight beyond the common emotions of hodge and his girl!" she laughed violently, and shuddered in my arms. "what liars the poets are, geoffrey! they ought to be sentenced to life-long imprisonment for their perjuries! they help to mould the credulous beliefs of a woman's heart;--in her early youth she reads their delicious assurances, and imagines that love will be all they teach,--a thing divine and lasting beyond earthly countings;--then comes the coarse finger of prose on the butterfly-wing of poesy, and the bitterness and hideousness of complete disillusion!" i held her still in my arms with the fierce grasp of a man clinging to a spar ere he drowns in mid-ocean. "but i love you sibyl!----my wife, i love you!" i said, with a passion that choked my utterance. "you love me,--yes, i know, but how? in a way that is abhorrent to yourself!" she replied--"it is not poetic love,--it is man's love, and man's love is brute love. so it is,--so it will be,--so it must be. moreover the brute-love soon tires,--and when it dies out from satiety there is nothing left. nothing, geoffrey,--absolutely nothing but a blank and civil form of intercourse, which i do not doubt we shall be able to keep up for the admiration and comment of society!" she disengaged herself from my embrace, and moved towards the house. "come!" she added, turning her exquisite head back over her shoulder with a feline caressing grace that she alone possessed, "you know there is a famous lady in london who advertises her saleable charms to the outside public by means of her monogram worked into the lace of all her window-blinds, thinking it no doubt good for trade! i am not quite so bad as that! you have paid dearly for me i know;--but remember i as yet wear no jewels but yours, and crave no gifts beyond those you are generous enough to bestow,--and my dutiful desire is to give you as much full value as i can for your money." "sibyl, you kill me!" i cried, tortured beyond endurance, "do you think me so base----" i broke off with almost a sob of despair. "you cannot help being base," she said, steadily regarding me,--"because you are a man. i am base because i am a woman. if we believed in a god, either of us, we might discover some different way of life and love--who knows?--but neither you nor i have any remnant of faith in a being whose existence all the scientists of the day are ever at work to disprove. we are persistently taught that we are animals and nothing more,--let us therefore not be ashamed of animalism. animalism and atheism are approved by the scientists and applauded by the press,--and the clergy are powerless to enforce the faith they preach. come geoffrey, don't stay mooning like a stricken parsifal under those pines,--throw away that thing which troubles you, your conscience,--throw it away as you have thrown the book i was lately reading, and consider this,--that most men of your type take pride and rejoice in being the prey of a bad woman!--so you should really congratulate yourself on having one for a wife!--one who is so broad-minded too, that she will always let you have your own way in everything you do, provided you let her have hers! it is the way all marriages are arranged nowadays,--at any rate in _our_ set,--otherwise the tie would be impossible of endurance. come!" "we cannot live together on such an understanding, sibyl!" i said hoarsely, as i walked slowly by her side towards the villa. "oh yes, we can!" she averred, a little malign smile playing round her lips--"we can do as others do,--there is no necessity for us to stand out from the rest like quixotic fools, and pose as models to other married people,--we should only be detested for our pains. it is surely better to be popular than virtuous,--virtue never pays! see, there is our interesting german waiter coming to inform us that dinner is ready; please don't look so utterly miserable, for we have not quarrelled, and it would be foolish to let the servants think we have." i made no answer. we entered the house, and dined,--sibyl keeping up a perfect fire of conversation, to which i replied in mere monosyllables,--and after dinner we went as usual to sit in the illuminated gardens of the adjacent hotel, and hear the band. sibyl was known, and universally admired and flattered by many of the people staying there,----and, as she moved about among her acquaintances, chatting first with one group and then with another, i sat in moody silence, watching her with increasing wonderment and horror. her beauty seemed to me like the beauty of the poison-flower, which, brilliant in colour and perfect in shape, exhales death to those who pluck it from its stem. and that night, when i held her in my arms, and felt her heart beating against my own in the darkness, an awful dread arose in me,--a dread as to whether i might not at some time or other be tempted to strangle her as she lay on my breast----strangle her as one would strangle a vampire that sucked one's blood and strength away! xxvii we concluded our wedding-tour rather sooner than we had at first intended, and returned to england and willowsmere court, about the middle of august. i had a vague notion stirring in me that gave me a sort of dim indefinable consolation, and it was this,--i meant to bring my wife and mavis clare together, believing that the gentle influence of the gracious and happy creature, who, like a contented bird in its nest, dwelt serene in the little domain so near my own, might have a softening and wholesome effect upon sibyl's pitiless love of analysis and scorn of all noble ideals. the heat in warwickshire was at this time intense,--the roses were out in their full beauty, and the thick foliage of the branching oaks and elms in my grounds afforded grateful shade and repose to the tired body, while the tranquil loveliness of the woodland and meadow scenery, comforted and soothed the equally tired mind. after all, there is no country in the world so fair as england,--none so richly endowed with verdant forests and fragrant flowers,--none that can boast of sweeter nooks for seclusion and romance. in italy, that land so over-praised by hysterical _poseurs_ who foolishly deem it admirable to glorify any country save their own, the fields are arid and brown, and parched by the too fervent sun,--there are no shady lanes such as england can boast of in all her shires,--and the mania among italians for ruthlessly cutting down their finest trees, has not only actually injured the climate, but has so spoilt the landscape that it is difficult to believe at all in its once renowned, and still erroneously reported charm. such a bower of beauty as lily cottage was in that sultry august, could never have been discovered in all the length and breadth of italy. mavis superintended the care of her gardens herself,--she had two gardeners, who under her directions, kept the grass and trees continually watered,--and nothing could be imagined more lovely than the picturesque old-fashioned house, covered with roses and tufts of jessamine that seemed to tie up the roof in festal knots and garlands, while around the building spread long reaches of deep emerald lawn, and bosky arbours of foliage where all the most musical song-birds apparently found refuge and delight, and where at evening a perfect colony of nightingales kept up a bubbling fountain of delicious melody. i remember well the afternoon, warm, languid and still, when i took sibyl to see the woman-author she had so long admired. the heat was so great that in our own grounds all the birds were silent, but when we approached lily cottage the first thing we heard was the piping of a thrush up somewhere among the roses,--a mellow liquid warble expressing 'sweet content,' and mingling with the subdued coo-cooings of the dove 'reviewers' who were commenting on whatever pleased or displeased them in the distance. "what a pretty place it is!" said my wife, as she peeped over the gate, and through the odorous tangles of honeysuckle and jessamine--"i really think it is prettier than willowsmere. it has been wonderfully improved." we were shown in,--and mavis, who had expected our visit did not keep us waiting long. an she entered, clad in some gossamer white stuff that clung softly about her pretty figure and was belted in by a simple ribbon, an odd sickening pang went through my heart. the fair untroubled face,--the joyous yet dreamy student eyes,--the sensitive mouth, and above all, the radiant look of happiness that made the whole expression of her features so bright and fascinating, taught me in one flash of conviction all that a woman might be, and all that she too frequently is not. and i had hated mavis clare!--i had even taken up my pen to deal her a wanton blow through the medium of anonymous criticism, ... but this was before i knew her,--before i realized that there could be any difference between her and the female scarecrows who so frequently pose as 'novelists' without being able to write correct english, and who talk in public of their 'copy' with the glibness gained from grub street and the journalists' cheap restaurant. yes--i had hated her,----and now----now, almost i loved her! sibyl, tall, queenly and beautiful, gazed upon her with eyes that expressed astonishment as well as admiration. "to think that you are the famous mavis clare!" she said, smiling, as she held out her hand--"i always heard and knew that you did not look at all literary, but i never quite realized that you could be exactly what i see you are!" "to look literary does not always imply that you _are_ literary!" returned mavis, laughing a little--"too often i am afraid you will find that the women who take pains to _look_ literary are ignorant of literature! but how glad i am to see you, lady sibyl! do you know i used to watch you playing about on the lawns at willowsmere when i was quite a little girl?" "and i used to watch you,"--responded sibyl--"you used to make daisy-chains and cowslip-balls in the fields opposite on the other side of the avon. it is a great pleasure to me to know we are neighbours. you must come and see me often at willowsmere." mavis did not answer immediately,--she busied herself in pouring out tea and dispensing it to both of us. sibyl, who was always on the alert for glimpses of character, noticed that she did not answer, and repeated her words coaxingly. "you will come, will you not? as often as you like,--the oftener the better. we must be friends, you know!" mavis looked up then, a frank sweet smile in her eyes. "do you really mean it?" she asked. "mean it!" echoed sibyl--"why, of course i do!" "how can you doubt it!" i exclaimed. "well, you must both forgive me for asking such a question"--said mavis still smiling--"but you see you are now among what are called the 'county magnates,' and county magnates consider themselves infinitely above all authors!" she laughed outright, and her blue eyes twinkled with fun. "i think many of them estimate writers of books as some sort of strange outgrowth of humanity that is barely decent. it is deliciously funny and always amuses me,--nevertheless, among my many faults, the biggest one is, i fancy, pride, and a dreadfully obstinate spirit of independence. now, to tell you the truth, i have been asked by many so-called 'great' people to their houses, and when i _have_ gone, i have generally been sorry for it afterwards." "why?" i asked--"they honour themselves by inviting you." "oh, i don't think they take it in that way at all!" she replied, shaking her fair head demurely--"they fancy they have performed a great act of condescension,--whereas it is really i who condescend, for it is very good of me, you know, to leave the society of the pallas athene in my study for that of a flounced and frizzled lady of fashion!" her bright smile again irradiated her face and she went on--"once i was asked to luncheon with a certain baron and baroness who invited a few guests "to meet me," so they said. i was not introduced to more than one or two of these people,--the rest sat and stared at me as if i were a new kind of fish or fowl. then the baron showed me his house, and told me the prices of his pictures and his china,--he was even good enough to explain which was dresden and which was delft ware, though i believe, benighted author as i am, i could have instructed him equally on these, and other matters. however i managed to smile amicably through the whole programme, and professed myself charmed and delighted in the usual way;--but they never asked me to visit them again,--and, (unless indeed they wanted me to be impressed with their furniture-catalogue) i can never make out what i did to be asked at all, and what i have done never to be asked any more!" "they must have been _parvenus_,"--said sibyl indignantly--"no well-bred people would have priced their goods to you, unless they happened to be jews." mavis laughed--a merry little laugh like a peal of bells,--then she continued-- "well, i will not say who they were,--i must keep something for my 'literary reminiscences' when i get old! then all these people will be named, and go down to posterity as dante's enemies went down to dante's hell! i have only told you the incident just to show you why i asked you if you meant it, when you invited me to visit you at willowsmere. because the baron and baroness i have spoken of 'gushed' over me and my poor books to such an extent that you would have fancied i was to be for evermore one of their dearest friends,--and they _didn't_ mean it! other people i know embrace me effusively and invite me to their houses, and _they_ don't mean it! and when i find out these shams, i like to make it very clear on my own side that i do not seek to be embraced or invited, and that if certain great folks deem it a 'favour' to ask me to their houses, i do not so consider it, but rather think the 'favour' is entirely on my part if i accept the invitation. and i do not say this for my own self at all,--self has nothing to do with it,--but i do say it and strongly assert it for the sake of the dignity of literature as an art and profession. if a few other authors would maintain this position, we might raise the standard of letters by degrees to what it was in the old days of scott and byron. i hope you do not think me too proud?" "on the contrary, i think you are quite right"--said sibyl earnestly--"and i admire you for your courage and independence. some of the aristocracy are, i know, such utter snobs that often i feel ashamed to belong to them. but as far as we are concerned, i can only assure you that if you will honour us by becoming our friend as well as neighbour, you shall not regret it. do try and like me if you can!" she bent forward with a witching smile on her fair face. mavis looked at her seriously and admiringly. "how beautiful you are!" she said frankly--"everybody tells you this of course,--still, i cannot help joining in the general chorus. to me, a lovely face is like a lovely flower,--i must admire it. beauty is quite a divine thing, and though i am often told that the plain people are always the good people, i never can quite believe it. nature is surely bound to give a beautiful face to a beautiful spirit." sibyl, who had smiled with pleasure at the first words of the open compliment paid her by one of the most gifted of her own sex, now flushed deeply. "not always, miss clare,"--she said, veiling her brilliant eyes beneath the droop of her long lashes--"one can imagine a fair fiend as easily as a fair angel." "true!" and mavis looked at her musingly,--then suddenly laughing in her blithe bright way, she added--"quite true! really i cannot picture an ugly fiend,--for the fiends are supposed to be immortal, and i am convinced that immortal ugliness has no part in the universe. downright hideousness belongs to humanity alone,--and an ugly face is such a blot on creation that we can only console ourselves by the reflection that it is fortunately perishable, and that in course of time the soul behind it will be released from its ill-formed husk, and will be allowed to wear a fairer aspect. yes, lady sibyl, i will come to willowsmere; i cannot refuse to look upon such loveliness as yours as often as i may!" "you are a charming flatterer!" said sibyl, rising and putting an arm round her in that affectionate coaxing way of hers which seemed so sincere, and which so frequently meant nothing--"but i confess i prefer to be flattered by a woman rather than by a man. men say the same things to all women,--they have a very limited répertoire of compliments,--and they will tell a fright she is beautiful, if it happens to serve their immediate purpose. but women themselves can so hardly be persuaded to admit that any good qualities exist either inwardly or outwardly in one another, that when they do say a kind or generous thing of their own sex it is a wonder worth remembering. may i your study?" mavis willingly assented,--and we all three went into the peaceful sanctum where the marble pallas presided, and where the dogs tricksy and emperor were both ensconced,--emperor sitting up on his haunches and surveying the prospect from the window, and tricksy with a most absurd air of importance, imitating the larger animal's attitude precisely, at a little distance off. both creatures were friendly to my wife and to me, and while sibyl was stroking the st bernard's massive head, mavis said suddenly, "where is the friend who came with you here first, prince rimânez?" "he is in st petersburg just now,"--i answered--"but we expect him in two or three weeks to stay with us on a visit for some time." "he is surely a very singular man,"--said mavis thoughtfully--"do you remember how strangely my dogs behaved to him? emperor was quite restless and troublesome for two or three hours after he had gone." and in a few words, she told sibyl the incident of the st bernard's attack upon lucio. "some people have a natural antipathy to dogs,"--said sibyl, as she heard--"and the dogs always find it out, and resent it. but i should not have thought prince rimânez had an antipathy to any creatures except--women!" and she laughed, a trifle bitterly. "except women!" echoed mavis surprisedly--"does he hate women? he must be a very good actor then,--for to me he was wonderfully kind and gentle." sibyl looked at her intently, and was silent for a minute. then she said-- "perhaps it is because he knows you are unlike the ordinary run of women and have nothing in common with their usual trumpery aims. of course he is always courteous to our sex,--but i think it is easy to see that his courtesy is often worn as a mere mask to cover a very different feeling." "you have perceived that, then, sibyl?" i said with a slight smile. "i should be blind if i had not perceived it"--she replied; "i do not however blame him for his pet aversion,--i think it makes him all the more attractive and interesting." "he is a great friend of yours?" inquired mavis, looking at me as she put the question. "the very greatest friend i have,"--i replied quickly--"i owe him more than i can ever repay,--indeed i have to thank him even for introducing me to my wife!" i said the words unthinkingly and playfully, but as i uttered them, a sudden shock affected my nerves,--a shock of painful memory. yes, it was true!--i owed to him, to lucio, the misery, fear, degradation and shame of having such a woman as sibyl was, united to me till death should us part. i felt myself turning sick and giddy,--and i sat down in one of the quaint oak chairs that helped to furnish mavis clare's study, allowing the two women to pass out of the open french window into the sunlit garden together, the dogs following at their heels. i watched them as they went,--my wife, tall and stately, attired in the newest and most fashionable mode,--mavis, small and slight, with her soft white gown and floating waist-ribbon,--the one sensual, the other spiritual,--the one base and vicious in desire,--the other pure-souled and aspiring to noblest ends,--the one, a physically magnificent animal,--the other merely sweet-faced and ideally fair like a sylph of the woodlands,--and looking, i clenched my hands as i thought with bitterness of spirit what a mistaken choice i had made. in the profound egotism which had always been part of my nature i now actually allowed myself to believe that i might, had i chosen, have wedded mavis clare,--never for one moment imagining that all my wealth would have been useless to me in such a quest, and that i might as well have proposed to pluck a star from the sky as to win a woman who was able to read my nature thoroughly, and who would never have come down to my money-level from her intellectual throne,--no, not though i had been a monarch of many nations. i stared at the large tranquil features of the pallas athene,--and the blank eyeballs of the marble goddess appeared to regard me in turn with impassive scorn. i glanced round the room, and at the walls adorned with the wise sayings of poets and philosophers,--sayings that reminded me of truths which i knew, yet never accepted as practicable; and presently my eyes were attracted to a corner near the writing-desk which i had not noticed before, where there was a small dim lamp burning. above this lamp an ivory crucifix gleamed white against draperies of dark purple velvet,--below it, on a silver bracket, was an hour-glass through which the sand was running in glistening grains, and round the entire little shrine was written in letters of gold "now is the acceptable time!"--the word 'now' being in larger characters than the rest. 'now' was evidently mavis's motto,--to lose no moment, but to work, to pray, to love, to hope, to thank god and be glad for life, all in the 'now'--and neither to regret the past nor forebode the future, but simply do the best that could be done, and leave all else in child-like confidence to the divine will. i got up restlessly,--the sight of the crucifix curiously annoyed me;--and i followed the path my wife and mavis had taken through the garden. i found them looking in at the cage of the 'athenæum' owls,--the owl-in-chief being as usual puffed out with his own importance, and swelling visibly with indignation and excess of feather. sibyl turned as she saw me,--her face was bright and smiling. "miss clare has very strong opinions of her own, geoffrey," she said--"she is not as much captivated by prince rimânez as most people are,--in fact, she has just confided to me that she does not quite like him." mavis blushed, but her eyes met mine with fearless candour. "it is wrong to say what one thinks, i know,--" she murmured in somewhat troubled accents--"and it is a dreadful fault of mine. please forgive me mr tempest! you tell me the prince is your greatest friend,--and i assure you i was immensely impressed by his appearance when i first saw him, ... but afterwards, ... after i had studied him a little, the conviction was borne in upon me that he was not altogether what he seemed." "that is exactly what he says of himself,"--i answered, laughing a little--"he has a mystery i believe,--and he has promised to clear it up for me some day. but i'm sorry you don't like him, miss clare,--for he likes you." "perhaps when i meet him again my ideas may be different"--said mavis gently--"at present, ... well,--do not let us talk of it any more,--indeed i feel i have been very rude to express any opinion at all concerning one for whom you and lady sibyl have so great a regard. but somehow i seemed impelled, almost against my will, to say what i did just now." her soft eyes looked pained and puzzled, and to relieve her and change the subject, i asked if she was writing anything new. "oh yes,"--she replied--"it would never do for me to be idle. the public are very kind to me,--and no sooner have they read one thing of mine than they clamour for another, so i am kept very busy." "and what of the critics?" i asked, with a good deal of curiosity. she laughed. "i never pay the least attention to them," she answered, "except when they are hasty and misguided enough to write lies about me,--then i very naturally take the liberty to contradict those lies, either through my own statement or that of my lawyers. apart from refusing to allow the public to be led into a false notion of my work and aims, i have no grudge whatever against the critics. they are generally very poor hard-working men, and have a frightful struggle to live. i have often, privately, done some of them a good turn without their knowledge. a publisher of mine sent me an ms. the other day by one of my deadliest enemies on the press, and stated that my opinion would decide its rejection or acceptance,--i read it through, and though it was not very brilliant work, it was good enough, so i praised it as warmly as i could, and urged its publication, with the stipulation that the author should never be told i had had the casting vote. it has just come out i see,--and i'm sure i hope it will succeed." here she paused to gather a few deep damask roses, which she handed to sibyl. "yes,--critics are very badly, even cruelly paid,"--she went on musingly--"it is not to be expected that they should write eulogies of the successful author, while they continue unsuccessful,--such work could not be anything but gall and wormwood to them. i know the poor little wife of one of them,--and settled her dressmaker's bill for her because she was afraid to show it to her husband. the very week afterwards he slashed away at my last book in the most approved style in the paper on which he is employed, and got, i suppose, about a guinea for his trouble. of course he didn't know about his little wife and her dunning dressmaker; and he never will know, because i have bound her over to secrecy." "but why do you do such things?" asked sibyl astonished; "i would have let his wife get into the county court for her bill, if i had been you!" "would you?" and mavis smiled gravely--"well, i could not. you know who it was that said 'bless them that curse you, and do good to them that hate you'? besides, the poor little woman was frightened to death at her own expenditure. it is pitiful, you know, to see the helpless agonies of people who _will_ live beyond their incomes,--they suffer much more than the beggars in the street who make frequently more than a pound a day by merely whining and snivelling. the critics are much more in evil case than the beggars--few of them make even a pound a day, and of course they regard as their natural enemies the authors who make thirty to fifty pounds a week. i assure you i am very sorry for critics all round,--they are the least-regarded and worst-rewarded of all the literary community. and i never bother myself at all about what they say of me, except as i before observed, when in their haste they tell lies,--then of course it becomes necessary for me to state the truth in simple self-defence as well as by way of duty to my public. but as a rule i hand over all my press-notices to tricksy there,"--indicating the minute yorkshire terrier who followed closely at the edge of her white gown,--"and he tears them to indistinguishable shreds in about three minutes!" she laughed merrily, and sibyl smiled, watching her with the same wonder and admiration that had been expressed in her looks more or less since the beginning of our interview with this light-hearted possessor of literary fame. we were now walking towards the gate, preparatory to taking our departure. "may i come and talk to you sometimes?" my wife said suddenly, in her prettiest and most pleading voice--"it would be such a privilege!" "you can come whenever you like in the afternoons,"--replied mavis readily--"the mornings belong to a goddess more dominant even than beauty;--work!" "you never work at night?" i asked. "indeed no! i never turn the ordinances of nature upside down, as i am sure i should get the worst of it if i made such an attempt. the night is for sleep--and i use it thankfully for that blessed purpose." "some authors can only write at night though," i said. "then you may be sure they only produce blurred pictures and indistinct characterization," said mavis--"some i know there are, who invite inspiration through gin or opium, as well as through the midnight influences, but i do not believe in such methods. morning, and a freshly rested brain are required for literary labour,--that is, if one wants to write a book that will last for more than one 'season.'" she accompanied us to the gate and stood under the porch, her big dog beside her, and the roses waving high over her head. "at any rate work agrees with you,"--said sibyl fixing upon her a long, intent, almost envious gaze--"you look perfectly happy." "i _am_ perfectly happy,"--she answered, smiling--"i have nothing in all the world to wish for, except that i may die as peacefully as i have lived." "may that day be far distant!" i said earnestly. she raised her soft meditative eyes to mine. "thank you!" she responded gently--"but i do not mind when it comes, so long as it finds me ready." she waved her hand to us as we left her and turned the corner of the lane,--and for some minutes we walked on slowly in absolute silence. then at last sibyl spoke-- "i quite understand the hatred there is in some quarters for mavis clare,"--she said--"i am afraid i begin to hate her myself!" i stopped and stared at her, astonished and confounded. "you begin to hate her----you?--and why?" "are you so blind that you cannot perceive why?" she retorted, the little malign smile i knew so well playing round her lips--"because she is happy! because she has no scandals in her life, and because she dares to be content! one longs to make her miserable! but how to do it? she believes in a god,--she thinks all he ordains is right and good. with such a firm faith as that, she would be happy in a garret earning but a few pence a day. i see now perfectly how she has won her public,--it is by the absolute conviction she has herself of the theories of life she tries to instil. what can be done against her? nothing! but i understand why the critics would like to 'quash' her,--if i were a critic, fond of whiskey-and-soda, and music-hall women, i should like to quash her myself for being so different to the rest of her sex!" "what an incomprehensible woman you are, sibyl!" i exclaimed with real irritation,--"you admire miss clare's books,--you have always admired them,--you have asked her to become your friend,--and almost in the same breath you aver you would like to 'quash' her or to make her miserable! i confess i cannot understand you!" "of course you cannot!" she responded tranquilly, her eyes resting upon me with a curious expression, as we paused for an instant under the deep shade of a chestnut tree before entering our own grounds--"i never supposed you could, and unlike the ordinary _femme incomprise_, i have never blamed you for your want of comprehension. it has taken me some time to understand myself, and even now i am not quite sure that i have gauged the depths or shallownesses of my own nature correctly. but on this matter of mavis clare, can you not imagine that badness may hate goodness? that the confirmed drunkard may hate the sober citizen? that the outcast may hate the innocent maiden? and that it is possible that i,--reading life as i do, and finding it loathsome in many of its aspects,--distrusting men and women utterly,--and being destitute of any faith in god,--may hate,--yes _hate_,"--and she clenched her hand on a tuft of drooping leaves and scattered the green fragments at her feet--"a woman who finds life beautiful, and god existent,--who takes no part in our social shams and slanders,--and who in place of my self-torturing spirit of analysis, has secured an enviable fame and the honour of thousands, allied to a serene content? why it would be something worth living for, to make such a woman wretched for once in her life!--but, as she is constituted, it is impossible to do it." she turned from me and walked slowly onward,--i following in a pained silence. "if you do not mean to be her friend, you should tell her so,"--i said presently--"you heard what she said about pretended protestations of regard?" "i heard,"--she replied morosely--"she is a clever woman, geoffrey, and you may trust her to find me out without any explanation!" as she said this, i raised my eyes and looked full at her,--her exceeding beauty was becoming almost an agony to my sight, and in a sudden fool's paroxysm of despair i exclaimed-- "o sibyl, sibyl! why were you made as you are!" "ah, why indeed!" she rejoined, with a faint mocking smile--"and why, being made as i am, was i born an earl's daughter? if i had been a drab of the street, i should have been in my proper place,--and novels would have been written about me, and plays,--and i might have become such a heroine as should cause all good men to weep for joy because of my generosity in encouraging their vices! but as an earl's daughter, respectably married to a millionaire, am a mistake of nature. yet nature does make mistakes sometimes geoffrey, and when she does they are generally irremediable!" we had now reached our own grounds, and i walked, in miserable mood, beside her across the lawn towards the house. "sibyl,"--i said at last--"i had hoped you and mavis clare might be friends." she laughed. "so we shall be friends i daresay,--for a little while"--she replied--"but the dove does not willingly consort with the raven, and mavis clare's way of life and studious habits would be to me insufferably dull. besides, as i said before, she, as a clever woman and a thinker, is too clear-sighted not to find me out in the course of time. but i will play humbug as long as i can. if i perform the part of 'county lady' or 'patron,' of course she won't stand me for a moment. i shall have to assume a much more difficult rôle,--that of an honest woman!" again she laughed,--a cruel little laugh that chilled my blood, and paced slowly into the house through the open windows of the drawing-room. and i, left alone in the garden among the nodding roses and waving trees, felt that the beautiful domain of willowsmere had suddenly grown hideous and bereft of all its former charm, and was nothing but a haunted house of desolation,--haunted by an all-dominant and ever victorious spirit of evil. xxviii one of the strangest things in all the strange course of our human life is the suddenness of certain unlooked-for events, which, in a day or even an hour, may work utter devastation where there has been more or less peace, and hopeless ruin where there has been comparative safety. like the shock of an earthquake, the clamorous incidents thunder in on the regular routine of ordinary life, crumbling down our hopes, breaking our hearts, and scattering our pleasures into the dust and ashes of despair. and this kind of destructive trouble generally happens in the midst of apparent prosperity, without the least warning, and with all the abrupt fierceness of a desert-storm. it is constantly made manifest to us in the unexpected and almost instantaneous downfall of certain members of society who have held their heads proudly above their compeers and have presumed to pose as examples of light and leading to the whole community; we see it in the capricious fortunes of kings and statesmen, who are in favour one day and disgraced the next, and vast changes are wrought with such inexplicable quickness that it is scarcely wonderful to hear of certain religious sects who, when everything is prospering more than usually well with them, make haste to put on garments of sackcloth, and cast ashes on their heads, praying aloud "prepare us, o lord, for the evil days which are at hand!" the moderation of the stoics, who considered it impious either to rejoice or grieve, and strove to maintain an equable middle course between the opposing elements of sorrow and joy, without allowing themselves to be led away by over-much delight or over-much melancholy, was surely a wise habit of temperament. i, who lived miserably as far as my inner and better consciousness was concerned, was yet outwardly satisfied with the material things of life and the luxuries surrounding me,--and i began to take comfort in these things, and with them endeavoured to quell and ignore my more subtle griefs, succeeding so far in that i became more and more of a thorough materialist every day, loving bodily ease, appetizing food, costly wine, and personal indulgence to a degree that robbed me gradually of even the desire for mental effort. i taught myself moreover, almost insensibly, to accept and tolerate what i knew of the wanton side of my wife's character,--true, i respected her less than the turk respects the creature of his harem,--but like the turk, i took a certain savage satisfaction in being the possessor of her beauty, and with this feeling, and the brute passion it engendered, i was fain to be content. so that for a short time at least, the drowsy satisfaction of a well-fed, well-mated animal was mine,--i imagined that nothing short of a stupendous financial catastrophe to the country itself could exhaust my stock of cash,--and that therefore there was no necessity for me to exert myself in any particular branch of usefulness, but simply to 'eat drink and be merry' as solomon advised. intellectual activity was paralysed in me,--to take up my pen and write, and make another and higher bid for fame, was an idea that now never entered my mind; i spent my days in ordering about my servants, and practising the petty pleasures of tyranny on gardeners and grooms, and in generally giving myself airs of importance, mingled with an assumption of toleration and benevolence, for the benefit of all those in my employ. i knew the proper thing to do, well enough!--i had not studied the ways of the over-wealthy for nothing,--i was aware that the rich man never feels so thoroughly virtuous as when he has inquired after the health of his coachman's wife, and has sent her a couple of pounds for the outfit of her new-born baby. the much prated-of 'kindness of heart' and 'generosity' possessed by millionaires, generally amounts to this kind of thing,--and when, if idly strolling about my parklands, i happened to meet the small child of my lodge-keeper, and then and there bestowed sixpence upon it, i almost felt as if i deserved a throne in heaven at the right hand of the almighty, so great was my appreciation of my own good-nature. sibyl, however, never affected this sort of county-magnate beneficence. she did nothing at all among our poor neighbours;--the clergyman of the district unfortunately happened to let slip one day a few words to the effect that "there was no great want of anything among his parishioners, owing to the continual kindness and attention of miss clare,"--and sibyl never from that moment proffered any assistance. now and then she took her graceful person into lily cottage and sat with its happy and studious occupant for an hour,--and occasionally the fair author herself came and dined with us, or had 'afternoon tea' under the branching elms on the lawn,--but even i, intense egotist as i was, could see that mavis was scarcely herself on these occasions. she was always charming and bright of course,--indeed the only times in which i was able to partially forget myself and the absurdly increasing importance of my personality in my own esteem, were when she, with her sweet voice and animated manner, brought her wide knowledge of books, men, and things, to bear on the conversation, thus raising it to a higher level than was ever reached by my wife or me. yet i now and then noticed a certain vague constraint about her,--and her frank eyes had frequently a pained and questioning look of trouble when they rested for any length of time on the enchanting beauty of sibyl's face and form. i, however, paid little heed to these trifling matters, my whole care being to lose myself more and more utterly in the enjoyment of purely physical ease and comfort, without troubling myself as to what such self-absorption might lead in the future. to be completely without a conscience, without a heart and without sentiment was, i perceived, the best way to keep one's appetite, and preserve one's health;--to go about worrying over the troubles of other people, or put one's self out to do any good in the world, would involve such an expenditure of time and trouble as must inevitably spoil one's digestion,--and i saw that no millionaire or even moderately rich man cares to run the risk of injuring his digestion for the sake of performing a kindness to a poorer fellow-creature. profiting by the examples presented to me everywhere in society, i took care of _my_ digestion, and was particular about the way in which my meals were cooked and served,--particular too, as to the fashion in which my wife dressed for those meals,--for it suited my supreme humour to see her beauty bedecked as suitably and richly as possible, that i might have the satisfaction of considering her 'points' with the same epicurean fastidiousness as i considered a dish of truffles or specially prepared game. i never thought of the stern and absolute law--"unto whom much is given, even from him should much be required;"--i was scarcely aware of it in fact,--the new testament was of all books in the world the most unfamiliar to me. and while i wilfully deafened myself to the voice of conscience,--that voice which ever and anon urged me in vain to a nobler existence,--the clouds were gathering, ready to burst above me with that terrific suddenness such as always seems to us who refuse to study the causes of our calamities, as astonishing and startling as death itself. for we are always more or less startled at death notwithstanding that it is the commonest occurrence known. towards the middle of september my 'royal and distinguished' house-party arrived and stayed at willowsmere court for a week. of course it is understood that whenever the prince of wales honours any private residence with a visit, he selects, if not all, at any rate the greater part of those persons who are to be invited to meet him. he did so in the present instance, and i was placed in the odd position of having to entertain certain people whom i had never met before, and who, with the questionable taste frequently exhibited among the 'upper ten,' looked upon me merely as "the man with the millions," the caterer for their provisions, and no more,--directing their chief attention to sibyl, who was by virtue of her birth and associations one of their 'set,' and pushing me, their host, more or less into the background. however the glory of entertaining royalty more than sufficed for my poor pride at that time, and with less self-respect than an honest cur, i was content to be snubbed and harassed and worried a hundred times a day by one or the other of the 'great' personages who wandered at will all over my house and grounds, and accepted my lavish hospitality. many people imagine that it must be an 'honour' to entertain a select party of aristocrats, but i, on the contrary, consider that it is not only a degradation to one's manlier and more independent instincts, but also a bore. these highly-bred, highly-connected individuals, are for the most part unintelligent, and devoid of resources in their own minds,--they are not gifted as conversationalists or wits,--one gains no intellectual advantage from their society,--they are simply dull folk, with an exaggerated sense of their own importance, who expect wherever they go, to be amused without trouble to themselves. out of all the visitors at willowsmere the only one whom it was really a pleasure to serve was the prince of wales himself,--and amid the many personal irritations i had to suffer from others, i found it a positive relief to render him any attention, however slight, because his manner was always marked by that tact and courtesy which are the best attributes of a true gentleman whether he be prince or peasant. in his own affable way, he went one afternoon to see mavis clare, and came back in high good-humour, talking for some time of nothing but the author of 'differences,' and of the success she had achieved in literature. i had asked mavis to join our party before the prince came, as i felt pretty sure he would not have erased her name from the list of guests submitted to him,--but she would not accept, and begged me very earnestly not to press the point. "i like the prince,"--she had said--"most people like him who know him,--but i do not always like those who surround him,--pardon me for my frankness! the prince of wales is a social magnet,--he draws a number of persons after him who by dint of wealth, if not intelligence, can contrive to 'push' into his set. now i am not an advocate of 'push'--moreover i do not care to be seen with 'everybody';--this is my sinful pride you will say, or as our american cousins would put it, my 'cussedness.' but i assure you, mr tempest, the best possession i have, and one which i value a great deal more even than my literary success, is my absolute independence, and i would not have it thought, even erroneously, that i am anxious to mix with the crowd of sycophants and time-servers who are only too ready to take advantage of the prince's good-nature." and, acting upon her determination, she had remained more than ever secluded in her cottage-nest of foliage and flowers during the progress of the week's festivities,--the result being, as i have stated, that the prince 'dropped in' upon her quite casually one day, accompanied by his equerry, and probably for all i knew, had the pleasure of seeing the dove 'reviewers' fed, and squabbling over their meal. much as we had desired and expected the presence of rimânez at our gathering, he did not appear. he telegraphed his regrets from paris, and followed the telegram by a characteristic letter, which ran thus:-- my dear tempest. you are very kind to wish to include me, your old friend, in the party you have invited to meet his royal highness, and i only hope you will not think me churlish for refusing to come. i am sick to death of royalties,--i have known so many of them in the course of my existence that i begin to find their society monotonous. their positions are all so exactly alike too,--and moreover have always been alike from the days of solomon in all his glory, down to the present blessed era of victoria, queen and empress. one thirsts for a change; at least i do. the only monarch that ever fascinated my imagination particularly was richard coeur de lion; there was something original and striking about that man, and i presume he would have been well worth talking to. and charlemagne was doubtless, as the slangy young man of the day would observe, 'not half bad.' but for the rest,--_un fico!_ much talk is there made about her majesty elizabeth, who was a shrew and a vixen and blood-thirsty withal,--the chief glory of her reign was shakespeare, and he made kings and queens the dancing puppets of his thought. in this, though in nothing else, i resemble him. you will have enough to do in the entertainment of your distinguished guests, for i suppose there is no amusement they have not tried, and found more or less unsatisfactory, and i am sorry i can suggest nothing particularly new for you to do. her grace the duchess of rapidryder is very fond of being tossed in a strong table-cloth between four able-bodied gentlemen of good birth and discretion, before going to bed o' nights,--she cannot very well appear on a music-hall stage you know, owing to her exalted rank,--and this is a child-like, pretty and harmless method of managing to show her legs, which she rightly considers, are too shapely to be hidden. lady bouncer, whose name i see in your list, always likes to cheat at cards,--i would aid and abet her in her aim if i were you, as if she can only clear her dressmaker's bill by her winnings at willowsmere, she will bear it in mind, and be a useful social friend to you. the honourable miss fitz-gander who has a great reputation for virtue, is anxious, for pressing and particular reasons, to marry lord noodles,--if you can move on matters between them into a definite engagement of marriage before her lady-mother returns from her duty-visits in scotland, you will be doing her a good turn, and saving society a scandal. to amuse the men i suggest plenty of shooting, gambling, and unlimited smoking. to entertain the prince, do little,--for he is clever enough to entertain himself privately with the folly and humbug of those he sees around him, without actually sharing in the petty comedy. he is a keen observer,--and must derive infinite gratification from his constant study of men and manners, which is sufficiently deep and searching to fit him for the occupation of even the throne of england. i say 'even,' for at present, till time's great hour-glass turns, it is the grandest throne in the world. the prince reads, understands, and secretly laughs to scorn the table-cloth vagaries of the duchess of rapidryder, the humours of my lady bouncer and the nervous pruderies of the honourable miss fitz-gander. and there is nothing he will appreciate so much in his reception as a lack of toadyism, a sincere demeanour, an unostentatious hospitality, a simplicity of speech, and a total absence of affectation. remember this, and take my advice for what it is worth. of all the royalties at present flourishing on this paltry planet, i have the greatest respect for the prince of wales, and it is by reason of this very respect that i do not intend, on this occasion at any rate, to thrust myself upon his notice. i shall arrive at willowsmere when your 'royal' festivities are over. my homage to your fair spouse, the lady sibyl, and believe me, yours as long as you desire it lucio rimânez. i laughed over this letter and showed it to my wife, who did not laugh. she read it through with a closeness of attention that somewhat surprised me, and when she laid it down there was a strange look of pain in her eyes. "how he despises us all!" she said slowly--"what scorn underlies his words! do you not recognise it?" "he was always a cynic,--" i replied indifferently--"i never expect him to be anything else." "he seems to know some of the ways of the women who are coming here--" she went on in the same musing accents; "it is as if he read their thoughts, and perceived their intentions at a distance." her brows knitted frowningly, and she seemed for some time absorbed in gloomy meditation. but i did not pursue the subject,--i was too intent on my own fussy preparations for the prince's arrival to care about anything else. and, as i have said, royalty, in the person of one of the most genial of men, came and went through the whole programme devised for his entertainment, and then departed again with his usual courteous acknowledgments for the hospitality offered and accepted,--leaving us, as he generally leaves everybody, charmed with his good-humour and condescension, provided his temper has not been ruffled. when, with his exit from the scene, the whole party broke up, leaving my wife and me to our own two selves once more, there came a strange silence and desolation over the house that was like the stealthy sense of some approaching calamity. sibyl seemed to feel it as much as i did,--and though we said nothing to each other concerning our mutual sensations, i could see that she was under the same cloud of depression as myself. she went oftener to lily cottage, and always from these visits to the fair-haired student among the roses, came back, i hopefully fancied in softer mood,--her very voice was gentler,--her eyes more thoughtful and tender. one evening she said-- "i have been thinking, geoffrey, that perhaps there is some good in life after all, if i could only find it out and _live_ it. but you are the last person to help me in such a matter." i was sitting in an arm-chair near the open window, smoking, and i turned my eyes upon her with some astonishment and a touch of indignation. "what do you mean, sibyl?" i asked--"surely you know that i have the greatest desire to see you always in your best aspect,--many of your ideas have been most repugnant to me...." "stop there!" she said quickly, her eyes flashing as she spoke--"my ideas have been repugnant to you, you say? what have _you_ done, you as my husband, to change those ideas? have you not the same base passions as i?--and do you not give way to them as basely? what have i seen in you from day to day that i should take you as an example? you are master here, and you rule with all the arrogance wealth can give,--you eat, drink and sleep,--you entertain your acquaintances simply that you may astonish them by the excess of luxury in which you indulge,--you read and smoke, shoot and ride, and there an end,--you are an ordinary, not an exceptional man. do you trouble to ask what is wrong with _me_?--do you try, with the patience of a great love, to set before me nobler aims than those i have consciously or unconsciously imbibed?--do you try to lead me, an erring, passionate, misguided woman, into what i dream of as the light,--the light of faith and hope which alone gives peace?" and suddenly, burying her head in the pillows of the couch on which she leaned, she broke into a fit of smothered weeping. i drew my cigar from my mouth and stared at her helplessly. it was about an hour after dinner, and a warm soft autumnal evening,--i had eaten and drunk well, and i was drowsy and heavy-brained. "dear me!" i murmured--"you seem very unreasonable, sibyl! i suppose you are hysterical...." she sprang up from the couch,--her tears dried on her cheeks as though by sheer heat of the crimson glow that flushed them, and she laughed wildly. "yes, that is it!" she exclaimed--"hysteria!--nothing else! it is accountable for everything that moves a woman's nature. a woman has no right to have any emotions that cannot be cured by smelling-salts! heart-ache?--pooh!--cut her stay-lace! despair and a sense of sin and misery?--nonsense!--bathe her temples with vinegar! an uneasy conscience?--ah!--for an uneasy conscience there is nothing better than sal volatile! woman is a toy,--a breakable fool's toy;--and when she _is_ broken, throw her aside and have done with her,--don't try to piece together the fragile rubbish!" she ceased abruptly, panting for breath,--and before i could collect my thoughts or find any words wherewith to reply, a tall shadow suddenly darkened the embrasure of the window, and a familiar voice enquired-- "may i, with the privilege of friendship, enter unannounced?" i started up. "rimânez!" i cried, seizing him by the hand. "nay, geoffrey, my homage is due here first,"--he replied, shaking off my grasp, and advancing to sibyl, who stood perfectly still where she had risen up in her strange passion--"lady sibyl, am i welcome?" "can you ask it!" she said, with an enchanting smile, and in a voice from which all harshness and excitement had fled; "more than welcome!" here she gave him both her hands which he respectfully kissed. "you cannot imagine how much i have longed to see you again!" "i must apologise for my sudden appearance, geoffrey,"--he then observed, turning to me--"but as i walked here from the station and came up your fine avenue of trees, i was so struck with the loveliness of this place and the exquisite peace of its surroundings, that, knowing my way through the grounds, i thought i would just look about and see if you were anywhere within sight before i presented myself at the conventional door of entrance. and i was not disappointed,--i found you, as i expected, enjoying each other's society!--the happiest and most fortunate couple existent,--people whom, out of all the world i should be disposed to envy, if i envied worldly happiness at all, which i do not!" i glanced at him quickly;--he met my gaze with a perfectly unembarrassed air, and i concluded that he had not overheard sibyl's sudden melodramatic outburst. "have you dined?" i asked, with my hand on the bell. "thanks, yes. the town of leamington provided me with quite a sumptuous repast of bread and cheese and ale. i am tired of luxuries you know,--that is why i find plain fare delicious. you are looking wonderfully well, geoffrey!--shall i offend you if i say you are growing--yes--positively stout?--with the stoutness befitting a true county gentleman, who means to be as gouty in the future as his respectable ancestors?" i smiled, but not altogether with pleasure; it is never agreeable to be called 'stout' in the presence of a beautiful woman to whom one has only been wedded a matter of three months. "_you_ have not put on any extra flesh;--" i said, by way of feeble retort. "no"--he admitted, as he disposed his slim elegant figure in an arm-chair near my own--"the necessary quantity of flesh is a bore to me always,--extra flesh would be a positive infliction. i should like, as the irreverent though reverend sidney smith said, on a hot day, 'to sit in my bones,' or rather, to become a spirit of fine essence like shakespeare's ariel, if such things were possible and permissible. how admirably married life agrees with _you_, lady sibyl!" his fine eyes rested upon her with apparent admiration,--she flushed under his gaze i saw, and seemed confused. "when did you arrive in england?" she inquired. "yesterday,"--he answered,--"i ran over channel from honfleur in my yacht,--you did not know i had a yacht, did you tempest?--oh, you must come for a trip in her some day. she is a quick vessel, and the weather was fair." "is amiel with you?" i asked. "no. i left him on board the yacht. i can, as the common people say, 'valet myself' for a day or two." "a day or two?" echoed sibyl--"but you surely will not leave us so soon? you promised to make a long visit here." "did i?" and he regarded her steadily, with the same languorous admiration in his eyes--"but, my dear lady sibyl, time alters our ideas, and i am not sure whether you and your excellent husband are of the same opinion as you were when you started on your wedding-tour. you may not want me now!" he said this with a significance to which i paid no heed whatever. "not want you!" i exclaimed--"i shall always want you lucio,--you are the best friend i ever had, and the only one i care to keep. believe me!--there's my hand upon it!" he looked at me curiously for a minute,--then turned his head towards my wife. "and what does lady sibyl say?" he asked in a gentle, almost caressing tone. "lady sibyl says," she answered with a smile, and the colour coming and going in her cheeks--"that she will be proud and glad if you will consider willowsmere your home as long as you have leisure to make it so,--and that she hopes,--though you are reputed to be a hater of women,--" here she raised her beautiful eyes and fixed them full upon him--"you will relent a little in favour of your present châtelaine!" with these words, and a playful salutation, she passed out of the room into the garden, and stood on the lawn at a little distance from us, her white robes shimmering in the mellow autumnal twilight,--and lucio, springing up from his seat, looked after her, clapping his hand down heavily on my shoulder. "by heaven!" he said softly, "a perfect woman! i should be a churl to withstand her,--or you, my good geoffrey,"--and he regarded me earnestly--"i have led a very devil of a life since i saw you last,--it's time i reformed,--upon my soul it is! the peaceful contemplation of virtuous marriage will do me good!--send for my luggage to the station, geoffrey, and make the best of me,--_i've come to stay!_" xxix a tranquil time now ensued; a time which, though i knew it not, was just that singular pause so frequently observed in nature before a storm, and in human life before a crushing calamity. i put aside all troublesome and harassing thoughts, and became oblivious of everything save my own personal satisfaction in the renewal of the comradeship between myself and lucio. we walked together, rode together, and passed most of our days in each other's company,--nevertheless though i gave my friend much of my closest confidence i never spoke to him of the moral obliquities and perversions i had discovered in sibyl's character,--not out of any consideration for sibyl, but simply because i knew by instinct what his reply would be. he would have no sympathy with my feelings. his keen sense of sarcasm would over-rule his friendship, and he would retort upon me with the question--what business had i, being imperfect myself, to expect perfection in my wife? like many others of my sex i had the notion that i, as man, could do all i pleased, when i pleased and how i pleased; i could sink to a level lower than that of the beasts if i chose,--but all the same i had the right to demand from my wife the most flawless purity to mate with my defilement. i was aware how lucio would treat this form of arrogant egoism,--and with what mocking laughter he would receive any expression of ideas from me on the subject of morality in woman. so i was careful to let no hint of my actual position escape me,--and i comported myself on all occasions to sibyl with special tenderness and consideration, though she, i thought, appeared rather to resent my playing the part of lover-husband too openly. she was herself, in lucio's presence, strangely erratic of humour, by turns brilliant and mournful,--sometimes merry and anon depressed: yet never had she displayed a more captivating grace and charm of manner. how foolish and blind i was all the while!--how dead to any perception of the formation and sequence of events! absorbed in gross material pleasures, i ignored all the hidden forces that make the history of an individual life no less than of a whole nation, and looked upon each day that dawned almost as if it had been my own creation and possession, to waste as i thought fit,--never considering that days are but so many white leaflets from god's chronicle of human life, whereon we place our mark, good or bad, for the just and exact summing-up of our thoughts and deeds here after. had any one dared to say this truth to me then, i should have bade him go and preach nonsense to children,--but _now_,--when i recall those white leaves of days that were unrolled before me fresh and blank with every sunrise, and with which i did nothing save scrawl my own ego in a foul smudge across each one, i tremble, and inwardly pray that i may never be forced to send back my self-written record! yet of what use is it to pray against eternal law? it is eternal law that we shall ourselves count up our own misdeeds at the final reckoning,--hence it is no wonder that many are found who prefer not to believe in a future after death. rightly do such esteem it better to die utterly, than be forced to live again and look back upon the wilful evil they have done! october ripened slowly and almost imperceptibly towards its end, and the trees put on their gorgeous autumnal tints of burning crimson and gold. the weather remained fine and warm, and what the french canadians poetically term the 'summer of all saints' gave us bright days and cloudless moonlit evenings. the air was so mild that we were always able to take our coffee after dinner on the terrace overlooking the lawn in front of the drawing-room,--and it was on one of these balmy nights that i was the interested spectator of a strange scene between lucio and mavis clare,--a scene i should have thought impossible of occurrence had i not myself witnessed it. mavis had dined at willowsmere; she very rarely so honoured us; and there were a few other guests besides. we had lingered over the coffee longer than usual, for mavis had given an extra charm to the conversation by her eloquent vivacity and bright humour, and all present were anxious to hear, see and know as much of the brilliant novelist as possible. but when a full golden moon rose in mellow splendour over the tree-tops, my wife suggested a stroll in the grounds, and everyone agreeing to the proposal with delight, we started,--more or less together,--some in couples, some in groups of three or four. after a little desultory rambling however, the party got separated in the rose-gardens and adjacent shrubberies, and i found myself alone. i turned back to the house to get my cigar-case which i had left on a table in the library, and passing out again in another direction i strolled slowly across the grass, smoking as i went, towards the river, the silver gleam of which could clearly be discerned through the fast-thinning foliage overhanging its banks. i had almost reached the path that followed the course of the winding water, when i was brought to a standstill by the sound of voices--one, a man's, low and persuasive,--the other a woman's, tender, grave and somewhat tremulous. neither voice could be mistaken; i recognized lucio's rich penetrating tones, and the sweet _vibrante_ accents of mavis clare. out of sheer surprise i paused,--had lucio fallen in love, i wondered, half-smiling?--was i about to discover that the supposed 'woman-hater' had been tamed and caught at last? by mavis too!--little mavis, who was not beautiful according to accepted standards, but who had something more than beauty to enravish a proud and unbelieving soul,--here, as my thoughts ran on, i was conscious of a foolish sense of jealousy,--why should he choose mavis, i thought, out of all women in the world? could he not leave her in peace with her dreams, her books and her flowers?--safe under the pure, wise, impassive gaze of pallas athene, whose cool brows were never fevered by a touch of passion? something more than curiosity now impelled me to listen, and i cautiously advanced a step or two towards the shadow of a broad elm where i could see without being seen. yes, there was rimânez,--standing erect with folded arms, his dark, sad, inscrutable eyes fixed on mavis, who stood opposite to him a few paces off, looking at him in her turn with an expression of mingled fascination and fear. "i have asked you mavis clare,"--said lucio slowly--"to let me serve you. you have genius--a rare quality in a woman,--and i would advance your fortunes. i should not be what i am if i did not try to persuade you to let me help on your career. you are not rich,--i could show you how to become so. you have a great fame--that i grant; but you have many enemies and slanderers who are for ever trying to pull you down from the throne you have won. i could bring these to your feet, and make them your slaves. with your intellectual power, your personal grace and gifts of temperament, i could, if you would let me guide you, give you such far-reaching influence as no woman has possessed in this century. i am no boaster,--i can do what i say and more; and i ask nothing from you in return except that you should follow my advice implicitly. my advice, let me tell you is not difficult to follow; most people find it easy!" his expression of face, i thought, was very singular as he spoke,--it was so haggard, dreary and woe-begone that one might have imagined he was making some proposal that was particularly repugnant to him, instead of offering to perform the benevolent action of helping a hard-working literary woman to achieve greater wealth and distinction. i waited expectantly for mavis to reply. "you are very good, prince rimânez," she said, after a little pause--"to take any thought for me at all. i cannot imagine why you should do so; for i am really nothing to you. i have of course heard from mr tempest of your great wealth and influence, and i have no doubt you mean kindly. but i have never owed anything to any one,--no one has ever helped me,--i have helped myself, and still prefer to do so. and really i have nothing to wish for,--except--when the time comes--a happy death. it is true i am not rich,--but then i do not want to be rich. i would not be the possessor of wealth for all the world! to be surrounded with sycophants and flatterers,--never to be able to distinguish false friends from true,--to be loved for what you _have_ and not for what you _are_!--oh no, it would be misery to me. and i have never craved for power,--except perhaps the power to win love. and that i have,--many people love my books, and through my books love me,--i feel their love, though i may never see or know them personally. but i am so conscious of their sympathy that i love them in return without the necessity of personal acquaintance. they have hearts which respond to _my_ heart,--that is all the power i care about." "you forget your numerous enemies!" said lucio, still morosely regarding her. "no, i do not forget them,"--she returned,--"but--i forgive them! they can do me no harm. as long as i do not lower myself, no one else can lower me. if my own conscience is clear, no reproaches can wound. my life is open to all,--people can see how i live, and what i do. i try to do well,--but if there are those who think i do ill, i am sorry,--and if my faults can be amended i shall be glad to amend them. one must have enemies in this world,--that is, if one makes any sort of position,--people without enemies are generally nonentities. all who succeed in winning some little place of independence must expect the grudging enmity of hundreds who cannot find even the smallest foothold, and are therefore failures in the battle of life,--i pity these sincerely, and when they say or write cruel things of me, i know it is only spleen and disappointment that moves both their tongues and pens, and freely pardon them. they cannot hurt or hinder me,--in fact, no one can hurt or hinder me but myself." i heard the trees rustle slightly,--a branch cracked,--and peering through the leaves, i saw that lucio had advanced a step closer to where mavis stood. a faint smile was on his face, softening it wonderfully and giving an almost supernatural light to his beautiful dark features. "fair philosopher, you are almost a feminine marcus aurelius in your estimate of men and things!"--he said; "but--you are still a woman--and there is one thing lacking to your life of sublime and calm contentment--a thing at whose touch philosophy fails, and wisdom withers at its root. love, mavis clare!--lover's love,--devoted love, blindly passionate,--this has not been yours as yet to win! no heart beats against your own,--no tender arms caress you,--you are alone. men are for the most part afraid of you,--being brute fools themselves, they like their women to be brute fools also,--and they grudge you your keen intellect,--your serene independence. yet which is best?--the adoration of a brute fool, or the loneliness pertaining to a spirit aloft on some snowy mountain-peak, with no companions but the stars? think of it!--the years will pass, and you must needs grow old,--and with the years will come that solitary neglect which makes age bitter. now, you will doubtless wonder at my words--yet believe me i speak the truth when i say that i can give you love,--not _my_ love, for i love none,--but i can bring to your feet the proudest men in any country of the world as suitors for your hand. you shall have your choice of them, and your own time for choosing,--and whomsoever you love, him you shall wed, ... why--what is wrong with you that you shrink from me thus?" for she had retreated, and was gazing at him in a kind of horror. "you terrify me!" she faltered,--and as the moonlight fell upon her i could see that she was very pale--"such promises are incredible--impossible! you speak as if you were more than human! i do not understand you, prince rimânez,--you are different to anyone i ever met, and ... and ... something in me stronger than myself warns me against you. what are you?--why do you talk to me so strangely? pardon me if i seem ungrateful ..., oh, let us go in--it is getting quite late i am sure, and i am cold ..." she trembled violently, and caught at the branch of a tree to steady herself,--rimânez stood immovably still, regarding her with a fixed and almost mournful gaze. "you say my life is lonely,"--she went on reluctantly and with a note of pathos in her sweet voice--"and you suggest love and marriage as the only joys that can make a woman happy. you may be right. i do not presume to assert that you are wrong. i have many married women-friends--but i would not change my lot with any one of them. i have dreamed of love,--but because i have not realized my dream i am not the less content. if it is god's will that i should be alone all my days, i shall not murmur, for _my_ solitude is not actual loneliness. work is a good comrade,--then i have books, and flowers and birds--i am never really lonely. and that i shall fully realize my dream of love one day i am sure,--if not here, then hereafter. i can wait!" as she spoke, she looked up to the placid heavens where one or two stars twinkled through the arching boughs,--her face expressed angelic confidence and perfect peace,--and rimânez advancing a step or two, fully confronted her with a strange light of exultation in his eyes. "true,--you can wait, mavis clare!" he said in deep clear tones from which all sadness had fled--"you can afford to wait! tell me,--think for a moment!--can you remember me? is there a time on which you can look back, and looking, see my face, not here but elsewhere? think! did you ever see me long ago--in a far sphere of beauty and light, when you were an angel, mavis,--and i was--not what i am now! how you tremble! you need not fear me,--i would not harm you for a thousand worlds! i talk wildly at times i know;--i think of things that are past,--long long past,--and i am filled with regrets that burn my soul with fiercer heat than fire! and so neither world's wealth, world's power, nor world's love will tempt you, mavis!--and you,--a woman! you are a living miracle then,--as miraculous as the drop of undefiled dew which reflects in its tiny circumference all the colours of the sky, and sinks into the earth sweetly, carrying moisture and refreshment where it falls. i can do nothing for you--you will not have my aid--you reject my service? then as i may not help you, you must help _me_!"--and dropping before her, he reverently took her hand and kissed it--"i ask a very little thing of you,--pray for me! i know you are accustomed to pray, so it will be no trouble to you,--_you_ believe god hears you,--and when i look at you, _i_ believe it too. only a pure woman can make faith possible to man. pray for me then, as one who has fallen from his higher and better self,--who strives, but who may not attain,--who labours under heavy punishment,--who would fain reach heaven, but who by the cursëd will of man, and man alone, is kept in hell! pray for me, mavis clare! promise it!--and so shall you lift me a step nearer the glory i have lost!" i listened, petrified with amazement. could this be lucio?--the mocking, careless, cynical scoffer i knew, as i thought, so well?--was it really he who knelt thus like a repentant sinner, abasing his proud head before a woman? i saw mavis release her hand from his, the while she stood looking down upon him in alarm and bewilderment. presently she spoke in sweet yet tremulous accents-- "since you desire it so earnestly, i promise,"--she said--"i will pray that the strange and bitter sorrow which seems to consume you may be removed from your life----" "sorrow!" he echoed, interrupting her and springing to his feet with an impassioned gesture--"woman,--genius,--angel, whatever you are, do not speak of _one_ sorrow for me! i have a thousand thousand sorrows!--aye a million million, that are as little flames about my heart, and as deeply seated as the centres of the universe! the foul and filthy crimes of men,--the base deceits and cruelties of women,--the ruthless, murderous ingratitude of children,--the scorn of good, the martyrdom of intellect, the selfishness, the avarice, the sensuality of human life, the hideous blasphemy and sin of the creature to the creator--these are _my_ endless sorrows!--these keep me wretched and in chains, when i would fain be free. these create hell around me, and endless torture,--these bind and crush me and pervert my being till i become what i dare not name to myself, or to others. and yet, ... as the eternal god is my witness, ... i do not think i am as bad as the worst man living! i may tempt--but i do not pursue,--i take the lead in many lives, yet i make the way i go so plain that those who follow me do so by their own choice and free will more than by my persuasion!" he paused,--then continued in a softer tone--"you look afraid of me,--but be assured you never had less cause for terror. you have truth and purity--i honour both. you will have none of my advice or assistance in the making of your life's history,--to-night therefore we part, to meet no more on earth. never again, mavis clare!--no, not through all your quiet days of sweet and contented existence will i cross your path,--before heaven i swear it!" "but why?" asked mavis gently, approaching him now as she spoke, with a soft grace of movement, and laying her hand on his arm--"why do you speak with such a passion of self-reproach? what dark cloud is on your mind? surely you have a noble nature,--and i feel that i have wronged you in my thoughts, ... you must forgive me--i have mistrusted you--" "you do well to mistrust me!" he answered, and with these words he caught both her hands and held them in his own, looking at her full in the face with eyes that flashed like jewels, "your instinct teaches you rightly. would there were many more like you to doubt me and repel me! one word,--if, when i am gone, you ever think of me, think that i am more to be pitied than the veriest paralysed and starving wretch that ever crawled on earth,--for he, perchance, has hope--and i have none. and when you pray for me--for i hold you to this promise,--pray for one who dares not pray for himself! you know the words, 'lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil'? to-night you have been led into temptation, though you knew it not, but you have delivered yourself from evil as only a true soul can. and now farewell! in life i shall see you no more:--in death,--well! i have attended many death-beds in response to the invitations of the moribund,--but i shall not be present at yours! perhaps, when your parting spirit is on the verge between darkness and light, you may know who i was, and am!--and you may thank god with your last breath that we parted to-night--as we do now--forever!" he loosened his grasp of her,--she fell back from him pale and terrified,--for there was something now in the dark beauty of his face that was unnatural and appalling. a sombre shadow clouded his brows,--his eyes had gleams in them as of fire,--and a smile was on his lips, half tender, half cruel. his strange expression moved even me to a sense of fear, and i shivered with sudden cold, though the air was warm and balmy. slowly retreating, mavis moved away, looking round at him now and then as she went, in wistful wonder and alarm,--till in a minute or two her slight figure in its shimmering silken white robe, had vanished among the trees. i lingered, hesitating and uncertain what to do,--then finally determining to get back to the house if possible without being noticed, i made one step, when lucio's voice, scarcely raised, addressed me-- "well, eavesdropper! why did you not come out of the shadow of that elm-tree and see the play to a better advantage?" surprised and confused, i advanced, mumbling some unintelligible excuse. "you saw a pretty bit of acting here," he went on, striking a match and lighting a cigar the while he regarded me coolly, his eyes twinkling with their usual mockery--"you know my theory, that all men and all women are purchaseable for gold? well, i wanted to try mavis clare. she rejected all my advantageous offers, as you must have heard, and i could only make matters smooth by asking her to pray for me. that i did this very melodramatically i hope you will admit? a woman of that dreamy idealistic temperament always likes to imagine that there is a man who is grateful for her prayers!" "you seemed very much in earnest about it!" i said, vexed with myself that he had caught me spying. "why, of course!" he responded, thrusting his arm familiarly through mine--"i had an audience! two fastidious critics of dramatic art heard me rant my rantings,--i had to do my best!" "two critics?" i repeated perplexedly. "yes. you on one side,--lady sibyl on the other. lady sibyl rose, after the custom of fashionable beauties at the opera, before the last scene, in order to get home in good time for supper!" he laughed wildly and discordantly, and i felt desperately uncomfortable. "you must be mistaken lucio--" i said--"that _i_ listened i admit,--and it was wrong of me to do so,--but my wife would never condescend ..." "ah, then it must have been a sylph of the woods that glided out of the shadow with a silken train behind her and diamonds in her hair!" he retorted gaily--"tut geoffrey!--don't look so crestfallen. i have done with mavis clare, and she with me. i have not been making love to her,--i have simply, just to amuse myself, tested her character,--and i find it stronger than i thought. the combat is over. she will never go my way,--nor, i fear, shall i ever go hers!" "upon my word, lucio," i said with some irritation--"your disposition seems to grow more and more erratic and singular every day!" "does it not!" he answered with a droll affectation of interested surprise in himself--"i am a curious creature altogether! wealth is mine and i care not a jot for it,--power is mine and i loathe its responsibility;--in fact i would rather be anything but what i am! look at the lights of your 'home, sweet home' geoffrey!" this he said as we emerged from among the trees on to the moonlit lawn, from whence could be seen the shining of the electric lamps in the drawing-room--"lady sibyl is there,--an enchanting and perfect woman, who lives but to welcome you to her embracing arms! fortunate man!--who would not envy you! love!--who would, who could exist without it--save me! who, in europe at least, would forego the delights of kissing,--(which the japanese by-the-by consider a disgusting habit),--without embraces,--and all those other endearments which are supposed to dignify the progress of true love! one never tires of these things,--there is no satiety! i wish i could love somebody!" "so you can, if you like,"--i said, with a little uneasy laugh. "i cannot. it is not in me. you heard me tell mavis clare as much. i have it in my power to make other people fall in love, somewhat after the dexterous fashion practised by match-making mothers,--but for myself, love on this planet is too low a thing--too brief in duration. last night, in a dream,--i have strange dreams at times,--i saw one whom possibly i could love,--but she was a spirit, with eyes more lustrous than the morning, and a form as transparent as flame;--she could sing sweetly, and i watched her soaring upward, and listened to her song. it was a wild song, and to many mortal ears meaningless,--it was something like this ..." and his rich baritone pealed lusciously forth in melodious tune-- into the light, into the heart of the fire! to the innermost core of the deathless flame i ascend,--i aspire! under me rolls the whirling earth with the noise of a myriad wheels that run ever round and about the sun,-- over me circles the splendid heaven strewn with the stars of morn and even, and i a queen of the air serene, float with my flag-like wings unfurled, alone--alone--'twixt god and the world! here he broke off with a laugh. "she was a strange spirit,"--he said--"because she could see nothing but herself ''twixt god and the world.' she was evidently quite unaware of the numerous existing barriers put up by mankind between themselves and their maker. i wonder what unenlightened sphere she came from!" i looked at him in mingled wonder and impatience. "you talk wildly,"--i said--"and you sing wildly. of things that mean nothing, and _are_ nothing." he smiled, lifting his eyes to the moon, now shining her fullest and brightest. "true!" he replied--"things which have meaning and are valuable, have all to do with money or appetite, geoffrey! there is no wider outlook evidently! but we were speaking of love, and i hold that love should be eternal as hate. here you have the substance of my religious creed if i have any,--that there are two spiritual forces ruling the universe--love and hate,--and that their incessant quarrel creates the general confusion of life. both contend one against the other,--and only at judgment-day will it be proved which is the strongest. i am on the side of hate myself,--for at present hate has scored all the victories worth winning, while love has been so often martyred that there is only the poor ghost of it left on earth." at that moment my wife's figure appeared at the drawing-room window, and lucio threw away his half-smoked cigar. "your guardian-angel beckons!" he said, looking at me an odd expression of something like pity mingled with disdain,--"let us go in." xxx the very next night but one after lucio's strange interview with mavis clare, the thunderbolt destined to wreck my life and humiliate me to the dust, fell with appalling suddenness. no warning given!--it came at a moment when i had dared to deem myself happy. all that day,--the last day i was ever to know of pride or self-gratulation,--i had enjoyed life to the full; it was a day too in which sibyl had seemed transformed to a sweeter, gentler woman than i had hitherto known her,--when all her attractions of beauty and manner were apparently put forth to captivate and enthrall me as though she were yet to be wooed and won. or,--did she mean to bewitch and subjugate lucio? of this i never thought,--never dreamed:--i only saw in my wife an enchantress of the most voluptuous and delicate loveliness,--a woman whose very garments seemed to cling to her tenderly as though proud of clothing so exquisite a form,--a creature whose every glance was brilliant, whose every smile was a ravishment,--and whose voice, attuned to the softest and most caressing tones appeared in its every utterance to assure me of a deeper and more lasting love than i had yet enjoyed. the hours flew by on golden wings,--we all three,--sibyl, myself and lucio,--had attained, as i imagined, to a perfect unity of friendship and mutual understanding,--we had passed that last day together in the outlying woods of willowsmere, under a gorgeous canopy of autumn leaves, through which the sun shed mellow beams of rose and gold,--we had had an _al fresco_ luncheon in the open air,--lucio had sung for us wild old ballads and love-madrigals till the very foliage had seemed to tremble with joy at the sound of such entrancing melody,--and not a cloud had marred the perfect peace and pleasure of the time. mavis clare was not with us,--and i was glad. somehow i felt that of late she had been more or less a discordant element whenever she had joined our party. i admired her,--in a sort of fraternal half-patronizing way i even loved her,--nevertheless i was conscious that her ways were not as our ways,--her thoughts not as our thoughts. i placed the fault on her of course; i concluded that it was because she had what i elected to call 'literary egoism,' instead of by its rightful name, the spirit of honourable independence. i never considered the inflated quality of my own egoism,--the poor pride of a 'cash and county' position, which is the pettiest sort of vain-glory anyone can indulge in,--and after turning the matter over in my mind, i decided that mavis was a very charming young woman with great literary gifts, and an amazing pride, which made it totally impossible for her to associate with many 'great' people, so-called,--as she would never descend to the necessary level of flunkeyish servility which they expected, and which _i_ certainly demanded. i should almost have been inclined to relegate her to 'grub street,' had not a faint sense of justice as well as shame held me back from doing her that indignity even in my thoughts. however i was too much impressed with my own vast resources of unlimited wealth, to realize the fact that anyone who, like mavis, earns independence by intellectual work and worth alone, is entitled to feel a far greater pride than those who by mere chance of birth or heritage become the possessors of millions. then again, mavis clare's literary position was, though i liked her personally, always a kind of reproach to me when i thought of my own abortive efforts to win the laurels of fame. so that on the whole i was glad she did not spend that day with us in the woods;--of course, if i had paid any attention to the "trifles which make up the sum of life" i should have remembered that lucio had told her he would "meet her no more on earth,"--but i judged this to be a mere trifle of hasty and melodramatic speech, without any intentional meaning. so my last twenty-four hours of happiness passed away in halcyon serenity,--i felt a sense of deepening pleasure in existence, and i began to believe that the future had brighter things in store for me than i had lately ventured to expect. sibyl's new phase of gentleness and tenderness towards me, combined with her rare beauty, seemed to augur that the misunderstandings between us would be of short duration, and that her nature, too early rendered harsh and cynical by a 'society' education would soften in time to that beautiful womanliness which is, after all, woman's best charm. thus i thought, in blissful and contented reverie, reclining under the branching autumnal foliage, with my fair wife beside me, and listening to the rich tones of my friend lucio's magnificent voice pealing forth sonorous, wild melodies, as the sunset deepened in the sky and the twilight shadows fell. then came the night--the night which dropped only for a few hours over the quiet landscape, but for ever over me! we had dined late, and, pleasantly fatigued with our day in the open air, had retired early. i had latterly grown a heavy sleeper, and i suppose i must have slumbered some hours, when i was awakened suddenly as though by an imperative touch from some unseen hand. i started up in my bed,--the night-lamp was burning dimly, and by its glimmer i saw that sibyl was no longer at my side. my heart gave one bound against my ribs and then almost stood still--a sense of something unexpected and calamitous chilled my blood. i pushed aside the embroidered silken hangings of the bed and peered into the room,--it was empty. then i rose hastily, put on my clothes and went to the door,--it was carefully shut, but not locked as it had been when we retired for the night. i opened it without the least noise, and looked out into the long passage,--no one there! immediately opposite the bedroom door there was a winding oak staircase leading down to a broad corridor, which in former times had been used as a music-room or picture-gallery,--an ancient organ, still sweet of tone, occupied one end of it with dull golden pipes towering up to the carved and embossed ceiling,--the other end was lit by a large oriel window like that of a church, filled with rare old stained glass, representing in various niches the lives of the saints, the centre subject being the martyrdom of st stephen. advancing with soft caution to the balustrade overlooking this gallery, i gazed down into it, and for a moment could see nothing on the polished floor but the criss-cross patterns made by the moonlight falling through the great window,--but presently, as i watched breathlessly, wondering where sibyl could have gone to at this time of night, i saw a dark tall shadow waver across the moonlit network of lines, and i heard the smothered sound of voices. with my pulses beating furiously, and a sensation of suffocation in my throat,--full of strange thoughts and suspicions which i dared not define, i crept slowly and stealthily down the stair, till as my foot touched the last step i saw--what nearly struck me to the ground with a shock of agony--and i had to draw back and bite my lips hard to repress the cry that nearly escaped them. there,--there before me in the full moonlight, with the colours of the red and blue robes of the painted saints on the window glowing blood-like and azure about her, knelt my wife,--arrayed in a diaphanous garment of filmy white which betrayed rather than concealed the outline of her form,--her wealth of hair falling about her in wild disorder,--her hands clasped in supplication,--her pale face upturned; and above her towered the dark imposing figure of lucio! i stared at the twain with dry burning eyes,--what did this portend? was she--my wife--false? was he--my friend--a traitor? "patience----patience!----" i muttered to myself--"this is a piece of acting doubtless----such as chanced the other night with mavis clare!----patience!----let us hear this----this comedy!" and, drawing myself close up against the wall, i leaned there, scarcely drawing breath, waiting for _her_ voice,--for _his_;--when they spoke i should know,----yes, i should know all! and i fastened my looks on them as they stood there,--vaguely wondering even in my tense anguish, at the fearful light on lucio's face,--a light which could scarcely be the reflection of the moon, as he backed the window,--and at the scorn of his frowning brows. what terrific humour swayed him?--why did he, even to my stupefied thought appear more than human?--why did his very beauty seem hideous at that moment, and his aspect fiendish? hush--hush! _she_ spoke,--my wife,--i heard her every word--heard all and endured all, without falling dead at her feet in the extremity of my dishonour and despair! "i love you!" she wailed--"lucio, i love you, and my love is killing me! be merciful!--have pity on my passion!--love me for one hour, one little hour!--it is not much to ask, and afterwards,--do with me what you will,--torture me, brand me an outcast in the public sight, curse me before heaven--i care nothing--i am yours body and soul--i love you!" her accents vibrated with mad idolatrous pleading,--i listened infuriated, but dumb. "hush,--hush!" i told myself "this is a comedy--not yet played out!" and i waited, with every nerve strained, for lucio's reply. it came, accompanied by a laugh, low and sarcastic. "you flatter me!" he said--"i regret i am unable to return the compliment!" my heart gave a throb of relief and fierce joy,--almost i could have joined in his ironical laughter. she--sibyl--dragged herself nearer to him. "lucio--lucio!" she murmured--"have you a heart? can you reject me when i pray to you thus?--when i offer you all myself,--all that i am, or ever hope to be? am i so repugnant to you? many men would give their lives if i would say to them what i say to you,--but they are nothing to me--you alone are my world,--the breath of my existence!--ah, lucio, can you not believe, will you not realize how deeply i love you!" he turned towards her with a sudden fierce movement that startled me,--and the cloud of scorn upon his brows grew darker. "i know you love me!" he said, and from where i stood i saw the cold derisive smile flash from his lips to his eyes in lightning-like mockery--"i have always known it! your vampire soul leaped to mine at the first glance i ever gave you,--you were a false foul thing from the first, and you recognized your master! yes--your master!" for she had uttered a faint cry as if in fear,--and he, stooping, snatched her two hands and grasped them hard in his own--"listen to the truth of yourself for once from one who is not afraid to speak it!--you love me,--and truly your body and soul are mine to claim, if i so choose! you married with a lie upon your lips; you swore fidelity to your husband before god, with infidelity already in your thoughts, and by your own act made the mystical blessing a blasphemy and a curse! wonder not then that the curse has fallen! i knew it all!--the kiss i gave you on your wedding-day put fire in your blood and sealed you mine!--why, you would have fled to me that very night, had i demanded it,--had i loved you as you love me,--that is, if you choose to call the disease of vanity and desire that riots in your veins, by such a name as love! but now hear _me_!" and as he held her two wrists he looked down upon her with such black wrath depicted in his face as seemed to create a darkness round him where he stood,--"i hate you! yes--i hate you, and all such women as you! for you corrupt the world,--you turn good to evil,--you deepen folly into crime,--with the seduction of your nude limbs and lying eyes, you make fools, cowards and beasts of men! when you die, your bodies generate foulness,--things of the mould and slime are formed out of the flesh that was once fair for man's delight,--you are no use in life--you become poison in death,--i hate you all! i read your soul--it is an open book to me--and it is branded with a name given to those who are publicly vile, but which should, of strict right and justice, be equally bestowed on women of your position and type, who occupy pride and place in this world's standing, and who have not the excuse of poverty for selling themselves to the devil!" he ceased abruptly and with passion, making a movement as though to fling her from him,--but she clung to his arm,--clung with all the pertinacity of the loathly insect he had taken from the bosom of the dead egyptian woman and made a toy of to amuse his leisure! and i, looking on and listening, honoured him for his plain speaking, for his courage in telling this shameless creature what she was in the opinion of an honest man, without glozing over her outrageous conduct for the sake of civility or social observance. my friend,--my more than friend! he was true,--he was loyal--he had neither desire nor intent to betray or dishonour me. my heart swelled with gratitude to him, and also with a curious sense of feeble self-pity,--compassionating myself intensely, i could have sobbed aloud in nervous fury and pain, had not my desire to hear more, repressed my personal excitement and emotion. i watched my wife wonderingly--what had become of her pride that she still knelt before the man who had taunted her with such words as should have been beyond all endurance? "lucio! ... lucio!" she whispered, and her whisper sounded through the long gallery like the hiss of a snake--"say what you will--say all you will of me,--you can say nothing that is not true. i am vile--i own it. but is it of much avail to be virtuous? what pleasure comes from goodness?--what gratification from self-denial? there is no god to care! a few years, and we all die, and are forgotten even by those who loved us,--why should we lose such joys as we may have for the mere asking? surely it is not difficult to love even me for an hour?--am i not fair to look upon?--and is all this beauty of my face and form worthless in your sight, and you no more than man? murder me as you may with all the cruelty of cruel words, i care nothing!--i love you--love you!"--and in a perfect passion of self-abandonment she sprang to her feet, tossing back her rich hair over her shoulders, and stood erect, a very bacchante of wild loveliness--"look at me! you shall not,--you dare not spurn such a love as mine!" dead silence followed her outburst,--and i stared in fascinated awe at lucio as he turned more fully round and confronted her. the expression of his countenance struck me then as quite unearthly,--his beautiful broad brows were knitted in a darkling line of menace,--his eyes literally blazed with scorn, and yet he laughed,--a low laugh, resonant with satire. "shall not!--dare not!" he echoed disdainfully--"woman's words,--woman's ranting!--the shriek of the outraged feminine animal who fails to attract, as she thinks, her chosen mate. such a love as yours!--what is it? degradation to whosoever shall accept it,--shame to whosoever shall rely upon it! you make a boast of your beauty; your mirror shows you a pleasing image,--but your mirror lies!--as admirably as you do! you see within it not the reflection of yourself, for that would cause you to recoil in horror, ... you merely look upon your fleshly covering, a garment of tissues, shrinkable, perishable, and only fit to mingle with the dust from which it sprang. your beauty! i see none of it,--i see you! and to me you are hideous, and will remain hideous for ever. i hate you!--i hate you with the bitterness of an immeasurable and unforgiving hatred,--for you have done me a wrong,--you have wrought an injury upon me,--you have added another burden to the load of punishment i carry!" she made a forward movement with outstretched arms,--he repulsed her by a fierce gesture. "stand back!" he said--"be afraid of me, as of an unknown terror! o pitiless heaven!--to think of it!--but a night ago i was lifted a step nearer to my lost delight!--and now this woman drags me back, and down!--and yet again i hear the barring of the gates of paradise! o infinite torture! o wicked souls of men and women!--is there no touch of grace or thought of god left in you!--and will ye make my sorrows eternal!" he stood, lifting his face to the light where it streamed through the oriel window, and the moonbeams colouring themselves faintly roseate as they filtered through the painted garments of st stephen, showed a great and terrible anguish in his eyes. i heard him with amazement and awe,--i could not imagine what he meant by his strange words,--and it was evident by her expression, that my reckless and abandoned wife was equally mystified. "lucio,"--she murmured--"lucio, ... what is it ... what have i done?--i who would not wound you for the world?--i who but seek your love, lucio, to repay it in full with such fond passion and tenderness as you have never known! for this and this only, i married geoffrey,--i chose your friend as husband because he was your friend!" (o perfidious woman!) "and because i saw his foolish egotism--his pride in himself and his riches,--his blind confidence in me and in you;--i knew that i could, after a time, follow the fashion of many another woman in my set and choose my lover,--ah, my lover!--i had chosen him already,--i have chosen you, lucio!--yes, though you hate me you cannot hinder me from loving you,--i shall love you till i die!" he turned his gaze upon her steadily,--the gloom deepening on his brows. "and after you die?" he said--"will you love me then?" there was a stern derision in his tone which appeared to vaguely terrify her. "after death! ..." she stammered. "yes,--after death!" he repeated sombrely--"there _is_ an after;--as your mother knows!" a faint exclamation escaped her,--she fixed her eyes upon him affrightedly. "fair lady," he went on--"your mother was, like yourself, a voluptuary. she, like you, made up her mind to 'follow the fashion' as you put it, as soon as her husband's 'blind' or willing confidence was gained. she chose, not one lover but many. you know her end. in the written but miscomprehended laws of nature, a diseased body is the natural expression of a diseased mind,--her face in her last days was the reflex of her soul. you shudder?--the thought of her hideousness is repellent to your self-conscious beauty? yet the evil that was in her is also in you,--it festers in your blood slowly but surely, and as you have no faith in god to cure the disease, it will have its way--even at the final moment when death clutches at your throat and stops your breathing. the smile upon your frozen lips then will not be the smile of a saint, believe me, but of a sinner! death is never deceived, though life may be. and afterwards ... i ask again, will you love me, do you think? ... when you know who i am?" i was myself startled at his manner of putting this strange question;--i saw her lift her hands beseechingly towards him, and she seemed to tremble. "when i know who you are!" she repeated wonderingly--"do i not know? you are lucio,--lucio rimânez--my love,--my love!--whose voice is my music,--whose beauty i adore,--whose looks are my heaven" ... "and hell!" he interposed, with a low laugh--"come here!" she went towards him eagerly, yet falteringly. he pointed to the ground,--i saw the rare blue diamond he always wore on his right hand, flash like a flame in the moonrays. "since you love me so well,"--he said--"kneel down and worship me!" she dropped on her knees--and clasped her hands,--i strove to move,--to speak,--but some resistless force held me dumb and motionless;--the light from the stained glass window fell upon her face, and showed its fairness illumined by a smile of perfect rapture. "with every pulse of my being i worship you!" she murmured passionately--"my king!--my god! the cruel things you say but deepen my love for you,--you can kill, but you can never change me! for one kiss of your lips i would die,--for one embrace from you i would give my soul! ..." "have you one to give?" he asked derisively--"is it not already disposed of? you should make sure of that first! stay where you are and let me look at you! so!--a woman, wearing a husband's name, holding a husband's honour, clothed in the very garments purchased with a husband's money, and newly risen from a husband's side, steals forth thus in the night, seeking to disgrace him and pollute herself by the vulgarest unchastity! and this is all that the culture and training of nineteenth-century civilization can do for you? myself, i prefer the barbaric fashion of old times, when rough savages fought for their women as they fought for their cattle, treated them as cattle, and kept them in their place, never dreaming of endowing them with such strong virtues as truth and honour! if women were pure and true, then the lost happiness of the world might return to it,--but the majority of them are like you, liars, ever pretending to be what they are not. i may do what i choose with you, you say? torture you, kill you, brand you with the name of outcast in the public sight, and curse you before heaven--if i will only love you!--all this is melodramatic speech, and i never cared for melodrama at any time. i shall neither kill you, brand you, curse you, nor love you;--i shall simply--call your husband!" i stirred from my hiding-place,--then stopped. she sprang to her feet in an insensate passion of anger and shame. "you dare not!" she panted--"you dare not so ... disgrace me!" "disgrace you!" he echoed scornfully--"that remark comes rather late, seeing you have disgraced yourself!" but she was now fairly roused. all the savagery and obstinacy of her nature was awakened, and she stood like some beautiful wild animal at bay, trembling from head to foot with the violence of her emotions. "you repulse me,--you scorn me!" she muttered in hurried fierce accents that scarcely rose above an angry whisper--"you make a mockery of my heart's anguish and despair, but you shall suffer for it! i am your match,--nay your equal! you shall not spurn me a second time! you ask, will i love you when i know who you are,--it is your pleasure to deal in mysteries, but i have no mysteries--i am a woman who loves you with all the passion of a life,--and i will murder myself and you, rather than live to know that i have prayed you for your love in vain. do you think i came unprepared?--no!" and she suddenly drew from her bosom a short steel dagger with a jewelled hilt, a _curio_ i recognized as one of the gifts to her on her marriage; "love me, i say!--or i will stab myself dead here at your feet, and cry out to geoffrey that you have murdered me!" she raised the weapon aloft,--i almost sprang forward--but i drew back again quickly as i saw lucio seize the hand that held the dagger and drag it firmly down,--while, wresting the weapon from her clutch he snapped it asunder and flung the pieces on the floor. "your place was the stage, madam!" he said--"you should have been the chief female mime at some 'high-class' theatre! you would have adorned the boards, drawn the mob, had as many lovers, stagey and private as you pleased, been invited to act at windsor, obtained a payment-jewel from the queen, and written your name in her autograph album. that should undoubtedly have been your 'great' career--you were born for it--made for it! you would have been as brute-souled as you are now,--but that would not have mattered,--mimes are exempt from chastity!" in the action of breaking the dagger, and in the intense bitterness of his speech he had thrust her back a few paces from him, and she stood breathless and white with rage, eyeing him in mingled passion and terror. for a moment she was silent,--then advancing slowly with the feline suppleness of movement which had given her a reputation for grace exceeding that of any woman in england, she said in deliberately measured accents-- "lucio rimânez, i have borne your insults as i would bear my death at your hands, because i love you. you loathe me, you say--you repulse me,--i love you still! you cannot cast me off--i am yours! you shall love me, or i will die,--one of the two. take time for thought,--i leave you to-night,--i give you all to-morrow to consider,--love me,--give me yourself,--be my lover,--and i will play the comedy of social life as well as any other woman,--so well that my husband shall never know. but refuse me again as you have refused me now, and i will make away with myself. i am not 'acting,'--i am speaking calmly and with conviction; i mean what i say!" "do you?" queried lucio coldly--"let me congratulate you! few women attain to such coherence!" "i will put an end to this life of mine;" she went on, paying no sort of heed to his words--"i cannot endure existence without your love, lucio!" and a dreary pathos vibrated in her voice--"i hunger for the kisses of your lips,--the clasp of your arms! do you know--do you ever think of your own power?--the cruel, terrible power of your eyes, your speech, your smile,--the beauty which makes you more like an angel than a man,--and have you no pity? do you think that ever a man was born like you?" he looked at her as she said this, and a faint smile rested on his lips--"when you speak, i hear music--when you sing, it seems to me that i understand what the melodies of a poet's heaven must be;--surely, surely you know that your very looks are a snare to the warm weak soul of a woman! lucio!--" and emboldened by his silence, she stole nearer to him--"meet me to-morrow in the lane near the cottage of mavis clare...." he started as if he had been stung--but not a word escaped him. "i heard all you said to her the other night;" she continued, advancing yet a step closer to his side--"i followed you,--and i listened. i was well-nigh mad with jealousy--i thought--i feared--you loved her,--but i was wrong. i never do thank god for anything,--but i thanked god that night that i was wrong! she was not made for you--i am! meet me outside her house, where the great white rose-tree is in bloom--gather one,--one of those little autumnal roses and give it to me--i shall understand it as a signal--a signal that i may come to you to-morrow night and not be cursed or repulsed, but loved,--loved!--ah lucio! promise me!--one little rose!--the symbol of an hour's love!--then let me die; i shall have had all i ask of life!" with a sudden swift movement, she flung herself upon his breast, and circling her arms about his neck, lifted her face to his. the moonbeams showed me her eyes alit with rapture, her lips trembling with passion, her bosom heaving, ... the blood surged up to my brain, and a red mist swam before my sight, ... would lucio yield? not he!--he loosened her desperate hands from about his throat, and forced her back, holding her at arm's length. "woman, false and accurséd!" he said in tones that were sonorous and terrific--"you know not what you seek! all that you ask of life shall be yours in death!--this is the law,--therefore beware what demands you make lest they be too fully granted! a rose from the cottage of mavis clare?--a rose from the garden of eden!--they are one and the same to me! not for my gathering or yours! love and joy? for the unfaithful there is no love,--for the impure there is no joy. add no more to the measure of my hatred and vengeance!--go while there is yet time,--go and front the destiny you have made for yourself--for nothing can alter it! and as for me, whom you love,--before whom you have knelt in idolatrous worship--" and a low fierce laugh escaped him--"why,--restrain your feverish desires, fair fiend!--have patience!--we shall meet ere long!" i could not bear the scene another moment, and springing from my hiding-place, i dragged my wife away from him and flung myself between them. "let me defend you, lucio, from the pertinacities of this wanton!" i cried with a wild burst of laughter--"an hour ago i thought she was my wife,--i find her nothing but a purchased chattel, who seeks a change of masters!" xxxi for one instant we all three stood facing each other,--i breathless and mad with fury,--lucio calm and disdainful,--my wife staggering back from me, half-swooning with fear. in an access of black rage, i rushed upon her and seized her in my arms. "i have heard you!" i said--"i have seen you! i have watched you kneel before my true friend, my loyal comrade there, and try your best to make him as vile as yourself! i am that poor fool, your husband,--that blind egoist whose confidence you sought to win--and to betray! i am the unhappy wretch whose surplus of world's cash has bought for him in marriage a shameless courtezan! you dare to talk of love? you profane its very name! good god!--what are such women as you made of? you throw yourselves into our arms,--you demand our care--you exact our respect--you tempt our senses--you win our hearts,--and then you make fools of us all! fools, and worse than fools,--you make us men without feeling, conscience, faith, or pity! if we become criminals, what wonder! if we do things that shame our sex, is it not because you set us the example? god--god! i, who loved you,--yes, loved you in spite of all that my marriage with you taught me,--i, who would have died to save you from a shadow of suspicion,--i am the one out of all the world you choose to murder by your treachery!" i loosened my grasp of her,--she recovered her self-possession by an effort, and looked at me straightly with cold unfeeling eyes. "what did you marry me for?" she demanded--"for my sake or your own?" i was silent,--too choked with wrath and pain to speak. all i could do was to hold out my hand to lucio, who grasped it with a cordial and sympathetic pressure. yet ... i fancied he smiled! "was it because you desired to make me happy out of pure love for me?" pursued sibyl--"or because you wished to add dignity to your own position by wedding the daughter of an earl? your motives were not unselfish,--you chose me simply because i was the 'beauty' of the day whom london men stared at and talked of,--and because it gave you a certain 'prestige' to have me for your wife, in the same way as it gave you a footing with royalty to be the owner of the derby-winner. i told you honestly what i was before our marriage,--it made no effect upon your vanity and egoism. i never loved you,--i could not love you, and i told you so. you have heard, so you say, all that has passed between me and lucio,--therefore you know why i married you. i state it boldly to your face,--it was that i might have your intimate friend for my lover. that you should pretend to be scandalized at this is absurd; it is a common position of things in france, and is becoming equally common in england. morality has always been declared unnecessary for men,--it is becoming equally unnecessary for women!" i stared at her, amazed at the glibness of her speech, and the cool convincing manner in which she spoke, after her recent access of passion and excitement. "you have only to read the 'new' fiction,"--she went on, a mocking smile lighting up her pale face, "and indeed all 'new' literature generally, to be assured that your ideas of domestic virtue are quite out of date. both men and women are, according to certain accepted writers of the day, at equal liberty to love when they will, and where they may. polygamous purity is the 'new' creed! such love, in fact, so we are taught, constitutes the only 'sacred' union. if you want to alter this 'movement,' and return to the old-fashioned types of the modest maiden and the immaculate matron, you must sentence all the 'new' writers of profitable pruriency to penal servitude for life, and institute a government censorship of the modern press. as matters stand, your attitude of the outraged husband is not only ridiculous,--it is unfashionable. i assure you i do not feel the slightest prick of conscience in saying i love lucio,--any woman might be proud of loving him;--he, however, will not, or cannot love me,--we have had a 'scene,' and you have completed the dramatic effect by witnessing it,--there is no more to be said or done in the affair. i do not suppose you can divorce me,--but if you can, you may--i shall make no defence." she turned, as if to go;--i still stared dumbly at her, finding no words to cope with her effrontery,--when lucio's voice, attuned to a grave and soothing suavity, interposed,-- "this is a very painful and distressing state of things,"--he said, and the strange half-cynical, half contemptuous smile still rested on his lips--"but i must positively protest against the idea of divorce, not only for her ladyship's sake, but my own. i am entirely innocent in the matter!" "innocent!" i exclaimed, grasping him again by the hand; "you are nobility itself, lucio!--as loyal a friend as ever man had! i thank you for your courage,--for the plain and honest manner in which you have spoken. i heard all you said! nothing was too strong,--nothing could be too strong to awaken this misguided woman to a sense of her outrageous conduct,--her unfaithfulness----" "pardon me!" he interrupted delicately--"the lady sibyl can scarcely be called unfaithful, geoffrey. she suffers,----from----let us call it, a little exaltation of nerves! in thought she may be guilty of infidelity, but society does not know that,--and in act she is pure,--pure as the newly-driven snow,--and as the newly-driven snow, will society, itself immaculate, regard her!" his eyes glittered,--i met his chill derisive glance. "you think as i do, lucio!" i said hoarsely--"you feel with me, that a wife's unchaste thought is as vile as her unchaste act. there is no excuse,--no palliative for such cruel and abominable ingratitude. why,"--and my voice rose unconsciously as i turned fiercely again towards sibyl--"did i not free you and your family from the heavy pressure of poverty and debt? have i grudged you anything? are you not loaded with jewels?--have you not greater luxuries and liberties than a queen? and do you not owe me at least some duty?" "i owe you nothing!" she responded boldly--"i gave you what you paid for,--my beauty and my social position. it was a fair bargain!" "a dear and bitter one!" i cried. "maybe so. but such as it was, you struck it,--not i. you can end it when you please,--the law ..." "the law will give you no freedom in such a case,"--interposed lucio with a kind of satirical urbanity--"a judicial separation on the ground of incompatibility of temper might be possible certainly--but would not that be a pity? her ladyship is unfortunate in her tastes,--that is all!--she selected me as her _cavaliere servente_, and i refused the situation,--hence there is nothing for it but to forget this unpleasant incident, and try to live on a better understanding for the future----" "do you think"--said my wife, advancing with her proud head uplifted in scorn, the while she pointed at me--"do you think i will live with him after what he has seen and heard to-night? what do you take me for?" "for a very charming woman of hasty impulses and unwise reasoning,"--replied lucio, with an air of sarcastic gallantry--"lady sibyl, you are illogical,--most of your sex are. you can do no good by prolonging this scene,--a most unpleasant and trying one to us poor men. you know how we hate 'scenes'! let me beg of you to retire! your duty is to your husband; pray heaven he may forget this midnight delirium of yours, and set it down to some strange illness rather than to any evil intention." for all answer she came towards him, stretching out her arms in wild appeal. "lucio!" she cried--"lucio, my love! good-night!--good-bye!" i sprang between him and her advancing form. "before my very face!" i exclaimed--"o infamous woman! have you no shame?" "none!" she said, with a wild smile--"i glory in my love for such a king of worth and beauty! look at him!--and then look at yourself in the nearest mirror that reflects so poor and mean a picture of a man! how, even in your egoism, could you deem it possible for a woman to love _you_ when _he_ was near! stand out of the light!--you interpose a shadow between my god and me!" as she uttered these mad words, her aspect was so strange and unearthly, that out of sheer stupefied wonder, i mechanically did as she bade me, and stood aside. she regarded me fixedly. "i may as well say good-bye to you also,"--she observed--"for i shall never live with you again." "nor i with you!" i said fiercely. "nor i with you--nor i with you!" she repeated like a child saying a lesson--"of course not!--if i do not live with you, you cannot live with me!" she laughed discordantly; then turned her beseeching gaze once more upon lucio--"good-bye!" she said. he looked at her with a curious fixity, but returned no word in answer. his eyes flashed coldly in the moonlight like sharp steel, and he smiled. she regarded him with such passionate intentness that it seemed as though she sought to draw his very soul into herself by the magnetism of her glance,--but he stood unmoved, a very statue of fine disdain and intellectual self-repression. my scarcely controlled fury broke out again at the sight of her dumb yearning, and i gave vent to a shout of scornful laughter. "by heaven, a veritable new venus and reluctant adonis!" i cried deliriously--"a poet should be here to immortalize so touching a scene! go--go!"--and i motioned her away with a furious gesture--"go, if you do not want me to murder you! go, with the proud consciousness that you have worked all the mischief and ruin that is most dear to the heart of a woman,--you have spoilt a life and dishonoured a name,--you can do no more,--your feminine triumph is complete! go!--would to god i might never see your face again!--would to god i had been spared the misery of having married you!" she paid no attention whatever to my words, but kept her eyes fixed on lucio. retreating slowly, she seemed to feel rather than see her way to the winding stair, and there, turning, she began to ascend. half way up she paused--looked back and fully confronted us once more,--with a wild wicked rapture on her face she kissed her hands to lucio, smiling like a spectral woman in a dream,--then she went onward and upward step by step, till the last white fold of her robe had vanished,--and we two,--my friend and i,--were alone. facing one another we stood, silently,--i met his sombre eyes and thought i read an infinite compassion in them!--then,--while i yet looked upon him, something seemed to clutch my throat and stop my breathing,--his dark and beautiful countenance appeared to me to grow suddenly lurid as with fire,--a coronal of flame seemed to tremble above his brows,--the moonlight glistened blood-red!--a noise was in my ears of mingled thunder and music as though the silent organ at the end of the gallery were played by hands invisible;--struggling against these delusive sensations, i involuntarily stretched out my hands ... "lucio! ..." i gasped--"lucio ... my friend! i think, ... i am, ... dying! my heart is broken!" as i spoke, a great blackness closed over me,--and i fell senseless. xxxii oh, the blessedness of absolute unconsciousness! it is enough to make one wish that death were indeed annihilation! utter oblivion,--complete destruction,--surely this would be a greater mercy to the erring soul of man than the terrible god's-gift of immortality,--the dazzling impress of that divine 'image' of the creator in which we are all made, and which we can never obliterate from our beings. i, who have realized to the full the unalterable truth of eternal life,--eternal regeneration for each individual spirit in each individual human creature,--look upon the endless futures through which i am compelled to take my part with something more like horror than gratitude. for i have wasted my time and thrown away priceless opportunities,--and though repentance may retrieve these, the work of retrieval is long and bitter. it is easier to lose a glory than to win it; and if i could have died the death that positivists hope for at the very moment when i learned the full measure of my heart's desolation, surely it would have been well! but my temporary swoon was only too brief,--and when i recovered i found myself in lucio's own apartment, one of the largest and most sumptuously furnished of all the guest-chambers at willowsmere,--the windows were wide open, and the floor was flooded with moonlight. as i shuddered coldly back to life and consciousness, i heard a tinkling sound of tune, and opening my eyes wearily i saw lucio himself seated in the full radiance of the moon with a mandoline on his knee from which he was softly striking delicate impromptu melodies. i was amazed at this,--astounded that while i personally was overwhelmed with a weight of woe, _he_ should still be capable of amusing himself. it is a common idea with us all that when we ourselves are put out, no one else should dare to be merry,--in fact we expect nature itself to wear a miserable face if our own beloved ego is disturbed by any trouble,--such is the extent of our ridiculous self-consciousness. i moved in my chair and half rose from it,--when lucio, still thrumming the strings of his instrument _piano pianissimo_, said-- "keep still, geoffrey! you'll be all right in a few minutes. don't worry yourself." "worry myself!" i echoed bitterly--"why not say don't kill yourself!" "because i see no necessity to offer you that advice at present--" he responded coolly--"and if there were necessity, i doubt if i should give it,--because i consider it better to kill one's self than worry one's self. however opinions differ. i want you to take this matter lightly." "lightly!--take my own dishonour and disgrace lightly!" i exclaimed, almost leaping from my chair--"you ask too much!" "my good fellow, i ask no more than is asked and expected of a hundred 'society' husbands to-day. consider!--your wife has been led away from her soberer judgment and reasoning by an exalted and hysterical passion for me on account of my looks,--not for myself at all--because she really does not know _me_,--she only sees me as i appear to be. the love of handsome exterior personalities is a common delusion of the fair sex--and passes in time like other women's diseases. no actual dishonour or disgrace attaches to her or to you,--nothing has been seen, heard, or done, _in public_. this being so, i can't understand what you are making a fuss about. the great object of social life, you know, is to hide all savage passions and domestic differences from the gaze of the vulgar crowd. you can be as bad as you like in private--only god sees--and that does not matter!" his eyes had a mocking lustre in them,--twanging his mandoline, he sang under his breath, "if she be not fair for me what care i how fair she be!" "that is the true spirit, geoffrey,"--he went on--"it sounds flippant to you no doubt in your present tragic frame of mind,--but it is the only way to treat women, in marriage or out of it. before the world and society, your wife is like cæsar's, above suspicion. only you and i (we will leave god out) have been the witnesses of her attack of hysteria ..." "hysteria, you call it! she loves you!" i said hotly--"and she has always loved you. she confessed it,--and you admitted that you always knew it!" "i always knew she was hysterical--yes--if that is what you mean;"--he answered--"the majority of women have no real feelings, no serious emotions--except one--vanity. they do not know what a great love means,--their chief desire is for conquest,--and failing in this, they run up the gamut of baffled passion to the pitch of frenetic hysteria, which with some becomes chronic. lady sibyl suffers in this way. now listen to me. i will go off to paris or moscow or berlin at once,--after what has happened, of course i cannot stay here,--and i give you my word i will not intrude myself into your domestic circle again. in a few days you will tide over this rupture, and learn the wisdom of supporting the differences that occur in matrimony, with composure----" "impossible! i will not part with you!" i said vehemently--"nor will i live with her! better the companionship of a true friend than that of a false wife!" he raised his eyebrows with a puzzled half humorous expression--then shrugged his shoulders, as one who gives up a difficult argument. rising, he put aside his mandoline and came over to me, his tall imposing figure casting a gigantic shadow in the brilliant moonbeams. "upon my word, you put me in a very awkward position geoffrey,--what is to be done? you can get a judicial separation if you like, but i think it would be an unwise course of procedure after barely four months of marriage. the world would be set talking at once. really it is better to do anything than give the gossips a chance for floating scandal. look here--don't decide anything hastily,--come up to town with me for a day, and leave your wife alone to meditate upon her foolishness and its possible consequences,--then you will be better able to judge as to your future movements. go to your room, and sleep till morning." "sleep!" i repeated with a shudder--"in that room where she----" i broke off with a cry and looked at him imploringly--"am i going mad, i wonder! my brain seems on fire! if i could forget! ... if i could forget! lucio--if you, my loyal friend, had been false to me i should have died,--your truth, your honour have saved me!" he smiled--an odd, cynical little smile. "tut----i make no boast of virtue"--he rejoined--"if the lady's beauty had been any temptation to me i might have yielded to her charms,--in so doing i should have been no more than man, as she herself suggested. but perhaps i _am_ more than man!--at anyrate bodily beauty in woman makes no sort of effect on me, unless it is accompanied by beauty of soul,--then it does make an effect, and a very extraordinary one. it provokes me to try how deep the beauty goes--whether it is impervious or vulnerable. as i find it, so i leave it!" i stared wearily at the moonlight patterns on the floor. "what am i to do?" i asked--"what would you advise?" "come up to town with me,"--he replied--"you can leave a note for your wife, explaining your absence,--and at one of the clubs we will talk over the matter quietly, and decide how best to avoid a social scandal. meanwhile, go to bed. if you won't go back to your own room, sleep in the spare one next to mine." i rose mechanically and prepared to obey him. he watched me furtively. "will you take a composing draught if i mix it for you?" he said--"it is harmless, and will give you a few hours' sleep." "i would take poison from your hand!" i answered recklessly--"why don't you mix _that_ for me?--and then, ... then i should sleep indeed,--and forget this horrible night!" "no,--unfortunately you would not forget!" he said, going to his dressing-case and taking out a small white powder which he dissolved gradually in a glass of water--"that is the worst of what people call dying. i must instruct you in a little science by-and-by, to distract your thoughts. the scientific part of death,--the business that goes on behind the scenes you know--will interest you very much--it is highly instructive, particularly that section of it which i am entitled to call the regeneration of atoms. the brain-cells are atoms, and within these, are other atoms called memories, curiously vital and marvellously prolific! drink this,"--and he handed me the mixture he had prepared--"for temporary purposes it is much better than death--because it does numb and paralyse the conscious atoms for a little while, whereas death only liberates them to a larger and more obstinate vitality." i was too self-absorbed to heed or understand his words, but i drank what he gave me submissively and returned the glass,--he still watched me closely for about a minute. then he opened the door of the apartment which adjoined his own. "throw yourself on that bed and close your eyes,"--he continued in somewhat peremptory accents--"till morning breaks i give you a respite,--" and he smiled strangely--"both from dreams and memories! plunge into oblivion, my friend!--brief as it is and as it must ever be, it is sweet!--even to a millionaire!" the ironical tone of his voice vexed me,--i looked at him half reproachfully, and saw his proud beautiful face, pale as marble, clear-cut as a cameo, soften as i met his eyes,--i felt he was sorry for me despite his love of satire,--and grasping his hand i pressed it fervently without offering any other reply. then, going into the next room as he bade me, i lay down, and falling asleep almost instantly, i remembered no more. xxxiii with the morning came full consciousness; i realized bitterly all that had happened, but i was no longer inclined to bemoan my fate. my senses were stricken, as it seemed, too numb and rigid for any further outbreak of passion. a hard callousness took the place of outraged feeling; and though despair was in my heart, my mind was made up to one stern resolve,--i would look upon sibyl no more. never again should that fair face, the deceitful mask of a false nature, tempt my sight and move me to pity or forgiveness,--that i determined. leaving the room in which i had passed the night, i went to my study and wrote the following letter;-- sibyl. after the degrading and disgraceful scene of last night you must be aware that any further intercourse between us is impossible. prince rimânez and i are leaving for london; we shall not return. you can continue to reside at willowsmere,--the house is yours,--and the half of my fortune unconditionally settled upon you on our marriage-day will enable you to keep up the fashions of your 'set,' and live with that luxury and extravagance you deem necessary to an 'aristocratic' position. i have decided to travel,--and i intend to make such arrangements as may prevent, if possible, our ever meeting again,--though i shall of course do my best for my own sake, to avoid any scandal. to reproach you for your conduct would be useless; you are lost to all sense of shame. you have abased yourself in the humiliation of a guilty passion before a man who despises you,--who, in his own loyal and noble nature, hates you for your infidelity and hypocrisy,--and i can find no pardon for the wrong you have thus done to me, and the injury you have brought upon my name. i leave you to the judgment of your own conscience,--if you have one,--which is doubtful. such women as you, are seldom troubled with remorse. it is not likely you will ever see me or the man to whom you have offered your undesired love again,--make of your life what you can or will, i am indifferent to your movements, and for my own part, shall endeavour as much as may be, to forget that you exist. your husband, geoffrey tempest. this letter, folded and sealed, i sent to my wife in her own apartments by her maid,--the girl came back and said she had delivered it, but that there was no answer. her ladyship had a severe headache and meant to keep her room that morning. i expressed just as much civil regret as a confidential maid would naturally expect from the newly-wedded husband of her mistress,--and then, giving instructions to my man morris to pack my portmanteau, i partook of a hurried breakfast with lucio in more or less silence and constraint, for the servants were in attendance, and i did not wish them to suspect that anything was wrong. for their benefit, i gave out that my friend and i were called suddenly to town on urgent business,--that we might be absent a couple of days, perhaps longer,--and that any special message or telegram could be sent on to me at arthur's club. i was thankful when we at last got away,--when the tall, picturesque red gables of willowsmere vanished from my sight,--and when finally, seated in a railway smoking-carriage reserved for our two selves, we were able to watch the miles of distance gradually extending between us and the beautiful autumnal woods of poet-haunted warwickshire. for a long time we kept silence, turning over and pretending to read the morning's papers,--till presently flinging down the dull and wearisome 'times' sheet, i sighed heavily, and leaning back, closed my eyes. "i am truly very much distressed about all this;" said lucio then, with extreme gentleness and suavity--"it seems to me that _i_ am the adverse element in the affair. if lady sibyl had never seen _me_,----" "why, then i should never have seen _her_!" i responded bitterly--"it was through you i met her first." "true!" and he eyed me thoughtfully--"i am very unfortunately placed!--it is almost as if i were to blame, though no-one could be more innocent or well-intentioned than myself!" he smiled,--then went on very gravely--"i really should avoid scandalous gossip if i were you,--i do not speak of my own involuntary share in the disaster,--what people say of me is quite immaterial; but for the lady's sake----" "for my own sake i shall try to avoid it;" i said brusquely, whereat his eyes glittered strangely--"it is myself i have to consider most of all. i shall, as i hinted to you this morning, travel for a few years." "yes,--go on a tiger-hunting expedition in india,"--he suggested--"or kill elephants in africa. it is what a great many men do when their wives forget themselves. several well-known husbands are abroad just now!" again the brilliant enigmatical smile flashed over his face,--but i could not smile in answer. i stared moodily out of the window at the bare autumnal fields, past which the train flew,--bare of harvest,--stripped of foliage--like my own miserable life. "come and winter with me in egypt,"--he continued--"come in my yacht 'the flame,'--we will take her to alexandria,--and then do the nile in a dahabeah, and forget that such frivolous dolls as women exist except to be played with by us 'superior' creatures and thrown aside." "egypt----the nile!" i murmured,--somehow the idea pleased me--"yes,----why not?" "why not indeed!" he echoed--"the proposal is agreeable to you i am sure. come and see the land of the old gods,--the land where my princess used to live and torture the souls of men!--perhaps we may discover the remains of her last victim,----who knows!" i avoided his gaze;--the recollection of the horrible winged thing he persisted in imagining to be the transmigrated soul of an evil woman, was repugnant to me. almost i felt as if there were some subtle connection between that hateful creature and my wife sibyl. i was glad when the train reached london, and we, taking a hansom, were plunged into the very vortex of human life. the perpetual noise of traffic, the motley crowds of people, the shouting of news-boys and omnibus-conductors,--all this hubbub was grateful to my ears, and for a time at least, distracted my thoughts. we lunched at the savoy, and amused ourselves with noting the town noodles of fashion,--the inane young man in the stocks of the stiff high collar, and wearing the manacles of equally stiff and exaggerated cuffs, a veritable prisoner in the dock of silly custom,--the frivolous fool of a woman, painted and powdered, with false hair and dyed eyebrows, trying to look as much like a paid courtezan as possible,--the elderly matron, skipping forward on high heels, and attempting by the assumption of juvenile airs and graces to cover up and conceal the obtrusive facts of a too obvious paunch and overlapping bosom,--the would-be dandy and 'beau' of seventy, strangely possessed by youthful desires, and manifesting the same by goat-like caperings at the heels of young married women;--these and such-like contemptible units of a contemptible social swarm, passed before us like puppets at a country fair, and aroused us in turn to laughter or disdain. while we yet lingered over our wine, a man came in alone, and sat down at the table next to ours;--he had with him a book, which, after giving his orders for luncheon, he at once opened at a marked place and began to read with absorbed attention,--i recognised the cover of the volume and knew it to be mavis clare's "differences." a haze floated before my sight,--a sensation of rising tears was in my throat,--i saw the fair face, earnest eyes, and sweet smile of mavis,--that woman-wearer of the laurel-crown,--that keeper of the lilies of purity and peace. alas, those lilies!--they were for me "des fleurs étranges,[ ] avec leurs airs de sceptres d'anges; de thyrses lumineux pour doigts de séraphins,-- leurs parfums sont trop forts, tout ensemble, et trop fins!" i shaded my eyes with one hand,--yet under that shade i felt that lucio watched me closely. presently he spoke softly, just as if he had read my thoughts. "considering the effect a perfectly innocent woman has on the mind of even an evil man, it's strange, isn't it that there are so few of them!" i did not answer. "in the present day," he went on--"there are a number of females clamouring like unnatural hens in a barn-yard about their 'rights' and 'wrongs.' their greatest right, their highest privilege, is to guide and guard the souls of men. this, they for the most part, throw away as worthless. aristocratic women, royal women even, hand over the care of their children to hired attendants and inferiors, and then are surprised and injured if those children turn out to be either fools or blackguards. if i were controller of the state, i would make it a law that every mother should be bound to nurse and guard her children herself as nature intended, unless prevented by ill-health, in which case she would have to get a couple of doctor's certificates to certify the fact. otherwise, any woman refusing to comply with the law should be sentenced to imprisonment with hard labour. this would bring them to their senses. the idleness, wickedness, extravagance and selfishness of women, make men the boors and egotists they are." i looked up. "the devil is in the whole business;"--i said bitterly--"if women were good, men would have nothing to do with them. look round you at what is called 'society'! how many men there are who deliberately choose tainted women for their wives, and leave the innocent uncared for! take mavis clare----" "oh, you were thinking of mavis clare, were you?" he rejoined, with a quick glance at me--"but she would be a difficult prize for any man to win. she does not seek to be married,--and she is not uncared for, since the whole world cares for her." "that is a sort of impersonal love;"--i answered--"it does not give her the protection such a woman needs, and ought to obtain." "do you want to become her lover?" he asked with a slight smile--"i'm afraid you've no chance!" "i! her lover! good god!" i exclaimed, the blood rushing hotly to my face at the mere suggestion--"what a profane idea!" "you are right,--it _is_ profane;"--he agreed, still smiling--"it is as though i should propose your stealing the sacramental cup from a church, with just this difference,--you might succeed in running off with the cup because it is only the church's property, but you would never succeed in winning mavis clare, inasmuch as she belongs to god. you know what milton says: 'so dear to heaven is saintly chastity that when a soul is found sincerely so, a thousand liveried angels lacquey her, driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, and in clear dream and solemn vision tell her of things which no gross ear can hear, till oft converse with heavenly habitants begin to cast a beam on th'outward shape the unpolluted temple of the mind, and turns it by degrees to the soul's essence till all be made immortal!' he quoted the lines softly and with an exquisite gravity. "that is what you see in mavis clare,"--he continued--"that 'beam on the outward shape' which 'turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,'--and which makes her beautiful, without what is called beauty by lustful men." i moved impatiently, and looked out from the window near which we were seated, at the yellow width of the flowing thames below. "beauty, according to man's ordinary standard," pursued lucio, "means simply good flesh,--nothing more. flesh, arranged prettily and roundly on the always ugly skeleton beneath,--flesh, daintily coloured and soft to the touch, without scar or blemish. plenty of it too, disposed in the proper places. it is the most perishable sort of commodity,--an illness spoils it,--a trying climate ruins it,--age wrinkles it,--death destroys it,--but it is all the majority of men look for in their bargains with the fair sex. the most utter _roué_ of sixty that ever trotted jauntily down piccadilly pretending to be thirty, expects like shylock his 'pound' or several pounds of youthful flesh. the desire is neither refined nor intellectual, but there it is,--and it is solely on this account that the 'ladies' of the music-hall become the tainted members and future mothers of the aristocracy." "it does not need the ladies of the music-hall to taint the already tainted!" i said. "true!" and he looked at me with kindly commiseration--"let us put the whole mischief down to the 'new' fiction!" we rose then, having finished luncheon, and leaving the savoy we went on to arthur's. here we sat down in a quiet corner and began to talk of our future plans. it took me very little time to make up my mind,--all quarters of the world were the same to me, and i was really indifferent as to where i went. yet there is always something suggestive and fascinating about the idea of a first visit to egypt, and i willingly agreed to accompany lucio thither, and remain the winter. "we will avoid society"--he said--"the well-bred, well-educated 'swagger' people who throw champagne-bottles at the sphinx, and think a donkey-race 'ripping fun' shall not have the honour of our company. cairo is full of such dancing dolls, so we will not stay there. old nile has many attractions; and lazy luxury on a dahabeah will soothe your overwrought nerves. i suggest our leaving england within a week." i consented,--and while he went over to a table and wrote some letters in preparation for our journey, i looked through the day's papers. there was nothing to read in them,--for though all the world's news palpitates into great britain on obediently throbbing electric wires, each editor of each little pennyworth, being jealous of every other editor of every other pennyworth, only admits into his columns exactly what suits his politics or personally pleases his taste, and the interests of the public at large are scarcely considered. poor, bamboozled, patient public!--no wonder it is beginning to think that a halfpenny spent on a newspaper which is only purchased to be thrown away, enough and more than enough. i was still glancing up and down the tedious columns of the americanized pall mall gazette, and lucio was still writing, when a page-boy entered with a telegram. "mr tempest?" "yes." and i snatched the yellow-covered missive and tore it open,--and read the few words it contained almost uncomprehendingly. they ran thus-- "return at once. something alarming has happened. afraid to act without you. mavis clare." a curious chill came over me,--the telegram fell from my hands on the table. lucio took it up and glanced at it. then, regarding me stedfastly, he said-- "of course you must go. you can catch the four-forty train if you take a hansom." "and you?" i muttered. my throat was dry and i could scarcely speak. "i'll stay at the grand, and wait for news. don't delay a moment,--miss clare would not have taken it upon herself to send this message, unless there had been serious cause." "what do you think--what do you suppose----" i began. he stopped me by a slight imperative gesture. "i think nothing--i suppose nothing. i only urge you to start immediately. come!" and almost before i realized it, he had taken me with him out into the hall of the club, where he helped me on with my coat, gave me my hat, and sent for a cab to take me to the railway station. we scarcely exchanged farewells,--stupefied with the suddenness of the unexpected summons back to the home i had left in the morning, as i thought, for ever, i hardly knew what i was doing or where i was going, till i found myself alone in the train, returning to warwickshire as fast as steam would bear me, with the gloom of the deepening dusk around me, and such a fear and horror at my heart as i dared not think of or define. what was the 'something alarming' that had happened? how was it that mavis clare had telegraphed to me? these, and endless other questions tormented my brain,--and i was afraid to suggest answers to any of them. when i arrived at the familiar station, there was no one waiting to receive me, so i hired a fly, and was driven up to my own house just as the short evening deepened into night. a low autumnal wind was sighing restlessly among the trees like a wandering soul in torment; not a star shone in the black depths of the sky. directly the carriage stopped, a slim figure in white came out under the porch to meet me,--it was mavis, her angel's face grave and pale with emotion. "it is you at last!" she said in a trembling voice----"thank god you have come!" [ ] _edmond rostand._ '_la princesse lointaine._' xxxiv i grasped her hands hard. "what is it?"--i began;--then, looking round i saw that the hall was full of panic-stricken servants, some of whom came forward, confusedly murmuring together about being 'afraid,' and 'not knowing what to do.' i motioned them back by a gesture and turned again to mavis clare. "tell me,--quick--what is wrong?" "we fear something has happened to lady sibyl,"--she replied at once--"her rooms are locked, and we cannot make her hear. her maid got alarmed, and ran over to my house to ask me what was best to be done,--i came at once, and knocked and called, but could get no response. you know the windows are too high to reach from the ground,--there is no ladder on the premises long enough for the purpose,--and no one can climb up that side of the building. i begged some of the servants to break open the door by force,--but they would not,--they were all afraid; and i did not like to act on my own responsibility, so i telegraphed for you----" i sprang away from her before she had finished speaking and hurried upstairs at once,--outside the door of the ante-room which led into my wife's luxurious 'suite' of apartments, i paused breathless. "sibyl!" i cried. there was not a sound. mavis had followed me, and stood by my side, trembling a little. two or three of the servants had also crept up the stairs, and were clinging to the banisters, listening nervously. "sibyl!" i called again. still absolute silence. i turned round upon the waiting and anxious domestics with an assumption of calmness. "lady sibyl is probably not in her rooms at all;"--i said; "she may have gone out unobserved. this door of the ante-chamber has a spring-lock,--it can easily get fast shut by the merest accident. bring a strong hammer,--or a crowbar,--anything that will break it open,--if you had had sense you would have obeyed miss clare, and done this a couple of hours ago." and i waited with enforced composure, while my instructions were carried out as rapidly as possible. two of the men-servants appeared with the necessary tools, and very soon the house resounded with clamour,--blow after blow was dealt upon the solid oaken door for some time without success,--the spring lock would not yield,--neither would the strong hinges give way. presently however, after ten minutes' hard labour, one of the finely carved panels was smashed in,--then another,--and, springing over the débris i rushed through the ante-room into the boudoir,--then paused, listening, and calling again, "sibyl!" no one followed me,--some indefinable instinct, some nameless dread, held the servants back, and mavis clare as well. i was alone, ... and in complete darkness. groping about, with my heart beating furiously, i sought for the ivory button in the wall which would, at pressure, flood the rooms with electric light, but somehow i could not find it. my hand came in contact with various familiar things which i recognised by touch,--rare bits of china, bronzes, vases, pictures,--costly trifles that were heaped up as i knew, in this particular apartment with a lavish luxury and disregard of cost befitting a wanton eastern empress of old time,--cautiously feeling my way along, i started with terror to see, as i thought, a tall figure outline itself suddenly against the darkness,--white, spectral and luminous,--a figure that, as i stared at it aghast, raised a pallid hand and pointed me forward with a menacing air of scorn! in my dazed horror at this apparition, or delusion, i stumbled over the heavy trailing folds of a velvet _portiére_, and knew by this that i had passed from the boudoir into the adjoining bedroom. again i stopped,--calling "sibyl!" but my voice had scarcely strength enough to raise itself above a whisper. giddy and confused as i was, i remembered that the electric light in this room was fixed at the side of the toilet-table, and i stepped hurriedly in that direction, when all at once in the thick gloom i touched something clammy and cold like dead flesh, and brushed against a garment that exhaled faint perfume, and rustled at my touch with a silken sound. this alarmed me more thoroughly than the spectre i fancied i had just seen,--i drew back shudderingly against the wall,--and in so doing, my fingers involuntarily closed on the polished ivory stud which, like a fairy talisman in modern civilization, emits radiance at the owner's will. i pressed it nervously,--the light blazed forth through the rose-tinted shells which shaded its dazzling clearness, and showed me where i stood, ... within an arm's length of a strange, stiff white creature that sat staring at itself in the silver-framed mirror with wide-open, fixed and glassy eyes! "sibyl!" i gasped--"my wife ... ! ..." but the words died chokingly in my throat. was it indeed my wife?--this frozen statue of a woman, watching her own impassive image thus intently? i looked upon her wonderingly,--doubtingly,--as if she were some stranger;--it took me time to recognize her features, and the bronze-gold darkness of her long hair which fell loosely about her in a lavish wealth of rippling waves, ... her left hand hung limply over the arm of the chair in which, like some carven ivory goddess, she sat enthroned,--and tremblingly, slowly, reluctantly, i advanced and took that hand. cold as ice it lay in my palm much as though it were a waxen model of itself;--it glittered with jewels,--and i studied every ring upon it with a curious, dull pertinacity, like one who seeks a clue to identity. that large turquoise in a diamond setting was a marriage-gift from a duchess,--that opal her father gave her,--the lustrous circle of sapphires and brilliants surmounting her wedding-ring was my gift,--that ruby i seemed to know,----well, well! what a mass of sparkling value wasted on such fragile clay! i peered into her face,--then at the reflection of that face in the mirror,--and again i grew perplexed,--was it, could it be sibyl after all? sibyl was beautiful,--_this_ dead thing had a devilish smile on its blue, parted lips, and frenzied horror in its eyes! suddenly something tense in my brain seemed to snap and give way,--dropping the chill fingers i held, i cried aloud-- "mavis! mavis clare!" in a moment she was with me,--in a glance she comprehended all. falling on her knees by the dead woman she broke into a passion of weeping. "oh, poor girl!" she cried--"oh, poor, unhappy, misguided girl!" i stared at her gloomily. it seemed to me very strange that she should weep for sorrows not her own. there was a fire in my brain,--a confused trouble in my thoughts,--i looked at my dead wife with her fixed gaze and evil smile, sitting rigidly upright, and robed in the mocking sheen of her rose-silk peignoir, showered with old lace, after the costliest of paris fashions,--then at the living, tender-souled, earnest creature, famed for her genius throughout the world, who knelt on the ground, sobbing over the stiffening hand on which so many rare gems glistened derisively,--and an impulse rose in me stronger than myself, moving me to wild and clamorous speech. "get up, mavis!" i cried--"do not kneel there! go,--go out of this room,--out of my sight! you do not know what she was--this woman whom i married,--i deemed her an angel, but she was a fiend,--yes, mavis, a fiend! look at her, staring at her own image in the glass,--you cannot call her beautiful--_now_! she smiles, you see,--just as she smiled last night when, ... ah, you know nothing of last night! i tell you, go!" and i stamped my foot almost furiously,--"this air is contaminated,--it will poison you! the perfume of paris and the effluvia of death intermingled are sufficient to breed a pestilence! go quickly,--inform the household their mistress is dead,--have the blinds drawn down,--show all the exterior signs of decent and fashionable woe!"--and i began laughing deliriously--"tell the servants they may count upon expensive mourning,--for all that money can do shall be done in homage to king death! let everyone in the place eat and drink as much as they can or will,--and sleep, or chatter as such menials love to do, of hearses, graves and sudden disasters;--but let _me_ be left alone,--alone with _her_;--we have much to say to one another!" white and trembling, mavis rose up and stood gazing at me in fear and pity. "alone? ..." she faltered--"you are not fit to be alone!" "no, i am not fit to be, but i must be,"--i rejoined quickly and harshly--"this woman and i loved--after the manner of brutes, and were wedded or rather mated in a similar manner, though an archbishop blessed the pairing, and called upon heaven to witness its sanctity! yet we parted ill friends,--and dead though she is, i choose to pass the night with her,--i shall learn much knowledge from her silence! to-morrow the grave and the servants of the grave may claim her, but to-night she is mine!" the girl's sweet eyes brimmed over with tears. "oh you are too distracted to know what you are saying," she murmured--"you do not even try to discover how she died!" "that is easy enough to guess,"--i answered quickly, and i took up a small dark-coloured bottle labelled 'poison' which i had already perceived on the toilet-table--"this is uncorked and empty. what it contained i do not know,--but there must be an inquest of course,--people must be allowed to make money for themselves out of her ladyship's rash act! and see there,--" here i pointed to some loose sheets of note-paper covered with writing, and partially concealed by a filmy lace handkerchief which had evidently been hastily thrown across them, and a pen and inkstand close by--"there is some admirable reading prepared for me doubtless!--the last message from the beloved dead is sacred, mavis clare; surely you, a writer of tender romances, can realize this!--and realizing it, you will do as i ask you,--leave me!" she looked at me in deep compassion, and slowly turned to go. "god help you!" she said sobbingly--"god console you!" at this, some demon in me broke loose, and springing to her side i caught her hands in mine. "do not dare to talk of god!" i said in passionate accents; "not in this room,--not in _that_ presence! why should you call curses down upon me? the help of god means punishment,--the consolations of god are terrible! for strength must acknowledge itself weak before he will help it,--and a heart must be broken before he will console it! but what do i say!--i believe in _no_ god--! i believe in an unknown force that encompasses me and hunts me down to the grave, but nothing more. _she_ thought as i do,--and with reason,--for what has god done for her? she was made evil from the first,--a born snare of satan...." something caught my breath here,--i stopped, unable to utter another word. mavis stared at me affrighted, and i stared back again. "what is it?" she whispered alarmedly. i struggled to speak,--finally, with difficulty i answered her-- "nothing!" and i motioned her away with a gesture of entreaty. the expression of my face must have startled or intimidated her i fancy, for she retreated hastily and i watched her disappearing as if she were the phantom of a dream,--then, as she passed out through the boudoir, i drew close the velvet portiére behind her and locked the intermediate door. this done i went slowly back to the side of my dead wife. "now sibyl,"--i said aloud--"we are alone, you and i--alone with our own reflected images,--you dead, and i living! you have no terrors for me in your present condition,--your beauty has gone. your smile, your eyes, your touch cannot stir me to a throb of the passion you craved, yet wearied of! what have you to say to me?--i have heard that the dead can speak at times,--and you owe me reparation,--reparation for the wrong you did me,--the lie on which you based our marriage,--the guilt you cherished in your heart! shall i read your petition for forgiveness here?" and i gathered up the written sheets of note-paper in one hand, feeling them rather than seeing them, for my eyes were fixed on the pallid corpse in its rose-silk 'negligée' and jewels, that gazed at itself so pertinaciously in the shining mirror. i drew a chair close to it, and sat down, observing likewise the reflection of my own haggard face in the glass beside that of the self-murdered woman. turning presently, i began to scrutinize my immovable companion more closely--and perceived that she was very lightly clothed,--under the silk peignoir there was only a flowing white garment of soft fine material lavishly embroidered, through which the statuesque contour of her rigid limbs could be distinctly seen. stooping, i felt her heart,--i knew it was pulseless; yet i half imagined i should feel its beat. as i withdrew my hand, something scaly and glistening caught my eye, and looking i perceived lucio's marriage-gift circling her waist,--the flexible emerald snake with its diamond crest and ruby eyes. it fascinated me,----coiled round that dead body it seemed alive and sentient,--if it had lifted its glittering head and hissed at me i should scarcely have been surprised. i sat back for a moment in my chair, almost as rigid as the corpse beside me,--i stared again, as the corpse stared always, into the mirror which pictured us both, we 'twain in one,' as the sentimentalists aver of wedded folk, though in truth it often happens that there are no two creatures in the world more widely separated than husband and wife. i heard stealthy movements and suppressed whisperings in the passage outside, and guessed that some of the servants were there watching and waiting,--but i cared nothing for that. i was absorbed in the ghastly night interview i had planned for myself, and i so entered into the spirit of the thing, that i turned on all the electric lamps in the room, besides lighting two tall clusters of shaded candles on either side of the toilet-table. when all the surroundings were thus rendered as brilliant as possible, so that the corpse looked more livid and ghastly by comparison, i seated myself once more, and prepared to read the last message of the dead. "now sibyl,"--i muttered, leaning forward a little, and noting with a morbid interest that the jaws of the corpse had relaxed a little within the last few minutes, and that the smile on the face was therefore more hideous--"confess your sins!--for i am here to listen. such dumb, impressive eloquence as yours deserves attention!" a gust of wind fled round the house with a wailing cry,--the windows shook, and the candles flickered. i waited till every sound had died away, and then--with a glance at my dead wife, under the sudden impression that she had heard what i said, and knew what i was doing, i began to read. xxxv thus ran the 'last document,' commencing abruptly and without prefix;-- "i have made up my mind to die. not out of passion or petulance,--but from deliberate choice, and as i think, necessity. my brain is tired of problems,--my body is tired of life; it is best to make an end. the idea of death,--which means annihilation,--is very sweet to me. i am glad to feel that by my own will and act i can silence this uneasy throbbing of my heart, this turmoil and heat of my blood,--this tortured aching of my nerves. young as i am, i have no delight now in existence,--i see nothing but my love's luminous eyes, his god-like features, his enthralling smile,--and these are lost to me. for a brief while he has been my world, life and time,--he has gone,--and without him there is no universe. how could i endure the slow, wretched passing of hours, days, weeks, months and years alone?--though it is better to be alone than in the dull companionship of the self-satisfied, complacent and arrogant fool who is my husband. he has left me for ever, so he says in a letter the maid brought to me an hour ago. it is quite what i expected of him,--what man of his type could find pardon for a blow to his own _amour propre_! if he had studied my nature, entered into my emotions, or striven in the least to guide and sustain me,--if he had shown me any sign of a great, true love such as one sometimes dreams of and seldom finds,--i think i should be sorry for him now,--i should even ask his forgiveness for having married him. but he has treated me precisely as he might treat a paid mistress,--that is, he has fed me, clothed me, and provided me with money and jewels in return for making me the toy of his passions,--but he has not given me one touch of sympathy,--one proof of self-denial or humane forbearance. therefore, i owe him nothing. and now he, and my love who will not be my lover, have gone away together; i am free to do as i will with this small pulse within me called life, which is after all, only a thread, easily broken. there is no one to say me nay, or to hold my hand back from giving myself the final _quietus_. it is well i have no friends; it is good for me that i have probed the hypocrisy and social sham of the world, and that i have mastered the following hard truths of life,--that there is no love without lust,--no friendship without self-interest,--no religion without avarice,--and no so-called virtue without its accompanying stronger vice. who, knowing these things, would care to take part in them! on the verge of the grave i look back along the short vista of my years, and i see myself a child in this very place, this wooded willowsmere; i can note how that life began to which i am about to put an end. pampered, petted and spoilt, told that i must 'look pretty' and take pleasure in my clothes, i was even at the age of ten, capable of a certain amount of coquetry. old _roués_, smelling of wine and tobacco, were eager to take me on their knees and pinch my soft flesh;--they would press my innocent lips with their withered ones,--withered and contaminated by the kisses of _cocottes_ and 'soiled doves' of the town!--i have often wondered how it is these men can dare to touch a young child's mouth, knowing in themselves what beasts they are! i see my nurse,--a trained liar and time-server, giving herself more airs than a queen, and forbidding me to speak to this child or that child, because they were 'beneath' me;--then came my governess, full of a prurient prudery, as bad a woman in morals as ever lived, yet 'highly recommended' and with excellent references, and wearing an assumption of the strictest virtue, like many equally hypocritical clergymen's wives i have known. i soon found her out,--for even as a child i was painfully observant,--and the stories she and my mother's french maid used to tell, in lowered voices now and then broken by coarse laughter, were sufficient to enlighten me as to her true character. yet, beyond having a supreme contempt for the woman who practised religious austerity outwardly, and was at heart a rake, i gave small consideration to the difficult problem such a nature suggested. i lived,--how strange it seems that i should be writing now of myself, as past and done with!--yes, i lived in a dreamy, more or less idyllic state of mind, thinking without being conscious of thought, full of fancies concerning the flowers, trees and birds,--wishing for things of which i knew nothing,--imagining myself a queen at times, and again, a peasant. i was an omnivorous reader,--and i was specially fond of poetry. i used to pore over the mystic verse of shelley, and judged him then as a sort of demi-god;--and never, even when i knew all about his life, could i realize him as a man with a thin, shrieking falsetto voice and 'loose' notions concerning women. but i am quite sure it was good for his fame that he was drowned in early youth with so many melancholy and dramatic surroundings,--it saved him, i consider, from a possibly vicious and repulsive old age. i adored keats till i knew he had wasted his passion on a fanny brawn,--and then the glamour of him vanished. i can offer no reason for this,--i merely set down the fact. i made a hero of lord byron,--in fact he has always formed for me the only heroical type of poet. strong in himself and pitiless in his love for women, he treated them for the most part as they merited, considering the singular and unworthy specimens of the sex it was his misfortune to encounter. i used to wonder, when reading these men's amorous lines, whether love would ever come my way, and what beatific state of emotion i should then enjoy. then came the rough awakening from all my dreams,--childhood melted into womanhood,--and at sixteen i was taken up to town with my parents to "know something of the ways and manners of society," before finally 'coming out.' oh, those ways and manners! i learnt them to perfection! astonished at first, then bewildered, and allowed no time to form any judgment on what i saw, i was hurried through a general vague 'impression' of things such as i had never imagined or dreamed of. while i was yet lost in wonderment, and kept constantly in companionship with young girls of my own rank and age, who nevertheless seemed much more advanced in knowledge of the world than i, my father suddenly informed me that willowsmere was lost to us,--that he could not afford to keep it up,--and that we should return there no more. ah, what tears i shed!--what a fury of grief consumed me!--i did not then comprehend the difficult entanglements of either wealth or poverty;--all i could realize was that the doors of my dear old home were closed upon me for ever. after that, i think i grew cold and hard in disposition; i had never loved my mother very dearly,--in fact i had seen very little of her, as she was always away visiting, if not entertaining visitors, and she seldom had me with her,--so that when she was suddenly struck down by a first shock of paralysis, it affected me but little. she had her doctors and nurses,--i had my governess still with me; and my mother's sister, aunt charlotte, came to keep house for us,--so i began to analyse society for myself, without giving any expression of my opinions on what i observed. i was not yet 'out,' but i went everywhere where girls of my age were invited, and perceived things without showing that i had any faculty of perception. i cultivated a passionless and cold exterior,--a listless, uninterested and frigid demeanor,--for i discovered that this was accepted by many people as dullness or stupidity, and that by assuming such a character, certain otherwise crafty persons would talk more readily before me, and betray themselves and their vices unawares. thus my 'social education' began in grim earnest;--women of title and renown would ask me to their 'quiet teas,' because i was what they were pleased to call a 'harmless girl--' 'rather pretty, but dull,'--and allow me to assist them in entertaining the lovers who called upon them while their husbands were out. i remember that on one occasion, a great lady famous for two things, her diamonds and her intimacy with the queen, kissed her 'cavaliere servente,' a noted sporting earl, with considerable _abandon_ in my presence. he muttered something about me,--i heard it;--but his amorous mistress merely answered in a whisper--"oh, it's only sibyl elton,--she understands nothing." afterwards however, when he had gone, she turned to me with a grin and remarked--"you saw me kiss bertie, didn't you? i often do; he's quite like my brother!" i made no reply,--i only smiled vaguely; and the next day she sent me a valuable diamond ring, which i at once returned to her with a prim little note, stating that i was much obliged, but that my father considered me too young as yet to wear diamonds. why do i think of these trifles now i wonder!--now when i am about to take my leave of life and all its lies! ... there is a little bird singing outside my bedroom window,--such a pretty creature! i suppose it is happy?--it should be, as it is not human... the tears are in my eyes as i listen to its sweet warbling, and think that it will be living and singing still to-day at sunset when i am dead! * * * * * that last sentence was mere sentiment, for i am not sorry to die. if i felt the least regret about it i should not carry out my intention. i must resume my narrative,--for it is an analysis i am trying to make of myself, to find out if i can whether there are no excuses to be found for my particular disposition,--whether it is not after all, the education and training i have had that have made me what i am, or whether indeed i was born evil from the first. the circumstances that surrounded me, did not, at any rate, tend to soften or improve my character. i had just passed my seventeenth birthday, when one morning my father called me into his library and told me the true position of his affairs. i learned that he was crippled on all sides with debt,--that he lived on advances made to him by jew usurers,--and that these advances were trusted to him solely on the speculation that i, his only daughter, would make a sufficiently rich marriage to enable him to repay all loans with heavy interest. he went on to say that he hoped i would act sensibly,--and that when any men showed indications of becoming suitors for my hand, i would, before encouraging them, inform him, in order that he might make strict enquiries as to their actual extent of fortune. i then understood, for the first time, that i was for sale. i listened in silence till he had finished,--then i asked him--'love, i suppose, is not to be considered in the matter?' he laughed, and assured me it was much easier to love a rich man than a poor one, as i would find out after a little experience. he added, with some hesitation, that to help make both ends meet, as the expenses of town life were considerable, he had arranged to take a young american lady under his charge, a miss diana chesney, who wished to be introduced into english society, and who would pay two thousand guineas a year to him for that privilege, and for aunt charlotte's services as chaperône. i do not remember now what i said to him when i heard this,--i know that my long suppressed feelings broke out in a storm of fury, and that for the moment he was completely taken aback by the force of my indignation. an american boarder in _our_ house!--it seemed to me as outrageous and undignified as the conduct of a person i once heard of, who, favoured by the queen's patronage with 'free' apartments in kensington palace, took from time to time on the sly, an american or colonial 'paying-guest,' who adopted forthwith the address of her majesty's birthplace as her own, thus lowering the whole prestige of that historic habitation. my wrath however was useless;--the bargain was arranged,--my father, regardless of his proud lineage and the social dignity of his position, had degraded himself, in my opinion, to the level of a sort of superior lodging-house keeper,--and from that time i lost all my former respect for him. of course it can be argued that i was wrong,--that i ought to have honoured him for turning his name to monetary account by loaning it out as a protective shield and panoply for an american woman without anything but the dollars of a vulgar 'railway-king' to back her up in society,--but i could not see it in that light. i retreated into myself more than ever,--and became more than pleasantly known for my coldness, reserve and hauteur. miss chesney came, and strove hard to be my friend,--but she soon found that impossible. she is a good-hearted creature i believe,--but she is badly bred and badly trained as all her compatriots are, more or less, despite their smattering of an european education; i disliked her from the first, and have spared no pains to show it. yet i know she will be countess of elton as soon as it is decently possible,--say, after the year's ceremonious mourning for my mother has expired, and perhaps three months' hypocritical wearing of black for me,--my father believes himself to be still young and passably good-looking, and he is quite incapable of resisting the fortune she will bring him. when she took up her fixed abode in our house and aunt charlotte became her paid chaperône, i seldom went out to any social gatherings, for i could not endure the idea of being seen in her companionship. i kept to my own room a great deal, and thus secluded, read many books. all the fashionable fiction of the day passed through my hands, much to my gradual enlightenment, if not to my edification. one day,--a day that is stamped on my memory as a kind of turning-point in my life,--i read a novel by a woman which i did not at first entirely understand,--but on going over some of its passages a second time, all at once its horrible lasciviousness flashed upon me, and filled me with such genuine disgust that i flung it on the ground in a fit of loathing and contempt. yet i had seen it praised in all the leading journals of the day; its obscenities were hinted at as 'daring,'--its vulgarities were quoted as 'brilliant wit,'--in fact so many laudatory columns were written about it in the press that i resolved to read it again. encouraged by the 'literary censors' of the time, i did so, and little by little the insidious abomination of it filtered into my mind and _stayed there_. i began to think about it,--and by-and-by found pleasure in thinking about it. i sent for other books by the same tainted hand, and my appetite for that kind of prurient romance grew keener. at this particular juncture as chance or fate would have it, an acquaintance of mine, the daughter of a marchioness, a girl with large black eyes, and those full protruding lips which remind one unconsciously of a swine's snout, brought me two or three odd volumes of the poems of swinburne. always devoted to poetry, and considering it to be the highest of the arts, and up to that period having been ignorant of this writer's work, i turned over the books with eagerness, expecting to enjoy the usual sublime emotions which it is the privilege and glory of the poet to inspire in mortals less divinely endowed than himself, and who turn to him "for help to climb beyond the highest peaks of time." now i should like, if i could do so, to explain clearly the effect of this satyr-songster upon my mind,--for i believe there are many women to whom his works have been deadlier than the deadliest poison, and far more soul-corrupting than any book of zola's or the most pernicious of modern french writers. at first i read the poems quickly, with a certain pleasure in the musical swing and jangle of rhythm, and without paying much attention to the subject-matter of the verse,--but presently, as though a lurid blaze of lightning had stripped a fair tree of its adorning leaves, my senses suddenly perceived the cruelty and sensuality concealed under the ornate language and persuasive rhymes,--and for a moment i paused in my reading, and closed my eyes, shuddering and sick at heart. was human nature as base and abandoned as this man declared it to be? was there no god but lust? were men and women lower and more depraved in their passions and appetites than the very beasts? i mused and dreamed,--i pored over the 'laus veneris'--'faustine' and 'anactoria,' till i felt myself being dragged down to the level of the mind that conceived such outrages to decency,--i drank in the poet's own fiendish contempt of god, and i read over and over again his verses 'before a crucifix' till i knew them by heart;--till they rang in my brain as persistently as any nursery jingle, and drove my thoughts into as haughty a scorn of christ and his teachings, as any unbelieving jew. it is nothing to me now,--now, when without hope, or faith or love, i am about to take the final plunge into eternal darkness and silence,--but for the sake of those who _have_ the comfort of a religion i ask, why, in a so-called christian country, is such a hideous blasphemy as 'before a crucifix' allowed to circulate among the people without so much as one reproof from those who elect themselves judges of literature? i have seen many noble writers condemned unheard,--many have been accused of blasphemy, whose works tend quite the other way,--but these lines are permitted to work their cruel mischief unchecked, and the writer of them is glorified as though he were a benefactor to mankind. i quote them here, from bitter memory, that i may not be deemed as exaggerating their nature-- "so when our souls look back to thee, they sicken, seeing against thy side, _too foul to speak of or to see_, the leprous likeness of a bride, whose kissing lips through his lips grown _leave their god rotten to the bone_. when we would see thee man, and know what heart thou had'st towards man indeed, lo, thy blood-blackened altars; lo, the lips of priests that pray and feed, _while their own hell's worm curls and licks the poison of the crucifix_. thou bad'st the children come to thee,-- _what children now but curses come_, what manhood in that god can be who sees their worship and is dumb?-- no soul that lived, loved, wrought, and died _is this, their carrion crucified!_ nay, if their god and thou be one if thou and _this thing_ be the same, thou should'st not look upon the sun, _the sun grows haggard at thy name!_ come down, be done with, cease, give o'er, hide thyself, strive not, _be no more!_" from the time of reading this, i used to think of christ as 'carrion crucified';--if i ever thought at all. i found out that no one had ever reproached swinburne for this term,--that it did not interfere with his chances for the laureateship,--and that not even a priest of the church had been bold-spoken or zealous enough in his master's cause to publicly resent the shameless outrage. so i concluded that swinburne must, after all, be right in his opinions, and i followed the lazy and unthinking course of social movement, spending my days with such literature as stored my brain with a complete knowledge of things evil and pernicious. whatever soul i had in me was killed; the freshness of my mind was gone,--swinburne, among others, had helped me to live mentally, if not physically, through such a phase of vice as had poisoned my thoughts for ever. i understand there is some vague law in existence about placing an interdiction on certain books considered injurious to public morals,--if there is such a rule, it has been curiously lax concerning the author of 'anactoria'--who, by virtue of being a poet, passes unquestioned into many a home, carrying impure suggestion into minds that were once cleanly and simple. as for me, after i had studied his verse to my heart's content, nothing remained sacred,--i judged men as beasts and women as little better,--i had no belief in honour, virtue or truth,--and i was absolutely indifferent to all things save one, and that was my resolve to have my own way as far as love was concerned. i might be forced to marry without love for purely money-considerations,--but all the same, love i would have, or what i called love;--not an 'ideal' passion by any means, but precisely what mr swinburne and a few of the most-praised novelists of the day had taught me to consider as love. i began to wonder when and how i should meet my lover,--such thoughts as i had at this time indeed would have made moralists stare and uplift their hands in horror,--but to the exterior world i was the very pink and pattern of maidenly decorum, reserve and pride. men desired, but feared me; for i never gave them any encouragement, seeing as yet none among them whom i deemed worthy of such love as i could give. the majority resembled carefully trained baboons,--respectably clothed and artistically shaven,--but nevertheless all with the spasmodic grin, the leering eye and the uncouth gestures of the hairy woodland monster. when i was just eighteen i 'came out' in earnest--that is, i was presented at court with all the foolish and farcical pomp practised on such occasions. i was told before going that it was a great and necessary thing to be 'presented,'--that it was a guarantee of position, and above all of reputation,--the queen received none whose conduct was not rigidly correct and virtuous. what humbug it all was!--i laughed then, and i can smile now to think of it,--why, the very woman who presented me had two illegitimate sons, unknown to her lawful husband, and she was not the only playful sinner in the court comedy! some women were there that day whom since even _i_ would not receive--so openly infamous are their lives and characters, yet they make their demure curtseys before the throne at stated times, and assume to be the very patterns of virtue and austerity. now and then, it chances in the case of an exceedingly beautiful woman, of whom all the others are jealous, that for her little slips she is selected as an 'example' and excluded from court, while her plainer sisters, though sinning seventy times seven against all the laws of decency and morality, are still received,--but otherwise, there is very little real care exercised as to the character and prestige of the women whom the queen receives. if any one of them _is_ refused, it is certain she adds to her social enormities, the greater crime of being beautiful, otherwise there would be no one to whisper away her reputation! i was what is called a 'success' on my presentation day. that is, i was stared at, and openly flattered by certain members of my sex who were too old and ugly to be jealous, and treated with insolent contempt by those who were young enough to be my rivals. there was a great crush to get into the throne-room; and some of the ladies used rather strong language. one duchess, just in front of me, said to her companion--'do as i do,--_kick out_! bruise their shins for them--as hard as you can,--we shall get on faster then!' this choice remark was accompanied by the grin of a fishwife and the stare of a drab. yet it was a 'great' lady who spoke,--not a transatlantic importation, but a woman of distinguished lineage and connection. her observation however was only one out of many similar speeches which i heard on all sides of me during the 'distinguished' mélée,--a thoroughly ill-mannered 'crush,' which struck me as supremely vulgar and totally unfitting the dignity of our sovereign's court. when i curtsied before the throne at last, and saw the majesty of the empire represented by a kindly faced old lady, looking very tired and bored, whose hand was as cold as ice when i kissed it, i was conscious of an intense feeling of pity for her in her high estate. who would be a monarch, to be doomed to the perpetual receiving of a company of fools! i got through my duties quickly, and returned home more or less wearied out and disgusted with the whole ceremony,--and next day i found that my 'debût' had given me the position of a 'leading beauty'; or in other words that i was now formally put up for sale. that is really what is meant by being 'presented' and 'coming out,'--these are the fancy terms of one's parental auctioneer. my life was now passed in dressing, having my photograph taken, giving 'sittings' to aspiring fashionable painters, and being 'inspected' by men with a view to matrimony. it was distinctly understood in society that i was not to be sold under a certain figure per annum,--and the price was too high for most would-be purchasers. how sick i grew of my constant exhibition in the marriage-market! what contempt and hatred was fostered in me for the mean and pitiable hypocrisies of my set! i was not long in discovering that money was the chief-motive power of all social success,--that the proudest and highest personages in the world could be easily gathered together under the roof of any vulgar plebeian who happened to have enough cash to feed and entertain them. as an example of this, i remember a woman, ugly, passée and squint-eyed, who during her father's life was only allowed about half-a-crown a week as pocket-money up to her fortieth year,--and who, when that father died, leaving her in possession of half his fortune, (the other half going to illegitimate children of whom she had never heard, he having always posed as a pattern of immaculate virtue) suddenly blossomed out as a 'leader' of fashion, and succeeded, through cautious scheming and ungrudging toadyism, in assembling some of the highest people in the land under her roof. ugly and passée though she was, and verging towards fifty, with neither grace, wit, nor intelligence, through the power of her cash alone she invited royal dukes and 'titles' generally to her dinners and dances,--and it is to their shame that they actually accepted her invitations. such voluntary degradations on the part of really well-connected people i have never been able to understand,--it is not as if they were actually in want of food or amusement, for they have a surfeit of both every season,--and it seems to me that they ought to show a better example than to flock in crowds to the entertainments of a mere uninteresting and ugly nobody just because she happens to have money. i never entered her house myself though she had the audacity to invite me,--i learned moreover, that she had promised a friend of mine a hundred guineas if she could persuade me to make one appearance in her rooms. for my renown as a 'beauty' combined with my pride and exclusiveness, would have given her parties a _prestige_ greater than even royalty could bestow,--_she_ knew that and _i_ knew that,--and knowing it, never condescended to so much as notice her by a bow. but though i took a certain satisfaction in thus revenging myself on the atrocious vulgarity of _parvenus_ and social interlopers, i grew intensely weary of the monotony and emptiness of what fashionable folks call 'amusement,' and presently falling ill of a nervous fever, i was sent down to the seaside for a few weeks' change of air with a young cousin of mine, a girl i rather liked because she was so different to myself. her name was eva maitland--she was but sixteen and extremely delicate--poor little soul! she died two months before my marriage. she and i, and a maid to attend us, went down to cromer,--and one day, sitting on the cliffs together, she asked me timidly if i knew an author named mavis clare? i told her no,--whereupon she handed me a book called 'the wings of psyche.' "do read it!" she said earnestly--"it will make you feel so happy!" i laughed. the idea of a modern author writing anything to make one feel happy, seemed to me quite ludicrous, the aim of most of them being to awaken a disgust of life, and a hatred of one's fellow-creatures. however, to please eva, i read the 'wings of psyche,'--and if it did not make me actually happy, it moved me to a great wonder and deep reverence for the woman-writer of such a book. i found out all about her,--that she was young, good-looking, of a noble character and unblemished reputation, and that her only enemies were the press-critics. this last point was so much in her favour with me that i at once bought everything she had ever written, and her works became, as it were, my haven of rest. her theories of life are strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful;--though i have not been able to accept them or work them out in my own case, i have always felt soothed and comforted for a while in the very act of wishing they were true. and the woman is like her books,--strange, poetic, ideal and beautiful,--how odd it is to think that she is within ten minutes walk of me now!--i could send for her if i liked, and tell her all,--but she would prevent me carrying out my resolve. she would cling to me woman-like and kiss me, and hold my hands and say 'no, sibyl, no! you are not yourself,--you must come to me and rest!' an odd fancy has seized me, ... i will open my window and call her very gently,--she might be in the garden coming here to see me,--and if she hears and answers, who knows!--why, perhaps my ideas may change, and fate itself may take a different course! * * * * * well, i have called her. i have sent her name 'mavis!' softly out on the sunshine and still air three times, and only a little brown namesake of hers, a thrush, swinging on a branch of fir, answered me with his low autumnal piping. mavis! she will not come,--to-day god will not make her his messenger. she cannot guess--she does not know this tragedy of my heart, greater and more poignant than all the tragedies of fiction. if she did know me as i am, i wonder what she would think of me! * * * * * let me go back to the time when love came to me,--love, ardent, passionate, and eternal! ah, what wild joy thrilled through me! what mad ecstasy fired my blood!--what delirious dreams possessed my brain!--i saw lucio,--and it seemed as if the splendid eyes of some great angel had flashed a glory in my soul! with him came his friend, the foil to his beauty,--the arrogant, self-satisfied fool of a millionaire, geoffrey tempest,--he who bought me, and who by virtue of his purchase, is entitled by law to call himself my husband ..." here i paused in my reading and looked up. the dead woman's eyes appeared now to regard me as steadily as herself in the opposite mirror,--the head was a little more dropped forward on the breast, and the whole face very nearly resembled that of the late countess of elton when the last shock of paralysis had rendered her hideous disfigurement complete. "to think i loved _that_!" i said aloud, pointing at the corpse's ghastly reflection--"fool that i was indeed!--as great a fool as all men are who barter their lives for the possession of a woman's mere body! why if there were any life after death,--if such a creature had a soul that at all resembled this poisoned clay, the very devils might turn away aghast from such a loathly comrade!" the candles flickered and the dead face seemed to smile,--a clock chimed in the adjoining room, but i did not count the hour,--i merely arranged the manuscript pages i held more methodically, and read on with renewed attention. xxxvi "from the moment i saw lucio rimânez"--went on sibyl's 'dying speech'--"i abandoned myself to love and the desire of love. i had heard of him before from my father who had (as i learned to my shame) been indebted to him for monetary assistance. on the very night we met, my father told me quite plainly that now was my chance to get 'settled' in life. 'marry rimânez or tempest, whichever you can most easily catch,' he said--'the prince is fabulously wealthy--but he keeps up a mystery about himself and no one knows where he actually comes from,--besides which he dislikes women;--now tempest has five millions and seems an easy-going fool,--i should say you had better go for tempest.' i made no answer and gave no promise either way. i soon found out however that lucio did not intend to marry,--and i concluded that he preferred to be the lover of many women, instead of the husband of one. i did not love him any the less for this,--i only resolved that i would at least be one of those who were happy enough to share his passion. i married the man tempest, feeling that like many women i knew, i should when safely wedded, have greater liberty of action,--i was aware that most modern men prefer an amour with a married woman to any other kind of _liaison_,--and i thought lucio would have readily yielded to the plan i had pre-conceived. but i was mistaken,--and out of this mistake comes all my perplexity, pain and bewilderment i cannot understand why my love,--beloved beyond all word or thought,--should scorn me and repulse me with such bitter loathing! it is such a common thing now-a-days for a married woman to have her own lover, apart from her husband _de convenance_! the writers of books advise it,--i have seen the custom not only excused but advocated over and over again in long and scientific articles that are openly published in leading magazines. why then should i be blamed or my desires considered criminal? as long as no public scandal is made, what harm is done? i cannot see it,--it is not as if there were a god to care,--the scientists say there is no god! * * * * * i was very startled just now. i thought i heard lucio's voice calling me. i have walked through the rooms looking everywhere, and i opened my door to listen, but there is no one. i am alone. i have told the servant not to disturb me till i ring; ... i shall never ring! now i come to think of it, it is singular that i have never known who lucio really is. a prince, he says--and that i can well believe,--though truly princes now-a-days are so plebeian and common in look and bearing that he seems too great to belong to so shabby a fraternity. from what kingdom does he come?--to what nation does he belong? these are questions which he never answers save equivocally. * * * * * i pause here, and look at myself in the mirror. how beautiful i am! i note with admiration the deep and dewy lustre of my eyes and their dark silky fringes,--i see the delicate colouring of my cheeks and lips,--the dear rounded chin with its pretty dimple,--the pure lines of my slim throat and snowy neck,--the glistening wealth of my long hair. all this was given to me for the attraction and luring of men, but my love, whom i love with all this living, breathing, exquisite being of mine, can see no beauty in me, and rejects me with such scorn as pierces my very soul. i have knelt to him,--i have prayed to him,--i have worshipped him,--in vain! hence it comes that i must die. only one thing he said that had the sound of hope, though the utterance was fierce, and his looks were cruel,--'patience!' he whispered--'we shall meet ere long!' what did he mean?--what possible meeting can there be now, when death must close the gate of life, and even love would come too late! * * * * * i have unlocked my jewel-case and taken from it the deadly thing secreted there,--a poison that was entrusted to me by one of the physicians who lately attended my mother. 'keep this under lock and key,' he said, 'and be sure that it is used only for external purposes. there is sufficient in this flask to kill ten men, if swallowed by mistake.' i look at it wonderingly. it is colourless,--and there is not enough to fill a teaspoon, ... yet ... it will bring down upon me an eternal darkness, and close up for ever the marvellous scenes of the universe! so little!--to do so much! i have fastened lucio's wedding-gift round my waist,--the beautiful snake of jewels that clings to me as though it were charged with an embrace from him,--ah! would i could cheat myself into so pleasing a fancy! ... i am trembling, but not with cold or fear,--it is simply an excitation of the nerves,----an instinctive recoil of flesh and blood at the near prospect of death.... how brilliantly the sun shines through my window!--its callous golden stare has watched so many tortured creatures die without so much as a cloud to dim its radiance by way of the suggestion of pity! if there were a god i fancy he would be like the sun,--glorious, changeless, unapproachable, beautiful, but pitiless! * * * * * out of all the various types of human beings i think i hate the class called poets most. i used to love them and believe in them; but i know them now to be mere weavers of lies,--builders of cloud castles in which no throbbing life can breathe, no weary heart find rest. love is their chief motive,--they either idealize or degrade it,--and of the love we women long for most, they have no conception. they can only sing of brute passion or ethical impossibilities,--of the mutual great sympathy, the ungrudging patient tenderness that should make love lovely, they have no sweet things to say. between their strained æstheticism and unbridled sensualism, my spirit has been stretched on the rack and broken on the wheel, ... i should think many a wretched woman wrecked among love's disillusions must curse them as i do! * * * * * i am ready now, i think. there is nothing more to say. i offer no excuses for myself. i am as i was made,--a proud and rebellious woman, self-willed and sensual, seeing no fault in free love, and no crime in conjugal infidelity,--and if i am vicious, i can honestly declare that my vices have been encouraged and fostered in me by most of the literary teachers of my time. i married, as most women of my set marry, merely for money,--i loved, as most women of my set love, for mere bodily attraction,--i die, as most women of my set will die, either naturally or self-slain, in utter atheism, rejoicing that there is no god and no hereafter! * * * * * i had the poison in my hand a moment ago, ready to take, when i suddenly felt someone approaching me stealthily from behind, and glancing up quickly at the mirror i saw ... my mother! her face, hideous and ghastly as it had been in her last illness, was reflected in the glass, peering over my shoulder! i sprang up and confronted her,----she was gone! and now i am shivering with cold, and i feel a chill dampness on my forehead,--mechanically i have soaked a handkerchief with perfume from one of the silver bottles on the dressing table, and have passed it across my temples to help me recover from this sick swooning sensation. to _recover_!--how foolish of me, seeing i am about to die. i do not believe in ghosts,--yet i could have sworn my mother was actually present just now,--of course it was an optical delusion of my own feverish brain. the strong scent on my handkerchief reminds me of paris--i can see the shop where i bought this particular perfume, and the well-dressed doll of a man who served me, with his little waxed moustache, and his indefinable french manner of conveying a speechless personal compliment while making out a bill.... laughing at this recollection, i see my face radiate in the glass,--my eyes flash into vivid lustre, and the dimples near my lips come and go, giving my expression an enchanting sweetness. yet in a few hours this loveliness will be destroyed,--and in a few days, the worms will twine where the smile is now! * * * * * an idea has come upon me that perhaps i ought to say a prayer. it would be hypocritical,--but conventional. to die fashionably, one ought to concede a few words to the church. and yet ... to kneel down with clasped hands and tell an inactive, unsympathetic, selfish, paid community called the church, that i am going to kill myself for the sake of love and love's despair, and that therefore i humbly implore its forgiveness for the act seems absurd,--as absurd as to tell the same thing to a non-existent deity. i suppose the scientists do not think what a strange predicament their advanced theories put the human mind in at the hour of death. they forget that on the brink of the grave, thoughts come that will not be gainsaid, and that cannot be appeased by a learned thesis.... however i will not pray,--it would seem to myself cowardly that i who have never said my prayers since i was a child, should run over them now in a foolish babbling attempt to satisfy the powers invisible,--i could not, out of sheer association, appeal to mr swinburne's 'crucified carrion'! besides i do not believe in the powers invisible at all,--i feel that once outside this life, 'the rest' as hamlet said 'is silence.' * * * * * i have been staring dreamily and in a sort of stupefaction at the little poison-flask in my hand. _it is quite empty now._ i have swallowed every drop of the liquid it contained,--i took it quickly and determinately as one takes nauseous medicine, without allowing myself another moment of time for thought or hesitation. it tasted acrid and burning on my tongue,--but at present i am not conscious of any strange or painful result. i shall watch my face in the mirror and trace the oncoming of death,--this will be at any rate a new sensation not without interest! * * * * * my mother is here,--here with me in this room! she is moving about restlessly, making wild gestures with her hands and trying to speak. she looks as she did when she was dying,--only more alive, more sentient. i have followed her up and down, but am unable to touch her,--she eludes my grasp. i have called her 'mother! mother!' but no sound issues from her white lips. her face is so appalling that i was seized with a convulsion of terror a moment ago and fell on my knees before her imploring her to leave me,--and then she paused in her gliding to and fro and--smiled! what a hideous smile it was! i think i lost consciousness, ... for i found myself lying on the ground. a sharp and terrible pain running through me made me spring to my feet, ... and i bit my lips till they bled, lest i should scream aloud with the agony i suffered and so alarm the house. when the paroxysm passed i saw my mother standing quite near to me, dumbly watching me with a strange expression of wonder and remorse. i tottered past her and back to this chair where i now sit,----i am calmer now, and i am able to realize that she is only the phantom of my own brain--that i _fancy_ she is here while _knowing_ she is dead. * * * * * torture indescribable has made of me a writhing, moaning, helpless creature for the past few minutes. truly that drug was deadly;--the pain is horrible ... horrible! ... it has left me quivering in every limb and palpitating in every nerve. looking at my face in the glass i see that it has already altered. it is drawn and livid,--all the fresh rose-tint of my lips has gone,--my eyes protrude unnaturally, ... there are dull blue marks at the corners of my mouth and in the hollows of my temples, and i observe a curious quick pulsation in the veins of my throat. be my torment what it will, now there is no remedy,--and i am resolved to sit here and study my own features to the end. 'the reaper whose name is death' must surely be near, ready to gather my long hair in his skeleton hand like a sheaf of ripe corn, ... my poor beautiful hair!--how i have loved its glistening ripples, and brushed it, and twined it round my fingers, ... and how soon it will lie like a dank weed in the mould! * * * * * a devouring fire is in my brain and body,--i am burning with heat and parched with thirst,--i have drunk deep draughts of cold water, but this has not relieved me. the sun glares in upon me like an open furnace,--i have tried to rise and close the blind against it, but find i have no force to stand upright. the strong radiance blinds me:--the silver toilet boxes on my table glitter like so many points of swords. it is by a powerful effort of will that i am able to continue writing,--my head is swimming round,--and there is a choking sensation in my throat. * * * * * a moment since i thought i was dying. torn asunder as it were by the most torturing pangs, i could have screamed for help,--and would have done so, had voice been left me. but i cannot speak above a whisper,--i mutter my own name to myself 'sibyl! sibyl!' and can scarcely hear it. my mother stands beside me,--apparently waiting;--a little while ago i thought i heard her say 'come, sibyl! come to your chosen lover!' now i am conscious of a great silence everywhere,--a numbness has fallen upon me, and a delicious respite from pain,--but i see my face in the glass and know it is the face of the dead. it will soon be all over,--a few more uneasy breathings,--and i shall be at rest. i am glad,--for the world and i were never good friends;--i am sure that if we could know, before we were born, what life really is, we should never take the trouble to live! * * * * * a horrible fear has suddenly beset me. what if death were not what the scientists deem it,--suppose it were another form of life? can it be that i am losing reason and courage together? ... or what is this terrible misgiving that is taking possession of me? ... i begin to falter ... a strange sense of horror is creeping over me ... i have no more physical pain, but something worse than pain oppresses me ... a feeling that i cannot define. i am dying ... dying!--i repeat this to myself for comfort, ... in a little while i shall be deaf and blind and unconscious, ... why then is the silence around me now broken through by sound? i listen,--and i hear distinctly the clamour of wild voices mingled with a sullen jar and roll as of distant thunder! ... my mother stands closer to me, ... she is stretching out her hand to touch mine! * * * * * oh god! ... let me write--write--while i can! let me yet hold fast the thread which fastens me to earth,--give me time--time before i drift out, lost in yonder blackness and flame! let me write for others the awful truth, as i see it,--there is no death! none--none!--_i cannot die._ i am passing out of my body,--i am being wrenched away from it inch by inch in inexplicable mystic torture,--but i am not dying,--i am being carried forward into a new life, vague and vast! ... i see a new world full of dark forms, half shaped yet shapeless!--they float towards me, beckoning me on. i am actively conscious--i hear, i think, i know! death is a mere human dream,--a comforting fancy; it has no real existence,--there is nothing in the universe but life! o hideous misery!--_i cannot die!_ in my mortal body i can scarcely breathe,--the pen i try to hold writes of itself rather than through my shaking hand,--but these pangs are the throes of birth--not death! ... i hold back,--with all the force of my soul i strive not to plunge into that black abyss i see before me--but--_my mother drags me with her_,--i cannot shake her off! i hear her voice now;--she speaks distinctly, and laughs as though she wept; 'come sibyl! soul of the child i bore, come and meet your lover! come and see upon whom you fixed your faith! soul of the woman i trained, return to that from whence you came!' still i hold back,--nude and trembling i stare into a dark void--and now there are wings about me,--wings of fiery scarlet!--they fill the space,--they enfold me,--they propel me,--they rush past and whirl around me, stinging me as with flying arrows and showers of hail! * * * * * let me write on,--write on, with this dead fleshly hand, ... one moment more time, dread god! ... one moment more to write the truth,--the terrible truth of death whose darkest secret, life, is unknown to men! i live!--a new, strong, impetuous vitality possesses me, though my mortal body is nearly dead. faint gasps and weak shudderings affect it still,--and i, outside it and no longer of it, propel its perishing hand to write these final words--_i live!_ to my despair and horror,--to my remorse and agony, i live!--oh the unspeakable misery of this new life! and worst of all,--god whom i doubted, god whom i was taught to deny, this wronged, blasphemed, and outraged god exists! and i could have found him had i chosen,--this knowledge is forced upon me as i am torn from hence,--it is shouted at me by a thousand wailing voices! ... too late!--too late!--the scarlet wings beat me downward,--these strange half-shapeless forms close round and drive me onward ... to a further darkness, ... amid wind and fire! * * * * * serve me, dead hand, once more ere i depart, ... my tortured spirit must seize and compel you to write down this thing unnameable, that earthly eyes may read, and earthly souls take timely warning! ... i know at last whom i have loved!--whom i have chosen, whom i have worshipped! ... oh god, have mercy! ... i know who claims my worship now, and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame! ... his name is ........" here the manuscript ended,--incomplete and broken off abruptly,--and there was a blot on the last sentence as though the pen had been violently wrenched from the dying fingers and hastily flung down. the clock in the west room again chimed the hour. i rose stiffly from my chair, trembling,--my self-possession was giving way, and i began to feel at last unnerved. i looked askance at my dead wife,--she, who with a superhuman dying effort had declared herself to be yet alive,--who, in some imaginable strange way had seemingly written _after_ death, in a frantic desire to make some appalling declaration which nevertheless remained undeclared. the rigid figure of the corpse had now real terrors for me,--i dared not touch it,--i scarcely dared look at it, ... in some dim inscrutable fashion i felt as if "scarlet wings" environed it, beating me down, yet pressing me on,--me too, in my turn! with the manuscript gathered close in my hand, i bent nervously forward to blow out the wax lights on the toilet table, ... i saw on the floor the handkerchief odorous with the french perfume the dead woman had written of,--i picked it up and placed it near her where she sat, grinning hideously at her own mirrored ghastliness. the flash of the jewelled serpent round her waist caught my eyes anew as i did this, and i stared for a moment at its green glitter, dumbly fascinated,--then, moving stealthily, with the cold sweat pouring down my back and every pulse in me rendered feeble by sheer horror, i turned to leave the room. as i reached the portiére and lifted it, some instinct made me look back at the dread picture of the leading "society" beauty sitting stark and livid pale before her own stark and livid-pale image in the glass,--what a "fashion-plate" she would make now, i thought, for a frivolous and hypocritical "ladies' paper!" "you say you are not dead, sibyl!" i muttered aloud--"not dead, but living! then, if you are alive, where are you, sibyl?----where are you?" the heavy silence seemed fraught with fearful meaning,--the light of the electric lamps on the corpse and on the shimmering silk garment wrapped round it appeared unearthly,--and the perfume in the room had a grave-like earthy smell. a panic seized me, and dragging frantically at the portiére till all its velvet folds were drawn thickly together, i made haste to shut out from my sight the horrible figure of the woman whose bodily fairness i had loved in the customary way of sensual men,--and left her without so much as a pardoning or pitying kiss of farewell on the cold brow. for, ... after all i had myself to think of, ... and she was dead! xxxvii i pass over all the details of polite "shock," affected sorrow, and feigned sympathy of society at my wife's sudden death. no one was really grieved about it,--men raised their eyebrows, shrugged their shoulders, lit extra cigarettes and dismissed the subject as too unpleasant and depressing to dwell upon,--women were glad of the removal of a too beautiful and too much admired rival, and the majority of fashionable folk delighted in having something "thrilling" to talk about in the tragic circumstances of her end. as a rule, people are seldom or never unselfish enough to be honestly sorry for the evanishment of some leading or brilliant figure from their midst,--the vacancy leaves room for the pushing in of smaller fry. be sure that if you are unhappily celebrated for either beauty, wit, intellect, or all three together, half society wishes you dead already, and the other half tries to make you as wretched as possible while you are alive. to be missed at all when you die, some one must love you very deeply and unselfishly; and deep unselfish love is rarer to find among mortals than a pearl in a dust-bin. thanks to my abundance of cash, everything concerning sibyl's suicide was admirably managed. in consideration of her social position as an earl's daughter, two doctors certified (on my paying them very handsome fees) that hers was a 'death by misadventure,'--namely, through taking an accidental overdose of a powerful sleeping draught. it was the best report to make,--and the most respectable. it gave the penny press an opportunity of moralizing on the dangers that lurked in sleeping draughts generally,--and tom, dick, and harry all wrote letters to their favorite periodicals (signing their names in full) giving _their_ opinions as to the nature of sleeping draughts, so that for a week at least the ordinary dullness of the newspapers was quite enlivened by ungrammatical _gratis_ 'copy.' the conventionalities of law, decency and order were throughout scrupulously observed and complied with,--everybody was paid (which was the chief thing), and everybody was, i believe, satisfied with what they managed to make out of the death-payment. the funeral gave joy to the souls of all undertakers,--it was so expensive and impressive. the florist's trade gained something of an impetus by the innumerable orders received for wreaths and crosses made of the costliest flowers. when the coffin was carried to the grave, it could not be seen for the load of blossoms that covered it. and amid all the cards and 'loving tokens' and 'farewell dearests' and 'not-lost-but-gone-befores'--that ticketed the white masses of lilies, gardenias and roses which were supposed to symbolize the innocence and sweetness of the poisoned corpse they were sent to adorn, there was not one honest regret,--not one unfeigned expression of true sorrow. lord elton made a sufficiently striking figure of dignified parental woe, but on the whole i think he was not sorry for his daughter's death, since the only opposing obstacle to his marriage with diana chesney was now removed. i fancy diana herself was sorry, so far as such a frivolous little american could be sorry for anything,--perhaps, however it would be more correct to say that she was frightened. sibyl's sudden end startled and troubled her,--but i am not sure that it grieved her. there is such a difference between unselfish grief, and the mere sense of nervous personal shock! miss charlotte fitzroy took the news of her niece's death with that admirable fortitude which frequently characterizes religious spinsters of a certain age. she put by her knitting,--said 'god's will be done!' and sent for her favorite clergyman. he came, stayed with her some hours drinking strong tea,--and the next morning at church administered to her communion. this done, miss fitzroy went on the blameless and even tenor of her way, wearing the same virtuously distressed expression as usual, and showed no further sign of feeling. i, as the afflicted millionaire-husband, was no doubt the most interesting figure on the scene; i was, i know very well got up, thanks to my tailor, and to the affectionate care of the chief undertaker who handed me my black gloves on the day of the funeral with servile solicitude, but in my heart i felt myself to be a far better actor than henry irving, and if only for my admirable mimicry of heart-break, more fully worthy of the accolade. lucio did not attend the obsequies,--he wrote me a brief note of sympathy from town, and hinted that he was sure i could understand his reasons for not being present. i did understand, of course,--and appreciated his respect, as i thought, for me and my feelings,--yet strange and incongruous as it may seem, i never longed so much for his company as i did then! however,--we had a glorious burial of my fair and false lady,--prancing horses drew coroneted carriages in a long defile down the pretty warwickshire lanes to the grey old church, picturesque and peaceful, where the clergyman and his assistants in newly-washed surplices, met the flower-laden coffin, and with the usual conventional mumblings, consigned it to the dust. there were even press-reporters present, who not only described the scene as it did _not_ happen, but who also sent fancy sketches, to their respective journals, of the church as it did _not_ exist. i mention this simply to show how thoroughly all "proper forms" were carried out and conceded to. after the ceremony all we "mourners" went back to willowsmere to luncheon, and i well remember that lord elton told me a new and _risqué_ joke over a glass of port before the meal was finished. the undertakers had a sort of festive banquet in the servants' hall,--and taking everything into due consideration, my wife's death gave a great deal of pleasure to many people, and put useful money into several ready pockets. she had left no blank in society that could not be easily filled up,--she was merely one butterfly out of thousands, more daintily coloured perhaps and more restless in flight,--but never judged as more than up to the butterfly standard. i said no one gave her an honest regret, but i was wrong. mavis clare was genuinely, almost passionately grieved. she sent no flowers for the coffin, but she came to the funeral by herself, and stood a little apart waiting silently till the grave was covered in,--and then, just as the "fashionable" train of mourners were leaving the churchyard, she advanced and placed a white cross of her own garden-lilies upon the newly-turned brown mould. i noticed her action, and determined that before i left willowsmere for the east with lucio (for my journey had only been postponed a week or two on account of sibyl's death) she should know all. the day came when i carried out this resolve. it was a rainy and chill afternoon, and i found mavis in her study, sitting beside a bright log fire with her small terrier in her lap and her faithful st bernard stretched at her feet. she was absorbed in a book,--and over her watched the marble pallas inflexible and austere. as i entered she rose, and putting down the volume and her pet dog together, she advanced to meet me with an intense sympathy in her clear eyes, and a wordless pity in the tremulous lines of her sweet mouth. it was charming to see how sorry she felt for me,--and it was odd that i could not feel sorry for myself. after a few words of embarrassed greeting i sat down and watched her silently, while she arranged the logs in the fire to make them burn brighter, and for the moment avoided my gaze. "i suppose you know,"--i began with harsh abruptness--"that the sleeping-draught story is a polite fiction? you know that my wife poisoned herself intentionally?" mavis looked at me with a troubled and compassionate expression. "i feared it was so--" ... she began nervously. "oh there is nothing either to fear or to hope"--i said with some violence--"_she did it._ and can you guess why she did it? because she was mad with her own wickedness and sensuality,--because she loved with a guilty love, my friend lucio rimânez." mavis gave a little cry as of pain, and sat down white and trembling. "you can read quickly, i am sure,"--i went on. "part of the profession of literature is the ability to skim books and manuscripts rapidly, and grasp the whole gist of them in a few minutes;--read _this_--" and i handed her the rolled-up pages of sibyl's dying declaration--"let me stay here, while you learn from that what sort of a woman she was, and judge whether, despite her beauty, she is worth a regret!" "pardon me,--" said mavis gently--"i would rather not read what was not meant for my eyes." "but it _is_ meant for your eyes,"--i retorted impatiently--"it is meant for everybody's eyes apparently,--it is addressed to nobody in particular. there is a mention of you in it. i beg--nay i command you to read it!--i want your opinion on it,--your advice; you may possibly suggest, after perusal, the proper sort of epitaph i ought to inscribe on the monument i am going to build to her sacred and dear memory!" i covered my face with one hand to hide the bitter smile which i knew betrayed my thoughts, and pushed the manuscript towards her. very reluctantly she took it,--and slowly unrolling it, began to read. for several minutes there was a silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the fire, and the regular breathing of the dogs who now both lay stretched comfortably in front of the wood blaze. i looked covertly at the woman whose fame i had envied,--at the slight figure, the coronal of soft hair,--the delicate, drooping sensitive face,--the small white classic hand that held the written sheets of paper so firmly, yet so tenderly,--the very hand of the greek marble psyche;--and i thought what short-sighted asses some literary men are who suppose they can succeed in shutting out women like mavis clare from winning everything that fame or fortune can offer. such a head as hers, albeit covered with locks fair and caressable, was not meant, in its fine shape and compactness, for submission to inferior intelligences whether masculine or feminine,--that determined little chin which the firelight delicately outlined, was a visible declaration of the strength of will and the indomitably high ambition of its owner,--and yet, ... the soft eyes,--the tender mouth,--did not these suggest the sweetest love, the purest passion that ever found place in a woman's heart? i lost myself in dreamy musing,--i thought of many things that had little to do with either my own past or present. i realized that now and then at rare intervals god makes a woman of genius with a thinker's brain and an angel's soul,--and that such an one is bound to be a destiny to all mortals less divinely endowed, and a glory to the world in which she dwells. so considering, i studied mavis clare's face and form,--i saw her eyes fill with tears as she read on;--why should she weep, i wondered, over that 'last document' which had left me unmoved and callous? i was startled almost as if from sleep when her voice, thrilling with pain, disturbed the stillness,--she sprang up, gazing at me as if she saw some horrible vision. "oh, are you so blind," she cried, "as not to see what this means? can you not understand? do you not know your worst enemy?" "my worst enemy?" i echoed amazed--"you surprise me, mavis,--what have i, or my enemies or friends to do with my wife's last confession? she raved,--between poison and passion, she could not tell, as you see by her final words, whether she was dead or alive,--and her writing at all under such stress of circumstances was a phenomenal effort,--but it has nothing to do with me personally." "for god's sake do not be so hard-hearted!"--said mavis passionately--"to me these last words of sibyl's,--poor, tortured, miserable girl!--are beyond all expression horrible and appalling. do you mean to tell me you have no belief in a future life?" "none." i answered with conviction. "then this is nothing to you?--this solemn assurance of hers that she is not dead, but living again,--living too, in indescribable misery!--you do not believe it?" "does anyone believe the ravings of the dying!" i answered--"she was, as i have said, suffering the torments of poison and passion,--and in those torments wrote as one tormented...." "is it impossible to convince you of the truth?" asked mavis solemnly,--"are you so diseased in your spiritual perceptions as not to _know_, beyond a doubt, that this world is but the shadow of the other worlds awaiting us? i assure you, as i live, you will have that terrible knowledge forced upon you some day! i am aware of your theories,--your wife had the same beliefs or rather non-beliefs as yourself,--yet _she_ has been convinced at last! i shall not attempt to argue with you. if this last letter of the unhappy girl you wedded cannot open your eyes to the eternal facts you choose to ignore, nothing will ever help you. you are in the power of your enemy!" "of whom are you speaking, mavis?" i asked astonished, observing that she stood like one suddenly appalled in a dream, her eyes fixed musingly on vacancy, and her lips trembling apart. "your enemy--your enemy!" she repeated with energy--"it seems to me as if his shadow stood near you now! listen to this voice from the dead--sibyl's voice!----what does she say?----'_oh god, have mercy!----i know who claims my worship now and drags me into yonder rolling world of flame ... his name is--_'" ... "well!" i interrupted eagerly----"she breaks off there; his name is----" "lucio rimânez!" said mavis in a thrilling tone--"i do not know from whence he came,--but i take god to witness my belief that he is a worker of evil,--a fiend in beautiful human shape,--a destroyer and a corrupter! the curse of him fell on sibyl the moment she met him,--the same curse rests on you! leave him if you are wise,--take your chance of escape while it remains to you,--and never let him see your face again!" she spoke with a kind of breathless haste as though impelled by a force not her own,--i stared at her amazed, and in a manner irritated. "such a course of action would be impossible to me, mavis,"--i said somewhat coldly--"the prince rimânez is my best friend--no man ever had a better;--and his loyalty to me has been put to a severe test under which most men would have failed. i have not told you all." and i related in a few words the scene i had witnessed between my wife and lucio in the music-gallery at willowsmere. she listened,--but with an evident effort,--and pushing back her clustering hair from her brows she sighed heavily. "i am sorry,--but it does not alter my conviction!"--she said--"i look upon your best friend as your worst foe. and i feel you do not realize the awful calamity of your wife's death in its true aspect. will you forgive me if i ask you to leave me now?----lady sibyl's letter has affected me terribly--i feel i cannot speak about it any more.... i wish i had not read it...." she broke off with a little half-suppressed sob,--i saw she was unnerved, and taking the manuscript from her hand, i said half-banteringly-- "you cannot then suggest an epitaph for my wife's monument?" she turned upon me with a grand gesture of reproach. "yes i can!"--she replied in a low indignant voice--"inscribe it as--'from a pitiless hand to a broken heart!' that will suit the dead girl,--and you, the living man!" her rustling gown swept across my feet,--she passed me and was gone. stupefied by her sudden anger, and equally sudden departure, i stood inert,--the st bernard rose from the hearth-rug and glowered at me suspiciously, evidently wishing me to take my leave,--pallas athene stared, as usual, through me and beyond me in a boundless scorn,--all the various objects in this quiet study seemed silently to eject me as an undesired occupant. i looked round it once longingly as a tired outcast may look on a peaceful garden and wish in vain to enter. "how like her sex she is after all!" i said half aloud--"she blames _me_ for being pitiless,--and forgets that sibyl was the sinner,--not i! no matter how guilty a woman may be, she generally manages to secure a certain amount of sympathy,--a man is always left out in the cold." a shuddering sense of loneliness oppressed me as my eyes wandered round the restful room. the odour of lilies was in the air, exhaled, so i fancied, from the delicate and dainty personality of mavis herself. "if i had only known her first,--and loved her!" i murmured, as i turned away at last and left the house. but then i remembered i had hated her before i ever met her,--and not only had i hated her, but i had vilified and misrepresented her work with a scurrilous pen under the shield of anonymity, and out of sheer malice,--thus giving her in the public sight, the greatest proof of her own genius a gifted woman can ever win,--man's envy! xxxviii two weeks later i stood on the deck of lucio's yacht 'the flame,'--a vessel whose complete magnificence filled me, as well as all other beholders, with bewildered wonderment and admiration. she was a miracle of speed, her motive power being electricity; and the electric engines with which she was fitted were so complex and remarkable as to baffle all would-be inquirers into the secret of their mechanism and potency. a large crowd of spectators gathered to see her as she lay off southampton, attracted by the beauty of her shape and appearance,--some bolder spirits even came out in tugs and row-boats, hoping to be allowed to make a visit of inspection on board, but the sailors, powerfully-built men of a foreign and somewhat unpleasing type, soon intimated that the company of such inquisitive persons was undesirable and unwelcome. with white sails spread, and a crimson flag flying from her mast, she weighed anchor at sunset on the afternoon of the day her owner and i joined her, and moving through the waters with delicious noiselessness and incredible rapidity, soon left far behind her the english shore, looking like a white line in the mist, or the pale vision of a land that might once have been. i had done a few quixotic things before departing from my native country,--for example, i had made a free gift of his former home willowsmere, to lord elton, taking a sort of sullen pleasure in thinking that he, the spendthrift nobleman, owed the restoration of his property to _me_,--to me who had never been either a successful linen-draper or furniture-man, but simply an author, one of 'those sort of people' whom my lord and my lady imagine they can 'patronize' and neglect again at pleasure without danger to themselves. the arrogant fools invariably forget what lasting vengeance can be taken for an unmerited slight by the owner of a brilliant pen! i was glad too, in a way, to realize that the daughter of the american railway-king would be brought to the grand old house to air her 'countess-ship,' and look at her prettily pert little physiognomy in the very mirror where sibyl had watched herself die. i do not know why this idea pleased me, for i bore no grudge against diana chesney,--she was vulgar but harmless, and would probably make a much more popular châtelaine at willowsmere court than my wife had ever been. among other things, i dismissed my man morris, and made him miserable,--with the gift of a thousand pounds, to marry and start a business on. he was miserable because he could not make up his mind what business to adopt, his anxiety being to choose the calling that would 'pay' best,--and also, because though he 'had his eye' upon several young women, he could not tell which among them would be likely to be least extravagant, and the most serviceable as a cook and housekeeper. the love of money and the pains of taking care of it, embittered his days as it embitters the days of most men, and my unexpected munificence towards him burdened him with such a weight of trouble as robbed him of natural sleep and appetite. i cared nothing for his perplexities however, and gave him no advice, good or bad. my other servants i dismissed, each with a considerable gift of money, not that i particularly wished to benefit _them_, but simply because i desired them to speak well of _me_. and in this world it is very evident that the only way to get a good opinion is to pay for it! i gave orders to a famous italian sculptor for sibyl's monument, english sculptors having no conception of sculpture,--it was to be of exquisite design, wrought in purest white marble, the chief adornment being the centre-figure of an angel ready for flight, with the face of sibyl faithfully copied from her picture. because, however devilish a woman may be in her life-time, one is bound by all the laws of social hypocrisy to make an angel of her as soon as she is dead! just before i left london i heard that my old college-friend 'boffles,' john carrington, had met with a sudden end. busy at the 'retorting' of his gold, he had been choked by the mercurial fumes and had died in hideous torment. at one time this news would have deeply affected me, but now, i was scarcely sorry. i had heard nothing of him since i had come into my fortune,--he had never even written to congratulate me. always full of my own self-importance, i judged this as great neglect on his part, and now that he was dead i felt no more than any of us feel now-a-days at the loss of friends. and that is very little,--we have really no time to be sorry,--so many people are always dying!--and we are in such a desperate hurry to rush on to death ourselves! nothing seemed to touch me that did not closely concern my own personal interest,--and i had no affections left, unless i may call the vague tenderness i had for mavis clare an affection. yet, to be honest, this very emotion was after all nothing but a desire to be consoled, pitied and loved by her,--to be able to turn upon the world and say "this woman whom you have lifted on your shield of honour and crowned with laurels,--she loves _me_--she is not yours, but _mine_!" purely interested and purely selfish was the longing,--and it deserved no other name than selfishness. my feelings for rimânez too began at this time to undergo a curious change. the fascination i had for him, the power he exercised over me remained as great as ever, but i found myself often absorbed in a close study of him, strangely against my own will. sometimes his every look seemed fraught with meaning,--his every gesture suggestive of an almost terrific authority. he was always to me the most attractive of beings,--nevertheless there was an uneasy sensation of doubt and fear growing up in my mind regarding him,--a painful anxiety to know more about him than he had ever told me,--and on rare occasions i experienced a sudden shock of inexplicable repulsion against him which like a tremendous wave threw me back with violence upon myself and left me half-stunned with a dread of i knew not what. alone with him, as it were, on the wide sea, cut off for a time from all other intercourse than that which we shared together, these sensations were very strong upon me. i began to note many things which i had been too blind or too absorbed in my own pursuits to observe before; the offensive presence of amiel, who acted as chief steward on board the yacht, filled me now not only with dislike, but nervous apprehension,--the dark and more or less repulsive visages of the crew haunted me in my dreams;--and one day, leaning over the vessel's edge and gazing blankly down into the fathomless water below, i fell to thinking of strange sorceries of the east, and stories of magicians who by the exercise of unlawful science did so make victims of men and delude them that their wills were entirely perverted and no longer their own. i do not know why this passing thought should have suddenly overwhelmed me with deep depression,--but when i looked up, to me the sky had grown dark, and the face of one of the sailors who was near me polishing the brass hand-rail, seemed singularly threatening and sinister. i moved to go to the other side of the deck, when a hand was gently laid on my shoulder from behind, and turning, i met the sad and splendid eyes of lucio. "are you growing weary of the voyage geoffrey?" he asked--"weary of those two suggestions of eternity--the interminable sky, the interminable sea? i am afraid you are!--man easily gets fatigued with his own littleness and powerlessness when he is set afloat on a plank between air and ocean. yet we are travelling as swiftly as electricity will bear us,--and, as worked in this vessel, it is carrying us at a far greater speed than you perhaps realize or imagine." i made no immediate answer, but taking his arm strolled slowly up and down. i felt he was looking at me, but i avoided meeting his gaze. "you have been thinking of your wife?" he queried softly and, as i thought, sympathetically--"i have shunned,--for reasons you know of,--all allusion to the tragic end of so beautiful a creature. beauty is, alas!--so often subject to hysteria! yet--if you had any faith, you would believe she is an angel now!" i stopped short at this, and looked straight at him. there was a fine smile on his delicate mouth. "an angel!" i repeated slowly--"or a devil? which would you say she is?--you, who sometimes declare that you believe in heaven,--and hell?" he was silent, but the dreamy smile remained still on his lips. "come, speak!" i said roughly--"you can be frank with me, you know,--angel or devil--which?" "my dear geoffrey!" he remonstrated gently and with gravity--"a woman is always an angel,--both here and hereafter!" i laughed bitterly. "if that is part of your faith i am sorry for you!" "i have not spoken of my faith,"--he rejoined in colder accents, lifting his brilliant eyes to the darkening heaven--"i am not a salvationist, that i should bray forth a creed to the sound of trump and drum." "all the same, you _have_ a creed;"--i persisted--"and i fancy it must be a strange one! if you remember, you promised to explain it to me----" "are you ready to receive such an explanation?" he asked in a somewhat ironical tone--"no, my dear friend!--permit me to say you are _not_ ready--not yet! my beliefs are too positive to be brought even into contact with your contradictions,--too frightfully real to submit to your doubts for a moment. you would at once begin to revert to the puny, used-up old arguments of voltaire, schopenhauer and huxley,--little atomic theories like grains of dust in the whirlwind of my knowledge! i can tell you i believe in god as a very actual and positive being,--and that is presumably the first of the church articles." "you believe in god!" i echoed his words, staring at him stupidly. he seemed in earnest. in fact he had always seemed in earnest on the subject of deity. vaguely i thought of a woman in society whom i slightly knew,--an ugly woman, unattractive and mean-minded, who passed her time in entertaining semi-royalties and pushing herself amongst them,--she had said to me one day--[ ] "i hate people who believe in god, don't you? the idea of a god makes me _sick_!" "you believe in god!" i repeated again dubiously. "look!" he said, raising his hand towards the sky--"there a few drifting clouds cover millions of worlds, impenetrable, mysterious, yet _actual_;--down there--" and he pointed to the sea, "lurk a thousand things of which, though the ocean is a part of earth, human beings have not yet learned the nature. between these upper and lower spaces of the incomprehensible yet absolute, you, a finite atom of limited capabilities stand, uncertain how long the frail thread of your life shall last, yet arrogantly balancing the question with your own poor brain, as to whether you,--_you_ in your utter littleness and incompetency shall condescend to accept a god or not! i confess, that of all astonishing things in the universe, this particular attitude of modern mankind is the most astonishing to me!" "your own attitude is?----" "the reluctant acceptance of such terrific knowledge as is forced upon me,--" he replied with a dark smile--"i do not say i have been an apt or a willing pupil,--i have had to suffer in learning what i know!" "do you believe in hell?" i asked him suddenly--"and in satan, the arch-enemy of mankind?" he was silent for so long that i was surprised, the more so as he grew pale to the lips, and a curious, almost deathlike rigidity of feature gave his expression something of the ghastly and terrible. after a pause he turned his eyes upon me,--an intense burning misery was reflected in them, though he smiled. "most assuredly i believe in hell! how can i do otherwise if i believe in heaven? if there is an up there must be a down; if there is light, there must also be darkness! and, ... concerning the arch-enemy of mankind,--if half the stories reported of him be true, he must be the most piteous and pitiable figure in the universe! what would be the sorrows of a thousand million worlds, compared to the sorrows of satan!" "sorrows!" i echoed--"he is supposed to rejoice in the working of evil!" "neither angel nor devil can do that,"--he said slowly--"to rejoice in the working of evil is a temporary mania which affects man only. for actual joy to come out of evil, chaos must come again, and god must extinguish himself." he stared across the dark sea,--the sun had sunk, and one faint star twinkled through the clouds. "and so i again say--the sorrows of satan! sorrows immeasurable as eternity itself,--imagine them! to be shut out of heaven!--to hear all through the unending æons, the far-off voices of angels whom once he knew and loved!--to be a wanderer among deserts of darkness, and to pine for the light celestial that was formerly as air and food to his being,--and to know that man's folly, man's utter selfishness, man's cruelty, keep him thus exiled, an outcast from pardon and peace! man's nobleness may lift the lost spirit almost within reach of his lost joys,--but man's vileness drags him down again,--easy was the torture of sisyphus compared with the torture of satan! no wonder that he loathes mankind!--small blame to him if he seeks to destroy the puny tribe eternally,--little marvel that he grudges them their share of immortality! think of it as a legend merely,"--and he turned upon me with a movement that was almost fierce--"christ redeemed man,--and by his teaching, showed how it was possible for man to redeem the devil!" "i do not understand you--" i said feebly, awed by the strange pain and passion of his tone. "do you not? yet my meaning is scarcely obscure! if men were true to their immortal instincts and to the god that made them,--if they were generous, honest, fearless, faithful, reverent, unselfish, ... if women were pure, brave, tender and loving,--can you not imagine that in the strong force and fairness of such a world, 'lucifer, son of the morning' would be moved to love instead of hate?--that the closed doors of paradise would be unbarred--and that he, lifted towards his creator on the prayers of pure lives, would wear again his angel's crown? can you not realize this, even by way of a legendary story?" "why yes, as a legendary story the idea is beautiful,"--i admitted--"and to me, as i told you once before, quite new. still, as men are never likely to be honest or women pure, i'm afraid the poor devil stands a bad chance of ever getting redeemed!" "i fear so too!" and he eyed me with a curious derision--"i very much fear so! and his chances being so slight, i rather respect him for being the arch-enemy of such a worthless race!" he paused a moment, then added--"i wonder how we have managed to get on such an absurd subject of conversation? it is dull and uninteresting as all 'spiritual' themes invariably are. my object in bringing you out on this voyage is not to indulge in psychological argument, but to make you forget your troubles as much as possible, and enjoy the present while it lasts." there was a vibration of compassionate kindness in his voice which at once moved me to an acute sense of self-pity, the worst enervator of moral force that exists. i sighed heavily. "truly i have suffered"--i said--"more than most men!" "more even than most millionaires deserve to suffer!" declared lucio, with that inevitable touch of sarcasm which distinguished some of his friendliest remarks--"money is supposed to make amends to a man for everything,--and even the wealthy wife of a certain irish 'patriot' has not found it incompatible with affection to hold her moneybags close to herself while her husband has been declared a bankrupt. how she has 'idolized' him, let others say! now, considering _your_ cash-abundance, it must be owned the fates have treated you somewhat unkindly!" the smile that was half-cruel and half-sweet radiated in his eyes as he spoke,--and again a singular revulsion of feeling against him moved me to dislike and fear. and yet,--how fascinating was his company! i could not but admit that the voyage with him to alexandria on board 'the flame' was one of positive enchantment and luxury all the way. there was nothing in a material sense left to wish for,--all that could appeal to the intelligence or the imagination had been thought of on board this wonderful yacht which sped like a fairy ship over the sea. some of the sailors were skilled musicians, and on tranquil nights or at sunset, would bring stringed instruments and discourse to our ears the most dulcet and ravishing melodies. lucio himself too would often sing,--his luscious voice resounding, as it seemed, over all the visible sea and sky, with such passion as might have drawn an angel down to listen. gradually my mind became impregnated with these snatches of mournful, fierce, or weird minor tunes,--and i began to suffer in silence from an inexplicable depression and foreboding sense of misery, as well as from another terrible feeling to which i could scarcely give a name,--a dreadful _uncertainty of myself_, as of one lost in a wilderness and about to die. i endured these fits of mental agony alone,--and in such dreary burning moments, believed i was going mad. i grew more and more sullen and taciturn, and when we at last arrived at alexandria i was not moved to any particular pleasure. the place was new to me, but i was not conscious of novelty,--everything seemed flat, dull, and totally uninteresting. a heavy almost lethargic stupor chained my wits, and when we left the yacht in harbour and went on to cairo, i was not sensible of any personal enjoyment in the journey, or interest in what i saw. i was only partially roused when we took possession of a luxurious dahabeah, which, with a retinue of attendants, had been specially chartered for us, and commenced our lotus-like voyage up the nile. the reed-edged, sluggish yellow river fascinated me,--i used to spend long hours reclining at full length in a deck-chair, gazing at the flat shores, the blown sand-heaps, the broken columns and mutilated temples of the dead kingdoms of the past. one evening, thus musing, while the great golden moon climbed languidly up into the sky to stare at the wrecks of earthly ages i said-- "if one could only see these ancient cities as they once existed, what strange revelations might be made! our modern marvels of civilization and progress might seem small trifles after all,--for i believe in our days we are only re-discovering what the peoples of old time knew." lucio drew his cigar from his mouth and looked at it meditatively. then he glanced up at me with a half-smile-- "would you like to see a city resuscitated?" he inquired--"here, in this very spot, some six thousand years ago, a king reigned, with a woman not his queen but his favourite, (quite a lawful arrangement in those days) who was as famous for her beauty and virtue, as this river is for its fructifying tide. here civilization had progressed enormously,--with the one exception that it had not outgrown faith. modern france and england have beaten the ancients in their scorn of god and creed, their contempt for divine things, their unnameable lasciviousness and blasphemy. this city"----and he waved his hand towards a dreary stretch of shore where a cluster of tall reeds waved above the monster fragment of a fallen column,--"was governed by the strong pure faith of its people more than anything,--and the ruler of social things in it was a woman. the king's favourite was something like mavis clare in that she possessed genius,--she had also the qualities of justice, intelligence, love, truth and a most noble unselfishness,--she made this place happy. it was a paradise on earth while she lived,--when she died, its glory ended. so much can a woman do if she chooses,--so much does she _not_ do, in her usual cow-like way of living!" "how do you know all this you tell me of?" i asked him. "by study of past records"--he replied--"i read what modern men declare they have no time to read. you are right in the idea that all 'new' things are only old things re-invented or re-discovered,--if you had gone a step further and said that some of men's present lives are only the continuation of their past, you would not have been wrong. now, if you like, i can by my science, show you the city that stood here long ago,--the 'city beautiful' as its name is, translated from the ancient tongue." i roused myself from my lounging attitude and looked at him amazedly. he met my gaze unmoved. "you can show it to me!" i exclaimed--"how can you do such an impossible thing?" "permit me to hypnotize you,"--he answered smiling,--"my system of hypnotism is, very fortunately, not yet discovered by meddlesome inquirers into occult matters,--but it never fails of its effect,--and i promise you, you shall, under my influence, see not only the place, but the people." my curiosity was strongly excited, and i became more eager to try the suggested experiment than i cared to openly show. i laughed however, with affected indifference. "i am perfectly willing!" i said--"all the same, i don't think you can hypnotize me,--i have much too strong a will of my own----" at which remark i saw a smile, dark and saturnine, hover on his lips--"but you can make the attempt." he rose at once, and signed to one of our egyptian servants. "stop the dahabeah, azimah," he said--"we will rest here for the night." azimah, a superb-looking eastern in picturesque white garments, put his hands to his head in submission and retired to give the order. in another few moments the dahabeah had stopped. a great silence was around us,--the moonlight fell like yellow wine on the deck,--in the far distance across the stretches of dark sand, a solitary column towered so clear-cut against the sky that it was almost possible to discern upon it the outline of a monstrous face. lucio stood still, confronting me,--saying nothing, but looking me steadily through and through, with those wonderful mystic, melancholy eyes that seemed to penetrate and burn my very flesh. i was attracted as a bird might be by the basilisk eyes of a snake,--yet i tried to smile and say something indifferent. my efforts were useless,--personal consciousness was slipping from me fast,--the sky, the water and the moon whirled round each other in a giddy chase for precedence;--i could not move, for my limbs seemed fastened to my chair with weights of iron, and i was for a few minutes absolutely powerless. then suddenly my vision cleared (as i thought)--my senses grew vigorous and alert, ... i heard the sound of solemn marching music, and there,--there in the full radiance of the moon, with a thousand lights gleaming forth from high cupolas, shone the 'city beautiful'! [ ] said in the author's hearing by one of the 'lady leaders' of 'smart' society. xxxix a vision of majestic buildings, vast, stately and gigantic!----of streets crowded with men and women in white and coloured garments adorned with jewels,--of flowers that grew on the roofs of palaces and swung from terrace to terrace in loops and garlands of fantastic bloom,--of trees, broad-branched and fully leafed,--of marble embankments overlooking the river,--of lotus-lilies growing thickly below, by the water's edge,--of music that echoed in silver and brazen twangings from the shelter of shady gardens and covered balconies,--every beautiful detail rose before me more distinctly than an ivory carving mounted on an ebony shield. just opposite where i stood or seemed to stand, on the deck of a vessel in the busy harbour, a wide avenue extended, opening up into huge squares embellished with strange figures of granite gods and animals,--i saw the sparkling spray of many fountains in the moonlight, and heard the low persistent hum of the restless human multitudes that thronged the place as thickly as bees clustered in a hive. to the left of the scene i could discern a huge bronze gate guarded by sphinxes; there was a garden beyond it, and from that depth of shade a girl's voice, singing a strange wild melody, came floating towards me on the breeze. meanwhile the marching music i had first of all caught the echo of, sounded nearer and nearer,--and presently i perceived a great crowd approaching with lighted torches and garlands of flowers. soon i saw a band of priests in brilliant robes that literally blazed with sun-like gems,--they were moving towards the river, and with them came young boys and little children, while on either side, maidens white-veiled and rose-wreathed, paced demurely, swinging silver censers to and fro. after the priestly procession walked a regal figure between ranks of slaves and attendants,--i knew it for the king of this 'city beautiful,' and was almost moved to join in the thundering acclamations which greeted his progress. and that snowy palanquin, carried by lily-crowned girls, that followed his train,--who occupied it? ... what gem of his land was thus tenderly enshrined? i was consumed by an extraordinary longing to know this,--i watched the white burden coming nearer to my point of vantage,--i saw the priests arrange themselves in a semi-circle on the river-embankment, the king in their midst, and the surging shouting multitude around,--then came the brazen clangour of many bells, intermixed with the rolling of drums and the shrilling sound of reed-pipes lightly blown upon,--and, amid the blaze of the flaring torches, the white palanquin was set down upon the ground. a woman, clad in some silvery glistening tissue, stepped forth from it like a sylph from the foam of the sea, but----she was veiled,--i could not discern so much as the outline of her features,--and the keen disappointment of this was a positive torture to me. if i could but see her, i thought, i should know something i had never hitherto guessed! "lift, oh lift the shrouding veil, spirit of the city beautiful!" i inwardly prayed--"for i feel i shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness!" but the veil was not withdrawn, ... the music made barbaric clamour in my ears, ... the blaze of strong light and colour blinded me, ... and i felt myself reeling into a dark chaos, where as i imagined, i chased the moon, as she flew before me on silver wings,--then ... the sound of a rich baritone trolling out a light song from a familiar modern _opera bouffe_ confused and startled me,----and in another second i found myself staring wildly at lucio, who, lying easily back in his deck-chair, was carolling joyously to the silent night and the blank expanse of sandy shore, in front of which our dahabeah rested motionless. with a cry i flung myself upon him. "where is she?" i exclaimed--"_who_ is she?" he looked at me without replying, and smiling quizzically, released himself from my sudden grasp. i drew back shuddering and bewildered. "i saw it all!" i murmured--"the city--the priests,--the people--the king!----all but her face! why was that hidden from me!" and actual tears rose to my eyes involuntarily,--lucio surveyed me with evident amusement. "what a 'find' you would be to a first-class 'spiritual' impostor playing his tricks in cultured and easily-gulled london society!" he observed--"you seem most powerfully impressed by a passing vision!" "do you mean to tell me," i said earnestly "that what i saw just now was the mere thought of your brain conveyed to mine?" "precisely!" he responded--"i know what the 'city beautiful' was like, and i was able to draw it for you on the canvas of my memory and present it as a complete picture to your inward sight. for you _have_ an inward sight,--though like most people, you live unconscious of that neglected faculty." "but--who was she?" i repeated obstinately. "'she' was, i presume, the king's favourite. if she kept her face hidden from you as you complain, i am sorry!--but i assure you it was not my fault! get to bed, geoffrey,--you look dazed. you take visions badly,--yet they are better than realities, believe me!" somehow i could not answer him. i left him abruptly and went below to try and sleep, but my thoughts were all cruelly confused, and i began to be more than ever overwhelmed with a sense of deepening terror,--a feeling that i was being commanded, controlled and, as it were, driven along by a force that had in it something unearthly. it was a most distressing sensation,--it made me shrink at times, from the look of lucio's eyes,--now and then indeed i almost cowered before him, so increasingly great was the indefinable dread i had of his presence. it was not so much the strange vision of the 'city beautiful' that had inspired this in me,--for after all, that was only a trick of hypnotism, as he had said, and as i was content to argue it with myself,--but it was his whole manner that suddenly began to impress me as it had never impressed me before. if any change was slowly taking place in my sentiments towards him, so surely it seemed was he changing equally towards me. his imperious ways were more imperial,--his sarcasm more sarcastic,--his contempt for mankind more openly displayed and more frequently pronounced. yet i admired him as much as ever,--i delighted in his conversation, whether it were witty, philosophical or cynical,--i could not imagine myself without his company. nevertheless the gloom on my mind deepened,--our nile trip became infinitely wearisome to me, so much so, that almost before we had got half-way on our journey up the river, i longed to turn back again and wished the voyage at an end. an incident that occurred at luxor was more than sufficient to strengthen this desire. we had stayed there for several days exploring the district and visiting the ruins of thebes and karnac, where they were busy excavating tombs. one afternoon they brought to light a red granite sarcophagus intact,--in it was a richly painted coffin which was opened in our presence, and was found to contain the elaborately adorned mummy of a woman. lucio proved himself an apt reader of hieroglyphs, and he translated in brief, and with glib accuracy the history of the corpse as it was pictured inside the sepulchral shell. "a dancer at the court of queen amenartes;" he announced for the benefit of several interested spectators who with myself, stood round the sarcophagus--"who because of her many sins, and secret guilt which made her life unbearable, and her days full of corruption, died of poison administered by her own hand, according to the king's command, and in presence of the executioners of law. such is the lady's story,--condensed;--there are a good many other details of course. she appears to have been only in her twentieth year. well!" and he smiled as he looked round upon his little audience,--"we may congratulate ourselves on having progressed since the days of these over-strict ancient egyptians! the sins of dancers are not, with us, taken _au grand serieux_! shall we see what she is like?" no objection was raised by the authorities concerned in the discoveries,--and i, who had never witnessed the unrolling of a mummy before, watched the process with great interest and curiosity. as one by one of the scented wrappings were removed, a long tress of nut-brown hair became visible,--then, those who were engaged in the task, used more extreme and delicate precaution, lucio himself assisting them to uncover the face. as this was done, a kind of sick horror stole over me,--brown and stiff as parchment though the features were, their contour was recognisable,--and when the whole countenance was exposed to view i could almost have shrieked aloud the name of '_sibyl!_' for it was like her!--dreadfully like!--and as the faint, half-aromatic half-putrid odours of the unrolled cerements crept towards me on the air, i reeled back giddily and covered my eyes. irresistibly i was reminded of the subtle french perfume exhaled from sibyl's garments when i found her dead,--that, and this sickly effluvia were similar! a man standing near me saw me swerve as though about to fall, and caught me on his arm. "the sun is too strong for you i fear?" he said kindly--"this climate does not suit everybody." i forced a smile and murmured something about a passing touch of vertigo,--then, recovering myself i gazed fearfully at lucio, who was studying the mummy attentively with a curious smile. presently stooping over the coffin he took out of it a piece of finely wrought gold in the shape of a medallion. "this, i imagine must be the fair dancer's portrait,"--he said, holding it up to the view of all the eager and exclaiming spectators--"quite a treasure-trove! an admirable piece of ancient workmanship, besides being the picture of a very lovely woman. do you not think so, geoffrey?" he handed me the medallion,--and i examined it with deadly and fascinated interest,--the face was exquisitely beautiful,--but assuredly it was the face of sibyl! i never remember how i lived through the rest of that day. at night, as soon as i had an opportunity of speaking to rimânez alone, i asked him ... "did you see,----did you not recognize? ..." "that the dead egyptian dancer resembled your late wife?" he quietly continued--"yes,--i noticed it at once. but that should not affect you. history repeats itself,--why should not lovely women repeat themselves? beauty always has its double somewhere, either in the past or future." i said no more,--but next morning i was very ill,--so ill that i could not rise from my bed, and passed the hours in restless moaning and irritable pain that was not so much physical as mental. there was a physician resident at the hotel at luxor, and lucio, always showing himself particularly considerate for my personal comfort, sent for him at once. he felt my pulse, shook his head, and after much dubious pondering, advised my leaving egypt immediately. i heard his mandate given with a joy i could scarcely conceal. the yearning i had to get quickly away from this 'land of the old gods' was intense and feverish,--i loathed the vast and awful desert silences, where the sphinx frowns contempt on the puny littleness of mankind,--where the opened tombs and coffins expose once more to the light of day, faces that are the very semblances of those we ourselves have known and loved in our time,--and where painted history tells us of just such things as our modern newspapers chronicle, albeit in different form. rimânez was ready and willing to carry out the doctor's orders,--and arranged our return to cairo and from thence to alexandria, with such expedition as left me nothing to desire, and filled me with gratitude for his apparent sympathy. in as short a time as abundance of cash could make possible, we had rejoined 'the flame,' and were _en route_, as i thought, for france or england. we had not absolutely settled our destination, having some idea of coasting along the riviera,--but my old confidence in rimânez being now almost restored, i left this to him for decision, sufficiently satisfied in myself that i had not been destined to leave my bones in terror-haunted egypt. and it was not till i had been about a week or ten days on board, and had made good progress in the recovery of my health, that the beginning of the end of this never-to-be-forgotten voyage was foreshadowed to me in such terrific fashion as nearly plunged me into the darkness of death,--or rather let me now say, (having learned my bitter lesson thoroughly) into the fell brilliancy of that life beyond the tomb which we refuse to recognise or realize till we are whirled into its glorious or awful vortex! one evening, after a bright day of swift and enjoyable sailing over a smooth and sunlit sea, i retired to rest in my cabin, feeling almost happy. my mind was perfectly tranquil,--my trust in my friend lucio was again re-established,--and i may add, so was my old arrogant and confident trust in myself. my access to fortune had not, so far, brought me either much joy or distinction,--but it was not too late for me yet to pluck the golden apples of hesperides. the various troubles i had endured, though of such recent occurrence, began to assume a blurred indistinctness in my mind, as of things long past and done with,--i considered the strength of my financial position again with satisfaction, to the extent of contemplating a second marriage--and that marriage with--mavis clare! no other woman should be my wife, i mentally swore,--she, and she only should be mine! i foresaw no difficulties in the way,--and full of pleasant dreams and self-delusions i settled myself in my berth, and dropped easily off to sleep. about midnight i awoke, vaguely terrified, to see the cabin full of a strong red light and fierce glare. my first dazed impression was that the yacht was on fire,--the next instant i became paralysed and dumb with horror. sibyl stood before me! ... sibyl, a wild, strange, tortured writhing figure, half nude, waving beckoning arms, and making desperate gestures,--her face was as i had seen it last in death, livid and hideous, ... her eyes blazed mingled menace, despair, and warning upon me! round her a living wreath of flame coiled upwards like a twisted snake, ... her lips moved as though she strove to speak, but no sound came from them,----and while i yet looked at her, she vanished! i must have lost consciousness then,--for when i awoke it was broad day. but this ghastly visitation was only the first of many such,--and at last, _every night_ i saw her thus, sheeted in flame, till i grew well-nigh mad with fear and misery. my torment was indescribable,--yet i said nothing to lucio, who watched me, as i imagined, narrowly,--i took sleeping-draughts in the hope to procure unbroken rest, but in vain,--always i woke at one particular moment, and always i had to face this fiery phantom of my dead wife, with despair in her eyes and an unuttered warning on her lips. this was not all. one day in the full sunlight of a quiet afternoon, i entered the saloon of the yacht alone, and started back amazed to see my old friend john carrington seated at the table, pen in hand, casting up accounts. he bent over his papers closely,--his face was furrowed and very pale,--but so life-like was he, so seemingly substantial that i called him by name, whereat he looked up,--smiled drearily, and was gone! trembling in every limb i realized that here was another spectral terror added to the burden of my days; and sitting down, i tried to rally my scattered forces and reason out what was best to be done. there was no doubt i was very ill;--these phantoms were the warning of brain-disease. i must endeavour, i thought, to keep myself well under control till i got to england,--there i determined to consult the best physicians, and put myself under their care till i was thoroughly restored. "meanwhile"--i muttered to myself--"i will say nothing, ... not even to lucio. he would only smile, ... and i should hate him! ..." i broke off, wondering at this. for was it possible i should ever hate him? surely not! that night by way of a change, i slept in a hammock on deck, hoping to dispel midnight illusions by resting in the open air. but my sufferings were only intensified. i woke as usual, ... to see, not only sibyl, but also to my deadly fear, the three phantoms that had appeared to me in my room in london on the evening of viscount lynton's suicide. there they were,--the same, the very same!--only this time all their livid faces were lifted and turned towards me, and though their lips never moved, the word 'misery!' seemed uttered, for i heard it tolling like a funeral bell on the air and across the sea! ... and sibyl, with her face of death in the coils of a silent flame, ... sibyl smiled at me!----a smile of torture and remorse! ... god!--i could endure it no longer! leaping from my hammock, i ran towards the vessel's edge, ... one plunge into the cool waves, ... ha!--there stood amiel, with his impenetrable dark face and ferret eyes! "can i assist you sir?" he inquired deferentially. i stared at him,--then burst into a laugh. "assist me? why no!--you can do nothing. i want rest, ... and i cannot sleep here, ... the air is too close and sulphureous,----the very stars are burning hot! ..." i paused,--he regarded me with his usual gravely derisive expression. "i am going down to my cabin"--i continued, trying to speak more calmly----"i shall be _alone_ there ... perhaps!" again i laughed wildly and involuntarily, and staggered away from him down the deck-stairs, afraid to look back lest i should see those three figures of fate following me. once safe in my cabin i shut to the door violently, and in feverish haste, seized my case of pistols. i took out one and loaded it. my heart was beating furiously,--i kept my eyes fixed on the ground, lest they should encounter the dead eyes of sibyl. "one click of the trigger--" i whispered--"and all is over! i shall be at peace,--senseless,--sightless and painless. horrors can no longer haunt me, ... i shall sleep!" i raised the weapon steadily to my right temple, ... when suddenly my cabin-door opened, and lucio looked in. "pardon me!" he said, as he observed my attitude--"i had no idea you were busy! i will go away. i would not disturb you for the world!" his smile had something fiendish in its fine mockery;--moved with a quick revulsion of feeling i turned the pistol downwards and held its muzzle firmly against the table near me. "_you_ say that!" i exclaimed in acute anguish,--"_you_ say it--seeing me thus! i thought you were my friend!" he looked full at me, ... his eyes grew large and luminous with a splendour of scorn, passion and sorrow intermingled. "did you?" and again the terrific smile lit up his pale features,--"you were mistaken! _i am your enemy!_" a dreadful silence followed. something lurid and unearthly in his expression appalled me, ... i trembled and grew cold with fear. mechanically i replaced the pistol in its case,----then i gazed up at him with a vacant wonder and wild piteousness, seeing that his dark and frowning figure seemed to increase in stature, towering above me like the gigantic shadow of a storm-cloud! my blood froze with an unnameable sickening terror, ... then, thick darkness veiled my sight, and i dropped down senseless! xl thunder and wild tumult,--the glare of lightning,--the shattering roar of great waves leaping mountains high and hissing asunder in mid-air,--to this fierce riot of savage elements let loose in a whirling boisterous dance of death, i woke at last with a convulsive shock. staggering to my feet i stood in the black obscurity of my cabin, trying to rally my scattered forces,--the electric lamps were extinguished, and the lightning alone illumined the sepulchral darkness. frantic shoutings echoed above me on deck,--fiend-like yells that sounded now like triumph, now like despair, and again like menace,--the yacht leaped to and fro like a hunted stag amid the furious billows, and every frightful crash of thunder threatened, as it seemed, to split her in twain. the wind howled like a devil in torment,--it screamed and moaned and sobbed as though endowed with a sentient body that suffered acutest agony,--anon it rushed downwards with an angry swoop as of wide-flapping wings, and at each raging gust i thought the vessel must surely founder. forgetting everything but immediate personal danger, i tried to open my door. it was locked outside!--i was a prisoner! my indignation at this discovery exceeded every other feeling, and beating with both hands on the wooden panels, i called, i shouted, i threatened, i swore,----all in vain! thrown down twice by the topsy-turvey lurching of the yacht, i still kept up a desperate hammering and calling, striving to raise my voice above the distracting pandemonium of noise that seemed to possess the ship from end to end, but all to no purpose,--and finally, hoarse and exhausted, i stopped and leaned against the unyielding door to recover breath and strength. the storm appeared to be increasing in force and clamour,--the lightning was well-nigh incessant, and the clattering thunder followed each flash so instantaneously as to leave no doubt but that it was immediately above us. i listened,--and presently heard a frenzied cry-- "breakers ahead!" this was followed by peals of discordant laughter. terrified, i strained my ears for every sound,--and all at once some-one spoke to me quite closely, as though the very darkness around me had found a tongue. "breakers ahead! throughout the world, storm and danger and doom! doom and death!--but afterwards--life!" a certain intonation in these words filled me with such frantic horror that i fell on my knees in abject misery, and almost prayed to the god i had through all my life disbelieved in and denied. but i was too mad with fear to find words;--the dense blackness,--the horrid uproar of the wind and sea,--the infuriated and confused shouting,--all this was to my mind as though hell itself had broken loose, and i could only kneel dumbly and tremble. suddenly a swirling sound as of an approaching monstrous whirlwind made itself heard above all the rest of the din,--a sound that gradually resolved itself into a howling chorus of thousands of voices sweeping along on the gusty blast,----fierce cries were mingled with the jarring thunder, and i leapt erect as i caught the words of the clangorous shout-- "ave sathanas! ave!" rigidly upright, with limbs stiffening for sheer terror, i stood listening,--the waves seemed to roar "ave sathanas!"--the wind shrieked it to the thunder,--the lightning wrote it in a snaky line of fire on the darkness "ave sathanas!" my brain swam round and grew full to bursting,--i was going mad,--raving mad surely!--or why should i thus distinctly hear such unmeaning sounds as these? with a sudden access of superhuman force i threw the whole weight of my body against the door of my cabin in a delirious effort to break it open,--it yielded slightly,--and i prepared myself for another rush and similar attempt,--when all at once it was flung widely back, admitting a stream of pale light, and lucio, wrapped in heavy shrouding garments, confronted me. "follow me, geoffrey tempest,--" he said in low clear tones--"your time has come!" as he spoke, all self-possession deserted me,--the terrors of the storm, and now the terror of his presence, overwhelmed my strength, and i stretched out my hands to him appealingly, unknowing what i did or said. "for god's sake...!" i began wildly. he silenced me by an imperious gesture. "spare me your prayers! for god's sake, for your own sake, and for mine! follow!" he moved before me like a black phantom in the pale strange light surrounding him,--and i, dazzled, dazed and terror-stricken, trod in his steps closely, moved, as it seemed by some volition not my own, till i found myself alone with him in the saloon of the yacht, with the waves hissing up against the windows like live snakes ready to sting. trembling and scarcely able to stand i sank on a chair,--he turned round and looked at me for a moment meditatively. then he threw open one of the windows,--a huge wave dashed in and scattered its bitter salt spray upon me where i sat,--but i heeded nothing,--my agonised looks were fixed on him,--the being i had so long made the companion of my days. raising his hand with a gesture of authority he said-- "back, ye devils of the sea and wind!--ye which are not god's elements but my servants, the unrepenting souls of men! lost in the waves, or whirled in the hurricane, whichever ye have made your destiny, get hence and cease your clamour! this hour is mine!" panic-stricken i heard,--aghast i saw the great billows that had shouldered up in myriads against the vessel, sink suddenly,--the yelling wind dropped, silenced,--the yacht glided along with a smooth even motion as though on a tranquil inland lake,--and almost before i could realize it, the light of the full moon beamed forth brilliantly and fell in a broad stream across the floor of the saloon. but in the very cessation of the storm the words "ave sathanas!" trembled as it were upwards to my ears from the underworld of the sea, and died away in distance like a parting echo of thunder. then lucio faced me,--with what a countenance of sublime and awful beauty! "do you know me now, man whom my millions of dross have made wretched?--or do you need me to tell you who i am?" my lips moved,--but i could not speak; the dim and dreadful thought that was dawning on my mind seemed as yet too frenzied, too outside the boundaries of material sense for mortal utterance. "be dumb,--be motionless!--but hear and feel!" he continued--"by the supreme power of god,--for there is no other power in any world or any heaven,--i control and command you at this moment, your own will being set aside for once as naught! i choose you as one out of millions to learn in this life the lesson that all must learn hereafter;--let every faculty of your intelligence be ready to receive that which i shall impart,--and teach it to your fellow-men if you have a conscience as you have a soul!" again i strove to speak,--he seemed so human,--so much my friend still, though he had declared himself my enemy,----and yet ... what was that lambent radiance encircling his brows?--that burning glory steadily deepening and flashing from his eyes? "you are one of the world's 'fortunate' men,--" he went on, surveying me straightly and pitilessly--"so at least this world judges you, because you can buy its good-will. but the forces that govern all worlds, do not judge you by such a standard,--you cannot buy _their_ good-will, not though all the churches should offer to sell it you! they regard you as you _are_, stripped soul-naked,--not as you _seem_! they behold in you a shameless egoist, persistently engaged in defacing their divine image of immortality,--and for that sin there is no excuse and no escape but punishment. whosoever prefers self to god, and in the arrogance of that self, presumes to doubt and deny god, invites another power to compass his destinies,--the power of evil, made evil and kept evil by the disobedience and wickedness of man alone,--that power whom mortals call satan, prince of darkness,--but whom once the angels knew as lucifer, prince of light!" ... he broke off,--paused,--and his flaming regard fell full upon me. "do you know me, ... now?" i sat a rigid figure of fear, dumbly staring, ... was this man, for he seemed man, mad that he should thus hint at a thing too wild and terrible for speech? "if you do not know me,--if you do not feel in your convicted soul that you are aware of me,--it is because you will not know! thus do i come upon men, when they rejoice in their wilful self-blindness and vanity!--thus do i become their constant companion, humouring them in such vices as they best love!--thus do i take on the shape that pleases _them_, and fit myself to their humours! _they_ make me what i am;--they mould my very form to the fashion of their flitting time. through all their changing and repeating eras, they have found strange names and titles for me,--and their creeds and churches have made a monster of me,--as though imagination could compass any worse monster than the devil in man!" frozen and mute i heard, ... the dead silence, and his resonant voice vibrating through it, seemed more terrific than the wildest storm. "you,--god's work,--endowed as every conscious atom of his creation is endowed,--with the infinite germ of immortality;--you, absorbed in the gathering together of such perishable trash as you conceive good for yourself on this planet,--you dare, in the puny reach of your mortal intelligence to dispute and question the everlasting things invisible! you, by the creator's will, are permitted to see the natural universe,--but in mercy to you, the veil is drawn across the super-natural! for such things as exist there, would break your puny earth-brain as a frail shell is broken by a passing wheel,--and because you cannot see, you doubt! you doubt not only the surpassing love and wisdom that keeps you in ignorance till you shall be strong enough to bear full knowledge, but you doubt the very fact of such another universe itself. arrogant fool!--your hours are counted by super-natural time!--your days are compassed by super-natural law!--your every thought, word, deed and look must go to make up the essence and shape of your being in super-natural life hereafter!--and what you _have been_ in your soul _here_, must and shall be the aspect of your soul _there_! that law knows no changing!" the light about his face deepened,--he went on in clear accents that vibrated with the strangest music. "men make their own choice and form their own futures," he said--"and never let them dare to say they are not _free_ to choose! from the uttermost reaches of high heaven the spirit of god descended to them as man,--from the uttermost depths of lowest hell, i, the spirit of rebellion, come,--equally as man! but the god-in-man was rejected and slain,--i, the devil-in-man live on, forever accepted and adored! man's choice this is--not god's or mine! were this self-seeking human race once to reject me utterly, i should exist no more as i am,--nor would they exist who are with me. listen, while i trace your career!--it is a copy of the lives of many men;--and judge how little the powers of heaven can have to do with you!--how much the powers of hell!" i shuddered involuntarily;--dimly i began to realize the awful nature of this unearthly interview. "you, geoffrey tempest, are a man in whom a thought of god was once implanted,--that subtle fire or note of music out of heaven called genius. so great a gift is rarely bestowed on any mortal,--and woe betide him, who having received it, holds it as of mere personal value, to be used for self and not for god! divine laws moved you gently in the right path of study,--the path of suffering, of disappointment, of self-denial and poverty,--for only by these things is humanity made noble and trained in the ways of perfection. through pain and enduring labour the soul is armed for battle, and strengthened for conquest. for it is more difficult to bear a victory well, than to endure many buffetings of war! but you,--you resented heaven's good-will towards you,--the valley of humiliation suited you not at all. poverty maddened you,--starvation sickened you. yet poverty is better than arrogant wealth,--and starvation is healthier than self-indulgence! you could not wait,--your own troubles seemed to you enormous,--your own efforts laudable and marvellous,--the troubles and efforts of others were nothing to you;--you were ready to curse god and die. compassionating yourself, admiring yourself and none other, with a heart full of bitterness, and a mouth full of cursing, you were eager to make quick havoc of both your genius and your soul. for this cause, your millions of money came----and,--_so did i_!" standing now full height he confronted me,--his eyes were less brilliant, but, they reflected in their dark splendour a passionate scorn and sorrow. "o fool!--in my very coming i warned you!--on the very day we met i told you i was not what i seemed! god's elements crashed a menace when we made our compact of friendship! and i,--when i saw the faint last struggle of the not quite torpid soul in you to resist and distrust me, did i not urge you to let that better instinct have its way? you,--jester with the supernatural!--you,--base scoffer at christ! a thousand hints have been given you,--a thousand chances of doing such good as must have forced me to leave you,--as would have brought me a welcome respite from sorrow,--a moment's cessation of torture!" his brows contracted in a sombre frown,--he was silent a moment,--then he resumed-- "now learn from me the weaving of the web you so willingly became entangled in! your millions of money were mine!--the man that left you heir to them, was a wretched miser, evil to the soul's core! by virtue of his own deeds he and his dross were mine! and maddened by the sheer accumulation of world's wealth, he slew himself in a fit of frenzy. he lives again in a new and much more realistic phase of existence, and knows the actual value of mankind's cash-payments! this _you_ have yet to learn!" he advanced a step or two, fixing his eyes more steadily upon me. "wealth is like genius,--bestowed not for personal gratification, but for the benefit of those who lack it. what have _you_ done for your fellow-men? the very book you wrote and launched upon the tide of bribery and corruption was published with the intention to secure applause for yourself, not to give help or comfort to others. your marriage was prompted by lust and ambition, and in the fair sensuality you wedded, you got your deserts! no love was in the union,--it was sanctified by the blessing of fashion, but not the blessing of god. you have done without god; so you think! every act of your existence has been for the pleasure and advancement of yourself,--and this is why i have chosen you out to hear and see what few mortals ever hear or see till they have passed the dividing-line between this life and the next. i have chosen you because you are a type of the apparently respected and unblamable man;--you are not what the world calls a criminal,--you have murdered no-one,--you have stolen no neighbour's goods--, your unchastities and adulteries are those of every 'fashionable' vice-monger,--and your blasphemies against the divine are no worse than those of the most approved modern magazine-contributors. you are guilty nevertheless of the chief crime of the age--sensual egotism--the blackest sin known to either angels or devils, because hopeless. the murderer may repent, and save a hundred lives to make up for the one he snatched,--the thief may atone with honest labour,--the adulterer may scourge his flesh and do grim penance for late pardon,--the blasphemer may retrieve his blasphemies,--but for the egoist there is no chance of wholesome penitence, since to himself he is perfect, and counts his creator as somewhat inferior. this present time of the world breathes egotism,--the taint of self, the hideous worship of money, corrodes all life, all thought, all feeling. for vulgar cash, the fairest and noblest scenes of nature are wantonly destroyed without public protest,[ ]--the earth, created in beauty, is made hideous,--parents and children, wives and husbands are ready to slay each other for a little gold,--heaven is barred out,--god is denied,--and destruction darkens over this planet, known to all angels as the sorrowful star! be no longer blind, millionaire whose millions have ministered to self without relieving sorrow!----for when the world is totally corrupt,--when self is dominant,--when cunning supersedes honesty,--when gold is man's chief ambition,--when purity is condemned,--when poets teach lewdness, and scientists blasphemy,--when love is mocked, and god forgotten,--the end is near! i take my part in that end!--for the souls of mankind are not done with when they leave their fleshly tenements! when this planet is destroyed as a bubble broken in the air, the souls of men and women live on,--as the soul of the woman you loved lives on,--as the soul of the mother who bore her, lives on,--aye!--as all my worshippers live on through a myriad worlds, a myriad phases, till they learn to shape their destinies for heaven! and i, with them live on, in many shapes, in many ways!--when they return to god cleansed and perfect, so shall i return!--but not till then!" he paused again,--and i heard a faint sighing sound everywhere as of wailing voices, and the name "ahrimanes!" was breathed suddenly upon the silence. i started up listening, every nerve strained----ahrimanes?--or rimânez? i gazed fearfully at him, ... always beautiful, his countenance was now sublime, ... and his eyes shone with a lustrous flame. "you thought me friend!" he said--"you should have known me foe! for everyone who flatters a man for his virtues, or humours him in his vices is that man's worst enemy, whether demon or angel! but you judged me a fitting comrade,--hence i was bound to serve you,--i and my followers with me. you had no perception to realize this,--you, supreme scorner of the supernatural! little did you think of the terrifying agencies that worked the wonders of your betrothal feast at willowsmere! little did you dream that fiends prepared the costly banquet and poured out the luscious wine!" at this, a smothered groan of horror escaped me,--i looked wildly round me, longing to find some deep grave of oblivious rest wherein to fall. "aye!" he continued--"the festival was fitted to the time of the world to-day!--society, gorging itself blind and senseless, and attended by a retinue from hell! my servants looked like men!--for truly there is little difference 'twixt man and devil! 'twas a brave gathering!--england has never seen so strange a one in all her annals!" the sighing, wailing cries increased in loudness,--my limbs shook under me, and all power of thought was paralysed in my brain. he bent his piercing looks upon me with a new expression of infinite wonder, pity and disdain. "what a grotesque creation you men have made of me!" he said--"as grotesque as your conception of god! with what trifling human attributes you have endowed me! know you not that the changeless, yet ever-changing essence of immortal life can take a million million shapes and yet remain unalterably the same? were i as hideous as your churches figure me,--could the eternal beauty with which all angels are endowed, ever change to such loathsomeness as haunts mankind's distorted imaginations, perchance it would be well,--for none would make of me their comrade, and none would cherish me as friend! as fits each separate human nature, so seems my image,--for thus is my fate and punishment commanded. yet even in this mask of man i wear, men own me their superior,--think you not that when the supreme spirit of god wore that same mask on earth, men did not know him for their master? yea, they did know!--and knowing, murdered him,--as they ever strive to murder all divine things as soon as their divinity is recognised. face to face i stood with him upon the mountain-top, and there fulfilled my vow of temptation. worlds and kingdoms, supremacies and powers!----what were they to the ruler of them all! 'get thee hence, satan!' said the golden-sounding voice;--ah!--glorious behest!--happy respite!--for i reached the very gate of heaven that night, and heard the angels sing!" his accents sank to an infinitely mournful cadence. "what have your teachers done with me and my eternal sorrows?" he went on--"have not they, and the unthinking churches, proclaimed a lie against me, saying that i rejoice in evil? o man to whom, by god's will and because the world's end draws nigh, i unveil a portion of the mystery of my doom, learn now once and for all, that there is no possible joy in evil!--it is the despair and the discord of the universe,--it is man's creation,--my torment,--god's sorrow! every sin of every human being adds weight to my torture, and length to my doom,--yet my oath against the world must be kept! i have sworn to tempt,--to do my uttermost to destroy mankind,--but man has not sworn to yield to my tempting. he is free!--let him resist and i depart;--let him accept me, i remain! eternal justice has spoken,--humanity, through the teaching of god made human, must work out its own redemption,--and mine!" here, suddenly advancing he stretched out his hand,--his figure grew taller, vaster and more majestic. "come with me now!" he said in a low penetrating voice that sounded sweet, yet menacing--"come!--for the veil is down for you to-night! you shall understand with whom you have dwelt so long in your shifting cloud-castle of life!--and in what company you have sailed perilous seas!--one, who proud and rebellious, like you, errs less, in that he owns god as his master!" at these words a thundering crash assailed my ears,--all the windows on either side of the saloon flew open, and showed a strange glitter as of steely spears pointed aloft to the moon,-- ... then, ... half-fainting, i felt myself grasped and lifted suddenly and forcibly upwards, ... and in another moment found myself on the deck of 'the flame,' held fast as a prisoner in the fierce grip of hands invisible. raising my eyes in deadly despair,--prepared for hellish tortures, and with a horrible sense of conviction in my soul that it was too late to cry out to god for mercy,--i saw around me a frozen world!--a world that seemed as if the sun had never shone upon it. thick glassy-green walls of ice pressed round the vessel on all sides and shut her in between their inflexible barriers!--fantastic palaces, pinnacles, towers, bridges and arches of ice formed in their architectural outlines and groupings the semblance of a great city,--over all the coldly glistening peaks, the round moon, emerald-pale, looked down,--and standing opposite to me against the mast, i beheld, ... not lucio, ... but an angel! [ ] witness the destruction of foyers, to the historical shame and disgrace of scotland and scotsmen. xli crowned with a mystic radiance as of trembling stars of fire, that sublime figure towered between me and the moonlit sky; the face, austerely grand and beautiful, shone forth luminously pale,--the eyes were full of unquenchable pain, unspeakable remorse, unimaginable despair! the features i had known so long and seen day by day in familiar intercourse were the same,--the same, yet transfigured with ethereal splendour, while shadowed by an everlasting sorrow! bodily sensations i was scarcely conscious of;--only the soul of me, hitherto dormant, was awake and palpitating with fear. gradually i became aware that others were around me, and looking, i saw a dense crowd of faces, wild and wonderful,--imploring eyes were turned upon me in piteous or stern agony,--and pallid hands were stretched towards me more in appeal than menace. and i beheld as i gazed, the air darkening, and anon lightening with the shadow and the brightness of wings!--vast pinions of crimson flame began to unfurl and spread upwards all round the ice-bound vessel,--upwards till their glowing tips seemed well-nigh to touch the moon. and he, my foe, who leaned against the mast, became likewise encircled with these shafted pinions of burning rose, which like finely-webbed clouds coloured by a strong sunset, streamed outward flaringly from his dark form and sprang aloft in a blaze of scintillant glory. and a voice infinitely sad, yet infinitely sweet, struck solemn music from the frozen silence. "steer onward, amiel! onward, to the boundaries of the world!" with every spiritual sense aroused, i glanced towards the steerman's wheel,--was _that_ amiel whom i had instinctively loathed?--that being, stern as a figure of deadliest fate, with sable wings and tortured countenance? if so, i knew him now for a fiend in very truth!--if burning horror and endless shame can so transfigure the soul of man! a history of crime was written in his anguished looks, ... what secret torment racked him no living mortal might dare to guess! with pallid skeleton hands he moved the wheel;--and as it turned, the walls of ice around us began to split with a noise of thunder. "onward amiel!" said the great sad voice again--"onward where never man hath trod,--steer on to the world's end!" the crowd of weird and terrible faces grew denser,--the flaming and darkening of wings became thicker than driving storm-clouds rent by lightning,--wailing cries, groans and dreary sounds of sobbing echoed about me on all sides, ... again the shattering ice roared like an earthquake under the waters, ... and, unhindered by her frozen prison-walls, the ship moved on! dizzily, and as one in a mad dream i saw the great glittering bergs rock and bend forward,--the massive ice-city shook to its foundations, ... glistening pinnacles dropped and vanished, ... towers lurched over, broke and plunged into the sea,--huge mountains of ice split up like fine glass, yawning asunder with a green glare in the moonlight as the 'flame' propelled, so it seemed, by the demon-wings of her terrific crew, cut through the frozen passage with the sharpness of a sword and the swiftness of an arrow! whither were we bound? i dared not think,--i deemed myself dead. the world i saw was not the world i knew,--i believed i was in some spirit-land beyond the grave, whose secrets i should presently realize perchance too well! on,--on we went,--i keeping my strained sight fixed for the most part on the supreme shape that always confronted me,--that angel-foe whose eyes were wild with an eternity of sorrows! face to face with such an immortal despair, i stood confounded and slain forever in my own regard,--a worthless atom, meriting naught but annihilation. the wailing cries and groans had ceased,--and we sped on in an awful silence,--while countless tragedies,--unnameable histories,--were urged upon me in the dumb eloquence of the dreary faces round me, and the expressive teaching of their terrific eyes! soon the barriers of ice were passed,--and the 'flame' floated out beyond them into a warm inland sea, calm as a lake, and bright as silver in the broad radiance of the moon. on either side were undulating shores, rich with lofty and luxuriant verdure,--i saw the distant hazy outline of dusky purple hills,--i heard the little waves plashing against hidden rocks, and murmuring upon the sand. delicious odours filled the air;--a gentle breeze blew, ... was this the lost paradise?--this semi-tropic zone concealed behind a continent of ice and snow? suddenly, from the tops of the dark branching trees, came floating the sound of a bird's singing,--and so sweet was the song, so heart-whole was the melody, that my aching eyes filled with tears. beautiful memories rushed upon me,--the value and graciousness of life,--life on the kindly sunlit earth,--seemed very dear to my soul! life's opportunities,--its joys, its wonders, its blessings, all showered down upon a thankless race by a loving creator,--these appeared to me all at once as marvellous! oh for another chance of such life!--to redeem the past,--to gather up the wasted gems of lost moments,--to live as a man should live, in accordance with the will of god, and in brotherhood with his fellow-men! ... the unknown bird sang on in a cadence like that of a mavis in spring, only more tunefully,--surely no other woodland songster ever sang half so well! and as its dulcet notes dropped roundly one by one upon the mystic silence, i saw a pale creature move out from amid the shadowing of black and scarlet wings,--a white woman-shape, clothed in her own long hair. she glided to the vessel's edge, and there she leaned, with anguished face upturned,--it was the face of sibyl! and even while i looked upon her, she cast herself wildly down upon the deck and wept! my soul was stirred within me, ... i saw in very truth all that she might have been,--i realized what an angel a little guiding love and patience might have made her, ... and at last i pitied her! i never pitied her before! and now many familiar faces shone upon me like white stars in a mist of rain,--all faces of the dead,--all marked with unquenchable remorse and sorrow. one figure passed before me drearily, in fetters glistening with a weight of gold,--i knew him for my college-friend of olden days; another, crouching on the ground in fear, i recognised as him who had staked his last possession at play, even to his immortal soul,--i even saw my father's face, worn and aghast with grief, and trembled lest the sacred beauty of her who had died to give me birth, should find a place among these direful horrors. but no!--thank god i never saw her!----_her_ spirit had not lost its way to heaven! again my eyes reverted to the mover of this mystic scene,--that fallen splendour whose majestic shape now seemed to fill both earth and sky. a fiery glory blazed about him, ... he raised his hand, ... the ship stopped,--and the dark steersman rested motionless on the wheel. round us the moonlit landscape was spread like a glittering dream of fairyland,--and still the unknown bird of god sang on with such entrancing tenderness as must have soothed hell's tortured souls. "lo, here we pause!" said the commanding voice--"here, where the distorted shape of man hath never cast a shadow!--here,--where the arrogant mind of man hath never conceived a sin!--here, where the godless greed of man hath never defaced a beauty, or slain a woodland thing!--here, the last spot on earth left untainted by man's presence! here is the world's end!--when this land is found, and these shores profaned,--when mammon plants its foot upon this soil,--then dawns the judgment-day! but, until then, ... here, where only god doth work perfection, angels may look down undismayed, and even fiends find rest!" a solemn sound of music surged upon the air,--and i who had been as one in chains, bound by invisible bonds and unable to stir, was suddenly liberated. fully conscious of freedom i still faced the dark gigantic figure of my foe,--for his luminous eyes were now upon me, and his penetrating voice addressed me only. "man, deceive not thyself!" he said--"think not the terrors of this night are the delusion of a dream or the snare of a vision! thou art awake,--not sleeping,--thou art flesh as well as spirit! this place is neither hell nor heaven nor any space between,--it is a corner of thine own world on which thou livest. wherefore know from henceforth that the supernatural universe in and around the natural is no lie,--but the chief reality, inasmuch as god surroundeth all! fate strikes thine hour,--and in this hour 'tis given thee to choose thy master. now, by the will of god, thou seest me as angel;--but take heed thou forget not that among men i am as man! in human form i move with all humanity through endless ages,--to kings and counsellors, to priests and scientists, to thinkers and teachers, to old and young, i come in the shape their pride or vice demands, and am as one with all. self finds in me another ego;--but from the pure in heart, the high in faith, the perfect in intention, i do retreat with joy, offering naught save reverence, demanding naught save prayer! so am i,--so must i ever be,--till man of his own will releases and redeems me. mistake me not, but know me!--and choose thy future for truth's sake and not out of fear! choose and change not in any time hereafter,--this hour, this moment is thy last probation,--choose, i say! wilt thou serve self and me? or god only?" the question seemed thundered on my ears, ... shuddering, i looked from right to left, and saw a gathering crowd of faces, white, wistful, wondering, threatening and imploring,--they pressed about me close, with glistening eyes and lips that moved dumbly. and as they stared upon me i beheld another spectral thing,--the image of myself!--a poor frail creature, pitiful, ignorant, and undiscerning,--limited in both capacity and intelligence, yet full of strange egotism and still stranger arrogance; every detail of my life was suddenly presented to me as in a magic mirror, and i read my own chronicle of paltry intellectual pride, vulgar ambition and vulgarer ostentation,--i realised with shame my miserable vices, my puny scorn of god, my effronteries and blasphemies; and in the sudden strong repulsion and repudiation of my own worthless existence, being and character, i found both voice and speech. "god only!" i cried fervently--"annihilation at his hands, rather than life without him! god only! i have chosen!" my words vibrated passionately on my own ears, ... and ... even as they were spoken, the air grew misty with a snowy opalescent radiance, ... the sable and crimson wings uplifted in such multitudinous array around me, palpitated with a thousand changeful hues, ... and over the face of my dark foe a light celestial fell like the smile of dawn! awed and afraid i gazed upward, ... and there i saw a new and yet more wondrous glory, ... a shining figure outlined against the sky in such surpassing beauty and vivid brilliancy as made me think the sun itself had risen in vast angel-shape on rainbow pinions! and from the brightening heaven there rang a silver voice, clear as a clarion-call,-- "_arise, lucifer, son of the morning! one soul rejects thee,--one hour of joy is granted thee! hence and arise!_" earth, air, and sea blazed suddenly into fiery gold,--blinded and stunned, i was seized by compelling hands and held firmly down by a force invisible, ... the yacht was slowly sinking under me! overwhelmed with unearthly terrors, my lips yet murmured, "god! god only!" the heavens changed from gold to crimson--anon to shining blue, ... and against this mass of wavering colour that seemed to make a jewelled archway of the sky, i saw the form of him whom i had known as man, swiftly ascend god-like, with flaming pinions and upturned glorious visage, like a vision of light in darkness! around him clustered a million winged shapes,--but he, supreme, majestic, wonderful, towered high above them all, a very king of splendour, the glory round his brows resembling meteor-fires in an arctic midnight,--his eyes, twin stars, ablaze with such great rapture as seemed half agony! breathless and giddy, i strained my sight to follow him as he fled; ... and heard the musical calling of strange sweet voices everywhere, from east to west, from north to south. "lucifer! ... belovëd and unforgotten! lucifer, son of the morning! arise! ... arise! ..." with all my remaining strength i strove to watch the vanishing upward of that sublime luminance that now filled the visible universe,--the demon-ship was still sinking steadily, ... invisible hands still held me down, ... i was falling,--falling,--into unimaginable depths, ... when another voice, till then unheard, solemn yet sweet, spoke aloud-- "bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outermost darkness of the world! there let him find my light!" i heard,--yet felt no fear. "god only!" i said, as i sank into the vast profound,--and lo! while the words yet trembled on my lips, i saw the sun! the sweet earth's sun!--the kindly orb familiar,--the lamp of god's protection,--its golden rim came glittering upwards in the east,--higher and higher it rose, making a shining background for that mighty figure, whose darkly luminous wings now seemed like sable storm-clouds stretched wide across the horizon! once more ... yet once, ... the angel-visage bent its warning looks on me, ... i saw the anguished smile, ... the great eyes burning with immortal sorrows! ... then, i was plunged forcibly downwards and thrust into an abysmal grave of frozen cold. xlii the blue sea--the blue sky!--and god's sunshine over all! to this i woke, after a long period of unconsciousness, and found myself afloat on a wide ocean, fast bound to a wooden spar. so strongly knotted were my bonds that i could not stir either hand or foot, ... and after one or two ineffectual struggles to move i gave up the attempt, and lay submissively resigned to my fate, face upturned and gazing at the infinite azure depths above me, while the heaving breath of the sea rocked me gently to and fro like an infant in its mother's arms. alone with god and nature, i, a poor human wreck, drifted,----lost, yet found! lost on this vast sea which soon should serve my body as a sepulchre, ... but found, inasmuch as i was fully conscious of the existence and awakening of the immortal soul within me,--that divine, actual and imperishable essence, which now i recognised as being all that is valuable in a man in the sight of his creator. i was to die, soon and surely;--this i thought, as the billows swayed me in their huge cradle, running in foamy ripples across my bound body, and dashing cool spray upon my brows,--what could i do now, doomed and helpless as i was, to retrieve my wasted past? nothing! save repent,--and could repentance at so late an hour fit the laws of eternal justice? humbly and sorrowfully i considered, ... to me had been given a terrific and unprecedented experience of the awful reality of the spirit-world around us,--and now i was cast out on the sea as a thing worthless, i felt that the brief time remaining to me of life in this present sphere was indeed my "last probation," as that supernatural wonder, the declared enemy of mankind, whom still in my thoughts i called lucio, had declared. "if i dared,--after a life's denial and blasphemy,--turn to christ!" i said--"would he,--the divine brother and friend of man,--reject me?" i whispered the question to the sky and sea, ... solemn silence seemed to invest the atmosphere, and marvellous calm. no other answer came than this, ... a deep and charmëd peace, that insensibly stole over my fretting conscience, my remorseful soul, my aching heart, my tired mind. i remembered certain words heard long ago, and lightly forgotten. "_him who cometh unto me will i in no wise cast out._" looking up to the clear heavens and radiant sun, i smiled; and with a complete abandonment of myself and my fears to the divine will, i murmured the words that in my stress of mystic agony had so far saved me,-- "god only! whatsoever he shall choose for me in life, in death, and after death, is best." and closing my eyes, i resigned my life to the mercy of the soft waves, and with the sunbeams warm upon my face, i slept. * * * * * * * * * i woke again with an icy shudder and cry,--rough cheery voices sounded in my ears,--strong hands were at work busily unfastening the cords with which i was bound, ... i was on the deck of a large steamer, surrounded by a group of men,--and all the glory of the sunset fired the seas. questions were poured upon me, ... i could not answer them, for my tongue was parched and blistered, ... lifted upright upon my feet by sturdy arms, i could not stand for sheer exhaustion. dimly, and in feeble dread i stared around me,----was this great vessel with smoking funnels and grinding engines another devil's craft set sailing round the world! too weak to find a voice i made dumb signs of terrified inquiry, ... a broad-shouldered bluff-looking man came forward, whose keen eyes rested on me with kindly compassion. "this is an english vessel," he said--"we are bound for southampton. our helmsman saw you floating ahead,--we stopped and sent a boat for rescue. where were you wrecked? any more of the crew afloat?" i gazed at him, but could not speak. the strangest thoughts crowded into my brain, moving me to wild tears and laughter. england! the word struck clashing music on my mind, and set all my pulses trembling. england! the little spot upon the little world, most loved and honoured of all men, save those who envy its worth! i made some gesture, whether of joy or mad amazement i know not,----had i been able to speak i could have related nothing that those men around me could have comprehended or believed, ... then i sank back again in a dead swoon. they were very good to me, all those english sailors. the captain gave me his own cabin,--the ship's doctor attended me with a zeal that was only exceeded by his curiosity to know where i came from, and the nature of the disaster that had befallen me. but i remained dumb, and lay inert and feeble in my berth, grateful for the care bestowed upon me, as well as for the temporary exhaustion that deprived me of speech. for i had enough to do with my own thoughts,--thoughts far too solemn and weighty for utterance. i was saved,--i was given another chance of life in the world,--and _i knew why_! my one absorbing anxiety now was to retrieve my wasted time, and to do active good where hitherto i had done nothing! the day came at last, when i was sufficiently recovered to be able to sit on deck and watch with eager eyes the approaching coast-line of england. i seemed to have lived a century since i left it,--aye, almost an eternity,--for time is what the soul makes it, and no more. i was an object of interest and attention among all the passengers on board, for as yet i had not broken silence. the weather was calm and bright, ... the sun shone gloriously,--and far off the pearly rim of shakespeare's 'happy isle' glistened jewel-like upon the edge of the sea. the captain came and looked at me,--nodded encouragingly,--and after a moment's hesitation, said-- "glad to see you out on deck! almost yourself again, eh?" i silently assented with a faint smile. "perhaps"--he continued, "as we're so near home, you'll let me know your name? it's not often we pick up a man alive and drifting in mid-atlantic." in mid-atlantic! what force had flung me there i dared not think, ... nor whether it was hellish or divine. "my name?" i murmured, surprised into speech,--how odd it was i had never thought of myself lately as having a name or any other thing belonging to me!--"why certainly! geoffrey tempest is my name." the captain's eyes opened widely. "geoffrey tempest! dear me! ... _the_ mr tempest?----the great millionaire that _was_?" it was now my turn to stare. "that _was_?" i repeated--"what do you mean?" "have you not heard?" he asked excitedly. "heard? i have heard nothing since i left england some months ago--with a friend, on board his yacht ... we went on a long voyage and ... a strange one! we were wrecked, ... you know the rest, and how i owe my life to your rescue. but of news i am ignorant ..." "good heavens!" he interrupted quickly--"bad news travels fast as a rule they say,--but you have missed it ... and i confess i don't like to be the bearer of it ..." he broke off, and his genial face looked troubled. i smiled,--yet wondered. "pray speak out!" i said--"i don't think you can tell me anything that will deeply affect me,--_now_. i know the best and worst of most things in the world, i assure you!" he eyed me dubiously;--then, going into his smoking-cabin, he brought me out an american newspaper seven days old. he handed it to me pointing to its leading columns without a word. there i saw in large type--"a millionaire ruined! enormous frauds! monster forgeries! gigantic swindle! on the track of bentham and ellis!" my brain swam for a minute,--then i read on steadily, and soon grasped the situation. the respectable pair of lawyers whom i had implicitly relied on for the management of all my business affairs in my absence, had succumbed to the temptation of having so much cash in charge for investment,--and had become a pair of practised swindlers. dealing with the same bank as myself, they had forged my name so cleverly that the genuineness of the signature had never been even suspected,--and, after drawing enormous sums in this way, and investing in various 'bubble' companies with which they personally were concerned, they had finally absconded, leaving me almost as poor as i was when i first heard of my inherited fortune. i put aside the paper, and looked up at the good captain, who stood watching me with sympathetic anxiety. "thank you!" i said--"these thieves were my trusted lawyers,--and i can cheerfully say that i am much more sorry for them than i am for myself. a thief is always a thief,--a poor man, if he be honest, is at any rate the thief's superior. the money they have stolen will bring them misery rather than pleasure,--of that i am convinced. if this account be correct, they have already lost large sums in bogus companies,--and the man bentham, whom i thought the very acme of shrewd caution has sunk an enormous amount of capital in a worn-out gold mine. their forgeries must have been admirably done!--a sad waste of time and cleverness. it appears too that the investments i have myself made are worthless;--well, well!--it does not matter,--i must begin the world again, that's all!" he looked amazed. "i don't think you quite realize your own misfortune, mr tempest"--he said--"you take it too quietly by half. you'll think worse of it presently." "i hope not!" i responded, with a smile--"it never does to think the worst of anything. i assure you i realize perfectly. i am in the world's sight a ruined man,--i quite understand!" he shrugged his shoulders with quite a desperate air, and left me. i am convinced he thought me mad,--but i knew i had never been so sane. i did indeed entirely comprehend my 'misfortune,' or rather the great chance bestowed on me of winning something far higher than all the coffers of mammon; i read in my loss of world's cash the working of such a merciful providence and pity as gave me a grander hope than any i had ever known. clear before me rose the vision of that most divine and beautiful necessity of happiness,--work!--the grand and too often misprized angel of labour, which moulds the mind of man, steadies his hands, controls his brain, purifies his passions, and strengthens his whole mental and physical being. a rush of energy and health filled my veins,--and i thanked god devoutly for the golden opportunities held out afresh for me to accept and use. gratitude there should be in every human soul for every gift of heaven,--but nothing merits more thankfulness and praise to the creator than the call to work, and the ability to respond to it. england at last! i bade farewell to the good ship that had rescued me, and to all on board her, most of whom now knew my name and looked upon me with pity as well as curiosity. the story of my being wrecked on a friend's yacht was readily accepted,--and the subject of that adventure was avoided, as the general impression was that my friend, whoever he was, had been drowned with his crew, and that i was the one survivor. i did not offer any further explanation, and was content to so let the matter rest, though i was careful to send both the captain and the ship's doctor a handsome recompense for their united attention and kindness. i have reason to believe, from the letters they wrote me, that they were more than satisfied with the sums received, and that i really did some actual good with those few last fragments of my vanished wealth. on reaching london, i interviewed the police concerning the thieves and forgers, bentham and ellis, and stopped all proceedings against them. "call me mad if you like,"--i said to the utterly confounded chief of the detective force--"i do not mind! but let these rascals keep the trash they have stolen. it will be a curse to them, as it has been to me! it is devil's money! half of it was already gone, being settled on my late wife,--at her death, it reverted by the same deed of settlement, to any living members of her family, and it now belongs to lord elton. i have lived to make a noble earl rich, who was once bankrupt,--and i doubt if he would lend me a ten-pound-note for the asking! however, i shall not ask him. the rest has gone into the universal waste of corruption and sham--let it stay there! i shall never bother myself to get it back. i prefer to be a free man." "but the bank,--the principle of the thing!" exclaimed the detective with indignation. i smiled. "exactly! the principle of the thing has been perfectly carried out. a man who has too much money _creates_ forgers and thieves about him,--he cannot expect to meet with honesty. let the bank prosecute if it likes,--i shall not. i am free!--free to work for my living. what i earn i shall enjoy,--what i inherited, i have learnt to loathe!" with that i left him, puzzled and irate,--and in a day or two the papers were full of strange stories concerning me, and numerous lies as well. i was called 'mad,' 'unprincipled,' 'thwarting the ends of justice,'--and sundry other names, while scurrilous civilities known only to the penny paragraphist were heaped upon me by the score. to complete my entire satisfaction, a man on the staff of one of the leading journals, dug out my book from mudie's underground cellar, and 'slashed' it with a bitterness and venom only excelled by my own violence when anonymously libelling the work of mavis clare! and the result was remarkable,--for in a sudden wind of caprice, the public made a rush for my neglected literary offspring,--they took it up, handled it tenderly, read it lingeringly, found something in it that pleased them, and finally bought it by thousands! ... whereat the astute morgeson, as virtuous publisher, wrote to me in wonder and congratulation, enclosing a cheque for a hundred pounds on 'royalties,' and promising more in due course, should the 'run' continue. ah, the sweetness of that earned hundred pounds! i felt a king of independence!--realms of ambition and attainment opened out before me,--life smiled upon me as it had never smiled before. talk of poverty! i was rich!----rich with a hundred pounds made out of my own brain-labour,--and i envied no millionaire that ever flaunted his gold beneath the sun! i thought of mavis clare, ... but dared not dwell too long upon her gentle image. in time perhaps, ... when i had settled down to fresh work, ... when i had formed my life as i meant to form it, in the habits of faith, firmness and unselfishness, i would write to her and tell her all,--all, even to that dread insight into worlds unseen, beyond the boundaries of an unknown region of everlasting frozen snow! but now,----now i resolved to stand alone,--fighting my battle as a man should fight, seeking for neither help nor sympathy, and trusting not in self, but god only. moreover i could not induce myself yet to look again upon willowsmere. the place was terror-haunted for me; and though lord elton with a curious condescension, (seeing that it was to me he owed the free gift of his former property) invited me to stay there, and professed a certain lame regret for the 'heavy financial losses' i had sustained, i saw in the tone of his epistle that he looked upon me somewhat in the light of a madman after my refusal to take up the matter of my absconding solicitors, and that he would rather i stayed away. and i did stay away;--and even when his marriage with diana chesney took place with great pomp and splendour, i refused his invitation to be present. in the published list of guests, however which appeared in the principal papers, i was scarcely surprised to read the name of 'prince lucio rimânez.' i now took a humble room and set to work on a new literary enterprise, avoiding everyone i had hitherto known, for being now almost a poor man, i was aware that 'swagger society' wished to blot me from its visiting-list. i lived with my own sorrowful thoughts,--musing on many things, training myself to humility, obedience, and faith with fortitude,--and day by day i did battle with the monster, egotism, that presented itself in a thousand disguises at every turn in my own life as well as in the lives of others. i had to re-form my character,--to mould the obstinate nature that rebelled, and make its obstinacy serve for the attainment of higher objects than world's renown,--the task was difficult,--but i gained ground a little with every fresh effort. i had lived for some months like this in bitter self-abasement, when all the reading world was suddenly electrified by another book of mavis clare's. my lately favoured first work was again forgotten and thrust aside,--hers, slated and screamed at as usual by the criticasters, was borne along to fame by a great wave of honest public praise and enthusiasm. and i? i rejoiced!--no longer grudging or envious of her sweet fame, i stood apart in spirit as it were, while the bright car of her triumph went by, decked, not only with laurels, but with roses,--the blossoms of a people's love and honour. with all my soul i reverenced her genius,--with all my heart i honoured her pure womanliness! and in the very midst of her brilliant success, when all the world was talking of her, she wrote to me, a simple little letter, as gracious as her own fair name. dear mr tempest, i heard by chance the other day that you had returned to england. i therefore send this note to the care of your publisher to express my sincere delight in the success your clever book has now attained after its interval of probation. i fancy the public appreciation of your work must go far to console you for the great losses you have had both in life and fortune, of which i will not here speak. when you feel that you can bear to look again upon scenes which i know will be sure to rouse in your mind many sad and poignant memories, will you come and see me? your friend mavis clare. a mist came before my eyes,--i almost felt her gentle presence in my room,--i saw the tender look, the radiant smile,--the innocent yet earnest joy in life and love of purity that emanated from the fair personality of the sweetest woman i had ever known. she called herself my friend!--... it was a privilege of which i felt myself unworthy! i folded the letter and put it near my heart to serve me as a talisman, ... she, of all bright creatures in the world surely knew the secret of happiness! ... some-day, ... yes, ... i would go and see her, ... my mavis that sang in her garden of lilies,--some day when i had force and manliness enough to tell her all,--save my love for her! for that, i felt, must never be spoken,--self must resist self, and clamour no more at the gate of a forfeited paradise! some day i would see her, ... but not for a long time, ... not till i had, in part at least, worked out my secret expiation. as i sat musing thus, a strange memory came into my brain, ... i thought i heard a voice resembling my own, which said-- "_lift, oh lift the shrouding veil, spirit of the city beautiful! for i feel i shall read in your eyes the secret of happiness!_" a cold shudder ran through me,--i sprang up erect, in a kind of horror. leaning at my open window i looked down into the busy street below,--and my thoughts reverted to the strange things i had seen in the east,--the face of the dead egyptian dancer, uncovered to the light again after two thousand years,--the face of sibyl!--then i remembered the vision of the "city beautiful," in which one face had remained veiled,--the face i most desired to see!----and i trembled more and more as my mind, despite my will, began to weave together links of the past and present, till they seemed growing into one and the same. was i again to be the prey of evil forces?----did some new danger threaten me?--had i, by some unconscious wicked wish invited new temptation to assail me? overcome by my sensations, i left my work and went out into the fresh air, ... it was late at night,--and the moon was shining. i felt for the letter of mavis,--it pressed against my heart, a shield against all vileness. the room i occupied was in a house not far from westminster abbey, and i instinctively bent my steps towards that grey old shrine of kings and poets dead. the square around it was almost deserted,----i slackened my pace, strolling meditatively along the narrow paved way that forms a short cut across into old palace yard, ... when suddenly a shadow crossed my path, and looking up, i came face to face with----lucio! the same as ever,--the perfect impersonation of perfect manhood! ... his countenance, pale, proud, sorrowful yet scornful, flashed upon me like a star!----he looked full at me, and a questioning smile rested on his lips! my heart almost stopped beating, ... i drew a quick sharp breath, ... again i felt for the letter of mavis, and then, ... meeting his gaze fixedly and straightly in my turn, i moved slowly on in silence. he understood,--his eyes flashed with the jewel-like strange brilliancy i knew so well, and so well remembered,--and drawing back he stood aside and--let me pass! i continued my walk steadily, though dazed and like one in a dream,--till reaching the shadowed side of the street opposite the houses of parliament, i stopped for a moment to recover my startled senses. there again i saw him!----the superb man's form,--the angel's face,--the haunting, splendid sorrowful eyes!----he came with his usual ease and grace of step into the full moonlight and paused,--apparently waiting for some one. for me?--ah no!--i kept the name of god upon my lips,--i gathered all the strength of faith within my soul,--and though i was wholesomely afraid of myself, i feared no other foe! i lingered therefore--watching;--and presently i saw a few members of parliament walking singly and in groups towards the house,--one or two greeted the tall dark figure as a friend and familiar, and others knew him not. still he waited on, ... and so did i. at last, just as big ben chimed the quarter to eleven, one man whom i instantly recognised as a well-known cabinet minister, came walking briskly towards the house, ... then, and then only, he, whom i had known as lucio, advanced smiling. greeting the minister cordially, in that musical rich voice i knew of old, he took his arm,--and they both walked on slowly, talking earnestly. i watched them till their figures receded in the moonlight, ... the one tall, kingly and commanding, ... the other burly and broad, and self-assertive in demeanour;--i saw them ascend the steps, and finally disappear within the house of england's imperial government,--devil and man,--together! +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | inconsistent hyphenation and word boundaries have been | | retained: any rate / anyrate, bluebells / blue-bells, | | commonplace / common-place, deathlike / death-like, | | goodwill / good-will, honeysuckle / honey-suckle, maypole / | | may-pole, notepaper / note-paper, nowadays / now-a-days, | | overhead / over-head, pall mall / pall-mall, pocket book / | | pocketbook / pocket-book, someone / some-one, supernatural / | | super-natural, uplifted / up-lifted. | | | | minor punctuation and spelling repairs have been made | | without comment. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ [illustration: "here grit, old fellow, give it to me! that's a good dog!" _dick hamilton's steam yacht._ _frontispiece_--(_page ._)] dick hamilton's steam yacht or a young millionaire and the kidnappers by howard r. garis author of "dick hamilton's fortune," "dick hamilton's cadet days," "from office boy to reporter," "larry dexter, reporter," "larry dexter's great search," etc. _illustrated_ new york grosset & dunlap publishers books for boys by howard r. garis the dick hamilton series dick hamilton's fortune or the stirring doings of a millionaire's son. dick hamilton's cadet days or the handicap of a millionaire's son dick hamilton's steam yacht or a young millionaire and the kidnappers dick hamilton's football team or a young millionaire on the gridiron (other volumes in preparation) _ mo. cloth. illustrated._ the young reporter series from office boy to reporter or the first step in journalism larry dexter, the young reporter or strange adventures in a great city larry dexter's great search or the hunt for a missing millionaire larry dexter and the bank mystery or a young reporter in wall street larry dexter and the stolen boy or a young reporter on the lakes _ mo. cloth. illustrated._ grosset & dunlap publishers new york copyright, , by grosset & dunlap _dick hamilton's steam yacht_ preface my dear boys: perhaps some of you, at one time or another, have had a desire to be cast away on an island in the middle of the ocean, there to have all sorts of adventures, to build a boat, and sail away, maybe; or, at any rate, to have some experience on the great sea. something like this fell to the lot of dick hamilton, though he was not exactly looking for it, and it is my privilege to give you in this, the third volume of the "dick hamilton series," an account of what happened to the young millionaire when he had purchased a steam yacht, and started out on a cruise with some of his friends. dick was marooned on a small island, but, far from that proving a delightful experience, he was very glad to leave, even though it was on a raft, which he and his companions constructed. how the wealthy youth happened to be marooned there, an account of how he got his yacht, how he foiled the plans of the kidnappers and his uncle ezra larabee, how the wrong young man was spirited away, how dick gave chase, and the surprising rescue at sea--all this you will find set down in the present book, and i venture to hope that you will like it. thanking you for the appreciation you have accorded my previous books, i remain, yours sincerely, howard r. garis. contents chapter page i dick's company wins ii mr. hamilton's letter iii dick's steam yacht iv uncle ezra's plot v dick is shadowed vi dick enters the trap vii the escape viii the fight in the dark ix out to sea x uncle ezra's offer xi plum duff falls overboard xii saved from the sea xiii the mermaid's song xiv just in time xv tim muldoon disappears xvi uncle ezra as a sailor xvii widdy hears a voice xviii the princess passes xix at havana xx off to santiago xxi the kidnappers xxii the wrong captive xxiii dick on the trail xxiv off for stone island xxv dick's yacht is gone xxvi marooned xxvii dick finds his relatives xxviii building a raft xxix the rescue xxx the pursuit xxxi "man overboard!"--conclusion dick hamilton's steam yacht chapter i dick's company wins "halt!" the command rang out sharply, and hundreds of cadets came to a stop, standing as stiff as ramrods, with their eyes staring straight ahead at--absolutely nothing. "right dress!" captain dick hamilton stepped out the regulation number of paces in front of his company, wheeled on his heel, looked critically over his command, wheeled about again, and stood at attention. then he awaited the approach of colonel masterly, superintendent of the kentfield military academy. "say, fellows, i hope we're looking all right," whispered jim perkins, to his next in line, george ball. "we want to take first prize, for dick's sake, and----" "silence in the ranks!" exclaimed first lieutenant paul drew. "here come colonel masterly and major rockford." dick hamilton never moved from his rigid position, but with a slight motion of his hand he cautioned his men to maintain order. for it was the final inspection, at the close of the academy for the term, and he wanted his command to have a perfect score. farther along the big parade ground were other companies of cadets, in their dress uniforms, and in front of them were other captains, as eager as was dick to win the coveted medal, which was offered each year for the best appearing command. "here come the grand-high-muck-a-mucks!" whispered the irrepressible perkins. "stand up straighter, ball. you're as crooked as a rail fence." "silence!" hissed lieutenant drew sharply. dick was almost ready to squirm, in his eagerness to turn around and administer a rebuke, yet he was inwardly laughing at the remark of perkins. colonel masterly, the head of the big school, and the commandant, major rockford, were now inspecting the company, which was standing stiffly at the right of dick's command. the two officers, together with several visitors, and a colonel from the regular army, were critically examining the ranks of anxious cadets. "i know i've got a speck of dust on my belt," whispered perkins. "can't one of you fellows brush it off with your bayonet?" and he half turned his head to look at the lad behind him. "si----!" began lieutenant drew, but he did not finish, for at that moment the squad of officers approached, having finished with the other company. dick stiffened the least bit more in his tracks, if such a thing were possible, and raised his glittering sword in salute. the inspection was on. there was no further chance to improve the appearance of his cadets. slowly and carefully the officers looked over the lads, some of whom felt an uncontrollable desire to sneeze, or to scratch the middle of their backs. but they nobly resisted. colonel masterly spoke a few words in a low tone to major webster, a retired army officer, who was the academy instructor in military tactics. in turn the latter spoke to major rockford, and then to colonel whitford, of the regular army. dick wondered what they were saying, but as they were behind him now he could not hear. the officers paused in front of the joking perkins. they seemed to see something. "great scott!" mused captain dick hamilton. "has perk disgraced us by putting his belt on wrong side out?" yet he dared not turn to see. a moment later the inspectors passed on, and dick breathed easier. then, as colonel masterly and the others passed behind the rear rank of dick's cadets, finishing their examination, and moved on to the next company, our hero breathed a sigh of relief, and somewhat relaxed his stiff position. "i feel as if i'd just been to the dentist's," whispered perkins, though not so quietly but what it carried to every lad in the company. "silence, perk!" commanded paul drew, but he shook with inward laughter. there were two more companies to inspect, and until they had been passed on it would not be known which command had been awarded the prize. but the delay was not for long, and presently the group of officers returned, and stood in front of dick's company. colonel masterly then announced, in a few, well-chosen words, that the young millionaire's cadets had won the prize, though, he added, that it had been difficult to decide, where there was so much general excellence displayed. "and so allow me, captain hamilton, on behalf of the faculty of the kentfield military academy, to present you and your company this medal," went on colonel masterly, and stepping forward he handed dick a small box, on the white satin lining of which glittered a shield of gold. "three cheers for captain hamilton and company b!" called captain teddy naylor, of company e. and, though it might have been against strict military rule and practice the applause was given with a will. dick flushed with pleasure as he saluted, and soon ranks were broken, and the inspection was over. "has any one seen grit?" asked the successful captain, as he and some chums were strolling over the parade ground, after they had left their rifles in the armory racks. "here he comes now," remarked paul drew. "they had to keep him double chained, i guess, or he'd have nipped the legs of the entire faculty in case the medal hadn't gone to company b." "hi, grit, old boy!" cried dick, and a handsome bulldog--that is, handsome as bulldogs go--leaped upon the youth, and wagged his stump of a tail so violently that it was a wonder it was not dislocated, while, at every word from his master, the animal grew so demonstrative that finally, in the excess of joy, he finally rolled over and over on the grass, whoofing out the words he could not speak. the throng of cadets separated, as the various members of the little party started for their rooms, to get off the tight dress uniforms, and don fatigue suits. "i say, will you fellows come around to-night?" asked dick. "sure! what for?" asked paul. "i'm going to have a little spread in honor of our fellows getting the medal." "what a thing it is to be a millionaire!" exclaimed perkins with a mock sigh. "oh, cut it out," advised dick good-naturedly, for he disliked any reference to his wealth, which, at times, was a handicap rather than a help. "will jimmie let you have the grub-fest?" asked paul, using the cadets' private title for their superintendent. "sure. he can't refuse very well, after we won the prize. you fellows come around, and we'll have some fun," and, as there came a chorus of eager assents, dick hamilton hurried to his room. there, even before he rid himself of his uncomfortable uniform, he drew from his pocket a letter which he began to read for perhaps the fifth time. as he perused it a puzzled look came over his face. "i can't understand why dad is so anxious for me to come home and do some investigating for him," he mused. "i wonder what sort of investigating it can be? maybe he wants me to turn detective. perhaps some persons have been demanding money from him, and he wants to find out who they are. yet it can hardly be that, either. let's see what he says about it." then the young millionaire, who had been so taken up with trying for the annual prize offered for the best appearing company, that he had not had time to properly read a very important letter he had received from his father that day, set himself to the task of trying to fathom what his parent wanted him to do. he had not read more than a dozen lines, when there sounded a knock on his door, and, opening it he saw one of the janitors, corporal bill handlee, standing there. "well, what is it, toots?" asked the lad, giving the old soldier the name bestowed on him from the fact that he was always whistling military airs. "colonel masterly wishes to see you, captain hamilton." "all right. tell him i'll be with him at once." dick slipped the letter into his pocket, adjusted his uniform, and hastened out. "i wonder if i'll ever get time to read my letter without being interrupted," he mused. chapter ii mr. hamilton's letter colonel masterly's summons to the young millionaire was to give him the permission, asked for shortly after the parade, to have a spread in one of the unused rooms of the academy, and once that he was assured that everything was all right, dick set to work to provide for the good time he anticipated. he hurried into town, and gave orders to a caterer for a "spread" such as had seldom before been given at kentfield. then the lad had to arrange for various details, improvising tables from boards and saw-horses, seeing to the seating arrangements, sending out his verbal invitations, in which paul drew helped him, for, as it was impossible to have the entire student-body at the little dinner, dick had to confine it to his closest friends, and the members of his prize company. that he had many friends, those of you who have read the previous volumes of this series will testify, though at first, on coming to the military academy, dick's millions had been a handicap to him. the son of mortimer hamilton, of hamilton corners, himself a millionaire many times, dick had inherited a large fortune from his mother, who had been dead some years; but, as told in the first volume of this series, entitled "dick hamilton's fortune," he was not to have the use of this money until he had complied with certain conditions of mrs. hamilton's will. one stipulation was that dick must make a paying investment of some of his funds within a year. if he did not do this he was to go and live with a crabbed old uncle, named ezra larabee, of dankville, and attend a boarding school of that relative's selection. dick had a taste of what he might expect of his uncle, when he paid a week's visit to dankville, and he at once made up his mind that if hard work would accomplish it, he would make that paying investment, for he realized that he never could stand life with his uncle and aunt. the young millionaire tried several schemes for making money, from buying real estate to purchasing shares in a gold mine, but, one after another, they all failed, and the lad was on the verge of having to go and dwell in the gloomy dankville house, called "the firs." how dick fulfilled the conditions of the will, most unexpectedly, from a small investment he made for a poor youth named henry darby, how grit, the bulldog, routed uncle ezra when he came to take his nephew back home with him, is told in the first volume, as well as how dick got the best of some sharpers who tried to swindle him. secure in the possession of the great fortune his mother had left to him, dick began to enjoy life, and did much good with his money, while he gave not a little pleasure to those not so well off as himself. in the second volume, "dick hamilton's cadet days," our hero was obliged to fulfill another condition of his mother's will. he was to attend a military academy, and win his way up, not only in studies, but in the affections of his classmates, without any influence from his wealth. how he succeeded again heavy odds, how there were plots and counterplots against him, how he fought a duel with one of the cadets who disliked him, and how he solved the mystery of corporal handlee's identity is told in the second book. dick's first term ended with a glad surprise, just when it looked as if everything had turned against him, and he came back to hamilton corners to spend the summer vacation, having done more than was expected of him in the matter of winning his way. dick returned to kentfield academy in the fall, and remained there all that winter. he was promoted to a captaincy, and was more popular than ever, winning glory for himself and his mates on the gridiron, for he was one of the best football players who ever wore moleskin. when the present story opens the summer vacation was again at hand, and during it dick was destined to have more stirring adventures than had yet fallen to his lot. it took dick all the afternoon to complete arrangements for his spread, even though several of his comrades helped him. there were many details, however, which he had to see to himself, but finally he had the assurance of the caterer that everything necessary would be sent out to the academy. dick gave his personal check for the cost, and it was not a small sum, but the young millionaire had plenty of money to his credit. then he hurried home to dress for the affair. "oh, you look good enough; come on!" exclaimed paul drew to dick, as the latter was surveying his uniform in a small glass in their room that night, just before the time set for the farewell supper. "this isn't a fancy dress ball, and there aren't going to be any girls at it. don't primp!" "i'm not primping, but the tailor made this coat too tight, and i'm afraid if i reach across the table i'll split it down the middle." "which, the table or the coat?" "both," retorted dick, and then, to test the garment, he stretched out his arms. there was an ominous ripping sound, and he hastily threw back his shoulders in alarm. "what did i tell you?" he asked, reproachfully. "don't stretch; that's all," advised paul. "but come on if you're coming." they descended to the improvised banquet hall. the place was tastefully arranged, except that toots had taken the cut flowers dick had ordered--a mass of roses, pinks and smilax--and stuck them into a big water pitcher in the centre of the table. "oh, wow! see that!" cried dick. "it looks like a boarding-house hash-foundry! here, paul, help me scatter the posies more artistically. they remind me of a cabbage-head at a county fair; but toots meant all right." the two cadets soon had made several bouquets of the flowers, and set them in different places on the table, producing a much more artistic effect. then dick stepped back to admire it. "i smell grub!" cried a voice outside. "hash and baked beans!" added another. "pickled pigs' feet!" was a third contribution. "if i can't have quail on toast, stuffed with horse chestnuts and snowballs i'll not play!" howled a fourth. "here they come," said paul, significantly. "i hear 'em," replied dick, with a grin. the door flew open, and in rushed a crowd of the cadets of dick's company. at the sight of their captain, they stopped momentarily, and several hands rose in salute. "drop it!" cried dick, warningly. "we're here to have fun. the book of rules and military tactics has been burned at the stake. we're all alike, now." "that is, we're all hungry," added perkins, with a laugh. "say, but this is going some; eh, fellows?" "talk about a grand spread!" exclaimed ball. "this puts it all over anything i've been to since my sister had a surprise party." "glad you like it," remarked dick, simply. to do him credit the banquet was really quite an elaborate affair, and he had spared no money to have it just as his cultured taste told him it should be, even if it were an informal affair. more cadets came piling in, laughing and shouting, until the room was filled. "sit down, fellows," invited dick, and when they were in their chairs he gave orders to the caterer's men to serve the spread. from then on there was heard the clatter of knives, forks and spoons, the rattle of dishes mingling with the talk and laughter of the guests. "dick, you've got to make a speech!" shouted perkins. "tell us how we won the medal." "no speeches," mumbled dick, his mouth half full of roast chicken. "speech! speech! speech! speech!" yelled a score of voices. they were not to be denied, and dick, blushing in spite of his effort to remain cool, stood up. "all i've got to say is that it was you fellows who won the prize--not me," he said. "i'm proud of you, proud of--er--and proud of--er--that is--oh, hang it all! go on eating. there's lots more when this is gone!" and dick sat down, amid laughter and applause. the banquet proceeded amid much merriment. there were songs and college yells, and the musicians hired by dick added to the din. "what are you going to do this summer?" asked paul drew, who, as first lieutenant, sat at the young captain's right hand. "don't know. haven't exactly made up my mind yet. i want to travel, but i fancy dad has some plans for me. by jove! that reminds me. i got a letter from him this morning, but i haven't had a chance to read it through and get the hang of it yet, though i've tried half a dozen times. it's something important, but i don't know just what it is." "go ahead and read it now," advised paul. "the bunch is singing the 'cannon song' and they won't notice." "guess i will," agreed the young millionaire, and he drew out the letter. it was filled with general news of hamilton corners, and mr. hamilton expressed the pleasure it would be to see his son again, when school closed. then followed this: "now, dick, i've got what may prove quite a task for you this summer. i don't know what your plans are, but i hope you will have time to give me a little assistance. "you remember i once spoke to you of some valuable property your mother owned, and how i planned to form a syndicate and erect a large factory on it. well, i started the syndicate, got a number of friends interested in it, and we were ready to go ahead when unexpected difficulties cropped up. we found it hard to interest outside capital because of a certain flaw in the title to the property, and, curiously enough, the flaw has to do with some distant relatives of your mother. "these relatives have disappeared, and i have been unable to get a trace of them. it is very necessary that i find them, and i am in hopes that you can help me. so, dick, there is work cut out for you this summer, if you wish to do it. come home as soon as you can after the academy closes, and i will tell you more about this. it is very important, not alone to me, but to a number of comparatively poor persons who have invested money in this enterprise, and who may lose if the affair is not straightened out. i am depending on you to help me." dick folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket. his face wore a serious look. "any bad news?" asked paul, anxiously. "no; only it seems that i'm about to start off on a mysterious quest for missing relatives." "that sounds good. wish i had something like that to occupy me this summer. i hope you have luck." "thanks. i haven't the least idea where i'm to go, or how. but dad will explain when i get home." "come on, now, everybody! we're going to sing 'farewell to old kentfield'!" cried ed watson. "everybody!" the cadets leaped to their feet, and soon the strains of the grand old song welled out of the banquet hall. grit, the bulldog was hoisted to a place of honor on two chairs, beside dick, and he looked on as if he understood it all. the banquet was nearing an end, and at last, with a clasping of hands around the tables, and a rendering of another verse of the song, while cheers for dick were mingled with the strains, the affair came to a close. "what's your hurry?" asked paul, as dick walked toward his room in the barrack building. "i'm going to pack up to-night, and take the first train for home in the morning. i'm anxious to find out what dad wants of me." "that's so; you're going off to trail a forty-second grand-aunt, or something like that. well, i may see you this summer," and the two friends shook hands. the next morning, after a prolonged series of farewells, dick and his bulldog took a train for hamilton comers, a fair-sized town in one of our middle western states. "i wonder where dad's quest will lead me?" mused dick, as the train speeded him homeward. little did he realize what perils were to follow his search for the missing relatives. chapter iii dick's steam yacht entering the front hall of his home, some hours later, with grit leaping joyfully about at his heels, dick was greeted by gibbs, the butler, with a warmth warranted by many years of service in the hamilton family. "is my father at home, gibbs?" asked dick. "he's in the library, mr. dick. your uncle is with him." "my uncle? you mean----?" "mr. larabee," finished the butler. "oh!" exclaimed dick, regretfully. "uncle ezra here!" he murmured. "i wonder what's wrong at dankville? or, maybe there's some new plan afoot, and that i have, after all, to go and live with him." there was dismay on dick's face. for uncle ezra larabee was not a very pleasant individual. he was quite wealthy, but he did not enjoy his money. he had a fine place at dankville, a village about a hundred miles from hamilton corners, but the house, which was gloomy in itself, was hidden in the midst of a grove of dark fir trees, that made it more gloomy than ever. inside scarcely a room was open to the sunlight, and once, when on his trial-visit, dick had opened the parlor to look at some pictures, his aunt samanthy exclaimed in horror that the apartment was never used save for funerals. dick's uncle ezra was a curious, crabbed sort of a man, who doubtless meant well, but who had a queer way of showing it. he liked order and neatness to extreme, and there was not a misplaced stick or a stone about his farm and house. he even disliked to have persons step on the gravel walks, for fear of dislodging some of the small stones, and spoiling the trim symmetry of the paths. mr. larabee was very fond of money--too fond, mr. hamilton used to think, for the millionaire was of a generous disposition. uncle ezra never could reconcile himself to dick having such a fortune in his own right. more than once he and his nephew had quarreled over what uncle ezra called the "foolishness" of mrs. hamilton, his sister, leaving so much money to a mere youth. of a sour disposition, hating to spend a cent unnecessarily, somewhat bitter against dick's habit of making his money bring him pleasure, and helping others with his wealth, it is no wonder that when uncle ezra came to hamilton corners dick was not happy. mr. hamilton himself was not overly-fond of his brother-in-law, but he always treated him well. "i suppose i may as well go in the library, say how d'ye do to my respected relative, and get a bad job over with," remarked dick, in no pleasant frame of mind at the information gibbs furnished. "uncle ezra will be sure to scold me for 'wasting my time' as he calls it, at the military school, and he's positive to make a fuss about grit. he always does. grit, old man, i guess you'd better stay out in the hall, until we get this business over with. you remember uncle ezra, don't you?" grit whined, and growled. evidently he did remember. it was no easy matter to make him stay away from dick, and out in the hall, but he knew when to mind, and, with a sort of reproachful look on his ugly but honest face, the bulldog stretched out on a rug, as much as to say: "don't be any longer than you can help, dick." dick could hear the voices of his father and uncle in the big, handsome library, where our hero had spent many pleasant hours with his favorite books. mr. larabee was speaking. "i tell you what it is, mortimer," he remarked to his brother-in-law. "it's all a sinful waste of money, and the sooner you find it out the better. why it's the most crazy idea of any that my sister ever got into her head! don't let dick do it!" "they're talking about me," thought the young millionaire, and he hardly knew whether to go in, or wait for another time. but, before he could move away from the door, he heard his father's voice. "well, ezra, i don't agree with you, but that's not strange, since i seldom do." "it would be a lot better if you did," snarled uncle ezra. "there are two opinions about that. at any rate, i shall carry out the wishes of my wife. she wished dick to be brought up in a certain way, and i shall do my best to fulfil her plans. she would have done it herself had she lived. so dick shall make the experiment. i know it will do him good. he needs change after a hard winter in school." "but, mortimer, think of the cost! it's going to be awful!" and there was agony in the crabbed old man's voice. "oh, it won't cost such a pile, ezra. besides, dick can afford it, and if he can't i can. the money couldn't be put to better use." "yes it could, mortimer. there's where you're mistaken. it could be invested in tenement houses, and made to pay big interest. you could----" "i'll never build tenements with any of my money, nor with dick's, either!" interrupted mr. hamilton. "i don't want to make a profit out of the poor." "then invest it in stocks or bonds," went on mr. larabee, eagerly. "they pay well." "i have enough investments as it is, and so has dick," answered the millionaire. "no, ezra, i have made up my mind. dick shall have a chance to see the world--or, at least, part of it. as soon as he comes home i'll tell him of his mother's plan----" dick thought it time to make his presence known. he rattled the knob of the library door, and heard a start of surprise from within. then he entered. "hello, dad!" he exclaimed, fairly rushing up to mr. hamilton, and clasping his two hands in an eager grip. "how are you, uncle ezra?" "why, dick, my boy!" cried the rich man, heartily, "i didn't expect you so soon. oh, but i _am_ glad to see you! it's like old times to have you back! where's grit?" and he clapped his son on the back more like some fellow-cadet than a father. "i--i left grit outside, dad." "have you got that miserable dog yet?" demanded uncle ezra, giving dick one finger to shake, and that rather grudgingly. "grit is outside, uncle. i knew you didn't like him, and----" "like him? i should say not! why that critter eats as much as a horse, and doesn't do a stroke of work to pay for his keep." "well, dick, how are you?" asked his father, holding him off at arm's length, to get a better view. "my, but you've grown, though you're a little pale." "yes, there wasn't much chance to tan up in the winter. but i'm glad to get home. how's everybody? you're looking well yourself, dad. oh, uncle ezra," spoke dick quickly, as he thought of something, "how's aunt samanthy?" "oh, she ain't as well as she might be. she has something the matter with her stomach, and the medicine she has to take is very expensive--very! besides, she's had the doctor real frequent of late, and that runs up an expense; not that i mind it so much, but it seems doctors charge more than they used to. no, your aunt samanthy ain't as well as she might be." "i'm sorry to hear that," murmured dick, as sympathetically as he could. "everything go off well at school?" asked mr. hamilton. "yes, dad; and my company took first prize." "good! glad to hear it." "i treated the boys to a good feed on the strength of it, too, last night." "that's right." "did it cost much?" asked uncle ezra, putting his hand into his pocket, doubtless to see if his purse were safe. "oh, not so very much; but it was worth all it cost." "a sinful waste of money!" murmured the crabbed old man. "you could have given them coffee and sandwiches, just as well as an elaborate supper, richard." "well, we're glad to have you back, dick," went on mr. hamilton, hoping to change the subject. "didn't expect you until this evening. we were just talking about you--your uncle and i." "yes--i--er--i overheard some of it," said dick. "then i hope you'll profit by it!" exclaimed uncle ezra, quickly. "for of all the foolish, nonsensical, wasteful, extravagant ideas, the one your father has got into his head now is the worst i ever heard." dick looked questioningly at his parent. "your uncle ezra doesn't agree with what i am going to propose, dick," said the millionaire with a laugh, "but i hope you will. i did not intend telling you this until to-morrow, but it will do no harm to mention it now. "dick, your mother, as you know, had very advanced ideas as to what a young man with considerable wealth ought to do with it. some of her plans for you have already been carried out. there are others which are mere suggestions, communicated to me before she--before she left us," and mr. hamilton spoke softly, while dick felt a lump come into his own throat. "dick, my boy, your mother wanted to have you see the world, when you got old enough to appreciate the beauties of it, and i think you are at about the right age to begin now. she suggested to me that, when i thought it wise, i should let you have a well-equipped steam yacht, and cruise about during an entire summer." "a steam yacht, dad!" cried the youth, his eyes sparkling. "that's it, dick. how do you like the idea?" "like it? why, dad, it's immense! great! fine! when can i have it, and where can i go?" "you may have it as soon as you like, and go where you please--that is, except to cross the ocean. i hardly think i'd like to have you venture as far as that on your first voyage. otherwise you're unrestricted; though i have a suggestion to make later." "oh, dad! do you really mean it? a steam yacht all for myself?" "certainly, and you can take along as many of your friends as you please. perhaps uncle ezra would like to go." "who, me? are you crazy, mortimer? i wouldn't go in one for a thousand dollars, and besides, i can't spare the time from my business and farm. my hired man would be sure to burn the barn down, and i'd lose more money than i could make in a year. no sea voyages for me!" "am i going to have a yacht made to order?" asked dick. "because if i am, it will take so long that i can't get started this summer." "that's right," agreed mr. hamilton. "so you had better look around for a good boat that has been slightly used. i think you can find one in new york. there, the news is out, dick, and i hope you are pleased." "pleased? i can't begin to thank you! i wonder where i shall go?" "i may have something to suggest on that score later," went on mr. hamilton. "just now, suppose we have a little lunch. come, ezra." "not for me, mortimer!" exclaimed mr. larabee. "it's bad for the digestion to eat between meals, and besides, it's a wasteful habit. but, nephew richard, i want to protest against this idea of you buying a steam yacht, and squandering money on travel. there is no sense in it! you had much better put the money out at interest. i can sell you some shares in a woolen mill i own, and you could spend your summer vacation in the factory, learning a useful trade." "no, thank you, uncle ezra, i think i'll do as my mother wished me to, and travel," said dick. "oh, the wastefulness of this rising generation!" murmured the old man. "it is terrible! terrible!" dick and his father turned to leave the library. "a steam yacht! a steam yacht all for myself and friends! it's too good to be true!" cried dick enthusiastically, as he linked his arm in his father's. "can't you come along, dad?" "i'm afraid not. but now let's discuss some details. you haven't any too much time. come along, ezra, and have a cup of coffee, anyhow." mr. ezra larabee declined and lingered behind as his nephew and brother-in-law left the handsome room. "a steam yacht," murmured the old man. "a sinful waste of money! it's time i took a hand in this! mortimer hamilton is crazy to let his son do this. it will be the ruination of the boy. i--i must stop this waste of money in some way, even if i have to prevent him--but no, i mustn't even whisper it. but i have a plan--i have a plan! perhaps, after all, i can keep richard from becoming a spendthrift. that would be terrible! i must try! i must try!" and, rubbing his gnarled hands together, the old man sat down in an easy chair. there was a look of cunning and craftiness on mr. larabee's face, and, as he thought of something, a smile spread itself over his wrinkled features, and the little tuft of white whiskers on his chin moved up and down as he mumbled to himself: "i must prevent it! i must prevent it! i can think of some scheme. the hamilton fortune shan't be squandered if i can help it, for it will come to me and my wife when they--when they are both gone, and i'm going to live a good while yet--a good while," and uncle ezra rubbed his dry hands together, and chuckled in a mirthless fashion. meanwhile dick and his father talking over the scheme of purchasing a steam yacht, were all unconscious of the plot that mr. larabee was planning against them. chapter iv uncle ezra's plot "this isn't to be altogether a pleasure trip, dick," went on mr. hamilton, when he and his son were alone in the reception hall. "i suppose you got my letter, telling you about some distant relatives i need to locate?" "yes, i got your note, but you didn't go into details." "no, it wasn't exactly safe, in a letter. i'll tell you about it now, and i hope you can combine business and pleasure. how would you like to sail for cuba?" "cuba? fine! that would suit me." "well, i'd like to have you make a trip down there, and, after you find the persons i'm looking for, you can cruise somewhere else; along the new england coast, if you like." "all right, dad. let's hear the story." "i think i never told you," began mr. hamilton, "that your mother had some distant relatives in cuba. one of her cousins named rose martin married a cuban gentleman, named raphael valdez. for a time they were quite well off, but, just before your mother left us she learned that her cousin had died, and that her husband and son were in want. "your mother endeavored to send them some relief, but just then the spanish-american war broke out, and all trace was lost of the valdez family, who were of spanish extraction. your mother grieved very much at not being able to help her relatives, even if they were so distantly related, and i promised that i would aid her. "then--then came your mother's death," and mr. hamilton's voice faltered. "i had many cares, and the matter slipped from my mind. now, it is to find, if possible, these people that i wish you to go to cuba, dick." "in order to give them aid?" "yes, if they need it; but also for another reason. that reason i hinted at in my letter. it seems that, some time ago, your mother purchased a large piece of valuable property in the business section of new york. it has increased in value of late, and a syndicate has been formed to erect a large office building on it. i am interested in it--in fact, i hold a majority of the stock. "well, when the time came to interest outsiders, and borrow money to erect the building, for i do not care to finance it all alone, we found that there was a flaw in the deed. your mother paid cash for the property, and she thought she had a good title, but it seems that now, when the ownership has passed to me by will, that the names of this senor valdez and his son are needed on the deed." "and you want me to locate them, and get their signatures?" asked dick. "either that, or bring them to hamilton corners, or new york, where they can sign. i also want you to aid them if they are in want. i have had several firms of lawyers, both in new york and in cuba, looking for the valdez family, but no trace of them can be found. i have spent much time and money on it, for i want this matter cleared up. the whole thing is hanging fire until we can get those signatures. outside capital will not be invested in the enterprise, for the title guarantee company will not certify to the title while this flaw exists. so you see it is very necessary to find the valdez father and son, and i hope you can do it." "but couldn't you erect the building on this land yourself, and finance it alone?" "i could, but it is a sort of philanthropic enterprise. it is a stock company, and the funds of widows and orphans are tied up in it. if it goes through they will make considerable money, but if it does not they will lose. of course, i could step in and take entire financial responsibility, but if i did this it might be said that i had put up a game, to enrich myself at the expense of the poor who invested their money because i stood back of the enterprise. it would look as though i had invented this fact of the title not being clear, to gain some advantage." "i see," said dick. "another thing," went on his father. "your mother left a certain sum, under her will, to senor valdez and his son, and they are also, it seems, entitled to a tenth part of this new york property, and i wish them to have their rights. "so i want to find these people, get their signatures to a deed, and the title will be clear. then the work can proceed, the building will be erected, and all will be well. it is very important, dick, and it is growing more so every day. "that is why this plan of your mother's to have you get a steam yacht happens at a good time. you can go to cuba, and begin this search for me--the search in which the lawyers have failed." "well, dad, i'll do my best!" exclaimed the young millionaire. "and it will be just as well if your uncle ezra doesn't know that you are going to cuba to look for your mother's relatives," went on mr. hamilton. "not that it would make any particular difference, only i would prefer that the fact did not become generally known. so, ostensibly, you will be going on a mere pleasure trip, and in a sense it will be that, for you will probably take some of your friends along." "so i will, dad. it will be great!" "well, now that so much is settled, we can defer talking about the rest until after supper," suggested mr. hamilton, as he and his son walked toward the dining-room. "about how large a yacht do you think i ought to get, dad?" asked dick, as the butler placed their chairs at the table. "well, suit yourself about that. of course, you want a good, seaworthy craft, but i shouldn't get one too large. if you do you'll have to engage a big crew to help navigate it; and again, while i have no wish to restrict you in the spending of your fortune, you will find yachting pretty expensive." "expensive! i should say it was, mortimer!" exclaimed mr. larabee, coming into the dining-room at that moment. "don't think of letting richard have a yacht." "we have already discussed that," said mr. hamilton, somewhat coldly, "and my mind is made up. better have something to eat, ezra." "well, i will have a bit of dry toast and a cup of weak tea. i don't believe that will give me the dyspepsia," and the butler tried to conceal a smile as he set before the crabbed old man the very frugal repast. dick and his father talked yachting from the beginning until the end of the meal, and uncle ezra larabee was a silent, but objecting listener. occasionally a crafty look came over his face, to be replaced by one of agony when dick mentioned the spending of large sums of money. at length, mr. hamilton said: "well, my boy, i think the simplest way out of it would be for you to go to new york, and look around for yourself. perhaps you may pick up a bargain in a steam yacht. you have my full permission to do as you think best, only, as i said, don't get too large a craft. take a week for the task, and i think you'll get what you want." "that's what i'll do, dad. i'll go to new york in a few days, and see what i can do." "perhaps your uncle ezra would like to go with you," went on mr. hamilton. "who, me?" exclaimed the old man, carefully picking up from the table-cloth some crumbs of toast and eating them. "no, mortimer, i haven't any money to waste on trips to new york. living is frightfully expensive there." "i'll pay for everything," said dick, generously. "no--no," and his uncle spoke slowly, and with an evident effort. "i--i--er--i've got to get back to dankville. i know some of my hired men will waste the oats in feeding the horse, or else they'll burn too much kerosene oil, sitting up nights to read useless books. no, i must get back. the gravel walks need raking, and i always cut my lawn this time of year. i'll go home. but, before i go, i want to have a little talk with you, mortimer, on a very serious subject." "all right, ezra. i guess dick will excuse us." mr. hamilton arose from the table, followed by his brother-in-law. as uncle ezra pushed back his chair there was a mingled howl and growl, followed by a short bark. "grit!" cried dick. "you've stepped on my bulldog, uncle ezra!" "served him right!" snapped the old man. "dogs have no business in the house. i'd have him shot if he were mine!" an angry retort rose to dick's lips, but by an effort he calmed himself. "here, grit, old fellow," he called soothingly, and the dog crawled up to him, limping slightly. "dogs are no good," went on mr. larabee, pointing a long, lean finger at grit. "if he were mine i'd----" he didn't finish the sentence, for the bulldog, with the hair on the ridge of his back standing up in anger, and with his lips parted in an ugly snarl, darted away from dick. the animal might have sprung at mr. larabee, but for the restraining hand of his master on his collar. however, the crabbed old man did not wait. toward the library he fled, crying out: "hold him, richard! hold him! if he bites me i'll sue your father for damages!" he reached the library and slammed shut the door. mr. hamilton followed more slowly, endeavoring not to smile or laugh. "better put grit outside, dick," he said. "your uncle is going home in the morning." "all right," agreed the young millionaire, somewhat regretfully. "come on, grit, old man, we'll go out to the stable and see how rex is getting along," for dick had not greeted his pet horse since his return from the academy. mr. hamilton continued on to the library, and tried the door. it was locked. "let me in, ezra," he called. "is that savage dog gone?" inquired mr. larabee, with anxiety in his voice. "yes, dick has taken him to the stable." "that's where he belongs. wait a minute and i'll open the door." there were sounds inside, as though tables and chairs were being moved away from the portal, and then uncle ezra's lean face was thrust carefully out of a crack of the door, as he cautiously opened it. he took a survey up and down the hall, and, seeing no signs of grit, swung the door wider. "he wouldn't hurt you," said mr. hamilton, as he entered. "grit is as gentle as a lamb." "lamb! humph, you can't make me believe that!" snorted mr. larabee. "he'd have bitten me if i'd stayed there." mr. hamilton did not answer, but drawing up an easy chair, and indicating another for his brother-in-law, inquired: "what was it you wanted to see me about, ezra?" "it's this," went on mr. larabee, walking over and locking the library door. "i'm going back to dankville to-morrow, but, before i go, i consider it my duty to make one last appeal to you not to let richard go off on this yachting cruise." "why not?" "because it will squander a lot of money that he ought to save up against the time of need." "oh, dick has plenty, and so have i." "that may be, but it's the wrong sort of training for a young man. richard ought to be taught the habits of thrift and frugality." "his mother and i think he ought to be trained to fulfill his station in life, which is that of a millionaire. did you ever stop to think, ezra, that a millionaire may do good by spending his money freely, not foolishly." "no, i don't know as i ever did." "well, he can. think of how many persons he keeps employed, and how he helps to give them a chance to earn their living." "well, mortimer, you and i never will think alike on that subject. but will you do as i ask--not let richard waste this money for a yacht?" "i'm afraid i can't do as you ask, ezra. i've promised dick that he may have the boat, and i'm sure it will do him good." "humph!" exclaimed uncle ezra. then his face took on a hard and determined look. "mortimer," he said finally, after a silence, "i don't like to interfere, but you must remember that richard's mother was my only sister. i loved her, though i did not agree with some of her views. i'm fond of richard, and i want to see him grow up a careful and saving man. but he never will as long as you allow him to go on in this fashion." "i'm afraid it's too late to change our plan, ezra." "no, it's not too late! i'll take a hand in this myself. if you won't bring your son up in the right way, then i'll do it for you!" the lean old man had arisen from his chair, and was excitedly pacing the room. "why, ezra, what do you mean?" asked mr. hamilton, wondering what sudden emotion had possessed his brother-in-law. then mr. larabee seemed to recollect himself. his manner suddenly changed. "excuse me, mortimer," he said more mildly. "i spoke too hastily. i--i wasn't thinking what i was saying. i--i--er--that is, i had some hopes that you might let richard come to live with me and samanthy at the firs for a time. i would give him good training." "i've no doubt you would, ezra, but dick doesn't want to go, and i have fallen in with his late mother's plan of having him travel and see the world. besides, there is another important phase to it." "very well," spoke mr. larabee, and he seemed to be careful of his words. "then we'll say no more about it, mortimer. now, i think i'll get ready to return to dankville." "why, it's too soon. you're not going until morning, are you?" "no, but i must get my things in order, and i have some business to attend to. i think i'll go do it now. do you think that savage dog is out of the way?" "oh, yes; you needn't fear him." mr. larabee cautiously unlocked the library door, and looked out. then he stepped into the hall. the coast was clear, and he went upstairs to his room. mr. hamilton remained in the library. as dick's uncle reached the head of the stairs, he turned and looked toward the room where his brother-in-law was sitting. "so you won't agree to my plan, to save your son from being a spendthrift, eh?" he murmured. "then, i'll do it for you in spite of you and him! i'll prevent richard from wasting all of his money, if i have to lock him up away from you, and where you can't see him." after supper that night, or, rather, following dinner, as gibbs, the butler, preferred to call it, dick saddled rex, his horse, and galloped over to town in the pleasant late june evening. as he was turning into the main street he saw a wagon coming toward him, drawn by a sleek, fat horse, and driven by a genial-faced lad of about our hero's age. "hello, henry!" called the young millionaire, pleasantly, drawing rein. "got a new horse, i see. how's the old iron business? rattling away, i suppose?" "that's right," answered henry darby, with a laugh. "but this isn't a new horse, dick." "no? you don't mean to say that it's the one you used to have--the same one that couldn't draw the load of iron when i once met you?" "the same one. i bought him from the man who sold me the iron, and i fattened him up. the horse got rid of the ringbone, spavin, blind staggers, dinkbots, and a few other things he had, and he's all right now." "you must have fed him on some iron filings to make him so strong," for the animal was pulling a heavy load. "no, i didn't do that, but maybe he got out of the stable and helped himself to an old radiator or a wagon tire once in a while. so you're back from the military school, dick?" "yes, and glad of it in a way. i'm going to have a steam yacht, and travel around a bit this vacation." "my, oh my! some folks are born lucky!" cried henry, with a jolly laugh. "now, if i'd only been rich instead of good looking i'd buy a yacht, too," and the two lads, both of whom were really fine-appearing chaps, laughed together. "i'll give you a ride when you get your vacation," promised dick. "the trouble is i never get one," replied henry. "the old iron business, that you helped me start on such a good footing, takes all my time. well, i must be traveling, dick. this horse hasn't had his supper, yet, and he needs it. so long." "so long, henry. come over and see me when you get a chance." "humph! there aren't many millionaires who would give a fellow like me such an invitation as that," remarked henry darby as he drove along, while dick galloped off in the opposite direction. dick met several of his friends in town, and spent a pleasant hour chatting with them, before he trotted leisurely back home. he found his father reading in the library, but uncle ezra had gone to bed early, as he said he must take the first train for home in the morning. mr. hamilton did not tell his son of the peculiar words and actions of his uncle. "well, dick," said mr. hamilton, musingly, "i suppose you'll soon be going to new york, to buy your yacht." "day after to-morrow, dad." "all right. i'll give you a letter to my lawyers there, and they'll see to the transfer of the boat, and attend to the legal matters. now, don't buy any gilt-edged mining shares, dick," and mr. hamilton smiled grimly, in memory of a visit his son once paid to the metropolis, as related in the first volume of this series. "i'll not," promised the young millionaire, and, after he and his father had spent an hour chatting in the big apartment, the walls of which were lined with many books, dick retired to bed, mr. hamilton soon following. dick's room was over an extension to the main part of the house, and was fitted up like the "den" of any other lad, whether he has a million dollars to his credit, or only one. there were various trophies, some swords and guns, indian relics, odds and ends of no earthly use to any one but a boy, and a few pictures. yet, everything in it meant something to dick, and, after all, that is the real way to decorate a "den." mr. larabee, the next day, completed his preparations for returning to the firs, and dick began to pack for his trip to new york. he offered to drive his uncle to the railroad station in his auto runabout, but mr. larabee did not trust autos. "besides," he added, "you might run over somebody, and then they'd bring a suit for damages, and i'd be liable for part of it, on account of being in the car with you. no, i'll walk and save the street-car fare." "i'll take all responsibility for the damage," promised dick, but his uncle would not agree to an auto trip, and walked. as mr. larabee said good-by to his brother-in-law and nephew, he murmured to himself: "i certainly must put my plan into operation. that boy richard has absolutely no idea of the value of money. i must save him from himself and his father. i certainly must." uncle ezra was very thoughtful on his way home that day. riding in the train he worked out the details of a plot that was destined to have a very important effect on dick's life. "it's a little risky," thought mr. larabee, as the train neared dankville station, "and it's going to cost me considerable, but i can get it back from the hamilton fortune in the end, and i can charge interest on whatever i spend. it's in a good cause, and i'll do it, for i must teach richard the value of a dollar!" mr. larabee reached home, and was welcomed by his wife, who carefully watched him to see that he wiped his feet as he entered the house. he told of his visit to his brother-in-law's house, and denounced mr. hamilton's action in letting dick have a steam yacht. then, after a frugal meal, the lights were put out, to save kerosene oil, and the gloomy house of the firs was shrouded in darkness. but, somehow, uncle ezra larabee couldn't sleep. he tossed from side to side in the bed, and, now and then, he muttered to himself: "i'll do it! i vum i'll do it! it's the only way." his wife noted his restlessness. "what's the matter, ezra?" she asked. "can't you sleep? are you sick?" "nope. i'm all right." but mr. larabee wasn't. sleep would not come to him. he was busy thinking of many things, but chief of all was a plan he had evolved to save dick hamilton from what the old man thought was a trip that would "waste" much money. "i've got to do it," murmured uncle ezra to the darkness all about him. "it may not be accordin' to strict law, but it's justice. i've got to do it," and he turned wearily from one side of the bed to the other as he worked out the details of his plot. "for land sakes!" exclaimed his wife at length, for she was being kept awake, "can't you doze off, ezra?" "no, i can't seem to, samanthy." "maybe your railroad trip upsot ye?" "no, i guess not. i think i'll sleep now. i've had lots to think of, samanthy." once more he shifted his position and tried to close his eyes, but they would not stay shut. he found himself staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. he arose, got a drink of water, and came back to bed. but he seemed more wide-awake than ever. "ezra," called his wife again, "are you thinkin' of the dollar an' nineteen cents you once lost? maybe that's what's keepin' you awake." "no, it ain't that, samanthy." "then, what is it?" "i can't tell you." "why, ezra. you ain't in trouble; be ye? you ain't goin' to keep a secret from me; be ye?" "i ain't in trouble, no, samanthy, but i've got to keep this thing quiet until--well, until i'm ready to tell it." "but what's it about, ezra?" "well, it's about nephew richard and his money. he'll run through his mother's fortune in no time, if i don't take a hand and save it." "do tell, ezra! what are you goin' to do?" "samanthy, i'm going to do something desperate! i've got to do it to save dick. why, his father's as crazy as he is about spending money. i've got to do something desperate." "you--you won't get arrested for it; will you, ezra?" "i hope not. but go to sleep, samanthy. i'll tell you about it--when it's time," and, having thus gotten this much of the plot off his mind, uncle ezra turned over and went to sleep. but he did not have pleasant dreams. chapter v dick is shadowed bearing a letter to his father's attorneys in new york, messrs. blake & carrington, dick started for the metropolis the second day after his uncle's visit. "now use your own judgment about getting your yacht," said the millionaire to his son, "but, of course, be guided by the lawyers. buying a steam craft is rather a large operation, especially if you don't know much about it." highly elated at the prospect of the good times before him, dick sat in the parlor car of the fast express, as he was whirled toward the big city, and made plan after plan. "i'll get a lot of the fellows, some from the academy and some from town, and we'll have a glorious time yachting," he told himself. "we'll go up the new england coast, and down to florida and maybe even to bermuda and to cuba, and--by jove i've a good notion to try to double cape horn! that would be something to talk about when i got back." it did not seem to occur to dick that he was laying out sufficient travel for several vacations, all in one. but it's lots of fun to make plans, especially when you have the money to carry them out--and sometimes even when you haven't. dick reached manhattan after a day and night of travel, registered at a hotel that his father frequently stopped at when in new york, and was shown to a suite of rooms that suited his ideas of luxury. they were not too elaborate, consisting of a bedroom, sitting-room and bath, but they were tastefully furnished. after a dinner, at which he ordered as the chief dish lobster, principally because he seldom could get it fresh at home, he went to a theatre. "i'll see the lawyers the first thing in the morning," thought dick, "and then the sooner i can buy that yacht the better. i'm anxious to get out to sea." mr. blake, the senior partner of the firm, received the young millionaire cordially next morning. "your father wrote to me some time ago," he said, "stating that you might come on to select a steam craft, and so i have been on the lookout for one for you. i have several in view, and if you wish we'll go and take a look at them." "nothing would suit me better," announced dick, eagerly. piloted by the attorney, dick was taken to the anchorage of the new york yacht club. there were several trim craft there, which could be purchased, and dick was shown over them by the persons in charge. one was a rakish-looking, clipper-built boat, constructed more for speed than for comfort. it was a beautiful craft, but dick decided he did not care for swift sailing, and would rather have more room. another yacht, the _isabelle_ seemed to him, at first, to be just right. she had new engines and boilers, and was magnificently fitted up. but the price was very high, and, while dick could have afforded it, mr. blake pointed out that the yacht would require a crew of about twenty-five men, and dick did not think he cared to preside, as captain _pro tem_, over such a force. "i want something smaller, i think," he said. "that's my own opinion," remarked mr. blake. they had exhausted the possibilities at the yacht club anchorage, so the lawyer proposed a trip to st. george, staten island, off which several yachts, that their owners wished to dispose of, were anchored. there dick found three which would have suited him, but mr. blake advised him not to commit himself, but to look further before deciding. "we'll go over to brooklyn," proposed the lawyer. "we may as well put in the entire day, for buying a steam yacht is not to be disposed of too lightly." as they were taken out in a small motorboat, past several yachts at anchor, they passed one, over the rail of which an old, grizzled man was leaning, calmly smoking a short, black pipe. he was a veritable picture of an "old sea dog," and dick's eyes danced with pleasure at the sight of him. a moment later his gaze wandered to the yacht herself. he could not repress a murmur of admiration. "what's the matter?" asked mr. blake. "that yacht," replied the young millionaire. "that's exactly my idea of what i want. i wonder if we can buy her?" "i don't know, but it's easy to find out." the lawyer directed the engineer of the motorboat to put them alongside. as dick approached nearer his admiration grew, until he had made up his mind that if the interior suited him as well as did the outside that boat would be his. he saw the name on her stern as they approached--_albatross_--and even that pleased him. the yacht was a trim craft, narrow enough in beam to indicate speed, with a high bow to take a heavy sea well, and long enough to afford plenty of room, while her breadth was not such as to make her too much of a roller, or wallower, in the trough of the sea. two slender masts, for auxiliary sails, and for signal flags, with the conductors of a wireless apparatus strung between them, rose fore and aft of a buff-colored funnel, rakishly set. in short, the yacht was a beauty. "on board the _albatross_!" called mr. blake, when they were within hailing distance. "aye, aye, sir," answered the old sea dog, pulling at his cap. "i understand that yacht is for sale," went on the lawyer, for, on consulting a list he had, he saw that she was among those he had put down to examine. "she might be, if any one had the money," replied the old sailor, stuffing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe, to tamp down the tobacco. "well, i have the money," spoke dick, quickly. "then come aboard, if you please, sir," was the more genial reply, and the old man walked forward to where an accommodation ladder was suspended, and lowered it. the young millionaire observed that the old sailor walked with a limp, and he at once made up his mind that he had a wooden leg. this diagnosis was confirmed when dick and mr. blake stepped on deck a few seconds later. "well, here's the _albatross_, and she's for sale, more's the pity," went on the old man, respectfully. "many's the voyage i've sailed in her when mr. richardson was alive. but he's dead, and the pretty craft's on the market. i'm stayin' here to look after her, and d'ye know," and his voice sank to a whisper, "i've had half a notion, more'n once, to hist the anchor, make sail, an' start for davy jones' locker, me an' her together. for i've been on her for so long that she's like a wife to me." "then she is an old boat?" asked mr. blake, apprehensively. "old enough to know how to weather many a storm that some of the new-fangled craft wouldn't dare venture out in. the only thing i have agin' her is that she's a steamer instead of a sailer, but with her engines stopped she can pick up a bone in her teeth when all her canvas is spread," added the old man, proudly. "she has new engines and boilers, and she's fit to make a trip around the world starting to-morrow; and i wish she was!" "maybe she will!" cried dick, enthusiastically. "i think i'll take her, mr. blake. the _albatross_ is just what i want." "wait until you go below," suggested the lawyer with a smile. "will you show us down, mr.--er--mr.--?" he paused significantly. "widkin is my name--ebenezer widkin," answered the old sailor, with a touch of his cap. "an' you can take your choice by callin' me ebby or widdy. most of 'em calls me widdy," he added with a grin, "in consequence of me never havin' married." "well, then, widdy, take us below," suggested mr. blake, and soon he and dick were exploring the interior of the craft. if the exterior, with its snow-white decks and mahogany rails, its ample companionways and other details had captivated dick, the cabins, engine room, dining saloon and galley completed the conquest. "i'll take her!" he said enthusiastically to mr. blake. "she's just big enough, and not too big. the engines are new, and she's fitted up just as i want." dick stood in the owner's cabin, the most elaborate one on the yacht. "well, it's up to you, as the boys say," remarked the lawyer. "of course, there are many details to be looked after, but if you are satisfied, we won't seek further. i'll see the owner's representatives, and negotiate with them." "is there--if i might be so bold as to ask, sir," began widdy, as he shall be called, "is there a chance of the yacht being put into commission, sir?" "every chance!" cried dick, with sparkling eyes. "every chance, widdy." "an' would you--that is, do you think you could find room for such a worn-out old sea dog as me on board? i'm a a sailor, sir, even if i have a wooden leg, an' i can do my share with the best of 'em, if i do say it myself." "i think i'd be very glad to have you as a member of the crew," answered dick, for he had taken a liking to the old man. "thank you, sir, for sayin' that. many's the day i've sat here, smokin' my pipe lonesome-like, wishin' some millionaire would come along and buy her. why, would you believe it," and his voice sank to a whisper, "i've even been thinkin' of turnin' pirate myself, an' pickin' up a crew of my old mates to navigate her, i've been that desperate for action, sir." "well, if everything goes right, you'll soon have plenty of action," promised the young millionaire. "i intend to take a long voyage, and nothing would suit me better than to go in the _albatross_." "and you couldn't find a better craft to sail in, if you was to search the world over!" cried widdy. "there! i've said it, and dash my lee scuppers! i'll stand by it in fair weather or foul! i've got a prospect of action at last, an' i'm a bit excited-like, but you must excuse me." then, with a sudden motion, he took his short, black clay pipe from his mouth, dashed it to the deck, where it broke into a score of pieces. then, drawing a new clay from his pocket, and breaking off the stem short, he proceeded to fill it with tobacco, and light it. next he stumped off after a deck swab, with which he proceeded to clean up the fragments of pipe and ashes. "i'm a bit excited at times," he went on more calmly, "but i don't mean nothin' by it. i'll smoke a new pipe to the new owner," he added. "how soon can we sail?" he whispered hoarsely, with his hand to his mouth, as though much depended on the secrecy of the answer. "it will be hard to say, at present," answered mr. blake for dick, "but, if all goes well, probably within a couple of weeks." "then, splice my mizzen-shrouds but you'll find me ready an' waitin'!" cried widdy. "ready an' waitin'!" "very well," said dick, with a jolly laugh. "and i hope we'll have many voyages together." "by neptune's whiskers, sir, so do i!" retorted widdy, and he blew out a great cloud of smoke. mr. blake and his youthful client returned to shore in the motor craft, and the lawyer promised to at once start negotiations looking to the purchase of the yacht. as a measure of precaution, however, he insisted that a competent expert be hired to examine the hull, engines and boilers, and, though this meant a little delay, dick felt obliged to consent to it. there was nothing more to be done that day, and, after having sent a telegram to his father, describing the _albatross_ in brief, and stating that he had made up his mind to purchase her, dick went back to his hotel. as he was turning down a quiet street leading to it, he became aware that two men were regarding him rather closely. they were coming from the opposite direction, and as they passed him they gave dick sharp glances. "humph! they'll know me again, at any rate," thought the lad. then he dismissed the incident from his mind. he was used to a certain sort of publicity and attention, for, on a previous visit to new york, his trip had been made much of by the sensational papers, and he had been credited with doing many eccentric things of which he never even dreamed. his picture had been frequently published, and he was more or less stared at. he thought this was but a reflection of that episode. being fond of theatres, dick decided to go to another play that evening. he called up mr. blake, asking him to accompany him, but the lawyer had another engagement, so dick started off alone. he thoroughly enjoyed the performance, and as he came out to get into a taxicab, to return to his hotel, he noticed that two men, who were standing near the vehicle which he had summoned, were looking at him rather more closely than at other persons in the street. dick glanced at them. as he did so one of the men made a remark to the other, and both turned quickly to one side, but not before the youth had had a chance to look at their faces. "why, they're the same fellows i met this afternoon, near the hotel," he said to himself. "they must think i'm quite a curiosity." he entered the taxicab, and was rapidly whirled toward his stopping place. his mind was filled with thoughts of his steam yacht, and with chance adventures that might happen on the cruise. possibly, if he had seen the actions of the two men, immediately after his departure, he would have not felt so easy. for the twain, no sooner had dick entered his vehicle, summoned another. "follow that car," directed the taller of the pair. "don't let it get away from you, and there's a fiver in it." "you're rather free with the old man's money, ain't you, sam?" asked the short man, with a laugh. "might as well be. he's so close-fisted that it'll do him good to be bled a bit. but hit it up, sport," this to the chauffeur of the taxicab they were in. "i don't want to lose our young friend." "all right," was the answer, and after dick's vehicle sped the other, containing the two men who were shadowing him. chapter vi dick enters the trap the young millionaire was hungry, after the three hours spent in the theatre, and, knowing of a restaurant famed for its late suppers, dick determined to go there, partly to see some of the gayer side of life in new york at midnight, and partly to satisfy his appetite. accordingly he gave directions to the chauffeur, who, after speeding the machine down broadway, turned into twenty-third street. as the vehicle swung around the corner a lad, who was crossing the thoroughfare, had to jump nimbly to get out of the way. he reached the curb, and standing there shook his fist at the occupants of the taxicab--dick and the driver. "what's the matter?" cried the lad who had so nearly escaped being run down. "ain't the street big enough for you? or do you want to chase folks up on the sidewalk?" "aw, beat it!" retorted the chauffeur, with all the contempt some automobilists feel for pedestrians. he had slowed up at the turn, but was about to turn on more power. "wait! hold on a minute!" cried dick, leaning forward at the sound of the other lad's voice, and a sight of his face in the gleam of an electric lamp. "how are you, tim muldoon?" for a moment the other stared at the well-dressed youth in the taxicab, for the vehicle had come to a stop. then over the features came a look of glad surprise. "why, if it isn't mr. hamilton!" cried the lad in the street. "who'd ever think to see you here? how are you, mr. hamilton?" "make it dick, if you don't mind, tim," suggested the millionaire's son. "i'm dick and you're tim," and the wealthy lad reached out and shook hands with the lad, whom he had once befriended as a "fresh-air kid," and who, later, he had set up in the newspaper business. tim muldoon, a typical new york newsboy, had accompanied dick on a trip out west, to inspect a gold mine, and had been instrumental in aiding him. our hero had not seen his protégé in some time, though he knew him at once when the auto so nearly ran him down. "well, well, tim," went on dick. "what have you been doing with yourself since last we met? you've have grown considerable. is the paper business good?" "fine, thanks to the start you gave me, mr. ham--i mean dick. i'm running three stands now, and i have two assistants. i get time to go to night school, now, and i'm studying bookkeeping." dick had noticed that tim spoke better language than formerly, for the use of "dis," "dat," "youse" and kindred expressions was almost entirely eliminated from his conversation. "where are you going now, tim?" asked dick, when they had exchanged some remarks. "home. i've just finished work. have to get ready for the early morning papers soon, though, so i'm bound for home." "no, you're not!" exclaimed the rich youth. "you're coming to have something to eat with me. it's lonesome dining alone. come on, hop in and we'll be there in no time. then i'll run you up home in this buzz-wagon." "but, dick, i haven't any decent clothes on. i've been working and----" "nonsense! what do i care about clothes? get in. we'll hire a private room if you're so afraid some one will see you." "it isn't that, only you----" "don't you worry about me; get in." tim complied, rather diffidently, and the much-wondering chauffeur started the car again. as it went along there was another closely following it, and, as the vehicle containing dick and tim made various turns and twists through the different streets, to reach the restaurant, the other taxicab did the same. finally tim, whose life in new york had made him quick-witted along certain lines, leaned out of the open cab, looked back and said: "any of your friends in that machine, dick?" "friends? no. why?" "because it's sticking to us like court-plaster. say, sport," and tim leaned forward to the chauffeur, "are you wise to de--i mean _the_ fact that we're being chased?" "hadn't noticed it," replied the driver, shortly. "well, we are. is it a fly-cop; or has your license expired?" "search me," was the characteristic reply of the chauffeur. "but we'll give 'em a run for their money," and increasing speed, he turned first down one street and up another until, after five minutes' run, the other cab was not in sight. "we either lost 'em, or else they got wise and dropped back," was tim's opinion. "but who were they, dick?" "i can't imagine, unless they are some cranks who like to look at a chap because he has a little money. maybe they're fellows who hope to work me for some game like colonel dendon did, when he tried to sell me fake mining shares. i've noticed a couple of men who kept rather close watch on me once or twice to-day, but i guess we've lost track of them. well, here we are; come in and have a good meal." dick paid, and dismissed the chauffeur, for other taxicabs could be summoned at the restaurant. as the young millionaire and tim entered the place another machine came to a stop near the curb, a short distance away. "thought they'd fool us, didn't they, sam?" asked one of the two men who alighted from it. "they sure did, but it isn't so easy to lose us. we're right after him." "you're not going to attempt anything to-night, are you?" "no, i just want to get the lay of things. i think we can work the racket better from a boat-end, as he'll fall easier for that; so we'll wait a couple of days. we've got lots of time, and the graft is too good to shorten up," after which rather enigmatical words, the two men sauntered past the restaurant, inside of which dick and tim could be seen seated at a table. the two friends--friends in spite of the differences in their stations--had a jolly time over their meal, dick telling tim something about the proposed yachting trip, and the newsboy, in turn, relating some of his experiences in the great city. true to his promise, dick insisted on taking tim home in another auto, which he summoned, and then, rather later than he was in the habit of turning in, the young millionaire sought his hotel well satisfied with his evening's pleasure. "well, he's safe for to-night, anyhow," remarked one of two men, as they saw dick pass through the hotel lobby. "now we can get some sleep." they had resumed their shadowing from the restaurant. "yes, and we'll try the game to-morrow, or next day," responded the other. dick's first visit after breakfast was to the office of mr. blake, the lawyer. the attorney was not in, but a clerk informed the young millionaire that matters concerning the purchase of the _albatross_ were proceeding satisfactorily. it would take several days, dick was told. "well, the best thing i can do is to amuse myself," he remarked, as he left the lawyer's office. he strolled back to the hotel, intending to take a bath, and don a new suit he had just received from the tailor. as he went up to the desk to get the key of his room, the clerk handed him a letter, with the remark: "messenger left that for you a little while ago, mr. hamilton." dick read it hastily. it said: "dear mr. hamilton: i am trying to hurry along matters concerned with the purchase of your yacht. i have seen the present owners, but there appears to be a slight hitch, to use a nautical term. i have another vessel in view, in case we can not get the one you want. i expect to be aboard her this morning. could you meet me on her? she is the _princess_, and is anchored off one hundred and eightieth street. suppose you run up there? you will find a launch at the dock to bring you out. i think, in case we can not secure the _albatross_, that you will like this vessel fully as well. come if you can. "yours sincerely, "james blake." "can't get the _albatross_!" thought dick, in dismay. "that will be too bad! i'll never care for any other yacht as i did for her. but i suppose i'd better go and see mr. blake. queer, though, that they didn't tell me in the office how things were. maybe they didn't know, or this may have cropped up after i left. i'll go and see the other boat, anyhow." dick started for the anchorage of the _princess_, and, as he was about to engage a taxicab, he bethought himself of the old sailor on the _albatross_. "widdy would be just the one to take along," reasoned dick. "he knows all about yachts--more than either mr. blake or myself. i've a good notion to go get him, and see what he has to say. even if we do have to take a different craft from the _albatross_, i'd like widdy to sail with me. i'll go get him." the old sailor, who knew nothing of the hitch in the arrangements to sell the yacht he was on, was a bit surprised at dick's proposition, but readily agreed to accompany him. he left one of his on-shore acquaintances in charge of the _albatross_. "but as fer findin' as good a boat as that," said widdy, waving his hand toward her, as he and dick were speeding shoreward in a motor launch, "you can't do it. split my lee scuppers if you can!" and dick, with a sigh, agreed with him. his heart was set on the _albatross_. at the foot of one hundred and eightieth street dick and the old sea dog found a small motorboat in waiting. "is this the launch of the _princess_?" asked dick of the man in charge. "no, it's a public launch, but i can take you out to her in it. there's the yacht, out there. a gentleman on board told me he was expecting a visitor, and i said i'd wait around and bring him out. are you the one?" "i expect so," answered the young millionaire, and his eyes were taking in the details of the yacht _princess_. he did not like her, at first view. she was too small, and there was none of that trimness about her which marked the _albatross_. "that's nothing but a dinghy with an engine in her," was the contemptuous remark of widdy, as he relighted his short pipe, which was assuming a black hue, like unto the one he had smashed on deck. "well, we'll go aboard," decided dick. "i want to hear what mr. blake has to say." a few minutes later he and the old salt were ascending the accommodation ladder of the _princess_. they were met by a sailor in uniform. "you'll find him below," he said to dick, without being asked any questions, and he motioned to an after companionway. dick started down. had he but known it the young millionaire was entering the trap set for him. chapter vii the escape followed by widdy, the wealthy lad groped his way along a rather dark passage. he expected every minute to be greeted by mr. blake, or to hear the lawyer's voice bidding him welcome. dick was a little surprised that the attorney had not been out on deck, for the atmosphere below was anything but refreshing, indicating that the _princess_ was none too well ventilated. "this way, if you please," spoke a voice, and dick had a glimpse of a big man, attired in a sailor's suit, holding open a cabin door for him. the lad, suspecting nothing, was about to enter, but at that moment there came from widdy, the old salt who was directly behind him, a snarl not unlike that of the bulldog grit, at a sight of uncle ezra larabee. "oh, ho! it's you, my fine swab, is it?" cried widdy, pushing his way past dick, and confronting the big sailor. "it's you, is it, an' up to some of your knavish tricks, i'll be bound! let me get hold of you, jake shrouder, and i'll pay back some of the scores i owe you! split my lee scuppers! i didn't think to find you here! i made sure you was in jail, if davy jones hadn't claimed you! look out, mr. dick!" and with that widdy, stumping forward on his wooden leg, made a dive for the husky sailor, like a man making a tackle on the football field. as for shrouder, if that was his name, he seemed to turn pale under his bronzed skin. "widdy! you here!" he gasped, and leaped back, as if to shut himself in the cabin he had invited dick to enter. "yes, i'm here! what thieving trick are you up to now? is it to scuttle the ship, or shanghai somebody? wait until i get hold of you, with a belayin' pin in the other hand, an'----" but shrouder gave widdy no chance to reach him. with a muttered imprecation, he slammed the door shut in the face of the old sailor. nothing daunted, widdy threw himself against it, using his artificial leg as a battering ram. there was a splintering of wood, and, as the broken door flew back, dick saw the large man running through the cabin toward another portal, which he frantically unlocked. "what's the matter? what's up?" demanded the young millionaire, anxiously. "what's wrong, widdy?" "everything, mr. dick. look out for yourself. there's bad business afoot here, or jake shrouder would never be on hand. but i'll get him!" he stumped forward, swinging his powerful arms to and fro, as if eager to clasp his enemy in them, but he stumbled, and would have fallen inside the cabin with the broken door, had not dick caught him. at the same time the fleeing man called out: "the jig's up! widdy's here!" "who's widdy?" asked a man's voice, and it was followed by confused shouts. "never mind. the jig's up, i tell you! better get ashore. cast off the boat!" yelled the big sailor. there was the tramp of rapid footsteps on deck. then came a sound as of something being dragged along--a scraping of wood on wood. "quick!" cried the old sailor to dick. "they're trying to shut the hatches on us. we must get on deck!" puzzled and alarmed--not knowing what to make of the strange actions of widdy, yet vaguely fearing, the lad turned from the cabin, and hastened toward the companionway down which he had come. as he sprang up it he saw the young sailor who had told him to go below shoving the hatch cover over. "quit that!" cried dick. with a quick motion he caught up a coil of rope that had dropped on the steps, and thrust this into the crack as the man pushed the cover forward. this prevented it from being closed. [illustration: with a quick motion he caught up a coil of rope, and thrust this into the crack.--_page ._ _dick hamilton's steam yacht._] a moment later widdy was at dick's side. the old sailor thrust his gnarled hands into the crack, and, with a wrench, sent the companionway cover sliding back. "hop out!" he called to dick. "i'll follow." as the lad reached the deck he saw, disappearing over the side, the young sailor, and the big one whom widdy had called shrouder. they seemed to be descending into some boat. dick rushed to the rail. in a small barge were two men, and it needed but a glance to disclose to the young millionaire that they were the same two who had stared at him so persistently the day before, and though dick did not then know it, they were the same pair who had followed him in the taxicab. shrouder and the other sailor dropped into the barge with them. "grab him, mr. dick! grab him!" cried widdy, as he saw his old enemy escaping, but dick did not think it wise to attempt to hold back the desperate men. a few seconds later the four were pulling away from the _princess_ for dear life. "well," remarked dick, drawing a long breath, as though he had just taken part in a desperate race, "what's this all about, widdy?" "about? it's about villainy, that's what it's about, mr. dick! villainy, and scheming, and black tricks and underhand work and shanghai-games, and looting and scuttling ships and anything else that's bad--that's what it is," growled the old seaman, as he stumped to the side, and shook his fist at the craft containing the four men. then he filled his pipe, and began to smoke more calmly. "we could chase them in the motorboat," suggested dick, hardly yet understanding what it was all about. "what's the use? shrouder is as slippery as a greased sheet in a hail storm. let him go--he won't sleep any the easier to-night from having met me. but i wish i could have laid my hooks on him," and widdy opened and shut his gnarled hands suggestively. "but i don't understand," said the lad. "where is mr. blake? why should those fellows disappear so suddenly? i was to meet the lawyer here, and look over this boat----" "mr. blake never came here," said widdy, bluntly. "it's a plant--a game--to get you on board. i'll wager that note sent to your hotel was forged." "but why should they want to get me here?" "to rob you, most likely. they know you're rich." "then that must have been why those two men paid such close attention to me," decided dick. "of course," agreed the old sailor. "as soon as i clapped eyes on jake shrouder i knew there was something crooked afoot. i've known him for years--sailed all over in ships with him--and i never knew a piece of black business afoot anywhere near him that he didn't have his finger in. i knew there was something wrong as soon as i see him, and that's why i made a jump for him, but he was too quick for me." "but who does this yacht belong to?" asked dick. "we seem to be all alone on it." "i hope we are. i don't want to have anything to do with those fellows. i don't know who owns the craft. like as not shrouder has an interest in her. but let's get ashore, and then we'll call on mr. blake and let him know what's in the wind. it was all a plant, i tell you, to get you aboard, and then they'd have robbed you." "but i don't carry much money with me," objected dick. "no matter. they'd have found some way to get it out of you, or your father. but, come on, let's leave this bilge-water craft. phew! it hasn't been swabbed out in a month of sundays." stumping to the opposite side of the deck widdy signaled to the motor launch at the dock, the owner of it having agreed to come off and take dick and the sailor whenever they waved a flag. in a few minutes the two were speeding down-town toward the lawyer's office, their questioning of the captain of the launch having resulted in nothing. he had no knowledge concerning the _princess_, or the men on her. as widdy had surmised, the note purporting to come from mr. blake was a bald forgery, but, since dick had never seen the attorney's writing, it was easy enough to deceive him. "but what was their object?" asked the young millionaire. "robbery," decided mr. blake. "but how did they know of my plans to buy a yacht?" "oh, easily enough. talk travels quickly in marine circles in new york, and i fancy you are more of a public character than you imagine. at any rate, the men, whoever they are, knew something of your plans, and took advantage of them to lure you to the yacht, which they either hired for the purpose, or perhaps own. it was a clever trick, and it was lucky widdy recognized that man in time, or you might have been locked in a cabin, and kept there until they had what they wanted out of you." "i'm glad i took my sailor friend along," said dick. "but how about the _albatross_? am i likely to get her?" "i think so. i will have her examined in a few days, and, if she passes inspection, i will complete the purchase, and you can arrange about a captain and crew. perhaps your old sailor can help you out there." "that's a good idea. i'll ask him." it was decided that little good could be accomplished by notifying the police of the attempt to work harm to dick, and so no report was made of it, for our hero disliked the newspaper sensationalism he knew would follow. only mr. blake warned the young millionaire to be careful of where he went, and in what company he lingered. a week passed, during which dick enjoyed himself in new york. the steam yacht proved to be all that was claimed for her, and the purchase was completed. "you are now the owner of the _albatross_," said the lawyer to dick, one morning, handing him several papers. "that's great! now to get a captain, a crew, put coal and provisions aboard, and set sail." "for what port?" "i'm going to cuba, partly on business and partly for pleasure. some of my school chums are going along, and we'll have a good time. and that reminds me of something. there's a friend of mine in new york, whom i'd like to have go along with me. he's tim muldoon, a former newsboy." "a newsboy?" and mr. blake looked surprised. "yes, and one of the truest characters who ever sold a paper. i must look him up. he's good fun, and will enjoy the trip." two days later, the legal formalities all being completed, dick engaged the services of captain amos barton, a grizzled veteran of the seas, to command the _albatross_, and then the young millionaire returned to hamilton corners. captain barton had agreed to select a small, but competent crew, and he would also see to putting the yacht in commission. she would be ready to sail within a week, he stated, and all dick would have to do would be to name the port for which he wished the graceful prow pointed. he consulted his father on this point, and mr. hamilton on looking over his papers learned that the valdez family formerly lived in santiago or havana, though his lawyers had been unable to get a trace of them at either place. "but you might go to santiago, and then to havana," suggested mr. hamilton. "you'll have to do some detective work, i fancy. but look out for those men who tried to trap you." "oh, i'll soon be far enough away from them, dad. i'm not worrying. besides, they won't try to board us with widdy on guard. he's a great character!" "so i imagine. well, good luck to you. do your best, and use your own judgment. you'll have to depend on yourself from now on. have you arranged for your friends to accompany you?" "not completely yet, but i will soon." chapter viii a fight in the dark there were many busy days for dick, following his purchase of the _albatross_. he received word from captain barton that the coaling and provisioning of the craft were proceeding satisfactorily, and that a good crew had been signed. dick had invited tim muldoon to go on the trip, and the newsboy agreed, after arranging with a younger brother to look after his business. henry darby also planned to accompany the young millionaire, a clerk in mr. hamilton's office agreeing to have an eye to the old iron business. bricktop norton was to drive the horse and collect scrap for henry. dick invited a number of his military academy chums to make the cruise with him, but he received several letters of regret, the lads stating that vacation plans, previously made by their parents, would not permit them to accept the young millionaire's hospitality. paul drew was to go and captain innis beeby, the cadet commander of company c, wrote that he might meet dick in savannah, georgia, if the yacht would stop there on the way to cuba. "of course, we'll stop for beeby," said dick to paul drew, who had arrived at hamilton corners a few days before the date set for the departure for new york. "yes, beeby's good fun. we'll have a swell time on this trip, dick." "i hope so. i want the fellows to enjoy themselves." uncle ezra paid another visit to dick's house, though it must have cost him a pang to part with the money for a railroad ticket. he said he had come to make one more appeal to dick's father, not to allow the youth to squander his fortune on a yacht. "it's too late, uncle ezra," exclaimed dick, gaily. "i've bought the yacht, and we shall sail in a few days." "well, of all the senseless, wasteful proceedings--but there, i'm done expostulating--i'm--i'm going to----" but the churlish old man stopped short, and closed his thin lips like a steel trap. there was a dangerous, crafty look in his eyes, which boded dick no good, but the young millionaire did not see it. the night before the wealthy lad and his friends were to leave for the metropolis, there to go aboard the yacht, in company with tim muldoon, dick found he had to go down-town to send some telegrams, one to captain barton and another to the lawyer, mr. blake. paul drew, who, with frank bender and henry darby, was at dick's house, volunteered to accompany him, but our hero said he would run down with grit, and hurry back, leaving his friends to amuse themselves. it was rather a dark night, with a promise of a storm, and when the wealthy lad started out he wished that he had not gotten a puncture in his auto tire that day, so that he might have used the car. but he had not had the tube repaired, and the machine was out of commission. "but we don't mind the walk, do we, grit?" asked the lad, and the dog whined an answer. the messages sent, dick started back home, hurrying along, for the first few drops of rain were falling, and indicated a heavy storm to come. the wind was blowing hard, and, after an effort to keep his umbrella right side out, dick gave it up, furled the rain-shield, and tramped on through the drizzle, with grit splashing at his heels. as the young millionaire turned the corner of a dark street, before emerging into the thoroughfare that led to his house, he collided full tilt into a man who suddenly seemed to jump from behind a tree. "i beg your----" began dick, contritely, though it was not his fault. the next instant, and before the youth had a chance to finish his apology, he felt himself seized from behind by a second man, while the one who had leaped out in front of him placed his hand over his mouth. dick felt himself being borne backward. he struggled to maintain his footing, and struck out blindly. he felt his fists land on soft bodies, and once an exclamation of pain escaped his assailants. "we've got him!" a voice whispered. "where's the rig?" dick partly squirmed loose, and wrenched the man's hand from over his mouth. "take 'em, grit!" he cried, and there was a rush of feet, while a savage growl told dick that his faithful dog, who had lingered somewhat behind, was about to attack the footpads. chapter ix out to sea the unequal fight continued, the unknown men seeking to overpower dick, while he, on his part, made a desperate attempt to break the hold of the scoundrels who held him. he was engaged in a losing game until the arrival of his dog, when the tide of battle suddenly turned in his favor. grit seized a man's leg in his jaws, and bit savagely. there was a howl of pain, and the intelligent animal, well knowing that dick had two foes to deal with, did not hold his grip. instead, after making his teeth felt, he let go, and made a dive for the legs of the other fellow. "shoot the brute, sam!" yelled the second man as he felt himself attacked by grit. "blow his head off! he's biting me!" "he's bit me, too!" exclaimed the other, faintly, and he loosed his hold on dick to make a grab for his injured leg. "let go, you beast!" yelled the man to whom grit was still clinging. the man endeavored to kick the bulldog loose, but the intelligent animal knew his business. he let go, to avoid a savage kick, and made a spring for the rascal's throat. this was too much for the footpad. he quickly thrust the young millionaire from him and staggered away, breaking into a run a moment later, and calling to his companion: "come on! i've had plenty!" the other was glad enough to follow. dick stumbled and fell, when the men released their hold, but recovered his balance after an effort. grit, snarling and growling, started down the dark road after the men, splashing through muddy puddles. "here, grit! come back!" yelled dick. he did not want his pet shot, and he had no doubt but that the desperate characters would use their weapons on the valuable animal. breathing hard from his struggle the lad darted forward. the cool rain soon revived him sufficiently, so that his strength, which had been well-nigh spent in the contest, came back to him, and he was racing with all his speed through the storm and darkness. he wanted to see who the men were--to fathom the reason for their attack on him. "here, grit! grit!" he called. "come back!" the dog barked a protest, for he wanted to finish the work he had begun. "come back, grit!" cried dick again, and the dog knew there was no disobeying that voice. with a menacing growl he turned and leaped joyously about his young master, now and then glancing in the direction which the men had taken, and sending a challenging bark toward them in the darkness. "no use chasing them," murmured dick, as he bent over to pat grit, and felt to see if the dog had been injured. there seemed to be no cuts on him. the animal had been too quick for the men. as for the youth he had been roughly handled, and his neck and arms were strained and bruised, while his clothing was disarranged. but he had suffered no harm, and a hasty search through his pockets convinced him that neither his watch nor money had been taken. "well, that's the first time hold-up men ever tackled me," murmured the young millionaire, as he walked back to the scene of the struggle, and picked up his umbrella. "i didn't know members of that profession cared to come to hamilton corners. i guess i'd better notify the police. it might be dangerous for other people, to have such scoundrels about." keeping a sharp lookout, lest the men return, but feeling pretty sure that they had had enough, dick turned into a better-lighted street, and, going to the house of an acquaintance nearby, he called up the police station, and reported through the telephone his experience. there was much wondering and excitement at headquarters, and the chief promised to send several officers to the scene of the outrage at once. dick met them, but the search that resulted amounted to nothing. the men had disappeared, and even in daylight to hunt for them would have been difficult, to say nothing of a chase in the storm and darkness. the chief promised to have his men keep their eyes open the rest of that night, and the next day, for any suspicious characters, but none was seen. dick's friends, from whose house he had telephoned, wanted to hitch up the horse and drive him home, but he said he was so wet that a little more water would not hurt him. accordingly he walked, one of the few policemen of hamilton corners insisting on accompanying the lad. dick said it wasn't necessary, as long as he had grit with him, but the chief of police was taking no chances with the millionaire's son. of course, there was plenty of excitement when dick reached his father's house, and told mr. hamilton, and the boys there, what had detained him. "you certainly had a narrow escape!" said mr. hamilton, seriously. "do you think they meant to rob you, dick?" "what else would they have attacked me for? of course, it must have been that. but grit and i were too quick for them." "could you see their faces?" asked paul drew. "no, it was too dark." "then, you couldn't tell whether or not they were the same men you met before in new york, and who got you on board their yacht?" asked henry darby, for the wealthy youth had told of his experience on the _princess_. "no--i don't believe they were the same fellows," replied dick, slowly. "they were ordinary highwaymen," but, though he said nothing about it, he was puzzled over a remark one of the men had made while holding him. it was when the footpad said: "we've got him! where's the rig?" "rig--that is, horse and carriage," murmured dick to himself. "i wonder why highwaymen wanted a rig? unless," he added slowly, "they had an idea of carrying me off. but that's nonsense. maybe i misunderstood them." but the more he thought about it and puzzled over it, the more it worried him, until he put the matter out of his mind and devoted his time to getting ready for the yachting trip. no further trace was found of the footpads next day, and, though the hamilton corners police made inquiries in nearby towns, no suspicious characters were reported as being about. mr. hamilton was worried, and considered a scheme of having a private detective guard his son, for he knew that many unscrupulous scoundrels had designs on wealthy lads. but dick called the plan off. "i'll soon be at sea, dad," he said, "and i guess with grit on board, and the fellows i'm going to take along we can stand off a small army of hold-up men." "all right," agreed the millionaire, "but i'll feel easier when you are out of sight of land." dick had a telegram from captain barton, saying that the _albatross_ was only waiting the command to hoist anchor and start, and on the receipt of this the lad decided they would leave for new york the next day, as he had been delayed getting his outfit together, and henry darby wanted to close an important transaction in old iron before he went away. as dick, frank bender, paul drew and henry darby were being driven down to the depot in dick's auto, to take a train for the metropolis, two lads, standing on a street corner, observed the happy quartette. "there they go," observed guy fletcher, a town lad whose father was quite well off. "there they go, and i wish i was going off on a trip like that myself." "not with dick hamilton," added simon scardale, who was guy's crony. the two lads had no friendly feelings toward the young millionaire, and, indeed, simon had once tried to make dick lose considerable money. "dick hamilton hasn't much use for us, nor we for him, guy. i wouldn't care if his yacht sunk at sea." "i don't know's i would, either, though i wouldn't want any one to get drowned. but, come on, and i'll shoot you a game of pool." "can't. i'm dead broke." "i'll pay for it," offered guy, as dick's auto swung around a corner and as the two lads, who were rather inclined to a "sporty" life, turned to seek a pool "parlor," they were confronted by an elderly man, with a small tuft of white whiskers on his chin, which moved up and down as he talked. "was that dick hamilton who just passed?" asked the old man. "sure," replied simon, flippantly. "do you know him?" "i guess i ought to, i'm his uncle," was the answer. "but i couldn't see very good, 'cause the sun was in my eyes. now, didn't i hear you say you didn't care whether or not his yacht sunk." "oh, we were only fooling," spoke guy, with an uneasy laugh, thinking he was to be called to account for the remark. "oh, you needn't worry," returned ezra larabee, quickly. "i just happened to hear what you said, and it occurred to me that perhaps you two lads, who, i believe, are acquainted with my nephew, would like to earn a little money easily. would you?" "would we? well, i should lose a gold tooth if we wouldn't, old sport!" exclaimed simon, slangily. "what's the game?" "suppose you come with me," answered mr. larabee, and he looked around hastily to see if he was observed before leading the two ill-favored lads down a quiet street. meanwhile, dick and his friends continued on in the auto. they stopped at the bank where mr. hamilton had his private office, to say good-by, and half an hour later were speeding toward new york in a fast express. grit was in the baggage car, but he cried and whined so mournfully, because he was out of dick's sight, that his master had to go forward from the parlor coach to pay frequent visits to his pet. arriving at the big city, the young millionaire piloted his friends to the same hotel where he had stopped before, and they were assigned to a suite of connecting rooms. dick then sent for tim muldoon, the newsboy, who shortly appeared, resplendent in a new suit, and looking quite different than when he first came under his friend's notice, as a ragged "fresh-air kid." the young owner of the _albatross_ had sent word to captain barton that he was in town, and would shortly come aboard, and dick asked that the yacht be in readiness for putting to sea at once. "now," said our hero to his friends at the hotel, "i have to go see mr. blake, the lawyer, and then i guess i'm done with business for a while. i want to ask his advice about locating those cuban relatives of my mother." "guess i'd better go along with you," suggested tim. "you might be held up again, and i know almost every detective in new york. i could signal to one in a jiffy for you, and we'd have bully fun arrestin' the fellows. it'd make a corkin' story. shall i come?" "oh, it's hardly necessary," objected the rich youth, but tim insisted on it, and went with his friend in the taxicab. however, nothing happened, and after stating the case about the missing relatives to the lawyer, and listening to mr. blake's advice, dick put in his pocket a letter the attorney had given him. it was addressed to don ferdinand hondora, a havana lawyer. "he will give you any assistance in his power, in locating the valdez family," said mr. blake, as he bade his young client good-by. "now, then, for the _albatross_!" cried dick, as he returned to the hotel and greeted his chums. but there was still a delay, for every one wanted to purchase several articles, forgotten in the departing rush, and this required visits to a number of stores. but finally, with their trunks and suit-cases well packed, the crowd of happy lads entered a big auto which dick hired, and were soon at the dock, where they took a motorboat out to dick's steam yacht. "welcome on board!" cried captain barton, cordially, as the youthful millionaire and his party mounted the accommodation ladder, while the blue flag at the masthead fluttered down, indicating the presence on the yacht of the boat's owner. "we're all ready and waiting for you, and the tide is just on the turn." grit had already leaped on deck, and, at a word from his master, made friends with the commander. "is widdy here?" asked dick, looking about for a sight of the old seaman. "he is," replied captain barton, "and i've made him honorary second mate, at your suggestion." "oh, yes; there he is," cried dick, waving his hand toward the grizzled sea dog, who stumped about near the ship's bell, as proud as the proverbial peacock to be thus recognized by the millionaire skipper. "now, fellows, make yourselves right to home," invited their host. "we're going to live here quite a while, and i hope you find everything comfortable." "if we don't it'll be our fault," observed tim muldoon, looking about with awe, for the yacht was handsomely fitted up. "what's the matter, henry?" asked dick, noting the young iron merchant staring about him, in rather a dazed fashion. "oh, i was just wondering how much old scrap iron i'd have to sell to buy a boat like this," was the answer, and dick laughed. the anchor was hoisted to the musical clank-clank of the winches. the accommodation ladder was slung up alongside, and with a hoarse blast from her whistle the _albatross_ slowly swung around with the outgoing tide. from her funnel there poured black smoke, and from the steam pipe there spouted a jet of white vapor. under her stern the water was churned to foam, and a white "bone" appeared at her sharp bow. "we're off!" cried the young captain, gaily. "three cheers for skipper hamilton and his steam yacht!" yelled paul drew. "cut it out!" ordered dick, turning red. "you can cheer the boat, but not me." but his companions did not heed, and sent out their ringing cries. commanders on other vessels nearby heard, and, thinking a gay party was starting off on a cruise, saluted the _albatross_ with the regulation three blasts of their whistles, to which captain barton responded, so that the progress down the bay was somewhat in the nature of an ovation, as other craft, following suit, also rendered homage. down through the narrows steamed the fine yacht, gathering speed; out past forts wadsworth and lafayette, threading her way along the buoyed channel, passing coney island on the left, swinging out more to sea as atlantic highlands was sighted, and then, pushing across the nose of sandy hook, the _albatross_ flew on toward the deep ocean. "we're off!" cried dick again, as he leaned over the rail and watched the blue water. "off for cuba, and all sorts of adventures, fellows." there were more adventures in store for the young millionaire and his chums than they ever imagined. chapter x uncle ezra's offer simon scardale and guy fletcher had heard something of dick's uncle ezra. they knew of his dislike for spending money, and they were not a little surprised, therefore, when he led them toward a restaurant, shortly after the young millionaire had gone to the depot in his auto. "i believe he's going to treat us to a dinner," remarked simon, in a low voice to his companion. "don't be too sure," was the guarded response. "he's one of those fellows who squeeze a dollar so hard that he gets enough feathers off the eagle to make a sofa cushion." "well, boys," remarked mr. larabee, as he paused in front of the eating place, "i got up early this morning, to take the first train here from dankville, and i didn't eat much breakfast. so i think i'll go in here for a cup of coffee. you wait outside, and when i get through i guess i can put you in the way of making a few dollars." "do you want us to wait _outside_?" asked simon, suggestively. "yes; why not? you had your breakfast; ain't you?" "we also ate early," spoke guy, with a grin at his companion; "didn't we, simon?" "sure," answered the other. "besides, if mr. larabee has anything to say to us it's more private in the restaurant than out in the street. some one might see us here." uncle ezra made a wry face. he had outlined a certain plan of procedure for himself, along the lines of what he considered was his duty, and he had made up his mind that it would cost him some money. yet, when the time came to begin spending, he was averse to it. but he did not see how he could get out of it. "it's bad to eat in between meals," he remarked, still pausing on the threshold of the restaurant. "i wouldn't do it myself, only i'm quite hungry." "so are we," said guy boldly, and he added: "if you want us to play any game on dick hamilton, you've got to pay us well for it. he doesn't like us, and he wouldn't hesitate to do us some harm. so if you want us to help you----" "hush!" exclaimed uncle ezra, nervously looking around, and taking a tighter grip of his purse. "some one might hear you. come on in, but, mind you, i'm not going to pay for a whole breakfast for you boys. a cup of coffee, and a sandwich, is all you can have. i'm only going to take coffee, and very weak at that. maybe i can get a weak cup for three cents. they charge awful for coffee in some of these places." the boys had gained their point, however, which was to be invited inside the restaurant, and soon the three were seated at a table in a secluded corner of the room. "a cup of weak coffee," ordered mr. larabee, as the waitress came to the table. "strong coffee and griddle cakes to start with, and then ham and eggs," ordered simon. "i'll take the same," spoke guy. mr. larabee turned pale and cried out: "here! hold on! i thought you boys were going to----" "i guess, guy, we'd better be going," interrupted simon, gravely, as he got up and reached for his hat. "mr. larabee doesn't want to do business with us." "yes, i do. sit down!" cried the miserly old man. "oh, dear! boys have such terrible appetites. you may bring me a very small cup of weak coffee," he said to the waitress, who seemed amused at something. "it's all the same price," she stated. "what? haven't you any cheap cups--any at half price?" "no." uncle ezra groaned, and, while he sipped his beverage, he kept a watchful eye on the well-filled plates of simon and guy. they were doing hearty justice to the meal they ordered. "pretty good cakes they have here; eh, guy?" mumbled simon, pouring some maple syrup over the last brown one on his plate. "fine! yes," agreed his crony. "what do you say to another helping before we tackle the ham and eggs?" "i don't mind." simon raised his finger to summon the waitress. "we'll have some more cakes," he ordered grandly, "and be sure to have the ham and eggs kept hot. two more plates of cakes." "no--no!" gasped uncle ezra, almost over-turning his cup of coffee. "do you want three plates?" asked the girl, turning to him. "i--er--no--of course, not," stammered the old man. "i never eat 'em. they give me indigestion, and then i have to pay a doctor's bill. i was just going to say----" he looked appealingly from guy to simon and from simon to guy. the lads winked at each other. "queer what an appetite i've got," murmured simon. "i didn't know i was so hungry." "me either," added guy. "do you think another plate of cakes will be enough?" "well, i don't know----" "it's all you'll git!" snapped uncle ezra, quickly. "do you think i'm going to pay--i mean you'll have indigestion something terrible," he finished, for he saw that the pretty waitress was looking sharply at him. "oh, well, i guess with one more stack of the buckwheats and with the ham and eggs and another cup of coffee we can make out," conceded simon, and the second plates of cakes were brought. uncle ezra sat in gloomy silence during the remainder of the meal. simon and guy ate the last of the ham and eggs, and drained their coffee cups. "i _would_ like a cigar," began simon, in a reflective sort of tone. "then, you'll buy it yourself," fairly growled mr. larabee. "boys shouldn't smoke, nor men neither. now, if you've finished, and the land knows you've eaten enough for two days, we'll talk business. i have some work i think you can do for me, but it must be kept quiet. i'll pay this bill, though probably it'll be terrible high, and then we can go to some private room. is there a secluded room here?" the old man asked the waitress. "yes," she assented, as she handed mr. larabee a slip with the amount of the charge on it. "as much as that?" he gasped. "can't you make it a little less?" "those are the regular prices," she answered with scornfully curling lip, as she handed him the bill of fare. he scanned it carefully through his spectacles, and, finding that the waitress was right, slowly counted out the change. he wanted the girl to accept, with the other money, a quarter with a hole in it, which piece he had vainly tried to pass several times before, but without success. she took it to the proprietor, who offered to accept it at fifteen cents. "no, i won't take less than twenty-three for it," said uncle ezra. "it's a very small hole," and he put the quarter back in his pocket, to save for a future occasion. carefully closing the door of the private room, to which the waitress showed him, mr. larabee had a long talk with guy and simon. that there were differences of opinion was evident from the loud voices which came from the apartment at times. finally the old man was heard to say: "well, that's my offer; take it or leave it." "it's very small pay, considering the risk we run, and counting that the boat might sink in a storm," said guy. "hush!" begged mr. larabee, "not so loud! some one might hear you. will you do the work, or not? i only want you to help the two men i've engaged." "guess we might as well," assented simon. "it will be a good trip for us. and you want us to help get dick----" "will you be quiet?" pleaded mr. larabee. "now it's settled, and you can meet me in new york, say, in two days." "then leave us the money for our railroad fares," demanded guy, and with many a wry face, and after some hesitation, uncle ezra took out his wallet, removed a leather strap and several wrappings of cord from around it, and counted out some bills. with crafty smiles on their unpleasant faces, guy and simon pocketed the cash. "now, dick hamilton can look out for himself," said guy, as the three left the room. "i'll get even for the way he once treated me." "so will i," added simon. "only i hope grit, his dog, isn't around when the thing comes off." chapter xi plum duff overboard remaining on deck until the yacht was well on her way down the jersey coast, dick and his chums at length decided that they would go below and arrange their belongings in their staterooms. captain barton turned the wheel over to ted midwell, the first mate, who, with old widdy, and his short pipe to keep him company, would navigate the _albatross_ until the commander returned on deck. mr. barton wanted to have a talk with dick, to arrange certain details, and then pick out the two watches who would, in turn, have charge of the vessel. "isn't this slick, though!" exclaimed tim muldoon, as he gazed about below decks, and inspected the stateroom assigned to him. "it's great to be a millionaire!" "yes, it's lots of fun when you can have a boat like this," admitted dick, "but----" he did not complete the sentence. he was thinking of the men who had attacked him in the dark, and those who had lured him to the other yacht. "a millionaire's life is not all roses." captain barton showed the boys how to stow away their belongings to the best advantage. dick's things had been put in the owner's cabin, which consisted of a large stateroom, a little parlor and a private bath. "oh, say, this is too gorgeous for me," objected the young millionaire. "i want a room like the other fellows." "no, you stay here," advised paul. "don't you s'pose we want to put on some style when we have visitors? as soon as you come on board, down comes the blue burgee, to show you're ready for company, and then we chaps will escort 'em down below here, chuck a big bluff, and you can serve 'em with cocoa and cakes, or whatever other form of stuff they are addicted to." "it sounds good," admitted dick, with a laugh, and he was finally prevailed upon to occupy the rooms designed for the owner. captain barton had a good-sized stateroom near dick's, and the other boys were provided with comfortable quarters adjoining, so they were all together. grit was given a kennel on deck, but he knew the freedom of the yacht was his, and he poked his nose into every corner, from the engine room to the chart house. their trunks were put away, after their clothes had been taken out, and the boys arranged their rooms, donned suits in keeping with their characters as sailors, and then were ready to go again on deck. that is all but dick and the captain, who wanted to have a talk. "what's the matter, henry?" asked the millionaire's son, as he saw the young iron merchant standing irresolutely in front of his stateroom. "i don't know, but i can't seem to get used to it," was the reply. "seems as if i'd ought to be hitching up, to go out and get a load of junk, or see a man about buying some, or else i ought to feed my horse, so his ribs won't stick together." "drop all that," commanded dick, with a laugh. "you're out for pleasure now, and i want you to enjoy yourself. get up on deck and watch the waves. maybe you'll sight a wreck, and can get a lot of old iron out of it." "maybe," assented henry, chuckling, but it gave him something to think about, and he hurried up the companionway with the others. dick and the captain discussed various details of the voyage. as the youthful owner was in no hurry, it was agreed not to crowd on any speed, but to proceed leisurely along, stopping at savannah to see if innis beeby would join them, and then going on down the coast to cuba. they would land at havana, and from there dick would begin to make inquiries concerning his mother's distant relatives. after that their program was not made out, but the young millionaire wanted to cruise about between florida and cuba, stopping at some of the many florida keys, and, perhaps, spending a few days camping on one. captain barton submitted to dick a schedule of the management of the yacht, how he proposed dividing the crew into watches, and other matters which the lad, as owner, must sanction. "i leave it all to you," said dick. "we're out for a good time, and we're going to have it. i guess we'd all like it if we could help navigate some." "of course, you may," agreed the captain. "i'll be glad to teach you boys the rudiments of it, for it will be useful in case of trouble. well, now that's settled, i think i'll go on deck and take the noon observation." "and i'll watch you," said dick, "for that's a good thing to know how to do. another matter, captain barton, let the crew have plenty of good stuff to eat. i've read how sailors weren't treated any too well, and i'd like those on this boat to have the best." "they'll get it," was the answer, with a laugh. "your lawyer, mr. blake, said your father had written to him on that point, and the stores we took aboard can't be beat, even on an ocean liner. the crew will live higher than they have on many a voyage before this." "i'm glad of it," and then dick followed the captain on deck, while the other lads gathered about them to witness the taking of the noon observation. the _albatross_ fairly flew along the blue sea, putting knot after knot behind her, leaving new york and hamilton corners farther and farther astern, and slowly forging toward cuba, where, had dick but known it, a curious and trying experience awaited him. "let's get widdy to tell us a sailor's yarn," proposed frank bender, toward the close of that afternoon, when the lads had inspected every part of the ship, from the engine room to the chart house, and had even climbed part way up the shrouds. "fine!" cried dick. "widdy knows some good sea stories," and they gathered about the sailor who sat on a coil of rope, smoking. "an' so," concluded the old salt, at the finish of his story, as he loaded his short, and rapidly blackening pipe, with some very dark tobacco, "an' so we was rescued an' taken aboard, an' the first thing my messmate, marlinspike ned, called for was plum duff, an' what's more, he got it." "what's plum duff?" asked paul drew. "it's a sailor's plum pudding," volunteered dick, who had read many sea tales. "right," assented widdy, "only it's better." "i think i could make some," said the wealthy lad, who was not a little proud of his cooking abilities, and who had often shown his culinary skill when in camp. "ah, my boy!" exclaimed the old sailor, "plum duff ain't what it used to be. it ain't got the same flavor, split my lee scuppers if it has!" "i'm sure i could make some that would have," declared dick. "i'm going to try, too. do you think the crew would like some?" "dash my belayin' pin, but they would!" exclaimed widdy. "that settles it!" cried the young yacht owner. "i'll make a lot, and we'll have some aft, too, fellows." "not any for mine, thank you," said frank bender, hastily, moving off to try a new acrobatic stunt he had been practising. "why not?" asked dick, somewhat indignantly. "i don't believe you know the difference between plum duff and sea biscuit," was frank's answer, and he dodged behind a deck chair, to be safe, in case dick threw anything at him. "you'll see," was the yacht owner's comment, as he moved toward the galley, where a fat german cook, hans weyler, presided. dick's chums wanted to see him at work, but he shut himself in with the cook, and soon curious sounds proceeded from the galley. there was the rattle of pots and pans, and an occasional deep-voiced german exclamation, followed by dick's calm words. "_ach himmel!_ vy you do it dot way?" cried the cook, so that he could be heard from one end of the yacht to the other. "because that's the right way," answered dick. "but, oxcuse me, herr hamilton, dot stuff should boiled be, und you haf roasted it on der oven alretty yet." "sure, i'm baking it. that's the proper way to do it. i'll steam it afterward." "_ach!_ vot a foolishness vaste of der good t'ings," was the cook's despairing remark. "fellows, there's going to be some fun before this plum duff is made," prophesied paul drew. "it sure looks that way," agreed frank, as he balanced himself on his hands and head on a coil of rope. dick was in and out of the galley several times. on each occasion he seemed to have accumulated a little more flour on his clothes or face. finally, after more than an hour's work, he announced triumphantly: "now, fellows, it's done, and i want old widdy to have the first sniff of it. he said i couldn't make one, and i want to show him that i can. ask him to step here, tim." the newsboy found the old salt splicing a rope, and soon widdy, having put away his pipe, stumped toward the galley. dick emerged, gaily bearing on a large platter a round, brown, smoking object, with a cloud of steam hovering over it, and a most appetizing odor wafting from it all about the deck. "here, widdy, take a look at this!" cried dick, proudly. "is this plum duff, such as you used to get, or not?" "it looks like it," admitted the old sailor, carefully. "how does it smell?" asked the young millionaire, holding it toward the old salt. "it certainly do smell like it," further confessed widdy. "it _is_ it!" insisted dick. "now the crew will have some for supper to-night, and i guess you fellows will admit that i can make a sailor's plum pudding as good as the next one." with a smile of triumph at his chums, dick advanced toward them, bearing the smoking platter. he was going to display the duff to them, but, as he neared the rail, the yacht lurched, and dick gave a little jump to retain his balance. the platter tilted. the plum duff began to slide off. "look out!" shouted frank bender, making a spring toward dick. "i've got it!" cried the millionaire's son. he tried to straighten up, and, at the same time, keep the platter on a level keel. a moment later, before the eyes of all his chums, the elaborate concoction slid off the big plate, over the yacht's rail, and splashed down into the sea. "plum duff overboard! plum duff overboard!" yelled old widdy, stumping forward and catching up a coil of rope on the way. "plum duff overboard! lower a boat!" "well, split--my--lee--scuppers!" exclaimed dick, slowly, as he peered over the side. "wouldn't that frazzle your main topsail!" chapter xii saved from the sea for an instant after dick's disgusted exclamation no one spoke. then paul, with a regretful sigh, remarked: "it certainly smelled good." "it _was_ good," declared dick. "i put twice as much stuff in it as was necessary." "maybe that's what was the trouble," suggested henry darby. "likely it was topheavy, as i once had a load of old iron, and it overbalanced." "well, i like your nerve!" spluttered the young millionaire, with a show of pretended anger. "comparing my plum duff to a lot of old iron! it was frank bender's fault that it was lost overboard." "my fault?" demanded frank. "how do you make that out?" and he leaned far over the rail, to look back toward where the plum pudding had disappeared in the ocean. "your fault--yes!" repeated dick. "but look out, or you'll go overboard, too. if you hadn't made that jump for me, when you did, i'd have managed it all right. it's up to him, fellows! frank's to blame!" "i am like pie!" cried the acrobatic lad, turning a handspring to calm his excited feelings. "of course, it's your fault," added paul, with a wink at the others. "sure," came from henry. "maybe it was grit's fault," suggested tim muldoon, gently, for he wasn't quite sure whether dick and his chums were in earnest or not. "i saw grit trying to wag his tail, just as the puddin' went overboard." "tim, you've solved the mystery!" declared dick. "it _was_ grit's fault. grit, you old sinner, don't you know any better?" and the dog leaped about joyously, barking in delight at the fun and excitement. "well, it's gone, and i reckon the crew doesn't mingle any plum duff with their ship's biscuit to-night," observed widdy, with a sigh. "it sure did smell good, mr. hamilton, and it looked good, too," and the old sailor recoiled the rope he had grabbed up in his excitement. captain barton came on deck, then, to inquire the cause of the fun, and laughed when told the story of the pudding, to the rescue of which widdy had sprung so valiantly. but if there was no plum duff for supper there were other good things, for dick had well stocked the yacht's larder. "der crew needn't mind so mooch," spoke the fat german cook. "i'll make 'em noodle soup, mit onions in, und i makes it goot und strong," and the crew did full justice to the generous quantity hans sent to the forecastle. the boys did not go to their staterooms early that night, but sat up on deck, listening to yarn after yarn, reeled off by old widdy, who, every now and then, interrupted his narratives to stump to the side, empty out the ashes from his short pipe, and refill it. but at length captain barton suggested that it was getting late, so dick and his chums went below, for their first night aboard the steam yacht. they were lulled to rest by the soft swish and murmur of the waves, and the hum and throb of the powerful engines, which were urging the fine craft over the water. the young yachtsmen were up in time next morning to witness the swabbing down of the decks, in which task dick and the others insisted on taking a hand, as the work was a novelty to them. barefooted, and with trousers rolled up, they helped with the hose, which was attached to a steam pump, and used the big swabs with good intentions, if not with skill. "pretty good for land-lubbers," widdy condescended to say, as he watched the work. "well, if it doesn't do anything else," observed dick, "it gives one a tremendous appetite. hans, don't you dare burn the omelet this morning." "_ach himmel!_ me burn a omelet! i vould as soon bite mine own ear, herr hamilton. me burn a omelet!" and the cook was quite indignant, until dick's laugh told him it was a joke. coming up on deck after a substantial meal, tim muldoon, who was first out of the companionway, uttered a cry. "hi, fellers, here's a ship that's been wrecked!" he cried. there was a rush to the rail and the boys saw, not far off, on the port side, a large vessel, with queer stumpy masts, on the tops of which were big, round objects. "is it sinking?" asked henry darby. "can't we rescue the people?" "that's a lightship," explained captain barton, who was just being relieved at the wheel by widdy. "it's the one about twenty miles off cape may, the southernmost point of new jersey. we haven't made very good time during the night, or we'd be farther south. but i thought it best to proceed slowly, until i got better acquainted with the yacht." "that's right," agreed dick. "we're in no hurry." the lads watched the lonely vessel, anchored so far off from land, until they had left it quite a distance aft, and then they found new matters to occupy their attention. "this is certainly great, dick," remarked paul drew, some hours later, as he sat in a steamer chair near his chum. "it beats turning out at reveille, forcing yourself into a tight uniform, and getting ready for drill and chapel; doesn't it?" "yes, but old kentfield is all right, at that. this is good for a change. but wait until we get to cuba, and wait until we camp out on one of the florida keys. then we'll be right in it." "this is good enough for me," observed henry. "if i only was sure that the old iron business, and my horse----" "drop it!" commanded dick, with a laugh. "this is no time----" he ceased speaking, and arose to observe widdy, who had stumped to the yacht's side, and was earnestly gazing at some object on the water. "what is it?" demanded dick, as he advanced to where the old sailor stood, bracing himself against the rail, for there was quite a sea on. "it's a small boat!" was the reply, "and i think some one is in it." "a small boat!" repeated dick. "wait and i'll get a glass." "a boat," murmured paul, as he came forward, while his chum hurried to the chart house. "maybe there's been a wreck, and these are the survivors." "such things have happened," agreed widdy. "yes, it's a boat, sure enough," he added a moment later, as a small object was seen for an instant on the crest of a wave, and then disappeared in the trough of the sea. dick took a quick observation through the binoculars when the boat next rose, and immediately uttered a cry: "there is some one in it!" he shouted. "i can see 'em moving about! where's captain barton? we must stop the yacht to rescue them!" "what's up?" asked the commander, coming on deck at that moment. "yes, it's some one, or something in that boat," he agreed, after an observation. "mr. midwell," he added to the first mate, "signal for the yacht to lie to, and order a boat lowered. we can't pass the poor creature by." "i'm going to help with the rescue!" cried dick. "come on, fellows! we'll all go." "better take the dory, then," suggested captain barton, for one of those substantial small craft, which could live in almost any sea, was included in the complement of the _albatross'_ boats. tim muldoon was not quite bold enough a sailor to care to venture in the small craft, and henry darby did not want to go, but dick, paul and frank bender, with two of the sailors, made up the party that set off to the rescue. grit was wild to accompany his master, but dick gently ordered him back. with lusty arms the sailors, aided by dick and paul, who insisted on each taking an oar, pulled toward the small boat, which was seen one instant, and the next lost to view. as they neared it, after fifteen minutes of rowing, for it was farther off than it looked, dick cried: "fellows, there's a baby in that boat!" [illustration: with lusty arms the sailors, aided by dick and paul, pulled toward the small boat.--_page ._ _dick hamilton's steam yacht._] the oars were rested between the thole-pins and, above the gentle swish of the water against the sides of the dory, could be heard a wailing cry, coming over the waste of water. "give way!" shouted dick, as he bent to the ashen blade once more. "we've got to save that baby!" chapter xiii the mermaid's song forward shot the boat, impelled by the sturdy muscles of the sailors, dick and paul. in another minute the dory was lifted high on the crest of a wave, while the drifting craft was down in the hollow. the pitiful crying-whine sounded more plainly, and a moment later dick shouted: "fellows, it isn't a baby at all. i can see it plainly now. it's a puppy! a little, brown puppy!" and, at the sound of the lad's voice the frantic animal redoubled its cries. "well, we've got to rescue it just the same," declared frank, after a moment's blank look at his chums. "we'll go alongside and take him out," suggested the young millionaire. "the poor brute must be almost starved." "better go easy," cautioned one of the sailors. "if you and mr. drew will unship your oars, mr. hamilton, larson and i will go as close as we can. i don't want to have the side of our dory stove in, and there's quite a swell on." dick recognized the fact that neither he nor paul were skilful enough in handling a heavy boat at sea to successfully accomplish the work of rescue, so the two lads took in their oars. "maybe we can pick up the painter and tow the dinghy back," suggested larson, and kenby, the other sailor agreed. by this time they were quite close to the drifting craft, and the puppy was leaping from seat to seat in its eagerness, crying, whining and barking by turns, and almost ready to leap overboard, so lonesome and terrorized by hunger was it. "easy now, old chap," counseled dick, in soothing tones, and the puppy nearly wagged off its tail in joy. fishing about at the bow of the dinghy, larson did manage to pick up the rope, without coming dangerously close. it was made fast, and once more the oars began to propel the dory toward the yacht, it being decided to wait until the arrival there before taking out the puppy. but the animal had no such intentions. seeing what probably looked as if its rescuers were deserting it, the little dog, with a frantic howl, leaped overboard, and tried to swim to the boat containing dick and the others. "grab him!" cried the young millionaire, ceasing rowing, an example followed by the others, and when the half-starved pup came alongside frank bender lifted him in. instantly the brute wiggled away from him and tried to crawl over and nestle in dick's arms. "here, hold on! wait a minute! not so fast! give me a sponge and a towel!" begged the wealthy lad with a laugh, trying to keep the dog in the bottom of the boat, at the same time appreciating the poor brute's evident pleasure in being rescued. "he must have absorbed about a gallon of water," added dick, ruefully, as he looked at his clothes, and the little salty puddle forming at his feet. "queer looking baby," commented paul, with a grin at his chum. "that's all right. it did sound like one crying; didn't it?" and dick appealed to the sailors. "sure," agreed larson, respectfully. "certainly," said frank. "i'll take him on board and feed him up," went on the millionaire's son, "and then----" "maybe grit will eat him before you get a chance to feed him," suggested paul. "by jinks! i never thought of that," admitted dick. "i wonder if i can risk it?" for grit had little use for other dogs, though he never went out of his way to fight. "i'll chance it, though," the lad went on. "i'll make grit be friends with him." nor was it a difficult task, for the little puppy was so weak and forlorn, as it sprawled awkwardly on deck that grit, after an ominous growl and a showing of his ugly teeth, changed his temper all of a sudden, and began to lick with his tongue the rescued brute. "they're all right now," declared dick, with an air of relief. "that's the way to behave, grit. i'm proud of you!" grit wagged his stump of a tail, and the puppy thumped his longer appendage weakly on the deck. "what will you call the new one?" asked captain barton. "call him gritty," suggested henry darby, "for he has some of grit's grit to live all that while in the open boat." "gritty it shall be," decided dick. "i wonder where he came from, and how the dinghy got adrift?" "it's a boat from some fishing vessel," said captain barton, when the craft that had contained the puppy was hoisted aboard and examined. it had no name on, and was rather battered and old. "it must have gone adrift, for the end of the painter is frayed, as though it was chafed through. probably the dog was asleep in it when it drifted off," added the commander. "well, he's a new member of the crew," said dick. "here, hans, give my puppy some quail on toast, or beefsteak smothered in onions. he's hungry." "i gif him some veak soup--dot's vot he needs vurst," decided the big german cook, picking up the half-starved animal, and carrying it off to the galley. grit followed, with a happy bark. he seemed to have accepted gritty at once as a friend and companion. the yacht was gotten under way once more, slipping through the water like some graceful fish, and making better time, for now the new crew was familiar with the engine and boilers, and more speed was being maintained. what with watching the running of the engines, helping in taking observations, signaling other vessels they passed, and strolling about the deck, dick and his chums found plenty to occupy their time. the young millionaire and paul had taken up the study of wireless telegraphy during their last term in kentfield, and, as the _albatross_ had an apparatus aboard, the two cadets crackled off several greetings to their friends, while mr. hamilton was kept informed of the progress of the yacht, and also sent some messages in answer to those of his son. the _albatross_ ran into a storm on the third day out, as she was rounding cape hatteras, that always treacherous point on the atlantic coast, and for a time the boys had all they wanted of sailor life, and a bit more. it was the first time any of them had been seasick, and henry darby and frank bender were the ones to succumb. frank was too limp to even move an eyelash, dick said pathetically as his friend was stretched out in his berth. as for dick and paul, they behaved like old sea dogs, and even tim muldoon, though it was his first voyage, stood up well under the strain. the yacht pitched and tossed, now on top of a big green wave, and again sliding down into the trough, as though she was going to the bottom. but she was a staunch craft, and when they had passed the point, with its conflicting currents, the storm had blown itself out, and a period of calm and fog succeeded. through the gray, damp mist the _albatross_ was creeping one afternoon, with her whistle sounding mournfully at regular intervals, and widdy, and another sailor, stationed in the bow to peer through the blanket of whiteness, to give warning when anything should loom up in front of them. "wouldn't it be better to anchor, or run in to shore?" suggested paul, as he and dick were standing forward, trying in vain to pierce the mist. "it's just as well to keep on going," explained widdy, with the freedom engendered by the young millionaire's treatment of him. "it's better to run into some other ship than to be run down yourself, if it's goin' to be done. an' we're safer out here than in nearer shore. we'll be all right, if----" widdy suddenly paused, and leaned forward in a listening attitude. dick and paul rubbed the drops of fog from their eyes, in a vain attempt to see something. what would loom up in front of them? some ocean liner, which might cut them in two, and send them swirling to the bottom? dick felt a sense of fear. then, out of the fog, there came the sound of a voice singing, and at the first words the old sailor fairly leaped back from the rail, his wooden leg thumping on the deck. to the ears of the watchers came this song: "oh, it's ten long years since i sailed away, when the wind was blowing free. and i've anchored since in every port that's touched by the salty sea. "there was once just ten in the sallie sue, as we sailed the watery plain. but the sharks gobbled every one but me, and now i'm back again." "get below, boys! get below!" yelled widdy, showing every appearance of fear. "get below, if you value your lives!" and he clapped both hands over his ears, and hobbled toward the companionway, his pipe falling from his chattering teeth, and smashing to fragments on the deck. "what's the matter?" cried dick. "that's a mermaid! a mermaid singing!" replied the old salt, "and it's death to every man within the sound of her voice! get below, boys! get below!" chapter xiv just in time dick and paul did not know whether to laugh at the old sailor, or follow him in his mad rush for the forecastle. this latter inclination was not because of any fear of the superstition regarding mermaids, but because they thought there might be a collision with the unseen vessel, and it would be wise to prepare for it. once more, out of the fog and mist came the voice: "i remember well, in the days of old, how a sailor lad named bill fell overboard near the hole in the wall, a dolphin's maw to fill. "oh, it's there one night, a terrible sight, did happen----" "ahoy there!" yelled dick. "who are you, and where are you going?" for it needed but a moment's harkening to the second part of the song to demonstrate that it issued from the mouth of some burly follower of the sea and not from the salty lips of some fish-maiden. "who are you?" back came the challenge from the swirling fog. "the yacht _albatross_, bound for havana," answered dick. "who are you?" "i'm a lobsterman, fog-bound, and my 'put-put' boat is out of gasolene. for the love of davy jones, have you any aboard? i've been here ten hours, and i'm hungry enough to eat a raw crab. give a hail until i get my bearings." "a lobsterman!" cried paul. "and old widdy thought it was a mermaid!" jack called to midwell, the mate, to have the whistle sounded, and then, yelling to the unseen mariner to approach slowly, the two lads peered forward from the bow of the yacht, for the first glimpse of the helpless craft. there was the sound of oars being used, and presently there loomed up through the mist a small dory motorboat, containing a grizzled son of the sea, his craft piled high with boxes of lobsters. a moment later widdy popped his head up through the companionway. behind him were several of the crew. "is--is she--has she sung again?" asked the wooden-legged sailor, cautiously. "it doesn't happen to be a 'she,' widdy," answered dick. "you don't mean to say that it's a he-one, do you?" "it's a lobsterman," spoke paul. "he's out of gasolene. have we any, captain barton?" for the commander was approaching. "yes, i guess there's some among the stores." the lobster boat came alongside, and a very much relieved fisherman looked up at the trim yacht. "hum, that's quite some of a smack," he remarked with calm enthusiasm. "i'm right glad i met-up with you. i calculated i'd have t' stay out all night, or until the fog lifted, an' that ain't goin' to be very soon. has any one a chaw of tobacco?" "was that you singin'?" demanded widdy, suspiciously, while one of the crew, at captain barton's direction, went to get some gasolene. "well, if you call it singin' i was," guardedly answered the lobster man. "why and wherefore was you a-doin' of it?" inquired the wooden-legged sailor. "i took you for a mermaid, an'----" "a mermaid! ho! ho! a bloomin' mermaid i'd make! why i was only a sort of hummin' to myself because i'd lost my fog horn overboard, an' i didn't want to be run down, with all these lobsters aboard, for lobsters is high now. that's why i was sort of hummin' an' singin', as you call it. has any one got a chaw of tobacco?" "well, seein' as how you're not a mermaid, you can have it," responded widdy, as he passed over a generous portion. "but it's the first time i ever heard of a lobsterman losin' his fog horn overboard. some careless of you, wa'n't it?" "you might call it that," admitted the other, cautiously, "but i was so busy haulin' up my pots an' emptyin' 'em that i didn't notice it right away, an' you know," he added gravely, "a horn won't float." "hum," remarked widdy, as he took back what was left of the plug of tobacco. the gasolene was handed down into the small craft, and the lobsterman insisted on giving dick a generous portion of his catch in payment therefor. "ho, for some lobster salad!" cried the young millionaire, as he held up by the back a squirming crustacean. "hans, get busy making about a peck of mayonnaise dressing." "_yah!_ i dresses dot sea-bug all right!" exclaimed the cook with a grin. "i knows how to fix dem!" the lobsterman started his gasolene engine, and "put-putted" off through the fog, seeming to get his bearings instinctively. he called a good-by, and once more started his fog-horn song. "well, i wish we'd meet such mermaids every day in the week," commented paul drew, as he looked at the pile of lobsters on deck, for he, too, was very fond of them. the _albatross_, which had been hove to on meeting the small craft, was once more sent slowly forward. the fog lifted about two hours later, and the speed was increased. there was a fine supper aboard dick's yacht that night, and even the crew had lobster salad, as a sort of side dish with their pork and beans. "we'll be at savannah to-morrow," announced captain barton one afternoon--a glorious, sunny afternoon, when dick and the boys were sitting about the deck in steamer chairs. "do you think your friend, mr. beeby, will meet you there, captain hamilton?" "i don't know," answered dick. "you never can tell what innis beeby will do. he's always changing his mind at the last moment, and he's so fat that it doesn't worry him." "nothing does," said paul. "i hardly think he'll join us, though." "well, we'll put in and see," decided the lad of millions. at savannah, when the yacht had docked, dick found a telegram awaiting him from his chum, beeby. it read: "will be with you at ten a.m. to-morrow." "and, just as likely as not he won't," commented the young captain. "but we'll lay up here over night and see." ten o'clock the next morning came, and the boys eagerly scanned the pier for a sight of the fat lad. there were all sorts of people coming down to the water-front, but innis beeby was not of them. "guess we'd better get under way," suggested dick, when eleven o'clock had passed, and there was no sign of the cadet. the gang-plank was being hauled in, and captain barton was about to swing the engine room telegraph signal over to "half-speed ahead," when a shout sounded up the broad pier. "here he comes!" cried paul. "here comes innis, on the run!" the boys saw a very stout lad waddling along at what he probably considered a run, but which was far from it. in front of him, trundling a hand-truck, containing the cadet's trunk and suitcase, was a tall, thin porter, built on the lines of a racer. he would rush along and, on looking back, would see his employer about twenty feet in the rear, coming slowly. "can't you hurry, sir?" the porter shouted, so that dick and the others heard him. "the ship's about to sail, sir." "tell--'em--to--hold--her," panted beeby. "i'm--com--ing!" forward ran the porter, trundling the truck. after him came beeby, going slower and slower, for he was winded. captain barton, unaware of the impending arrival of dick's guest, had shoved the telegraph lever over. there was the ringing of a bell in the engine room, and the yacht gathered way. "hold on!" cried dick. "stop the engines!" "run out the gang-plank again!" ordered paul. "come on, innis, come on!" yelled dick to his friend. "get on the truck, and let the porter wheel you," suggested paul. he scarcely believed the fat cadet would do it, but the suggestion came at just the right time, and the fleshy lad called: "here, porter, let me sit on top of my trunk. i can't go another step." "sure!" assented the man, and, a moment later, he was assisting the late passenger up on top of the baggage. there was a laugh from the crowd on the pier, in which dick and his chums joined, but innis beeby cared little for that. he could breathe easier now, and there was a better chance of him catching the yacht. the porter broke into a run with his load, and soon was alongside the _albatross_. but the vessel was now in the grip of the tide, and, though the engine had been stopped, the yacht was moving. the gang-plank could not be run out, for a snubbing post was right in the way. "get off, and i'll throw your baggage on board!" cried the porter, for there was, as yet, but a small space of water between the steamer's rail and the bulkhead. "yes--but--how--am--i--going--to--get--on--board?" panted the exhausted cadet. "we'll pull you up!" yelled dick, for it would mean a lot of work to stop, and back up to the landing place. up over the rail went tumbling the trunk and suit-case. dick threw beeby a rope's end. the stout lad grasped it firmly. he was quite muscular, from his athletic practice at the academy. "now, all together, fellows!" ordered dick. "haul him up!" there was a heave and a pull--a straining and creaking of the rope. innis planted his feet against the side of the yacht, and "walked" up, after the manner of scaling a wall at the military school. his training stood him in good stead. a moment later beeby was on deck, and only just in time, for the yacht swung far out from the pier. "well--i'm--here--fellows," said beeby, slowly, as he flung a dollar to the dock for the porter. "i--said--i'd--come--and--i'm--here--(puff) i'm--(puff) here--(puff) all right--(puff) am--(puff) i--not--(puff), dick?" "to use a classical and poetical expression, you _be_," answered dick, with a laugh, as he grasped his chum's hand, "and we're mighty glad to see you, innis. let her go, captain barton." the _albatross_ swung out into the channel. chapter xv tim muldoon disappears "well, beeby, and how are you?" asked the young millionaire, when the late arrival had somewhat recovered his breath, and had slumped down in a steamer chair, with a sigh of relief. "fine and dandy. came pretty near not making it, though; didn't i? i'd been visiting some relatives, here in savannah, and they kept me until the last minute. i tried to run, but----" "the less said about your running the better, innis. let me shake hands with the _late_ mr. beeby," and paul drew joined the group about the fat cadet. "i may be a bit late, but i'm far from being a dead one, paul. say, dick, my boy, it looks very fit here," and the new guest gazed about the yacht with marked approval. "yes it'll do for a starter," admitted the owner of the _albatross_. "we've hardly got settled down to the run of things yet." "it looks all right to me," went on beeby. "she's a pretty boat, and i'm glad i didn't miss her. got much of a party aboard?" "no, not many. oh, i forgot, you haven't met my friends, henry darby, frank bender and tim muldoon," and dick introduced the newsboy with no less ceremony than that with which he presented the young acrobat, who, as some would have regarded it, was more in innis beeby's "set." "glad to meet you fellows," said the fat cadet, rising slowly and ponderously, and shaking hands. "guess i'm able to go below now, dick, and stow away my luggage. where am i to berth; in the engine room?" "we're going to put you forward with the crew," spoke paul. "they need a fat and jolly companion." "it wouldn't be a bad idea for me," answered beeby. "i was off yachting down east with a friend of mine, once, and i enjoyed being with the crew immensely. they had no end of good yarns to spin." "we've got a chap aboard who can do the same thing," said dick. "we'll have to introduce him to widdy, fellows." "sure thing," chimed in frank bender, and then, as he had been keeping quiet for nearly ten minutes, he proceeded to climb up the shrouds and pretend to make a dive into the bay. beeby was given a stateroom near dick's, and when his trunk and suit-case had been put away, and he had donned a rough suit, in which he said he felt more at home, he went on deck with the others, and was shown about the yacht. he found much to admire, and warmed dick's heart with his praise. for the stout cadet was a bit older than our hero and his chums, and had seen more of the world. in consequence the young millionaire rather looked up to him, and valued his opinion. on his part beeby had formed a strong liking for dick, and soon made friends with the other three lads. paul drew he had known for some time. in captain barton, beeby discovered an old friend. they had met once, when beeby was on a yachting cruise, and, though the commander had not recollected the name when dick had casually mentioned his friend, the sailor at once recalled the fat lad's face and figure. soon they were renewing their acquaintanceship, and swapping yarns in the pilot house. swinging out of the harbor, and into the deep water beyond, the _albatross_ was quickly making good time down the coast. dinner was served, and a jolly party gathered in the dining saloon, hans weyler outdoing himself in the matter of providing good things to eat. "i say, dick, but you _are_ a lucky dog," remarked beeby, somewhat enviously, as he leaned back in his chair, after the dessert. "how did it all happen, anyhow--this fine yacht, the way you take it off, and all that?" "i hardly know myself," answered dick. "i'm afraid i'll wake up some morning and find it all a dream." "and you've nothing to do on the entire trip but have fun, eh?" asked the stout lad. "well, mostly; though, as i've told you, i expect to look up some of my mother's distant relatives in cuba. but that may not take long, and then we'll go off on an exploring expedition, and live on a desert island for a change." "fine and dandy!" exclaimed beeby, enthusiastically. the rest of the day was spent in sitting about deck, the boys telling stories, or swapping school experiences, while occasionally widdy would come aft on some errand, and dick would detain him long enough to have him tell some sea yarn, more or less true. grit and gritty gamboled about together, playing like two puppies, for grit, usually grave and dignified, as suited a blooded bulldog, seemed to renew his youth in the presence of the little waif from the sea. there was an indication of a storm that night, and captain barton, looking anxiously at the barometer, ordered everything made snug below and aloft. the wind freshened about midnight, and when the boys awoke early in the morning they found the yacht pitching and tossing in an angry sea. "whew!" exclaimed beeby, as he just avoided being tossed out of his berth, "rather rough, isn't it, dick?" "oh, so-so. does it bother you?" asked dick, from his stateroom. "not a bit. i've got my sea legs on now, and i feel fine. i'm going on deck for a breath of air. come along." they dressed hastily and, followed by the other lads, ascended the companionway, not without some difficulty, for at times the _albatross_ seemed trying to stand on her beams' ends, while at others she appeared to want to plunge to the bottom of the sea. "it's some rough," remarked paul drew, as he clung to the handrail. "but the boat seems to go right through it," added the young owner, proudly. once they poked their heads outside they were made aware that there was plenty of what sailors call "dirty" weather. there was a strong wind blowing, and a rain was falling, being driven sharply into the faces of the lads, while the spume and spray from the sea, with its tang of saltiness, soon made their cheeks feel as though they had on thin masks of brine. "oilskins and sou'westers to-day," remarked dick, as he dodged back inside, almost wet through from a brief dash across the deck. "it'll be stay below for mine," decided frank bender. "i can practise some of my new motions without much effort. all i'll have to do is to stand still and be tossed about." "yes, stand on your head in the dishpan, balanced on a tumbler," suggested paul. "you'll have a nice tumble, if you do." "and i guess you'd like to see me," suggested the aspiring acrobat. "well, i'm not going to. tim, you and i will get up a daily paper. we can gather news by wireless. i'll write out the sheets by hand, and you can sell 'em." "sure," agreed the newsboy. "i'm lost without something like that to do. i'm not used to this sporting life. i'd like to see an extra edition out now." they ate breakfast under difficulties, and many cups of coffee were spilled in places not intended for them. but, for all that, it was jolly fun, and, donning oilskins a little later, they all went on deck, where they watched the big waves which were running quite high, their crests whipped into foam and spray by the wind, which every moment was increasing. tiring of the exposure to the rough weather, they came below in about half an hour, and put in the rest of the morning at various occupations. some wrote letters, to be posted when sighting the next inward-bound coast steamer; dick was going over some details of the mysteries of navigation with captain barton, and beeby was peacefully slumbering, braced up on a divan, with many cushions to soften his descent in case he was pitched to the cabin floor. the striking of eight bells, or the noon call to dinner, saw reassembled in the dining-room dick and his friends. none of them seemed to have lost their appetites because of the rolling and pitching, for, by this time, even the most indifferent lad was a good sailor. "well, i guess we can sit down, and spill some soup in our laps," remarked the young yacht owner, looking around at his chums. "but, hold on, where's tim?" "he was here a while ago," volunteered henry darby. "i saw him going toward the engine room." "yes, he likes to see the machinery," added frank bender. "i'll call him." but frank presently returned to report that tim had not been in the engine compartment. "look in his stateroom; maybe he's asleep," suggested beeby. "i had a nice nap myself." but tim was not there, and by this time dick was becoming a bit worried. he and paul made a search in various parts of the yacht, but tim was not seen, nor did he answer their calls. "that's rather odd," mused dick, with a puzzled air. "did you look in the pilot house?" asked frank. "maybe he's in there with captain barton, who hasn't come out yet to get his dinner." "tim's not here," was the commander's report a little later, and on his face there came an anxious look, as dick mentioned the newsboy's absence. "did you try the forecastle?" but tim was not in the crew's quarters, though he was a general favorite with the men forward, and often spent much time in their company. "let's get this down to a system," suggested dick. "who saw him last--and where?" it developed that they had all seen the newsboy quite recently, but when it came to saying where there was a conflict of opinion. "well, this yacht isn't such a big place," remarked the owner. "if he's on board we ought to find him." "maybe he's fallen overboard," spoke henry darby, almost before he thought of the significance of his words. "i saw him with his oilskins on," volunteered widdy, who had been called into the general conference. "was this before or after we all had them on, and were on deck?" asked paul drew. "afterward. in fact, it wa'n't more'n an hour ago. he come up on deck in 'em, an' then went below." "are you sure he went below?" asked dick, quickly. "well, no; not exactly. i saw him start for the companionway, but just then we struck a big wave, and i had to grab a lifeline myself. so i didn't notice, but i think he went below." a curious hush fell upon them all. they were all thinking of the same direful thing. another hasty, but thorough search of the yacht was made, and there was no trace of tim. "he _can't_ have fallen overboard!" cried dick. "we'd have heard him cry." "not in the noise of this storm," spoke captain barton, solemnly. "i'm afraid he's gone, boys. we were boarded by some big waves," and a gloomy silence followed his words. "poor tim," murmured dick, "and to think i urged him to make this voyage. it's all my fault!" "don't give up so soon," urged beeby, who was the most hopeful person in the group. "let's have another look. dinner can wait. we'll find tim muldoon, if he's aboard. he's a new yorker, and they're hard to lose anywhere. we'll find him yet," and the search was begun again. chapter xvi uncle ezra as a sailor two days after the _albatross_ left savannah harbor, another small steam vessel made her way in. had any one been interested in her identity he could have made out the name _princess_ on bow and stern, but to the casual observer this meant little or nothing, save that the craft was not a very spruce-looking member of the royal family. there was an air of neglect about her. the paint was scraped off in many places, and was dingy in others. when she rolled a bit on the swells a glimpse could be had of many barnacles clinging to her copper plates. in fact, she was rather a forlorn _princess_ who came to anchor on the edge of the channel. "now, you boys get into a boat, go ashore and see if he's been here," said an old man, whose chin was adorned with a small bunch of white whiskers, that moved up and down when he talked. "just make some inquiries, and find out if the yacht _albatross_ has been here, and when she left. and, mind you, don't you go to spending money, 'cause i won't give you any more." "maybe sam or i had better go along," suggested the shorter of two men, who stood leaning over the yacht's side. "we can make better inquiries than either guy or simon, mr. larabee." "that may be, sam newton," admitted dick's uncle ezra, whom, i suppose, the reader has already identified as the old man in question. "that may be, but i want you and ike murdock to stay on board, and have a talk with me. we've got to plan to catch my nephew, and he's ahead of us in a fast yacht." "then why did you want to stop here?" asked the man addressed as ike murdock. "i wanted to make sure he'd been here. you never can tell what that boy will do. since his father so foolishly let him have all the money he wants, he goes all about, looking for ways to spend it." "and you're going to stop him," suggested sam newton. "that's my intention. he'd have been stopped by this time if you men had managed to get hold of him, as i told you to, and paid you for. you bungled the whole business, and made me have to hire this steamship to take after him. why didn't you get him into my hands secretly, as i thought you would?" "because he was too smart for us," admitted ike, bitterly. "we had him fairly on board this yacht, and only for that old sailor, who happened to recognize one of our crew, your nephew would be where you want him, by this time." "and that would be in a place where he can't squander his fortune," went on uncle ezra, savagely. "if his father won't teach him habits of thrift and industry, and how to save his money, i will, for he is my only sister's child. i may be running a big risk in doing it this way, but it's worth it." "it certainly is a risk--for you and for us--if we're caught," murmured sam. "but i don't care, as long as i get well paid." "me either," added ike. "well, are you and guy ready to go ashore?" asked the old man, addressing simon scardale. "all i want to find out is if my nephew's yacht has been in this port, and when she left. i heard dick say to his father that he was to stop here to take aboard some friend of his. oh, the way my nephew wastes his money! he doesn't care how big a party he has aboard to feed. it's a shameful waste!" "yes, we're ready to go," said simon. "but can't we signal for a motorboat to take us off, and bring us back? it's quite a way to row ashore." "no, you can't signal for no motorboat," snapped mr. larabee. "motorboats cost money, and i've spent nearly a thousand dollars on this business already, and i suppose i'll have to spend more. you boys can row. it'll be good exercise for you. boys should exercise." "then, can't you advance us a little more money?" asked simon. "i need a new necktie." "you don't need one aboard this ship, and when we get through, and i pay you the rest of your wages, after you've helped me to capture my nephew, you can buy as many neckties as you want. now, hurry off, for i don't want to stay here any longer than i have to. it costs money every day i have this steamer." grumbling at the stinginess of their employer, guy and simon, with the help of one of the few sailors on the _princess_, lowered a small boat, and pulled laboriously ashore. meanwhile, mr. larabee went below with the two men, whom, had dick seen, he would have at once recognized as those who acted so strangely toward him in new york. "if we can't intercept him any sooner, we'll have to go all the way to cuba, i guess," admitted mr. larabee, after a long talk with the two unscrupulous men he had hired. "but it's going to cost me a power of money." "what of it? you'll get it all back, won't you?" asked ike. "indeed, i will, and with interest, too. but i hate to put out so much at once. this is more than i've spent in a whole year at dankville, and we've only been on this trip a few days. oh, why didn't you hold on to him, when you had him that night in the rainstorm at hamilton corners?" "we had a very good reason," said sam. "his dog had too good a hold on us. i can feel his teeth yet, and my leg is still sore. if i'd got hydrophobia i'd had to sue you for damages, mr. larabee," and sam winked at ike. "no, you wouldn't!" exclaimed the crabbed old man. "you signed a paper to do this work at your own risk, and i'll hold you to it. you can't sue me, no matter what happens." "oh, well, let's not quarrel," suggested ike. "now, when the boys come back we'll know what to do. while we're waiting, i guess i'll eat." "seems to me you're always eating," grumbled uncle ezra. "the salt air gives me a good appetite," said ike. "me, too," added his crony. "it takes a powerful lot of money to run a steamship," complained the old man. "if i'd a known how terrible much it took i don't believe i'd ever gone into this thing, though i do want to prevent my nephew from wasting his fortune, and this was the only way i saw, for it was useless to appeal to him or his father." "still, kidnapping is a dangerous business," suggested ike. "don't say that word!" cried mr. larabee, quickly, looking around apprehensively. "ain't i told you this isn't a regular kidnapping? i'm only doing it for his good. it ain't kidnapping in the real sense of the word." "have your own way about it," conceded the ill-favored man. "i'm going to eat." guy and simon came back in about two hours, to report that dick's yacht had been in savannah, and had left. "then we must get right after him!" cried uncle ezra. "i only hope we can overtake him before he gets to cuba. it will be terribly expensive to go there. now, get up steam, or make anchor, or whatever the proper term is, and sail fast. he may give us the slip." there was soon activity aboard the _princess_, and a little later the dingy vessel, with her dingy crew, and the oddly-mated occupants of the cabin, were sailing over the course taken by the young millionaire and his chums. ezra larabee had undertaken a desperate and peculiar plan to "save" his nephew. it was not long before the pursuing yacht ran into the same storm felt by those aboard the _albatross_, and, being a smaller and less staunch craft, the one hired by the old man pitched and tossed rather dangerously. mr. larabee had taken to his berth as soon as the ship left the harbor, for he was but an indifferent sailor, and the least motion made him ill. when the storm came his malady increased, and he thought surely his last hour had come. "oh, why did i ever try this plan?" he wailed. "why did i come to sea? i might have known better. i wish i was back at dankville. samanthy didn't want me to come, and i wish i'd heeded her words of warning. oh, i'm sure i'm going to die. get a doctor, can't you?" "there's no doctor aboard," said ike. "but you'll be all right as soon as it stops blowing. i'll have the cook make some strong coffee for you." "maybe that will make me feel better," gasped mr. larabee. "oh, why didn't you get my nephew hid away when you had him in hamilton corners that night?" and he turned his face to the wall and groaned. "haven't i told you it was because his dog attacked us?" asked ike, indignantly. "we couldn't fight that dog." "why didn't you shoot it? i hate the brute!" "so do i," murmured sam, rubbing his leg reflectively. "i'll shoot it the next time i get a chance." "do, and i'll give you a dollar extra," spoke uncle ezra. "oh, how miserable i am! is that coffee never coming?" "be here directly," said ike, grinning cheerfully at his crony, for they were used to rough weather. and the _princess_ staggered on through the storm, trying to catch up to the _albatross_, while in his berth, a most forlorn figure, mr. larabee tossed and moaned in anguish. chapter xvii widdy hears a voice innis beeby's confident words, that tim muldoon would be found did not find echo in fulfilment. a systematic search of the whole interior of the yacht was made without success. "he couldn't be hiding on deck--that is, maybe hurt, and have fallen under something; could he?" asked frank bender. "we'll look," agreed dick, as they fairly crept up the companionway, for the rolling and pitching of the yacht made other progress impossible. it needed but a few glances around the wind-and-water-swept deck to show that tim was not there. everything had been made snug, in preparation for the storm, and there was no place where a youth might lie concealed. "i'm afraid he's gone," spoke dick, solemnly. "but i'm not going to give up. we'll put back, captain barton, and see if we can pick him up. when he went overboard he might have grabbed something to cling to, and still be floating. we'll put back." "put back!" exclaimed the commander. "it's hardly possible in the teeth of this wind. the gale is increasing, and our only hope is to run before it. we would barely move trying to make headway against it." "we're going to put back," insisted dick, and the captain put the wheel over, the _albatross_ swinging around in a big circle. mr. barton had not exaggerated the strength of the storm. if it had been hard work scudding along before it, aided by the wind, while the screw threshed the water to foam, it was exceedingly difficult to stem the howling wind that whipped the big green waves into spume. but dick's yacht was a gallant craft, and she staggered back over the course she had just covered, making better work at it than many a larger vessel would have done, for she was not so high in the water as to offer much resistance to the wind. on either side of the rail, while a lookout was stationed in the bow, the boys watched for a sight of tim. they looked for a black speck amid the foam of the waters, but saw none. when they had gone back far enough to cover the point where the newsboy had been missed, dick gave the order to swing around again, and run before the storm. the yacht rode more easily at once, and she was not boarded by so many smashing seas. even then dick would not give up, but he and the others peered forward into the mist of rain with eager eyes, which, every now and then, were blinded by the salt spray. they ate dinner in gloomy silence, occasionally some one making a remark about tim's good qualities, and his jolly disposition. "it makes me feel like turning back, and not making the trip," said dick, "to have bad luck like this at the very start." "it is too bad," agreed beeby, "but maybe he'll be picked up by some other vessel, and saved. if he went overboard he might have grabbed something, and be floating. we could hardly see him in the rough water." "let's look on deck and see if any life buoys are missing, or anything else gone that he might have taken overboard with him," suggested frank, and another hasty search was made. but it only increased the uneasy feeling, since none of the articles was missing, and gloom once more settled down. the storm did not abate in violence all the rest of that day, and the boys sought their bunks with the yacht rolling and tossing on a heaving sea. it was midnight, when the watch was changing, that dick, who could not sleep, from thinking of tim, heard voices in captain barton's room. one he recognized as that of the commander, and the other was widdy's. "i tell you i heard it, as plain as i'm hearin' you now," the old salt was saying. "i couldn't be mistaken. it's in the after compartment, near the shaft tunnel, an' some of the crew heard it, too. it's the ghost of that mermaid, sir. she took the form of a lobsterman just to fool us that time, but she slipped aboard later in the fog, an' now it means death to some one aboard. i knowed we'd have no good luck from meetin' that there mermaid. i heard her voice, i tell you, captain." dick, who was partly dressed, slipped on his coat and trousers, and staggered to the captain's cabin. there he saw widdy, looking wild and disheveled from his watch on deck, and plainly alarmed from some other emotion than seeing the big green waves. "what is it?" asked the young millionaire. "i heard you saying something about a mermaid, widdy, and----" "yes," answered the old sailor, with a bow. "that's right, mr. dick. it was my watch on deck, an' i was just comin' below. one of the men from the engine room come up to say there was a peculiar noise in the shaft tunnel. i thought there might be somethin' wrong, so i called mr. midwell, whose trick it was next, an' i turned the wheel over to him, an' come below. me and jim carter, the chief engineer, went into the after compartment, sir, an' there we both heard it." "heard what?" asked captain barton. "the mermaid groanin', sir. that was her, disguised as a lobsterman, an' she slipped aboard to bring death an' destruction. that's why that poor lad fell overboard. it'll be some of our turns next." "nonsense!" cried dick. "what you heard was probably the creaking and squeaking of the ship's timbers and machinery in the storm." "do ship's timbers groan like a man dyin', sir, an' call for help, sir?" inquired widdy, solemnly. "answer me that! do the machinery cry for help? answer me that!" "did you hear some one calling for help?" asked dick, quickly. "i did, sir." "wasn't it some one on deck, or didn't you imagine it?" inquired captain barton. "i did not, sir," replied the old sailor, doggedly. "it was in the after compartment, sir." "and what sort of a voice was it?" asked dick, "and what did it say?" "it was a voice, sir, like some one in pain, and it called 'help! help! help!' three times, just like that." "well, why didn't you look further, see who it was, and help 'em?" demanded the captain. "maybe it was one of the crew, who had fallen and broken his leg. why didn't you look further?" "because, sir," answered widdy, "it ain't healthy to help mermaids, an' jim carter an' me ran out as soon as we heard her voice. it was the mermaid, sure, an' all on this ship are doomed, davy jones has rooms all ready for us in his locker." "don't be an idiot!" cried captain barton, sharply. "there are no such things as mermaids." "that lobsterman was one," insisted widdy. "he vanished into fog as soon as he got out of sight, an' turned into a mermaid, an' come aboard. she's here now." "i suppose the lobsters he left us were mermaid lobsters, too," suggested the commander, trying to make the old sailor see how foolish was his superstition. "i don't know nothin' about that, but there's a mermaid below, in the after compartment, near the shaft tunnel, sir, an' i know it!" insisted the old salt, shaking his head. dick hamilton gave a sudden cry. "captain barton, i believe i know what that is!" he exclaimed. "come on," and he made his way toward the stern of the yacht, while the commander, wondering what was going to happen, followed. chapter xviii the princess passes his excitement increasing at every step, dick hurried to where widdy had said the mysterious sounds came from. as the young millionaire and the captain entered the compartment they heard distinct groans, and a weak voice cried: "help me out! help me out!" "it's him!" cried dick. "get a lantern and help him out!" "help who out?" demanded captain barton. "tim muldoon!" shouted dick. "he's in there--in the shaft tunnel--hurt, most likely--that's where he's been all this while! hurry and get him out! show a light!" widdy, whose courage had returned with the presence of dick and the captain, passed forward a lantern he had. dick crawled into a dark passage, which was partly occupied by the long propeller shaft of the yacht. a moment later he uttered a cry. "tim! tim! we're going to get you out! we thought you were drowned! come and help me, captain! tim's hurt!" "oh, i'm so glad you came," spoke the newsboy, faintly. "i--i thought no one would ever come. i--i crawled in here----" and then his voice went off into a weak whisper. "he's fainted!" cried the young millionaire. they soon had tim out of his uncomfortable prison, and in his berth, where he quickly revived under the care of captain barton, who was a sort of doctor and surgeon combined, as indeed every seaman of ability is usually. tim's eyes slowly opened, and the color came back into his pale cheeks. they had taken off his heavy oilskins, which he wore when found in the after compartment. he looked around on the kind faces of dick and his chums, who were crowded about the stateroom door. "i'm still here--am i?" asked tim, faintly. "yes, and we're glad to see you," spoke dick. "we thought sure you had gone to pay davy jones a visit, as widdy would say. but whatever in the world possessed you to do it, tim? were you in there all the while?" "i guess so," answered the newsboy, while a spasm of pain shot over his face, as a lurch of the ship wrenched him in his berth. "something's the matter with my ankle," he went on. "bad sprain," said captain barton, briefly. "that, and the knock you got on the head, made you insensible. you had a bad time of it. there's a lump on your head as big as a coil of rope." "how did you come to go in there?" inquired dick. "just to see what was there," replied tim, with a faint smile. "i heard the engineer talking about the shaft tunnel, and the thrust block, and the propeller, and i wanted to see what they looked like. so i crawled in----" "you couldn't see the propeller from inside the yacht," broke in paul. "the screw is outside." "i know that, now," went on tim. "but i wanted to see what _was_ in there. there wasn't anything else to do, and as the storm kept us all below decks, i thought i'd do a little exploring. i put on my oilskins, to keep my clothes clean, and crawled in the back part of the yacht. i found the shaft, and saw it going around, and then i must have slipped on some oil, or something, and fallen. anyhow, it all got black, and i didn't know anything for a long time. then i woke up, and felt a terrible pain in my leg and head. i tried to move, and crawl out, but i couldn't. i called, but no one answered." "the noise of the storm was too loud," suggested henry. "maybe," assented tim. "then i must have fainted again, and, when i got conscious once more, i yelled louder. then i heard some one running away----" "that was me," confessed widdy. "i thought you was a mermaid." "i wish i had been one," replied tim, with a rueful smile. "then i'd have known better than to crawl in where i did. but i kept on calling, though i was getting weaker, and then----" "then we came," finished dick. "now, don't think any more about it. we'll doctor you and feed you up, and--well, don't go in there again." "don't worry--i won't," promised tim, and then he took some quieting medicine which the captain mixed for him. they left him to sleep off the effects of his ordeal, and the boys gathered in the main cabin, for a sort of impromptu thanksgiving meeting. the atmosphere of gloom had been dispelled, and they were all happy again, for the thought of one of the members of the yachting party being drowned would have spoiled the whole outing. tim was much better the next day, and the storm had blown itself out, so that he could limp up on deck. there the bracing air brought back the color to his cheeks, and he was soon himself again. the swelling in his ankle went down, and he was able to get about nicely on a crutch made by widdy. "we've got two cripples aboard now," said the old salt, with a grin. "between us both, we'll make an able seaman, though." meanwhile the yacht was slipping through the water at a good rate of speed, lessening the knots between her and the island of cuba. the boys found so much that was new and interesting to occupy them, that time passed all too quickly. "do you think you'll spend much time in cuba?" asked innis beeby of dick one afternoon, as they sat on deck. "well, i want to make a good attempt to find mother's relatives, and it may not be an easy task. why do you ask?" "well, i've got a new camera, and i want to get some good views--that's all." "oh, i fancy you'll have all the chance you want. but if you've got a camera, why didn't you say so before? you can take some pictures here on board. i meant to bring one, but i forgot it. bring out yours and snap some of us." which the fat cadet did, posing dick and his chums in all sorts of attitudes, more or less nautical. the crew, too, came in for their share of pictures, and they were snapped collectively and individually, doing all sorts of things, from clambering up the shrouds to swabbing down the decks. then captain barton had to pose as he was taking a noon observation, while dick was taken in so many different styles that finally he rebelled, when he was requested by beeby to don a ragged suit, and stand in the bows, with his hand shading his eyes, to represent a shipwrecked mariner looking anxiously for a sail. but it was jolly fun, making snapshots, and even grit and gritty had to pose, while hans, the cook was so delighted with the result of his snapshot, that he would have stood on his head for beeby. for the cadet developed and finished the pictures on board, improvising a dark room from a closet. down the coast went the yacht, past st. augustine, jupiter inlet and other places on the florida coast, and it seemed as if the cruise would be run off without serious incident, for they were nearing cuba. but, one day, when in sight of the bemini keys, a group of little islands about sixty miles off miami, jim carter, the chief engineer, hurried on deck to report to dick and captain barton a break in the machinery. "is it serious?" asked the young millionaire, fearing for his fine yacht. "no, only it will mean a delay of a day or so. my men can repair it." "and will we have to lie-to all that while?" dick wanted to know. "we can use the sails, though we'll not make much speed," put in the commander. "oh, well, time is no object," remarked dick, with an air of relief, and then, to the no small delight of the boys, the steamer became a sailing yacht, and they learned many new points in seamanship. but, as the captain had said, they did not make very good time, for the sail area was small for a boat the size of the _albatross_, and at times they barely had steerageway, for the winds were light and baffling. it was on the second day of the machinery being out of commission (for the engineers had not been able to repair it as speedily as they had hoped to) that, as dick and his chums were reclining in deck chairs, the lookout exclaimed: "sail ho!" "where away?" demanded dick, with a seaman's instinct. "astern, sir, and she's overhauling us fast. she's a small steamer." they all looked to where a volume of black smoke indicated the presence of another vessel. the smoke became more pronounced, and, in a little while, the hull of a steamer was visible. the boys watched her through glasses. she seemed to be sailing the same course as was the _albatross_, and was likely to pass close by. but, as she neared the sailing yacht, the steamer suddenly changed her course, and sheered off. she was, however, close enough to enable the boys to read her name without the aid of the glass. "_princess!_" exclaimed paul drew. "why, dick, isn't that the vessel on which they attacked you?" dick did not answer for a minute. he had snatched up the binoculars and was pointing them at the passing vessel. "it might be the same one," he murmured, "yet the name is common enough. i guess----" he stopped suddenly. the glasses came down from his eyes, and he stared at the _princess_. then he cried out: "by jinks, fellows! it doesn't seem possible!" "what's the matter?" asked beeby. "see your best girl aboard her, dicky, my lad?" "no," answered the young millionaire, "but if i didn't know that he was afraid of the water, i'd say that my uncle ezra was aboard that vessel," and once more dick took a long observation through the glasses. "your uncle ezra?" repeated paul. "yes," went on dick. "see that man standing near the rail? the man with the little bunch of white whiskers on his chin?" "i see him," assented paul, who had taken the binoculars from his chum. "well, he's the very image of my respected relative, only, of course, it can't be him." at that moment the man at the rail seemed aware that he was under observation. he quickly disappeared from view, and the _princess_ passed on. "i wonder if that could have been uncle ezra?" murmured dick. "but, of course, it couldn't be. what would he be doing away off here?" if dick had only known! chapter xix at havana the machinery of the _albatross_ was repaired by the next day, and then the welcome throb and tremor of the screw replaced the stillness and quietness of the sails. but the boys welcomed the change, for, though it was ideal to slip through the summer sea like some great fish, without noise, they had become used to the swifter motion, and liked it. "well, we'll soon be at havana," remarked captain barton, one fine moonlight night, when it was too lovely to go to one's stateroom. "have you any special orders, captain hamilton?" "none, except that we'll stay there until i can make some inquiries of don ferdinand hondora, the lawyer, regarding my mother's relatives." "and what after that?" "i don't know, exactly. it will depend on what the lawyer says. we may cruise about, go to another part of cuba, or go off camping on some of the keys. we'll decide when we get to havana. i may have to take these cubans back to new york." the completion of the first part of the voyage was made in good time, and one morning, as the boys came up on deck captain barton, pointing to a line of haze on the horizon, said: "there lies cuba!" "good!" exclaimed dick. "now, we'll see what happens." they at once got ready for a landing, though it would not be for some hours yet. every one on the yacht, though the voyage had been most pleasant, was glad of the prospective change. hans, the cook, got up a specially fine dinner in honor of the occasion. "haven't you anything for grit and the puppy, hans?" asked dick, as he passed the galley. "they're both hungry." "sure, i feeds 'em," answered the german, who was cutting up some meat from pieces brought from the refrigerator, for the _albatross_ was fitted up with an artificial ice-making machine. "i gifs dem some nice bieces of meat," went on hans. a few minutes after this the young millionaire was startled to hear snarls, growls and barks coming from the direction of the galley, while, mingled with the noise made by the dogs was the voice of the cook crying: "don't! stop i dells you, grit! behafe yourself alretty now! i did not mean to onsuld you. i--i--oh, herr hamilton! come quick alretty yet! your bulldog will devour me! oh! ouch!" a moment later a very much frightened german cook burst out on the deck. he was carrying a plate of meat-scraps, and behind him, growling and snarling, came grit, his legs working in and out like the pistons of a steam engine. but, as the animal's legs were short, and as the cook had long ones, the race might not prove so unequal. "what's the matter?" cried dick. "stand still, hans! grit won't hurt you!" "he vunt; hey?" cried the german. "vell, i ain't goin' to take no chances--no, sir, herr hamilton! i runs; dot's vot i do! stop chasin' me!" the cook cried, turning to glance at grit. but this nearly proved disastrous for him, as he stumbled over a rope, and only recovered himself as grit almost reached him. "what does he want?" shouted dick. "here, grit! stop it! come here! what does he want, hans?" "he vants me, but, py jimminity, he don't got me, not if i knows it alretty yet!" responded the german. "i fools him!" and with that the cook, dropping his plate of meat, sprang up into the shrouds of the aftermast. at once grit lost interest in the chase, and stopped to eat the scraps of meat, while hans looked down at him from his perch of safety. "there, you see," said dick, laughing. "the meat was all he wanted. grit was hungry." "ha! i knows pretty vell alretty dot he vos hungry," admitted hans. "but i t'ought he vos hungry after me; so!" "he was hungry after you," cried paul drew, who had witnessed the chase, and he doubled up with laughter. "you can come down now," suggested dick. "grit won't hurt you." "vait until he has all dot meat eaten up, den i comes down," replied hans. "he vunt be hungry so much alretty," and he would not descend until grit, licking his chops, had gone to lie down in the sun. "how did it happen?" asked the young millionaire. "i never knew grit to chase any of his friends." "i ain't no friend to him--not no more--no, sir," declared hans, firmly. "i vos goin' to feed der dogs, as you tolt me, herr hamilton, und i got der meat, und i gif der little dog some first, und den your big dog, he growled avay down in his throat, und he took after me, un--vell--i runs, mit der meat--dot's all; see?" "yes, i see," spoke dick. "grit was jealous because you fed the puppy before you fed him. grit is used to eating at the first table. he didn't mean any harm." "dot's all right, only me an' him ain't friends no more, dot's all," said hans, with an injured air, as he descended to the deck. "i vos goin' to gif him--_ach himmel!_ der soup is burnin'! i schmell her!" and, with a cry of anguish, he ran toward the galley, where he was soon rattling away amid his pots and pans. if the soup was burned no one noticed it at the excellent dinner which the cook served later. he seemed to have gotten all over his fright, and he even spoke kindly to grit, who appeared to have forgotten his temporary lack of manners. the _albatross_ docked late that afternoon, and, with expressions of delight and wonder at the sight of what, to them, was practically a foreign city, dick and his chums went ashore. they were soon in the midst of as much bustle and excitement as the slow-moving natures of the residents of havana permit. "by jove! this is great, old man!" exclaimed beeby, as he waddled up the pier, with a smile on his fat, good-natured face. "i've never been in cuba. there'll be lots of new sights, and i can get some stunning pictures. there's an old man asleep on that bale who will make a good subject," and the stout cadet proceeded to snap the "subject." but, just as he was ready, some one called to the sleeping man. he awoke with a start, gave one look at beeby and the camera, and, with a spanish expletive, rolled off the bale, and ran away as fast as his legs would take him. "hum! i wasn't going to shoot you!" exclaimed the fat lad in disgust. "now, i've wasted a film," for he had pressed the button just as the man moved. the american youths were surrounded by a crowd of natives, who talked rapidly, in "more or less united states" as dick said. the young millionaire observed tim looking wonderingly about. "miss anything, tim?" he asked. "yes, i don't hear anybody hollerin' 'extree--extree!' down here," replied the newsboy, to whom the excitement of an edition, hot from the presses, was lacking. "no, i fancy extras are few and far between down here," agreed dick. "but, fellows, i want to go to see that lawyer, so as to know what plans to make. so, if you'll step in here, and have some chocolate on me, i'll leave you for a while, and come back," and the wealthy lad led his companions to a restaurant built partly on the street, with tables in the open air, where soon they were being served, while mr. hamilton's son asked his way to the office of the attorney, of whom he wished to make some inquiries regarding the missing valdez family. chapter xx off to santiago "ah, senor hamilton, i will be most happy to do all in my power for you," remarked don ferdinand hondora, the spanish lawyer, when he had read slowly through the letter of introduction from the law firm of blake & carrington, which epistle dick handed him. "most happy to oblige you. you do me an honor to call on me thus, and to-morrow--or _manana_--as we spaniards say--_manana_, i shall be most happy to set on foot an inquiry to locate the valdez family." "can't you do anything to-day?" asked dick, who was used to business being attended to promptly. "to-day, my dear senor hamilton? to-day?" and the lawyer looked surprised. "why, already i am in my office later than i ever stay. it is unusual that i am here to this hour. it just happened so by accident. no, nothing can be done to-day. perhaps to-morrow--or the next day----" "why not to-day?" asked dick, bluntly. "i am willing to pay----" "it is not a question of money, dear senor hamilton," and don ferdinand hondora shrugged his expressive shoulders, elevated his eyebrows, and made deprecatory gestures with his fat hands; "money does not figure. but now it is the hour for the band to play in the plaza, and i like to listen to it as i sit and sip my chocolate. business is over long ago for havana. i shall be most happy to have you join me at the plaza. my carriage will be here shortly." "thank you, but i have left my friends, and i must return to them," answered the youthful millionaire. "but i will be here early in the morning, and----" "not--er--not too early, if i may venture to suggest such a thing, my dear senor hamilton," spoke the lawyer, gently. "i seldom breakfast before ten, and at eleven o'clock i shall be most happy to receive you." "very well, eleven o'clock then," conceded dick. "and then we can take the rest of the morning, and the whole afternoon, to looking into this matter." "pardon me, senor, but did i hear you aright--the _whole_ afternoon, did you say?" and don ferdinand hondora looked pained. "yes--why not?" "ah, but senor hamilton forgets that there is the noon siesta to be taken into consideration. one must have the siesta or--well, business is never done during the siesta or sleep hour," and once more the spanish lawyer shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and threw his hands out in front of him as if he had no further use for them. "well," remarked dick, with a sigh, "when you're in rome, you have to do as the romans do, i suppose." "that's it, senor hamilton!" cried the attorney, with a relieved laugh. "and when one is in havana, he goes to hear the band, he sips his chocolate, and he takes his siesta at the usual hour. to break the customs is to--well, it is never done," and once more he went through his little performance, which seemed to save him considerable in the way of talk. "then i'll meet you here at eleven o'clock," added the youth, as he turned to go. "i'll leave these papers, which my father gave me, with you, and, if you should happen to hear any news this afternoon, or evening, you might send word down to my yacht--the _albatross_. we're going to stay on board to-night, and put up at a hotel to-morrow. so, if you have any word----" "pardon me, senor hamilton, it is not likely that i shall have any word of the missing family, who are distant relatives of your late respected mother, to-night--hardly possible. all business is over in havana long ago. now, i go to hear the band, and to drink my chocolate, and i would only be too happy to have your pleasurable company." "no, thank you, i must get back," answered dick, and, having witnessed don ferdinand hondora give once more his shadow-pictures with his shoulders, eyebrows and fingers, dick parted from him, after an elaborate series of bows and handshakes. "this life is too slow for me," remarked our hero, as he got outside, and made his way back to where he had left his chums. "business from eleven to twelve, and from three to four, i presume. two hours a day! whew! if dad was down here he'd turn things upside down, and as for uncle ezra, he'd have a conniption fit! a _siesta_! good land! i'm beginning to feel sleepy myself!" the youth walked rapidly along, thereby attracting much attention, for his pace was entirely different from that of the slow-moving and leisure-loving cubans and spaniards. dick found his chums waiting for him, and they had had their fill of the very excellent chocolate served to them. the young millionaire explained his visit to the lawyer, and amused them with his account of the easy-going methods in vogue. "think of a lawyer closing up his office to go to hear the band play!" exclaimed dick. "it sure is odd," agreed beeby. "if it was a ball game now, it wouldn't be so bad." "but there's nothing to hinder us from going to hear the band; is there?" asked paul drew. "especially as we're very likely to see some pretty girls," added frank bender. "i say let's go." "all right," agreed dick, always ready to fall in with the wishes of his guests. "i'll call a couple of carriages. it seems that no one who can afford to ride walks in havana." accordingly, in easy-moving, open carriages, drawn by rather sorry-looking specimens of horses, the lads were soon rolling down to the open plaza, where a marine band was already making music. the boys thoroughly enjoyed the varied strains, and they were equally interested in the scenes all around them. the day was fine, and a large throng was out, many cubans and spaniards, and not a few americans strolling about, while more were in open carriages. frank's remark about the pretty girls was not a bit exaggerated. there were hundreds of them, dark, languishing spanish beauties, some of whom favored our friends with quick glances from their snapping, black eyes. the boys dined in a havana restaurant that evening, where they saw more to interest them, while the highly spiced food was a source of some conjecture to them. "guess i'll have to have some more water, dick," spoke tim muldoon, after he had emptied several glasses. "what's the matter; too much salt in something?" asked frank. "i noticed it myself." "no, it's too much pepper," replied the newsboy. "gee-horse! but i struck a mouthful of the red kind that kicks, just then!" and he drained his glass, which a waiter filled, the man laughing silently the while. "i guess we'll have to get used to it," remarked dick. "i should think, though, that, eating so much red pepper as these folks do, that they'd have a little more motion to them. 'to-morrow' seems to answer for everything. i couldn't stand it for very long at a stretch." they spent that night on the yacht, after an evening in the plaza, where the band continued to play. the next day, at eleven o'clock, dick again visited don ferdinand hondora, who leisurely began to examine the documents regarding the valdez family. "it will be a difficult piece of work," he remarked finally, "but i think i can promise you a report in a month, senor hamilton." "a month! i've got to have it inside of a week!" cried dick, and, after much argument, and lifting of his eyebrows, shrugging of his shoulders and throwing out of his hands, remarking the while that such a thing--such haste--was never heard of in havana, the lawyer agreed to do his best. it was two weeks later before he made his final report, with dick importuning him every day, for, after the yacht had been tied up at havana seven days, our hero and his chums found they had exhausted the possibility of amusement in that cuban city. true, they made excursions inland, and enjoyed the slow-going, easy life, but dick wanted action, and his plan of going to some lonely island, and camping out, seemed to strike his friends as just right. so it was with no little satisfaction that the young millionaire was informed one day, by don ferdinand hondora, that the case was closed, as far as he was concerned. "i have made diligent inquiry, senor hamilton," spoke the spanish advocate, "and your valdez family is not in this vicinity. they did live here, but they left about the time this island was acquired by the united states. there was much confusion of records at that time, and the best i can learn is that the family now consists of father and son, the senors miguel and raphael valdez." "but where are they now?" asked dick, impatiently. "ah, now we are coming to it," spoke the spaniard, with his usual course of motions. dick thought he might have "come to it" some time ago. "i learn," the lawyer went on, "that they were last heard of in santiago de cuba. if senor hamilton is pleased to go there next week, or the week after----" "next week?" cried dick. "i'll start to-night!" "ah, such haste!" murmured the spaniard, as he looked at his watch. "very well. it is now the hour for the band to play, and for me to sip my chocolate, but if you will come in to-morrow i will be pleased to give you a letter to a lawyer friend of mine in santiago. come to-morrow----" "can't you give me the letter now?" interrupted dick. "ah, senor hamilton, such haste! already the band is playing, and i----" "if i can't get the letter now, i'll have to leave without it, senor hondora. i'm in a hurry!" "ah, santa maria!" the lawyer's head nearly disappeared amid his shoulders, so high did he lift them, and his eyebrows were a half-circle, but he sat down, and slowly wrote out a letter by hand, giving it to dick. "don't you use a typewriter?" asked the young millionaire. "a typewriter? the saints forbid! it is too rapid--too--er--what you americans call swift," explained the attorney, with a smile. "there is no need of such haste," and pocketing the generous fee which dick paid, the lawyer bowed our hero out, with a look of relief on his face. five minutes later don ferdinand hondora was in his carriage, riding slowly on his way to the plaza, to hear the band play, while dick was hurrying toward his yacht. "well, the first part of my search ended in failure," he said. "now to try santiago." that night the _albatross_ put to sea, on her cruise to the other side of cuba. chapter xxi the kidnappers dick and his chums spent the better part of a week making the voyage around to the chief city near the southeastern end of cuba. the weather was fine, and there were many novel sights to attract their attention. they passed several other vessels, and with some dick and paul exchanged wireless greetings. dick sent several messages home, as did also his chums, and there were some aerograms in reply. mr. hamilton communicated with his son, and commended his plan of making a further effort to locate mrs. hamilton's relatives. "but if you don't find them in santiago, what will you do?" asked beeby, when the boys and their host had talked over their plans. "go off on a little trip, come back, and try the next likely place," answered the young millionaire, grimly. "i'm going to find them." as the _albatross_ swung into santiago bay, past the lighthouse at the entrance of the harbor, those on board of the trim yacht would have been interested if they had known how closely they were observed from the deck of another vessel, hidden from view around the point. and the name painted on the bows of the hidden craft was _princess_, though stress of weather had almost obliterated it. narrowly did an old man on the deck of the _princess_ watch dick's yacht glide up the harbor. he was a man with a little bunch of white whiskers on his chin, and they moved up and down when he talked. "well," he remarked slowly, as he laid aside a glass through which he had been peering, "them fellers in havana told us true. my nephew did sail for santiago, and here he is." "and i said we'd beat him here," remarked a man standing on deck. "so you did, sam newton, so you did," assented ezra larabee, "an', because we got here first, i'll pay you the ten dollars extra, as i promised." "when?" demanded ike murdock. "jest as soon as----" "as soon as the kidnappin' is done?" asked simon scardale. "hush! don't use that word!" exclaimed mr. larabee. "ain't i told you this ain't a regular kidnappin'; not in the eyes of the law. it's for my nephew's good." "well, we'll soon have him, if things go right," muttered ike. "now, what's the program, mr. larabee? shall we follow that yacht up the bay or stay back? we've laid here long enough." "i should say we had," admitted the crabbed old man, with a look of anguish, as his hand felt of a wallet in his coat. "and expenses going on something frightful all the while. never mind, i'll take it out of my nephew richard's money, that's what i'll do. i hoped we could catch him in havana. why didn't you?" and the old man looked reproachfully at those whom he had hired to do the risky work. "didn't have no chance," murmured guy fletcher. "but we'll get him now." "i hope so, and end this terrible expense i'm under," went on mr. larabee. "better start the ship, ike. no use burning coal, and standing still." with ill-concealed contempt for their employer, the two men went to give the necessary orders, and soon the _princess_ was following dick's yacht up the harbor. there were so many vessels moving to and fro that there was little danger of detection. all unconscious of the nearness of his uncle, and the unscrupulous men and youths whom mr. larabee had engaged, dick and his chums went ashore as soon as the _albatross_ was docked. "well, it certainly feels good to be on dry land again," remarked beeby, as he got his camera ready for some snapshots. "i hope i get some good pictures." "and i hope i find those people i'm searching for," said dick. "say, if you fellows will amuse yourselves a bit, i'll look up this other lawyer," he went on. "i guess it will take him about a week to get started, and the sooner i begin the quicker i'll be through." "i guess we'll have some cocoanut milk for a change," suggested paul drew, when dick had ridden away in a dilapidated carriage, toward the lawyer's office, and the cadet led the others into a place where a specialty was made of cocoanut milk, drawn directly from the fruit, the top of which the clerk sliced off with a big knife, not unlike a _machete_ in shape. "fine!" gurgled henry darby, as the delicious beverage trickled down his throat. "dandy!" was the opinion of the others. they strolled about the city, and after an hour of sightseeing, beeby proposed that they go down to the dock, where dick had agreed to meet them on his return from the lawyer's office. as the lads approached the pier, henry, who was in the lead, called out: "why, there's dick now, waiting for us." the others looked, and saw a lad of exactly dick's build and height gazing at them. and, what is more, his features bore a strong resemblance to those of the young millionaire. but a glance at his clothes showed that they were not such as were worn by our hero. "that isn't dick," said beeby. "that's so, but it looked an awful sight like him," agreed the young iron merchant, with a laugh. "i beg your pardon," he added, for the youth had seen the attention paid to him. "granted, senor," was the reply, and the boys started, for his voice had tones in it resembling dick's. a nearer view made his features seem even more like those of the young millionaire, but he was darker in complexion. still, had he worn better clothes, and had he and dick stood side by side, more than a casual glance would have been needed to distinguish the difference between them, for dick was almost as dark as a spaniard or cuban. "dick's double," as the chums dubbed him, moved away, and, soon afterward, our hero appeared. he was amused at the account of some one who looked like him, and said he hoped the unknown would not run up any accounts in the name of hamilton. "well, how did you make out with the lawyer?" asked paul. "about the same as with don ferdinand hondora. he says it will take two weeks to make inquiries, and when i tried to cut him down to one he nearly fainted on my hands. but, come on, let's go aboard, and report to captain barton." dick and his friends spent that evening wandering about the city. they had engaged some carriages to drive them to various points of interest, but, at the last moment, dick changed the program, and proposed a visit to the opera house, where a musical comedy was being presented. the boys thoroughly enjoyed the play, and, as they came out with the crowd of pleasure-seekers, they were aware that something unusual was taking place in the street. there were a number of police officers and soldiers hurrying to and fro, and many commands in excited spanish were being given, while, in the distance, shots were heard. "what's it all about? is there a fire?" asked henry. "maybe it's an extra edition out," suggested tim muldoon, hopefully. "no, somebody walked along in a hurry, and the people can't get over it," declared beeby. "what's the matter?" asked dick of one of the drivers of the carriages he had hired for himself and his chums. "kidnapping!" exclaimed the man, who spoke fairly good english. "kidnapping!" repeated dick. "who was taken?" "i don't know. some young fellow, i heard the police say. it seems that some men off a yacht came ashore, and followed him. he ran, and tried to get away, but they took after him, and, just as he got in front of this theatre, they grabbed him, put him in a carriage and drove off. the police rushed up, but----" "they were too slow," finished paul, with a laugh. "but why did they kidnap him?" persisted dick. "i do not know. for ransom, perhaps. it is sometimes done. he was a young fellow, and, maybe wealthy, though his dress did not show it. but will the senors be pleased to ride farther with me?" "guess we might as well," assented dick. "a kidnapping, eh? i'd like to hear more about it, and know who the fellow was." "it will be in the gazette to-morrow--or the next day," said the driver, calmly. "yes--always _manana_," murmured dick. "if it was in new york, there'd be an extra out about it by this time," declared tim, in disgust. "this is a great country--not!" and dick and his chums drove back to the yacht, little dreaming what an effect on all of them the kidnapping was to have, and that very soon. chapter xxii the wrong captive while the police and soldiers of santiago were hurrying about like mad, trying to find some trace of the kidnappers who had acted so boldly, there might have been seen, driving rapidly down a dark and unfrequented street toward the water-front, a closed carriage. the man on the seat was urging his steeds to faster speed in response to calls from occupants of the coach, which, as the vehicle passed under a dim lamp, could be seen to contain two men and a boy. "well, we got away with him all right, ike," spoke the taller of the two men, as he looked at the youth sitting between them. "yes, and he didn't make near as much fuss as i expected. from what happened when we tried it last time, i thought sure he'd put up a stiff fight. and where was his dog, i wonder, sam?" "that's right, i didn't see the brute anywhere on shore. but i'm glad of it. once to feel his teeth is enough. hurry up there, driver, whatever your name is, or they'll be after us. old man larabee will be glad enough to see us, and get started out to sea again, so keep moving." "_si_, senor," answered the driver, and he lashed the horses, though the animals seemed to be doing their best. "it _is_ sort of curious he didn't make more of a fuss," remarked ike, glancing at the youth huddled up between him and his confederate. "maybe he's waiting until he gets a good chance to spring out," suggested sam, taking a firmer grip on the kidnapped youth. "he'd better not try it!" fairly growled ike. "look here, my wealthy friend," he went on, snarling the words into the ear of the frightened and shrinking youth, "don't try any of your funny tricks now, or my partner and i will be forced to take extreme measures, as they say in the books. we'll do it, too, no matter if your uncle ezra did warn us to be careful, and not harm you. you've given us trouble enough, and we won't stand for any more nonsense; will we, sam?" "that's right. but he won't have much more chance. we're almost at the pier, and we'll soon be aboard the yacht. then----" "pardon, senors!" exclaimed the lad in the carriage, and then followed a question in rapid spanish. "here, drop that kind of lingo," growled ike. "we don't understand anything but plain united states talk." "pardon, senors," spoke the youth again, gently, but with an accent of fear in his tones, and this time he used fairly good english. "pardon, but you are taking me to a yacht; yes?" "sure--to your uncle ezra," answered sam. "i have no uncle ezra." "no uncle ezra! come, that's a good one!" exclaimed ike. "but i s'pose you're joking. that's why you talked spanish to us. no uncle ezra, eh? next you'll be telling us your father isn't a millionaire." "he is not, senors," was the simple answer, and the youth could hardly restrain the sobs in his voice. "i am the son of a poor man, by name--er--alantrez," and the youth appeared to hesitate. "why are you taking me away?" he went on. "if it is for ransom, it will be useless, as we are poor--my father and i." "poor! ha! ha! that's pretty juicy!" chuckled sam. "i wish i was as poor as you and your father are, kiddo!" "same here," added ike. "but you have no right to take me away like this," declared the youth, with more spirit. "it is infamous! it is wrong! and when the police hear of it you will suffer." "we don't care a fig for the police of cuba!" declared ike. "we walked away, right under their very noses, with you, and all they did was to rush about, waving their swords and firing their revolvers in the air, like a lot of kids at a fourth of july celebration. police! huh! we don't worry about them!" "but what do you want with me?" persisted the lad. "haven't i told you that your uncle ezra larabee wants to have a talk with you," said sam. "he's afraid you're wasting your money, and he wants to sort of supervise it. he claims he has that right, being your mother's brother, as long as your father won't do it." "you are pleased to speak in riddles, senor," remarked the youth with dignity. "i repeat that i have no uncle ezra larabee. that is no cuban name. also, my mother, who is among the saints, she had no brother. likewise i am not rich--i wish i was. i am only pedro alantrez, as i have said." "now, don't waste any more words talking like that," suggested sam newton. "do you mean to say you're not dick hamilton, the millionaire?" "certainly not, senor," declared the youth, with dignity. just then the carriage approached one of the few street lights. the two men peered forward, and looked full in the face of their captive. "well, that's pretty good!" announced sam. "take a close look at him, ike. isn't he dick hamilton?" "he sure is," was the firm response of ike murdock. "i've seen him too often lately, and at close quarters, to be mistaken. but here we are on the pier. i hope guy and simon are waiting with the boat, and we'll soon be away from this half-civilized country." the carriage came to a stop, after rumbling over the plank flooring of the pier, and the two men alighted, fairly dragging their captive after them. the lad hung back, and a cry of protest and fear came to his lips. then, seeming to feel that he was called upon to be brave, he drew himself up proudly, and said: "you need not drag me, senors. i will go with you, but you will regret your action. you are under a great mistake." "stow your talk," commanded ike, roughly. "if we're making a mistake we're getting paid for it, and you needn't be so high and mighty with us. 'senors' be hanged! talk english!" the lad did not answer, but followed his captors, who had him by an arm on either side. sam flung the driver of the coach some money, and the vehicle rumbled off in the darkness. "now, if guy and simon are waiting, we'll be all right," murmured sam. as they approached the stringpiece he gave a cautious whistle, which was answered from a small boat lying out a little distance from the wharf. the craft was rowed in, and a few seconds later the two men with their prisoner were aboard, while guy fletcher and simon scardale handled the oars, and sent the boat out toward the yacht _princess_. "did you get him?" asked simon, when they were well out from the shore. "sure," answered sam, "though he says he isn't dick hamilton." "you know _me_, don't you, dick?" asked simon, with a sneering laugh. the captive returned no answer. as the rowboat approached the yacht, a figure could be seen leaning over the rail--the figure of an old man. "did you get him?" he called in a cautious whisper, as the craft came alongside the accommodation ladder. "sure thing," answered ike. the five were on deck shortly, and mr. larabee, approaching the youth who had been kidnapped, said: "i'm sorry, nephew richard, that i had to act this way, but it's for your own good, as you will come to acknowledge in time. it is done to prevent you from making a beggar of yourself. now, if you will come below, i'll explain my plans to you. my, but i'm glad this chase is over! i had a hard time to get you--me and er--me and these friends of mine. but now i have you, and we'll go back home. yachting is terribly expensive--terribly!" with a sigh, the old man led the way to the cabin. the others, including the captive, followed. the latter maintained a grim silence. in the well-lighted apartment uncle ezra turned to behold his nephew. he looked once, and started. twice, and he threw up his hands in amazement. then he cried: "land o' goshen! you've got the wrong boy! what does this mean? this isn't my nephew, richard hamilton! you've made a terrible mistake! oh, dear! oh, dear! now, i'll be sued for damages!" "a mistake?" echoed ike murdock. "a mistake?" faltered sam newton. "mistake?" chorused guy and simon. they all took a good look at the youth whom they had kidnapped. there was no doubt of it. though he bore a strong resemblance to dick hamilton, the lad was unmistakably a cuban or a spaniard. he drew himself up proudly and fairly glared at them. "what did i tell you, senors?" he asked, softly. "fooled!" gasped ike, and, as he spoke, the yacht began to gather headway, for the engineer had orders to get in motion as soon as the party came from offshore. "we are moving! you are taking me away!" he sprang toward the companionway. "easy now," cautioned sam, roughly. "stay where you are. maybe we did make a mistake," he went on, turning to mr. larabee, "but it may be all right, after all. we'll keep this young fellow aboard. i think ike and i can fix up a scheme that will change matters a bit," and with that he thrust the young spaniard into a small room off the cabin, and locked the door. meanwhile the yacht was increasing her speed, and moving out of the harbor. chapter xxiii dick on the trail the santiago papers, the next day, contained a full account of the bold kidnapping, and, with fervid language, described how the scoundrels had spirited the cuban youth away from under the very noses of the police. strong and vigorous action was called for, and it was suggested that a reward be offered. there had been too many cases of late, the gazettes stated, where youths had been taken away, and held for ransom. in this case the object of the kidnappers was likely to fail, the papers stated, as the victim was the son of a poor man--senor alantrez--who would be unable to pay any money. senor alantrez was a clerk in the government employ, and he and his son were worthy persons, it was said. "well, i call that a shame!" exclaimed dick to his chums, as, seated on the deck of his handsome yacht, he was reading aloud to them the account of the outrage. "the police here ought to get busy, for a fact." "is that all there is to it?" asked beeby. "no," answered the young millionaire. "there's more. it goes on to say that it is believed that the boy was taken off in the yacht--hello! what's this? why, fellows, it says that he was taken off in the yacht _princess_, which recently came here from new york. there was something mysterious about the craft, it states. mysterious! i should say so. why, i'll wager a good bit that this is the same yacht they tried to get me aboard of, to rob me!" "you're right," exclaimed widdy, who was stumping about the deck, near the boys. "that's her name, mr. dick." "but it might not be the same one," suggested paul. "wait until i read a bit further," said dick. "yes," he went on, "it says that men from the yacht were seen in several places about town yesterday and last night. and the description of them tallies with those two men who followed me about in new york." "you don't think they tried to kidnap you, do you?" asked henry darby. "not a bit of it," answered the young millionaire. "i think they were just ordinary thieves, but i also think that they might attempt a more desperate game down here. probably they are the same fellows, who took a trip in their yacht to see what luck they would have in cuba. then they decided to try kidnapping, as the paper states there have been several cases of it lately. only they happened to get the wrong lad--one with no money--instead of a rich chap." "yes, they would have done better to have picked up you," remarked frank bender. "but, when they find out their mistake, they'll let this pedro alantrez go, i guess." "sure," agreed dick, "and it will be a good joke on them. i hope they are caught and punished." they discussed the kidnapping further, wondering if it would be of any service to the police for dick to tell what he suspected of the men--namely, that they had followed him in new york. "i think i would," suggested beeby. "i'll go ashore with you, and we'll call on the police. we'll tell 'em what you know, and i can get some good snapshots of the officers, maybe." "oh, you and your snapshots!" exclaimed dick, good-naturedly. "you'll be taking your own picture next, beeby. but i think your proposition is a good one. fellows, let's go ashore. widdy, have the launch gotten ready; will you?" "aye, aye, sir," answered the wooden-legged sailor, and soon the young millionaire and his chums were scudding toward the landing dock. while the others rode about the city in carriages which dick hired, the young yacht owner and beeby were driven to the office of the chief of police. dick's reputation as a master of money had preceded him, and he was ushered into the private room with no little ceremony. he told his suspicions of the men who had taken part in the kidnapping, and received the thanks of the official, who said he would communicate with the police of new york, toward which city the scoundrels were undoubtedly bound. as dick came out of the chief's private room he saw, standing at the desk of one of the lieutenants of police, a man who seemed greatly affected. he was evidently under some poignant grief or sorrow. "and you say there is no news?" he asked in spanish, which language dick understood slightly. "they have taken my boy out to sea! oh, my poor son! why can not a boat be had to follow the scoundrels?" "because there is no boat available," answered the lieutenant. "we would gladly accommodate you, senor alantrez, but it is impossible." "that is the father of the boy who was kidnapped," said the chief, in a low tone to dick. "he will be glad to meet you, and to know that you have given us some information that may prove valuable. come, if you like; i will present him to you, senor hamilton." "very well," assented dick, and he was shortly shaking hands with the grief-stricken parent. "do you think there is any chance of catching the villains?" asked senor alantrez of dick, in fairly good english. the man seemed nervous and anxious for some one to give him hope. "yes, i think they'll get them," declared the young millionaire. "when those men find out that your son is not--er--not as--" dick hesitated. he did not wish to embarrass the father by referring to him as poor. "do not be afraid to speak it, senor," said mr. alantrez, with a sad smile. "poverty and i have been close friends, of late, though we were not always such. i am poor, and i am glad, for now the scoundrels may the sooner return my son to me. if there was but a fast boat to be had, we would give chase to them. but there is none to be secured without much money, and i, alas, have none. so i must wait; but it is hard! my poor boy!" dick's face shone with a sudden light, and his eyes brightened. he took a step forward. "would you like to get a boat, and take a cruise after those men who have your son?" he asked. "ah, senor, it would give me the utmost happiness! but why ask me? i can get no boat." "yes, you can," cried the young millionaire. "i wonder i didn't think of it before. my yacht, the _albatross_, is at your disposal, senor alantrez! if you will be my guest we'll get up steam at once, and trail after those villains! i'd ask nothing better than to run them down!" and dick's eyes sparkled with righteous anger. "they tried to injure me, and i'd be glad of a chance to get back at them. come, senor, we'll start at once, if you are ready, and i think we can overtake the _princess_, though she has a good start." "oh, i can never thank you enough, senor!" cried the father, seizing dick's hand, and attempting, in his warm, spanish way, to kiss it, only the lad drew it quickly away. "i am your debtor for life!" he cried. "wait until we see if we catch those fellows," spoke dick, as he led the way from the police station, followed by senor alantrez, and beeby, who had been busy taking several snapshots. the chief of police and his lieutenant shrugged their shoulders. "these americanos!" murmured the chief. "they are always in such a hurry. to-morrow would have done as well." but dick, hurrying toward his yacht, with the now hopeful father, waited for no to-morrows. he was going to get on the trail at once. chapter xxiv off for stone island dick's chums, when they returned to the yacht, after waiting in vain for him at the plaza, where the band played, and where he had promised to meet them, were surprised to see him in earnest conversation with a spanish gentleman on the deck of the _albatross_. "well, we've been looking everywhere for you, dick," said paul drew. "we were beginning to be afraid you had been kidnapped." "the saints forbid!" cried the cuban, fervently and earnestly. "come here and meet a friend of mine," invited dick, and, when the lads crowded up, he presented them to senor alantrez--that is, all save beeby, who, having accompanied dick to the police station, was already acquainted with the father of the kidnapped lad. "we are going to sea once more, fellows," announced the young millionaire. "we're going to chase after those kidnappers." "but what about the search you came here to make?" suggested paul drew, in low tones. "aren't you going to look for your mother's relatives?" "yes, but i've got the lawyer doing that. he can accomplish all that i can, and more too, only not so quickly. it will be two weeks before he has any definite news for me, and, in the meanwhile, i don't want to stay tied up to a dock. i want to be doing something." "that's dick hamilton, all the way through," murmured henry darby. "so i proposed to senor alantrez that we give chase to these villains, and we're going to," went on the young millionaire. "we'll start as soon as we have taken some coal aboard and some more provisions, and that can't be until to-morrow morning, i'm sorry to say. but we are a faster boat than is the _princess_, and we may be able to overtake her, even if she has a start of us." "where will you look for her?" asked frank bender. "oh, along the route to new york. i think they'll head for there, or, maybe they'll come back, when they find out their mistake." "the saints grant that they may," murmured the father. "oh, if i can see my boy again, unharmed, i will be happy forever!" "we'll get him," promised dick, firmly. "we'll get him, or twist off the propeller!" dick hurried all he could the coaling of the yacht, but even his utmost efforts were of little avail. the laborers were not in the habit of exerting themselves, and they took the usual time. captain barton did manage to get the stores and provisions aboard sooner than he expected, but taking on coal was a slow and unpleasant task. at length, however, it was finished, and dick, having left word with the santiago lawyer that he might be gone on the search for several days, prepared to sail. captain barton had taken counsel with some local pilots as to the best plan for their cruise, and had secured considerable information about a number of islands, and dangerous reefs in the neighborhood of the coast off santiago. senor alantrez readily obtained leave from the government office, where he was employed, to be away for as long as was necessary, and, on the second morning after the kidnapping, dick, with his friends, and the father of the missing lad, stood on deck, and gave the order to cast off. "and when we come back, i hope we'll have your son, and also those scoundrels who took him away," said our hero to the grief-stricken father. as the yacht was slowly moving away from the dock, a boy was seen running down the pier, waving something over his head. it looked like a letter, and he was shouting at the top of his voice. "there's some one for you, mr. dick," said widdy, who was smoking his pipe near the after companionway. "wait, we must see what that is," called the youthful yacht owner. "perhaps it's a note from the police about the kidnappers." captain barton swung the indicator over to half-speed astern, and the craft's way was checked. the boy with the letter came on faster. "wonderful!" cried beeby, as he saw the speed the lad was making. "i must get a snapshot of him. i have really lived to see some one in cuba in a hurry! i must make a picture of it, or no one will believe me when i tell them." he focused his camera on the lad, who, seeing the glistening glass point at him, ducked, and would have run back. "stop it!" commanded dick, with a laugh. "wait until he delivers that letter, beeby, and then you can snap him going back. he's afraid to come on." the cadet put his camera out of sight, and the boy advanced again. "is senor alantrez on board?" he asked in spanish. "yes, yes, i am here! what is it? is my boy found? is it news from the scoundrels who carried him away?" and the father was trembling in his eagerness. "it came to the office for you," explained the boy, "and they hurried me down here with it. it arrived through the mail, senor." with a skilful flip of his fingers he sent the envelope scaling on deck, like a miniature aeroplane. dick tossed the lad some coins, and, picking them up, he ran back up the pier as if some one was after him. "quick, beeby!" called paul, "if you want a snapshot, now's your chance." "now he's in _too_ much of a hurry," objected the cadet, as he snapped his camera at the fleeing lad. "wonderful to relate, he's entirely too quick for me." senor alantrez was reading his letter. as he finished it he uttered a cry, and extended the missive to dick. "it is news of my boy!" he exclaimed joyously. "the scoundrels have given him up. oh, the saints be praised! now, we can get him--if only he is unharmed. see--read, senor hamilton!" the note was brief, and was written in english, which senor alantrez was familiar with. dick perused it: "senor alantrez," the letter began. "we regret having been the cause of annoying you, but it was not altogether our fault. we made a mistake. we did not mean to kidnap your son. we wish to restore him to you unharmed, but we do not care, for obvious reasons, to venture back to santiago. therefore, we have taken this plan: we will leave your son on a small island, called stone island, where you can call for him at your leisure. he will be provided with sufficient food and water to last two weeks, and, in addition, there is food to be had on the place. he will not suffer, as the weather is warm, and there are natural shelters on stone island. regretting the trouble we have caused you, at the same time assuring you that it was unintentional, we beg to remain unknown to you, except as "the kidnappers." "well, what do you think of that?" cried beeby, when dick had read the letter aloud. "talk about nerve!" exclaimed paul. "what'll you do?" asked tim muldoon. "do, why the best thing is to go to stone island," decided dick, promptly. "this letter may be a fake, but it sounds genuine. anyhow, it won't be much out of our way to call there; will it, captain barton?" "no," announced the commander, after consulting his charts, and some memoranda given him by a santiago pilot. "stone island is a small one, rather isolated, to be sure, and not near any others. it is about a hundred miles south of the laberinto de doce leguas group of keys, which are themselves only a few miles from key grande and key caballones, two rather large islands. i think we can pick up stone island, all right." "then we'll do it!" cried dick. "this letter came in the nick of time. we'll rescue your son, senor alantrez, and do it as soon as steam can take us there. i hope we find him all right, though he may be a bit lonesome from his robinson crusoe existence." "oh, my poor boy! but he is brave! once he is out of the hands of those scoundrels, all will be well!" "it's the only move they could make," said dick, reflectively, "for they knew they would be arrested if they set foot on cuban soil. now, to the rescue! let her go, captain barton!" and once more the yacht gathered headway, and was soon on her way to stone island. chapter xxv dick's yacht is gone as may well be imagined, there was, at the start of this voyage, more excitement aboard the _albatross_ than at any time since the eventful cruise had been begun, save, perhaps, during the time when it was thought that tim muldoon was drowned. dick was eager to make speed to the island where the kidnapped youth was said to be, and, after that, he had it in mind to chase after the kidnappers, if he could get a clew to their whereabouts. this, however, he feared would be difficult. as for captain barton, and the others, they, too, were all as anxious as was the owner of the yacht to effect the rescue, and, as the craft sailed over the heaving ocean, the boys talked of little else as the hours passed, save what would happen when they found the marooned youth. senor alantrez took up his position near the bows, peering eagerly forward, as if to get the first glimpse of the lonely island where his son was supposed to be. the yacht, though it was making good time, seemed to him barely to be crawling through the water. but, after the first day of travel, matters settled down more into the usual routine, though the subdued air of excitement and expectancy was never absent. "well," remarked innis beeby one morning, as he got up from the breakfast table, "i think i'll take a few snapshots." "for the love of a celluloid film, beeby!" exclaimed dick, "is there anything on board that you haven't snapshotted? if there is, name it, and i'll make you a present of it as a souvenir." "well, i haven't been able to get a picture of grit and gritty together," answered the stout cadet. "they won't stand still long enough. every time i think i have them posed, the pup makes a nip at grit's ear, or tail, and then they mix it up in a make-believe fight, and it's all off." "why don't you take 'em as they're playing," suggested paul. "make a sort of moving picture." "by jove! i never thought of that," said beeby. "i'll do it," and he hurried off to get his camera. dick was busy for the next few minutes, talking to captain barton, but his attention was suddenly taken by a series of howls and yells, mingled with barks and growls, coming from the main deck. "by jinks!" dick exclaimed, as he ran up the companionway, "i guess grit is after hans again." he was just in time to see his bulldog shaking something in his strong jaws, while beeby, who had arisen from a sprawling position on the deck, was crying out: "here, grit, old fellow, give it to me! that's a good dog! don't smash it, now! come on, old fellow. i didn't mean you any harm; honest, i didn't!" grit only growled the harder, and shook more vigorously the object he held. "what's he got?" asked dick. "my camera," replied the fleshy lad. "i was taking a snapshot of him, sitting alone--the first chance i had at him--but when he heard the shutter click, i guess he must have imagined i was trying to poison him. he made a jump for me, and----" "did he bite you?" asked the young millionaire, anxiously. "no, he only grabbed the camera away from me, and now he's trying to make splinters of it. drop it, grit, i say!" but the bulldog, growling and snarling, never heeded. "here, grit!" called dick in a low voice. "bring it here!" the dog obeyed instantly, and the camera, rather the worse for wear, as paul said, was laid on the deck. "here it is--guess it isn't hurt much," observed dick. "if it is, i'll get you a new one, beeby, and you can sell that to henry darby, for old scrap iron and leather." "humph! it looks pretty well chewed," spoke beeby, "but i guess it's all right. i hope he didn't shake it so hard that he fogged the film." "maybe he took some views on his own account," suggested frank bender. "i'm going to develop the roll and find out," declared the fat youth, and he came back presently from the improvised dark room, to report that the only good picture on the strip of film was the one of grit. it had been taken just before the dog sprang, and was a characteristic likeness. several days passed, with good weather to make the cruise more enjoyable. senor alantrez maintained his watch for the first glimpse of stone island, the others taking observations now and again through the powerful glasses. it was toward the close of a warm, lazy afternoon, when dick and his chums were sitting on deck, under an awning, sipping iced lemonade and eating some thin crackers which the steward served to them, that from the lookout in the crow's nest, at the forward mast, there came a cry: "land ho!" "where away?" demanded captain barton. "dead ahead!" "then, that must be what we are looking for," went on the commander. "i thought it was about time we picked it up." dick sent for the glasses, and, taking an observation through them, reported that he could see a low-lying island, which bore a resemblance to the description given them of the lonely land whither they were bound. "and oh, if only my son proves to be there!" exclaimed the anxious father. "let's make a little more speed," suggested dick, "and we can anchor, plenty of time before night." the engine room telegraph gave the necessary order, and the yacht slipped through the water more quickly. the island loomed up larger, and, though dick and his chums could see it plainly now, through the binoculars, there was no sign of life about it. "maybe it's only a blind trail they sent us on, after all," suggested paul. "i'll not believe that, until we've landed and made a search," cried dick. in another hour the _albatross_ had dropped anchor in a quiet little bay, where there was good holding ground, and sufficient depth of water. they could get a partial view of the island now. it was possibly five miles long, and about half as broad, with a very much broken and indented shore-line, as far as could be seen. there appeared to be a heavy growth of vegetation on the place, which was partly of coral formation, but from the bay, where the yacht was anchored, no very good view could be obtained. the centre of the land was high and rocky, showing evidences of volcanic formation. "well, we're here!" cried dick, as the _albatross_ swung around with the current. "now to go ashore and find your son, senor alantrez!" "and may that be speedily!" exclaimed the father. "i can not thank you enough, senor hamilton, for bringing me here; i am ever your debtor!" "nonsense!" cried dick, who did not relish praise. "any one would have done as much as i have. get the launch ready, mr. midwell, if you please, and we'll go ashore." "who are going?" asked paul. "well, i thought we fellows would all go," said dick, "and senor alantrez, of course. then i'll take widdy to help with the boat, and that will be enough. unless you want to come, captain barton." "it's not necessary, unless you think you'll need help. i don't like the looks of the weather, and i should prefer to stay by the ship, when i'm on an unknown island coast." "oh, i don't fear anything from those kidnappers," said dick. "they've probably gone long ago, leaving the young man here alone. we'll very likely find him on the other side of the island. perhaps it will be as well for you to stay on board, however, captain. come on, fellows." "yes, don't lose any time," advised the commander. "i'd like to get plenty of sea room, if it comes on to blow, as seems likely now." the gasolene launch was quickly awaiting the young millionaire, and his guests, at the foot of the accommodation ladder, and soon, with widdy at the steering wheel, dick and the other five young men were on their way ashore. they found an easy, sandy beach on which to land, and, taking the kedge anchor of the launch well up on shore, to prevent the tide from floating off the craft, they all started inland to look for the kidnapped youth. grit and the puppy raced on ahead, gamboling over the sands, and glad enough to be on shore again. "which way shall we go?" asked dick. "to the right," decided paul. "looks like a better place off to the left," came from beeby. "if i might advise," remarked widdy, "i'd make for the high ground. then you can get a view over the island, an' see if there is a signal shown anywhere, or some sort of a place where he might live." "good idea!" cried dick; "we'll do it! come on, fellows! come on, senor alantrez!" forward they went, climbing the rough, high land in the centre of the island. it was no easy task to mount to the summit, and, when they were near it, dick, who was in the lead, called: "quiet, everybody! i hear some one coming!" there was a sound of crackling underbrush, and of tree branches pushed to one side. "maybe it's an animal," suggested paul. "i brought one of your rifles, dick." "good! have it in readiness, though it walks more like a person than an animal." the sounds suddenly ceased. "maybe it's some of the kidnappers," came from beeby. "if i get a chance i'll snapshot 'em, and we can use the pictures for evidence. i----" beeby didn't have a chance to finish. a moment later there was a sudden cry of joy, and a figure burst through the fringe of underbrush. right toward senor alantrez it sprang, and paul, who had half-raised the rifle, lowered it, for he saw that the figure was that of a youth. "padre! padre!" shouted the lad, and then in rapid spanish he greeted his father. "my son! my son!" cried senor alantrez, in delight. "i have really found you! the dear saints be praised! heaven has been good to me!" and father and son were clasped in each other's arms, while dick and his chums felt the moisture come into their eyes, and they found something exceedingly interesting to look at in the other direction. the two cubans embraced warmly, held each other off at arms' length, as if to make sure there was no mistake, and then clasped each other close again, all the while murmuring endearing terms in their own tongue. "but i forget myself!" exclaimed the elder cuban at length. "pedro, here is our benefactor--yours and mine--but for him, you would never have been found. kiss his hand!" "no, you don't!" cried dick, who was not used to such things. "i don't want to be thanked. i've been thanked enough. if i hadn't come here for you some one else would. but i'm glad you're all right, pedro alantrez. did those scoundrels treat you badly?" "no, it was all a curious mistake, and, as soon as they discovered it, they set me ashore here, and said my father would be told where to come for me. i have been waiting two days. i have not suffered, save from loneliness. i erected a signal on the other side of the island, and i was crossing to put one up over here, when, as i was walking along, i heard voices. i grew afraid. i hid, but when i peered out, and saw you, i knew it was all right. oh, padre, how happy i am!" "well, we're glad, too," spoke dick, "but as it's growing late, and as captain barton says a storm is coming up, suppose we return to the yacht. i fancy you have had enough of this place, pedro?" "too much, senor hamilton. i shall be glad to leave it." they turned to make their way down the slope. it was getting late, though there was still plenty of light. they had been out of sight of the yacht and launch for some time, as the bay where they had landed was on a curve, and trees hid it from view. as they came down to the beach, where they should have had a glimpse of the launch, dick rubbed his eyes, took a second look, and cried out: "fellows, we're not sailors. the launch has been carried away by the tide!" "carried away by the tide?" repeated widdy, wonderingly, as he stumped forward. "it couldn't be! she was well fastened, and the kedge anchor was out of reach of high water." "but she's gone!" declared dick. "maybe we're at the wrong place," suggested paul. "this is where we landed," insisted henry. "it sure is," agreed beeby. "i remember it, for i took a picture of the launch as it was drawn up on the beach, and i stood near this big shell," and be pointed to one of peculiar formation. "then captain barton must have come ashore and got the boat," said frank bender. dick glanced across the bay. there was a wide expanse of water, but nothing was visible on it. a cry of fear and wonder came to his lips. "fellows!" he exclaimed, "my yacht is also gone!" "gone?" echoed the others. silently dick pointed to the place where the _albatross_ had been anchored. there was no mistaking it, for the craft had been just opposite where the launch landed. but the yacht was not there, and a rapid survey of the shore in both directions did not disclose either her or the launch. "fellows, we're marooned on this island!" spoke dick, solemnly. chapter xxvi marooned for a few moments after dick had spoken his companions hardly realized the import of what he said. it came rather as a shock to them, following the disappearance of the launch and yacht. senor alantrez and his son looked at each other, not quite understanding, for, though they spoke english fairly well, the talk of the young millionaire and his chums had been so rapid and excited that the two foreigners had not gathered the full meaning of what was said. "is it that the steamer has gone, but will return presently?" asked the elder cuban of dick. "it's gone--that's sure," was the reply, "but whether it will come back or not----" the lad shrugged his shoulders, a spanish trick he had acquired lately. "what does it all mean?" asked beeby. "is the yacht really gone, dick?" "do you see it anywhere?" inquired the young millionaire in his turn, and he swept his hand toward the ocean. "if you do, you have better eyes than i. and the launch seems to have disappeared also." "but i can't understand it," put in paul. "i guess it's as frank said," remarked henry darby. "the captain saw a storm coming up, and came to get the launch. then he put out to sea." "he wouldn't do it, and leave us marooned on this island, with nothing to eat," declared dick, positively. "no, fellows, there's something queer and mysterious about this. either the yacht and launch suddenly sank, which is out of the question, or they were taken away. pedro alantrez," he went on, turning quickly to the young cuban, "did those kidnappers, who landed you here, go away?" "as far as i know, they did, senor hamilton," was the answer. "they anchored about where you say your yacht was, and brought me ashore in a small boat, with some food. then they rowed back, got up steam, and sailed away, leaving me all alone." "did you think those men might have stolen your yacht, dick?" asked beeby. "i was beginning to think so--in fact, i was sure of it, but if they went away i don't see how they could. they would hardly stay around, after sending word to senor alantrez that his son was here, knowing, as they must have, that he would come to get him. it wouldn't be safe for them. no, they probably have gone, but there may be cuban pirates, or some other criminals, on this island, who sneaked around when we were inland, and took the launch and yacht." "but they'd have to overpower captain barton and the crew to do such a thing," objected frank bender. "well, that's possible," argued dick, "especially if they sneaked up on the _albatross_ in the launch. captain barton and the others, seeing the yacht's launch approach, wouldn't suspect anything until it was too late. i'm afraid something serious may have happened to them. did you notice any signs of pirates, or other desperate characters, on the island since you have been here?" asked dick, of the young cuban. "no, senor, but then i did not explore this place much. i was too full of grief. i merely erected a signal on the other side of the island, and was coming to do the same here, when i met you." there was silence for a few minutes, while the grim, dismal fact that they were marooned on a lonely and seldom-visited island, sank deeper into the minds of the young millionaire and his chums. they gazed helplessly across the stretch of ocean, which was fast becoming covered with a haze, added to which the falling darkness made it impossible to make out objects more than a short distance away. "well, what's to be done?" asked beeby at length, and he emitted a sigh. "if we've got to stay here all night, we'd better do something." "we'll probably have to stay here for several nights and days," declared dick. "fellows, we're up against it. i think the first thing to be done is to go to some high point--the highest on the island--and see if we can get a glimpse of the yacht. it can't have gotten out of sight so quickly." "maybe not, but by the time we get to the high point, it'll be so dark we can't see anything," put in widdy, who had said little since the astonishing discovery was made. "if i might say something, mr. dick, i'd say the best thing to do would be to find a shelter for the night, as it's cold an' damp when the sun goes down." "it's about down now," replied the young millionaire. "but, you're right, widdy, we do need shelter." "and something to eat," added beeby. "what about that, dick? i'm hungry!" "don't think of it," advised paul. "i can't help it, when i remember all the good things on board the yacht," went on the fat cadet. "the chicken, the roast beef, the soups, the pies and cakes that hans used to make--the omelets, and----" "cut it out!" yelled frank. "do you want us all to die of indigestion?" "not much danger," put in dick, with a grim laugh. "but let's take a vote on what to do. where shall we spend the night?" "at a moving picture show, or a comic opera," said tim muldoon, with a laugh. "that's right, jolly us up a bit," cried dick. "we need it. but it's going to be serious enough later on." "pardon, senors," spoke the young cuban, "but of the food which the kidnappers left me there is still a considerable quantity left, and the few days i was alone here i made a sort of shelter on the other side of the island. if we hasten we can get to it before dark, and spend the night there. it is better than on this side of the island." "fine!" cried dick. "why didn't you say something about that before, pedro?" "i did not like to interrupt the senors," was the lad's gentle answer. "but the food is not very choice, and there is not much of it." "it'll have to do," declared the wealthy lad. "come on, fellows, for a walk over the hill to the other shore. we'll make-believe we're on a practice march, paul and beeby." "sure," agreed the fat cadet, "only let it be more practice than march, if you please, for my feet are sore." they started off, retracing their course in the same direction as when they had looked for the kidnapped lad. dick led the way, with grit coursing along at his heels, while widdy carried gritty, the puppy, whose short legs got tangled up in the underbrush. they reached the other shore just as dusk fell, and there saw a mass of leaves and branches which the spanish lad had piled into a rude sort of shelter. he showed them where he had stored the canned stuff which his captors had left for him. "why, that isn't so bad," announced dick, as he saw the food supply. "is there any fresh water?" asked tim muldoon. "i'm as dry as a fish!" "there is a good spring near here," announced pedro. "then we'll build a fire and camp out!" declared paul. "being marooned isn't so bad, after all; eh dick?" "maybe not," agreed the young millionaire, as he helped the others gather fuel for the fire. soon a cheerful blaze was roaring on the beach, fed by pieces of driftwood which widdy brought from various points. the leaping flames illuminated the place, and cast dancing, fantastic shadows of the little party upon the sands. "frank, you get some water," ordered dick, "and then see what you can find to boil it in. pedro says they left him some coffee." "yes, and a few cooking utensils," added the cuban. "i think there is also a coffee pot." "good!" cried dick. "beeby, drop your camera and get busy. what do you think i'm paying you for--to pose as a living picture?" "i was going to take a snapshot of the fire," pleaded the fat lad. "make a snapshot of yourself bringing up more wood," ordered dick, with a laugh. "we'll need it before morning. tim, you and paul and henry get busy on enlarging the shelter. there is quite an addition to your family, pedro, since last night." "yes, but there will be room for all," said the elder cuban, cheerfully. nothing mattered to him, now that his son was found. and so the marooned party, gathered about the fire, took a happier view of their situation as they bustled about, trying to get something to eat, while widdy piled the wood on the blaze, and the two dogs played about in the sand, as if the whole affair was arranged for their especial benefit. chapter xxvii dick finds his relatives it can not be said that the supper was a very elaborate one. they ate canned corned beef and crackers, and drank coffee from clam shells and empty tin cans, but dick said it tasted as good, if not better, than the most complete meal hans, the cook, had ever served to them on the yacht. "it sure does," agreed beeby, with a sigh of satisfaction. "i'll have a little more of that fricasseed corned-beef on toast, with a bit of mushroom sauce on the side, if you don't mind, old man," and he passed his clam shell to dick. "you'll have nothing of the kind," announced the young millionaire, peering into the frying pan, in which the beef had been warmed, "for the simple reason, beeby, that it's all gone." "ah, a very good and sufficient reason," admitted the stout cadet. "then i'll fill up on water. there's plenty of that." they sat about the campfire after the meal, discussing over and over again the strange disappearance of the launch and yacht, but being unable to come to any conclusion regarding the matter. dick's theory, that some criminals (who were either concealed on the island, or who had been on their craft, hidden in some bay) had sneaked out to the yacht when the young millionaire and his chums were prospecting inland, was generally accepted. "but what can we do about it?" asked henry darby, who was intensely practical. "we'll think of that in the morning," decided dick, who was both worried and tired. he knew their situation was desperate, for the food supply was very limited, and he dared not think what would happen when it was all gone. and, in a measure, he felt a sense of responsibility for the welfare of the whole party. "let's get under shelter now," went on the young yacht owner. "it's getting damp and chilly from the dew. in the morning we'll make a better shelter, see what there is on this island to eat, and put up some signals. it will probably be only a short time before we can be taken off by some ship." but, though he spoke thus hopefully, dick was far from feeling the confidence with which he wished to inspire his companions. the night under the flimsy shelter would have been uncomfortable to a degree had not the faithful widdy replenished the fire at frequent intervals. indeed, he scarcely seemed to sleep, but was up and about all night, piling on wood, and making a roaring blaze the genial heat of which penetrated to the bower where dick and the others were stretched out on the ground, endeavoring to get a little rest. widdy constituted himself cook, and the first sight that greeted the eyes of dick when he crawled out the next morning, rather sore and stiff, from his uncomfortable bed, was the old seaman, stumping around on the sand, making coffee over the campfire. "my, but that smells good!" cried the young millionaire. "just tell the steward to serve mine in my stateroom this morning, will you, old chap?" drawled beeby. "i think i'll lie abed a bit longer." "yes, you will!" cried paul drew, and, with a shove of his foot, he sent the fat lad rolling out of the bower, and over the sloping sand toward the waves. "'up, up, lucy, the sun is up, and we must be up, too,' as it used to say in the school books," cried dick, gaily. "we've got lots to do to-day, fellows, and we'd better get at it. so, after some coffee and rolls--we'll omit the omelet this morning, because--ahem!--because the hens seem to be off on their vacation--but after some coffee and hard-tack we'll get busy. we must set up some signals of distress, erect a better shelter, see what food we have on hand, look to see what there is to be gotten here, and take another look at the place from where the launch disappeared. maybe we can discover some clews. come on, tumble out, everybody!" "me for a dip in the briny!" cried paul, and, stripping to his undergarments, he ran down the beach, and was soon splashing about. the others followed his example, with the exception of widdy and senor alantrez, and when the lads came back, glowing from their bath, they found a table set on the sands--a primitive table, with tin cans for cups, and shells for plates. but no coffee ever tasted better, as they sat around in negligee costumes and drank it, for the weather was warm enough to permit of light attire. "now, fellows, here's the program, as i see it," said dick, when the meal was finished. "senor alantrez, his son and i will go over to the other side of the island and erect some sort of a distress signal. we will also take a look around while there. widdy, you and henry darby and tim muldoon can get busy and make a better shelter. you have pocket-knives, and can cut branches when you can't break 'em. paul, you and beeby take a stroll around, and see if there is anything to eat on this place. take the rifle, which you were lucky enough to bring with you, paul, and if you can pot a brace of quail or a roast turkey, so much the better." "and i'll take some pictures," added beeby. "yes, it will keep you out of mischief," declared dick, smiling. "now we all have something to do." "aye, aye, captain hamilton!" exclaimed paul, with a left-handed salute. "your orders shall be obeyed." "i wish i had some sort of a hatchet with which to cut a tree to stick down near the beach for a signal pole," went on dick. "the kidnappers left me one, but it's not very sharp," said pedro alantrez, as he brought it forth. "it'll have to do," observed the young millionaire. "now, come on. we'll be back to dinner, fellows, so be sure to have a good one ready," he added, as he and the two spaniards started across the island. when the wealthy youth and his companions reached the high ground in the middle of the place, they looked long and earnestly across the waste of waters, but there was no sign of the yacht, nor any other vessel. dick could not help sighing, as he started to ascend the slope. "i regret, senor, that you have suffered so much on my account," spoke pedro, softly. "your fine yacht is gone." "but i'll get it back!" declared dick, with anger in his eyes. "it wasn't your fault at all--i'm only too glad that we came here for you." they made a careful examination of the beach upon which the launch had been hauled when the party went ashore, but no clews could be had. the tide had washed away most of the footprints, and those that were left were so intermingled that it could not be told whether they had been made by dick and his chums, or by strangers who landed, took away the launch and thus reached the yacht. "well, we'll put up a signal, and leave a note in some stones at the foot of the pole, telling any rescue party that may land, to come to the other side of the island," proposed dick. "and there's another thing--what shall i make the signal of?" "we'll have to use some of our clothing," suggested senor alantrez. "i can spare my vest." "i guess we all can," said dick. "we don't need 'em in this climate, and three vests, fluttering from a flagstaff, will attract attention almost anywhere." they cut down a tall, slender tree, tied their vests to it, one below the other, and then, digging a hole in the sand with the hatchet, well above high-water mark, they set up the pole. the signal showed conspicuously. "now, that's done, we'll take a walk along the beach before we go back," proposed dick. "maybe we can find some clams or some crabs to eat. well, this is certainly a change from what i was doing yesterday. by the way, pedro, how did you come to be kidnapped, anyhow. i meant to have you tell us, but so many other things happened that i overlooked it. did you get any clew to who the men were?" "i was just going to speak about it myself," said the young cuban. "i meant to last night, for i think you are much concerned in it." "i am concerned in it?" "yes." "how is that?" asked dick, wonderingly. "because i was kidnapped by a man named ezra larabee, and the men he hired to take me away thought they were taking a certain dick hamilton." "my uncle ezra here? he wanted to kidnap me? they took you for me?" gasped dick, wondering whether he had heard aright. "yes. you and i strongly resemble each other," went on the spanish youth. "i know that," assented dick, "but--my uncle here--trying to kidnap me? it seems incredible. what vessel did he have?" "the _princess_." "ha! then it _was_ the same one on which they tried to decoy me while in new york. i begin to see through some things," cried dick. "those men--the two who attacked me--they were kidnappers instead of thieves, as i thought. but i never suspected uncle ezra, though he did bitterly oppose me in this yachting business. but what can be his object? is he crazy?" "he is possessed with an idea that you must be prevented from wasting your money," answered pedro. "i gathered that much while a captive on the _princess_. he wants to kidnap you for your own good, he says." "then he must have gone insane. to think of taking you for me!" "yes, your uncle was very much put out over the mistake the men and boys made," said pedro. "boys--were there boys aboard the _princess_?" asked dick. "guy fletcher and simon scardale," answered the spaniard. "guy and simon? worse and more of it!" cried dick. "but how did my uncle happen to get in with them--how did he get away down to cuba?" "it seems that he followed you from new york," went on pedro, who had overheard considerable during his captivity. "he knew you were coming to cuba to look up some distant relatives." "that's right, so i did, but i don't seem to be able to locate them," said the young millionaire. "i am looking for some relatives of my dear mother--their names are miguel and raphael valdez, but they seem to have disappeared." "miguel and raphael valdez?" gasped senor alantrez, springing to his feet. "are you searching for _them_, senor hamilton?" "i am, but i've about given up. they are not to be found, and i'm sorry, for mother wished to have them aided if they were in want. besides their signatures are needed to important papers. however, if i can't locate them----" "they _are_ to be found!" cried the elderly cuban. "where?" asked dick, eagerly. "here," replied senor alantrez, with a dramatic gesture. "allow me to make known to you the identity of myself and my son. i am senor raphael valdez, and he is miguel, and we are relatives of your mother, if you are the son of mortimer hamilton." "i certainly am," responded the youth, in puzzled tones, "but i thought your name was alantrez." "i changed my name when i lost my money, as i was too proud to let my friends know of my misfortune," went on senor valdez, as we must now call him, "but we really are the last of the valdez family, as i shall soon convince you. we are your mother's relatives, though i never suspected it, for the name hamilton is not uncommon. please to be seated, senor, and i will relate our story to you," and the cuban politely waved dick to a seat on the sand. "and to think that i have been chumming with you all this while, and never knew you were my relatives!" cried the young millionaire. "this beats a story in a book. go ahead, senor, tell me all you can, and then we'll hurry back to camp with the good news." chapter xxviii building a raft senor raphael valdez was not long in proving the identity of himself and his son. several years back he had fallen in love with a miss rose martin, who was dick's mother's cousin. he had married her, taken her to cuba, where he had large possessions, and, after many years of happiness she had died, leaving him an only son. when the war with spain broke out, all of the wealth of senor valdez was swept away, and he became poor. unwilling to let his friends know of his plight--for his was a proud spanish nature--he changed his name, and he and his son set out to mend their broken fortunes. but it was hard work, and for years he struggled along, concealing his whereabouts to such advantage that none of mr. hamilton's inquiries located him. finally senor valdez, under the name of alantrez, secured a place with the government, in santiago, his former home, but he and his son had so changed in appearance that none of their former friends knew them, and they had no near relatives. all this the elder cuban related to the young millionaire, as they sat on the sands at the foot of the signal mast. "and that accounts for the likeness of you and my son," finished senor valdez. "he has some of the martin blood in his veins, i am glad to say, and i am proud that your mother, senor hamilton, was related to the martin family." "so am i," added dick, "and i'm happy that i have found you. i have been able to fulfil the mission my mother left unfinished, and also clear up dad's property affairs. i hope you will not be too proud, senor, to accept help from me," he continued wistfully, for dick liked nothing better than to help other people. "besides, there is a tenth share of the property in new york coming to you." "you have already placed me so much in your debt that i am overwhelmed," said the cuban, warmly. "then you might as well let me make a complete job of it," spoke dick, quickly, with a laugh. "but, suppose we start back. the others may be getting anxious." senior valdez returned to his pocket certain papers, by which he had proved his identity, and arose. "come on, cousin miguel," dick said to the cuban lad. "i'm going to call you cousin, from now on, if you don't object." "i am honored," answered miguel, with a stately bow. exploring part of the beach, near the signal mast, dick and his two companions found a number of soft clams, of which they gathered a quantity, carrying them in a bag which the kidnappers had left with miguel. "we'll have them steamed on a fire in a pile of seaweed," suggested the young millionaire. "it'll be a shore dinner, though the usual fixings will be missing." they found the whole party assembled on the beach, near the campfire, waiting for them, paul and beeby having returned empty handed. there was rather a glum look on their faces. "what's the matter?" asked dick. "you look as if you'd lost your last friend." "we didn't find any grub," explained beeby. "but _we_ did, and i found something else," went on the lad of millions. "here are slathers of soft clams. we can't starve while they hold out." "we saw some like those, but i didn't think they were any good," remarked beeby. "we were looking for something worth while." "you'll find these worth while when you're hungry," went on dick. "come on, now, fellows, get a good fire going, gather some seaweed and we'll have a feast. but, first, i've got some news for you," and he proceeded to relate his unexpected, but perfectly simple, finding of the relatives he had come so far to seek. "it's just like when once i found a whole lot of scrap iron i wasn't expecting," declared henry darby, and then he wondered why dick and the others laughed, hastening to explain, as soon as he saw the joke, that he had no intention of comparing the young millionaire's relatives to iron junk. while the boys were discussing the strange outcome of the affair, widdy was busy with the steaming of the clams. in a short time an appetizing aroma filled the air, which caused the boys to inquire anxiously when the "shore-dinner," as they dubbed it, would be ready. they ate in rather primitive fashion, with fingers doing duty for knives and forks, but they all said they had never tasted any better clams, though there was no drawn-butter to dip them into. [illustration: they ate in rather primitive fashion, with fingers doing duty for knives and forks.--_page ._ _dick hamilton's steam yacht._] "now," suggested dick, as they finished, and wished for more, "we will take an account of stock, and see what's next to be done." "the bower or bungalow, or whatever you're going to call it, isn't quite finished," said tim muldoon. "it won't take long," was widdy's opinion; so they all set to work on that, and soon had a fairly good shelter constructed; one that would keep out the cold, and damp night winds. "next is the food supply," went on dick, and when they looked over what the kidnappers had left with miguel valdez there were anxious looks on every face, for the quantity was barely sufficient to last them a week. "there's only one thing to do," declared dick, grimly, "we will have to go on short rations until we are rescued, or until we can get away from this place." "and when will that be?" asked beeby, nervously. "how about it, widdy?" inquired dick of the old sailor; "are any vessels likely to pass this way?" "not many," was the response. "we're out of the track of most vessels, though, of course, there's always the chance of a tramp steamer seein' our signals. as the flagpoles are on both sides of the island, they can hardly miss 'em." "well, we won't sit down and wait for some one to come along," decided dick, after a moment's thought. "if we want to get away from this place we've got to help ourselves." "and how's that?" inquired paul. "are we going to build a boat, like robinson crusoe did, out of a hollow tree?" "not much," declared dick. "we haven't any tools to make a boat, but we can build a raft, and float away on that, and perhaps get in the track of some steamer; eh, widdy?" "i think so, mr. dick. we'll try, anyhow." "but how can we build a raft?" asked beeby. "do you expect us to cut down trees with our pocket-knives? it can't be done, dick. we're in a bad way, and our only hope is a steamer sighting us." "you get out!" cried dick, vigorously. "we may starve before a steamer comes. we've got to get afloat before all our grub is gone, and that means we'll have to build a raft at once. i saw a lot of dead trees in the woods. they're light, and will float well. then we can cut down some others with the hatchet." "and tie 'em together with a fishline, i s'pose?" added beeby, gloomily. "not at all, but if you've got a fishline i can see what you're going to be up against," spoke the young millionaire, quickly. "go off and try to catch some fish, beeby. we can fasten our raft together with wild vines. i tripped over enough in the forest to make a dozen rafts, and they're almost as strong as wire cable. now, get busy, fellows, and we'll soon be afloat again." dick's enthusiasm and energy were contagious. in a short time they were all busy dragging small dead trees from the woods to the beach. the logs were laid criss-cross, and under widdy's direction, were tied together with strong, trailing vines, of which there were many available. to make the raft more secure, they cut down, with the hatchet, a number of saplings, which were bound in and out among the larger logs, giving them the necessary stiffness. at the close of the first day they had a large raft, capable of holding them all, and it was nearly ready to be floated. "but it must have more wood in," decided dick, as they sat about the campfire that night, eating a scanty ration which was served out. "we may encounter a storm, and the more wood we have in our craft the higher it will ride. then we must build a sort of platform on which to store our food and water, and we'll also rig some lifelines, of the vines, to keep us from pitching overboard." "right you are, my hearty! all regular and shipshape!" exclaimed widdy. "we'll get away from this place, and catch those kidnappers yet, split my lee scuppers if we don't!" "and get my yacht back, too, i hope," added the young captain. "i'd like to know who has her." if dick had been able to peer into the comfortable cabin of his yacht at that moment he would have been very much surprised at the sight which would have met his eyes. they renewed work on the raft next morning, after a more comfortable night spent in the bower than was their first. other logs and saplings were added to the rude craft, and a platform was constructed out of driftwood, and pieces of the boxes in which the kidnappers had left food for the young cuban. "there, that will keep our stuff dry for a while, anyhow," remarked dick. "now about taking some fresh water along; what would you advise, widdy?" "water's going to be our worst trouble," declared the old sailor. "but we've got quite a few tins that's had food in 'em. we can fill those, and by only taking a small sip when we're dry it may last us until we are picked up. if it doesn't----" he did not finish, but the boys knew what he meant--they would suffer terribly. for two days more they worked on the raft, for they knew their very lives would depend on its stability, and dick would take no chances. they even made a sort of awning on it--a shelter from the sun--using old bags. then a good-sized cask was luckily cast ashore by the tide, one morning, and that served admirably to hold a good supply of water. all this while a sharp lookout had been kept for passing vessels, but, though once or twice smoke from steamers, hull down on the horizon, had been seen, none approached the island, and the tattered signals fluttered desolately in the wind. but dick and his marooned chums were too busy to give up hope. "if we only had more food i wouldn't worry so much," said the young millionaire, the night before they were to start off on the raft. "our supply is getting lower, and, though we can take along a lot of clams, and maybe catch some fish, it's going to be mighty small eating for a while, fellows." "i had pretty good luck catching fish to-day," announced beeby. "maybe we can get a lot and smoke 'em!" "the very thing!" cried dick. "we'll wait another day, and take along a supply of smoked fish." they crawled into the bower that night, and stretched out on beds of dry seaweed, wondering and fearing what the morrow would bring forth. chapter xxix the rescue with soft clams for bait, paul drew and tim muldoon made up the fishing party next day, while dick, henry and widdy, aided by the two cubans, put the finishing touches on the raft. beeby went off with his camera, which he had brought to the island. he said he wanted to get some last views of the place where they had been marooned. the fishing, which was done off some rocks that jutted out from shore, was good, and soon the two youths had a fine supply. the old sailor cleaned them, and then, laid on a network of sticks, over a slow fire, the fish were smoked, to preserve them for use as food when the voyage of the raft should have been started. the tins and cask were filled with water, and fastened to the raised platform in the centre of the craft. what little food remained was carefully stored aboard, together with as many soft clams as could be gathered. "we can catch some fish as we sail along," remarked frank bender, "but we'll have to eat them raw." "raw? not a bit of it!" cried dick. "i've just thought of something. we can make a stone fireplace aboard the raft, and take along some wood. then, when it doesn't rain--and it's not likely to for a while--we can cook. i never thought of that before, but i've often seen fires built on big lumber rafts, and ours is large enough. we won't have to eat our fish raw, if we're lucky enough to catch any. and another thing, i'm going to rig up some sort of a sail. we can do it with pieces of the bagging. then we can get some motion beside that of drifting. oh, before we get through with this we'll have a regular ocean steamer," and he laughed gaily. he was soon constructing the fireplace on the raft, with a bed of dirt beneath the stones to avoid danger from fire. henry darby helped, and frank bender gathered a supply of dry wood, which was stored in one of the wooden boxes under the platform. then a mast, with a boom at top and bottom, to hold distended a square sail of bagging, was made, and erected. "now, we begin to look like something," declared dick, as he surveyed the raft. "we'll float her at high tide to-morrow, and then we'll see how she rides. she may not be as swift as my steam yacht, but she'll answer, i hope." "what are you going to christen her?" asked henry. "guess we'll call her the _albatross ii_," said dick, and that name was selected. it was now time for the scanty dinner, which was all that could be served, for rations were scarce, when beeby came panting from the woods, and dashed down the beach toward his companions, who were grouped around dick. "i got 'em!" he cried. "i got 'em!" "got what?" asked the young millionaire, anxiously. "a whole lot of birds! they're like chickens, nice, and plump, and fat! i got 'em. i sneaked up on 'em, and they didn't hear me, and i got 'em! they ought to make fine eating!" "good for you!" cried dick. "like chickens, eh? well, we'll wait dinner and cook some now, and also take some cooked ones along on the raft. you're all right, beeby, if you are fat. where are they, and how many did you kill?" "kill? i didn't kill any!" was the surprising answer. "i meant that i snapshotted 'em. i'll make a dandy picture! there must have been a hundred birds! i used my last film on 'em!" for an instant dick looked at the fat cadet. the hope that had risen high in all their hearts was rudely dispelled. beeby gazed about, trying to understand wherein he had offended, for the silence was ominous. "throw him down, and stuff sand in his mouth!" cried dick, at length. "the idea of telling us you have a whole lot of birds like chickens, and we about to eat some scraps of corned-beef, and cold clams, and then, when our mouths are all watering, you say you snapshotted 'em! snapshotted 'em! you ought to be made to eat some fricasseed clam shells, beeby." "why--why, didn't you want me to take a picture of 'em?" asked the stout youth, blankly. "take a picture of 'em? why, in the name of the sacred cat, didn't you shoot some for dinner?" asked dick. "i--i didn't have the rifle. but i'll go back and see if i can pot some. there are hundreds of 'em." "no, we'll have grub first, and then we'll see what we can do. it sounds good, and i guess, after all, you're entitled to a vote of thanks, innis, for discovering them." dick and beeby went hunting that afternoon, and the young millionaire, who was a good shot with the rifle, managed to get a number of the plump birds. they were roasted, and furnished a good supper, while a quantity of the cooked fowl were put aboard the raft for future use. the next morning, bidding farewell to the desolate island, where they had been marooned for nearly a week, the little party floated the raft at high tide, got aboard, and, hoisting the rude sail, while widdy steered with a sweep, which he had improvised from a sapling, and a board from a box, they set off--for where they did not know. there was a light wind, and the day was fair, and widdy, who had all the instinct of an old salt, headed the raft, as well as he could, toward cuba. they did not hope to reach it, or, rather, they hoped they would be picked up before having to sail so far. of their voyage on the raft they talked for many years afterward, for it was a novel experience. at first, it was not so bad, for the sea was calm, and they even built a fire and cooked some fish which they caught. senor valdez volunteered to serve in the "galley," as dick called it, the cuban gentleman proving an expert chef, even with such rude facilities at his command. he and his son were jolly good companions, as well, for, now that they had each other, no hardships seemed too much for them. the raft, naturally, made slow progress, but to the boys anything was better than remaining on the lonely island, waiting for a vessel to take them off. for three days they sailed on, uneventfully. they had enough to eat to keep them from feeling hungry, though there was no great variety, and they had water to drink, though it was flat and warm. they even managed to get some sleep on piles of seaweed which had been put on the raft. but the sea, as if tired of being so calm, kicked up a fuss on the fourth day out, and waves began to come aboard. the fire was put out, and some of the tins of water washed overboard. this was a severe loss, for their scant supply was getting lower each hour. they were wet and miserable, and when it came on to rain, the only consolation in the storm was that they caught a little fresh water. the next day proved hot and muggy, when the body seemed to want as much water as a sponge. dick, backed up by widdy, would let only a little of the fresh fluid be used. the boys were advised to keep their bodies wet, as this helped to slake their thirst. there was little difficulty in this, as the spray and waves kept every one aboard the raft more or less soaked. they had to eat cold victuals, and on the fifth day, even these were limited in quantity, for the food was giving out. it was a forlorn and weary raft of adventurers that sailed slowly over the sea, with every one aboard straining his eyes for a sight of a ship that would rescue them. "it certainly is tough," murmured beeby, when he was allowed but a mouthful of water. "terribly tough! i'm awful dry!" "think of something else!" counseled dick. "we may be picked up to-morrow." they were not, though, and with their supply of food down almost to nothing, and only a little water left, their situation was desperate. poor grit whined and looked up into dick's face, as if trying to understand why he did not have all the meat and water he wanted. the young millionaire (and what a mockery his wealth seemed to him then) shared his rations with the dogs, but would not allow the others to deprive themselves of any of theirs. dick only drew his belt tighter, and gazed off into space, hoping against hope that he would see a ship. he wet his parched lips, and prayed silently--not so much for himself, as for the others, while grit whined at his feet, and licked his hand. the little puppy, not being able to stand the strain, died, and, rather sorrowfully, they cast him overboard. it was on the ninth day out--a hot, broiling day--when the sun seemed fairly to sizzle through the bagging awning, and force out every drop of moisture from one's body. there was not an ounce of water left, and death stared them in the face. they lay about the raft limply, almost too weak to speak. it was widdy who first saw the approaching, ship. at first he feared his eyes were deceiving him, and he rubbed them, and stared again and again, to make sure, before he ventured to cry out: "sail ho!" they all leaped to their feet with new strength at his words, and gazed where he pointed. at first it was but a speck, but they shouted and waved any rag or piece of clothing they could catch up. of course, their feeble voices did not carry, but they must have been seen, for, presently, when the ship was made out to be a steamer, they saw the course changed, and she bore down upon them. "we're saved, thank god!" gasped dick, and there were tears in his eyes, while grit, as if catching the spirit of hope, leaped about, and barked joyously. an hour later they were aboard the steamer _trascaron_, and were being fed cautiously on soup and weak tea, while their raft was abandoned, and with thankful hearts they learned that they were aboard a vessel bound for santiago. "and when we get there i'm going to hire another yacht, and search for mine!" declared dick, with something of a return of his former energy. chapter xxx the pursuit no bad effects followed our friends' exposure on the raft, and starved bodies were soon well nourished by the good food supplied aboard the _trascaron_, whose captain could not do enough for the young millionaire's party. dick asked eagerly for news of his missing yacht, but could obtain none, and was forced to content himself until they arrived at santiago. there his first act was to send a cablegram to his father, telling something of uncle ezra's daring acts, how they were marooned on the island, and of his intention to search for the _albatross_. incidentally, dick asked for some money, since most of his was aboard the stolen yacht, and mr. hamilton promptly cabled a large sum, sufficient to hire a steamer for a month. dick, after fitting himself and friends out with new clothing, next visited the lawyer, whom he had engaged to search for the valdez family, informing the attorney that no further steps were necessary. the cuban father and son were installed in comfortable rooms in the hotel where dick and his companions were quartered, and senor valdez was told that mrs. hamilton, his wife's cousin, had made ample provision for him, so that he could set up in business again. senor valdez and his son also signed certain papers in reference to the property in new york, clearing the title, and making it unnecessary for them to leave cuba. they would receive their tenth share of the value of the land, which, with what provision mrs. hamilton had made for them in her will, placed them beyond the reach of want. "and, now that's done, i'm going to get busy on my own account, and find my yacht," remarked dick one evening to his chums, as they sat in the parlor from which their sleeping-rooms opened. "yes, it's time you did something for yourself; you've had us on your hands long enough," remarked paul. "well, we had lots of fun, even if we were marooned, and nearly shipwrecked," declared the young millionaire. negotiations for the hire of a small, but swift, steamer were completed the next day, and dick and his friends went aboard. of course, grit went also. inquiries had failed to throw any light as to who might have stolen dick's yacht and launch from stone island, nor was any trace found of the steamer _princess_, containing uncle ezra and the men and two youths whom he had hired to kidnap dick. "then, if you can't get any trace, how are you going to know in which direction to search?" asked beeby. "you can't cover all the waters around cuba." "i don't intend to," replied dick. "in the first place, captain barton, and the others of the crew are--or were--aboard my yacht when it was captured. they are either aboard her now or they have been put ashore somewhere by the thieves. in the latter case, we will hear something from them sooner or later, for they'll communicate with us, and we'll get a clue to work on. if they are still held as prisoners, i'll have to adopt a different course." "and what'll it be?" asked paul drew. "why, i think our best plan is to sail back to stone island." "stone island?" cried henry darby. "do you mean to camp out there again?" asked frank. "no, we had enough of that," answered the wealthy lad. "but i have an idea that the men who stole my yacht have a sort of headquarters on that island. we didn't have time to look for it, but it must be there. what would be more natural than that they will either hang around in that vicinity, or even visit the island." "hardly that, if they think we are there still," objected beeby. "that's just it. they may think we have been taken off by some steamer, and that the coast is clear, so that they can come back. if they do we have them, and so i think our best plan is to set sail for the island where we were marooned." "i guess you're right, dick," admitted paul. the next day the _golconda_, which was the steamer dick had hired, slipped away from her dock, and headed for stone island. aboard her, though the boys did not live as finely as they had in the yacht of the young millionaire, they had a good time, and most of their hours were spent on deck, as they cruised on, looking for a sight of the _albatross_. dick declared that he was getting cross-eyed from so constantly looking through the binoculars, but he would not give up. many ships were passed, but they proved to be other than the _albatross_. nor was the _princess_ sighted. "i guess uncle ezra and his crowd had enough, and went back to new york," ventured dick. "my uncle is probably in dankville now, figuring up how much money he lost. oh, won't i have the laugh on him when i jolly him for kidnapping the wrong person!" "i'd do more than _jolly_ him," said beeby, vindictively. "he ought to be arrested." "oh, uncle ezra is a peculiar man," said dick. "he can make himself believe that he acted just right. he's afraid i'll die a pauper in the poorhouse, i guess." forward sailed the _golconda_, even to stone island, but there was no sight of the missing yacht. they anchored in the bay where dick's fine craft had previously come to rest, just before the theft, and, cautioning captain and crew to be on their guard, dick and his chums, well armed, went ashore with widdy, who was now one of their party. but there was no trace of any visitors since they had left to make the voyage on the raft, and they found their camp desolate, and undisturbed. "well, i guess i was wrong, thinking they'd come back here," said dick, rather disappointed, when, after a day spent on the island, they prepared to go back on board the steamer. "but we'll search farther." they did, and the voyage was kept up for a week, sailing here and there, but always in the vicinity of the island. once they returned to santiago to inquire if any news had been heard of either ship, but none had. then they began their search of the waste of waters again, stopping at or near several small islands or keys, and inquiring of many vessels which they spoke as they manoeuvred about. "my yacht seems to have disappeared from this vicinity," admitted dick, ruefully, when the second week was half gone. "i guess i'll have to give up." "don't you do it, matey!" exclaimed old widdy, smashing his pipe down on deck, a favorite diversion of his whenever he was excited. "keep after 'em! you'll find 'em yet, split my lee scuppers if you won't!" and so the young millionaire resolved not to give up just yet. it was on the last day of the second week, when, as they were cruising about almost within sight of stone island, that they saw the smoke of a steamer, which seemed bearing down in the direction of the place where the kidnapped youth had been left. "here comes a ship," spoke beeby, who was using the glasses. "let me see?" requested dick, and he took a long view. "i don't believe it's my yacht," he said, "yet it's coming in this direction, and very few ships have trade or business in this locality. captain, i think we'll steam forward and meet her." the young millionaire's word was law aboard the ship he had hired, and, accordingly, the _golconda_ was put about, and headed toward the unknown vessel. this soon gave them a better view, and the boys crowded around their host, anxious for the first word that would proclaim if it was the yacht they sought, or some other craft. dick's eyes were glued to the binoculars, as he stood on the bridge, peering eagerly forward. "is it her?" asked beeby. "i can't quite make out. she looks something like the _albatross_, yet the funnel is a different color." "maybe they painted it again, to deceive people," suggested henry darby. "why--look--she's turning around!" they all stared in wonder, for the vessel, for some reason, was swinging about in a big circle, retracing her course. "can we go a little faster?" asked dick of the captain. "_si_, senor," was the reply, and the engine room telegraph clanged out an order. the _golconda_ leaped ahead. as the boat, to which the gaze of all was directed, swung around, so that her stern was toward the vessel containing dick and his chums, the young millionaire uttered a startled cry. passing the glasses to paul drew, and bidding him look, dick exclaimed: "it's her! it's my yacht! it's the _albatross_!" "it sure is," agreed paul, a moment later. "i can read her name under the stern." "after her!" fairly yelled dick. "after her, captain! use every ounce of steam you can, for we _must_ catch her!" "i'll go down in the engine room and talk dutch to the firemen," volunteered widdy, who had the privilege of the bridge. he hastened away, while dick took another view of his yacht, that was steaming away from him so rapidly. but the _golconda_ was increasing her speed also, and the "bone in her teeth" grew larger in size, while the screw threshed the water at the stern more violently. the pursuit was on. chapter xxxi "man overboard!"--conclusion of the eagerness with which he watched the chase, and noted the distance between the two vessels, dick was hardly aware at the time. but he realized that he was under a great strain, and none more strongly than when he found he could scarcely open his cramped hands from holding the binoculars, through which he was looking at his yacht. he tried to make out figures aboard the steamer, but could not. "why do you think they turned about and ran?" asked paul. "they probably suspected something," replied dick. "they saw us headed toward them, and got frightened." "do you think you can catch up to her?" asked beeby. "she's going at a pretty good clip." "the time was when i wanted my yacht to be swift," answered dick, "but now i wouldn't care if she was a regular canal boat--until i boarded her. but this steamer's got some speed, too, and i am hoping that those on the _albatross_ won't know how to get the best out of her. in that case, we can overhaul her." but it was not going to be an easy task, as was soon demonstrated. the _golconda_ closed up part of the gap between her bow and the stern of dick's yacht, and that seemed all she was able to do. the stern chase was kept up, and was likely to prove a proverbially long one. then, whether widdy succeeded in infusing some of his own eagerness into the firemen, or whether the _golconda_ took it into her own notion to do better, was not apparent, but, at any rate, she did several more knots an hour, and toward the close of that afternoon, dick was made happy by seeing his stolen yacht nearer to him. "we must get her before dark, or she'll slip away in the night," he said. "_si_, senor," replied the spanish captain. "we will have her soon, now. they are losing speed." and it did seem so. little by little the _golconda_ crept up. persons aboard the _albatross_ could be seen hurrying to and fro on deck, but dick could not make out who they were. "but we'll board her, and put them in irons, whether they're pirates, with the reputation of captain kidd, or not," declared the young millionaire, savagely. nearer and nearer raced the pursuing vessel. the two were now but half a mile apart, and every moment was lessening the distance. dick was in a fever of impatience, fearing something would happen that would allow the thieves of his yacht to escape with her. "we'll have her in half an hour more!" he cried. "eh, captain?" "_si_, senor. perhaps in less. i will see----" he did not finish the sentence. instead he half uttered a cry of astonishment, and pointed toward the _albatross_. dick looked, and saw a figure shoot over the rail of his yacht, and fall into the sea with a splash. "man overboard! man overboard!" he yelled, as if those aboard his own swift vessel could hear him. "why--why--they're not going to stop to pick him up!" cried beeby, who was beside his wealthy chum. "they're going to let him drown!" "he's struggling in the water!" announced paul drew. "shall i----" began the captain, looking at dick. the young millionaire knew what was meant. in the name of humanity they must stop and lower a boat to save the man in the sea, for the _albatross_ was keeping on, at unslackened speed. dick hesitated. the _golconda_ was nearing the struggling figure. to stop meant that his yacht ahead would draw further away--she might so increase her distance that it would be impossible to catch up to her before dark--and then--dick knew the chances were slim of ever seeing his craft again. yet he hesitated only for a moment. "lay to, and lower a boat, captain," he said quietly. "we can't let the poor fellow drown." no one knew what it cost dick to say those words. the engine room telegraph clanged out an order to slow up. almost at once the effect was apparent. the _albatross_ seemed to shoot ahead. a boat was quickly lowered from the _golconda_, and the spanish sailors soon had rescued the man in the water. a limp and wet figure he lay in the bottom of the small craft, as it was rowed back to the steamer's side. dick was gazing at his fast-fleeing yacht, and he could scarcely keep down a lump in his throat. there was a mist before his eyes. he thought she was gone forever. the rescued man was hauled up on deck. "get under way as quickly as you can, captain," ordered dick, as the boat was hoisted to the davits. "we may catch them yet." "_si_, senor." dick strolled off the bridge to inquire how the half-drowned man was getting on, and also, to learn, if possible, the identity of the men who had stolen his yacht. the rescued one was sitting up on deck, in a steamer chair, having recovered consciousness, due to the rough and ready treatment of the sailors. dick saw an elderly man, with a little bunch of white whiskers on his chin. he rubbed his eyes and looked again. grit, at his master's heels, growled ominously. the hair on his back stood up, as it only did when he saw some one whom he hated, and who disliked him. "quiet, grit!" said dick, in a low voice. at the sound of the lad's words the man, who was covered with a blanket, arose unsteadily to his feet. dick could scarcely believe his eyes. "ah--er--is it you, nephew richard?" asked the rescued one, slowly. "uncle--ezra--larabee!" gasped the young millionaire. "is it possibly you?" "what's left of me--yes--nephew richard. oh, i've had a fearful time--i almost drowned, and those terrible men took all my money. oh, it was awful! never--never again will i undertake such a task, no matter who i try to save!" "did those pirates capture you, too, as well as my yacht, uncle ezra?" asked dick. "no--i--i captured your yacht, nephew richard," gasped mr. larabee, slowly. "but it's a long story, and i'm too weak to tell it now. i--i fell overboard, trying to look and see how near you were to us! oh, i thought i'd drown, but you saved me! i--i--thank you!" the words seemed to come unwillingly. "you--captured--my--yacht?" asked dick, slowly, wondering if he had heard aright. "that's what i did--but it was for your own good, nephew richard. i'm too weak to talk more now. please get me some medicine. i know i'll catch rheumatism from getting wet, and then i'll have a doctor's bill to pay." "take him below--to my stateroom," ordered the young millionaire. "i'll see him later. now to try and get my yacht. the idea of uncle ezra having taken her! i never dreamed of it! i can't understand it." dick hastened to the bridge again. it was getting dusk, and he feared the chase would be useless. he was met by widdy. "she's stopped! she's laid to, mr. dick!" cried the old salt. "who has?" "your yacht! she's waiting for us--she's coming to meet us! i guess they're giving up!" dick, scarcely able to believe his eyes, peered off in the direction of the _albatross_. true enough, she was swinging about and approaching the _golconda_. dick could not understand what it meant. he did a little later, though, when, having come within hailing distance, the spanish steamer having been brought to a stop, dick, looking across the intervening water, saw captain barton waving his hand to him. "captain hamilton ahoy!" cried the old skipper. "are you all right?" "yes! how about you? is my yacht safe?" yelled back dick. "aye, aye! my crew and i have been the prisoners of a gang of dastardly scoundrels, up to within a few minutes ago, when we broke out, and took command again. i've got the villains in irons in the brig, but your uncle ezra is missing. he fell overboard and was drowned, they tell me." "no, we have him here," shouted dick. "it's all right, but there's lots to be explained. i'm coming aboard." ten minutes later he was on the deck of his own yacht once more, shaking hands with captain barton, while grit was frisking joyously about, even making friends with hans, the cook. "and they made you prisoners, did they?" asked dick of the commander. "yes, and we've been locked up ever since they sneaked up on us at the island, and took the vessel." "but dey didn't shut me oop," explained hans, the cook, proudly. "dey vanted some one to make noodle soup for dem, und dey left me loose. den i bakes a pie, und i puts in it alretty a file und a saw, und vat should happen but dot captain barton he gets der pie und saws mit 'em his way out alretty yet. yes--no?" "that's how it happened," declared the commander, with a glance of approval at hans weyler. "but how did you ever get on our track, dick? i was afraid you had died on that island." "i'll tell you all about it," promised the young millionaire, "but first let me know whom you have locked up as prisoners? are they a regular band of pirates?" "they're the same fellows who, under the misdirected ideas of your uncle ezra, tried once before to kidnap you," said the captain. "locked up in the brig are sam newton and ike murdock, and with them are two young acquaintances of yours--guy fletcher and simon scardale!" "well, wouldn't that jar you!" exclaimed dick, weakly. "i never suspected they had my yacht. and uncle ezra, too! well, it's been a series of wonders all the way along! but is the yacht damaged?" "not a bit, only those fellows didn't know how to sail her. ike and sam brought some of their crew aboard, and i've got them in irons, too, though they aren't really to blame, as they only did what they were hired to do. now for explanations." they were soon briefly told. beginning from the time when he cast anchor in the little bay, off stone island, and dick and his chums went ashore in the launch, captain barton told of the capture of his vessel. he and his crew suspected nothing when they saw the yacht's launch approaching, and it was not until newton and murdock, in company with a number of lusty and savage men, had gained the deck, and attacked captain barton and his crew, that any hint of foul play was suspected. taken unawares, the commander of the _albatross_ and his men could do little. they were locked up below, and what happened after that they learned from time to time. the launch was hoisted aboard by the kidnappers, and the anchor gotten up. then out from a small bay, where she had been hidden, came the steamer _princess_, containing, among others, uncle ezra, guy and simon. with a couple of men left aboard her to steer, the others of the rascally crew, whom mr. larabee had hired, took up their quarters on dick's yacht, which was soon towing the _princess_. it seems that after newton and murdock had made the blunder, and captured the cuban youth instead of dick, they evolved a plan to redeem their mistake. they learned, by skilfully questioning the youth, that alantrez was not his real name, and, forcing him to tell his true one, and knowing something of the quest of the young millionaire, they figured out that the cuban was the relative whom dick was seeking. they planned to leave young valdez on stone island, with enough food for a long stay, and then the kidnappers sailed away, touching at a small seaport to send the letter which the cuban lad's father received. newton and murdock, who were shrewd scoundrels, figured that when the parent of the kidnapped boy learned that he was gone, he would reveal his true name, and that dick would thus discover his relative. the kidnappers also thought that nothing would be more natural than that the young millionaire would offer the use of his yacht to aid his mother's relative recover his son. things turned out just as the scoundrels desired, though not exactly in the order on which they counted, for dick did not discover his relatives' identity until on the island. but he did sail for the lonely place, as we have seen, and uncle ezra, and the men whom he had hired, were on the watch. the crabbed old man thought that if he could capture dick's yacht, it would so discourage his nephew that he would give up the cruising notion, and so save his money. watching their opportunity, newton, murdock and the others stole out from their hiding-place, when dick and his companions were ashore, seeking for the cuban, and captured the _albatross_, as i have said. they had no intention of leaving the young millionaire and his friends to starve, for mr. larabee insisted that they must return, and take off his nephew after a few days. they knew there was food enough on the island to last them all for some time. but dissensions arose among the scoundrels, when they had put out to sea, and quarrels delayed the return of the yacht to the island. in the meanwhile, the _princess_ had been sold, and the entire party went aboard the _albatross_, the captain and crew of which, with the exception of the cook, were kept close prisoners. finally, mr. larabee, anxious about his nephew, prevailed upon newton and the others to return to stone island, but dick and his chums had set off on their raft. not finding the young millionaire, and fearing that the entire party had perished, mr. larabee was a very much frightened man. he did not know what to do, fearing to return home, and face mr. hamilton, yet dreading to leave the vicinity of the island, where he had left his relative after confiscating his yacht. so the crabbed old man, and his companions cruised about, hoping to hear some news from the marooned party, yet being afraid to venture into port to make inquiries, for they reasoned that search would be made for them, because of the kidnapping. thus they sailed aimlessly about until the _golconda_ sighted them, and, suspecting from the manner in which she headed directly for them, that she was looking for them, murdock and his cronies turned and fled, mr. larabee urging them to speed away from what he feared would prove to be the grip of the law. the rest is known; how mr. larabee, leaning too far over the rail, to watch the chase, fell overboard and was rescued by the vessel dick had hired. captain barton told how he and his crew, about this time, broke from their prison, having sawed their way out by tools furnished by hans, the cook. they had a hard, desperate, but short struggle to subdue murdock and his men, but succeeded the more easily as the firemen and engineers were becoming dissatisfied with mr. larabee's treatment of them. in his turn, dick told all that had happened to him since sailing away from the island on the raft. "and now i'm here, and i'm going to stay on my own yacht," declared the young millionaire. "i guess the boys will be glad to come aboard, too." the two cadets, henry, frank and tim muldoon were soon in their former staterooms, while guy, simon, the two kidnappers, and the men in their employ were told that they would be sent aboard the _golconda_, to be returned to santiago. "the authorities there can do as they please with them," said dick. "senor valdez and his son can make a charge of kidnapping, if they choose. i'm not going to bother with them, or take them as prisoners to new york. i don't want to see them again. let 'em go, as far as i'm concerned. they didn't kidnap me." guy and simon pleaded to be taken back home, but dick was firm. he said he would run no further chances with them, and so, closely guarded, the two unscrupulous youth, together with their older companions, were transferred to the spanish steamer. "what are you going to do with your uncle ezra?" asked captain barton. "take him back home," answered dick. "i guess he's had his lesson," and very glad mr. larabee was to be taken aboard the _albatross_. "and what are your plans, captain hamilton?" inquired captain barton, as the two vessels parted company the next day, the _golconda_ sailing back to santiago, and the other yacht making toward new york. "oh, i'm going to give the boys a good time," announced the young millionaire. "we haven't had much fun, as yet. too much going on. now for a quiet cruise, life on some unknown island, if we like, and back home in time for the winter term at the kentfield academy. we're out for fun, now." "but--but, my dear nephew," ventured uncle ezra, "it will cost a lot of money to keep this yacht going. i know, for i have spent considerable of late." "i don't mind," answered dick. "i'm going to give my friends a good time. i may not have another chance to travel." but dick did, as will be related in the next volume of this series, which will be entitled "dick hamilton's football team; or, a young millionaire on the gridiron," and in which book we will renew our acquaintance with the wealthy lad, and his friends and enemies. dick's first act, after straightening out the tangle in which he found himself, was to send a wireless to his father, telling of his safety, and giving, in brief, an account of what had happened. then the yacht headed for new york, which was reached without incident, save that off cape hatteras they went through a severe storm, carrying away one of the auxiliary masts, and part of the wireless apparatus. then, after a visit to hamilton corners, with his friends, dick arranged to take his party for a trip along the new england coast, where later they had a fine time, camping on a small island. mr. larabee was a very much subdued man when he got back home. he even tried to pet grit, but the bulldog would have nothing to do with him, for which dick was thankful. mr. hamilton was very indignant at his brother-in-law, and was half-minded to take some action against him. "whatever possessed you to do such a thing, ezra?" asked the millionaire. "why, as i understand it, you tried twice to have my son kidnapped, and nearly succeeded the third time." "don't--don't use that word 'kidnapped,' mortimer," pleaded the old man. "it wasn't really kidnapping. i only wanted to get dick away a certain time for his own good, until he was over this yachting notion. it was to keep him from wasting his money, since you wouldn't prevent him." "of course not; it was his own money," answered mr. hamilton. "but do you know you laid yourself liable to a severe penalty of the law, ezra? you might be given a long sentence, or a heavy fine, for what you did." "don't say that, mortimer," begged mr. larabee. "i meant it for the best. i had dick's interests at heart. land knows, i lost enough money as it was, and i was in hopes that you would reimburse me. hiring steamers is very costly." "you'll not get a cent from me!" declared mr. hamilton, decidedly, "and you can consider yourself lucky if senor valdez doesn't prosecute you." "oh, dear! i never thought of all that!" exclaimed the old man. "i did it all for dick's good. i would have treated him well if i had only succeeded in getting him away." "well, i'm glad you didn't," said mr. hamilton, more softly. after all, he could partly forgive mr. larabee, who might honestly have been actuated by what he thought was a right idea. mr. larabee did not stay long in hamilton corners. he and grit did not get on at all well together, and the old man had to be constantly on the lookout for the bulldog, who took delight in hiding in dark places, and unexpectedly making a dash for the old man's legs, growling fiercely. perhaps the animal would not have bitten him, but mr. larabee said it made him nervous. so, after begging dick's forgiveness, which the young millionaire freely offered, the crabbed old man went back to dankville, sadder, and, perhaps, wiser, in a way. dick, on thinking the whole affair over, came to the conclusion that, after all, he had rather enjoyed it than otherwise, and so had his chums, though they had been in danger at times. henry darby found his old iron business more prosperous than ever. frank bender said he felt so fine from the cruise that he could do a number of new "stunts," and was sure of getting a place in a circus. as for tim muldoon, he declared he was going to sell an account of the yachting trip to some new york newspaper, and get a lot of money for it. paul drew and innis beeby returned to their homes after the new england cruise, both declaring they had never before so enjoyed a vacation, and, as for the fat cadet, he had enough pictures to stock a photo-supply shop. dick kept his yacht in commission until nearly time for the military academy to open, and, in company with captain barton and widdy, and with some of his friends for guests, enjoyed several short cruises. murdock, newton, guy and simon dropped out of sight for a time, after being taken to santiago, where, following a short imprisonment, they were released. and so ends the story of dick hamilton's yachting trip, but it was not the last of the stirring times he had, in which his millions played a part, for he and grit were destined for other adventures. the end. advertisements the famous rover boys series by arthur w. winfield american stories of american boys and girls a million and a half copies sold of this series mo. cloth. uniform style of binding. colored wrappers. the rover boys at school or the cadets of putnam hall the rover boys on the ocean or a chase for a fortune the rover boys in the jungle or stirring adventures in africa the rover boys out west or the search for a lost mine the rover boys on the great lakes or the secret of the island cave the rover boys in the mountains or a hunt for fame and fortune the rover boys on land and sea or the crusoes of seven islands the rover boys in camp or the rivals of pine island the rover boys on the river or the search for the missing houseboat the rover boys on the plains or the mystery of red rock ranch the rover boys in southern waters or the deserted steam yacht the rover boys on the farm or the last days at putnam hall the rover boys on treasure isle or the strange cruise of the steam yacht the rover boys at college or the right road and the wrong the rover boys down east or the struggle for the stanhope fortune the rover boys in the air or from college campus to the clouds the rover boys in new york or saving their father's honor the rover boys in alaska or lost in the fields of ice the rover boys in business or the search for the missing bonds the rover boys on a tour or last days at brill college grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the dick hamilton series by howard r. garis a series that has become very popular dick hamilton's fortune or the stirring doings of a millionaire's son. dick, the son of a millionaire, has a fortune left to him by his mother. but before he can touch the bulk of this money it is stipulated in his mother's will that he must do certain things, in order to prove that he is worthy of possessing such a fortune. the doings of dick and his chums make the liveliest kind of reading. dick hamilton's cadet days or the handicap of a millionaire's son. the hero is sent to a military academy to make his way without the use of money. life at an up-to-date military academy is described, with target shooting, broadsword exercise, trick riding, sham battles, etc. dick proves himself a hero in the best sense of the word. dick hamilton's steam yacht or a young millionaire and the kidnappers. a series of adventures while yachting in which our hero's wealth plays a part. dick is marooned on an island, recovers his yacht and foils the kidnappers. dick hamilton's football team or a young millionaire on the gridiron. a very interesting account of how dick developed a champion team and of the lively contests with other teams. there is also related a number of thrilling incidents in which dick is the central figure. dick hamilton's touring car or a young millionaire's race for a fortune. dick's father gives him an automobile made to live in, which enables him and his companions to have a good time. dick hamilton's airship or a young millionaire in the clouds. tells how dick built an airship to compete in a twenty thousand dollar prize contest, and of many adventures he experiences. mo. handsomely printed and illustrated, and bound in cloth stamped in colors. printed wrappers. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the putnam hall series companion stories to the famous rover boys series by arthur m. winfield open-air pastimes have always been popular with boys, and should always be encouraged. these books mingle adventure and fact, and will appeal to every manly boy. mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. the putnam hall mystery or the school chums' strange discovery the particulars of the mystery and the solution of it are very interesting reading. the putnam hall encampment or the secret of the old mill a story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during the summer encampment, including a visit to a mysterious old mill, said to be haunted. the book has a wealth of fun in it. the putnam hall rebellion or the rival runaways the boys had good reasons for running away during captain putnam's absence. they had plenty of fun, and several queer adventures. the putnam hall champions or bound to win out in this volume the putnam hall cadets show what they can do in various keen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. there is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery. the putnam hall cadets or good times in school and out the cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends from the start. there are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing that had an unlooked for ending. the putnam hall rivals or fun and sport afloat and ashore it is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country written by one who knows all about its pleasures and its perplexities, its glorious excitements, and its chilling disappointments. grosset & dunlap - new york the flag and frontier series by captain ralph bonehill. these bracing stories of american life, exploration and adventure should find a place in every school and home library for the enthusiasm they kindle in american heroism and history. the historical background is absolutely correct. every volume complete in itself. mo. bound in cloth. stamped in colors. with boone on the frontier, or the pioneer boys of old kentucky. relates the true-to-life adventures of two boys who, in company with their folks, move westward with daniel boone. contains many thrilling scenes among the indians and encounters with wild animals. pioneer boys of the great northwest, or with lewis and clark across the rockies. a splendid story describing in detail the great expedition formed under the leadership of lewis and clark, and telling what was done by the pioneer boys who were first to penetrate the wilderness of the northwest. pioneer boys of the gold fields, or the nugget hunters of ' . giving the particulars of the great rush of the gold seekers to california in . in the party making its way across the continent are three boys who become chums, and share in no end of adventures. with custer in the black hills, or a young scout among the indians. tells of the experiences of a youth who, with his parents, goes to the black hills in search of gold. custer's last battle is well described. boys of the fort, or a young captain's pluck. this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the wild west is of more than ordinary interest. gives a good insight into army life of to-day. the young bandmaster, or concert, stage and battlefield. the hero is a youth who becomes a cornetist in an orchestra, and works his way up to the leadership of a brass band. he is carried off to sea and is taken to cuba, and while there joins a military band which accompanies our soldiers in the attack on santiago. off for hawaii, or the mystery of a great volcano. several boys start on a tour of the hawaiian islands. they have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. a sailor boy with dewey, or afloat in the philippines. the story of dewey's victory in manila bay as it appeared to a real, live american youth who was in the navy at the time. many adventures in manila and in the interior follow. when santiago fell, or the war adventures of two chums. two boys leave new york to join their parents in cuba. the war between spain and the cubans is on, and the boys are detained at santiago, but escape across the bay at night. many adventures follow. grosset & dunlap, - new york the railroad series by allen chapman. ralph fairbanks was bound to become a railroad man, as his father had been before him. step by step he worked his way upward, serving first in the roundhouse, cleaning locomotives; then in the switch tower, clearing the tracks; then on the engine, as a fireman; then as engineer of the overland express; and finally as train dispatcher. in this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great american railroad system. there are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. books that every american boy ought to own. ralph, the train dispatcher or the mystery of the pay car. ralph on the overland express or the trials and triumphs of a young engineer. ralph on the engine or the young fireman of the limited mail. ralph of the round house or bound to become a railroad man. ralph in the switch tower or clearing the track. mo. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth. grosset & dunlap, - new york the tom swift series by victor appleton mo. cloth. uniform style of binding. colored wrappers. these spirited tales convey in a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. tom swift and his motor cycle or fun and adventure on the road tom swift and his motor boat or the rivals of lake carlopa tom swift and his airship or the stirring cruise of the red cloud tom swift and his submarine boat or under the ocean for sunken treasure tom swift and his electric runabout or the speediest car on the road tom swift and his wireless message or the castaways of earthquake island tom swift among the diamond makers or the secret of phantom mountain tom swift in the caves of ice or the wreck of the airship tom swift and his sky racer or the quickest flight on record tom swift and his electric rifle or daring adventures in elephant land tom swift in the city of gold or marvellous adventures underground tom swift and his air glider or seeking the platinum treasure tom swift in captivity or a daring escape by airship tom swift and his wizard camera or the perils of moving picture taking tom swift and his great searchlight or on the border for uncle sam tom swift and his giant cannon or the longest shots on record tom swift and his photo telephone or the picture that saved a fortune tom swift and his aerial warship or the naval terror of the seas tom swift and his big tunnel or the hidden city of the andes grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the moving picture boys series by victor appleton mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the wild west, among the cowboys and indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. the volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. the moving picture boys or perils of a great city depicted. the moving picture boys in the west or taking scenes among the cowboys and indians. the moving picture boys on the coast or showing the perils of the deep. the moving picture boys in the jungle or stirring times among the wild animals. the moving picture boys in earthquake land or working amid many perils. the moving picture boys and the flood or perilous days on the mississippi. the moving picture boys at panama or stirring adventures along the great canal. the moving picture boys under the sea or the treasure of the lost ship. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the motion picture chums series by victor appleton mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. in these stories we follow the adventures of three boys, who, after purchasing at auction the contents of a moving picture house, open a theatre of their own. their many trials and tribulations, leading up to the final success of their venture, make very entertaining stories. the motion picture chums' first venture or opening a photo playhouse in fairlands. the adventures of frank, randy and pep in running a motion picture show. they had trials and tribulations but finally succeed. the motion picture chums at seaside park or the rival photo theatres of the boardwalk. their success at fairlands encourages the boys to open their show at seaside park, where they have exciting adventures--also a profitable season. the motion picture chums on broadway or the mystery of the missing cash box. backed by a rich western friend the chums established a photo playhouse in the great metropolis, where new adventures await them. the motion picture chums' outdoor exhibition or the film that solved a mystery. this time the playhouse was in a big summer park. how a film that was shown gave a clew to an important mystery is interestingly related. the motion picture chums' new idea or the first educational photo playhouse. in this book the scene is shifted to boston, and there is intense rivalry in the establishment of photo playhouses of educational value. the motion picture chums at the fair or the greatest film ever exhibited. the chums go to san francisco, where they have some trials but finally meet with great success. the motion picture chums' war spectacle or the film that won the prize. through being of service to the writer of a great scenario, the chums are enabled to produce it and win a prize. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the boys of columbia high series by graham b. forbes never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than frank allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the school. all boys will read these stories with deep interest. the rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others. the boys of columbia high or the all around rivals of the school the boys of columbia high on the diamond or winning out by pluck the boys of columbia high on the river or the boat race plot that failed the boys of columbia high on the gridiron or the struggle for the silver cup the boys of columbia high on the ice or out for the hockey championship the boys of columbia high in track athletics or a long run that won the boys of columbia high in winter sports or stirring doings on skates and iceboats mo. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth, with cover design and wrappers in colors. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the outdoor chums series by captain quincy allen the outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a small city located on a lake. the boys love outdoor life, and are greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. they have motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. the stories give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim, etc. full of the spirit of outdoor life. the outdoor chums or the first tour of the rod, gun and camera club. the outdoor chums on the lake or lively adventures on wildcat island. the outdoor chums in the forest or laying the ghost of oak ridge. the outdoor chums on the gulf or rescuing the lost balloonists. the outdoor chums after big game or perilous adventures in the wilderness. the outdoor chums on a houseboat or the rivals of the mississippi. the outdoor chums in the big woods or the rival hunters at lumber run. the outdoor chums at cabin point or the golden cup mystery. mo. averaging pages. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the outdoor girls series by laura lee hope author of the "bobbsey twin books" and "bunny brown" series. mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. these tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. they are clean and wholesome, free from sensationalism, absorbing from the first chapter to the last. the outdoor girls of deepdale or camping and tramping for fun and health. telling how the girls organized their camping and tramping club, how they went on a tour, and of various adventures which befell them. the outdoor girls at rainbow lake or stirring cruise of the motor boat gem. one of the girls becomes the proud possessor of a motor boat and invites her club members to take a trip down the river to rainbow lake, a beautiful sheet of water lying between the mountains. the outdoor girls in a motor car or the haunted mansion of shadow valley. one of the girls has learned to run a big motor car, and she invites the club to go on a tour to visit some distant relatives. on the way they stop at a deserted mansion and make a surprising discovery. the outdoor girls in a winter camp or glorious days on skates and ice boats. in this story, the scene is shifted to a winter season. the girls have some jolly times skating and ice boating, and visit a hunters' camp in the big woods. the outdoor girls in florida. or wintering in the sunny south. the parents of one of the girls have bought an orange grove in florida and her companions are invited to visit the place. they take a trip into the interior, where several unusual things happen. the outdoor girls at ocean view or the box that was found in the sand. the girls have great fun and solve a mystery while on an outing along the new england coast. the outdoor girls on pine island or a cave and what it contained. a bright, healthful story, full of good times at a bungalow camp on pine island. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the moving picture girls series by laura lee hope author of "the bobbsey twins series." mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. the adventures of ruth and alice devere. their father, a widower, is an actor who has taken up work for the "movies." both girls wish to aid him in his work and visit various localities to act in all sorts of pictures. the moving picture girls or first appearance in photo dramas. having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies and the girls follow. tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed. the moving picture girls at oak farm or queer happenings while taking rural plays. full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays, and giving an account of two unusual discoveries. the moving picture girls snowbound or the proof on the film. a tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the photo-play actors sometimes suffer. the moving picture girls under the palms or lost in the wilds of florida. how they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before the camera; were lost, and aided others who were also lost. the moving picture girls at rocky ranch or great days among the cowboys. all who have ever seen moving pictures of the great west will want to know just how they are made. this volume gives every detail and is full of clean fun and excitement. the moving picture girls at sea or a pictured shipwreck that became real. a thrilling account of the girls' experiences on the water. the moving picture girls in war plays or the sham battles at oak farm. the girls play important parts in big battle scenes and have plenty of hard work along with considerable fun. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the girls of central high series by gertrude w. morrison mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. here is a series full of the spirit of high school life of to-day. the girls are real flesh-and-blood characters, and we follow them with interest in school and out. there are many contested matches on track and field, and on the water, as well as doings in the classroom and on the school stage. there is plenty of fun and excitement, all clean, pure and wholesome. the girls of central high or rivals for all honors. a stirring tale of high school life, full of fun, with a touch of mystery and a strange initiation. the girls of central high on lake luna or the crew that won. telling of water sports and fun galore, and of fine times in camp. the girls of central high at basketball or the great gymnasium mystery. here we have a number of thrilling contests at basketball and in addition, the solving of a mystery which had bothered the high school authorities for a long while. the girls of central high on the stage or the play that took the prize. how the girls went in for theatricals and how one of them wrote a play which afterward was made over for the professional stage and brought in some much-needed money. the girls of central high on track and field or the girl champions of the school league this story takes in high school athletics in their most approved and up-to-date fashion. full of fun and excitement. the girls of central high in camp or the old professor's secret. the girls went camping on acorn island and had a delightful time at boating, swimming and picnic parties. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown" series, etc. mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. books that charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire. many of the adventures are comical in the extreme, and all the accidents that ordinarily happen to youthful personages happened to these many-sided little mortals. their haps and mishaps make decidedly entertaining reading. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school telling how they go home from the seashore; went to school and were promoted, and of their many trials and tribulations. the bobbsey twins at snow lodge telling of the winter holidays, and of the many fine times and adventures the twins had at a winter lodge in the big woods. the bobbsey twins on a houseboat mr. bobbsey obtains a houseboat, and the whole family go off on a tour. the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the young folks visit the farm again and have plenty of good times and several adventures. the bobbsey twins at home the twins get into all sorts of trouble--and out again--also bring aid to a poor family. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york +-------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ [illustration: into the water splashed the big touring car. _dick hamilton's touring car._ _frontispiece_--(_page ._)] dick hamilton's touring car or a young millionaire's race for a fortune by howard r. garis author of "dick hamilton's fortune," "dick hamilton's steam yacht," "from office boy to reporter," "larry dexter and the stolen boy," etc. _illustrated_ the saalfield publishing co. akron, ohio new york made in u. s. a. copyright, , by _grosset & dunlap_ preface my dear boys: i am not going to detain you long over this, for, if you are anything like i was, when i was your age, you don't want a lengthy introduction. but i just want a moment or so of your time, to explain something of the kind of story this is--a sort of bill of fare, as it were. this is an account of how the young millionaire, dick hamilton, unexpectedly did a great service for a stranger, and how, later learning that this same stranger needed help in saving his fortune, dick took strenuous action. for excellence in his studies at the kentfield military academy, dick's father gave him his choice of any automobile he wished. dick found just the kind of a touring car he wanted--one large enough to sleep and live in, as he and his friends traveled about. in this car, which dick named the _last word_, the boys set out for san francisco. what happened to them on the way, how they foiled the plans of dick's uncle ezra, how they came upon the strange man in the great salt desert, and how, in an exciting race, they tried to save him and blocked the plans of those who would take mr. wardell's fortune from him--all this you may read of in this book. it is the fifth volume of the "dick hamilton series," and that you will like it as well as you have the preceding ones is the sincere wish of your friend, howard r. garis. contents chapter page i queer actions ii uncle ezra iii good news iv to the auto show v the big car vi the ruined millionaire vii on the road viii uncle ezra laughs ix dick makes plans x mr. wardell's confession xi off on the trip xii uncle ezra plots xiii the hand in the dark xiv a blocked road xv puzzled xvi the lame man xvii giving him a lift xviii a disappearance xix a simple trick xx down hill xxi marooned xxii an engineering problem xxiii off again xxiv a night encounter xxv into the loneliness xxvi bad news xxvii the man in the desert xxviii important information xxix on to 'frisco xxx pursued xxxi a breakdown xxxii the race xxxiii just in time xxxiv the fortune saved dick hamilton's touring car chapter i queer actions "here's cheerful news--not!" exclaimed dick hamilton, as he tossed a letter on the bed of the room occupied by himself and his chum, paul drew, at the kentfield military academy. "nice, rich, juicy news, paul!" "what's the matter, old man? has some one sent you a bill?" "no, but it's a note from my uncle ezra larabee, of dankville, saying he's coming to pay me a visit. whew!" "a visit from uncle ezra; eh? isn't he that sour-faced man who hates your bulldog, grit, and who thinks football is a waste of time?" "that's the man, paul. and he's the same uncle who tried to kidnap me, to teach me how sinful it was to go off and have a good time on my yacht. oh, he's the limit!" "but if there isn't any love lost between you, why is he coming here, dick? i think you told me he was about as near to being a miser as it's possible to get, and it costs money to come here from dankville." "oh, he isn't coming specially to see me--you can make up your mind to that, paul. i'm only a side issue. let's see what he says," and dick took up the letter again. "'dear nephew richard,'" he read--"he never calls me anything but richard, you know. 'i hope you are doing well in your studies'--no, that isn't it--'i trust you have gotten rid of your savage dog'--no, it isn't there--quiet, grit!" he called to a handsome-homely dog in one corner of the room, the intelligent beast having growled instinctively at the mention of uncle ezra's name. "let's see, where is that part of his note?" went on dick, leafing over the sheet. "he's wasteful enough of paper, ink and words, if he isn't of money. oh, here it is. 'i have some business to attend to near kentfield, and after i have finished i will run over and see you.' "there you are, paul. you see he's only coming to see me as an after-thought. probably he knows i'll ask him to take dinner with me in the mess hall, and he can save the price of a sandwich and a cup of coffee. oh, uncle ezra is mighty saving!" "he must be." "well, he won't be here until afternoon, paul. so let's take advantage of it and go for a walk. you haven't anything on; have you?" "no; drill's over and i'm through with lectures. i'm with you. where do you want to go?" "oh, anywhere. let's walk out toward the hills. it's more like the country there, and with summer almost here i always want to get out in the woods and fields." "the same with me. it won't be long until vacation now. what are you going to do, dick?" "i don't know," replied the young millionaire, musingly, as he donned a fatigue uniform. "dad did think of going to europe, and if he does i shall probably go with him. but i'd rather put in a good time on this side, with some of the fellows. what's your programme, paul?" "it's up to the folks, and they haven't made up their minds yet. it's always a toss-up between the mountains and the seashore. i generally vote for the shore, though i wouldn't mind a trip across the mill-pond. however, i suppose i'll have to stick with the family. well, are you ready?" "yes. come along, grit!" and dick had to brace himself against the demonstrative leaps of the fine animal that was delighted at going on a jaunt with his master. "i guess i'll leave word that if uncle ezra should come in while we're out, he can wait here for us," went on dick, and on his way out he spoke to the care-taker in charge of the dormitory. "i have to be decent to him, if he did treat me pretty mean," went on dick. "after all, he thinks he's doing right, and he is my dead mother's brother." "did he say what his business was around here?" asked paul. "no, but you can be pretty sure it is something to do with money. probably uncle ezra is coming to collect some bill." "i'm glad i don't owe him anything, dick." "the same here. he'd get the last penny from you. i pity anyone who does owe him, if he can't pay. here, grit, you never mind that cat," for the bulldog, with a low growl and a raising of the hair on the ridge of his back, had shown an inclination to chase a cat that scuttled across the drive from the barrack stables where the troop horses of the military academy were kept. "that must be a strange feline," remarked paul. "grit knows all the regulars." "guess you're right, paul. there goes beeby. hi, innis!" dick called to a tall cadet, crossing the parade ground. "want to come for a walk?" "can't--i've got some work to do." "'work was made for slaves,'" quoted paul. "then i'm a slave," retorted innis beeby. "see you later," and he turned into his dormitory. paul and dick kept on by themselves, meeting chums and acquaintances occasionally, until they were well away from the military academy, swinging along a country road at a good pace--heads up, shoulders back and with a true military carriage, attained only after long practice. "which way?" asked paul, as they came to a place where the road branched off, one highway leading to lake wagatook, and the other to a small town about two miles away. "let's go in to westville. i want to see about getting a new collar for grit. no, i didn't call you," he said to the bulldog, who came back on hearing his name. "on to westville then," assented paul, and not until some time afterward did either of them realize how their choice of roads that day had to do with an important epoch in the life of a certain young man. about half way to westville the highway was crossed by a railroad embankment, the road being carried under it by a big culvert. it was on approaching this embankment that paul, looking up, and seeing the figure of a man on the tracks, called dick's attention to him. "look there!" he exclaimed. "that fellow's acting mighty queer, dick. i've been noticing him ever since we came in sight of the railroad. watch him." dick looked up. the man on the track above them did not seem aware of their presence. he would walk along the embankment a short distance, pause, and seem to be contemplating the rails; then, with an odd gesture would retrace his steps. "you're right, paul, he does act queer," agreed dick. "i wonder what he's up to?" "i don't know. let's watch him a bit longer. he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us." as they looked, the man sat down on a pile of stones near the edge of the track, and began looking through his pockets. he seemed to find what he wanted--a bit of paper that fluttered in the wind--and then, placing it on his knee he began to write. "he's making notes," said dick. "maybe he's a track walker, and he's found some defect in the rails," suggested paul. "track-walkers don't dress that way. he's got a tailor-made suit on." "that's so, dick. i wonder who he is?" whatever the man was writing did not seem to take long, for he soon arose. then the two cadets saw him carefully pin the paper he had written to the inner pocket of his coat. "well, what do you know about that?" demanded dick. "it looks strange," admitted paul. "he sure isn't going to lose that paper." as he spoke the man resumed his pacing of the track. he came to the edge of the concrete bridge that carried the railroad over the highway, paused a moment, and then, with a shake of his head, retraced his steps. then he came to a pause at the place where he had rested to write the note. he looked down the embankment, and once more shook his head. suddenly the whistle of an approaching train was heard, though it was some distance off, and would not be along for several minutes. at the sound the man on the tracks threw his hands upward with a tragic gesture. "paul!" cried dick, "there's something wrong with that man! maybe he's partly insane and doesn't realize his danger. i'm going up and tell him to get off the track." "maybe it would be a good idea, dick. go ahead--i'm with you." the cadets scrambled up the yielding ashes and earth that formed the elevated embankment. as they advanced they could hear the distant rumbling of the approaching train. the man who had acted so strangely now saw them, but only regarded them with a sort of melancholy smile, and did not hasten away. "i beg your pardon," panted dick, as he walked toward the stranger somewhat winded after his climb, "but it's dangerous up here. there's a train coming." "thank you, i know it." the man spoke calmly, in contrast with his queer actions. "i thought perhaps you might be a stranger around here," the young cadet resumed. "there are two trains that pass here about the same time. you might get out of the way of one, and step in the path of the other." "thank you for the warning," said the man. "i--er--i----" he hesitated, and seemed to be struggling with some emotion. "perhaps i had better get off the track--for the present," he said, slowly. "you had, if you don't want to be killed!" exclaimed dick, with a laugh that took the grim meaning from the words. "i guess we'd all better. the trains are getting nearer, and it's too good a world to leave by way of the iron route." "is it a good world?" asked the man, suddenly. "i find it so," answered the cadet. "especially in this kind of weather, and vacation so near at hand; eh, paul?" "that's right!" "you are students at the kentfield academy then?" "yes. better move a bit faster. here comes the express. it will pass the local on the bridge, i guess. yes, there they both come." whistles from the locomotives of the two approaching trains, which rounded curves at this point, showed that the two engineers had seen the figures on the track. "that's for us!" exclaimed paul, quickly. the stranger did not answer, but slowly followed dick, who scrambled down the embankment. ere they reached the lower level the trains rushed thunderously past in a cloud of dust and cinders. "now you can walk the track with more safety," remarked dick to the man. "there won't be another train for three hours." "thank you, i think i'll go the rest of my journey by the highway," and the man, with a little bow, turned aside, going in the direction from which the boys had come. as he walked along paul turned in time to see him take from his pocket the note he had pinned there and tear it up, scattering the fragments along the road. for a few moments paul and dick walked along in silence, grit following at their heels. then paul spoke. "dick!" he exclaimed, "do you know i think you saved that man from committing suicide!" "suicide! nonsense, paul!" "that's right. if i ever saw despair and hopelessness on a man's face it was on his." "well, he didn't look very happy, that's a fact. but what had that to do with an intention to take his own life?" "lots, when you think of the way he acted." "oh, you imagine it." "i do not! i believe he came here with the intention of throwing himself under a train, or at least allowing himself to be struck by one. i believe he wrote a note of farewell, and pinned it in his pocket so it wouldn't get lost. just see how queer he acted! no one would stay on the track the way he did, with two trains coming, unless he had it in mind to get hurt. no, dick, you can say what you like, but i believe your going up when you did, and talking to him, saved his life." "well, i'd like to think that i did that for a fellow being, paul; but i still can't admit it." "it's true, whether you admit it or not. you saved his life, and some day you'll know it, or i'm mistaken." "oh, nonsense!" "no nonsense at all. you'll see. that man was at the end of his rope--he was all in. he was in despair, and he wasn't a common sort, either. he comes of a good family, i can see that. and the way you talked to him, just at the right moment--saying this was a pretty good old world after all--you saved his life, dick--at least for a time." "get out!" but in spite of his denial dick felt glad that he had done what he had. and it was not until some time after that he learned what really had taken place. under strange circumstances he was to meet that man again. chapter ii uncle ezra "quiet, grit! what's the matter, old fellow?" "he seems to think some one is in our room," said paul drew. he and dick had returned from their walk, grit resplendent in a new, brass-studded collar, and the dog had shown signs of resentful excitement on nearing the door of the room where the two chums lodged. "i wonder----?" began dick, and then, as he opened the door, and saw a rather grizzled man standing near the window--a man with a queer little tuft of whiskers on his chin--dick exclaimed: "uncle ezra!" "yes, nephew richard. i am here. i got through my business sooner than i expected and came over." "i'm glad you did, uncle ezra. quiet, grit, or i'll send you to the stable," for the dog was uttering low growls, and sidling closer and closer to the aged man, who still remained standing. it might be noticed that our hero did not say that he was glad to see his uncle. he was not, and he did not believe in saying what was not so, even to be polite. "have you got that savage cur still?" demanded mr. larabee, while he bowed slightly in response to a salutation from paul. "i expect to have grit for a long time yet," replied his nephew, coldly. "though if he annoys you i'll have him taken away," and he pushed a button on the wall. "he does annoy me! you know i can't abide dogs. useless critters, eatin' almost as much as a man, all covered with fleas, and no good anyhow! send him away!" "grit, i guess you'd better go," said dick, softly, as a janitor came in response to his ring. "take him to the stable, hawkins. i'll have him back--later," he added in a low voice. grit was led off, whining in protest as he looked at dick, and then shifting his tones to a menacing growl as he glared at uncle ezra, who, he well knew, was the cause of his banishment. "ugly brute!" muttered mr. larabee. "i've been waiting quite some time for you, nephew richard," he went on. "i was afraid i'd have to go back without seeing you. i've got a limited excursion ticket, and if i didn't use it back to dankville to-day i'd lose the value of it. leastwise i might have to sue the railroad company to recover, and lawsuits is dreadful expensive--dreadful." "we just went for a walk," dick explained. "i did not know exactly what time you would come." "no, i couldn't tell, myself. but i got through my business sooner than i expected, even with attending to some after i got through with the deal that brought me on here." "it came out all right, i hope," ventured dick. "yes--oh, yes. my business allers does come out satisfactory--leastwise mostly." perhaps uncle ezra was thinking of the time he had interfered with dick's yachting trip, with disastrous results to himself. "i got all that was coming to me," the aged man went on, "though i did have a fight for it." "did some one owe you money?" asked dick. "well, yes, in a way. you see it was a young fellow who had been left more money than was good for him. he didn't know enough to take care of it, and now i've got it." uncle ezra chuckled grimly. "i hope you didn't take all he had, uncle ezra," spoke dick. "why shouldn't i?" mr. larabee asked, indignantly. "this chap didn't know the value of money--i do. he made certain investments, and i told him that i'd insist on having my last dollar if they failed. they did fail, just as i knew they would, and now i have his money. it was mine by right, though, for business is business, and he's young enough to start over again. it will do him good. ha! ha! i'll never forget how blank he looked when he asked me if i wouldn't give him another chance. another chance! ho! ho! he had his chance and didn't use it. another chance! i guess not! i want what's mine!" and uncle ezra ground his teeth and clenched his bony fists in a way that was not pleasant to contemplate. "then you cleaned him out, uncle ezra?" asked dick. "not i--no. he cleaned himself out by his foolish investments. you can't have your cake and eat it too, you know. you can't be a 'sport' and not pay attention to your business, and expect to keep your money. you've got to be on the watch all the while. i made a pretty penny out of it--er--that is, not too much!" uncle ezra added quickly, as if fearful lest some one should attempt to borrow something from him. "but a legitimate profit--yes, a legitimate profit. "and, as i got through sooner than i expected, nephew richard, i came over to see you, as i promised. but i'll soon have to be getting back. i've got a new hired man, and i know he'll feed too much to the stock, and ruin 'em, to say nothing of wasting grain. i must get back before feeding time." "i hope you'll stay and take lunch with me," suggested dick, as he thought he saw a hungry look in his uncle's face. "yes, i might," was the answer, as though mr. larabee was doing dick a favor. "then i'll send word to have a place laid for you at our table. you know some of my friends, i think." "humph! yes, i do, and i can't say i altogether approve of 'em, nephew richard. they spend too much money." "well i guess they've got plenty to spend," said dick, for kentfield academy was attended by the sons of many rich men, though it was in no sense a snobbish institution. "yes," went on uncle ezra, with a grim chuckle, "i came here to meet a young man, and i met him. i came to teach him a lesson, and i taught it. i guess mr. frank wardell won't be so high and mighty after this. i cleaned him out--and it was all done in a regular way, too. i cleaned him out." "ruined him, you mean, uncle ezra?" "well, _he_ accused me of that, but it wa'n't my fault. he brought it on himself, and he can start over again. he's young yet." "but what will become of him, uncle ezra, if he hasn't any money?" "i don't know, and he didn't either by the way he rushed off after i got through with him," and the old man chuckled. "but i reckon he can go to work like the rest of us. i offered him a place in my woolen mill at dankville. i said i could pay him five dollars a week to start, though i know he wouldn't be wuth it. but he might learn the trade." dick said nothing, but the thought of a ruined man, who must have had a considerable fortune, going to work for uncle ezra in the woolen mill for five dollars a week, struck our hero as being rather pathetic. "did he take your offer, mr. larabee?" asked paul. "he did not!" exclaimed dick's uncle. "he said he'd become a tramp first. wa'al, he kin if he wants to--there's no law ag'in' it!" and again he chuckled mirthlessly. "i'll go see about lunch," volunteered dick. "oh, something for me, toots?" he exclaimed, as he opened the door, and saw an old sergeant standing there with an envelope in his hand. "yes, a letter, mr. hamilton." "it's from dad!" exclaimed our hero, as he noted the writing. "i hope he has taken my advice, and will withdraw you from this useless military academy," spoke uncle ezra. "it is time you went to work, nephew richard." "i'll be back in a little while," replied dick, not taking the trouble to answer his uncle directly, and he hurried off down the corridor to arrange about having his guest at luncheon in the mess hall. while preparations for the meal are under way i shall ask for a few minutes of your time--you my new readers--while i briefly explain about dick hamilton, and introduce you more formally to him, as he has appeared in the previous volumes of this series. dick was the only son of mortimer hamilton, of hamilton corners, in new york state. mr. hamilton was a millionaire, with varied interests, and dick had a fortune in his own right, left to him by his mother. in my first book, called "dick hamilton's fortune," i related how this inheritance came to the youth, and under what peculiar conditions, so that he really had to work hard to deserve it. and he nearly lost it at that. the second volume deals with dick's life at a well-known military academy--kentfield--and is entitled, "dick hamilton's cadet days." how he had to struggle against heavy odds, and how he won out, is related in the story. in "dick hamilton's steam yacht," our hero found himself confronted with a queer problem. how he worked it out, and defeated the aims of uncle ezra, you will find fully set forth. uncle ezra larabee was a curious character. he was quite rich, perhaps not so much so as mr. hamilton, but with a large fortune. he did not seem to enjoy life, however, and was continually preaching economy. he had a particular aversion to the bulldog, grit, and, it might be said in passing, grit returned the compliment, so to speak. when dick and his chums at kentfield found that their football challenge to the blue hill academy was treated as a joke, they were quite angry, and justly so. true, the former military academy team was in poor shape, but the lads were eager to do better. and in "dick hamilton's football team," the fourth book of the series, i related how the young millionaire made a big change at kentfield, and what came of it, and i also related how he was instrumental in helping his father in a business transaction. the fall and football were things of the past, and now the long summer vacation was approaching. baseball had the call, and dick was acting as the academy pitcher with great success. a few weeks more and kentfield would close until fall, and what to do in the interim was puzzling not only dick, but some of his chums. "well, uncle ezra," said the cadet, as he came back into the room a little later, to find his chum paul fidgeting about, for it was no joke to entertain mr. larabee, "i've arranged to have our lunch a little ahead of the rest. i know you want to catch your train." "yes, i do. i don't want to waste my return ticket. i'll go down at once." paul gave a sigh of relief, and winked at dick. the three moved toward the dining hall, dick making inquiries about his aunt, and some other distant relatives in dankville, a place he hated above all others,--for his uncle's house there was almost the personification of gloom. "wa'al, your aunt's as well as she can expect to be," remarked mr. larabee. "she suffers consid'able from stomach misery, and the doctor don't seem to do her no good. he charges enough too, and he's allers changin' the medicine. i should think he could take one kind and stick to it." "he has to try different kinds to see what is the best," suggested dick. "i know, but you ought to see the bottles, only half-took, that i have to throw away. i tried to git a rebate on 'em, but the druggist said he couldn't use 'em. so i'm that much out," and mr. larabee drew a deep sigh. "any news from home, dick?" asked paul, as the three sat alone in the mess hall, at a special table for visitors. "how is your father?" "by jove! i forgot to read the letter!" exclaimed dick, pulling it from his pocket. "excuse me while i look at it," and he ripped open the envelope. chapter iii good news "will you have some more of this roast beef, mr. larabee?" asked paul, doing the honors for dick, who was busy over the letter from his father. "wa'al, i might have a bit more. it seems like pretty tender meat." "yes, we get the very best at kentfield." "hum! if i was runnin' this place i'd buy the cheaper cuts, and save money. tough meat is better for growing lads, anyhow. i wouldn't give 'em such expensive meat." "but we pay for it, mr. larabee." "it's a waste of money," replied the miser, and went on with the meal, which, to do dick justice, was exceptionally good. dick never believed in starving even his ill-natured relatives. "hurray! this is great!" suddenly exclaimed the young millionaire. "whoop! oh, i say, excuse me, uncle ezra!" he added, quickly. "i didn't mean to startle you," for the aged man had jumped at dick's exclamation, and some potato, covered with gravy, had fallen on his trousers. "that's jest like you boys--allers shoutin' and makin' a noise," rasped out mr. larabee. "i'll have to pay for havin' that spot taken out," and he scrubbed vigorously at it with a napkin. "that is, unless my hired man can start it with some of my harness soap. i guess i'll have him try when i get back. no use payin' a cleaner if my hired man can do it." "i'm sorry, uncle ezra," spoke dick, contritely, and trying not to smile at paul drew. "we can take it out here for you. a little ether will do the trick. it will dissolve the grease. i'll take you to the chemical laboratory after lunch." "no, the ether might eat a hole in my pants, and they're my second best ones. i'll wait until i git hum, and try the harness soap. next time please don't yell so." "i won't, uncle ezra. but dad sent me some good news, and i just couldn't help it." "is he going to take you to europe this vacation?" asked paul. "europe! you don't mean to tell me that mortimer hamilton is going to waste money on another trip to europe?" cried mr. larabee, in horror. "no, it isn't that," answered dick. "he writes that as he sees by my reports i have done well this term, i may have just what i've been wanting a long time." "to go into some business, i hope," said mr. larabee. "that would be a sensible present, and i could offer you a place in my woolen mill at a salary of----" "no, thank you, uncle ezra," laughed dick. "i think i'll stay here at kentfield for another term yet." "but what is it your father is going to give you?" asked paul. "don't keep us in suspense." "it's a touring car!" cried dick, in delight. "he says i can select the best and biggest car made, and send the bill to him. hurray! isn't that great news? say, i can just about see where my vacation is coming in now, paul." "that's right. you are in luck!" "a touring car!" cried mr. larabee. "you mean an automobile, dick? why you've got one already. it would be a shameful waste of money to buy another. you can take what a touring car would cost, and invest the sum in some good securities. i have some that i acquired from that young man i spoke of to-day." "i haven't a touring car," said dick. "i have that little runabout; but it isn't much use. a touring car for mine!" "oh, the sinful waste of this rising generation!" murmured uncle ezra, shaking his head, sadly. "what kind of a car is he going to give you, dick?" asked paul. "he says i can pick it out myself. i'll read you that part of the letter," and dick quoted from the missive: "'i have been thinking of something you might like, dick, as a sort of reward for your good work at school this winter. i know you have studied hard. i had a man come here to look over your runabout, thinking perhaps it could be fixed up, but he says it is hardly worth it. he advised trading it in for a new and up-to-date machine, and i think that best myself. "'i want you to be satisfied with what i get you, and i think the best way would be to let you pick it out yourself. so if you will look over some catalogues, which you can send for yourself, and let me know the make of car, i will attend to the rest'" "that's great!" cried paul. "a terrible waste!" muttered mr. larabee. "sinful!" "good old dad!" exclaimed dick, as he put the letter in his pocket. "i wonder what sort of a car i ought to take?" "one that you can cross the country in," advised paul. "that's what i'll do--i'll get a big touring car, and take some of you fellows with me. we'll have a great and glorious trip this summer!" "more waste! you would much better get work somewhere, dick, and pay part of your expenses here," declared mr. larabee. "my mother arranged all that before she died," said the young cadet. "she wanted me to attend a military school, and left the funds for it. my tuition is all paid for." "well, my sister never did know what she was doing," declared mr. larabee, bitterly. "hold on!" exclaimed dick, hotly. "remember that she was _my_ mother," and he spoke the word softly, for she had not been dead many years. "ahem! wa'al, i didn't mean anything," stammered mr. larabee. "say, i've got to hustle to get my train," he added, quickly, looking at an ancient silver watch, which he pulled out of his pocket by means of a leather thong. "come and see us at dankville, nephew richard. your aunt will be glad to have you, but you can't expect such meals as this," he went on hastily. "you know she has the dyspepsia, and she can't eat much, so i don't buy much. but come and see us." dick mumbled something not quite distinguishable, and the meal came to an end. "i guess i'll just take some of this meat that's left over, and make myself a couple of sandwiches," said mr. larabee, suiting the action to the word. "no use in letting it go to waste," he added. "and i might get hungry before we get to dankville. this will save me buying anything on the train," and wrapping up the sandwiches in a piece of newspaper he thrust them into his pocket. "thank goodness i didn't take him to one of the tables with the fellows!" whispered dick, as he winked at paul. "he sure is the limit!" "this way to the trolley that goes to the depot," said dick, as he escorted his uncle across the parade ground, paul having excused himself. "i'm not going to take the trolley, nephew richard. i have plenty of time to walk the distance, and there is no use wasting five cents. it is grass most of the way, and i won't wear out my shoes none to speak of. i'm going to walk." "all right," assented dick, with a shrug of the shoulders. "good-bye. i'd go with you, but we have guard mount soon, and i'm officer of the day." "foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted mr. larabee, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "you had better think twice about wasting money on that touring car, too, nephew richard. don't take it--take the money and invest it." "i would rather have the car, uncle ezra. remember me to aunt samanthy." "um!" mumbled mr. larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the railroad. a trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the station, but he did not signal for it to stop. "he's happy," mused dick. "he didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. oh, he's happy all right. but, excuse me!" just then grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable, came rushing out to meet his master. then the dog caught sight of the vanishing figure of uncle ezra, and with a growl sprang in that direction. "here! come back, grit!" yelled dick. "come back!" the bulldog paused. mr. larabee looked back. the temptation was too much for the animal. he made another rush. "call him back! call him back!" yelled mr. larabee, breaking into a run. "if he bites me, nephew richard, i'll sue your father for damages! call him back!" "grit!" called the cadet, and the dog knew the consequences of disobeying that voice. reluctantly he turned, but he sent menacing growls and barks in the direction of his traditional enemy. mr. larabee was still running as dick turned back toward the parade ground, with grit following reluctantly. "grit, have you no manners?" asked dick, but he could not help smiling. the dog wagged his tail, as though answering that he had not, and was glad of it. dick turned to look after his uncle, who, casting occasional fearful glances back, was hurrying toward the station. and, as dick looked, he saw a man turn from a cross road, and meet his uncle. the two stopped at the same time, and the stranger seemed to be questioning mr. larabee. if such was the case he got little satisfaction, for dick's uncle could be seen to shake his head vigorously in disapproval, and then, with a gesture, to dismiss the other. the stranger hesitated a moment, and soon turned away. "he looks just like the man paul and i met on the railroad," mused dick. "the one paul said acted as if he was going to commit suicide. i wonder what he wanted of uncle ezra?" but dick was not to know that for some time. chapter iv to the auto show "come on now, dick! give him a teaser!" "you know how to make him bite!" "two down! only one more dick, old man!" the occasion was the last of a series of baseball games between the kentfield military academy and the blue hill cadets, a rival organization. it was for the championship of the league, which coveted honor lay between kentfield and blue hill, with the chances in favor of the former. each nine had won a game in the final series of the best two out of three, and to-day would decide the matter. "that's the stuff, dick old man!" "that's got him going!" "make him fan again!" these cries greeted dick's delivery of the ball to lem gordon, who was up for blue hill, for lem had struck and missed. "only two more like that dick!" called paul drew, "and we'll be all to the merry." "watch lem poke it, though!" called joe bell, the plucky little captain of the blue hill nine. "a home run, lem, or a broken bat." the lad at home plate nodded, and kept a close watch on dick, who was winding up for another delivery. "two balls--one strike," innis beeby called. "watch yourself, dick." dick nodded comprehendingly. this was several days after the visit of uncle ezra larabee, and the time had been devoted to getting the kentfield team in shape for the final contest. it was an important one, for, as i have said, it would carry with it the championship of the military league. the game had run along with nothing remarkable to distinguish it, and was now at the beginning of the ninth inning. blue hill had six runs to kentfield's seven, and if dick could strike this last man out the game would be ended in favor of the kentfield nine, since they would not play out their half of the ninth. blue hill had two out, but lem gordon, the cadet at the bat, was a doughty hitter. had he gone in earlier in that inning there might have been a different story to tell. "strike two!" called the umpire, and a wave of cheering seemed to roll over the grandstand--cheers in which the shrill voices of girls could be heard. "oh, i do hope dick strikes him out!" exclaimed mabel hanford, one of a party of pretty girls in the main stand. "isn't he fine?" "who--dick or lem?" asked nellie fordice. "dick, of course, though lem is very nice, and he's a dandy dancer." "so is dick," declared nettie french. "oh girls! are you going to the graduation ball?" "if we're asked," answered mildred adams. "oh, let's watch the game," suggested mabel, and the four girls, with whom dick and his chums were on friendly terms, gave their attention to the contest. the interest on the part of the big crowd present was now intense. the next ball might tell the tale, for if dick struck out the batter, the game would end. on the other hand if gordon got a safe hit, he would be followed by another good batsman, and the game might go at least another half inning, and in case kentfield could not make a winning run, continue on for some time longer. dick felt a bit nervous as he got ready to deliver the next ball. it was two and two now. "i've got to get it over the plate, and yet fool him," thought dick. "i wonder if i dare risk a little slow twister. if he hits it, we're goners though--that is, we'll have to fight it out the rest of this inning. well, here goes!" as he was about to deliver the ball he heard the barking of grit over in one of the grandstands, where a chum, who was not playing, was keeping the bulldog. "good old grit!" mused dick. "that's his way of cheering, i guess!" swiftly the ball left dick's fingers, shooting toward the batter. lem stepped back a trifle, and then lunged forward to meet the horsehide. and he did meet it with his bat, full and true. with a vicious "ping!" the ball shot back, out over the diamond, shooting upward, and laying a course just between the left and centre fielders. both players converged to meet it, but the ball passed over their heads, as they had to run back. "go on, lem! sprint for it!" "show 'em how you can run!" "leg it, old man! leg it!" "a home run! a home run!" "we'll beat 'em yet! go on! go on!" but lem needed not the hoarse cries to urge him on. he needed not the frantic cheers of his comrades in arms nor those who sat in the grandstands. no sooner had he felt the magic of that meeting between his bat and the ball, than he sprang forward like some stone from an ancient catapult, tossing the stick to one side. and how he did run! the second baseman stood ready to relay the ball home, as soon as the frantic rightfielder should get it. but the horsehide had rolled into the deep grass. there was some delay in finding it, and by that time lem was at second. as he rounded that the centrefielder got his fingers on the ball. like a flash he threw. "come on! come on!" screamed the blue hill captain, and lem came. he beat the ball to third base, and kept on. he heard the thud of the horsehide striking the mit of the third baseman, and thought all was lost, but he dared not turn to see. then a groan--a groan of despair from the kentfield stand--told him what had happened. the third baseman had muffed it. there was still a chance for the runner. lem's feet and legs scarce could carry him onward, but he forced them to. the shortstop was racing madly for the ball. he and dick collided, and when the ball was finally recovered by the chagrined third baseman himself, lem was so near home that it was a foregone conclusion that he would tally the tieing run. and he did. the ball came with a "plunk" into the catcher's big mit, and then the umpire called out: "safe!" joyful pandemonium broke loose in the blue hill ranks. "we've got a chance to beat 'em!" they yelled. and truly this was so, but it was a very slim chance. "never mind, dick," consoled beeby. "you can strike out ed mayfield." "don't let him get a look in, and we can easily pull one run out when we get to the bat," urged paul drew. "all right," answered dick, shortly. he had taken a chance on lem not hitting that ball, but the unexpected had happened. dick pulled himself together, and faced ed mayfield, the next batter up, who was nervously dancing about the plate, trying by means of grins and gibes to disconcert the pitcher. but dick was not built that way. calmly he sized up his opponent and sent in a ball that fooled him. then came something in the nature of a fizzle, when the umpire called a ball. it began to look a bit dubious when the next was a ball also. "careful, dick," warned the captain. "we can't afford to go to pieces now." dick did not answer, but there was a grim tightening of his lips. then he sent in a viciously swift ball. "strike two!" called the umpire, sharply. "ah!" came as a sort of chorus from the big crowd. "dick's all right now," declared paul drew, in a low voice. and so it proved. without giving another ball, dick put over another delivery, which resulted in a strike, and to it the umpire added: "strike three--batter's out!" the score was a tie. "now, kentfield!" came the excited cry. "show 'em how to win this game! one run will do it!" the home team came pouring in from the various parts of the diamond, ready to bat. paul drew was to start off, and managed to get to first. but he was caught stealing second. then teddy naylor got to third, but was held there as hal foster struck out. "two down," came the mournful cry. it began to look as though the game would go ten innings, with the ever-increasing chance that blue hill would win, or at least improve her opportunity. the score was still a tie. "hamilton up!" called the scorer. "dick, you've just got to make a hit!" "bring in naylor!" was implored. "knock the cover off, dick!" these were only a few of the cries that greeted our hero as he stepped to the plate. ordinarily dick was a good safe hitter, in contrast to many pitchers, but this time, when so much depended on his skill, he found himself feeling nervous. "here, this won't do!" he told himself. "brace up. think of that big touring car you're going to get and the fun you'll have. think of grit--and uncle ezra." the memory of how the aged man had hurried away from grit's threatened attack brought a smile to dick's face. he could feel his nervousness leaving him, but he was brought to a realizing sense of the importance of paying more strict attention to baseball, by hearing the umpire call sharply: "strike one!" dick had let the first ball pass him without making a motion toward it, though it was just where he wanted it. "watch yourself," called paul drew, in a low voice. dick saw that he must. he looked narrowly at the pitcher and, from previous experience, he thought he knew what kind of a ball was coming. "i'm going to hit it!" said dick fiercely to himself. he stepped right into it, before the curve had time to "break," and when he felt the impact of his bat on the horsehide he knew that he had made a hit. "it's good for two bags anyhow!" he murmured as he sprinted toward first, and had a vision of naylor racing in from third. "go on dick! go on!" "run! run old man!" "a homer--a homer!" "and a homer it's going to be!" cried dick, as he passed second, and saw the right fielder vainly racing after the ball which had been sent away over his head and back of him. it was a better hit than that of gordon. dick saw naylor cross the home plate and then he was at third himself. the ball was slowly coming in from the fielder, but the throw was such a long one that the second baseman had to run out to meet it. "they'll never get it home in time," thought dick, as he staggered onward, for he had run hard and his legs were trembling. "i can beat it home." and he did, crossing the rubber before the ball was in the catcher's hands. then such cheering as broke out. naylor's run had put kentfield one ahead, and dick's made two. it was sensational playing, with two home runs so close together, and the crowd appreciated it. kentfield had the championship now. "kentfield! kentfield! kentfield! rah! rah! rah! boom! boom! _boom!_ ah! ah! ah! kentfield!" thus the school cry was given, coming from a thousand hoarse throats, and then came: "three cheers for dick hamilton!" the grandstands rocked and swayed and creaked with the stress of emotion displayed. "it was great, old man! great!" cried paul, clapping his panting chum on the back. "thanks. i knew i had to do it to save the game." "and you did!" exclaimed beeby. "somebody punch me--i'm too happy to last!" some one obliged him with such force that beeby stumbled, and to save himself he had to execute a forward somersault, at which trick he was an adept. "armstrong up!" called the scorer, when he could make himself heard. "oh, what's the use of playing it out?" asked beeby. "let's sweeten the score if we can," urged dick, who did not like doing anything by halves. but there was little interest in the game now, for kentfield had won, and nothing could take it from her. still armstrong got up, and promptly fanned out, over which fact there was no regret, rather gladness on the part of the champions, who wanted to quit and celebrate. dejectedly blue hill filed off the field, after they had cheered and been cheered. the great game was over, the crowds thronged down from the grandstands. the kentfield nine and the substitutes got together, and cheered dick to the echo. then with a singing of the song that always followed a victory they dispersed to the dressing rooms. their baseball season was over. "you certainly did yourself and us proud, dick," said paul, as he and his chum walked away together. "i wish uncle ezra could have seen you." "oh, he'd probably say that the money spent on baseball might better be used to buy interest-bearing bonds," laughed dick. "but say, i thought i saw some of the girls here." "they are. we'll look 'em up after we tidy up a bit." and then came the shower baths, a changing into clean raiment and a gladsome time with the girls, who crowded around the hero of the day. "well, i suppose we'll soon be away from here," remarked paul that night as he, dick and innis beeby sat in the room of the latter, and talked over the great game. "yes, my folks wrote to say that the cottage by the sea was open, and i'm expected there soon," said innis. "i'm booked for the white mountains this trip," said paul, "and i'm not very keen for it, either." dick was silent for a few seconds, looking over some papers. "what are you going to do, old man?" asked paul. "fellows, i've got the best scheme yet!" exclaimed dick. "i've just got it worked out. what do you say to a trip to california with me in the new auto i'm going to get? will you come?" "will we!" cried innis without a moment's hesitation. "will a duck swim?" "put her there, old man!" yelled paul, slapping his hand into that of dick. "when do we start?" "do you mean it?" asked dick, hardly believing his chums were in earnest. they assured him that they did. "then here's my game," he went on. "dad wrote to me to get some catalogues and pick out the auto i wanted. i'm going to go him one better." "what's that?" asked paul. "have a car made to order?" "no, that would take too long. but the new york automobile show is on, in madison square garden. there are lots of cars there that can be bought for immediate delivery. and i can pick out a car twice as good from seeing it, rather than by looking at a picture of it. "now we three will take in that auto show. i'll pick out the car i want, dad will foot the bill, according to his promise, and we'll start on our tour across country. how does that strike you?" "great!" declared innis. "bully!" assented paul. "dick, you're a gentleman and a scholar. this is too much!" and he pretended to weep on beeby's shoulder. "then pack up, and we'll leave day after to-morrow for new york," said dick. "i'll write to dad. i'd go to-morrow only i don't want to miss the graduation dance." "no, and i fancy someone else doesn't either," said paul, with a significant glance at the picture of a pretty girl on the bureau. so it was arranged. the dance was a success, as all such affairs at kentfield were, but we shall not concern ourselves with that. the day after it saw dick and his chums, with grit, on the way to the big auto show in new york. chapter v the big car "what kind of a car have you in mind, dick?" "get a six cylinder, anyhow." dick hamilton looked at paul and innis, who were in the parlor car with him, speeding on to new york. "i haven't exactly made up my mind," answered the young millionaire. "i want a powerful car; if we're going to cross the rockies i'll need power. but i want a comfortable one, too. it wants to be enclosed, and so arranged that if we have to we can sleep in it." "say, you want a traveling hotel; don't you?" asked paul. "something like that, yes," assented dick. "but i don't want such a heavy machine that we'll be having tire trouble all the time. i'm not going to make up my mind as to any particular car until i see what kinds there are in the garden." the boys talked of many things as the train sped on. dick had engaged rooms for himself and his friends at the hotel where he and his father always stopped on coming to the metropolis, and a few hours more would see them at their destination. the porter came up to dick, his honest black and shining face wearing a broad grin, as he remarked: "'scuse me, but does one ob yo' gen'mans own a bulldog what is in de baggage car?" "i do!" exclaimed dick, quickly. "what about him?" "den yo' presence am earnestly requested up dere by de baggageman," went on the porter. "is grit hurt?" demanded the young millionaire. "no, sah, leastaways he wasn't when i seed him. he were feelin' mighty peart!" "then what's the trouble?" asked dick, as he prepared to follow the colored man to the car ahead. "why dere's a man in de car, an' yo' dog won't let him go out." "won't let him go out?" asked dick, wonderingly. "no, sah! he jest completely won't let him go out ob dat car, and he's keepin' him right by de do, so de baggage man can't slide out no trunks, no how. an' we's comin' to a station soon, where dem trunks hab jest natchally gotter be put off." "i'll see what's the matter," promised dick, hurrying on. "be back in a minute," he called to his chums. "if you want any help, send for us!" suggested paul, "though," he added in a lower voice, "if grit is on a rampage i'd rather not interfere--that is, personally." dick found matters as the porter had described. a rather flashily dressed young man stood close against one of the side doors of the baggage car, while grit, who had broken his chain, stood in front of him, with his bowed front legs far apart, and his black lips drawn back from his teeth. from time to time the bulldog growled menacingly, especially whenever the young man moved. the baggageman, with a puzzled expression on his face, had placed some trunks in the middle of the car, ready to be put out of the side door when the next station stop should be reached. "but every time i try to get out of the way," said the flashily dressed man, "this confounded dog of yours acts as if he was going to eat me up. i daren't move. call him off or i'll kick him, and break his jaw." "i wouldn't," said dick, quietly. "it would probably be your last kick--with that foot, anyhow." "something has to be done," declared the baggage man. "i must put these trunks off soon. that door's on the station side, and the other door opens against a high concrete wall. i can't get a trunk off there." "i'll take care of grit," said dick. "what did you do to him?" he asked the young fellow. "nothing." "oh, yes you did," said dick, quietly. "grit doesn't act that way for nothing. come here," he called, and the dog obeyed, though with fierce backward glances at the man by the door. "now you can move," went on dick. "what did they do to you, old fellow?" he asked, as he bent over his pet. grit's neck was bleeding slightly where his collar had cut him as he wrenched against the chain, and broke it. "he pulled his tail--that's what he did," asserted the now relieved baggageman. "i told him to let the dog alone, for i saw it was a thoroughbred, and was nervous. but he got funny with the animal, and then your dog broke loose, and drove him against the door." "you're lucky he didn't bite you," said dick, as he loosened the chafing collar. "he only wanted to teach you a lesson, i guess. next time don't fool with a bulldog." "if he'd a' bit me i'd a' had the law on you," threatened the young man, as he hurried out of the car, followed by the resentful glare of grit. "all right," assented dick. "only i guess you might have had to wait until you came out of the hospital. it was your own fault. will he be all right with you?" he asked of the baggage man, referring to grit. "oh, yes, he and i are good friends. i was in another part of the car, making out some records, or i'd have stopped that young idiot from pinching his tail. but he got all that was coming to him. he was mighty scared. i thought it best to send for you, though." "that was right. grit, old man, i can't blame you, but try and hold yourself in," said dick, patting his pet. the dog whined, and licked his master's hands, and then, having made sure that grit and the baggageman would get along well together, dick left his pet, having brought him some water, and bound up the cut on his neck with a spare handkerchief. grit whined lonesomely as dick left, and the young millionaire called back: "it'll only be a little while now, old fellow. we'll soon be at the hotel." grit's joy was unbounded when he was released from the car, and soon with his master, and the latter's two chums, was speeding across new york in a taxicab. arrangements were made at the hotel to have grit cared for, and he was to be allowed in dick's room at certain times during the day, the young millionaire having ascertained that no nervous old ladies were near enough to be annoyed. "and now for the auto show!" exclaimed dick after dinner that night. "we'll make a preliminary survey, and see what we can find." madison square garden was a brilliant place, with the thousands of electric lights, the glittering cars and the decorative scheme, which was unusually elaborate that year. "say, this is great!" gasped beeby, as the three entered through the crowd at the doors. "i should say yes!" added paul. "it's gorgeous! how are you going to pick out a car among so many, dick?" "oh, there's only one kind i want. i hope i find it here. but there's no hurry. let's look about." and indeed the sights were well worth viewing. there seemed to be every kind of car represented, from little runabouts to palatial enclosed vehicles that would carry eight persons. and there were trucks, from small three-wheeled ones, that could be used to deliver a lady's hat, to monsters that could shift a five-ton safe with ease. there was the hum of motors, electricity driven, for gasoline was not allowed in the building on account of the fire danger. there was the snapping of spark-plugs, some of which were being shown at work under water, to prove how hard it was to short circuit them. and there was the crackle of a wireless outfit in use, to demonstrate how it could be attached to an army-auto in war time. the boys roved about the big space, visiting exhibit after exhibit. several times dick thought he saw what he wanted, but he always decided to look further, in the hope of finding something a little better. as he and his chums passed a place where they had lingered long over some beautiful enclosed cars, powerful and efficient with many new appliances, dick's eye was caught by a big car standing by itself in an open space. it was painted dark green, and for a moment its size almost made dick believe it was a sort of dummy, used for advertisement purposes. then, as he saw the heavily tired wheels and caught a glimpse of the engine under the open hood, he exclaimed: "that's the car for me, boys!" the three crowded closer to the big auto, and their wonder grew as they noted how it was fitted out. chapter vi the ruined millionaire "what a car!" "it's got folding bunks in, as sure as you're born!" "and that looks like a small kitchen!" "those tires are a new kind, too--cushion instead of pneumatic!" "say, you could drive that through a hail storm and you'd never know it!" "that's the car for me, boys, if dad will stand for it, and i can get it!" thus exclaimed dick hamilton, the other exclamations coming from his two chums as they stood admiring the big car. nor were they the only ones, for a throng had gathered about the space where the peculiar auto was being exhibited. in general shape it was like any large enclosed car, but it exceeded in size any dick had ever seen. and in the interior appointments, certainly it was the "last word" in auto construction. briefly described, for i shall go more into details later, it was a six-cylinder machine, with the whole body back of the engine itself enclosed in wood and glass. there was no division back of the steering wheel, the whole interior of the car, save for a space that paul described as the "kitchen," being thrown into one compartment. and that apartment contained, as beeby had said, folding bunks or berths, that served as long seats in the day time, while at night they made comfortable beds. there was a small stove, evidently operated by an electric current; there were electric lights, and the car could be started by the same agency, as dick noted. then there were displayed dishes with which to set a folding table, and utensils for cooking on the electric stove. there was ample room for food and bed clothing, as well as for garments. "that's the nearest thing to a traveling parlor and dining car that i've seen!" exclaimed dick; "with sleeping berths thrown in. that's the car i want. i wonder if it's for sale, boys?" and he looked questioningly at a man who seemed to be in charge. "yes, it is," was the answer. "it has just been put on the market. in fact the car has been on exhibition only since this morning, when we got instructions to dispose of it." "do you make those up for stock?" asked paul. "no, this is the only car like it in the world, we believe. it was made to order for a gentleman, but now he does not want it, and he authorized us to dispose of it for him. it has never been used, though it has been thoroughly tested." "what's the matter?" asked dick. "didn't he like it?" "maybe it wasn't big enough," suggested beeby. "as to that i can't say," went on the salesman. "i only was told to dispose of it, and i'm afraid i'm going to have my own troubles. it's too large for use in the city. it was built for touring purposes exclusively, and it is very complete. but few persons would want a car like it, i am afraid. would you like to look it over more closely?" he asked, seeing how interested dick and his chums were. "we sure would!" exclaimed paul. "and if dad doesn't keep his word, and get this for me," added dick, "why--i'll get it myself. this car positively must be mine!" "i'm afraid it will be more than the average young man can afford," remarked the agent, with a smile. "the beauty of it, though," said paul to the man in a low voice, as they slipped under the ropes, "is that he isn't an average young man." "no?" "that's mortimer hamilton's son," went on paul. "the millionaire?" paul nodded. "great scott!" whispered the man. "i came near making a break," and he hurried after dick to explain the points of the car. while dick, his chums and others in the interested crowd looked on, the agent showed how the bunks could be utilized as seats in the day time, or even folded up out of the way and camp stools used when it was desired to eat. the table was let down from the "ceiling" and could be folded and raised with but little effort when not wanted. there were enough dishes to feed six persons at a time, though four was all the car would "sleep." more could travel in it during the day, however. the electric stove, operated by a current from a dynamo, as well as from a storage battery, was very efficient, and a fairly complete meal could be cooked on it. there was also ample storage room for supplies. the engine, in which dick was also greatly interested, was of a new and very powerful type. it was almost "trouble-proof," and would stand up well under hard usage. the use of a new type of cushion tires, instead of those inflated with air, insured freedom from punctures and blowouts, and would, because of the weight of the car, and a new kind of springs, make riding very easy. "in short, it's a car for a long tour," said the agent. "and it's the car for me!" exclaimed dick. by this time most of the crowd had gone to look at other exhibits, leaving the agent and the three boys comparatively alone. "but why did not the man who ordered it take it after it was completed?" asked dick. "was he dissatisfied with it?" "not at all!" exclaimed a voice back of the boys. "i couldn't take the car after i ordered it, for the simple reason that i didn't have the money to pay for it. i lost my fortune between the time i contracted for the _last word_ and the time it was finished. that's all." "oh," said dick blankly. he was rather surprised to be taken up so quickly. he turned to see who had spoken, and, as he did so, he uttered an exclamation of surprise that was echoed by paul drew. for, standing near the big car which he could not now possess, was the young man whom paul and dick had seen acting so strangely on the railroad tracks--the young man who, according to paul, had been prevented from committing suicide by dick's prompt action. the stranger, too, was as much surprised as were dick and paul. he paused as he was about to continue his explanation, and an odd look came over his face. then he held out his hand, saying: "i believe i have met two of you boys before." "that's right," agreed dick. "i'm glad to see you again. so this is your car?" "it _was_," he replied with a little smile. "now it's for whoever can raise the money. i can't." "i came on from kentfield," dick explained. "the academy has closed for the summer, and i'm looking for a touring car. my father is giving me one as a sort of reward for not flunking in class." "i see. well, you couldn't get a better car than this. i know the firm well, and, while it is rather peculiarly built, from ideas of my own, still it can compete with any of the regular machines, and beat most of them, though it has not abnormal speed, of course." "i'm not looking for speed," laughed dick. "i want comfort." "it's rather odd that we should meet again," went on the young man. "i live out near kentfield, but i thought i would take a run in to new york, to see if there was a chance of getting rid of the car. i haven't paid for it yet, but i believe i am, in a way, responsible, since i agreed to take it. i wouldn't like to see the firm lose money on it, but if it comes to getting it out of me they'll have hard work. i'm dead broke--cleaned out. "three months ago i was worth over a million. now i have barely enough to live on. but i'm going to make my pile again!" he exclaimed with energy. "i'm not going to give up, and when i come into my own again i'll have another car like this. i've been foolish once, but i'm through now. they don't catch me twice on the same bait. no more speculation for frank wardell!" and he slapped the big tire of one of the wheels determinedly. dick hamilton started. "what--what did you say your name was?" he asked. "wardell--frank wardell. i'll give you a card," and he produced one. "mine's hamilton--dick hamilton," said dick. "glad to meet you. i know your father slightly--mortimer hamilton?" "yes." "this is odd, a ruined millionaire and a successful one," and he laughed grimly. "never mind, i'll be in your class soon again," and he shook hands with dick, who had introduced his chums. "wardell--frank wardell," murmured dick to paul. "do you recognize that name?" "i can't say that i do. why?" "don't ask me now. i'll tell you later. to think it should come out this way," went on dick. "frank wardell! the man i met on the track--a ruined millionaire. no wonder he acted so strangely. oh, if i could only help him! i hope he doesn't ask too much about my family. i'd hate to have to admit that i'm uncle ezra's nephew," and with this rather mystifying ejaculation, dick gave his attention to what mr. wardell was saying--explaining some points about the car that had escaped the attention of the boys. "i do hope you will take it, mr. hamilton," the ruined millionaire went on. "i don't know of anyone i'd rather would get it than you. i know you'll appreciate it." "i think very likely i shall take it," said dick. "then you'll take a load off my shoulders," the other went on, "for i feel, in a measure, responsible for the price, and the land knows i could never raise the cash." and dick, as he looked over the wonderful touring car, could not help thinking how strangely fate had ordered matters. paul looked at his chum, anxious to hear why the name "wardell" should make such an impression on the young millionaire. chapter vii on the road "then you have fully made up your mind to take it, mr. hamilton?" asked the agent, of dick. "yes, it is just what i want. i will wire my father to-night, and i'm sure he will agree, though the price may be more than he first decided on. but i'll make up the difference myself." "then i'll let mr. wardell know," for the former millionaire, after declining an invitation to come to supper with dick and his chums, had left the auto show. "say, what about him?" asked paul, when he got a chance. "who is this wardell, anyhow?" "don't you remember," answered dick. "that's the man uncle ezra came on from dankville to see--to clean up, in other words--take his money away, you know. don't you remember, paul, hearing him tell about how a certain party didn't know enough to hold on to his wealth, and all that?" "is this the man--this wardell?" "the very same one, i believe. he must be. it couldn't be that there were two of the same name, both of whom had lost their fortunes at the same time. uncle ezra ruined the man whose auto i'm going to take, paul." "well, i guess you're right, dick. it's a strange coincidence. are you going to tell him it was your uncle who got all his money away from him?" "i certainly am not, paul. it's not a thing to be proud of, and if i keep him from finding it out until we get this car, and leave, i'll be glad of it. of course if he asks me i'll have to tell him. but i don't believe he will. larabee and hamilton are different names, and mr. wardell will not be likely to trace any connection, though he may. "i thought sure you'd let out something about uncle ezra when you heard the name wardell, paul." "no, it didn't strike me. but then you know i wasn't in the room all the while you and your uncle were talking. i don't recall hearing him mention wardell at all." "well, i did, and i was startled when i found out who this man was," went on dick. "i suppose it's a sort of puzzle to you, innis," the young millionaire added, while the auto salesman was making out some papers for dick to sign. "somewhat, yes," admitted beeby, and then dick and his other chum explained. "well, i know one thing i didn't know before," said paul, as they were ready to depart. "what's that?" "i know why this young mr. wardell was thinking of ending his life on the railroad track that day you saved him." "why was he?" "because he'd lost his fortune," went on paul in a low voice. "just think of it--a millionaire one week, and practically without a cent the next! i suppose that's the way it sometimes goes with rich men who make their living by speculation, but it's hard, just the same. and to know he couldn't pay for this fine car he'd ordered--no wonder he was tired of life." "and to think that some member of my family was responsible," added dick. "it makes me mad! i hope he doesn't connect me with uncle ezra." "do you suppose your uncle took advantage of him?" asked innis. "i don't mean exactly that, either," he added hastily, thinking dick might take the question as a reflection on his relative. "oh, you can't fuss me--saying things about uncle ezra," laughed the young millionaire. "while i don't believe he would do anything that was unlawful--that is, as _he_ regards the law--i do think that he'd want every last cent that he could claim by any stretch of the statutes. he's a hard man, uncle ezra is, especially where money is concerned. i don't just know what sort of dealings he had with this mr. wardell, but he got his fortune, that's sure, and maybe by a trick, for all i know. "that's why i'm not at all anxious to have it known that i'm mr. larabee's nephew. i'm not at all proud of the connection, and i certainly would feel bad to have mr. wardell know it. legally uncle ezra might be well within his rights, but morally i wouldn't be surprised if he was a good way outside of them. but let's forget all about such an unpleasant matter. i'll see when we can get this car, and try it." a talk with the agent brought out the fact that dick could take the big auto at any time after the money had been paid down. it was not a part of the regular auto show, and the space it occupied could be utilized by other machines. "very well then," said dick. "i'll probably hear from my father in the morning. he'll likely send an order to his new york bankers to pay over the money, and then the machine will be mine." "and i congratulate you," said the agent. "it is a car to be proud of, and if you intend making a long trip it will be just what you want." "we'll go across the continent in her!" cried dick. "boys, are you with me?" "that's what!" exclaimed paul and innis. they spent some more time in looking at the various exhibits, and dick sent his father a message from the telegraph office temporarily set up in the garden. then they drifted back to the big car, which dick had christened _last word_, on learning that mr. wardell had tentatively selected that title. "it sure is a peach!" exclaimed our hero. "think you can drive it?" asked paul. "one of the company's engineers will be glad to demonstrate it on the road for you," suggested the agent. "thanks," replied dick. "i think i shall be glad to have a few lessons. i can drive an ordinary car, but this is an extraordinary one." dick's anticipation of his father's action was confirmed next morning. a telegram came, saying: "congratulations. big car--big price. i'm satisfied if you are." "that's like dad," remarked dick. "but he doesn't say anything about the money," remarked paul, who was anxious to have a ride in the big machine. "oh, trust dad not to overlook that part," spoke the young millionaire. "we'll go see that agent. probably he has already heard from my father." and so it proved. dick's purchase of the car was confirmed in a telegram to the makers, and the information was added that mr. hamilton's bankers had been instructed to send a certified check for the price. "i have sent for one of our engineers," the salesman told dick, when the latter and his two chums visited the garden after breakfast. "you can go for a spin on the road this afternoon." "good!" cried dick. "get ready, fellows!" matters went through without a hitch. the price was paid over, and the car formally became dick's. then the professional chauffeur arrived, and after some manipulation the big touring machine was run out of the garden, while a crowd gathered around to see the novel sight. "it looks almost as big as a pullman coach," declared innis beeby. "well, let's get in and see if it rides like one," suggested dick. "look at the auto swells!" cried a newsboy. "hurray!" "as long as our heads aren't swelled we're all right," remarked paul. the oil and gasoline tanks had been filled, and, after looking over the various parts, the chauffeur got in, taking the driver's seat, the boys disposing themselves comfortably on the long, leather-covered benches, that would later be made into sleeping berths. "isn't he going to crank up?" asked innis in some surprise, for the motor was not running when the chauffeur took his place. "you don't have to, on this car," the man explained. "it is a self-starter. it has two systems--an electric motor, operated by an accumulated current, that will turn over the engine, and even run the car on its own power for some distance. then there is also an acetylene gas motor, so in case one fails the other will work. i'll start it by electricity now." he pressed a button on the dash. there was a low humming from somewhere beneath the car, and then the gasoline motor took up the song of progress. the machine vibrated with the power of the engine, until the driver slowed it down. then throwing in the gear, he let the clutch slip into place, and the big machine glided slowly forward. "we're off!" cried dick. "like a charm!" added paul. "i never saw a big car start so easily." "this machine has a new style of clutch," explained the chauffeur. "you'll find a number of the very latest wrinkles on her," he added with a smile. "now, where do you want to go?" "out toward the bronx," replied dick. "get us into something like the country--that is, as much as there is near new york," and soon they were spinning ahead at good speed. it did not take them long to get in the upper part of manhattan, and a little later they were out on what might be called a country road. "this is great!" exclaimed dick, as he gazed from the plate glass windows of his touring car on the landscape that fairly flew past. "it sure is!" agreed his chums. "but wait until we start across the continent," went on the young millionaire. "then we'll have some real fun!" chapter viii uncle ezra laughs "suppose you try it now, mr. hamilton," suggested the chauffeur, when they had gone several miles, the professional giving the new owner various instructions about the car. "yes, go ahead, dick," urged paul. "the sooner you get to know how to run it, the quicker we'll be off on our trip." "well, i want you fellows to pick up some of the fine points, too," said dick. "i don't intend to run the car all the while." "oh, we'll do our share," agreed innis. "sit up now, dick and show us what you can do." it was not without a feeling of nervousness that dick took the wheel, for certainly driving this big and powerful car was no light matter. but they were on a broad and straight highway, where there was not much traffic, so dick took his place at the wheel and levers, with the chauffeur near by in case of emergency, and paul and innis looking on, as anxious to learn as was dick. "she steers easier than i thought she would," remarked the wealthy youth, when he had driven for a mile or so. "yes, and that's one danger," the chauffeur explained. "you're likely to give too much of a twist. just a little turn of the wheel answers." "look out for that dog, dick!" yelled paul, as a yellow cur shot from a yard, diagonally across the road, barking at the big car. "i see him!" came the answer. "and there's a goose on the other side!" added innis, as dick swerved the machine to one side. "there, you ran over its foot!" a series of "honks-honks!" apprised the young driver that something had happened. quickly he shut off the power and jammed on the foot and hand brakes. a woman rushed out of a rather dilapidated house crying: "oh, you've run over heinie! you've run over heinie! oh, you've killed him!" dick turned pale. "is--is any one under the car?" he faltered. "my heinie! oh, my heinie!" cried the woman again. "you haf runned ofer my heinie!" with a bound dick was out of the car through the sliding door in front, and peering between the wheels. he could see no child, and gave a sigh of relief. "who is heinie?" he asked the woman. "who is heinie? he is my best goose, and you haf runned over him mit your steam roller. you shall pay mit him yet!" "oh, if it's only a goose that's all right," said dick as he took out his pocketbook. "how much?" "heinie was worth more as a dollar," she exclaimed, as she picked up the goose, which was still protestingly honking. "his feets is broken. he was worth more as two dollar." "here are five," said dick, generously. "i couldn't help it. i steered out to avoid the dog, and your goose got in the way. i thought it was a child, by the way you called." "heinie is more as a child by me. i haf him more as five years now, and always--always he is careful mit der autos. but yours! it is not a auto--it is a house!" "well, maybe he'll get better. his foot isn't much hurt," said dick with a laugh, as he passed over the money. "i'm sorry." "poor heinie," murmured the woman, as she gathered her apron about the goose and went into the house. "he was worth more as fife dollar!" "you're starting in great, dick," laughed paul, as his chum got back into the touring car. "at this rate you'll need to take a big pocketbook along every time you go out." "he aimed at the dog and hit a goose," added innis. "lucky it was no worse," said dick. "i sure thought i was in bad by the way she yelled about 'heinie.'" "you don't yet quite appreciate how easily the car steers, i guess," suggested the chauffeur. "try it some more." they went on a little more slowly, and had no more accidents. dick soon became familiar with the mechanism, and rapidly acquired confidence in himself. then paul and innis took turns, under the watchful eye and ready hands of the chauffeur. they stopped for dinner at a wayside hotel, and then drove back to new york, dick arranging to have the car kept in a nearby garage. the next day he went out again, on a longer run, taking grit with him. the bulldog seemed to take kindly to the new car, and made himself at home in it. the chauffeur had it easier now, for dick felt confident enough to do all the operating himself. "we ought to stock up and live in it one night," suggested paul, the third day. "time enough for that," replied the delighted owner of the _last word_. "i'm going to drive it to hamilton corners in a few days." "you are?" "sure. that won't be much of a run, compared with our trip across the continent." another week saw dick so improved in skill that the chauffeur declared he need have no hesitation in taking the car on any trip. then a license having been procured, and the tanks refilled, dick and his chums started on the trip to hamilton corners. it was accomplished without accident, an early morning start enabling them to arrive shortly before dark. as they drove into the side entrance of dick's house a voice called from the library: "what's this, mortimer? it looks like a railroad coach coming in." "uncle ezra's here!" exclaimed the son of the house as he recognized the tones. "i expect that is dick's new touring car," replied mr. hamilton. "mortimer! you don't mean to say you let your son get an expensive auto like that?" "i gave it to him, yes, ezra," the boys heard mr. hamilton reply. "well, of all the sinful, foolish wasting of money, this is the worst! why, such a car as that must have cost nigh onto a thousand dollars!" "if he only knew!" murmured dick, with a chuckle. "come on in, fellows. you'll stay with me a few days, and then we'll arrange about our trip." "well, nephew richard, i see you haven't learned economy yet," rasped uncle ezra, as our hero entered the library with his chums. "where do you expect to end your days?" "i hope i don't have to think of that so soon, uncle ezra," replied dick. "i guess you know my two chums; don't you?" "um! is that dog in here?" the crabbed man asked quickly, as a low growl sounded from under a chair near the door. "send him out at once, or i shall go." "take grit away, gibbs," dick said to the butler. "he and uncle ezra seem to get on each other's nerves," he added in a low voice. dick briefly related the incidents of his trip, and thanked his father for the generous gift of the car. then, as the young men were rather dusty and tired from their journey, they went to their rooms to dress for dinner, which would soon be served. dick was ready first, and going downstairs he heard his father and uncle talking in the library. as he went toward the handsome room, intending to join them, he heard mr. hamilton remark: "so you got possession of all his securities, ezra?" "every one, mortimer. i cleaned young wardell out from head to foot, and it was all his own fault. he put up the stock as collateral for a loan. i supplied the money, and when the time came to pay me back he couldn't--he didn't have the cash." "because he bought some other stock that you controlled, and you so manipulated that market that the latter stock was worthless; wasn't that it, ezra?" and mr. hamilton spoke coldly. "well, mortimer, i didn't do nothin' unlawful; did i? i only did what other folks do every day. i had a right to swing my own market the way i liked; didn't i?" "i suppose so" "and if this wardell didn't know enough to protect himself, that wasn't my fault; was it?" "perhaps not." "he ought to have more sense." "perhaps. still i feel sorry for him." "wa'al, i don't! he brought it on himself. ha! ha! i won't forget how he begged me to hold off, and not close him out! ha! ha!" and uncle ezra laughed heartily, in a sort of rasping chuckle. "i told him i wasn't no philanthropist, and he went away mighty mad, i reckon. "but i'm not in business for my health. the funny part of it is, mortimer, that even now, if wardell only knowed enough, he could get back his fortune?" "he could? how?" asked mr. hamilton, eagerly. "wa'al, i wouldn't tell everybody, but i know it will be safe with you. you see, when he got that big loan off me, to do what he calls speculatin', he gave me as security for the money some stock in that western railroad--that california branch you know. citrous junction, i believe it's called." "yes," assented mr. hamilton. "wa'al, it was valuable stock, and i was hopin' all the while that something would turn up so's i could keep it, for i had some of their stock, and this would give me the control of the road. "wa'al, it did. wardell turned up broke, and i got a hold on his stock. but the queer part of it is that there's some tangle in the matter--some legal complications that my lawyer is figuring out--and if wardell only knowed enough he could file an injunction against havin' any of that stock transferred--even his lot that he put up with me as security. that would halt matters until he could make good on something else, and then he could pay me what he owes, and get this railroad stock back. but he don't know that he can do this, and i ain't goin' to tell him. "it ain't up to me to do so. so all i've got to do is to hold on to his stock until a certain time, and then it will be too late for him to file any papers, and the stock will be mine forever, and i'll control the road. ha! ha! it's a good joke on wardell; ain't it?" "i suppose you think so," said mr. hamilton, coldly, "but it seems like hard lines for him." "wa'al, he brought it on himself; didn't he? i didn't ask him to borrow my money. he asked me for it. i didn't ask him to go into any of these deals; he went into them himself with his eyes open. now i'm not goin' to tell him he has a chance to get back his fortune, if he was only smart enough! no, sir. ha! ha! "i'm just goin' to keep quiet, and say nothin'. if the time limit expires, and he doesn't file that injunction, or whatever legal paper it is, with the california courts by a certain day, then his security railroad stock is mine, and it will be twice as valuable as when wardell owned it. it'll be worth nigh onto a million! that's what i call business, i do!" "oh, yes, it's business--of a certain kind," admitted mr. hamilton. "and so he has a chance to get back his fortune?" "yes, but he don't know it, mortimer! he don't know it! ha! ha! that's the joke of it! he don't know it! he don't know it! he! he!" and uncle ezra went off into a fit of laughter that nearly choked him. dick, in the hall, heard, though not intending to play the eavesdropper. "so, wardell doesn't know; eh?" mused the young man. "he doesn't know, and uncle ezra thinks that's a joke. a queer joke. wardell doesn't know what chance he has to get back his fortune. but _i_ know, and uncle ezra, unless i'm very much mistaken, i'm going to put a spoke in your wheel!" and then dick went silently upstairs to join his two chums. chapter ix dick makes plans "well, dick, so you think you have the very car you want?" "yes, dad, and i can't thank you enough for it. it's a dandy, and we're soon going to make a big trip in it--all the way across to san francisco." "more expense! more expense!" exclaimed uncle ezra, raising his hands in protest. they were at the dinner table, talking over dick's plans for the coming summer. "it won't be much more expensive than going to some resort, uncle ezra," remarked dick, thinking over what he had heard a little while before. "and i think it will do the boys more good," said mr. hamilton. "they'll see something of life, and the experience will be a new one for them. do you think you can make your car a base of supplies, dick, and live in it without going to hotels, as you plan?" "i think so, but we're not going to bind ourselves down by any hard and fast rules. if we want to go to a hotel we'll go; otherwise we'll camp out in the _last word_." "more expense! more expense!" protested mr. larabee. "oh, what is the present generation coming to?" no one answered him. "when do you expect to start?" asked mr. hamilton. "just as soon as the boys can get ready," replied dick. "it's up to them." "i'll have to write home," said paul. "i've no doubt, though, but what my folks will let me." "same here," observed innis. "what is that?" suddenly demanded uncle ezra. "who is kicking my legs?" he moved his feet about under the table, but as he sat at some distance from the others it was difficult to understand who could be kicking him. the mystery was solved a moment later, however, for a low growl came from beneath the oak table. "it's that dratted dog!" exclaimed the crabbed old man. "mortimer, if i can't eat my dinner in peace----" "i didn't know he was in here," said dick, apologizing. "gibbs, have grit taken to the stable." "yes, mr. dick," answered the butler, and again the unfortunate dog was led away, casting a sad look at dick and a vindictive one at uncle ezra. "it's lucky he didn't bite you," spoke mr. hamilton. "he must have sneaked in here after he was put out before." "if he had bitten me----" began uncle ezra. "he'd have done it at once, if he had any such intention, i think," interrupted dick. "grit isn't savage----" "isn't savage!" cried mr. larabee. "i'd like to know what you do call it?" "you don't understand him," suggested the young millionaire. "he's as gentle as a cat with--his friends." "then i'm glad i'm not one of his friends!" exclaimed uncle ezra. the dinner went on, the talk being divided among the boys on one side, and mr. hamilton and his brother-in-law on the other, with occasional interchanges. then the millionaire and mr. larabee went to the library to talk over some business, and the three chums went out to the garage to look over the new car, and see how it had stood the journey. "it seems all right," said dick. "of course we didn't put much strain on it. when we get out west, trying to cross deserts, ford streams and climb mountains, then we'll see how she stands up. jove! but i'm anxious to start. "say, can't you fellows get your folks on the long distance telephone, and see when you can go?" dick was always planning how to make short cuts. "it's too late to call 'em up now," said paul. "they'd think something had happened. we'll write." "then do it now," urged dick. "you'll get an answer so much quicker. explain everything and tell 'em you simply must go! it will do you good." "oh, we'll go, all right!" declared innis, and they went back into the house to write the letters. dick got out a big map and began to figure on a tentative route. not much preparation would be necessary, at least on this side of the rockies, for he knew he could buy supplies of food and gasoline almost anywhere. time was no object, so they could go along leisurely, and he made his plans accordingly. the route would have to be decided on as they went from state to state, for dick realized that local conditions might vary, and a stream that would be fordable at one time might not be at another. "it will be a great trip!" he remarked to himself. "but if i could only do something for mr. wardell i'd feel better. it doesn't seem fair, the way uncle ezra acted, though maybe it's all right according to law. and it doesn't seem right that mr. wardell should lose his fortune when he can save it, if he only knew how. i wonder if it would be wrong to act on the information i overheard by accident? i'm going to ask dad." mr. larabee retired early that night, as he always did, and he piled some chairs against his locked door. "i'm not going to have that pesky bulldog getting in!" he declared. "drat him! i wish he'd run away." "dad!" exclaimed dick a little later, "i want a little talk with you." "want another auto, dick?" asked mr. hamilton, with a smile. "no, the _last word_ suits me right down to the ground. it's about mr. wardell and uncle ezra." "what do you know about them, dick?" asked the millionaire, quickly. "well, i overheard something to-night," and dick related it. "do you know this mr. wardell?" he went on. "i bought the car from him, you remember." "yes. well, i don't know that i can say i know him. i used to know his father, and a fine man he was, though he had rather queer notions of business. he was strictly honest, though, and perhaps if he had taken advantage of every legal trick he might have left more money." "tricks like uncle ezra's?" "well, dick, we won't talk about them. uncle ezra is responsible to himself, and, as he says, he is strictly within the law. we all have different standards. but, dick, what is it you want to do?" "i want to save mr. wardell's fortune for him. you heard what uncle ezra said. can't you take a hand, and change matters?" mr. hamilton thought a moment. "dick," he said, "what your uncle told me was in confidence. i can't violate that. i'm sorry--in a way--that you overheard what you did, and yet it may be for the best in the end. i can't act, and yet----" "is there anything to prevent me, dad?" "no-o-o-o," was the answer, slowly given. "i don't know as there is." "and you can advise me; can't you?" "well, dick, if you ask me questions, i suppose i'll have to answer them," and there was a twinkle in mr. hamilton's eyes. "but uncle ezra won't like it if he finds it out," the father concluded. "he won't find it out!" declared dick, with energy. "now here is how i size it up," the young man went on. "uncle ezra got mr. wardell's fortune--which consisted mostly of railroad stock--in exchange for a loan." "yes, he took the stock, or, rather he has had his lawyers take it, because the money was not repaid to him." "and it wasn't paid because mr. wardell bought other stock that proved worthless. is that it?" "that's about it, dick." "and uncle ezra sold mr. wardell this worthless stock?" "well, his representatives did. but look here, dick, your uncle didn't force mr. wardell to buy this worthless stock, you know. mr. wardell did that with his eyes open." "i know, but he didn't know it was worthless?" "probably not." "and uncle ezra did?" "well, i wouldn't go so far as to say that. there is a lot of stock in the market that is practically worthless, but which is sold with the best intentions in the world. it may be worth a fortune some day." "all right. anyhow, mr. wardell gave up some good stock, got bad stock, and lost his good stock." "yes." "and now it develops that if, within a certain time, he makes a sort of legal protest--files a paper in court or something like that--he has a chance to get his stock back?" "provided, of course, he gives back the money." "and he is practically assured of his money if he does make that protest, dad?" "yes. it's quite complicated, but, to state it simply, if he files that paper, protesting against losing his old stock, the new stock that he bought will be worth considerable, and out of the money he gets from selling that he can get back his old stock, which will be worth twice as much." "it sounds like a chinese puzzle, dad, but the main thing to do is, i take it, to file this protest." "yes, if it's filed in time." "that's what i wanted to know, dad. i see my way clear now." "what are you going to do, dick?" asked mr. hamilton as he saw his son preparing to write a letter. "i'm going to tell mr. wardell that there's a chance to save his fortune, and i'm going to offer my services to do it for him!" was the quick answer. "i want to have a talk with him." "dick, i don't know----" "mortimer!" exclaimed a voice in the hall, "i can't sleep with the howling of that pesky bulldog. i shall have to ask you to have him taken farther off." "great peter!" gasped dick. "uncle ezra!" chapter x mr. wardell's confession the tableau which presented itself to the view of mr. larabee showed mr. hamilton gazing at dick, and our hero, with a strange expression on his face, looking at his father. he was wondering just how much his uncle had overheard. "can't sleep; eh?" repeated mr. hamilton, after a pause. "no, that dog of nephew richard's makes such a noise. can't he be sent farther off?" "i--i'll have grit taken away, uncle ezra," promised dick, quickly. "i'll attend to it right away. i'm sorry he annoyed you." "huh!" snorted the visitor. "i never could see the use of dogs, anyhow. they eat 'most as much as humans, and never do any work." "they keep tramps away," said dick, in defense of his pet. "huh! a good shotgun near the door, where a tramp can see it, beats all your dogs, and it don't cost anythin' either," declared mr. larabee, with a sniff of disdain. "one charge of powder--not too much--and a little salt and pepper, will do for a whole season of tramps. you don't have to shoot the gun off, you know," he explained. "sometimes one load will do for several seasons, and think of the money you save." "i'd rather have grit," said dick, simply. "sittin' up rather late; aren't you, mortimer?" went on mr. larabee, who was attired in a faded dressing gown, rather too short for him. it showed his lean legs, the feet encased in ancient slippers, which, uncle ezra boasted, had lasted him many years. "i seldom go to bed early," spoke the millionaire. "but it's late for nephew richard," went on the old man. "growin' boys should be a-bed early. when i was a lad we went to bed soon after sundown--we had to, for we had to git up at four o'clock to milk. but the present generation has it too easy--they're pampered too much." "dick and i were talking business," said mr. hamilton, and he glanced sharply at his brother-in-law, to see if he had overheard any of the conversation. if mr. larabee had done so, he showed no signs of it. "business!" he exclaimed. "wa'al, of course that's a good thing if nephew richard profits by what he hears. i hope he does. but i've lost considerable sleep over that pesky dog. i wish you'd attend to him." "i will!" exclaimed dick, hurrying out to the stable. "i guess grit hasn't done much sleeping, either," he murmured, "not while he knew uncle ezra was in the house, anyhow. i don't see why he has to be so mean--uncle ezra, i'm thinking of," went on dick, reflectively. "i suppose it comes natural, but it isn't very pleasant. "there's that mr. wardell--he's practically ruined him, just on account of a greed for money, when he's already got more than he knows what to do with. well, i'm going to help that young fellow if i can--i'm going to try to help him get back his fortune. i know how i'd feel if i lost mine--especially by some trick like this. "yes, i'll get in touch with him, and see if we can't beat uncle ezra at his own game. come on, grit," he went on, speaking to the dog, who vainly tried to break his chain the quicker to get near dick. "you've got to go into exile for the rest of the night, anyhow, all on account of uncle ezra. i'm sorry, but it has to be, old man." caressing his dog, dick took him to a distant tool house in the garden, far enough off so that should grit bark or whine mr. larabee would not hear him. the dog whimpered a bit when dick went away, but soon accustomed himself to the new situation. "to-morrow i'll write to mr. wardell," decided dick, as he rejoined his father, mr. larabee having gone back to his room. mr. hamilton approved of this plan, and dick went to bed to dream of saving the fortune of an unfortunate man, and shooting across country in his big touring car. "i'll sort of combine business with pleasure," remarked the youth next morning, as he arose and recalled his dream. the letter to mr. wardell having been written, dick and his two chums took the new car out for a spin. mr. hamilton consented to be driven to the railroad depot in it, as he had to go to a distant city on some business. mr. larabee, who was going back to dankville, much to the satisfaction of dick, refused an invitation to try out the _last word_. "trust myself in that? never!" he exclaimed. "i'd as soon think of riding on a fire engine. you mark my words, nephew richard, you'll come to grief in that car yet. it's too big and heavy." "it has to be, for what i want of it," replied our hero. "i'm going to cross the continent in it, and sometimes we may be stuck where there are no hotels. in that case we'll have a hotel with us." "oh, the sinful shame and waste of money!" cried uncle ezra, dolefully shaking his head. dick and his chums, with grit as a mascot, had a fine ride for a considerable distance out into the country and back. the car behaved perfectly, and dick found she had more speed than he had suspected. the luxury of it appealed to the three young men, and they were looked on with envious eyes as they sped along the broad highways. dick posted his letter to mr. wardell, and then there was nothing to do but await an answer. paul and innis planned to go to their homes, to arrange for the long trip with dick, and were to return to hamilton corners in about a week. in the meantime the young millionaire would perfect his plans for the continental tour. there was considerable to be done in the way of laying out a route, and arranging to communicate with his father at certain points. also dick wanted to have plenty of time to aid mr. wardell in recovering his fortune. "and i've got to do it without uncle ezra knowing anything about it," decided dick. "if he found it out he might find a way, law or no law, to prevent us from filing that protest in time. oh, i've got to be as foxy as uncle ezra himself." but dick little realized the resourcefulness of his relative. a few days after dick's chums had gone to their homes, when the former was wondering when he would hear from the man whose car he had purchased, gibbs came to him in the library one afternoon with the information that a visitor wanted to see dick. "bring him in here," he requested the butler. "oh, hello, mr. wardell!" dick exclaimed when he saw who his caller was. "i'm real glad to see you. i was getting ready to come on to new york and meet you, as soon as you sent me word." "were you, indeed? i thought i had better take a run up here, though, as i haven't any permanent address in new york at present. i haven't my plans made, and i may go away at any time. but i am curious to know what good news you have to tell me," for dick had not given the particulars in his letter. "i don't see how there can be any good news for me any more," went on mr. wardell, rather despondently. "well, there is," said dick, simply. "what would you say if i told you there was a chance to get back your fortune?" "i'd say, i'm afraid, that you were dreaming." "i never was more wide awake. listen," and dick quickly related the gist of what he and his father had talked over. "you don't mean it!" exclaimed mr. wardell. "if the papers are filed in time i can save my fortune?" "that's about it. can you arrange to file them?" "i can, i think--no, by jove! dick, i can't, either. at least i'm afraid i can't. i'll tell you how i'm fixed. i am about to go to south america for a mining concern. it's a good opening, and it's too good to turn down. i can make my living at it, and in time i may get rich by it. it's a bird in the hand, and it's worth two in the bush, where my former fortune seems to be at present. i don't see how i can go out to san francisco and to south america, too. and yet i would like to get back my fortune, for i am beginning to believe that it wasn't taken from me altogether fairly." "we won't go into that now," spoke dick. "but can you arrange with your lawyer to furnish the necessary papers?" "yes. i guess mr. tunison would do that for me, even if i can't pay his regular fee. he's done enough business for our family in the past. but, look here, mr. hamilton, what good will the papers do me when i can't go to san francisco to file them? at least, i don't think i ought to give up a certain, sure thing for one that's only a chance. i can't file the papers after i get them." "well, then, i can!" cried dick. "you can? what do you mean?" "i mean that my chums and i are going to take a tour to california. i can combine business with pleasure, and file those papers for you. if i can do it in time, you'll get a chance to recover your fortune." "and will you do that for me?" "i certainly will!" mr. wardell clasped dick's hand in a hearty grasp. "look here, old man," he said feelingly, "you've done too much for me already." "oh, pshaw! i haven't done anything worth mentioning!" exclaimed dick, who disliked having a fuss made over him. "i bought your car as much for myself as to help you out of a hole." "oh, it isn't that i mean!" cried mr. wardell, quickly. "dick, i've a confession to make. you may not know it, but you saved my life that day on the railroad tracks." "saved your life?" "yes, i was down and out! i didn't see a thing to live for, and i wasn't going to look for a reason. i was going to cash in when you and your chum came along, and i didn't have the nerve to do what i was going to do--shuffle off this mortal coil. you saved my life, dick hamilton, and now you are going to save my fortune for me. you're doing too much!" and the visitor seemed much affected. chapter xi off on the trip "that's all right now, mr. wardell," said dick, after a rather painful pause. "i'm sure i'm only too glad that i can do something for you. it isn't going to be any trouble--filing this paper, as it's on my way. and, as for saving your life----" "oh, you did it--there's no question about that!" interrupted the other. "i was miserable enough to do anything rash, but the kind way in which you spoke to me, and the cheerfulness of yourself, and your chum, made me ashamed to do what i had contemplated. it started me on a new road, thinking of you, and i made up my mind i'd begin over again. "now it might seem to you that i ought to look after this matter myself--going out there and filing this paper--but the truth of the matter is that i'm quite disgusted with myself--not knowing enough to take care of my money when i had it. i deserve to lose it. but if you can save it i'm willing to give you whatever share your lawyer thinks fair." "i'm not doing it for that," declared dick. "i'm doing it for--well, i'll tell you later," he finished. but to himself he said: "i'm doing this for the honor of my family. if he ever finds out it was my uncle who ruined him he'll not think much of my father and myself, even if i was instrumental in saving his life. no, i've got to keep still about that part of it, and save _his_ fortune for the honor of _our_ family. and i'll do it, too, in spite of uncle ezra!" "well, it's awfully good of you," went on mr. wardell, after a pause. "now i'll see our old family lawyer, mr. william tunison, and have him arrange with you. you say the papers have to be filed on a certain date?" "yes." "then why can't they be sent out there, and held until it is time to present them to the court?" "because the law in this matter is peculiar. the documents have to be filed between certain dates--they can't be presented before the one, nor after the other. there is a period of a few days during which they can legally be presented to the courts, and in that time only. if you sent them out there now they might get filed away in some pigeon-hole, and be forgotten until it was too late." "i see." "so the only thing to do is for some one to look after the matter personally. and i'll do it!" "it's very good of you. i suppose i might do it myself, but i hate to lose this south american chance. it may never come again, and i want to show folks that, even if i have lost one fortune, i can make another. otherwise i'd go west myself." "you don't need to. i'll act as your agent," promised dick. "very well, then. i'll arrange with my lawyer. i was so angry and discouraged when i found that my fortune was wiped out that i didn't go into details over it. all i knew was that a fellow named larabee had cleaned me out. a queer sort of chap he was, too. about as mean as they make 'em, i thought, and quite a financier into the bargain. ever meet him?" "i--i have heard of him," stammered dick. then he quickly added: "suppose you give me power of attorney to act for you, and a letter to your lawyer. then i can see him myself," for dick did not want to get on dangerous ground as regards uncle ezra. "then you can go to south america whenever you get ready, and i'll look after the rest," he added. "it seems sort of cowardly, to run away and leave you to face the music," and mr. wardell hesitated. "not at all!" dick assured him. "i'll be glad of the chance to do this business for you. it will be good training for me. my father is willing. and," dick added to himself, "it will give me a chance to get back at uncle ezra for some of the mean things he has done to me." "all right," spoke mr. wardell after a moment or two of thought. "i'll give you power to act for me, as my attorney, or representative, or whatever is necessary. and i'll write to my lawyer. he can fix up the papers. do you want him to come here?" "no, i am going to new york in a few days, to arrange some details about our trip. i'll see him then. will you stay to dinner, and meet my father? we can put you up for the night." "no, thank you. i'll stay for dinner, but i must go back to new york on the midnight train. there is no telling when this south american berth may be open for me." a little later mr. wardell and mr. hamilton went over details with dick, and it was arranged that the latter should complete his plans with mr. tunison, the lawyer. a few days later saw our hero once more in new york. he went by train, as his chums had not yet arrived from their homes, and dick did not want to drive his big car by himself. mr. tunison proved to be an agreeable gentleman, who readily entered into dick's plan to try to recover the wardell fortune. "though i'm afraid you're going to have a hard task, mr. hamilton," the lawyer said. "this mr. larabee is a hard customer. by the way, he is some relation to you; isn't he? i've been looking him up." "he is," admitted dick, "but i'm not proud of it. i would just as soon mr. wardell did not know it--at least, until i am successful. i am doing this, in a measure, for the honor of my family." "hum! well, i'll keep your secret. now it appears from the investigation i have made since i got mr. wardell's letter, that this mr. larabee isn't appearing in this matter openly himself." "no?" asked dick in some surprise. "no. whether he is ashamed of what he did, or whether he has sold out his claim to someone else, i can't learn. but he is represented by a mr. harrison black, and i want to warn you against him." "warn me?" "yes. mr. black, while a lawyer, is one of the most unscrupulous attorneys i have ever met, or had dealings with. he is a sharper, just keeping well enough within the law not to be caught. now, he is handling this matter for your uncle, it seems, and he knows about this time limit." "i suppose so." "yes. he'll do all in his power to prevent us from filing the papers that would give mr. wardell a chance to claim his fortune again. so you must be on your guard." "i will. what sort of a man is this mr. black?" "i will describe him to you," and the lawyer did so. "but he probably will not appear openly himself," resumed mr. tunison. "he has other shyster lawyers who do his evil work for him. probably you will encounter one of his tools, and as he has a number i can't say which one it will be. only be on your guard, mr. hamilton." "i will." "now then, i will give you the necessary papers, which must be filed with the supreme court not before september first and not later than midnight september third." "three days!" exclaimed dick. "that is all. a short period. to be sure of making no mistake, you had better file them the first day. don't take any chances. at the same time, it would not be fair to you to have you give up all the pleasure of your trip to be in san francisco before the first day of next september. "i understand you are going to make a tour in the big car mr. wardell had built for himself before his fortune was lost. my advice is to do this, and so arrange your programme that you will reach san francisco september first. that will give you plenty of time. i have a lawyer friend there, mr. whitfield ainslie, who will attend to the california legal end for you. now i will prepare the papers." it did not take long, and after getting a few more detailed instructions from mr. tunison, dick left for hamilton corners. when he got home he found paul and innis waiting for him. "well, when do we start?" asked paul. "yes; we've been doing nothing but dream of this trip!" cried the other. "we'll leave this week!" declared dick. and he was as good as his word. his plans were completed, the route finally decided on, and, with the auto thoroughly in shape, the boys started off early one morning, grit sitting proudly beside dick, who was at the wheel. "take care of yourself, my boy," cautioned mr. hamilton, as he shook hands with his son and his chums. "i will, dad. if uncle ezra asks for me--well, tell him i'll see him later!" "i will. have you the papers safe?" "yes, they're in the auto where no one can find them. i'll write as often as i can. all ready, boys?" "let her go, dick!" cried paul. "start off!" exclaimed innis beeby. dick pressed the button of the electric starter. there was a hum, a throb of the powerful motor, and the big car moved slowly out of the yard. dick and his chums were off on their long trip. chapter xii uncle ezra plots "what's our time-table, dick?" asked paul, as they swung out of hamilton corners into the less-populated country. "we haven't any. that is, we're not going to try to make any special time, as long as we get to 'frisco by september first," for dick had told his chums of the endeavor he was going to make to save mr. wardell's fortune. "what's our programme, then?" innis beeby wanted to know. "are we going to run along, hit or miss, or have we some definite plan?" "i thought i gave you our route." "well, old man, we went over it so often, and made so many changes, that i don't know now whether we're going by way of new orleans or alaska." "more like alaska this time of year!" exclaimed paul. "shall i start the electric fan, dick?" "yes, do. there isn't much breeze to-day," and soon a big electric fan near the roof of the touring car was stirring the air, making the three travelers more comfortable. "this is the schedule the way i have worked it out," went on dick, as he steered out to avoid a load of hay being driven along the country road. "we'll go to buffalo, and from there on to cleveland. next, in the order as they come, will be chicago, des moines, omaha, denver, leadville, salt lake city, carson city, sacramento, and then 'frisco." "all good places to visit," observed innis, reflectively. "well, we may not strike all of them," dick went on. "if we have to change our route because of bad roads, or from other causes, we may cut out the big cities, and just go somewhere near them. but that route will give us plenty of travel." "i should say so!" agreed paul. "nearly four thousand miles, i guess. well, your car looks good for it, dick!" and indeed the _last word_ appeared able to navigate to the arctic regions if called on to do so. "are we going to put up at a hotel for lunch?" asked innis, when they had gone on several miles farther. "that isn't a hint that i'm hungry!" he hastened to add, "but i was just wondering, dick." "i think we'll try camping out a bit," said that young man. "we might as well get used to it, and the weather is good now." "that's right," agreed paul. "i have some grub stowed away in back," dick resumed. "we will stop at some butcher shop and grocery in the next town, get some steak and bacon, and cook it on our electric stove. then we can eat it alongside the road. there will be plenty of chances to go to hotels later." the boys laughed and joked, thoroughly enjoying themselves in the big touring car. it rode easily, even over rough roads, and it was roomy enough so that they could move about in it, not having to stay cramped up in one seat. paul and innis took turns at driving, as dick wanted them to become familiar with the mechanism. * * * * * but perhaps if dick and his chums could have been made aware of a little scene that had taken place in the office of a certain lawyer in dankville that morning they would not have felt so care-free and light-hearted. about the time dick started off on his tour a crabbed old man might have been seen going into this law office, on the door of which was the name: harrison black. "ah, good morning, mr. larabee!" the lawyer greeted his visitor. "come right in," and the two were closeted together for some time. when they came out, mr. black said: "now don't you have a bit of worry, mr. larabee. i'll attend to the matter for you, and this young man will never see his money again." "he don't deserve to, anyhow. folks that is as careless as he was, don't deserve no pity." "that's right, so they don't, mr. larabee. ha! ha! you have exactly the right idea." "and now about this foolish young nephew of mine," went on mr. larabee. "i didn't hear all he and his father talked about that night when i came down on 'em unexpected-like, but i'm sure my nephew has some crazy notion about helping this wardell. it mustn't be allowed--he must be stopped!" and uncle ezra clenched his fist and struck a desk a smart blow. "i agree with you, mr. larabee. he must be stopped. but does he know of this time limit?" "he might. i wouldn't take any chances. he's fooled me more than once. don't take any chances, black." "i won't. if he has any papers to file inside the time limit, he won't be allowed to do so. we'll take some means to stop him. wait, i'll call one of my men who--er--who attends to all these little matters for me. jake, here, i want you!" from an outer room came a man with a hard face, and a jaw like that of a prize fighter. he had little, shifty eyes that seemed never to look one in the face. "jake this is mr. larabee," went on mr. black. "this is jake morton," to uncle ezra. "he'll see that your foolish nephew doesn't do anything rash." "that's what i want." "it--er--it may cost something, mr. larabee." "cost something?" and uncle ezra clapped his hand on his pocket. "not much, i hope!" "well, of course your nephew has started off in an auto, i believe you mentioned that." "yes, in a great big touring car like a steam coach--him and two other spendthrifts. oh, the money they waste!" and uncle ezra shook his head. "well, if they're in an auto, i presume they'll have to be followed in an auto," went on mr. black, "and auto hire costs money." "couldn't--couldn't they be followed on a bicycle?" asked the crabbed old man. "i wouldn't mind buying a second-hand bicycle for your man, and he could follow them on that. bicycle riding is healthy." "say, if you expect me to trail along after a touring car on a bicycle--and a second-hand one at that--you can get some one else to do this job!" exclaimed jake morton. "i'm done! what! maybe chase half way to san francisco on an old wheel? i guess not." "wa'al, maybe i could stand a new one," whined uncle ezra. "no, nor a new one, either. it's a touring car for me, or nothing!" "oh, the sinful waste of money!" exclaimed mr. larabee. "the awful waste!" "you'd much better spend a few dollars to hire a touring car for my clerk than to lose all this money," said mr. black. "and, mind you, if your nephew files that paper it may result in a lawsuit, which would be very expensive, and, at the same time might go against you." "well, then, if you think it wise, perhaps i'd better. i don't want to lose this money i've worked so hard for." a smile of something like contempt curled the lip of mr. black. he knew just how hard mr. larabee had "worked" for his money, for many a mortgage he had foreclosed for him, and many a transaction he had consummated--transactions that never got into the law courts. "then if you don't want to run any chances, you'd better do as i say," went on the lawyer. "my man will look after matters. you say your nephew and his chums have gone off on a tour. do you know the route they are going to take?" "not exactly, for, though i looked and listened the young spendthrifts changed their plans so often i wasn't able to keep track of them. but they are going to the main cities. why, would you believe it, they'd think nothing of going hundreds of extra miles, just to get to some place to see the sights! and gasoline is gettin' more and more expensive every day, to say nothin' of tires. oh, the waste of it!" "well, i suppose your nephew is well off?" "yes; too much so for his own good!" snapped uncle ezra. "if i had the handlin' of his wealth, there'd be a different story to tell." "i can well believe that," remarked the lawyer, drily. "now to get down to business. pay attention, jake morton. you will have to follow this party of young fellows in the big touring car as best you can, since mr. larabee doesn't know the exact route they will take." "no, i couldn't find out," mumbled uncle ezra, "though i heard something of buffalo, cleveland, and so on." "i guess i can get on their trail, all right," said the lawyer's henchman. "if it's a big touring car, as you describe, it ought to be pretty conspicuous. folks will notice it and i can make inquiries as i go along." "yes, but keep your wits about you. don't let them suspect, for they are sharp lads, i take it." "oh, i'll play foxy, all right. i'll hang back for a few days and watch my chance." "but don't delay too long," cautioned uncle ezra. "automobile hire is expensive, and i'm not as rich as mortimer hamilton. don't go wastin' my money." "well, i'm not going to starve on the trip," laughed the man. "i've got to live decently if i'm to pose as a touring autoist." "oh, dear!" groaned uncle ezra. "this is going to cost a pile of money--a dreadful pile!" "but you're going to make a lot out of it!" insisted the shyster lawyer. "maybe--maybe," assented the old man. "and say," he went on to morton, "you'll get that paper away from him. i know he has some sort of a paper to file, to cheat me out of my hard-earned money. i was sharp enough to find that out, though he and his father think they fooled me. but i was too much for 'em--i was so--ha! ha!" and he chuckled so that he went into a coughing fit, and had to be thumped on the back to bring his breath into his lungs again. "you--you'll get that paper; won't you?" he pleaded. "sure i will," declared jake morton. "and they won't know i have it until it's too late to file it." "good!" exclaimed uncle ezra. "and maybe, while you are at it, you could get that auto away from my nephew, or wreck it, or something like that." "good land, mr. larabee! you don't mean that; do you?" cried mr. black. "wreck your nephew's auto?" "oh, not with him in it, of course. but if it could be disabled some way, maybe he'd desert it, and we could get it, and fix it up and sell it. i might get enough out of it to pay for the expenses of this trip, for it's goin' to cost a lot--a dreadful lot." "i wouldn't advise you to try that," said the lawyer, significantly. "we're taking enough chances as it is. you don't want to make yourself criminally liable; do you?" "oh, my good land, no! sakes alive! no! no!" cried uncle ezra. "i've always kept within the law. we ain't goin' to do nothin' unlawful; are we?" and he gazed anxiously at the lawyer. "oh, no. i'm not any too fond, myself, of overstepping the law. but i'll take all it allows!" he declared, thrusting out a lean and claw-like hand. "oh, so will i!" exclaimed uncle ezra. "all the law allows--yes; all the law allows! ha! ha! i guess you'll find, nephew richard," he went on, "that two of us can play at that little game you started. two of us; yes-um! we'll see who wins out! ha! ha!" and, chuckling in a cackling sort of voice, mr. larabee left the lawyer's office, while mr. black and his henchman looked at each other. "what do you think of him?" asked mr. black. "i don't like to think. but, as long as he pays our price, we'll do his work; eh?" "yes. now come in here and we'll talk over what's best to do. we must get that paper away from dick hamilton." chapter xiii the hand in the dark "say, this is a little bit of all right; isn't it?" "it certainly is. i'll have some more of that steak." "another morsel of bacon would just about suit me." "those eggs aren't so bad. that electric stove cooks quick enough." "i should say yes. any more coffee left?" question and comment thus went back and forth among the three chums as they sat in dick hamilton's big touring car, under a great oak tree at one side of a pleasant country road. they had traveled many miles from hamilton corners before stopping at a village grocery and meat market and buying what they wanted for dinner. "going camping?" the man had asked them, as he wrapped up the parcels. "no, just on a tour," dick said. "oh, then you're going to cook over an open fire?" "no, we're going to cook it right in the auto," the young autoist said. "ha! ha!" laughed the man. "joking; eh? well, i know you auto fellows have some new wrinkles, but i didn't think you were up to that. going to broil the steak on your over-heated engine, i suppose, and make coffee with the hot water from your radiator? ha! ha!" "not exactly," replied dick. "though that might be done. no, we have a stove of our own," and he showed the man the little electrical apparatus in the rear of the enclosed tonneau, on which a good meal could be prepared. and the boys had just finished their culinary operations and were now enjoying the fruits of their labors. they were in a secluded place, and the day was all that could be desired. the little table had been let down from the roof, and the three sat about it, laughing and joking. farmers and others passing along the highway paused to look in some astonishment, not only at the big car, which was of a type and size seldom seen, but at the boys themselves, who seemed to be taking their ease in regular gypsy fashion, yet in a style never approached by the dark-skinned nomads. "some class to this," remarked paul, as he passed his plate for more steak and bacon. "i should say yes," agreed innis. "i say, old boy, you're not going to take that egg; are you?" "why not, i'd like to know?" retorted paul, pausing in the act of helping himself to a nicely browned one, nestling amid a pile of crisp bacon. "because you've had three, and that's mine--or dick's, if he wants it." "no, i don't want it," said the latter. "but it isn't worth quarreling over. we can fry some more." "i guess we'll have to if paul is going to develop that kind of an appetite," remarked innis. "three eggs, twice on the steak, and no end of bacon----" "i did not!" snapped paul. "did not what?" asked innis, with a smile. "did not have three eggs. it was only two, and----" "well, this'll be three," retorted innis. "oh, well, then i'll split it with you," and paul cut the egg in half, thus settling the dispute. "well, there's one consolation in eating this way," remarked dick, as the auto-meal came to an end. "we don't have many dishes to wash," and he tossed from the window of the car the wooden plates from which they had dined. "that's right," agreed paul. "washing dishes is the worst part of camp life. some day i'm going to invent a set of dishes that wash themselves." "these are just as good," said dick. though there was in the auto a small set of porcelain dishes, the boys had decided that, except for food that actually needed other styles, they would use the wooden plates, that could be thrown away after each meal. they carried a supply of these, as well as paper napkins, and more could be bought whenever needed. of course there were pans and other utensils for the stove, and these were cleaned after being used, and stowed away in the proper compartments. "well, i guess we're all ready to start again," announced dick, as they got out and walked about a bit, pausing to get a drink at a roadside spring. "where to?" asked paul. "i'll take a look at our map and see," went on the young millionaire. "i think we can make hosford by evening, and stay there over night. there's no use journeying after dark until we have to." "that's right; not until we find we have to put on speed to file that paper in time," added paul. "but is there a hotel in hosford?" inquired innis. "we'll not bother with a hotel," suggested dick. "as long as we have the bunks in our auto we might as well use them. we'll just pull up at some quiet place, off the road, get our supper, and turn in. we're independent of hotels, unless we want to go to one now and again to have more room to stretch. that's why i got this kind of a car." "sure enough!" exclaimed innis. "we'll bunk here then." and they did that night. at first it was a bit awkward, but soon they got used to the not too large apartment into which the auto was turned, and they found the bunks very comfortable. the curtains were drawn over the glass doors and windows and with an electric light glowing in the roof, the boys went to sleep, well satisfied with their first day's trip. they were under way soon after breakfast and traveled a good distance by noon, stopping for their meal in a little grove of trees just off a country road. "what's the programme for to-day?" asked paul, as they started off again, leaving a pile of wooden plates behind them as a souvenir of their stop. "hand me that road map, and i'll decide," spoke dick. "it's in the flap pocket of that side door, nearest you, paul." paul pulled from the leather compartment on the door an envelope, and handed it to dick. "no, that isn't it," said the young man. "those are the papers i'm going to file with the court to save mr. wardell's property. the map is in the same place, in an envelope just like that. now you've got it," as paul pulled out another bulky envelope. "do you think it's safe to keep the law papers in such a place?" asked innis. "i don't see why not," replied dick. "i don't want them in my pocket, for they might slip out when i walk around. and if i put them anywhere else in the auto i couldn't get at them in a hurry in case we caught fire, or had any accident. no one would think of looking in there for them, and if we leave the auto at any time we can take the documents with us. now let's have a squint at this map. i think we can make flagtown to-night." "flagtown!" exclaimed innis, looking over his chum's shoulder. "that's quite a run." "well, we haven't tried out this car much as to speed yet," replied dick. "there are good roads to flagtown, and we might as well see what she can do. we'll hit up the pace a little." and they did make flagtown, the _last word_ proving that she had speed as well as other qualities, though she was essentially not a racing car. supper followed, in due time, and then, sitting about the auto in the quiet of the evening, the boys talked over their adventures of the day, and speculated on what lay before them. "it will be a good joke on your uncle ezra, to get mr. wardell's fortune away from him; won't it?" remarked paul. "it sure will," declared dick. "and the best of it is that he doesn't know that i'm going to do it. uncle ezra is pretty sharp, but i think we got ahead of him this time." but if dick could have known that a few miles back, in an auto that had closely followed the course of the big touring car since the day before, was a certain mean-faced man, perhaps the young millionaire would not have felt so confident. especially could he have known that the man in the rear auto was constantly making inquiries about the _last word_--when she had passed through certain towns, and which way she was headed. but knowing none of these things, dick and his chums turned into the bunks with a feeling of peacefulness and ease, and slept soundly. all too soundly, it would seem. too soundly to have heard a car pull up behind them shortly after midnight. the car came to a halt some distance away from dick's, the red tail-lamp on the latter disclosing its presence. from the rear car a man silently alighted to the dusty road. "are you sure that's the machine?" a whispered voice asked. "yes, i'll stake my reputation on it. we've followed it too close to be mistaken, and they haven't had time to shake us." "that's right. well, jake, do your best. mr. black expects us to make a record on this job." "i know he does. that old skinflint of a larabee isn't going to pay very heavy, though. it was all we could do to squeeze this car out of him." "well, now we've got it we can do as we please. think you can pull off anything?" "i don't know. i can sneak up there and see how the land lays, anyhow. if we can't get the papers now we will have to some other time. but i think those lads will sleep well to-night--they had quite a day of it." "i should say so! it was all i could do to drive this old car to keep up with 'em, and this isn't a slow machine, either. well, if you're going, go ahead. i'll wait here." "and be ready for a quick get-away in case--well, in case anything happens." "sure, i'll be on the job." the figure in the road stole quietly toward the big touring car. as he came nearer he walked more and more slowly, and getting to within a short distance of the _last word_, he remained silent--listening. "'all quiet along the potomac,'" he quoted. "i guess i'll take a chance." again he stole forward. in the darkness of the night a hand stole softly out toward one of the side doors of the big car. a pair of evil eyes looked in on the sleeping lads. then the hand stole down in through the opening in the door, an opening as in a coach, covered with glass, but which glass had been dropped down to let in the air. "i'll see what luck i have," murmured the voice of the man in the dark. lower stole in the hand in the night. the fingers encountered the flap of a pocket. there was a start of surprise. "by jove!" whispered the voice. "i have it--first crack out of the box!" the hand withdrew itself, with a bulky envelope, and, hesitating a moment to be sure that none of the sleepers had awakened, the man of darkness put in the same pocket another envelope of the same size as the one removed, and hurried back down the road to the waiting car. "what luck?" his companion asked. "best in the world. i got it, and switched another bundle of papers in place of those i took. now speed her, but--but run silently until you get some distance off." "i get you all right. hop in." and the car sped away in the darkness, while dick and his chums slept on. chapter xiv a blocked road "oh! ah! um!" "who said get up?" "gee-whiz, but i'm tired!" "so is the auto--rubber tired." "joke! ha! ha! everybody snicker!" the three chums turned over on their bunks in the _last word_, and looked one at the other. "well, if you fellows are going to lie abed all day, i'm not!" exclaimed paul, he and his two companions having just indulged in the little morning "roundelay" i have used to introduce this chapter. he sprang from the bunk. "'up, up, lucy!'" he quoted. "'the sun is up, and i am up too!' first reading lesson. come on, fellows!" and he pulled the covers from dick. "it's too comfortable here," said that youth, gazing at the ceiling of the car where the electric light was yet glowing. reaching out his hand dick switched it off. "and yet i suppose we might as well get up," he went on. "innis, you're nearest to it, turn on the stove, will you, and set the coffee to boiling? then we'll have grub and see what the day will bring forth." a storage battery in the car furnished current for the stove. the coffee had been put in the pot the night before, with cold water on it, and now all that remained was to shove it over on top of the electric stove, and set it boiling by the turn of a switch. "the simple life--this," remarked innis, as he complied with his host's request. then, as the grateful aroma of coffee filled the car the lads dressed, and were soon washing at a nearby spring, which they had discovered the night before in a patch of woods, not far from the road. breakfast over, they were once more ready to proceed. dick started the car from his seat, and sent it going at a moderate pace. they had no special objective point in view, and were content to take dinner wherever noon found them. through villages and towns they passed, attracting no little attention as they scurried along. once an officious constable warned them against speeding. "you went a leetle too fast comin' in," he said, throwing back the lapel of his coat to display his badge. "you fellers want t' be careful goin' out." "all right," agreed dick, with a laugh. "we'll be careful. are the roads pretty good now?" "yep. fine! that's why i warned you fellers. it's a great temptation t' speed. only last week a feller was caught outside of town. we've got one of the finest speed traps in the country," he went on proudly. "i don't s'pose i ought t' tell you 'bout it, but i will, seein' as how you're strangers, an' that's a kind of car we don't often see around here. "it's like this. i've got a man stationed near the fust mile post outside th' village proper. when he sees an auto comin' he marks down th' time it passes him, and then he telefoams to another of my men at the next mile post. "now if that there auto gits to the second mile post too quick, we know it's exceedin' th' speed limit, so we jest stop 'em an' collect th' fine. squire bradley is always ready t' hear the case. he'll come in from his hay field, or even stop plowin', t' hold court." "i suppose it pays him," remarked paul, while dick was seeing about renewing the supply of gasoline, a stop having been made for that purpose. "oh, yes, it pays middlin' well," admitted the constable. "th' squire gits half th' fine, an' th' other half goes t' me an' my assistants." "how do you stop the speeding autos when they get to the second mile post?" innis wanted to know. "ha! that there's my patent. i've got a long rail fixed on a sort of hinge, like an old-fashioned well-sweep, you know. when an auto ain't exceedin' the legal rate of speed the long pole sticks straight up in the air alongside the road. but when my man at the first mile post telefoams to hank selby at the second post that a car is comin' too fast, hank jest yanks on a rod, down comes th' pole across th' road, an' th' car can't go on no further." "i see," laughed paul. "hank yanks!" "that's it! i see you fellers will have your leetle joke!" and the constable laughed with them. "but supposing the car didn't stop?" asked innis. "that pole across the road wouldn't be hard to break; would it?" "no, i don't s'pose 'twould. but when they bust that pole they're bustin' th' law, too, an' that's a more serious offence. squire bradley jest doubles th' fine then." "but how do you catch the autoists once they are past the second mile stone, supposing they have broken the pole?" paul asked, much interested in this sort of a speed trap. "that's easy," said the constable. "as soon as any one is rash enough t' bust our pole, hank jest telefoams to his brother, who lives down the road a piece. his brother runs out and drops a lot of boards, with sharp nails in 'em, in th' dust. an auto ain't goin' fur after it runs over a few sharp pointed nails. no, sir-ee!" "you 'nail' 'em; is that it?" asked innis. "that's what we do. we nail 'em! ha! ha! i never thought of that. it's another joke, by ginger!" "it must be pretty expensive, keeping two telephones working," suggested paul. "oh, the county pays for it," said the constable. "anyhow, if they didn't, we could clear enough on fines to do it. squire bradley could raise the rate a leetle." "i suppose so," agreed innis, "well, we'll be getting on, i guess," he added, as dick came out of the garage after paying for the gasoline. "an' don't try any speedin'," cautioned the representative of the law. "we won't!" promised dick. their trip up to noon was uneventful. they were in a section where good roads abounded, and a local automobile club had posted the route so they did not have to stop to ask their directions. they went to a local country hotel for dinner, as the place was well advertised as giving a good chicken and mushroom dinner, and this was a menu that the boys did not care to undertake on their small electric stove. "jove! that was good!" exclaimed dick, as they came out of the hostelry. "that's right," agreed innis. "i think i'll see if they have a couple of roast fowls that we could take along with us, and eat cold for supper," suggested the young millionaire, and he carried out his plan, a brace of well browned chickens being stowed away in the "kitchen" locker. late that afternoon they came to a place where two main roads forked. either one would take them to the place where they had decided to stay over night. "this one's a little the shorter," explained a farmer, whom they asked about it, "and it's a good road. the only thing is that there's no crossroad leading from it for about eight miles, and you may git stuck in the middle, and have to come back." "how so?" asked dick. "why bill simpson is moving his house along this road. he's changing the location, and he may not be off the highway by the time you get there. i did hear, though, that he expected to have it off the road and on the new foundation by night." "well, we'll take a chance," said dick. "if the house blocks the road maybe we can go around it." "maybe," assented the farmer, and the big car went on. they had nearly reached the end of the fine, level road, and were congratulating themselves on soon getting to a fair-sized town where they intended to put up for the night, when paul, looking ahead, exclaimed: "there it is. just our luck!" "what?" inquired dick from the back of the car, for innis was steering. "bill simpson's house--it's blocking the whole road, and it looks as if the men had given up work for the day, for they're getting a red lantern ready to display. we can't get past, dick." "pshaw!" exclaimed the young millionaire. "we'll have to turn around and go back, i guess. lose a lot of time, too. drive up, and let's see what it looks like." chapter xv puzzled "looks bad enough." "yes, the more so as you come closer." "i don't see any way but to go back." "that's right. lucky we've got room to turn." thus paul and innis exchanged remarks and criticisms as they approached the house which, being moved from one site to another, now blocked the entire road. "there's no chance of getting past, without running the risk of getting fast in the ditch," decided dick, as he got out of the car and took a careful survey. "i guess we're stuck, boys." "funny they're quitting work so soon," observed paul, looking at his watch. "why, it's only four o'clock, and they're getting ready to leave, and hanging out a red light." "we've got to do it," said one of the workmen. "our windlass busted just now, and we can't do anything until it's fixed. no way of moving the shebang." "you could if you had enough horses," said dick. "why can't you hitch two or three teams directly on the pulling rope, and yank the house a little further along--or even back--that would give us room to pass." "it can't be done, young feller," said the man. "why not?" "because we ain't got the horses to do it. there'd be four teams needed, at the very most, to snake this house ahead or back, without a windlass to give us leverage. that's what we need--leverage." "you've got ropes and pulleys; haven't you?" asked dick. "sure we have." "can you attach them to the back of the house as well as on the front?" "sure we can. but what good is that going to do? there ain't enough horses that we can get now to snake the old building out of the way. we'll have to wait until morning, and then we can get a blacksmith to mend the windlass." "yes, and in the meantime i'm stuck here!" exclaimed dick. "well, that is too bad, but you can turn around and go back to the other main road." "that's eight miles or more, and i won't get to fullerton until long after dark, even if i break the speed limits." "well, what can we do?" appealed the man, while his fellows prepared to go to their several homes. "i'll tell you what we can do!" cried dick, with sudden energy. "put your tackle on the back here and i'll pull the house far enough this way so i can get past. it's just at the wrong point in the road for me to do that now. ten feet either way will let me pass." "i s'pose it will, but land sakes! you can't pull that house with anything you can rig up now. where's your horses?" "horses? i don't need horses. i've got seventy-five of 'em right here with me." the man's face was a picture of startled surprise. he looked from dick to paul and innis, who were silently laughing, and then he inquired: "which one of you is his keeper?" "what's that?" cried dick. "do you think i'm crazy?" "i'm sure of it," said the man, confidently. "move this house--seventy-five horses--got 'em with you! where? in your pocket?" "in there!" replied the young millionaire, pointing to the hood covering the engine of his auto. "i'll pull the house out of the way." by this time a crowd of workmen had gathered. dick stood in front of his big car, not at all put out by the curious glances cast at him. "what's the matter here?" asked a man who seemed to be in charge. "this young feller wants to get past," explained the man who had been about to hang up the red lantern. "he can't 'count of simpson's house bein' in the road. says he'll snake it fo'rd or back so's to make room." "back, not forward," said dick. "i can't get past to hitch on to the front end or i'd haul it ahead for you. but, as it is, you won't lose more than ten feet, and i really have a right to half the road." "yes, i s'pose you have," agreed the foreman. "but i don't see how we're going to give it to you. i never thought that windlass would bust so soon. i knowed it was an old one, but i figured it would last until we got bill's house moved. howsomever----" "i tell you i can move the house!" exclaimed dick. "if you'll have your men attach the tackle to this end i'll pull it far enough back so i can get past." "how?" demanded the foreman, dubiously. "he says he's got seventy-five horses," put in the man with the red lantern. "i guess he's from some asylum," he added in a whisper loud enough for dick to hear. the latter smiled and answered: "perhaps i should have explained. my auto is about seventy-five horsepower. if you'll fix the ropes so i can hitch them to my rear axles i can pull the house far enough back so i can pass. i think i have a right to ask that." "yes, i guess you have," assented the foreman. "we'll let you try. we can pull her back again in the morning after the windlass is fixed. get busy, boys!" he exclaimed. "put the ropes on this end." "but what about the windlass?" asked the lantern man, referring to the spindle on which the rope was wound. "i won't need it," declared dick. "i can get enough purchase with the pulleys. i'll be turning the car around, and by that time you can have the ropes in place." turning the big car in rather a restricted roadway was no easy matter, but dick accomplished it, and soon he had it backed up toward the rear of the house, to which the men were attaching the ropes, rove through heavy blocks. the house was elevated on piles of short crossed beams and jack screws, and was being slid along big timbers, common yellow soap and tallow making the ways slippery enough so that friction would, in a measure, be overcome. dick took a long rope, and put it around the rear of his car so as to strain it as little as possible. then this rope was bent on to the one connecting with the system of pulleys. "are you all ready?" called the young man to the foreman, who had had his men rearrange the beams. "all ready!" came the answer. dick's motor was running. with himself at the wheel, while three of the heaviest workmen had been added to paul and innis in the tonneau to give weight and trackage to the machine, dick threw in the speed gears and released the clutch. there was a whining, groaning noise. the roped tautened, the pulley blocks shrilled out a protest and then the house was seen to quiver. "she's moving!" cried the lantern-man. "by jupiter! so she is!" agreed the foreman, in surprise. "watch out!" warned dick, "and let me know when i have her far enough!" he turned on more power, threw in the second speed gear and then the house began moving more quickly, while the astonished men looked on. in a short time, pulling directly on the main rope as he was, dick had moved the house back far enough so that he could pass to one side, the building having been halted in a particularly narrow part of the road. "that'll do!" shouted the foreman. "all right," answered dick, bringing his machine to a stop. "now we'll try to get past." it did not take long to disengage the ropes, turn the auto, and negotiate a way to one side of the building. dick came to a halt on the now unblocked road, and called his thanks to the foreman for being allowed to do as he had done. "don't mention it!" was the answer. "you saved me ten dollars. i'd been fined that by the county authorities for blocking the road over night." "then we're even," laughed dick. "good night!" "huh! he ain't half as crazy as i thought he was," observed the man with the red lantern as he hung it on the rear of the house to warn night-drivers of the danger. dick and his chums sped on, and soon reached the town for which they were headed. they bought some more food, which, with the cold chickens, made a good supper. then, as they did not like the looks of the only hotel in the place, they drove out a little way into the country and prepared to spend the night. dick was the first up the next morning. "what's the route to-day?" asked paul, turning over in the bunk. "i'm going to try to make buffalo." "what! buffalo?" "sure, we can do it by taking short cuts, i think. let me have a look at that road map. hand it over, innis." from his cot innis reached into the pocket on the inner side of the door, and hauled out an envelope. this he handed to dick. "what's this? where did this come from?" asked the latter, as he pulled out several blank sheets of legal paper. "this is a funny trick. our road map has been transformed into nothing." "maybe i got hold of the wrong envelope," suggested innis. "here's another," and he pulled out a second. "no, those are the legal papers," said dick, after an examination. "see if the map isn't there." it was not, and a search of the other places in the auto where it might have been put did not reveal it. "this is queer," exclaimed dick. "our road map disappears, and we have some blank papers in its place." "but the legal papers are safe!" exclaimed paul. "what do you mean?" "i mean that there's been some crooked work here. some one tried to get those legal papers, and took the road map by mistake." chapter xvi the lame man for a moment dick stared at his chum uncomprehendingly. then a light came over his face, and he said: "by jove, old man! i believe you're right." "i'm sure of it," declared paul. innis looked at the two in some bewilderment. "i wish you'd kindly explain," he said. "i may be bright looking, but i guess i'm an awful dunce when it comes to making a stab at what you two are getting at. the road map is gone--i get as far as that--and the legal papers are safe. but how do you decide that a change has been made?" "easy," answered paul, showing a bundle of the kind of paper known as "legal cap," with red lines down the side. "these were in the envelope containing the road map. the map and the legal documents were in the same pocket on the auto door. i remember, for i looked at the map to see how many miles we had made after we crossed that river." "maybe it dropped out on the road," suggested innis. "mind you!" he said, quickly, "i'm not saying this to be stubborn, but i want to make sure that we're not overlooking anything. for if it's true, what paul says, it means that there's something wrong going on, and that we've got to be on our guard." "i believe you," asserted dick, "and i'm just as glad to have you raise all the objections you can. we want to be very sure of what we're about. now it's pretty well settled that none of us have had the road map since it was put in the flap pocket last night. the envelope of legal papers looks just like the road map, and any one putting their hand in after dark, might get one in place of the other." "and, lucky for you he got the wrong envelope," said innis. "it's a good joke on whoever it is." "yes," agreed dick, "and i'm beginning to have an idea of who it is." "who?" demanded his two chums. "my uncle ezra, of course. who else would have an object in preventing me from trying to save mr. wardell's fortune?" "ha! ha!" laughed innis. "i can just see his face when he looks in that envelope and sees nothing but a road map. that's a rich one; eh, grit?" and he patted the bulldog, who wagged his stump of a tail energetically. "yes, it's a good joke," mused dick; "but i don't believe uncle ezra will be the first one to appreciate it." "what do you mean?" asked paul. "why, that my uncle didn't personally take that envelope," went on dick. "he must have hired some one to do it for him, just as he tried to get me off my yacht that time." "and he got badly stung, too!" exclaimed innis. "just as he did this time." "but we mustn't let that make us careless," went on dick, "uncle ezra, if it was he, won't give up so easily. he'll have another try." "but if he does get the papers so long before the time when you have to turn them over to the courts, dick, can't you get other copies?" asked paul. the young millionaire shook his head. "mr. wardell has left for south america by this time," he said. "it would be almost impossible to trace him now, in time to get him to execute new papers, in case these were lost or taken," and dick looked at the valuable packet. "of course i could cable him, if i knew on what ship he had sailed, but i don't. "to find that out i'd have to go back home, and maybe even then his lawyer wouldn't know. you see mr. wardell was so ashamed of how easily he had been fooled that he wanted to get off by himself somewhere. maybe he didn't leave his address. so i'd have quite a task tracing him. "he depends on me to do this business for him, since i have undertaken it. he didn't do it himself for two reasons. he didn't have much idea that he could ever get his fortune back, i guess; and, for another reason, he didn't want to lose the only chance he might have to make another in this south american matter. if that is successful, i understand, mr. wardell will come in for a big share of the profits. "now then, since he has trusted me, and since so much depends on these papers, we've got to take good care of them. i'll hide them in a new place. i guess under the cushions of one of the bunks will do. they can't be gotten away in the night without one of us knowing it," and dick proceeded to carry his plan into execution. "but how do you suppose the map was taken last night?" asked paul. "it would only be guess work," replied dick. "probably some one in an auto sneaked up near us after we were sound asleep, reached in and took the first envelope his fingers met with. that's the most plausible theory, though i don't say it's right." "but why an auto?" asked paul. "that's about the only way uncle ezra's agents could keep after us. they must have our route down pretty fine, and now i'm sorry i didn't keep quieter about it when we were laying it out. i talked freely before uncle ezra, and, now i recall it, he was at our house more often since we began getting ready for this trip, than ever before. he must have overheard what dad and i planned to do." "it looks so," admitted paul drew. "but why does he make all this fuss about it? why doesn't he wait until the time comes, and then file in court a legal paper that would offset the one you have for mr. wardell, dick?" "because this is a peculiar case," explained his friend, who had gone over it in detail with mr. wardell's lawyer. "no papers can be filed before a certain date, and only within certain times. all uncle ezra could do in the meanwhile would amount to nothing, unless he could get these papers away from me. and that wouldn't be so important if mr. wardell hadn't left the country and gone to a place where i can't get at him in time to have him execute a new power of attorney. so we've got to take good care of these papers, boys." "and we've got to get a new road map," said paul. they stopped at the next town they came to and got a fine map, showing the best roads to take. then, in furtherance of his original plan, dick headed for buffalo, which he hoped to make before nightfall. "couldn't you change your route, and fool your uncle ezra, dick?" asked innis, after dinner that day. "i could in some ways, but the cities we have planned to pass through are on the best route to san francisco. of course i could switch off on side roads here and there, but my idea is that if uncle ezra makes any other attempts they'll be made in or near the big cities. he knows every one where i'm going to touch." "and this car is a regular landmark," complained paul. "everyone will remember it once they see it." "well, there's no use worrying until we have to," observed dick. "we'll keep the papers as well hidden as we can, and a sharp watch out." "it's a wonder grit didn't give the alarm last night," said innis. "that's so," exclaimed dick. "but the trouble with grit is that he's too friendly with everyone except uncle ezra. he got that from the boys at school making such a fuss over him. he thinks everyone is his friend, and if a chap was only to speak gently to him grit would wag his head off. that's probably what our night visitor did. grit, you're no good!" grit barked happily, as though he had just been paid the greatest compliment in the world. they drove the car hard that day, and had the satisfaction of arriving on the outskirts of buffalo just as dusk was settling down. and then they had their first bit of bad luck. from lack of oil, one of the bearings became heated and an inspection in a garage disclosed the fact that some new babbitt, or anti-friction metal, would have to be put in. "a two days' job," the repair man said. "punk!" exclaimed dick. "well, we'll have to lay over, that's all. come on, fellows, we'll go to a hotel and take a run out to niagara falls to-morrow." so, after all, the accident had its advantages, for they quite enjoyed the trip to the big cataract. the auto was repaired on time, and in the interim dick kept the valuable papers in his own pocket. "if we only knew what sort of a man, or men, to be on the watch against, it would be easier," remarked paul, when they were ready to proceed again. "that's just it," admitted dick. "we can't tell who uncle ezra will send, nor when they'll appear. but i think, after once being fooled, they'll go a bit slow. we won't worry, anyhow." they were on the main road out of buffalo, and were counting on making cleveland their next big stop. their schedule called for leisurely traveling, for they were in no special hurry, desiring to enjoy the trip as much as possible. "here's a good chance to make speed," remarked paul, as he sighted the long, straight road ahead of them, after they had turned out of a bad stretch. "yes, let her out a bit," suggested dick, who had turned the wheel over to paul. they sped along at a rapid pace, keeping a watchful eye out for motorcycle speed-officers, when, as they rounded a curve, which paul took at rather too great speed, they saw just ahead of them an auto drawn diagonally across the road. "look out!" cried dick. "there isn't room to get past. what did he want to stop that way for?" "maybe he had a breakdown," suggested innis. "it looks so," admitted paul, as he slowed up. as he did so a man walking with a perceptible limp came from the other side of the car, where he had evidently been tinkering with the mechanism, and held up his hand as a signal of distress. "what's the matter?" asked dick, as his big car came to a stop. "steering gear's broken," said the lame man, "and i can't push the car out of the road myself. it's a mean place to have an accident." "yes, especially as it makes the road impassable," said paul. "well, i guess we can get you out of the way all right. is the break a bad one?" "yes, the steering knuckle has gone all to pieces. i tried to fix it, but i don't dare drive the car with that out of commission." "i should say not," agreed dick. "you'd be climbing a tree before you knew it," and he walked toward the disabled car, the lame man following closely, after a sharp glance at dick's handsome machine. chapter xvii giving him a lift dick hamilton bent over the disabled steering gear of the car that was slewed across the roadway. as he did so he gave a start that was noticed by paul, who was directly back of him. "what is it?" asked his chum. "nothing--er that is--i should say it _was_ a smash!" finished the young millionaire in louder tones, speaking to the lame man. "it looks as if something hit it." "something did hit it," went on the other autoist, limping up. "i ran over a piece of iron lying in the road. my wheel kicked it up, and the first thing i knew one end had hit the steering knuckle. "it cracked as though i had struck it with the hammer, and i found myself shooting across the road. i brought up standing, with both brakes set, and i jumped out in such a hurry that i gave my ankle a twist. it hurts like the mischief, too! i was trying to see if i could patch up the steering gear in any way, when you came along. i didn't want to block up the highway any longer than i had to. but if you'll give me a hand i think we can push the car out of the way." with the boys and the lame man pushing at the disabled auto it was soon rolled to one side, allowing a free passage, which a few minutes later was taken advantage of by several cars. the occupants looked curiously at the broken machine, but, seeing that the unfortunate autoist had assistance, they did not stop. "well, that's done!" exclaimed dick, as he and the others rested from their labors. "can we do anything else for you, mr.--er--?" and he paused suggestively. "brockhurst is my name," said the man, quickly. "samuel brockhurst. i'm from buffalo, and i was out on a little run when this accident happened. it comes just at a wrong time, too. i had an appointment with a man in hazelton," naming a town about twenty-five miles away, "and now i can't keep it in time, i'm afraid. i can't get back to the city in time to catch a train, and there's no garage around here where i can hire a car. i do seem to have the worst luck! "but there's no use in burdening you with my troubles," he added, with a frank smile. "i'm very thankful to you for what you've done for me. if you wouldn't mind stopping at the first garage you come to, and telling them to send out for this machine, i'll be obliged to you." "of course we will," said dick, quickly; "but can't we give you a lift on your way? we're going close to hazelton, and if it will be any accommodation to you we can just as well make that town." "oh, no, i wouldn't think of troubling you. i've delayed you enough at it is. i might go on to the garage with you, if you don't mind, and then i could tell the man just what the trouble is. he might even have a car i can hire, though, as i remember it, the nearest garage is a small, one-horse sort of a place. still, they can mend the steering knuckle i should think." "come on then," urged dick. "we'll take you as far as there, and if you can't hire a car you're welcome to ride to hazelton with us." "oh, mr.----" "hamilton--dick hamilton," supplied our hero. "i couldn't think of it, mr. hamilton. i wouldn't put you to that trouble for the world." "it's no trouble," dick assured him. "i believe in being helpful whenever i can. i might be in the same boat myself some day." "it doesn't look as though your car would ever break down," said the lame man. "it certainly is a beauty. what make is that?" "it was built to order," said dick, "and i got it in a deal when the owner couldn't take it. it just suits me." "i should think it would suit anyone. it's a peach! are you going far?" "to san francisco!" "you don't tell me! that _is_ a tour, all right. my car looks small alongside yours, though my machine is considered a pretty good one." it was a good one, dick and his chums could see, and the small break could easily be repaired. after making sure that the disabled car was well out of the way of traffic, and leaving a written notice on it to show to whom it belonged, dick, his chums, and mr. brockhurst entered the _last word_, with the first named at the wheel, and once more they were under way. mr. brockhurst proved an agreeable companion. he had traveled much, and could talk well of the places he had visited, telling a number of funny stories that kept the cadets laughing. on reaching the garage the man in charge, promised to send out and get the car. "but as for renting you one, i can't do it," he said to mr. brockhurst. "there isn't a one in the place, except colonel carter's, and he'd have my head off if i loaned that, though he only drives it about once a week." "i wonder if i couldn't see him and make some deal with him?" asked the lame man. "it's important that i get to hazelton this morning." "say!" interrupted dick. "what's the use of going to all that bother. i'll be glad to run you down. it's only ten miles out of our way, and we are ahead of our schedule. anyhow, a day or so doesn't matter to us. come on, mr. brockhurst." "oh, i don't want to put you out----" "it will be a pleasure to have you," said dick, and he meant it. his chums, too, were glad of the man's company. "and i'll show you how the electric stove works," went on dick, for the lame man had been much interested in the fittings of the big car. "all right--if you insist!" and he laughed in an engaging manner. he left orders about his car, and was soon in the big machine with dick and his chums, who resumed their journey. they had purchased some supplies in the village where the garage was situated, and, reaching a secluded place on the road, they began the preparation of a meal on the electric stove. "now i insist on you letting me help," said mr. brockhurst. "i'm a sort of old bachelor myself, and used to cooking. shall i bring up a scuttle of coal, or a pail of water?" "we don't need coal," said dick, "though we might have some water. that looks like a spring over there." "i'm the water-boy!" cried the lame man, as, with all the exuberance of youth, he limped off with a collapsible rubber pail toward the spring. chapter xviii a disappearance "well, you boys certainly know how to live! this is great!" thus exclaimed mr. brockhurst as he sat in the shade of a big tree on the edge of the country road, eating lunch with dick and his chums. it had been cooked in the little "kitchen" of the auto, but as it was rather warm they had elected to eat out in the open air, and a board, laid across two stumps, served excellently as a table. paul, whose turn it was to cook, also acted as waiter. "this isn't half bad," admitted innis, reaching for some more chicken sandwiches and olives. "you'd have to go a good way to find anything better, in my opinion," spoke the lame man. "i never realized before what chances there were in a big touring car. it's better than traveling by train, for you can stop and start when you like. and with the outfit you have here you're independent of almost anything--even the weather." "yes, we can close ourselves up in the car," said dick, "and rain or snow, up to a certain limit, won't bother us." "i wish i was going all the way with you," went on the lame man. "but i've got my business to attend to. if this deal in hazelton goes through i may be able to have a car like yours. it certainly is a dandy!" "perhaps we are delaying here too long," suggested dick. "no, i've got considerable lee-way yet," said mr. brockhurst. "i can meet my man in time, and this lunch is too good to miss. by the way, there's a fine view to be had from the hill over there. suppose we stroll over and take it in. it won't take long, and it's well worth seeing." "as long as we'll be in time for your appointment, all right," assented dick. "our time is our own." "don't worry about me. come along," and, lunch being over, mr. brockhurst led the way along a path that went up a rather steep hill. "do you live around here?" asked paul, wondering how the lame man knew of the view so far out from buffalo. "no, not exactly. i used to, when i was a boy, but the city is my home now. i don't often get out into the country, and when i do i like to take advantage of it." "that's the idea," said dick. they walked on, chatting about various subjects. dick had taken a certain electric switch out of his car, without which it was impossible to start it, so he had no worries about leaving the auto in the roadway unprotected. "are we walking too fast for you?" inquired dick, and his two chums, who happened to be looking at him, thought the young millionaire regarded their visitor with a rather strange glance. "oh, no, i can keep up this pace," he said, though he seemed to be walking more and more slowly. "i did give my ankle a bad twist," he went on, "and i'll have it looked to as soon as we get to hazelton. it isn't much farther to the top of the hill now." they had gone only a few steps more, when, with an exclamation of pain, mr. brockhurst came to a halt. his face was screwed up in an expression of anxiety. "i'm afraid i'd better not go on any further," he said, sitting down on a grassy place. "i don't want to strain my foot too much. i'll wait for you here. go on and get a look at that view. you wouldn't want to miss it. lots of people go miles out of their way for it. i'll just sit here and rest." "are you sure you'll be all right?" asked dick. "oh, sure. go ahead. don't mind me. i'll wait until you come back. and there's a good spring on that hill. it's supposed to have some medicinal virtue. i don't take much stock in that, but i know it's good and cold, for i used to drink there when i was a boy." "i'm going to have some," asserted paul. "i'm as dry as codfish." though the boys somewhat regretted not having mr. brockhurst to accompany them, the thought of a cool drink at the summit of the hill hurried them on, for the day was warm. they looked back to see the lame man still sitting on the grass plot, gazing up at them. he waved his hand in a friendly fashion. "say, this is some view!" exclaimed paul, as they reached the summit. "i should say yes!" assented dick. "i'm glad we came up." down before them, rolling in a series of gentle slopes, was a vast extent of country. there was a great plain, and, in the distance, mountains arising, blue and purple in the haze of the summer day. "it's magnificent!" murmured innis. "it makes a fellow feel--well, like poetry," he finished for want of something better to say. "it makes me more thirsty to see that water," added paul, pointing to a little stream, that, like a silver ribbon, made its tortuous way through a distant green meadow. "let's look for that spring," suggested dick, after a few minutes of gazing at the view, which was really superb. but the spring was not as easy to find as they had supposed. they finally located a small brook, and, tracing it back some distance, they came upon the spring. it justified all that mr. brockhurst had said of it, and the boys drank long and deep. "it's got a queer taste," said dick. "that's the medicinal virtues of it, i guess," laughed innis. "well, it's all right when you're thirsty," assented paul, "for it's good and cold, but i'd have to get used to it before i'd want it steady. well, shall we go back?" "might as well," said dick, looking at his watch. "we've been here half an hour. mr. brockhurst will be getting tired." they started down the slope, and, when they got to a point where they should have seen the lame man he was not there. "he's gone!" cried innis. "probably got tired of waiting, and went back to the auto," spoke dick. "he'll be waiting for us." but his chums thought they detected a strange note in his voice. the three hurried on, and when the auto came in sight they peered eagerly toward it for a sight of their visitor. "maybe he's inside," said paul, when they could not see him. "maybe," said dick--rather grimly. they reached the car. the side door was open, but there was no sign of the lame man. "he's gone!" gasped paul. "i thought that was his game," said the young millionaire, quietly. chapter xix a simple trick dick's chums looked at him for a moment without speaking. he was quite cool while they were much excited. "what's that you said?" asked paul, thinking perhaps he had not heard aright. "you expected him to skip out; did you?" asked innis. "i did," replied dick, calmly. "that is, after he sent us on to see the view alone. i thought maybe he might wait until we got nearer to hazelton, but he evidently got what he wanted--a good chance--and took advantage of it." "yes, and maybe he took something else, too!" cried paul. "have you looked for your papers, dick?" and he peered into the car. "that's so--those legal papers!" added innis. "he was one of your uncle's agents, dick!" "don't worry," said the young millionaire with a quizzical smile. "i have the papers safe," and he pulled an envelope from his pocket. "i've been carrying them there ever since i saw that broken steering knuckle," he went on. "what in the world had the broken steering knuckle to do with it?" asked paul. "because it had been deliberately smashed with a hammer, to knock his car out of commission," went on dick. "he wanted a breakdown, and he made it to order. he knew we were coming along and would give him a lift, and he counted on getting possession of what he wanted. so i've been suspicious of him ever since. i thought it safer to carry the papers with me, and i guess i did right. innis, just see if our road map isn't missing again." the cadet put his hand in the flap pocket where the map was kept. his fingers came out empty. "cæsar's pineapples!" he cried. "it's gone, dick!" "yes, and i expect mr. brockhurst, or whatever his name happens to be, is bemoaning his poor luck. score another miss for uncle ezra." "be careful, though, dick," warned paul. "three times and out, you know." "that's right, old man. i've got to be careful. we'll have to adopt some new system of hiding it, i guess." "but say, dick, how did you get onto that fellow's curves?" inquired innis. "you didn't tip us off." "no, i wanted to see just how far he would go, and i didn't want him to get suspicious. i knew i had the game in my own hands as long as i held the papers. you see it was this way: "when i first saw his stalled car i didn't think anything but that he was a fellow motorist in hard luck. but when he told that yarn about a piece of iron in the road flying up and cracking the steering knuckle i knew he wasn't telling the truth. no piece of iron could fly up with sufficient force to do that. besides, the dent of the blow was inside, where no flying missile, unless it could turn a corner, could hit. so i deduced that a hammer had been used." "regular detective," laughed paul. "i should say so," agreed innis. "well," went on dick, "then i noticed his limp. he had a no more sprained ankle than i had." "if he wasn't lame, he was a good actor," declared innis. "that's it--he really was lame!" exclaimed dick, quickly. "it wasn't put on at all, and i knew then that he was permanently disabled, and that it wasn't from the jar of suddenly leaping out of a car." "how could you tell that?" asked paul. "by his shoes. you know how a shoe will get full of wrinkles if it's walked in in a certain way for any length of time. a lame person's shoe will get wrinkles in it that no other person's would. it was that way with this man. when he limped i could see certain wrinkles on the side of his shoe, and the wrinkles had been there for some time, showing he had been lame longer than since to-day." "good boy!" cried paul. "then i was sure i had him," resumed dick, "and it was only a question of time when he would make a break." "and he was playing all that time to get possession of those papers?" asked innis. "that's what," answered dick, "only he got the wrong bunch. i guess i'll have to charge my road maps up to uncle ezra if this keeps up." "but how did he know you were coming along the road where he disabled his car?" asked innis. "and how could he figure out that you'd give him a lift?" "i don't know," replied the young man, frankly. "but it might be easy enough to lay such a trap for us. you see my uncle knows our route almost as well as we do ourselves. he could tip off some unscrupulous man, and he could be on the watch for us. our arrival in buffalo would soon become known, for, as i've said before, this car is rather conspicuous. then it was easy enough to figure which road we'd leave by. all that was necessary was to be in waiting, and the little trick of the disabled car did the rest." "only you were too sharp for him," put in paul. "i was lucky," was the way dick put it. "you see he wanted to get us away from the car, and that talk about the view and the spring did it. then he pretended he was tired out, and, as soon as we were out of sight, he hiked back to my auto, and rummaged it." "i hope he didn't take any of our grub!" exclaimed innis. "i have what the english call a 'rare old twist on,' i'm hungry, in other words." "it was papers--not food--he was after," said dick. "but when you knew his game, and suspected what he was up to, weren't you afraid to let him go to your car, and you remain at the spring?" asked paul. "no, for i felt sure he wouldn't do any damage. i knew he couldn't start it, and i had the documents. those were the only two things to worry about." "i see!" exclaimed innis. "well, what's to be done next? i mean after eating," he added quickly. "we'll have to think up a plan," remarked dick. "i guess, too, we might change our route a bit. if uncle ezra's men are going to make trouble for us, let's put as many hurdles in their way as we can." "that's what i say," agreed paul. they discussed this matter at length as they prepared a simple meal. before they could decide on a change of route, however, they would need a new road map, and this dick said he would get in the next town. soon they were under way again, there being no signs of mr. brockhurst in the neighborhood. he had probably made the best time to get out of sight; then he could take matters more leisurely. "though when he sees nothing but a road map in that envelope, marked 'legal papers,' he'll have a 'rare old fit,' as perhaps some of your english friends would say, innis," and paul smiled at his chum. "did you mark that road map envelope 'legal papers'?" asked paul. "sure i did. i wanted to fool them. and the papers are marked 'road map,'" said dick. "i just changed envelopes, see!" "then i've just thought of the best way to fool any more men your uncle ezra may set after us!" exclaimed paul. "listen, dick. you remember that story of edgar allan poe's--'the purloined letter'; don't you?" "i think so--yes." "what was it?" inquired innis, who was not much of a reader. "why, poe tells of some one who had a certain important letter which the police were after. this man was foxy, and knowing the police would search his rooms for it, he didn't hide it in any out-of-the-way place, such as the leg of a bed, or in a secret recess in the wall, for he knew the police would search there." "did they?" asked innis. "they did. but they didn't find the letter. it was right in plain sight, all the while, though." "in plain sight?" "sure. this man just took an old crumpled envelope, that didn't look good enough to hold a receipted gas bill, and stuck this important letter in it. then he jabbed it into a card rack, where everyone could see it. the police never suspected for a moment that their man would do such a simple thing, and they passed over this old envelope a dozen times. you see they were looking in the hard places, while, all the while, it was in the easiest place." "well, what's the answer?" asked innis, as paul came to a stopping place. "why can't dick do the same thing?" asked his chum. "how do you mean?" that young man wanted to know. "why, just get an old advertising envelope, put your papers in that, and jab it up back of that looking glass," and paul indicated a mirror on a side of the car. "let part of the envelope stick out, dick, and if those men search until doomsday they'll never find it." "i believe you're right!" dick cried. "i'll do it." "it will be safer than carrying the papers in your pocket," went on paul, "for there's no telling when you may be held up, and searched. your uncle might hire some one to pose as a road agent just to get a chance to go through your clothes." "that's right," agreed innis. "but they'll never think of taking an old advertisement envelope, that looks as though it was just stuck away behind the mirror and forgotten," went on paul. "you're right--we'll fool 'em!" cried dick, and at the next stopping place this simple trick was carried out. chapter xx down hill "you'd never suspect it was there; would you?" "not at first glance." "and unless we meet with some one who was as clever as the amateur detective that poe tells about, who looked in the simplest place for the letter instead of in the hardest, we'll be safe," said paul. the three chums had just finished carrying out their little plan. back of the mirror there stuck, half-way out, an envelope bearing in large type the name of an auto firm. it was obviously an envelope meant to contain a circular, but into it dick had slipped the important papers. "we'll leave,'em there until we go to sleep in some hotel," he explained, "and then i'll hide them somewhere in the room. but i'm not going to carry them about with me." "you couldn't come to a wiser decision," declared paul. "did you get a new road map?" "yes, and a better one than our lame friend took. i'll have a joke with uncle ezra when i see him again. i'll send him a bill for two maps, and he'll wonder what's up." "i don't want to say mean things about your relatives, dick," began innis, "but----" "go as far as you like!" interrupted the young millionaire. "you can't hurt my feelings by saying anything about uncle ezra. what is it?" "well, i was just going to remark that he had an awful lot of nerve to try to stop you from saving this wardell's fortune. don't you think so yourself?" "i do, innis. but you must remember that my uncle is a peculiar man. money is more to him than anything else. he hates to see it 'wasted,' as he calls it, though i believe in enjoying the good things that money can buy--to a limited extent, of course. but, no doubt, uncle ezra feels that he is doing right, that he is well within the law, and that he has a claim on this man's fortune, though i think he got it away from him by unfair means. or, rather, he is going to try to get it away from him. but he won't if i can stop him." "that's the way to talk, dick! but how can your uncle think it is right to send men to search your auto for papers?" "i suppose because my uncle thinks he has a right to the papers." "maybe so," agreed paul. "but say, if we're going to reach plattsville by night, we'd better get a move on." they had come to a halt a little way out of the town, not far from buffalo, where they had bought a new road map, and secured the envelope into which the legal papers were slipped. they had abandoned the plan of going to hazelton, when they found out the trick that had been played on them, and were now counting on making plattsville in time to stay just outside it over night. they did not travel after dark, unless it was to reach some predetermined point of their journey, and on this occasion, as there was no good hotel in plattsville, they had voted to sleep in the big auto. once more they started off, paul driving, while dick and innis overhauled the stores in the "kitchen," in preparation for getting a meal in case they did not find a good restaurant in the next town. "the beauty of this way of traveling," said innis, "is that you can do as you please. if you want a course dinner you can get it--if not in one town, then in another. or if you want simple grub, it's here ready for us." "that's right," agreed paul. "it was mighty white of dick to ask us along." "i'm sure i was only too glad to have you," said the latter. "i wouldn't have gone alone for a farm; would we, grit?" and the bulldog barked his answer. "i guess you're hungry," went on dick. "innis, open some of that canned chicken." "what! are you going to eat so near supper time?" "i am not. it's for grit." "shades of uncle ezra! what would he say if he were here? canned chicken for a dog! oh, the sinful waste!" "that's just what uncle ezra would say if he _were_ here," laughed dick. "and i half wish he was, so i could tell him what i think of him. "but there! it's best to keep peace in the family if you can. uncle ezra is trying to ruin a young man, financially, and i'm trying to save him. it may come out even in the end, and that will be all right. there you are, grit!" and the bulldog barked in delight as dick gave him a generous helping of canned chicken. "that makes me hungry," called paul, from the steering seat. "we'll soon be at plattsville," answered dick. "say, you are hitting up the pace, all right!" he exclaimed, as the big car swung around a curve and careened down the straight road. "this is a good place to make time," answered paul. "don't get caught in one of those speed traps the old constable was telling us about," warned innis. "i don't want to waste good money on some justice of the peace." "i'll be careful," promised paul, and he slowed down a bit. they found a good restaurant in plattsville, and so decided they would not get their own supper, as they were rather weary with the day's journey. the big auto was left outside, and to keep the curious crowd that gathered from going inside it, dick locked the doors. the legal papers were left in plain sight, and while perhaps an older person might not have taken that risk, the boys thought they were doing the best thing. grit was allowed to roam about while the travelers were eating, and later, after dick and his chums had gone up the street a little way, to buy some things they needed, they missed the dog. "why, where is grit?" asked dick, as they got in the auto again, to drive to the outskirts of the town, where they decided to "camp" for the night. "i haven't noticed him since coming from the restaurant," said paul. "i took it for granted that he was following us." "so did i," said innis. dick leaped from his seat and went back. there was no sign of his pet, and the waiters said the bulldog had gone out after them. dick looked up and down the street. not far from the restaurant was a stable, setting back some distance, and reached by an alley. "maybe he's in there," suggested paul. "it may remind him of the barracks at kentfield academy." "maybe," assented dick. "i'll take a look." as he neared the stable he heard the muffled barking of a dog. a burly man sauntered out of a shed and demanded: "whatcher want here?" "have you seen anything of a bulldog?" asked dick. "naw." "that sounds like my dog barking." "aw, that's me own pup. he's allers barking." something in the man's manner made dick suspicious. "would you mind letting me see him?" he asked, quietly. "perhaps my dog got in there by--er--mistake." "naw, he ain't there. an' dis is private property--see? you'd better vamoose!" "i think i'll take a look just the same," insisted dick. he glanced about and saw that paul and innis were coming into the alley. "reinforcements," thought dick. "did you locate him?" called paul. "i think so." the surly man came forward. "hi, bill!" he called to some one in the shed he had left. "here's a couple of fresh guys that need lookin' after." "oh, we can look after ourselves; thank you," said dick. then, raising his voice, he called sharply: "here, grit! hi, old man!" a perfect chorus of barks answered him. the young millionaire sprang toward the stable, but before he could reach the door there was the sound of a rattling chain, that seemed to snap. then came a choking gurgle, and the next moment the door burst open and grit, leaping and bounding, rushed out. "grit!" called dick. the dog barked an answer, and then, trailing the broken chain after him, made a rush at the surly man. "look out!" called paul. "if he gets hold of you----" the man did not stop to hear the rest of the warning. with a leap he made for the shed he had left, pushing his companion before him, and slamming the door shut in time to cause grit to bound fiercely up against it. "he's a lucky chap," murmured innis, while the dog leaped and bounded about the closed portal, barking with rage. "here, grit!" called dick. his pet, after a moment of hesitation, and a longing look at the shut door, came to him limping. "the brutes!" exclaimed dick, as he saw where his dog had been kicked. "i've a notion to have them arrested." "it will only make a lot of trouble, and delay us, to testify against them," said paul. "let's get out of here." "i guess that's best," assented dick. "they tried to keep my dog, though. but you were too much for 'em; eh, grit?" the bulldog nearly turned himself inside out trying to wag his short tail, and fawned about his master and the latter's chums. a crowd had collected at the alley entrance, and through it the boys pushed their way, the assemblage giving respectful room to grit, who was in no gentle humor. it was plain that the stablemen, seeing a valuable dog, had enticed grit into the barn--no hard task, since he was fond of horses--and had tried to prevent dick from recovering his pet. but all's well that ends well, and soon the trio, with grit on the seat of honor in front, were speeding to the outskirts of the town, where the auto was drawn to one side of the road, and preparations made to spend the night. they were off early the next morning. cleveland was their next big city, and in accordance with dick's plan they changed their route slightly, taking seldom-traveled roads to throw off any spies whom uncle ezra might send after them. shortly before noon something occurred which nearly put an end to their journey. they had come through a bad stretch of roads and had ascended a steep hill, at the other side of which, according to a local guide, began a good highway. "then we can make some speed!" exclaimed dick. "we've been crawling all morning." he was at the wheel, and as he started to descend the slope he looked to see that the brake levers were clear. there were three on the big car--the ordinary foot-pedal brake, a hand one for hard stops, and an emergency that locked all four wheels. the _last word_ started down the slope, and half way to the bottom something snapped. "what's that?" cried innis. "one of the brakes, i'm afraid," answered dick. the car gathered speed. the young millionaire had shut off all power and was coasting. now he reached for the emergency brake, but the handle was loose in his hand. the hill was steep--the car heavy, and it was acquiring speed. the foot and ordinary hand brake were powerless to check it. "we're running down hill!" cried innis. "that's what we are," agreed dick, grimly. as they flashed past a house a man rushed out. "look out for that bridge!" he cried, pointing to the foot of the slope. "it's weakened by a flood. you'll never get over it if you hit it that fast!" his words died away as the car rushed on down hill, dick vainly trying to check its speed by the two brakes still in commission. chapter xxi marooned "can't you hold her, dick?" "is there anything we can do?" paul and innis shouted their questions at their chum, as he sat at the wheel, guiding the ponderous car on its perilous way. every stone that could be avoided dick steered away from, yet to make too much of a swerve, he knew, would be disastrous. "i'm afraid--it's getting--away from me," he called through his clenched teeth. "the emergency brake is broken, and the others don't seem to hold." "can't you put on the reverse?" asked innis. "it would only strip the gears. i guess we've got to chance it, boys!" a man ran out at the foot of the hill, dancing up and down near the approach to the bridge, and waving a red handkerchief. "are you going to try the bridge?" shouted paul. "i don't see how i can help it," replied dick. "if i turn into the ditch we'll sure upset." "maybe the bridge is stronger than they think," suggested innis. "it looks all right." "that's the way with those country bridges," said paul, bitterly. "they never keep 'em in repair, and even a heavy truck may go through. it's a shame!" "well, get ready for something, fellows!" said dick, grimly. "do you want to jump?" "i guess it's the only thing to do," declared paul. "there's grass on both sides of the road, and we can't be much hurt. you go first, dick." "no, you fellows try it. i've got to hold this wheel. the minute i let go this auto is going to be like a wild horse, trying to climb the first tree in sight. jump, while i hold her steady. then i'll take my chance." "i'll steer for you," offered innis, gallantly. "no, let me!" insisted paul. "i tell you i'll stick to my machine until she smashes!" cried dick, sharply. "you fellows jump while you've got the chance. i'll try and hold her until she gets to the bridge, and then i may be able to land in the water. go ahead." "it's a shame!" cried paul. "to see this dandy car go to smash." "it can't be helped," replied dick, sadly. paul opened the door on one side, and innis on the other. they got in good positions to make their leap. the man on the bridge was still waving his signal of danger, uselessly it seemed, for the big car was headed straight for the structure. dick gave a sharp glance ahead, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. then he called out, hoarsely: "wait a minute, fellows! hold on! don't jump yet! maybe there's a way out yet!" "how?" yelled paul. "see! there's a ford at one side of the bridge!" and dick nodded his head toward a place where the road over the structure branched off, dividing; one side going down a slope into the stream of water, and up again on the other side, to join the highway past the bridge. this path was used by those who wished to water their horses, or swell their dried wagon-wheels. it was also a ford in case the bridge was out of commission for heavy loads, as at present. "what's your game?" cried innis. "i'm going to try to send the auto down that ford-road," replied the young millionaire. "it's soft and sandy. if i can make the change the soft dirt may clog the wheels enough, and slacken our speed, so that we can get over the creek safely. it's worth trying--in fact, it's the only thing we can do. hold on!" nearer and nearer to the bridge thundered the big car. the man with the red handkerchief had leaped out of the way now, fearing the collapse of the structure. but dick did not intend to trust himself to the weakened beams and king-braces. narrowly watching the road where it forked into the ford, or crossing, dick swerved the steering wheel ever so little at a time. a sudden change in the course, he knew, would mean an overturned auto, and possibly serious injury to all of them. "that's it! that's the way to do it!" cried the man who had waved a warning. "the water isn't very deep!" "i hope not," murmured dick. "hold hard, boys!" with tense face he watched the path before him. his hands were gripped on the steering wheel so hard that it seemed as though he had no fingers at all--as if they were all in one. the car thundered on. it vibrated and trembled. the brakes that had been set--exclusive of the broken one--were bringing forth a shrill protest from the axle bands. "i--i guess you'll make it, dick!" shouted paul. "it won't be from lack of trying, anyhow," agreed innis. though he and paul had come partly back into the car they were still ready to leap in case dick's plan miscarried. but it seemed likely to succeed. there was a sudden twist to the steering wheel, and the _last word_ swerved dangerously. paul and innis clutched the sides. then they saw that the auto was on the short slope that led down to the water. dick had made the diversion in safety--so far. what would happen when he struck the stream, with its uneven bed, was a matter of conjecture. but the deep sand of the slope leading down to the water was already having its effect. no better brake could have been devised than that clinging material. "she's slacking up!" cried paul. "we're all right!" added innis. into the water splashed the big touring car. a shower of spray shot up on either side. the machine was slackening speed. dick was beginning to relax his grip on the steering wheel, and his chums breathed easier. then, with a jolt that threw them all forward in a heap, the auto seemed to strike some obstruction in the bed of the creek. it careened to one side, so that they feared it was about to topple over. then it righted itself, surged forward, and came to a groaning stop in the middle of the water, stuck fast in the cloying mud that formed the bed of the creek. "safe!" exclaimed paul. "not a bone broken!" added innis. "but we're marooned!" murmured dick, gloomily. "it will take ten horses to pull us out of this mudhole. hang the luck!" chapter xxii an engineering problem after their exciting ride down hill--a ride that might have ended disastrously but for dick's good judgment and prompt action--the three chums were content to sit still in the stalled auto for a few moments. they were about in the middle of a small stream, that flowed under the partly wrecked bridge, and the water came up nearly to the tops of the big-tired wheels. this did not represent its real depth, however, as the weight of the car had caused it to sink down in the soft mud, which served to hold it fast. paul, dick and innis looked about them. "well, this is the limit!" grumbled the young millionaire. "it sure is," assented paul. "what'd you want to come down hill so fast for?" asked the man with the red flag. "we didn't mean to," said dick. "one of the brakes went out of commission, and i couldn't hold the car with the other two, though they're supposed to be able to. must be something wrong with 'em. i'm going to have 'em looked at when we get out of here." "if we ever do," suggested innis. "we sure are stuck fast." "that's awful sticky mud," volunteered the flagman. "didn't bill hockey, at the top of the hill, warn you about this bridge?" "yes, but it was too late, then, to stop," answered dick. "well, i'm here to let only light loads over the bridge," the man went on. "it'll hold a horse and carriage, but not much else. your auto would sure have gone through it." "then i'm glad we didn't chance it," remarked paul. "the county is getting bids on having a new bridge built, but when it'll be done nobody seems to know," said the man. "i don't s'pose you mind, as long as you have a job here flagging," suggested innis, with a smile. "well, 'tain't so much fun in wet weather. i'm thinkin' of havin' a shelter made. but you sure are stuck fast. you'd better go over and see if you can hire some horses. there's a farm just around the turn of the road. porter hanson owns it, and he's got a couple of teams." "i guess it will take more than two teams to get us out," said dick. "i'd rather trust to a block and fall. could i get one around here, do you imagine?" "you might. some of the farmers has 'em." "it's going to be quite a problem even at that," said paul, looking across to the other shore with a critical eye. "we can't get a very good hold for the block." "then we'll have to make one," decided dick. "fellows, we'll pretend this is one of the engineering problems we used to get at kentfield, and we'll see how we can work it out. "we've got a weight here to move of approximately four thousand pounds, and the distance, up to the road, is about twenty-five feet. innis, how much moving force do we require?" "not prepared!" answered the cadet, giving one of the stock answers of the class room, and his chums laughed. "where are you fellows from?" asked the man with the flag. "new york," answered dick, which was true enough, and he did not want to go into details about himself and his chums. "we're students on our vacation." "well, it looks as though you were goin' to get your feet wet," remarked the bridge guardian with a chuckle. "if you want to wait i'll go down the creek a ways, and borrow a boat. but you'll have to warn any teams, heavier than a single carriage, not to go over the bridge." "all right--we will," agreed dick. "and we'll pay you for your trouble. we'll probably need a boat anyhow when we start to haul the car up on dry land again." "well, shall we go ashore?" asked paul, as their new friend started off down the bank of the stream. "and get our feet wet doing it," added innis. "i'm going to wade barefoot, anyhow," and he prepared to take off his shoes. "let's sit here and eat first," suggested dick. "it's about dinner time, and we've got some hard work ahead of us. i do hope we can get a block and fall." dick's plan met with instant favor, and then, in the big car the three marooned travelers began to prepare a meal on the electric stove. they were busily engaged at this when their new friend came rowing up the stream. he saw the boys sitting comfortably about the table which had been let down from the roof of the car, and his eyes grew big with astonishment. "wa'al, i swan t' goodness!" he gasped. "there ain't nothin' slow about you boys; be there?" "not so as you could notice it," assented dick, with a laugh. "will you have a fried egg sandwich?" "what? be you cookin' in there?" cried the man in astonishment. "sure!" laughed paul. "wait, i'll put an egg on for you in a jiffy!" and he broke one in the aluminum frying pan, while the man was tying the boat to the stranded auto. "wa'al, i swan t' goodness!" exclaimed the man, who had said his name was peter kinsey. "this beats th' dutch! why, you've got a regular sleepin' an' dinin' car here; ain't you?" "somewhat," admitted dick, while paul passed out the egg sandwich on a wooden plate. "gosh all sizers!" exclaimed mr. kinsey, as he bit into it. "it's hot, all right! but it's mighty good jest th' same!" he added quickly. he ate it with such evident relish that paul at once fried him another. then, as the three chums had eaten enough, they put away their cooking apparatus, tossed the wooden plates into the stream, and prepared to get their auto out of the mud. "the first thing to do," decided dick, when they had gone ashore in the boat mr. kinsey had borrowed for them, "is to see if we can get that tackle. there's no use bothering with horses until we have something rigged up so we can use their strength to the best advantage. where would we be likely to get a rope and pulleys?" he asked the flagman. "wa'al, josiah mcintyre might have some," was the answer. "he moved his barn last week, and i don't believe they took the rigging away." "where does he live?" "down the road a piece. second house on the right. it's painted red and sets back a ways from the road. you can tell him what you want, and say i sent you." "all right," agreed dick. "paul, i'll delegate you to get the rope and pulleys. push 'em here in a wheelbarrow, and see if we can hire a team when we need it." "all right, my hearty!" "innis, you and i'll look about for a place where we can hitch the pulley. we may have to set a post. i suppose we could borrow a shovel?" he asked mr. kinsey. "yes, i've got one here myself. i was digging worms for fish bait. had to do something settin' here all day. what do you want a shovel for?" "to dig a hole to set a post in." "i see. well, i'll get the shovel, and i reckon you can take one of the busted beams from this bridge. there's a lot of 'em over on the other side." with the post and shovel provided, dick and his chums began to see a way out of their difficulty. paul started down the road after the tackle, and dick decided to wait and see how long the rope was before setting the post that was to support the pull of the falls against the weight of the auto. meanwhile he and innis awaited the return of their chum, who had gone down the road whistling. the fine big car remained in the middle of the stream, the water swirling between the spokes of the wheels. "it'll do it good to soak up a bit," said dick, "it's been so dry lately that the wood was shrinking." "yes, it has been terrible dry," agreed mr. kinsey. "the farmers have begun prayin' for rain. an' it looks as if we'd get some soon." several boys, who had, in some mysterious way, heard of the accident, came running down the road to stand along the bank of the creek and stare at the odd sight. dick's big car was something new and strange to them, and they made the most of the exhibition. "here comes paul!" exclaimed innis, as he saw a figure make the turn of the road. "and he's got some one to push the wheelbarrow for him," he added, as he saw a man walking beside the youth. "oh, you can trust paul to get out of the hardest part of the work," laughed dick. "never mind, we'll need a man's help anyhow, and i was going to suggest that he hire some one." "he's evidently done it," remarked innis. "looks as though he had plenty of tackle," commented mr. kinsey. "i guess it's what josiah used for his barn, all right." "what luck?" called dick, as his chum came within hearing distance. "good!" was the answer. "i've got a long tackle, and we can get two teams if we need 'em. i hired a man to help us rig it up, too." "fine!" exclaimed the young millionaire. "now, innis, we'll get busy on a practical engineering problem instead of figuring it out on paper." chapter xxiii off again "how's that post now?" called paul, who with innis had been tamping dirt about a short beam stuck in the ground some distance back from the edge of the water. "that's got a better slant to it," answered dick. "it would have pulled out as it was." "how are you going to fasten the tackle to the car?" asked innis, as he and his chum finished their part of the work. "take a hitch around the front axle. here, give me a hand and we'll do that now. paul, you can go see about the horses. tell the farmer we won't need them long, and we'll pay him what he thinks they're worth." "aye--aye, sir," answered paul, saluting in the most approved kentfield military academy style, as he started off down the road. the three chums, with the aid of mr. kinsey, and such of the gathered farm lads as volunteered, had been busy the last half-hour rigging up the tackle to pull the big car from the creek. a stout post had been set up to give a fixed purchase, for dick found that the tackle and fall was of a good type, with one fixed and one movable pulley--the former with two, and the latter with three wheels. this gave great power, and it would be needed, for the car was deep in the mud, and there was quite a slope to negotiate to the road. "if she hadn't settled so deep in the mud, i could get her out under her own power," said dick, as he and innis fixed about the axle of the car a loose rope, into which could be fastened the hook of the movable pulley. the fixed pulley would be made fast to the post, the boys, after some discussion, having decided that this was the best plan to follow. the ropes were adjusted, the pulleys were looked after to make sure that they would not foul, and then all that remained was to wait for the horses to come. quite a crowd had gathered by this time, a number of boys and men, as well as some women and girls, having been drawn from their houses by the report of the stalled auto. "what about those papers, dick?" asked innis, as they finished making fast the auxiliary rope, and rowed to shore to await the return of paul. "they're in the auto." "do you think they're safe there?" "sure. safer than if i had 'em in my pocket, where they'd fall out into this muddy creek. then they would be gone forever." "have you the doors locked?" "surest thing you know. see anything of paul?" "yes, there he comes, with four horses instead of two, and i'm blessed if he isn't riding one of the nags." "sure. what else did you expect? paul is learning how to take life easy. he'll live longer that way." "but why four horses? i thought two would be enough?" "so they might, but i guess paul doesn't believe in taking chances. four will be sure to pull us out of the ruck, and two mightn't." "to say nothing of the fact that the farmer saw a chance to hold you up for a double price." "oh, that's all right," said the young millionaire. "i don't mind paying for actual work, and it will be a blessing to get started again." as usual, when a crowd gathers about anything that is going on, there was plenty of advice offered. one man insisted that dick had the pulleys arranged wrong, and another held that the auto should have been pulled out backwards instead of by the front. "but i don't want to go backwards," said dick. "i'm going on ahead. i want to get on the other side of the bridge. i had trouble enough trying to cross the stream. i might as well finish up, now that i'm at it." "you'll only get stuck deeper in the mud!" declared this pessimist. "i guess the horses can get us out," said dick. "i'll take a chance, anyhow." the tackle was in shape, and all that remained was to hitch the four steeds to the free end of the rope, and start them. dick rowed out to his car, and sat at the steering wheel. two men had been hired to lay planks under the wheels to prevent them from sinking in the soft shore of the stream as soon as they should emerge from the water. paul and innis were to have general charge of matters on shore, one to see that the horses pulled when urged ahead, and the other to call a halt in case anything showed signs of going wrong. "all ready?" asked innis from his position near the heads of the horses, which the owner was to drive. "all right here," answered paul, who was on the shore. "let her go!" cried dick, taking a firmer grip of the steering wheel. there was a creaking of the ropes and pulleys. the cables tautened; the blocks were lifted up from the ground by the strain. the rope around the axle of the car straightened out. there was a snapping, tugging sound, and then the car began to move slowly. "she's coming!" cried paul. "keep moving!" urged dick. he turned the steering gear about to free the front wheels from the clinging mass of mud. the car moved faster. then, as the horses settled to their collars, the big touring machine was slowly pulled from the water. then the front wheels struck the planks laid down to receive them, splitting one of the boards. up the slope went the _last word_ amid the cheers of the assembled farmers. up the slope and out on the road, where dick called for a halt, and jammed on the brakes. "whew! i'm glad that's over!" exclaimed paul. "the same here!" added innis. "is she all right, dick?" "i don't know. i'm just going to have a look," and the young man bounded out of his car, and cast a hasty glance over the running gear. that seemed to be intact, save for the broken brake. the engine was next looked to, dick starting it, with the gears unmeshed. it ran as soon as the electrical switch was turned, and the hum and throb told that it was in perfect condition. "so far--so good!" exclaimed dick. "now, after we have that defective brake looked to, i guess we can get under way again." "there's a garage about a mile further along," said mr. kennedy, who had supplied the horses. "i guess they can fix you up." "i'll try for it," said dick. then he paid the men who had helped him, not forgetting the bridge tender who had gotten the boat for them, without which dick and his chums would have had wet feet. "where are you bound for?" asked a man in the crowd. he seemed to be a stranger, since none of the others talked to him. he addressed dick. "oh, we're just on a tour," replied our hero, with a sharp glance at the chap. "looks as though you could go all the way to 'frisco in that car," the man went on, as he stepped to the door and peered into the interior of the _last word_. "we could--if we wanted to," said dick, coolly. "please don't touch anything," he added sharply, as he saw the man fingering various levers and switches. "huh! i didn't mean anything," was the surly response. "perhaps not, but you don't know when you might do some damage," went on dick, "and the car's been through enough for one day. come along, boys," he added to his chums. "we'll get a move on." with thanks to those who had helped them out of their predicament, the boys drove off toward the garage where dick intended to have the broken brake repaired. chapter xxiv a night encounter "did you think there was anything queer about that man, dick?" asked paul, as the three chums sat about the garage, while the chief mechanician looked over the big auto. "which man was that? there were so many around us when we got stuck in the creek that i don't remember any special one." "i mean the chap that suggested you could make a trip to 'frisco." "oh, him. well, yes, in a way, i did. at least i didn't think i'd give him the satisfaction of letting him guess where we were going." "i'm glad you didn't." "why, paul?" "because i was a bit suspicious of him. did you notice what he did after we started away?" "i did not, because i was so busy thinking how lucky we were to get off as we did. what happened?" "why, that man--the fellow with the droopy eyes, i'll call him, because his eyes were sort of sleepy looking--he pulled out a note book as we started off, and seemed to be making a record in it." "maybe he was a constable, and he thought we might try to speed up after being delayed. he might be looking to get a share of the fine if we were caught," suggested innis. "no, he wasn't a constable," declared paul. "what makes you so sure?" "if he was a constable in a country town he'd be some pumpkins, a sort of a poo-bah. instead, no one paid the least attention to him. he might be a constable from somewhere else, but he didn't belong here. he was a stranger, and yet he seemed mightily interested in your car." "well, it's a good car--if i do say it myself," responded dick. "no, it wasn't that," continued his chum. "that man had some object in view. dick, do you know what i think?" "i give up, paul. you think so much that you have me guessing. what is it now?" "i think that man was one of uncle ezra's spies!" "what!" cried dick. paul repeated his words. "whew!" exclaimed dick in a whisper, as he pretended to wipe his brow. "this is the limit! aren't we ever to get away from my uncle ezra?" "don't misunderstand me," said paul, quickly. "i'm not an alarmist, and i don't want to be a false prophet, but that fellow acted suspiciously to me." "i think so too," added innis. "queer i didn't notice it," said dick, slowly, "but i guess i was so busy thinking about my car that i didn't pay much attention to him. i noticed that he looked in our parlor, so to speak, and----" he interrupted himself to cross the garage, and peer into the interior of the big machine, underneath which was a workman taking out the damaged brake, ready to put in a new one. "it's there, all right," said our hero, with an air of relief. "what?" asked innis. "the envelope with the legal papers. paul's talk gave me a scare. i thought that man might have made off with 'em!" "no, he didn't get a chance for that," said paul. "i watched him too closely. but he did get me suspicious, all right. however, we're here, and we'll soon be far enough away." "maybe," said dick. "i'm not going to take any chances on those brakes after the experience we had. they've got to be perfect, and if we have to lay over a day or so, we'll do it. how about it?" he asked the man, who was crawling out from under the big car. the talk of the young men had been carried on in low tones until dick asked this question. "she'll have to come out, and a new band be put on," the workman said. "how long will it take?" "two days. i've either got to send for a new one, or forge one myself." "then make it here," said dick. "if you send for one there may be a factory delay, and i don't want that. if you can fix it do so." "i can," said the garage man. "this is a special type of car, and no one would probably have that brake in stock. i can make it." dick then arranged with him to do the work, and the three chums, after getting some of their belongings out of the car, started off toward the village. "where are we going to stay to-night?" asked innis, as they walked slowly along the country road. "in our car!" said dick, quickly. "what? when there's a fairly good hotel in the village?" asked innis. "this talk of paul's has made me a bit nervous," went on our hero. "i think i'd feel safer if i slept in the _last word_. i can fix it with the garage man, i think. and if any of uncle ezra's spies are hanging about they may try to disable my car if they can't get their hands on the legal papers. they might do it out of spite." "that's right," agreed innis. "where are the papers now, dick?" "back in the car." "don't you think that's risky?" "no more so than carrying them about with me. i'm a sort of fatalist. i believe if a thing is going to happen it will happen. but i'll do all i can to stop it. "they're less likely to think the papers are in the car than that i have them. and even if they do pull out that advertising envelope, and look in it, all they'll see at first glance will be an auto catalog. i took the precaution of slipping the legal sheets between the pages of the booklet." "good, dick. but supposing the place catches fire?" asked paul. "oh, you've got to take some chances in this world, old man; eh, grit?" and he patted the head of the bulldog that trotted along with the boys toward the village. the boys found the town to be a picturesque one, well worth visiting, and there was a good restaurant in it. there they got a meal, sort of half-way between dinner and supper, and they arranged to come back later for something to eat before turning in on the bunks of the auto. "and there's a moving picture show in town," exclaimed innis, as they were walking back to the garage. "i vote we take that in." "all right," assented dick. "it will relieve the monotony if we have to lay over here two days." the owner of the garage readily gave the boys permission to occupy their car while it was in his establishment, and the lads made a change of clothes, for they were rather disheveled by the work of getting the auto out of the creek. shortly before dusk they made their way to the village again, and after a good supper they headed for the moving picture theatre. in spite of the small size of the town, the exhibition was a good one. it was interspersed with vaudeville acts, and as this happened to be "amateur" night, it was quite late when our friends came out. "well, it was pretty good; wasn't it?" remarked dick, as he linked his arms in those of his chums. "not half bad--for a change," assented innis. "what's the game for to-morrow?" "oh, we'll have to hang over here, i guess. but i understand there's a baseball game between two country nines and we can take that in. it will be sport." "that's the cheese!" exclaimed paul. they were in the midst of the crowd that had thronged from the moving picture show. a number of pretty girls were bunched together, and from their midst came voices that could be heard to remark about the identity of our heroes, as the youths were spoken of as "the millionaire autoists." "we're getting a reputation already," whispered innis. "that's dick's fault," said paul. "i haven't said a word," retorted that youth. "you fellows must have been talking." gradually the crowd thinned out, and the three chums found themselves walking along a rather dark country road toward the garage where the _last word_ had been left. for a while they talked among themselves of the adventures of the day, and then a silence settled down. they were all tired and anxious to get to bed. "is that some one ahead of us, or behind us?" suddenly asked dick, coming to a halt. "i don't hear anything," said innis. "me either," added paul. "walk on a bit and then listen," suggested dick. "there is some one sort of keeping time to our footsteps, fellows," spoke paul a little later. "but are they ahead or behind us?" asked dick. "i've been hearing it for some time." "ahead of us," said innis. "behind," was paul's opinion. the three came to a halt in the roadway and listened. this time, instead of the footsteps becoming silent, they were more plain. "they're coming," whispered paul. a voice hailed them from the darkness. "say, is this the road to centreville?" "no, you're going the wrong way," replied dick. "centreville is behind you." "huh! that's funny!" some one remarked. "we must be all twisted up. wait a second, will you," and from the darkness could be heard footsteps quickly approaching. chapter xxv into the loneliness "have you the time?" it was the voice of one of those who were approaching our hero and his two chums, they having come to a halt at the request for information. "oh, what does it matter?" some one else asked, and then dick could see that three men were hurrying toward them out of the darkness. "i just wanted to see how late it was," went on the one who had apparently spoken first. "sorry to trouble you," he added, "but we're strangers here, and we seem to have lost our way." "it's no trouble--if we can direct you," said the young millionaire. "we're strangers here ourselves." "it's a little after eleven," announced paul, looking at his watch as well as he could by the starlight. as he spoke one of the men made a sudden motion toward him. "not him! the other!" some one exclaimed sharply. before the three knew what was happening they were seized by the three men--seized and roughly mauled. "here! what does this mean?" demanded dick, hotly, as he struck out vigorously. "it's a hold-up!" yelled innis. "lay into 'em, fellows!" "let go of me!" insisted paul, as he swung himself loose from his antagonist and dealt him a stinging blow that staggered the fellow. the man, with a smothered exclamation, recovered himself, and rushed back at paul. in the meanwhile innis and his assailant were having a tussle. as for dick, after that first outcry, he had held his voice, but he was struggling desperately with the man in the darkness. he could feel hands moving over his body, inserting themselves in his various pockets. "they're thieves!" he cried. "help! help!" there was no answer save the echo of his own voice, broken by the panting breaths of the three men, who seemed to want to do their work in silence. by a powerful right-hand swing paul sent his man to the ground with a thud that knocked the breath from his body, and the fellow did not get up again immediately. "let go of me!" yelled innis. "keep your hands out of my pockets!" he tore himself loose from the man's grip, and shoved the fellow aside, so that he fell on top of the one paul had knocked down. "help! help!" yelled innis. "thieves! grit! grit!" "grit isn't here!" panted dick, wishing with all his heart that his pet had not been left in the garage to keep watch and ward over the auto. our hero was struggling fiercely with his man. by this time the one paul had knocked down was getting up, being assisted by the fellow innis had pushed from him. dick managed to get one arm free and he dashed his clenched fist full into the face of his attacker. he could feel the force of the blow, and he knew he must have caused the footpad considerable pain, for there was a grunt of protest. "here they come again!" said innis, fiercely. "back to back, fellows, and we can stand 'em off!" now that the first instinctive fear at the attack in the dark had passed off, the three youths felt a fierce joy in the coming conflict. it was like a battle on the football gridiron, only with greater odds. dick, paul and innis moved close together, being free for the moment from their assailants. then from down the road could be heard the sound of footsteps running rapidly. the men paused, listened a moment, and then the one who had attacked dick exclaimed: "come on. he hasn't it with him!" at once the three men turned and raced off in the darkness, away from the sound of the approaching footsteps. for a moment the three chums remained in a sort of triangular posture of defense, hardly knowing what it was all about, since it had taken place so quickly. "are--are we all here?" dick finally managed to gasp. "it seems so," replied paul. "what happened, anyhow? was it a joke?" "my nose doesn't feel that way," said innis. "no, and i guess i gave one of those fellows something that he'll remember for a day or so," went on paul. "but what in the world were they after?" "something that i left back in the auto," replied dick, grimly. "what! those papers?" "that's it. the fellow who had me went all through my pockets while he was rough-housing me. first i thought he was after my watch and money, but when he didn't take them, i knew what he wanted." "they went through my pockets, too," confessed innis. "same here," added paul. "did they get anything?" asked dick, quickly. the lads made a hasty search, and both reported that they had lost nothing. at that moment a man came running up. instinctively the three chums got ready for a renewal of hostilities, but they soon saw they had nothing to fear, even had not the man spoken, for he was an honest-appearing chap. "what--what's the matter?" he panted. "did you call for help?" "we did," replied dick, "but we don't need any now; thank you." "what was it?" "somebody tried to hold us up," went on the young millionaire, not caring to go into all the details. "but we beat 'em off." "that's good. were they three rough-looking fellows?" "there were three of 'em, all right," said paul, "and i guess they're a little more rough-looking than they were at first; eh, boys?" "sure thing," remarked innis, tenderly touching some of his bruises. "i'm a watchman down the road a ways, at a new building just going up," the man went on. "i saw these fellows go past, and i didn't like their looks and actions. they were talking about getting something off some one, and----" "i guess they were talking about us," interrupted dick. "they probably saw us in the moving picture place, and followed us. they asked for the time, and pretended they had missed their way. that was only to get us to halt, of course. but we're well out of it, all right." "did they get much?" "nothing," said paul. "we're much obliged to you for coming." "i came as soon as i heard you call. oh, you're the fellows with the big auto; aren't you?" he went on, as he came close and made out the faces of the three in the starlight. "that's us," said dick. "i guess we might as well go on, boys," he added to his chums. "i want some arnica for this bump i got." "which way did the men go?" the watchman wanted to know, and when the boys had indicated it, and had themselves started to go in the same direction, to reach the garage where the _last word_ was waiting for them, the watchman went on: "aren't you afraid they'll tackle you again? they may be waiting down the road for you." dick shook his head. "they found out we didn't have what they wanted," he remarked, "and they won't bother us any more. come on, boys." "huh! queer robbers," observed the watchman, and he turned away after the boys had thanked him for his prompt response to their calls for help. "do you really think those men were after the papers, dick?" asked paul. "i'm sure of it," answered his friend. "it was all part of the game uncle ezra is playing, but i'm getting tired of it. this is the limit! it's got to stop!" "are you going to tell him so?" asked innis, as they walked along. "no, but i'm going to make a change in our plans. we'll fool 'em--we'll get off the beaten track and go off into the unknown until we put plenty of space behind us. then they'll have their own troubles tracing us." "that does seem the best way," assented paul. "it's no fun to be on the verge of an attack at any time. the game is too one-sided. we'll make it harder for them." "that's my idea," said dick, as they neared the garage, having seen no further signs of the three men. they found the big car undisturbed, with grit ready to give them a noisy welcome. "i wish we'd had you along a while ago, old fellow," remarked dick, as he patted his dog. "i guess those fellows wouldn't have been quite so fresh. but maybe it's just as well as it is, for i wouldn't want any of them chewed up." "how do you figure it out?" asked paul, as they got themselves a little lunch before turning in. "why, uncle ezra, or whoever he's hired to turn this trick, knew where we would be at a certain day, i suppose," said dick. "the men were on the watch, and, when we arrived, they just kept tabs on us. the rest was easy enough." "only you didn't happen to carry the papers with you," added innis. "no, it was a good trick to leave 'em here," assented our hero, as he looked in the advertising envelope behind the mirror, to make sure that the documents were safe. "well, they won't try it on again in a hurry. in the morning we'll figure out a new route that will bring us to 'frisco in time to file the papers." it was no very difficult task, with their road maps, to do this, and having seen the garage man start on the work of repairing the brakes, dick and his chums strolled into town. they managed to find some points of interest, and also took in the ball game, and, though the repairs took three days, instead of two, they did not regret their little stop-over. "we've got plenty of time," said dick, "and from now on we'll shift about on our route. i'm anxious to get out in the west." "so am i!" added paul. once more they were under way, but they did not head for chicago, as they had intended. "too much is likely to happen there," decided dick. "we might as well have a brass band with us, as this big car. so the thing to do is to avoid the big cities." this they did. as events of very little interest occurred during the next week, i shall skim over that period, only saying that the lads had no further trouble, except an occasional bad road to travel, and a storm to journey through. farther and farther west they worked their way, until one morning saw them in salt lake city, utah. this was on their original schedule, but dick and his chums figured that they had so shifted about that their enemies must have lost their trail by this time. "of course they may be waiting for us here," said dick, "but they won't get much chance at us. we'll keep on the outskirts of town, and after we get what supplies we need we'll strike out into the desert." "the desert!" exclaimed paul. "that sounds lonely enough." "it will be," asserted the young millionaire, "and we'll have to take along an extra amount of water and gasoline. but we'll keep near the line of the western pacific railroad, and in case of trouble we can get help." that afternoon they started off, having stocked the big car well. they made a quick run to the great salt lake, paused to wonder at it, and then headed for the great desert. off into its loneliness they steered, wondering what lay before them. chapter xxvi bad news "say it sure is lonesome; isn't it?" "no mistake about it. if this isn't the jumping-off place, it's next door to it." "i'd hate to be caught here without water or a means of getting away." thus, in turn, dick, paul and innis expressed themselves as they sat in the big car, panting and uncomfortable from the heat of a summer day, making a pretense of eating. it was almost too warm for that, however. "well, there's one consolation, we can leave whenever we like," remarked dick. "i'll start whenever you fellows say so." "well, let's get a move on," suggested paul. "there's a little breeze when we're in motion, but there isn't any now." they put away the remains of the meal and were soon moving over the great salt desert of utah, it being their second day on it. they had been delayed by a slight accident or they would have made better time across it. however, they did not regret the time spent, for it was a new and wonderful experience for them, and one they would long remember. the big car, aside from the slight break which dick and his chums had been able to mend themselves, was behaving to perfection. in it they could cross with ease and comparative comfort this terrible stretch of country, where many of the early settlers had given up their lives. dick had taken the precaution to put on, over the big cushion tires, a sort of steel-studded leather shoe, which gave a larger surface, so that the wheels would not sink down so far in the sand, for the _last word_ was of no light weight. in addition, strips of canvas were carried so that when they came to a particularly sandy place these strips could be laid down, like boards across a mud puddle, and the auto sent over them, turn and turn about. of course that would be slow progress, but it was better than stalling. they saw little of other travelers. occasionally a mule team would be observed, and now and then they came in sight of the railroad, and watched a train dash along it. but, in the main, they picked out their own route, having learned in salt lake city of the one most available for autos. at no time were they very far from the railroad line, but they did not follow it too closely. for, as dick said, "what was the use of coming out on a tour if you kept in touch with civilization all the while?" so they broke their own trail as far as was practicable, and enjoyed the experience. water--for themselves and the car--was their main worry, but they had a goodly supply with them. to drink dick had provided several large vacuum bottles of ice-cold lemonade, and, though of course the frigid temperature could not be retained indefinitely, the liquid was still quite cool and refreshing after several hours of bottling. "well, this sure has been a great experience for us," declared paul, as the big car moved off over the desert. "i should say yes," agreed dick. "i wouldn't have missed it for a farm." "not even with all the trouble uncle ezra made?" asked innis. "no, even with that. but he hasn't bothered us lately," said our hero, patting grit, who sat on the seat beside him, paul driving the car for a change. "i guess he's lost track of us," suggested innis. "we haven't had a sight of any of his pesky men since that encounter in the dark." "no," assented dick, "but you never can tell where he will crop up. he may be laying low for us. though i don't expect there'll be any more fighting until it comes time to file those papers. then he may try to block me in a legal way." "what can you do?" asked paul. "i don't know, until the time comes. dad told me to wire him in case of trouble, and ask his advice. maybe i'll have to depend somewhat on mr. ainslie, the california lawyer." "say, it seems to me you're going to a lot of trouble to save a fortune for a fellow you don't know very well, and who doesn't seem to take much interest in it himself," observed innis. "who, wardell?" asked dick. "sure. that's who i mean." "you don't understand," said the young millionaire, softly. "in the first place, mr. wardell would make the biggest kind of a fight for himself, if he were here. but i think he's doing the right thing, to try to start life over again, for there's nothing sure about saving his fortune for him. the courts may decide against him at the last minute. but there's a chance in his favor, and i'm taking it for him. "some day mr. wardell is going to know that it's my uncle who played him this trick, but if he knows that i did my best to offset it, why, that's going to square it; isn't it?" "i suppose so," agreed innis. "and wardell is a mighty fine chap," went on dick. "of course that day when paul and i saw him on the railroad bank he had sort of lost his nerve. you can't blame him for that. i'm not a bit sorry over what i'm trying to do for him." "oh, no, of course not. only it's a lot of trouble for a stranger." "well, i'm not doing it altogether for him," said dick. "i'm thinking of the honor of our family. i wouldn't want it said that any of my relatives ruined a man, even if it was legal." "good for you!" cried paul. "say, the trail is leading us back toward the railroad, i think." "yes, it does come near the line about here," agreed dick, as he consulted a map. "so much the better. we may strike a water tank. our supply isn't any too large." the big car slowly made its way over the desert. they were not trying for any speed, since the clinging sand made progress difficult, and they did not want to put too much of a strain on the wheels and motor. it seemed to get hotter as they proceeded, though the breeze of the electric fan in the car was grateful. but even the air in motion seemed to come out of some oven, laden with the smell of baking earth. "whew!" exclaimed paul, when they had gone on about a mile further, and had come in sight of the railroad. "take her a while, innis. my hands are tired from trying to hold the wheel steady. she wabbles a lot." "i'll guide," said dick. "no, let me," urged his other chum, so he was given charge. the _last word_ ran along well, and they were beginning to think of looking for a good location to spend the night, since it was evident that they would need another day to cross the desert. suddenly dick, who had been looking ahead, uttered an exclamation, and made a grab for the gasoline lever. "stop her!" he cried to innis. but it was too late. the car sank down several inches into a particularly soft and yielding stretch of sand. "wow!" cried innis, as he saw into what he had steered. "never mind," consoled dick. "it couldn't be helped. i didn't see it in time. i guess we'll have to use the canvas strips to cross this stretch. it's as wide as all get-out, and we might get into something worse if we tried to go around it. come on, fellows; get busy!" they leaped out, taking light wooden shovels from the back of the auto, where they had been fastened on purpose to be used on the desert sand. then the canvas strips were brought into use, paul and innis stretching them in front of the wheels, while dick drove the car over them. the broad surface of the sail cloth, coupled with the wide tires, served to keep the machine from settling much, but their progress was slow, and after an hour or so of it dick announced: "let's give up until morning. i'm dead tired, and it's too hot to work any more. we'll just camp here, have grub, and go to sleep. there's going to be a moon, and when it comes up we can work in the cool of the night." "that's the ticket!" exclaimed innis. "though don't stop on my account," he urged. "i got you into this hole, and i'll help to get you out." "you didn't get us in at all," declared dick. "i'd have run into this soft stretch as soon as you. knock off and we'll eat." the rest was welcome. as the sun began to set they looked over toward the distant railroad, the rails of which could be seen glittering in the fading light. something not far off stirred in a faint breeze. "what's that?" asked paul. "part of a newspaper," said dick, as he caught sight of it. "probably some passenger tossed it out of a car window. i'm going to have a look at it. maybe it isn't more than a month old, and there'll be something in it to read. the next time i come touring i'm going to bring along part of a library." he strolled toward the fragment of paper, which was held down by a little mound of shifting sand. paul and innis were getting the meal ready. suddenly they were startled by a cry from dick. he was staring at the paper. "what's the matter?" asked paul. "matter, fellows! look here! if this isn't bad news i don't know what is." "somebody dead you know?" inquired innis. "no, but this paper is only two days old. it must have been tossed away to-day. and it's got something in it about that railroad in which wardell's fortune is tied up." "what is it?" demanded paul. "why, it says that a new turn has been given the fight for the control of the stock. instead of waiting until september to settle the case, it's going to be forced to a settlement now. new information has been given that puts an entirely different light on matters, and certain eastern interests are said to be going to gobble up the whole outfit. "fellows, i can see uncle ezra's hand in this. he's found out he can't get those papers away from me, and he's going to make them of no use by hurrying this game to a finish before i have time to get to 'frisco!" "how's that?" asked paul. "why, the whole thing, according to this paper, is scheduled to be settled a week from to-day." "you can get to 'frisco before then!" exclaimed innis. "yes, i know i can, but what good will it do me? i can't file these papers before the date set. you see they've stolen a march on us. uncle ezra has had his lawyers act and they've brought matters to a head sooner than was expected. "these legal papers i have are useless after all our work in saving them, and wardell's fortune will be lost! hang it all! did you ever see such bad luck?" and dick vigorously shook the newspaper he had picked up on the desert. chapter xxvii the man in the desert "say, dick," requested paul, "just calm down a bit, and sort of explain things." "yes, he's got me going," added innis, pausing in the act of frying some eggs for supper. "why, it's plain enough," said dick. "here is a piece of a san francisco paper, and it has in it an account of this railroad lawsuit. the case come up in 'frisco, you know," he added. "the paper was probably tossed out of the car window by some man who got tired of it, and i almost wish i hadn't found it." "why?" paul wanted to know. "because it makes me feel bad. to think that all my hard work is thrown away." "but is it?" asked innis. "it looks so. this is how i figure it out. as soon as uncle ezra finds out he couldn't block my game to save mr. wardell's fortune by getting the legal papers away from me, he starts off on a new tack. he has his lawyers look up other means for getting control of this railroad, and they find one, it seems. "from what i can gather, by reading this article, a new witness has cropped up. he gave testimony in court that knocks out wardell, and makes his claim valueless. under the new ruling, uncle ezra and those associated with him can go ahead and, inside of a week, get possession of the railroad stock so that mr. wardell can't redeem it. "you see, it was this way: this wardell had this stock left to him by his father. it was worth considerable. in fact, it virtually made him owner of the railroad, though of course he didn't operate it. then, foolishly, he puts up that stock as security for a loan with uncle ezra, and invests the money in something else. "he loses it--i guess uncle ezra intended he should, and of course if he can't pay it back uncle ezra will get the railroad. but from what my dad and i understood there was a time limit set by which wardell would have another show for his white alley--i mean that he'd get a chance to go to court, and say he had been cheated and would like more time to raise the money to buy back his railroad stock. "that's the plan i've been working on, and that's what these legal papers covered. now it seems this new witness makes it all look like an ice cream cone on a hot day. unless the money is paid inside of a week wardell will forfeit all his stock to uncle ezra. oh, it's a cute game, all right, and there doesn't seem to be any way to beat it," said dick, bitterly. "maybe if we hurried into san francisco," suggested paul, "and saw this witness, we could explain things to him, and ask him to hold off until mr. wardell could get here." "no chance of that," said dick. "wardell is in south america--the land knows where. we can't reach him in time." "but if we could find this witness," persisted paul. "he's disappeared, so this newspaper article says," remarked dick. "that's another funny part of it. it looks like a hold-off game, spiriting the witness away in that fashion, and yet what can we do? even if we got to 'frisco before the end of the week, which we could easily do, by abandoning the car and taking a train, what good would it do? we couldn't offset the testimony of this witness." "it does look as though we were up against it," assented paul. "good and hard," agreed dick. "well, let's have grub," suggested innis, practically. "it's almost ready. and maybe after supper we'll find a way out." but even after the meal, eaten amid the silence of the salt desert, their gloomy thoughts were not dispersed. they sat about, moody and quiet, until paul, with a sarcastic exclamation, cried out: "say, this is the limit. let's do a song and dance, or something like that." "there is a phonograph stowed away somewhere among my things," said dick with a laugh that had no mirth in it. "trot it out and give us a tune," urged innis, and, after a moment's thought, dick complied. anything was better than sitting about, thinking gloomy thoughts. and really he felt keenly his failure so unexpectedly disclosed by that stray piece of newspaper. all his hard work--his skill in keeping the legal documents away from the cunning emissaries of uncle ezra--had gone for naught, in case it were true what he had read. and he had no reason to doubt it. the paper was a reliable publication, and the names of lawyers were mentioned who had a national reputation. of course, in a measure, it was a case of "high finance," perhaps not strictly moral, but perfectly legal. certain interests wanted control of the railroad, and even uncle ezra might be simply a catspaw in the game. yet it seemed certain that unless something were done--some sort of legal protest or injunction entered--the wardell fortune would be wiped out. and this dick did not want to see happen. paul was at the phonograph, adjusting the mechanism. he had slipped in a record containing "my old kentucky home," and soon its strains were vibrating out on the desert air. the phonograph was not particularly good, for it was too small to have any sweetness, and yet, even with that handicap, the boys enjoyed the "canned music," as dick called it. as the chorus welled out, they joined in with the voice of the singer coming from the horn. "'my old kentucky home--good night!'" there was a pause, and as the chorus was repeated more softly, the boys lowered their voices. they had sung in the glee club at kentfield military academy, and their tones were true and pure. in the darkness of the starlight night, on that lonely desert, the music seemed to gather strength and sweetness. then, as the chorus neared the end, the three chums were startled to hear, off in the distance, another voice joining in with theirs, blending perfectly, in a rich baritone. they stopped singing, so startled were they, for they thought themselves all alone, and the unseen voice carried the air alone, accompanied only by the phonograph. then, as the last echoes died away, dick hamilton jumped to his feet and called out: "who is there?" chapter xxviii important information for a moment, following dick's challenge, there was no answer, and then, off in the darkness, beyond the circle of light from the campfire, made of pieces of a broken wagon the boys had found, came a voice, saying: "i am a stranger in a strange land. who are you that you make the night melodious with your music and song?" the boys felt the tension leave them as they heard the note of culture in the voice, for plainly they had to deal with a gentleman of birth and breeding. "come on up, and make yourself at home," invited dick. "are you lost? hungry or thirsty, perhaps?" "neither one nor the other, may it please you," was the somewhat whimsical retort. "yet i will join you if only for a little while. then i must get back, or my guards will be thinking that i have escaped." "guards," murmured paul, in a low voice. "he must be a prisoner--but in this lonely place----" "i thought we were the only ones here," added innis. "hush! here he comes!" cautioned our hero. a man advanced into the glare of the firelight. he was seen to be a young fellow, of about twenty-five perhaps, of rather frail build, dressed in a negligee costume, well suited to that hot climate, and yet his clothing, as innis instinctively noticed, was well tailored and fitted him perfectly. innis was more fastidious about his dress than either of his chums, and naturally noticed the garments of others more closely. "greeting, fair sirs!" exclaimed the newcomer. "it is very kind of you to extend your hospitality to a stranger, and i thank you. permit me to make myself known to you. i am harry cameron, sometime of san francisco, at present of the desert waste; an engineer by profession, a dilly-dallier of verse by avocation, and actually in durance vile for the time being. such is my brief but not unhappy history." the three chums looked at one another, hardly knowing what to make of their visitor, who took a seat on part of the old broken wagon--a "prairie schooner" of a bygone age--and stretched out his legs in a comfortable attitude, gazing at dick's party. "an escaped lunatic," thought innis, rather thankful that the stranger seemed to be of the mild type. "somebody who has been crazed by the heat perhaps," was paul's mental comment. yet he could not account for the freshness of the man's appearance and attire. "he's stringing us," was dick's thought. "well, if he is, i'll give him as good as he sends." then he spoke: "we are college professors, searching in the desert for traces of a lost glacier, last reported to be headed for the salt lake. we want to get some specimens of the tail." the young man started, looked keenly at dick, and then, with a quizzical smile, remarked: "you are pleased to joke, i see. i wish i had the chance to accompany you on your search. but it is denied me. still, lest perchance you think that i, too, am a jester, there is my card," and, with a quick and skillful motion, he scaled a bit of pasteboard over so that it fell exactly on dick's outstretched leg. "he who sits may read," went on mr. cameron. dick picked up the card, feeling a little ashamed of his bantering retort. by the light of the fire he read the name as given by their visitor. there was also an address in san francisco, and, the letters c. e.--denoting his profession. "i beg your pardon!" exclaimed dick, quickly. "i--er--i thought----" "you thought i was stringing you, i guess," interrupted mr. cameron, with a smile. "i was not. i'll tell you----" "i beg your pardon," interrupted dick. "let me introduce myself and my friends," and he presented paul and innis in turn, and mentioned his own name. "and the glacier?" asked mr. cameron. "was a joke, too," said dick. "we are merely traveling for pleasure. that is our car," and he waved toward where the _last word_ was fast in the sand. "we ran into a sort of bog hole and decided to wait until morning to extricate ourselves. but where are you staying?" dick asked, looking around on the sandy waste, now shrouded in darkness. "over there," replied mr. cameron, with an indefinite wave of his hand in the direction whence he had come. "we are camping out." "camping out!" exclaimed paul. "in this desert?" "it does seem rather foolish; doesn't it?" asked their visitor. "and the reasons are peculiar. i was thinking so myself as i strolled out after supper, and saw the gleam of your campfire. i wanted to see who else was as foolish as my friends." "then you have friends with you?" asked innis. "they call themselves such," was the answer, "but i prefer to think of them as my guards." "guards!" cried dick. "i surprise you, i see. let me explain why i am out in this sandy waste. i am a lost man!" and he waved his hand with a gentle air, as though being lost was the most delightful of occupations. "lost!" murmured paul, again wondering whether they did not have an insane man to deal with. "legally lost, perhaps i should have said," went on mr. cameron. "as you are not likely to interfere with the plans of my--er--friends, and as you will probably never think of the matter again, i shall tell you the circumstances. particularly as those who call themselves my friends don't want me to. "i like being different, and doing the unexpected," he continued. "also because it will give those fellows back there something to worry about, i am going to tell you a secret. i won't even ask you not to repeat it, because i don't see what object you could have in doing so. "know, then, that i am sequestered here in this desert in order that i may not jeopardize certain interests in giving testimony in a big lawsuit. i am to be kept out of the way for a certain time, and i am well paid for being lost. i have promised, for a certain stipulated sum, and because of certain representations made to me, not to go back to beloved 'frisco until after september third. "should i go, certain persons who are antagonistic to those who have hired me, might get hold of me, compel me to give certain testimony in court, and then--as the poet would say--all the fat would be in the fire. so i have to stay here where the other fellows can't find me, and--well, i am as happy as i can be, in such a dog's hole! it is the most out-of-the-way place they could find to conceal me, and yet be within touch of civilization. there you have the story in a nutshell. and when september third comes, i shall hie me back to civilization." during this recital dick's wonder had been growing. he could scarcely believe what he heard, and the odd part of it was that it fitted so in with the scheme he had undertaken to help mr. wardell. paul and innis also felt a growing wonder, for they knew some of the details of dick's plan to save the wardell fortune. "now you understand why i am here," went on mr. cameron. "there is a water hole about a mile from here, and one of those rare occurrences in the desert, a little oasis of trees, and a hill. there we have made a camp, which not one in a thousand would ever find. we are comfortable enough, in a way, but i lack for society. "that is why, wandering away, i saw the gleam of your fire, and hearing the music, i could not help but join in. i trust you will pardon me. but when you have with you two men who do nothing all day but smoke cigarettes, and play some mysterious card game known as 'seven-up' and whose only conversation seems to be along the line of said game--why, life gets rather monotonous, you see." "i should say so," agreed dick. and then he resolved on a bold plan. mr. cameron had revealed something without being asked. dick was under no promise of silence. and he saw a chance to defeat the enemies of mr. wardell. "can it be, by any chance, mr. cameron," the young millionaire asked, "that your case has any connection with the citrous junction railway?" "it has!" cried the engineer, springing to his feet. "but how did you guess it? i never mentioned it--i was careful about that." "no, you did not," agreed dick, "but your mention of the date--september third--gave me the clue." "you are looking for clues, then?" "in a way, yes. i am seeking some means of getting back to mr. wardell the control of the railroad that is about to be taken from him. i was on my way to san francisco to file a certain paper before september third--the date you mentioned. by the merest accident, happening to pick up a newspaper, probably tossed from a train, i learned that my efforts would be of no avail, because of testimony given by a new witness. and you----" "i am that witness!" cried mr. cameron. "great scott! but this is queer. to think of me telling the secret to some one--in all the world--who knew the other half of it. it's astounding! may i ask how you figure in it?" "because my uncle, mr. ezra larabee, is the man who is trying to get mr. wardell's fortune, and, for the honor of the family, i am trying to prevent him." "you ezra larabee's nephew! well, of all things in the world that i should meet you here! why, young man, ezra larabee--or, rather, his agent--is paying me to remain away so that the other side can't get hold of me. for, you must know that mr. wardell does not own all the stock in the railroad. there are some minor shareholders, and it is they who are trying to get me to go to court on their behalf. but i have accepted money from mr. larabee, and, as far as i know, he is in the right. i cannot go back on him, merely because you happen to be for the other side. "and so you are larabee's nephew. you don't look much like him, which is a consolation." "have you seen him?" asked dick. "he came to 'frisco to see me," explained mr. cameron. "he made a flying trip, and hurried back so as to save the other half of his excursion ticket, which was limited." "that's like him," laughed dick. "it seems so. well, he made certain representations, and it seemed that he was in the right. he hired me to disappear, and so you behold--a lost man." dick thought for a moment. "would you mind telling me," he said, "just what your testimony consists of?" "well, since you know so much, perhaps it can do no harm to tell you more. i am, as i said, a civil engineer. when this contest over the railroad came up, i was engaged to make certain maps and copies of records. it seems that the citrous junction is a short line, connecting two important trunk lines in a well-known orange region. that is what gives it its importance. "accidentally, while going over some old records, i came across some papers that changed the whole situation. i am not enough of a lawyer to know just how, except that if the papers were produced in court this mr. wardell and the other stockholders, no matter what was done by the other side, would get their rights. mr. larabee and his crowd could not keep them from so doing. "i showed to those who had hired me the papers i had found, and at once there was a great how-de-do. it was plainly seen that if they were allowed to get into court your uncle's case would be knocked higher than gilderoy's kite, even if wardell did not file certain papers which, i understand, could, at one time, have been filed. "your uncle and his lawyers determined on a bold move. they had me give certain testimony that would knock out the other side if they should file certain papers, and then they had me disappear, so i could not be brought into court to give the rest of my evidence and tell of the old document i had accidentally discovered. so i agreed to come to this lonely place, to live until after september third. after that date nothing wardell can do will save the railroad for himself and the others associated with him." "and you agreed to do this?" asked dick, bitterly. "you consented to see a man cheated out of his fortune?" "not at all," said mr. cameron, calmly. "as it was represented to me this mr. wardell tried to do others out of their holdings, and he got caught at his own game. that is why i agreed to do something that, while perfectly legal, might be considered a trick. i did it to help out your uncle ezra." "if i were to show you," went on our hero, "that matters had been misrepresented to you, and that you were doing mr. wardell a grave injustice, what would you do?" "misrepresented!" cried mr. cameron. "if you can prove to me that they've been fooling me--telling me things that aren't so--for the purpose of keeping me out of court, why, dick hamilton, i'll go back to san francisco to-morrow and rip their case apart in the highest court in the land! that's what i'll do!" and he leaped to his feet at the words. "then," said dick, quietly, "that is just what i am going to prove to you!" chapter xxix on to 'frisco the young millionaire started for the auto that was stalled in the sand. he intended to get from it the bundle of legal papers and prove to mr. cameron the statement just made about misrepresentation. but before he reached the _last word_ he heard the sound of some one coming toward the fire. and out of the desert darkness a voice hailed, saying: "hello there, mr. cameron! we were looking all over for you." "i'm here," said the young man, quickly. "enjoying myself. won't you come up and meet my new friends?" then to paul, who sat near him, he said in low tones: "my guards--as i call them! say nothing of this, and warn young hamilton. i will see you to-morrow." "wait a minute, dick!" called paul, as he glided off in the gloom toward the car which dick was approaching. "we thought you were lost," went on one of the two men who had come up. "lost in the desert, mr. cameron." "oh, no," he answered, lightly. "i was just strolling along, and i came to the concert." "concert!" exclaimed the other man. "is that another of your jokes?" from which it would appear that mr. cameron was in the habit of indulging in persiflage. "not at all," was the answer. "boys, will you start up the phonograph again for my friends?" "phonograph--out here in this desert!" exclaimed one of the two newcomers. "say, that sounds like 'frisco. can you give us some ragtime?" "we haven't a very choice selection of records," spoke innis, paul and dick being engaged in a whispered conversation near the car. "i'll play what we've got," and he started toward the car. "i'll have to get another record from the the machine," he added. "machine!" exclaimed one of the men. "have you an auto here, too?" "a big car," said mr. cameron. "it could swallow our modest six-cylinder, from the looks of it." "oh, then you also came in an auto?" asked dick of the engineer, who, with paul, had come back to the fire. "yes, i believe i forgot to mention that," said mr. cameron. "we escaped into the desert in a gasoline chariot, unlike the children of israel, who walked." "mr. cameron!" exclaimed one of the men, "i--ahem--i hope you'll excuse me mentioning it, but you know you promised not to do too much talking. it was the agreement----" "there are agreements--and agreements," said the young engineer, with peculiar emphasis. "you need have no fear of me, sam martin. and, while i am about it, let me present to you my new friends. boys, these are sam martin and bill wickford, my--er--my camp-mates," and he named the three chums in turn. "pleased to see you," said sam, with a jerky bow. "mr. cameron is camping out here for--er--for his health. bill and i are running things for him. it's no fun to be in the desert alone." "that's right," chimed in bill. "have you got any ragtime?" he asked, as innis came back with a record. then the phonograph was played again, sounding strangely in that lonely desert. mr. cameron seemed at his ease, but the two men were plainly nervous, and dick was much excited, though he tried not to show it. he had heard what paul said, and refrained from bringing out any of the papers. "that's fine!" exclaimed bill wickford, as the tune came to an end. "i wish we had one of those at our camp." "it might interfere with the seven-up tournament," observed mr. cameron, drily. "oh, we'd have time for that," said sam. "but i guess we'd better be getting back. it's late." "don't be in a hurry," urged dick, hospitably. "well, we may be over to see you again. we didn't know we had any neighbors so close by." "you might come over and see us," added bill, somewhat awkwardly. "we can't offer you much in the way of entertainment, but we'll do our best." "thanks," answered dick. "we may come, but we're going to pull out of this to-morrow, i hope. as soon as we can get out of this sand bog we'll travel." "we struck one of those places," volunteered sam, "and we had quite a time of it. well, so-long," and he and his companion seemed to hover around mr. cameron as though they were afraid he would let out something of the secret that had already been told, had they only known it. good-nights were said, and the three disappeared in the darkness. the chums stood for a moment silent about their dying camp fire. "well, what do you know about that?" asked paul. "it's a queer go," assented innis. "those men are just like guards," said dick. "uncle ezra, or his agents, must be afraid mr. cameron will go back on his promise." "if it was a promise given under misrepresentation then he is released from it--that holds in law," said paul. "i believe it does," agreed our hero. "i hope i get a chance to speak to him to-morrow. the idea of hiding him away out in this desert to prevent him from going to court. it's outrageous." "do you think he'll testify for mr. wardell if you show him the facts?" asked paul. "i sure do. well, let's turn in. to-morrow will be another day. there's a lot of hard work ahead of us." they were up early the next morning, the night having passed without incident, though grit growled several times as though intruders--human or otherwise--were about the camp. but he gave no decided alarm, and the boys did not pay much attention. soon after breakfast they resumed work on getting the auto out of the clinging sand, by using the canvas strips. while they were engaged on this, mr. cameron and his two guards came up. "we came to see if we could help you any," he said, with a wink. "at the same time i'd like to get a look at your car." he passed close to dick, and found a chance to whisper: "where are the papers?" "in the old envelope, back of the mirror," replied dick in the same low voice. then, in louder tones, he added: "we'd be glad of some help. it's hard work." "sam, and bill, don't you want to get busy?" went on the young engineer. "sure!" said sam. in fact, he and his companion seemed anxious to get the three boys away from the vicinity. the men helped spread and fasten down the canvas strips, and as dick got in the car to drive it forward, he saw mr. cameron looking over the legal papers that proved how he had been deceived. "by jove, hamilton!" he exclaimed, "you were right. they have put up a great game on me." "then will you turn them down?" "i certainly will. i'm on your side from now on. i didn't understand it. these papers make it plain." he and dick could talk without being regarded suspiciously, since the two men were working with paul and innis, spreading the strips of canvas. once or twice the two men looked at the car, as though wondering why mr. cameron was riding in it. he guessed their thoughts, and, putting back the papers, said to dick: "you may not need these, with my testimony. still, keep them safe. now i'd better leave you. those fellows are paid to watch me as a cat does a mouse. how can i get away and reach 'frisco?" "we'll take you," said dick, promptly. "we've accommodations for four in this car. can you manage to escape?" "yes, and it had better be to-night. there is a gully about a mile from here, near a dried water hole. you'll get to it if you keep straight on. can you wait for me there?" "yes," said dick, quickly. "then i won't say any more. here comes sam. i guess he's getting suspicious." mr. cameron left the car, which dick had stopped to allow him to alight, the engineer added in louder tones: "you certainly have a fine machine there, mr. hamilton. i envy you. now i'll give you a hand in getting under way again. perhaps i may see you some day in 'frisco." the canvas strips proved just the thing needed, and after about an hour's work the _last word_ was on firmer ground. then, bidding their new acquaintances good-bye, during which farewells dick winked at mr. cameron, to indicate that the arrangements made would be carried out, the big car was sent on over the desert. the two men seemed much relieved as it went off. dick easily found the gully mr. cameron had referred to. driving several miles past it, to throw off suspicion in case they were followed, the young millionaire came to a halt. "we'll wait here until night," he said, making his chums acquainted with the plan to be followed. the boys thought night would never come, but it did finally, and carefully they ran their car back nearly to the dry gully. then, stopping at a safe distance, dick went back to hold the rendezvous with mr. cameron. an hour passed, and dick was beginning to think that perhaps the plan had failed, when he heard a cautious whistle. it was a strain from "my old kentucky home." he answered in like manner, and then a voice called: "here i am. but we'd better be quick. they may follow me as they did last night." "come on," urged dick. they went back toward the car on the run. it was the work of but a moment to start it, and with four passengers now, instead of three, the _last word_ shot over the desert in the darkness, no lights being set aglow, as they wanted to remain concealed for some time yet. they were on their way to 'frisco, and with a better chance of saving mr. wardell's fortune than dick had imagined could be had, following the revelation in that stray newspaper. chapter xxx pursued "well, we got away in good shape!" "we sure did; and fooled those fellows." thus spoke paul and innis. "i'll show you that my car can go some, mr. cameron," said dick, as he turned on more power. "it may need to," answered the engineer. "why so?" "sam and bill aren't going to give up so easily. and they have a speedy machine." "you mean they may follow us?" "i wouldn't be a bit surprised if they did. you know they were paid to see that no hostile interests got at me." "and we might be regarded as 'hostile interests'; is that it?" inquired dick, with a smile. "somewhat; yes. so put as many miles between them and us as you can. they're sure to discover, sooner or later, that i have gone, and they'll pursue us. but i think i put one over on them at that." "how?" asked paul, from the rear of the car, for dick was driving. "i poured water in the gasoline tank. they may be able to run for a few miles, but they're sure to stall sooner or later." "then there's no use in worrying," said our hero, and he had almost slowed down his car, when mr. cameron said: "don't bank too much on that. they carry an extra supply of the 'gas,' and they're sure to find out, in a little while, what the trouble is. they're both experts, and they were sent off with me on that account. also, your uncle ezra's agents considered that it might be necessary for me to make a quick shift, so they provided a powerful car, and plenty of gasoline, though he did object most strenuously to the price." "i can imagine him doing that," agreed dick, with a laugh. "well, then, we'll keep on for a while longer, and remain dark. it won't be so easy for them to trace us then, as this car makes very little noise for its size." "i noticed that," said mr. cameron. on they shot, over the desert. it was about an hour since they had left the dry gully where they had picked up the young engineer, and they had covered several miles. once dick halted his machine, while they listened for any sounds of pursuit, but they heard none. if the other car was coming after them it was either following silently, or was so far back that no sound of its motor carried over the desert. "and so you put water in their gasoline tank?" chuckled dick, as he recalled what his guest had said. "yes, they were both playing 'seven-up,' and disputing over some intricate point, when i just took one of the water cans, and emptied it into the gas tank. i thought i ought to do something after their having taken most of the tricks so far." "that was all right!" rejoined dick. "i'd like to see them when they stall." "well, really i owed them something like that," went on the young engineer. "they had things their own way long enough. to think how i let them fool me makes me mad! and yet i believed what they told me--that they were in the right--i mean your uncle ezra and his friends--and of course as long as i was paid for my legitimate work, i saw nothing wrong in not coming to court to testify, particularly when they said that the other side had been guilty of the same kind of practice. "but i see their game now. they thought i would never hear the other side. it was the luckiest thing in the world that i stumbled into your camp last night. it was fate. do you believe in fate?" he asked dick. "i certainly do," answered that young man. "that is why i stuck those valuable papers--at least, they were valuable at one time--back of that glass where anyone could see them," and he told of the experiences he and his chums had gone through. in turn mr. cameron related some of his life's story. he was all alone in the world, having been left a small inheritance by his father. he took up the study of civil engineering, and made a success of it. it was by accident that he had been hired by mr. larabee's agents to make the survey, and the rest followed by a "trick of fate," as he described it. "i needed the money they promised to give me," he said, "or perhaps i should not have gone into the matter at all. i am intending to set up in business for myself, and the amount the lawyer named was very acceptable. i never stopped to think that i might be doing some one an injustice. the fact of the matter is, that i thought the trickery was on wardell's side." "i hope you are convinced now that it was not," said dick. "i am, perfectly. i think your uncle ezra, not to put too fine a point upon it, as the celebrated mr. snagsby would say--i think your uncle ezra rather put one over on me." "i believe he did," said dick, "and i'm glad i can be the means of correcting the wrong." "and what will uncle ezra say when he finds it out?" asked paul, with a chuckle. "i'm afraid," answered the young millionaire, "that he'll have a fit; won't he, grit?" the animal growled, as he nearly always did at the mention of mr. larabee's name. grit and mr. cameron, however, had made friends at once. they drove on for a few miles farther, stopping now and then to listen for sounds of an auto coming after them, but they heard nothing. then, as the way was getting rough, dick decided to light the lamps, since it was hardly possible now for the two men to see them over the desert. a short halt was made for this purpose, and then they got under way again. there was the coming of a pale light in the east, and dick, looking toward it, said: "the sun will soon be up. we'll keep on as far as we can in the cool of the day, and then halt in the best place we can find, for the engine easily gets overheated on this sandy desert. after rest, and a breakfast, we'll keep on." all thought this was a good plan, and it was followed. they had put many miles between themselves and the two men when they slackened speed for the morning meal. the sun seemed to come up with a "pop" from the sandy waste, and immediately it was warm. "thank goodness we haven't much more of this desert," said dick, as he helped his chums to prepare breakfast. "we can make better time when we get on harder ground." "are you going right into 'frisco?" asked innis. "as straight as i can," answered dick. "i don't want to run any more chances than i have to, and there's no telling what the other fellows may do when they find that mr. cameron has deserted them." "would they telegraph in to the lawyers?" asked paul. "very likely they would." "then they may be waiting for us when we arrive," said dick. "we'll have to be careful." "i agree with you," spoke mr. cameron. "once they know i have gone over to the other side--the right side--they will do their best to discredit me. they may even cause my arrest on some trumped-up charge, to prevent me from going into court and giving my evidence to save mr. wardell's fortune." "then we'll be careful that they don't get you," said dick, with a laugh. "i'll have some more coffee, paul." they were putting away the breakfast things, playfully scattering the wooden plates over the sand, when innis, who had gone to the rear of the car, to look at the brake band, that needed a slight adjusting, called out: "i say, dick, they're after us!" "who?" "mr. cameron's guards. there's a car coming over the desert behind us." they all ran to look, and there, in the distance, could be seen a cloud of dust. "maybe it's a stage coach," suggested paul. dick focussed a pair of field glasses on the cloud. then he exclaimed: "it's an auto, all right, and it must be after us, though i can't make out the kind of a car it is. still, we'll take no chances. come on, fellows, let's get a move on!" they tumbled into the _last word_ and were soon speeding off over the sand. "lucky there isn't much more of this," said paul. "we can't make any time here." "and if we don't run into another sand-bog we'll be lucky," added innis. "we simply mustn't do that," declared dick. "you fellows watch out, and so will i. we don't want to be delayed, for they would catch up to us then." "they'll have hard work to get me to go back with them," spoke mr. cameron, grimly. "well, we don't want a fight if we can help it," said our hero. "if we can beat them, so much the better," and he glanced back to where the other auto was coming on in pursuit of the big car. then dick turned on more power, and watched the road ahead keenly. he wanted no accidents now. but the auto behind was coming on swiftly. it was a powerful car, and was traveling light, while the _last word_ carried a heavy load. "but they sha'n't catch us!" murmured dick. from behind there sounded a report like that of a gun. "a blow-out!" cried paul. "no, they're trying to signal us--with revolvers," said mr. cameron, with a chuckle. chapter xxxi a breakdown each one of dick's chums said, afterward, that he thought the same thing at the moment mr. cameron made his statement--that the affair was more desperate than they had at first suspected. true, the men racing after them in the swift car might only be trying to attract their attention by the firing of revolver shots, but, knowing what he did, dick was more inclined to think that it was done with the intention of injuring some one. "do you really think they're shooting at us?" asked innis. "well, not so much at us, as at our car," said the young engineer. "the tires!" cried paul, with sudden thought. "what kind have you?" asked mr. cameron. "not pneumatic!" exclaimed dick, as he put on a little more power. "cushions instead. it won't hurt them to get a few bullets inside." "good! for i think that's their intention," went on mr. cameron. "they're not in effective range yet, though. but they think they can disable us, and then get me back in their control again. they're going to have their own troubles doing that though!" and he shut his teeth grimly. his former light-hearted manner seemed to have left him. paul took a backward glance at the oncoming car. behind it there floated a little haze of smoke from the firing of the revolver. "they're coming on," murmured the youth. "can you get any more speed up, dick?" "i think so. i'm sort of doing it gradually, though, for this going is hard on the running gear, and i don't want a breakdown." the _last word_ responded well to the demand made on her for increased speed. faster and faster she raced over the sandy stretch of the desert, and now, innis, looking back, reported: "we're giving them the go-by, dick, old man!" "glad of it. i thought we would. i have something left in reserve, too. i guess we'll make a get-away, all right." "that water in the gasoline ought to work pretty soon, i should think," said mr. cameron. "they must have used up all that was in the feed pipe and carbureter, and the small auxiliary tank." "i guess that's what's the trouble now, all right!" went on innis. "see, they have stopped." "then they're stuck!" cried the engineer, joyfully. "it's all right, boys. they won't be able to find out what's the matter for an hour or more. they'll tinker with every part of the engine, and when they do find it's the gas we'll be far enough off." "that's right," agreed dick. "it was a good thing to do." "the nerve of them, though--firing at us!" exclaimed paul. "they might have hit one of us." "i don't believe they would have done so intentionally," spoke the engineer. "the men are not as desperate as that. but the bullets might have glanced off. i imagine they fired low, just at the tires. but they had nerve even to chase after us, as if i were an escaping criminal." "do you think they had orders to prevent you from going away?" asked dick. "i believe they did," was the answer, "and to use force, if necessary. i didn't realize it before, but those men, including your uncle ezra, mr. hamilton, are probably desperate at the fear of losing control of this road. it means a big thing to them, and they want to beat mr. wardell if possible. but they shan't, if i can prevent it." dick, now that he realized that the chase was over for the time being, slowed up his car. they looked back along the level desert road, and saw, in the dim distance, the two men busy about their stalled machine. "that will hold them for a while," said mr. cameron. "now we can take our time about getting away." four hours later they had reached the end of the desert and had passed into nevada. "into civilization once more," remarked paul, as they saw the different nature of the country before them. "and i'm glad of it," exclaimed dick. "i've had enough of desert travel for a while." "what is your programme?" asked mr. cameron, as they came to a pleasant place, where dick decided they would stay for the night. it was sufficiently far from the main road to preclude the possibility of their pursuers finding them, even should they be able to get under way again. and that part of nevada was not thickly populated. "i think we'll head for carson city," said our hero. "it will be the most direct route to reach san francisco, and now that the matter of filing the papers within a certain date isn't so important, i want to get to the court as soon as possible." "that's right," agreed the young engineer. "as soon as i can make affidavit to what i know your friend wardell will be safe. then it will be a matter of fighting it out legally, but he'll have a chance for his white alley, as the boys say. it won't be all one-sided. he'll have an opportunity to put his side of the case in, and i think the courts will restore his fortune to him. i'll do all i can for him, anyhow." "that's very good of you," said dick. "not at all. it's up to me to do that much, especially after what i did to knock him out--though i didn't mean to, and it was because i was deceived. i'll have a talk with your uncle, when i see him, dick hamilton," he added significantly. "i don't imagine uncle ezra will show up around these parts, once he knows he is likely to be defeated," said the young millionaire, with a smile. "he'll rather have it in for you; won't he, dick?" asked paul, as he patted grit on the head. "well, he may," dick admitted, with a peculiar smile; "but i'm not as afraid of my uncle as i used to be. i may tell him some things, too, the way i did when he tried to kidnap me." "how was that?" asked mr. cameron, interestedly. "oh, when i went on a cruise in my ship," answered the owner of the _last word_, and he related the main incidents as i have set them down in "dick hamilton's steam yacht." "he's as bold as an old-fashioned pirate--your uncle," remarked the young engineer when dick had finished. "but, say, this is something like living!" he exclaimed, as he saw the preparations under way for getting a meal. "i'm glad i eloped with you boys. can i help at anything?" "you might see if you can get some water," suggested dick. "that in the tanks is a bit stale, i fancy." soon they were merrily eating, and talking over their plans for the next few days. they slept that night in the auto, and in the morning were off again, no signs of their pursuers having been seen. in due time they reached carson city, and laid in a supply of food and gasoline. then they hurried onward again. the road was fine in some places, and miserable in others, but they made fairly good time. they were in california now, and the end of their journey was almost in sight. they might have taken a train, and gotten to san francisco sooner, perhaps, and very likely it would have been safer to do so, considering the risks they ran. but if this occurred to them they did not give it a second thought. besides, dick did not want to abandon his car, and he had a sort of pride in sticking to it throughout the whole journey across the continent. true, mr. cameron might have gone on by himself, but when dick suggested this the engineer said: "no, i'm going to stick by the ship. i don't believe those fellows can get ahead of us. anyhow, i want your testimony, dick, to go in with mine. besides, i hold the trump cards, so to speak. they can't do anything without me, and the evidence i will give is the most important in the case. "another thing, i feel as if i needed protection, and you boys can provide it. if i started for 'frisco all alone they might get hold of me somehow, and keep me out of the way until it was too late to do anything. so i'll just stick with you. four are harder to handle than one, as they'll find if they come any of their funny tricks on us." "that's right!" agreed paul, while innis clenched his fists suggestively. the way was rougher now, and they were proceeding more slowly. the trip across the desert had somewhat delayed them, for the heavy car sank deeper into the sand than they had counted on, and the trip had consumed nearly three times as much time as it ordinarily does. they were within a few hours' run of sacramento, passing through a rather lonely region, when dick, who was at the wheel, leaned forward, and through the open front windows of the car seemed to be listening to the chug-chug of the motor. "what's the matter?" asked paul. "she doesn't seem to be running just right," he answered. "something seems to be out of gear. maybe it's one of the timers. i guess i'll have a look." as he put out his hand to shut off the gasoline by the lever provided for that purpose, the big car came to a sudden stop of its own accord. "a breakdown, i guess," murmured dick. "and a bad place to have it in," he added as he looked about him. as he alighted, followed by the others, there came up behind them a powerful auto containing three men. this car stopped, and two of the strangers got out, approaching dick and his friends. chapter xxxii the race "something gone wrong?" asked one of the men, pleasantly, while the third member of the trio was getting out of the powerful car that had pulled up back of dick's. "yes, the motor stopped without any reason, as far as i can see," said our hero. he gave a hasty glance at the men. as far as he could tell he had never seen any of them before. a look at mr. cameron showed that he was not perturbed at their arrival, for he was looking at some queer rocks at the side of the roadway. "perhaps i can be of some service," said another of the trio. "i know something of autos." "we'll take a look," agreed dick, as he opened the bonnet over the motor. "it's the first time it's gone back on me since i had it, except for a little brake trouble," he went on. "it's a mighty fine car," said the stranger. "i don't know as i ever saw one like it." "she was built to order," said dick, not caring to go into details. yet he had no intention of concealing anything, for he realized that their enemies, if they desired to keep track of their progress, could do so anyhow, since the car was not one to be easily forgotten. while dick and the man who had admitted that he was something of an auto expert, were going over the motor, looking for the trouble, the other two strangers had gone back to their car. "want any help?" asked paul, as he and innis strolled about. "i guess not," said dick. "make yourselves comfortable. we'll start as soon as we can." mr. cameron was walking idly about, examining different geological specimens. then the two men who had gone back to their car discovered that one of the tires had a puncture, and was down almost flat. they called this information to the one who was with dick, and the latter answered: "better put in a new inner tube. we'll want to make time when we get away from here." "don't let me keep you," said dick, quickly. "i think i may be able to locate the trouble myself." "well, i am in something of a hurry," the man admitted. "but, since my own car needs attention i'll stay with you until they get the tire fixed. have you looked at the carbureter?" "no, i was just going to." together they inspected that important part of an auto's mechanism. they found it a little out of adjustment, and proceeded to remedy it. "i imagine the trouble, as much as anything, is in the gasoline," said the stranger. "it's an awful poor quality they supply nowadays. it'll get so, after a while, that we'll have to use kerosene. in fact, i'm thinking of getting a car that has a two-jet carbureter on it, to mingle gasoline and kerosene. that's what we'll come to, after a while." he and dick talked interestedly of the mechanical side of autos, while the carbureter was put in shape for a test. meanwhile the two men were working away at their tire. they seemed to be having trouble with it, and paul and innis were just going to ask if they did not want some help in return for the service their friend was rendering dick, when mr. cameron exclaimed: "i'll lend 'em a hand. i want to learn how to change a tire. i may have an auto of my own some day." with the three of them at work, the tire was soon in shape and pumped up. but dick's car would not respond. the self-starter was tried again and again, but, though the motor flywheel was turned over rapidly, the cylinders would not take up their work. "she doesn't seem to be getting a spark," said the man. "how is your magneto?" "it never has been out of order," said dick. "still, there is always a first time." "let's have a look at that," the stranger suggested, and he and dick went around on the other side of the car where the electrical mechanism was located under the bonnet. as they reached it there came from the other car the staccato sound of the exhaust. one of the men had started it going. "now don't let me keep you!" exclaimed dick. "it's getting late, and we can bunk here all night if we have to. you can't." "no, that's where you have the advantage of us. but i'll just have a look at your magneto, and then i'm afraid i'll have to be getting on. i'll be with you in a minute!" he called to his two friends. "are you ready to start?" "we will be in a minute," came back the answer. mr. cameron was standing near the machine, while paul and innis had strolled over to a spring and were drinking. suddenly, as dick looked, he saw one of the men at the other auto make a jump for mr. cameron. the latter leaped back, but not in time to avoid being caught. the young millionaire had a glimpse of a white cloth being pressed over his friend's face, and a moment later the two men had lifted him into the tonneau. then, while one held the struggling engineer there, the other leaped to the steering wheel. "come on!" he cried, evidently to the man with dick. "we're ready now!" "good!" and with that the third man raced from dick's side and the next instant was in the moving auto. a moment later it passed dick's car with a burst of speed, and went down the road in a cloud of dust, bearing off mr. cameron. for a moment dick could not find his voice. then as the significance of what had occurred dawned on him he cried out: "paul--innis! they've got mr. cameron! it was a trick! those are some of uncle ezra's agents! they're going to get mr. cameron out of the way and spoil our case. come on!" the two cadets came running back, surprise showing on their faces. "we've got to get him back!" cried dick. "but how can you, with our car stalled?" asked paul. the young millionaire made a gesture of despair. then with a last hope he sprang to the steering wheel and pressed the button of the self-starter. with a whizz and a roar the motor began running. by some trick dick and the man had remedied the trouble without knowing it. the _last word_ could proceed again. "good luck!" cried innis. "come on!" yelled dick. "we've got to chase them!" the three made flying leaps for the car, and a moment later the strange race was on. but the other auto was out of sight. chapter xxxiii just in time "say, they're regular kidnappers!" "that's what! wanting to help us was all part of the trick." "i wonder how they overpowered him? he was a strong man." "chloroform, i guess." "that's right," agreed dick, the foregoing remarks having been made by his chums as the big car dashed along in pursuit of the other. "i smelled it," the young millionaire added. "i do hope we can catch the scoundrels!" murmured paul. "it's a handicap, though, with night coming on," said innis. "well, we won't stop until we have to," said dick, grimly. "how do you suppose they worked it?" asked paul, as the _last word_ careened on over the uneven way. "they must have been trailing us," suggested dick, as he held to the vibrating steering wheel. "martin and wickford probably got in touch with their crowd by telegraph after we got away from them, and very likely mapped out the course we would probably take. they knew we had to come to san francisco. then they dropped out of the game--martin and wickford did--and some others took up the chase. the object was to get hold of mr. cameron so he couldn't testify." "and they've done it," said innis, gloomily. "but we'll get him back!" asserted paul. "that's what!" declared dick. "we'll keep on their trail until we get him away from them. fate rather played into their hands this trip. if we hadn't become stalled they might not have caught up with us, as i was thinking of laying up over night, and they might have passed us in the evening. "however, it can't be helped. we'll do the best we can. as soon as they saw us, when they came dashing up, they must have laid their plans. they knew our car the moment they laid eyes on it, and we were at a disadvantage, for we'd never seen them before." "and we didn't suspect," added paul, gloomily. "no," went on our hero. "i even believe they punctured that tire on purpose." "they might have," admitted innis. "it's a wonder that fellow didn't put your motor out of commission for keeps, dick, while he was working over it." "he might easily have done so. i never suspected a thing. but i was watching him pretty closely, for all that, for he didn't know as much about machinery as he pretended to. he couldn't have tried any trick without my seeing him, and i guess he didn't care to take any chances. "his game was to hold my attention while his confederates worked things so as to get mr. cameron near their car. then they grabbed him, stuck a chloroformed rag over his nose to take the fight out of him, and made their get-away." "it's lucky your motor started when it did," remarked innis, as he clung to the sides of the swaying car. "that's right," agreed dick. "we might have been stalled yet, only that luck was with us. i suppose monkeying with it the way we did, we put back into adjustment some little thing that was out of gear. she's running like a sewing machine now." and indeed the big car was responding nobly to the demands made on her. the road was very good, fortunately. it was getting dusk, but the boys had no thought of even halting for supper. there were some sandwiches they could eat later on. dick switched on the powerful searchlights and the path ahead of them was illumined by a brilliant glow. mile after mile they covered, and as it happened, the only crossroads they passed were so poor that it would have been dangerous for the car ahead of them to have turned off. "though they may slip into some side lane, and trust to us to run past," said paul. "maybe," assented dick. "the odds are against us, but we'll keep on." "look!" suddenly cried innis, pointing ahead. through the darkness they could see a single gleam of red, like some big ruby. "their tail light!" cried dick. "unless it's some other car," said paul. "we haven't passed any, though maybe we're catching up to one that came in from some side road," admitted dick. "here goes for a spurt. maybe we can catch 'em!" he threw on all the power that was safe on such a road at night, and the _last word_ forged ahead. it was their one best chance to catch the other car, if indeed that was it, and they were taking advantage of it. on and on they raced, the big auto swaying dangerously. fortunately they did not have to worry about tire trouble, and this was something that might handicap the other car at a moment's notice. on and on they raced. "the light seems to be brighter now," said paul. "i think we are catching up to them," agreed innis. "i hope so," murmured dick. he peered ahead for a sign of any possible obstruction into which they might crash. at the speed they were keeping up, to hit anything, or have even a slight accident, would be serious. but the big lights made the road very plain. "they must have seen us," observed paul. "i fancy so," agreed dick. "i wish we had some way of puncturing one of their tires." almost as he spoke there came from the car ahead of them a loud report. "they're firing at us, just as those other fellows did!" cried paul. "no, that wasn't a shot!" yelled dick. "fellows, it's a tire blow-out. we've got 'em." he gave the laboring motor of the _last word_ a little more gasoline and adjusted the spark lever. the car responded promptly. "we're overhauling 'em!" cried innis. the red tail light was growing more bright every moment. it could be seen that the other auto was losing speed. there was the sound of another tire giving way, and then the screech as brakes were quickly applied. "we've got 'em!" yelled dick. "luck's with us to-night, all right!" the other car was in full glare of the search-lamps of dick's car now. three figures were seen to leap out and make for the woods on one side of the highway. "mr. cameron! mr. cameron!" yelled dick. "are you all right?" there was no answer. a moment later the big car shot up alongside the stalled one. the boys leaped out, and a glance inside the auto they had pursued showed them the figure of the engineer huddled up on the floor of the tonneau. "are you all right? have they harmed you?" asked dick, opening one of the side doors. a murmur was the only answer he got. "they've gagged him!" cried paul. a moment later the boys had the rag from the mouth of their friend, and had cut the cords that bound him. they helped him to his feet, and one of them brought him a drink of water from the big car. "how are you?" asked dick, anxiously. "all--right--now," was the hesitating answer. "a little--knocked out, but still in the ring. you came just in time, boys." "how is that?" inquired dick. "ten minutes later they would have been at the railroad station, and had me aboard a train. then they'd have taken me into the unknown again, and you'd never have gotten me until it was too late. you were just in time." chapter xxxiv the fortune saved little time was lost in transferring mr. cameron to dick's big car. the young engineer was soon himself again, the slight feeling of illness, caused by the chloroform, passing off. "those blowouts came just in time to let us get you," remarked dick, as he looked at the stalled car. "yes," agreed mr. cameron. "they ran so fast they overheated the shoes. i didn't think you could catch us." "oh, the _last word_ can go some when she has to," said dick, proudly. "i never called on her for as much speed as this before though. what did they do to you?" "nothing much, after they took me by surprise, and bundled me into their car. then they gagged me, as i found out when i recovered my senses, and they trussed me up pretty well with the ropes. i could hear them talking, though." "were they some of uncle ezra's gang?" asked dick. "yes, they were taking the place of my two former guards, sam and bill. i guess they had their orders to hide me away somewhere so you boys couldn't find me until it was too late. but what are you going to do now?" "get something to eat, and then head for san francisco as fast as the car will take us," said dick. "we won't waste another minute. no telling what trick they may try next." the meal, served in the big auto, revived them, for they were tired with the chase and worn by anxiety. soon they all felt better and a little later they were on the move again, leaving the stalled car where doubtless the men would come back and get it. "it's a wonder they didn't show fight when they found we were overhauling them," said paul. "i guess they didn't dare risk it," said mr. cameron. "they were taking enough chances with the law as it was. well, i'll be glad when this is over so i can settle down to business again. i'll give my testimony as soon as i can, and then the case will be over." as mr. cameron knew the roads well they made a night journey of it, coming at dawn to a fair-sized city where they stopped for gasoline. then they continued on, and in due time came to san francisco. "now what's the program?" asked paul, when they realized that they were at the end of their journey. they had crossed this great continent. "get to a good lawyer, explain the case to him and have him fix matters up so your friend wardell won't lose his fortune," said mr. cameron, and this was done, a call being made on mr. whitfield ainslie, who was recommended by mr. tunison. the lawyer agreed that no time was to be lost. matters were put in shape for presentation to the courts, and mr. cameron's affidavits were filed. the papers dick had taken such care of came in useful, though their importance was not as great as they would have been had not mr. cameron been able to tell what he knew. then came the day in court, when the other side, with the lawyers representing mr. larabee fighting in every way their trained legal minds could think of. the judge heard all the testimony, including how mr. cameron had discovered the unexpected evidence, and how, under a misapprehension, he had agreed to keep silent about it. the manner in which mr. wardell gave up his railroad stock was also recited. "why is he himself not here to give testimony?" the judge asked. "because, your honor," said mr. ainslie, "he is really not needed. he has given mr. hamilton power of attorney to act for him. besides mr. wardell is, i am informed by credible authority, in south america, trying to make a new fortune for himself." "well," remarked the judge with a little smile, "in that case i think we shall have to give him back his old one. i find for mr. wardell, let judgment be entered accordingly," and he signed the papers and turned them over to his clerk for formal filing. "what does that mean?" whispered dick to his lawyer. "it means that you have saved mr. wardell's fortune for him. i congratulate you." "well, i had a race for it!" said dick, grimly. "but it was fun after all." of course uncle ezra's lawyers tried their best to upset the judgment in mr. wardell's favor, but they were ruled out of court. uncle ezra even came on himself, crabbed and angry at having spent money on railroad fare. "and so you're responsible for my losing all this money, be you, nephew richard?" he snarled, when he found he had lost his case. "it wasn't yours by rights," declared dick. "i'm sorry to have to go against you, but it was the only thing i could do." "humph!" sniffed mr. larabee. "don't you let that pesky dog of yours nip me, or i'll sue you for damages!" he cried, as grit growled and showed a desire to get nearer to uncle ezra's legs. "down, grit," said dick, quietly. "i don't suppose, uncle ezra," he went on, "that you'll want to ride back with us in the big auto. we'll be touring back after we see something of california." "i wouldn't ride with you for a farm!" snapped the old man. "besides, i've got a return ticket an' i'm not goin' to let the railroad get the best of me. i've lost enough money as it is." "you might sell the ticket," suggested dick, but he hoped his relative would not ride back with him. "huh! yes, and lose nigh half of it. no, sir, i'm going back in the cars!" "thank goodness!" exclaimed paul in a low voice. and then, as mr. larabee left dick's chum asked: "well, what's next on the program, old man? do you think we'll have any more adventures like those we've just passed through?" "i don't know," remarked, dick, musingly. and what new adventures befell him and his friends will be related in the next book of this series, to be called "dick hamilton's airship; or, a young millionaire in the clouds." uncle ezra departed for the east next day, a very much put-out man. he said he never would forgive his nephew. "now look here, uncle ezra," remarked our hero, solemnly. "i don't care what you think, for i know i did right in this matter. you may have been fully within the law in what you did----" "i was, nephew richard. i had the law with me." "but not the moral law," went on dick. "you might have been the cause of mr. wardell taking his life. he actually contemplated that as he was in such despair at losing his fortune. i was lucky enough to prevent him, and i saved his fortune for him, for the honor of my family." "humph!" sniffed uncle ezra, as he went for his train, grit growling a good-bye. "wa'al, maybe it's all for the best," he added grudgingly. "i've lost a pile of money, but still i wouldn't want anybody to suicide on my account." "and now let's forget law and legal papers and all such stuff!" cried dick, a little later. "we're going to have a good time the rest of the summer." and that they did need not be doubted. dick informed his father by telegraph of the success of the trip, and later wrote the main facts to him. in turn mr. hamilton sent dick a letter that had come from mr. wardell in south america. thus in possession of the address dick wrote telling of the saving of the fortune. and, as mr. wardell had not been as successful in south america as he had hoped to be, he came on home, and took up the management of his affairs, so luckily preserved to him. mr. cameron, in recognition of his services, was made chief engineer of the railroad, a position that exactly suited him. mr. wardell offered dick a substantial sum, but the young millionaire turned it over to charity. criminal action might have been taken against the men who practically kidnapped him, but it was decided best to drop the matter, so they were not sought out, nor were those who had annoyed and tried to get the papers from dick. "and now let's tour california," said dick one day, some time after all court matters were over. "we'll see the sights and start back across the continent so as to get to kentfield when the football season opens!" "that's the talk!" cried paul drew. and here we will take leave of dick hamilton and his friends. the end transcriber's notes: . page scan source: google books https://books.google.com/books?id= daqaamaaj the millionaire mystery by fergus hume author of "the mystery of a hansom cab," "the lady from nowhere," etc. london chatto & windus contents chapter i. a midnight surprise ii. the hut on the heath iii. an elegant epistle iv. another surprise v. a nine days' wonder vi. the missing key vii. in dixon's rents viii. an important interview ix. investigation x. another disappearance xi. the stranger xii. a strange story xiii. a strange story--_continued_ xiv. the enmity of captain lestrange xv. trouble xvi. alan's defence xvii. joe's evidence xviii. a portion of the truth xix. a reappearance xx. the amazement of alan thorold xxi. the story of the past xxii. the beginning of the end xxiii. one part of the truth xxiv. the other part of the truth the millionaire mystery chapter i. a midnight surprise steering his course by a tapering spire notched in the eye of the sunset, a tramp slouched along the heathton road. from the western sky a flood of crimson light poured over the dusty white highway, which led straightly across the moor. to right and left, acres of sear coarse herbage rolled towards the distant hills, now black against the flaming horizon. in the quivering air gnats danced and flickered; the earth panted with the thirst of a lengthy drought, and the sky arched itself over the heat of a fiery furnace. for many hours the tramp had held on steadily in the pitiless glare of the mid-june sun, and now that he saw ahead of him the spire and house-roofs and encircling trees of the village whither he was bound, a sigh of relief burst from him. to ease his aching feet he sat down beside a moldering millstone and wiped his beaded brow with a red bandana. he did not swear, which was singular in a tramp. apparently he had but recently joined the cadging profession, for about him there lingered an air of respectability and the marks of a prosperity not wholly decayed. he was stout, rubicund of countenance, and he wheezed like a sick grampus. watery gray eyes and a strawberry nose revealed the seasoned toper; thick lips and a slack mouth the sensualist. as a begging friar of medæval times he would have been altogether admirable; as a modern tramp he was out of the picture. clothed in a broadcloth frock-coat considerably the worse for wear, he wore--oddly enough for a tramp--gaiters over his gouty-looking boots. his black gloves were darned at the finger-tips, and his battered silk hat had been ironed and brushed with sedulous care. this rook-like plumage was now plentifully sprinkled with the white dust of travel. his gait, in spite of his blistered feet, was dignified, and his manners were imposing. the road was lonely, likewise the heath. there was no one in sight, not even a returning plowman; but the recumbent wayfarer could hear, mellowed by distance, the bells of homing cows. beasts as they were, he envied them. they at least had a place to sleep in for the night; he was without a home, without even the necessary money to procure shelter. luckily it was summer-time, dry and warm. also the tramp affected the philosopher. "this," he remarked, eying a sixpence extracted from the knotted corner of his handkerchief, "is a drink--two drinks if i take beer, which is gouty. but it is not a meal nor a bed. no! one drink, and a morsel of bread-and-cheese. but the bed! ah!" he stared at the coin with a sigh, as though he hoped it would swell into a shilling. it did not, and he sighed again. "shall i have good luck in this place?" cried he. "heads i shall, tails i shan't." the coin spun and fell heads. "ha!" said the tramp, getting on to his feet, "this must be seen to. i fly to good fortune on willing feet," and he resumed his trudging. a quarter of an hour brought him to the encircling wood. he passed beyond pine and larch and elm into a cozy little village with one street. this was broken in the center by an expanse of green turf surrounded by red-roofed houses, amongst them--as he saw from the swinging sign--a public-house, called, quaintly enough, the good samaritan. "scriptural," said the stranger--"possibly charitable. let us see." he strode forward into the taproom. in the oiliest of tones he inquired for the landlord. but in this case, it appeared, there was no landlord, for a vixenish little woman, lean as a cricket and as shrill, bounced out with the information that she, mrs. timber, was the landlady. her husband, she snapped out, was dead. to the tramp this hostess appeared less promising than the seductive sign, and he quailed somewhat at the sight of her. however, with a brazen assurance born of habit, he put a bold face on it, peremptorily demanding bread, cheese, and ale. the request for a bed he left in abeyance, for besides the vixenish mrs. timber there hovered around a stalwart pot-boy, whose rolled-up sleeves revealed a biceps both admirable and formidable. "bread, cheese, and ale," repeated the landlady, with a sharp glance at her guest's clerical dress, "for this. and who may you be, sir?" she asked, with a world of sarcasm expended on the "sir." "my name is cicero gramp. i am a professor of elocution and eloquence." "ho! a play-actor?" mrs. timber became more disdainful than ever. "not at all; i am not on the boards. i recite to the best families. the bishop of idlechester has complimented me on my----" "here's the bread-and-cheese," interrupted the landlady, "likewise the beer. sixpence!" very reluctantly mr. gramp produced his last remaining coin. she dropped it into a capacious pocket, and retired without vouchsafing him another word. cicero, somewhat discouraged by this reception, congratulated himself that the night was fine for out-of-door slumber. he ensconced himself in a corner with his frugal supper, and listened to the chatter going on around him. it appeared to be concerned with the funeral of a local magnate. despite the prophecy of the coin, now in mrs. timber's pocket, cicero failed to see how he could extract good fortune out of his present position. however, he listened; some chance word might mean money. "ah! 'tis a fine dry airy vault," said a lean man who proved to be a stonemason. "never built a finer, i didn't, nor my mates neither. an' muster marlow'll have it all to 'isself." "such a situation!" croaked another. "bang opposite the lady chapel! an' the view from that there vault! i don't know as any corp 'ud require a finer." "mr. marlow'll be lonely by himself," sighed a buxom woman; "there's room for twenty coffins, an' only one in the vault. 'tain't natural-like." "well," chimed in the village schoolmaster, "'twill soon fill. there's miss marlow." "dratted nonsense!" cried mrs. timber, making a dash into the company with a tankard of beer in each hand. "miss sophy'll marry mr. thorold, won't she? an' he, as the squire of heathton, 'as a family vault, ain't he? she'll sleep beside him as his wife, lawfully begotten." "the thorolds' vault is crowded," objected the stonemason. "why, there's three-hundred-year dead folk there! a very old gentry lot, the thorolds." "older than your marlows!" snapped mrs. timber. "who was he afore he came to take the moat house five year ago? came from nowhere--a tree without a root." the schoolmaster contradicted. "nay, he came from africa, i know--from mashonaland, which is said to be the ophir of king solomon. and mr. marlow was a millionaire!" "much good his money'll do him now," groaned the buxom woman, who was a dissenter. "ah! dives in torment." "you've no call to say that, mrs. berry. mr. marlow wasn't a bad man." "he was charitable, i don't deny, an' went to church regular," assented mrs. berry; "but he died awful sudden. seems like a judgment for something he'd done." "he died quietly," said the schoolmaster. "dr. warrender told me all about it--a kind of fit at ten o'clock last thursday, and on friday night he passed away as a sleeping child. he was not even sufficiently conscious to say good-by to miss sophy." "ah, poor girl! she's gone to the seaside with miss parsh to nurse her sorrow." "it will soon pass--soon pass," observed the schoolmaster, waving his pipe. "the young don't think much of death. miss sophy's rich, too--rich as the queen of sheba, and she will marry mr. thorold in a few months. funeral knells will give way to wedding-bells, mrs. berry." "ah!" sighed mrs. berry, feeling she was called upon for an appropriate sentiment; "you may say so, mr. stack. such is life!" cicero, munching his bread-and-cheese, felt that his imposing personality was being neglected, and seized upon what he deemed his opportunity. "if this company will permit," he said, "i propose now to give a recitation apropos of the present melancholy event. need i say i refer to the lamented death of mr. marlow?" "i'll have no godless mumming here," said mrs. timber firmly. "besides, what do you know about mr. marlow?" whereupon cicero lied lustily to impress the bumpkins, basing his fiction upon such facts as his ears had enabled him to come by. "marlow!" he wailed, drawing forth his red bandana for effect. "did i not know him as i know myself? were we not boys together till he went to africa?" "perhaps you can tell us about mr. marlow," said the schoolmaster eagerly. "none of us knows exactly who he was. he appeared here with his daughter some five years ago, and took the moat house. he was rich, and people said he had made his riches in south africa." "he did! he did!" said cicero, deeply affected. "millions he was worth--millions! i came hither to see him, and i arrive to find the fond friend of my youth dead. oh, jonathan, my brother jonathan!" "his name was richard," said mrs. timber suspiciously. "i know it, i know it. i use the appellation jonathan merely in illustration of the close friendship which was between us. i am david." "h'm!" snorted mrs. timber, eying him closely, "and who was mr. marlow?" this leading question perplexed mr. gramp not a little, for he knew nothing about the man. "what!" he cried, with simulated horror. "reveal the secrets of the dead? never! never!" "secrets?" repeated the lean stonemason eagerly. "ah! i always thought mr. marlow had 'em. he looked over his shoulder too often for my liking. an' there was a look on his face frequent which pointed, i may say, to a violent death." "ah! say not that my friend dick marlow came to an untimely end." this outcry came from cicero; it was answered by mrs. timber. "he died of a fit," she said tartly, "and that quietly enough, considering as dr. warrender can testify. but now we've talked enough, an' i'm going to lock up; so get out, all of you!" in a few minutes the taproom was cleared and the lights out. cicero, greatly depressed, lingered in the porch, wondering how to circumvent the dragon. "well," snapped that amiable beast, "what are you waitin' for?" "you couldn't give me a bed for the night?" "course i could, for a shillin'." "i haven't a shilling, i regret to say." "then you'd best get one, or go without your bed," replied the lady, and banged the door in his face. under this last indignity even cicero's philosophy gave way, and he launched an ecclesiastic curse at the inhospitable inn. fortunately the weather was warm and tranquil. not a breath of wind stirred the trees. the darkling earth was silent--silent as the watching stars. even the sordid soul of the vagabond was stirred by the solemn majesty of the sky. he removed his battered hat and looked up. "the heavens are telling the glory of god," he said; but, not recollecting the rest of the text, he resumed his search for a resting-place. it was now only between nine and ten o'clock, yet, as he wandered down the silent street, he could see no glimmer of a light in any window. his feet took him, half unconsciously as it were, by the path leading towards the tapering spire. he went on through a belt of pines which surrounded the church, and came suddenly upon the graveyard, populous with the forgotten dead--at least, he judged they were forgotten by the state of the tombstones. on the hither side he came upon a circular chapel, with lance-shaped windows and marvelous decoration wrought in gray-stone on the outer walls. some distance off rose a low wall, encircling the graveyard, and beyond the belt of pines through which he had just passed stretched the league-long herbage of the moor. he guessed this must be the lady chapel. between the building and the low wall he noticed a large tomb of white marble, surmounted by a winged angel with a trumpet. "dick marlow's tomb," he surmised. then he proceeded to walk round it as that of his own familiar friend, for he had already half persuaded himself into some such belief. but he realized very soon that he had not come hither for sight-seeing, for his limbs ached, and his feet burned, and his eyes were heavy with sleep. he rolled along towards a secluded corner, where the round of the lady chapel curved into the main wall of the church. there he found a grassy nook, warm and dry. he removed his gloves with great care, placed them in his silk hat, and then took off his boots and loosened his clothes. finally he settled himself down amid the grass, put a hand up either coat-sleeve for warmth, and was soon wrapped in a sound slumber. he slept on undisturbed until one o'clock, when--as say out-of-door observers--the earth turns in her slumber. this vagrant, feeling as it were the stir of nature, turned too. a lowing of cows came from the moor beyond the pines. a breath of cool air swept through the branches, and the somber boughs swayed like the plumes of a hearse. across the face of the sky ran a shiver. he heard distinctly what he had not noticed before, the gush of running water. he roused himself and sat up alert, and strained his hearing. what was it he heard now? he listened and strained again. voices surely! men's voices! there could be no mistake. voices he heard, though he could not catch the words they said. a tremor shook his whole body. then, curiosity getting the better of his fear, he wriggled forward flat on his stomach until he was in such a position that he could peer round the corner of the lady chapel. here he saw a sight which scared him. against the white wall of the mausoleum bulked two figures, one tall, the other short. the shorter carried a lantern. they stood on the threshold of the iron door, and the tall man was listening. they were nearer now, so that he could hear their talk very plainly. "all is quiet," said the taller man. "no one will suspect. we'll get him away easily." then cicero heard the key grate in the lock, saw the door open and the men disappear into the tomb. he was sick with terror, and was minded to make a clean bolt of it; but with the greatest effort he controlled his fears and remained. there might be money in this adventure. in ten minutes the men came out carrying a dark form between them, as cicero guessed, the dead body of richard marlow. they set down their burden, made fast the door, and took up again the sinister load. he saw them carry it towards the low stone wall. over this they lifted it, climbed over themselves, and disappeared into the pine-woods. cicero waited until he could no longer hear the rustle of their progress; then he crept cautiously forward and tried the door of the tomb. it was fast locked. "resurrection-men! body-snatchers!" he moaned. he felt shaken to his very soul by the ghastliness of the whole proceeding. then suddenly the awkwardness of his own position, if by chance any one should find him there, rushed in upon his mind, and, without so much as another glance, he made off as quickly as he could in the opposite direction. chapter ii. the hut on the heath "i'm glad it's all over," said the footman, waving a cigar stolen from the box of his master. "funerals don't suit me." "yet we must all 'ave one of our own some day," said the cook, who was plainly under the influence of gin; "an' that pore miss sophy--me 'art bleeds for 'er!" "an' she with 'er millions," growled a red-faced coachman. "wot rot!" "come now, john, you know miss sophy was fond of her father"--this from a sprightly housemaid, who was trimming a hat. "i dunno why," said john. "master was as cold as ice, an' as silent as 'arf a dozen graves." the scullery-maid shuddered, and spread out her grimy hands. "oh, mr. john, don't talk of graves, please! i've 'ad the nightmare over 'em." "don't put on airs an' make out as 'ow you've got nerves, cammelliar," put in the cook tearfully. "it's me as 'as 'em--i've a bundle of 'em--real shivers. ah, well! we're cut down like green bay-trees, to be sure. pass that bottle, mr. thomas." this discussion took place in the kitchen of the moat house. the heiress and miss parsh, the housekeeper, had departed for the seaside immediately after the funeral, and in the absence of control, the domestics were making merry. to be sure, mr. marlow's old and trusted servant, joe brill, had been told off to keep them in order, but just at present his grief was greater than his sense of duty. he was busy now sorting papers in the library--hence the domestic chaos. it was, in truth, a cheerful kitchen, more especially at the present moment, with the noonday sun streaming in through the open casements. a vast apartment with a vast fireplace of the baronial hall kind; brown oaken walls and raftered roof; snow-white dresser and huge deal table, and a floor of shining white tiles. there was a moment's silence after the last unanswerable observation of the cook. it was broken by a voice at the open door--a voice which boomed like the drone of a bumble-bee. "peace be unto this house," said the voice richly, "and plenty be its portion." the women screeched, the men swore--since the funeral their nerves had not been quite in order--and all eyes turned towards the door. there, in the hot sunshine, stood an enormously fat old man, clothed in black, and perspiring profusely. it was, in fact, none other than cicero gramp, come in the guise of autolycus to pick up news and unconsidered trifles. he smiled benignly, and raised his fat hand. "peace, maid-servants and men-servants," said he, after the manner of chadband. "there is no need for alarm. i am a stranger, and you must take me in." "who the devil are you?" queried the coachman. "we want no tramps here," growled the footman. "i am no tramp," said cicero mildly, stepping into the kitchen. "i am a professor of elocution and eloquence, and a friend of your late master's. he went up in the world, i dropped down. now i come to him for assistance, and i find him occupying the narrow house; yes, my friends, dick marlow is as low as the worms whose prey he soon will be. pax vobiscum!" "calls master 'dick,'" said the footman. "sez 'e's an old friend," murmured the cook. they looked at each other, and the thought in every mind was the same. the servants were one and all anxious to hear the genesis of their late master, who had dropped into the moat house, as from the skies, some five years before. mrs. crammer, the cook, rose to the occasion with a curtsy. "i'm sure, sir, i'm sorry the master ain't here to see you," she said, polishing a chair with her apron. "but as you says--or as i take it you means--'e's gone where we must all go. take a seat, sir, and i'll tell joe, who's in the library." "joe--my old friend joe!" said cicero, sitting down like a mountain. "ah! the faithful fellow!" this random remark brought forth information, which was cicero's intention in making it. "faithful!" growled the coachman, "an' why not? joe brill was paid higher nor any of us, he was; just as of living all his life with an iceberg deserved it!" "poor dick _was_ an iceberg!" sighed cicero pensively. "a cold, secretive man." "ah!" said mrs. crammer, wiping her eye, "you may well say that. he 'ad secrets, i'm sure, and guilty ones, too!" "we all have our skeletons, ma'am. but would you mind giving me something to eat and to drink? for i have walked a long way. i am too poor," said cicero, with a sweet smile, "to ride, as in the days of my infancy, but _spero meliora_." "talking about skeletons, sir," said the footman when mr. gramp's jaws were fully occupied, "what about the master's?" "ah!" said gramp profoundly. "what indeed!" "but whatever it is, it has to do with the west indies," said the man. "lor'!" exclaimed the housemaid, "and how do you know that, mr. thomas?" "from observation, jane, my dear," thomas smiled loftily. "a week or two afore master had the fit as took him, i brought in a letter with the west indy stamp. he turned white as chalk when he saw it, and tore it open afore i could get out of the room. i 'ad to fetch a glass of whisky. he was struck all of a 'eap--gaspin', faintin', and cussin' orful." "did he show it to miss sophy?" asked mrs. crammer. "not as i knows of. he kept his business to hisself," replied thomas. gramp was taking in all this with greedy ear's. "ha!" he said, "when you took in the letter, might you have looked at the postmark, my friend?" with an access of color, the footman admitted that he had been curious enough to do so. "and the postmark was kingston, jamaica," said he. "it recalls my youth," said cicero. "ah! they were happy, happy days!" "what was mr. marlow, sir?" "a planter of--of--rice," hazarded gramp. he knew that there were planters in the west indies, but he was not quite sure what it was they planted. "rice--acres of it!" "well, he didn't make his money out of that, sir," growled the coachman. "no, he did not," admitted the professor of elocution. "he acquired his millions in mashonaland--the ophir of the jews." this last piece of knowledge had been acquired from slack, the schoolmaster. "he was precious careful not to part with none of it," said the footman. "except to dr. warrender," said the cook. "the doctor was always screwing money out of him. not that it was so much 'im as 'is wife. i can't abear that doctor's wife--a stuck-up peacock, i call her. she fairly ruined her husband in clothes. miss sophy didn't like her, neither." "dick's child!" cried gramp, who had by this time procured a cigar from the footman. "ah! is little sophy still alive?" he lighted the cigar and puffed luxuriously. "still alive!" echoed mrs. crammer, "and as pretty as a picture. dark 'air, dark eyes--not a bit like 'er father." "no," said cicero, grasping the idea. "dick was fair when we were boys. i heard rumors that little sophy was engaged--let me see--to a mr. thorold." "alan thorold, esquire," corrected the coachman gruffly; "one of the oldest families hereabouts, as lives at the abbey farm. he's gone with her to the seaside." "to the seaside? not to brighton?" "nothin' of the sort--to bournemouth, if you know where that is." "i know some things, my friend," said cicero mildly. "it was bournemouth i meant--not unlike brighton, i think, since both names begin with a b. i know that miss marlow--dear little sophy!--is staying at the imperial hotel, bournemouth." "you're just wrong!" cried thomas, falling into the trap; "she is at the soudan hotel. i've got the address to send on letters." "can i take them?" asked gramp, rising. "i am going to bournemouth to see little sophy and mr. thorold. i shall tell them of your hospitality." before the footman could reply to this generous offer, the page-boy of the establishment darted in much excited. "oh, here's a go!" he exclaimed. "dr. warrender's run away, an' the quiet gentleman's followed!" "wot d'ye mean, billy?" "wot i say. the doctor ain't bin 'ome all night, nor all mornin', an' mrs. warrender's in hysterics over him. their 'ousemaid i met shoppin' tole me." the servants looked at one another. here was more trouble, more excitement. "and the quiet gentleman?" asked the cook with ghoulish interest. "he's gone, too. went out larst night, an' never come back. mrs. marry thinks he's bin murdered." there was a babel of voices and cries, but after a moment quiet was restored. then cicero placed his hand on the boy's head. "my boy," he said pompously, "who is the quiet gentleman? let us be clear upon the point of the quiet gentleman." "don't you know, sir?" put in the eager cook. "he's a mystery, 'aving bin staying at mrs. marry's cottage, she a lone widder taking in boarders." "i'll give a week's notice!" sobbed the scullery-maid. "these crimes is too much for me." "i didn't say the quiet gentleman 'ad been murdered," said billy, the page; "but mrs. marry only thinks so, cos 'e ain't come 'ome.' "as like as not he's cold and stiff in some lonely grave!" groaned mrs. crammer hopefully. "the quiet gentleman," said cicero, bent upon acquiring further information--"tall, yellow-bearded, with a high forehead and a bald head?" "well, i never, sir!" cried jane, the housemaid. "if you ain't describing dr. warrender! did you know him, sir?" cicero was quite equal to the occasion. "i knew him professionally. he attended me for a relaxed throat. i was _vox et præterea nihil_ until he cured me. but what was this mysterious gentleman like? short, eh?" "no; tall and thin, with a stoop. long white hair, longer beard and black eyes like gimblets," gabbled the cook. "i met 'im arter dark one evenin', and i declare as 'is eyes were glow-worms. ugh! they looked me through and through. i've never bin the same woman since." at this moment a raucous voice came from the inner doorway. "what the devil's all this?" was the polite question. cicero turned, and saw a heavily-built man surveying the company in general, and himself in particular, anything but favorably. his face was a mahogany hue, and he had a veritable tangle of whiskers and hair. the whole cut of the man was distinctly nautical, his trousers being of the dungaree, and his pea-jacket plentifully sprinkled with brass buttons. in his ears he wore rings of gold, and his clenched fists hung by his side as though eager for any emergency, and "the sooner the better." that was how he impressed cicero, who, in nowise fancying the expression on his face, edged towards the door. "oh, joe!" shrieked the cook, "wot a turn you give me! an' sich news as we've 'ad!" "news!" said joe uneasily, his eyes still on cicero. "mrs. warrender's lost her husband, and the quiet gentleman's disappeared mysterious!" "rubbish! get to your work, all of you!" so saying, joe drove the frightened crowd hither and thither to their respective duties, and cicero, somewhat to his dismay, found himself alone with the buccaneer, as he had inwardly dubbed the newcomer. "who the devil are you?" asked joe, advancing. "fellow," replied cicero, getting into the doorway, "i am a friend of your late master. cicero gramp is my name. i came here to see dick marlow, but i find he's gone aloft." joe turned pale, even through his tan. "a friend of mr. marlow," he repeated hoarsely. "that's a lie! i've been with him these thirty years, and i never saw you!" "not in jamaica?" inquired cicero sweetly. "jamaica? what do you mean?" "what i wrote in that letter your master received before he died." "oh, you liar! i know the man who wrote it." joe clenched his fists more tightly and swung forward. "you're a rank impostor, and i'll hand you over to the police, lest i smash you completely!" cicero saw he had made a mistake, but he did not flinch. hardihood alone could carry him through now. "do," he said. "i'm particularly anxious to see the police, mr. joe brill." "who are you, in heaven's name?" shouted joe, much agitated. "do you come from him?" "perhaps i do," answered cicero, wondering to whom the "him" might now refer. "then go back and tell him he's too late--too late, curse him! and you too, you lubber!" "very good." cicero stepped out into the hot sunshine. "i'll deliver your message--for a sovereign." joe brill tugged at his whiskers, and cast an uneasy glance around. evidently, he was by no means astute, and the present situation was rather too much for him. his sole idea, for some reason best known to himself, was to get rid of cicero. with a groan, he plunged his huge fist into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. "here, take it and go to hell!" he said, throwing it to cicero. "mariner, _fata obstant_," rolled gramp in his deep voice. then he strode haughtily away. he looked round as he turned the corner of the house, and saw joe clutching his iron-gray locks, still at the kitchen door. so with a guinea in his pocket and a certain amount of knowledge which he hoped would bring him many more, cicero departed, considerable uplifted. at the village grocery he bought bread, meat and a bottle of whisky, then he proceeded to shake the dust of heathton off his feet. as he stepped out on to the moor he recalled the latin words he had used, and he shuddered. "why did i say that?" he murmured. "the words came into my head somehow. just when joe was talking of my employer, too! who is my employer? what has he to do with all this? i'm all in the dark! so dr. warrender's gone, and the quiet gentleman too. it must have been dr. warrender who helped to steal marlow's body. the description tallies exactly--tall, fair beard and bald. i wonder if t'other chap was the quiet gentleman? and what on earth could they want with the body? any way, the body's gone, and, as it's a millionaire corpse, i'll have some of its money or i'm a dutchman!" he stopped and placed his hand to his head. "bournemouth, bournemouth!" he muttered. "ah, that's it--the soudan hotel, bournemouth!" it was now the middle of the afternoon, and, as he plodded on, the moor glowed like a furnace. no vestige of shade was there beneath which to rest, not even a tree or a bush. then, a short distance up the road, he espied a hut. it seemed to be in ruins. it was a shepherd's hut, no doubt. the grass roof was torn, the door was broken, though closed, and the mud walls were crumbling. impatient of any obstacle, he shoved his back against it and burst it open. it had been fastened with a piece of rope. he fell in, headlong almost. but the gloom was grateful to him, though for the moment he could see but little. when his eyes had become more accustomed to the half-light, the first object upon which they fell was a stiff human form stretched on the mud floor--a body with a handkerchief over the face. yelling with terror, cicero hurled himself out again. "marlow's body!" he gasped. "they've put it here!" with feverish haste he produced a corkscrew knife, and opened his whisky bottle. a fiery draught gave him courage. he ventured back into the hut and knelt down beside the body. over the heart gaped an ugly wound, and the clothes were caked with blood. he gasped again. "no fit this, but murder! stabbed to the heart! and joe--what does joe know about this--and my employer? lord!" he snatched the handkerchief from the face, and fell back on his knees with another cry, this time of wonderment rather than of terror. he beheld the dead man's fair beard and bald head. "dr. warrender! and he was alive last night! this is murder indeed!" then his nerves gave way utterly, and he began to cry like a frightened child. "murder! wilful and horrible murder!" wept the professor of elocution and eloquence. chapter iii. an elegant epistle on bournemouth cliffs, where pine-trees cluster to the edge, sat an elderly spinster, knitting a homely stocking. she wore, in spite of the heat, a handsome cashmere shawl, pinned across her spare shoulders with a portrait brooch, and that hideous variety of early victorian head-gear known as the mushroom hat. from under this streamed a frizzy crop of gray curls, which framed a rosy, wrinkled face, brightened by twinkling eyes. these, sparkling as those of sweet seventeen, proved that their owner was still young in heart. this quaint survival of the last century knitted as assiduously as was possible under the circumstances, for at a discreet distance were two young people, towards whom she acted the part of chaperon. doubtless such an office is somewhat out-of-date nowadays; but miss victoria parsh would rather have died than have left a young girl alone in the company of a young man. yet she knew well enough that this young man was altogether above reproach, and, moreover, engaged by parental consent to the pretty girl to whom he was talking so earnestly. and no one could deny that sophy marlow was indeed charming. there was somewhat of the andalusian about her. not very tall, shaped delicately as a nymph, she well deserved alan thorold's name. he called her the "midnight fairy," and, indeed, she looked like a brunette titania. her complexion was dark, and faintly flushed with red; her mouth and nose were exquisitely shaped, while her eyes were wells of liquid light--glorious spanish orbs. about her, too, was that peculiar charm of personality which defies description. alan her lover, was not tall, but uncommonly well-built and muscular, as fair as sophy was dark--of that golden saxon race which came before the dane. not that he could be called handsome. he was simply a clean, clear-skinned, well-groomed young englishman, such as can be seen everywhere. of a strong character, he exercised great control over his somewhat frivolous betrothed. miss vicky, as the little spinster was usually called, cast romantic glances at the dark head and the fair one so close to one another. as a rule she would have been shocked at such a sight, but she knew how keenly sophy grieved for the death of her father, and was only too willing that the girl should be comforted. and miss vicky occasionally touched the brooch, which contained the portrait of a red-coated officer. she also had lived in arcady, but her lieutenant had been shot in the indian mutiny, and miss vicky had left arcady after a short sojourn, for a longer one in the work-a-day world. at once, she had lost her lover and her small income, and, like many another lonely woman, had had to turn to and work. but the memory of that short romance kept her heart young, hence her sympathy with this young couple. "poor dear father!" sighed sophy, looking at the sea below, dotted with white sails. "i can hardly believe he is gone. only two weeks ago and he was so well, and now--oh! i was so fond of him! we were so happy together! he was cold to everyone else, but kindly to me! how could he have died so suddenly, alan?" "well, of course, dear, a fit is always sudden. but try and bear up, sophy dear. don't give way like this. be comforted." she looked up wistfully to the blue sky. "at all events, he is at peace now," she said, her lip quivering. "i know he was often very unhappy, poor father! he used to sit for hours frowning and perplexed, as if there was something terrible on his mind." alan's face was turned away now, and his brow was wrinkled. he seemed absorbed in thought, as though striving to elucidate some problem suggested by her words. wrapped up in her own sorrow, the girl did not notice his momentary preoccupation, but continued: "he never said good-bye to me. dr. warrender said he was insensible for so long before death that it was useless my seeing him. he kept me out of the room, so i only saw him--afterwards. i'll never forgive the doctor for it. it was cruel!" she sobbed hysterically. "sophy," said alan suddenly, "had your father any enemies?" she looked round at him in astonishment. "i don't know. i don't think so. why should he? he was the kindest man in the world." "i am sure he was," replied the young man warmly; "but even the kindest may have enemies." "he might have made enemies in africa," she said gravely. "it was there he made his money, and i suppose there are people mean enough to hate a man who is successful, especially if his success results in a fortune of some two millions. father used to say he despised most people. that was why he lived so quietly at the moat house." "it was particularly quiet till you came, sophy." "i'm sure it was," she replied, with the glimmer of a smile. "still, although _he_ had not me, you had your profession." "ah! my poor profession! i always regret having given it up." "why did you?" "you know, sophy. i have told you a dozen times. i wanted to be a surgeon, but my father always objected to a thorold being of service to his fellow-creatures. i could never understand why. the estate was not entailed, and by my father's will i was to lose it, or give up all hope of becoming a doctor. for my mother's sake i surrendered. but i would choose to be a struggling surgeon in london any day, if it were not for you, sophy dear." "horrid!" ejaculated miss marlow, elevating her nose. "how can you enjoy cutting up people? but don't let us talk of these things; they remind me of poor dear father." "my dear, you really should not be so morbid. death is only natural. it is not as though you had been with him all your life, instead of merely three years." "i know; but i loved him none the less for that. i often wonder why he was away so long." "he was making his fortune. he could not have taken you into the rough life he was leading in africa. you were quite happy in your convent." "quite," she agreed, with conviction. "i was sorry to leave it. the dear sisters were like mothers to me. i never knew my own mother. she died in jamaica, father said, when i was only ten years old. he could not bear to remain in the west indies after she died, so he brought me to england. while i was in the convent i saw him only now and again until i had finished my education. then he took the moat house--that was five years ago, and two years after that i came to live with him. that is all our history, alan. but joe brill might know if he had any enemies." "yes, he might. he lived thirty years with your father, didn't he? but he can keep his own counsel--no one better." "you are good at it too, alan. where were you last night? you did not come to see me." he moved uneasily. he had his own reasons for not wishing to give a direct answer. "i went for a long walk--to--to--to think out one or two things. when i got back it was too late to see you." "what troubled you, alan? you have looked very worried lately. i am sure you are in some trouble. tell me, dear; i must share all you troubles." "my dearest, i am in no trouble"--he kissed her hand--"but i am your trustee, you know and it is no sinecure to have the management of two millions." "it's too much money," she said. "let us dispose of some of it, then you need not be worried. can i do what i like with it?" "most of it--there are certain legacies, will tell you about them later." "i am afraid the estate will be troublesome to us, alan. it's strange we should have so much money when we don't care about it. now, there is dr. warrender, working his life out for that silly extravagant wife of his!" "he is very much in love with her, nevertheless." "i suppose that's why he works so hard. but she's a horrid woman, and cares not a snap of her fingers for him--not to speak of love! love! why, she doesn't know the meaning of the word. we do!" and, bending over, sophy kissed him. then promptly there came from miss parsh the reminder that it was time for tea. "very well, vicky, i dare say alan would like you to give him a cup," replied sophy. "frivolous as ever, sophia! i give up a hope of forming your character--now!" "alan is doing that," replied the girl. in spite of her sorrow, sophy became fairly cheerful on the way back to the hotel. not so alan. he was silent and thoughtful, and evidently meditating about the responsibilities of the marlow estate. as they walked along the parade with their chaperon close behind, they came upon a crowd surrounding a fat man dressed in dingy black. he was reciting a poem, and his voice boomed out like a great organ. as they passed, alan noticed that he darted a swift glance at them, and eyed miss marlow in a particularly curious manner. the recitation was just finished, and the hat was being sent round. sophy, always kind-hearted, dropped in a shilling. the man chuckled. "thank you, lady," said he; "the first of many i hope." alan frowned, and drew his _fiancée_ away. he took little heed of the remark at the time; but it occurred to him later, when circumstances had arisen which laid more stress on its meaning. miss vicky presided over the tea--a gentle feminine employment in which she excelled. she did most of the talking; for sophy was silent, and alan inclined to monosyllables. the good lady announced that she was anxious to return to heathton. "the house weighs on my mind," said she, lifting her cup with the little finger curved. "the servants are not to be trusted. i fear mrs. crammer is addicted to ardent spirits. thomas and jane pay too much attention to one another. i feel a conviction that, during my absence, the bonds of authority will have loosened." "joe," said alan, setting down his cup; "joe is a great disciplinarian." "on board a ship, no doubt," assented miss vicky; "but a rough sailor cannot possibly know how to control a household. joseph is a fine, manly fellow, but boisterous--very boisterous. it needs my eye to make domestic matters go smoothly. when will you be ready to return, sophy, my dear?" "in a week--but alan has suggested that we should go abroad." "what! and leave the servants to wilful waste and extravagance? my love!"--miss vicky raised her two mittened hands--"think of the bills!" "there is plenty of money, vicky." "no need there should be plenty of waste. no; if we go abroad, we must either shut up the house or let it." "to the quiet gentleman?" said sophy, with a laugh. alan looked up suddenly. "no, not to him. he is a mysterious person," said miss vicky. "i do not like such people, though i dare say it is only village gossip which credits him with a strange story." "just so," put in alan. "don't trouble about him." miss vicky was still discussing the possibility of a trip abroad, when the waiter entered with a note for sophy. "it was delivered three hours ago," said the man apologetically, "and i quite forgot to bring it up. so many visitors, miss," he added, with a sickly smile. sophy took the letter. the envelope was a thick creamy one, and the writing of the address elegant in the extreme. "who delivered it?" she asked. "a fat man, miss, with a red face, and dressed in black." alan's expression grew somewhat anxious. "surely that describes the man we saw reciting?" "so it does." sophy eyed the letter dubiously. "had he a loud voice, simmonds?" "as big as a bell, miss, and he spoke beautiful: but he wasn't gentry, for all that," finished simmonds with conviction. "you can go," said alan. then he turned to sophy, who was opening the envelope. "let me read that letter first," he said. "why, alan? there is no need. it is only a begging letter. come and read it with me." he gave way, and looked over her shoulder the elaborate writing. "miss" (it began), "the undersigned, if handsomely remunerated, can give valuable information regarding the removal of the body of the late richard marlow from its dwelling in heathton churchyard. _verbum dat sapienti!_ forward £ to the undersigned at dixon's rents, lambeth, and the information will be forthcoming. if the minions of the law are invoked the undersigned with vanish, and his information lost. "faithfully yours, miss sophia marlow, "cicero gramp." as she comprehended the meaning of this extraordinary letter, sophy became paler and paler. the intelligence that her father's body had been stolen was too much for her, and she fainted. thorold called loudly to miss vicky. "look after her," he said, stuffing the letter into his pocket. "i shall be back soon." "but what--what----" began miss vicky. she spoke to thin air. alan was running at top speed along the parade in search of the fat man. but all search was vain. cicero, the astute, had vanished. chapter iv. another surprise heathton was only an hour's run by rail from bournemouth, so that it was easy enough to get back on the same evening. on his return from his futile search for cicero, alan determined to go at once to the moat house. he found sophy recovered from her faint, and on hearing of his decision, she insisted upon accompanying him. she had told miss vicky the contents of the mysterious letter, and that lady agreed that they should leave as soon as their boxes could be packed. "don't talk to me, alan!" cried sophy, when her lover objected to this sudden move. "it would drive me mad to stay here doing nothing, with that on my mind." "but, my dear girl, it may not be true." "if it is not, why should that man have written? did you see him?" "no. he has left the parade, and no one seems to know anything about him. it is quite likely that when he saw us returning to the hotel he cleared out. by this time i dare say he is on his way to london." "did you see the police?" she asked anxiously. "no," said alan, taking out the letter which had caused all this trouble; "it would not be wise. remember what he says here: if the police are called in he will vanish, and we shall lose the information he seems willing to supply." "i don't think that, mr. thorold," said miss vicky. "this man evidently wants money, and is willing to tell the truth for the matter of a hundred pounds." "on account," remarked thorold grimly; "as plain a case of blackmail as i ever heard of. well, i suppose it is best to wait until we can communicate with this--what does he call himself?--cicero gramp, at dixon's rents, lambeth. he can be arrested there, if necessary. what i want to do now is to find out if his story is true. to do this i must go at once to heathton, see the rector, and get the coffin opened." "i will come," insisted sophy. "oh, it is terrible to think that poor father was not allowed to rest quietly even in his grave." "of course, it may not be true," urged alan again. "i don't see how this tramp could have got to know of it." "perhaps he helped to violate the secrets of the tomb?" suggested miss vicky. "in that case he would hardly put himself within reach of the law," alan said, after a pause. "besides, if the vault had been broken into we should have heard of it from joe." "why should it be broken into, alan? the key----" "i have one key, and the rector has the other. my key is in my desk at the abbey farm, and no doubt phelps has his safe enough." "your key may have been stolen." "it might have been," admitted alan. "that is one reason why i am so anxious to get back to-night. we must find out also if the coffin is empty." "yes, yes; let us go at once!" sophy cried feverishly. "i shall never rest until i learn the truth. come, vicky, let us pack. when can we leave, alan?" thorold glanced at his watch. "in half an hour," he said. "we can catch the half-past six train. can you be ready?" "yes, yes!" cried she, and rushed out of the room. miss vicky was about to follow, but alan detained her. "give her a sedative or something," he said, "or she will be ill." "i will at once. have a carriage at the door in a quarter of an hour, mr. thorold. we can be ready by then. i suppose it is best she should go?" "much better than to leave her here. we must set her mind at rest. at this rate she will work herself into a fever." "but if this story should really be true?" "i don't believe it for a moment," replied alan. but he was evidently uneasy, and could not disguise the feeling. "wait till we get to heathton--wait," and he hastily left the room. miss vicky was surprised at his agitation, for hitherto she had credited alan with a will strong enough to conceal his emotions. the old lady hurried away to the packing, and shook her head as she went. shortly they were settled in a first-class carriage on the way to heathton. sophy was suffering acutely, but did all in her power to hide her feelings, and, contrary to alan's expectations, hardly a word was spoken about the strange letter, and the greater part of the journey was passed in silence. at heathton he put sophy and miss vicky into a fly. "drive at once to the moat house," he said. "to-morrow we shall consider what is to be done." "and you, alan?" "i am going to see mr. phelps. he, if any one, will know what value to put upon that letter. try and sleep, sophy. i shall see you in the morning." "sleep?" echoed the poor girl, in a tone of anguish. "i feel as though i should never sleep again!" when they had driven away, alan took the nearest way to the rectory. it was some way from the station, but alan was a vigorous walker, and soon covered the distance. he arrived at the door with a beating heart and dry lips, feeling, he knew not why, that he was about to hear bad news. the gray-haired butler ushered him into his master's presence, and immediately the young man felt that his fears were confirmed. phelps looked worried. he was a plump little man, neat in his dress and cheerful in manner. he was a bachelor, and somewhat of a cynic. alan had known him all his life, and could have found no better adviser in the dilemma in which he now found himself. phelps came forward with outstretched hands. "my dear boy, i am indeed glad! what good fairy sent you here? a glass of port? you look pale. i am delighted to see you. if you had not come i should have had to send for you." "what do you wish to see me about, sir? asked alan. "about the disappearance of these two people." "what two people?" asked the young man, suddenly alert. "you forget that i have been away from heathton for the last three days." "of course, of course. well, one is brown, the stranger who stayed with mrs. marry." "the quiet gentleman?" "yes. i heard them call him so in the village. a very doubtful character. he never came to church," said the rector sadly. "however, it seems he has disappeared. two nights ago--in fact, upon the evening of the day upon which poor marlow's funeral took place, he left his lodgings for a walk. since then," added the rector impressively, "he has not returned." "in plain words, he has taken french leave," said thorold, filling his glass. "oh, i should not say that, alan. he paid his weekly account the day before he vanished. he left his baggage behind him. no, i don't think he intended to run away. mrs. marry says he was a good lodger, although she knew very little about him. however, he has gone, and his box remains. no one saw him after he left the village about eight o'clock. he was last seen by giles hale passing the church in the direction of the moor. to-day we searched the moor, but could find no trace of him. most mysterious," finished the rector, and took some port. "who is the other man?" asked alan abruptly. "ah! now you must be prepared for a shock, alan. dr. warrender!" thorold bounded out of his seat. "is he lost too?" "strangely enough, he is," answered phelps gravely. "on the night of the funeral he went out at nine o'clock in the evening to see a patient. he never came back." "who was the patient?" "that is the strangest part of it. brown, the quiet gentleman, was the patient. mrs. warrender, who, as you may guess, is quite distracted, says that her husband told her so. mrs. marry declares that the doctor called after nine, and found brown was absent." "what happened then?" demanded alan, who had been listening eagerly to this tale. "dr. warrender, according to mrs. marry, asked in what direction her lodger had gone. she could not tell him, so, saying he would call again in an hour or so, he went. and, of course, he never returned." "did brown send for him?" "mrs. marry could not say. certainly no message was sent through her." "was brown ill?" "not at all, according to his landlady. we have been searching for both brown and warrender, but have found no traces of either." "humph!" said thorold, after a pause. "i wonder if they met and went away together?" "my dear lad, where would they go to?" objected the rector. "i don't know; i can't say. the whole business is most mysterious." alan stopped, and looked sharply at mr. phelps. "have you the key of the marlow vault in your possession?" "yes, of course, locked in my safe. your question is most extraordinary." the other smiled grimly. "my explanation is more extraordinary still." he took out mr. gramp's letter and handed it to the rector. "what do you think of that, sir?" "most elegant caligraphy," said the good man. "why, bless me!" he read on hurriedly, and finally dropped the letter with a bewildered air. "bless me, alan!" he stammered. "what--what--what----" thorold picked it up and smoothed it out on the table. "you see, this man says the body has been stolen. do you know if the door of the vault has been broken open?" "no, no, certainly not!" cried the rector, rising fussily. "come to my study, alan; we must see if it is all right. it must be," he added emphatically. "the key of the safe is on my watch-chain. no one can open it. oh dear! bless me!" he bustled out of the room, followed by alan. a search into the interior of the safe resulted in the production of the key. "you see," cried phelps, waving it triumphantly, "it is safe. the door could not have been opened with this. now your key." "my key is in my desk at the abbey farm--locked up also," said the young man hastily. "i'll see about it to-night. in the meantime, sir, bring that key with you, and we will go into the vault." "what for?" demanded the rector sharply. "why should we go there?" "can't you understand?" said alan impatiently. "i want to find out if this letter is true or false--if the body of mr. marlow has been removed." "but i--i--can't!" gasped the rector. "i must apply to the bishop for----" "nonsense, sir! we are not going to exhume the body. it's not like digging up a grave. all that is necessary is to look at the coffin resting in its niche. we can tell from the screws and general appearance if it has been tampered with." the clergyman sat down and wiped his bald head. "i don't like it," he said. "i don't like it at all. still, i don't suppose a look at the coffin can harm any one. we'll go, alan, we'll go; but i must take jarks." "the sexton?" "yes. i want a witness--two witnesses; you are one, jarks the other. it is a gruesome task that we have before us." he shuddered again. "i don't like it. profanation!" "if this letter is to be believed, the profanation has already been committed." "cicero gramp," repeated mr. phelps as they went out. "who is he?" "a fat man--a tramp--a reciter. i saw him at bournemouth. he delivered that letter at the hotel himself; the waiter described him, and as the creature is a perfect falstaff, i recalled his face--i had seen him on the parade. i went at once to see if i could find him, but he was gone." "a fat man," said the rector. "humph! he was at the good samaritan the other night. i'll tell you about him later." the two trudged along in silence and knocked up jarks, the sexton, on the way. they had no difficulty in rousing him. he came down at once with a lantern, and was much surprised to learn the errand of rector and squire. "want to have a look at muster marlow's vault," said he in creaking tones. "well, it ain't a bad night for a visit, i do say. but quiet comp'ny, muster phelps and muster thorold, very quiet. what do ye want to see muster marlow for?" "we want to see if his body is in the vault," said alan. "why, for sure it's there, sir. muster marlow don't go visiting." "i had a letter at bournemouth, jarks, to say the body had been stolen." jarks stared. "it ain't true!" he cried in a voice cracked with passion. "it's casting mud on my 'arning my bread. i've bin sexton here fifty year, man and boy--i never had no corp as was stolen. they all lies comfortable arter my tucking them in. only gabriel's trump will wake 'em." by this time they were round the lady chapel, and within sight of the tomb. phelps, too much agitated to speak, beckoned to jarks to hold up the lantern, which he did, gram bling and muttering the while. "i've buried hundreds of corps," he growled, "and not one of 'em's goed away. what 'ud they go for? i make 'em comfortable, i do." "hold the light steady, jarks," said the rector, whose own hand was just as unsteady. he could hardly get the key into the lock. at last the door was open, and headed by jarks with the lantern, they entered. the cold, earthy smell, the charnel-house feeling shook the nerves of both men. jarks, accustomed as he was to the presence of the dead, hobbled along without showing any emotion other than wrath, and triumphantly swung the lantern towards a niche wherein reposed a coffin. "ain't he there quite comfortable?" wheezed he. "don't i tell you they never goes from here! it's a lovely vault; no corp 'ud need a finer." "wait a bit!" said alan, stepping forward. "turn the light along the top of the coffin, jarks. hullo! the lid's loose!" "an' unscrewed!" gasped the sexton. "he's bin getting out." "unscrewed--loose!" gasped the rector in his turn. the poor man felt deadly sick. "there must be some mistake." "no mistake," said alan, slipping back the lid. "the body has been stolen." "no 't'ain't!" cried jarks, showering the light on the interior of the coffin. "there he is, quiet an'--why," the old man broke off with a cry, "the corp ain't in his winding-sheet!" phelps looked, alan looked. the light shone on the face of the dead. phelps groaned. "merciful god!" he groaned, "it is dr. warrender's body!" chapter v. a nine days' wonder there was sensation enough and to spare in heathton next morning. jarks lost no time in spreading the news. he spent the greater part of the day in the taproom of the good samaritan, accepting tankards of beer and relating details of the discovery. mrs. timber kept him as long as she could; for jarks, possessed of intelligence regarding the loss of mr. marlow's body, attracted customers. these, thirsty for news or drink, or both, flocked like sheep into the inn. "to think that a corp of mine should be gone!" creaked he in his aged voice. "man and boy, i niver heard tell of such things--niver! why muster marlow should go beats me--ay, that it does!" "it doesn't beat me," cried mrs. timber in her most acidulated voice. "i know who took the body." "that you don't!" contradicted jarks incoherently; "fur passon, he don't know, so i don't know as how you'd know, mrs. timber." "it was that fat play-actor out of this very house," snapped the landlady. "and how can you prove that, mrs. timber?" asked the sexton contemptuously. "why, he had no money for a bed, and he had to sleep in the open. i dare say he slept in the churchyard, and stole the body to sell it back again, it being well known as miss sophy's a queen of sheba for riches." "all very well," said slack the schoolmaster; "but if he took away mr. marlow's body, how did he put dr. warrender's in its place? and how could he without the key of the vault?" "no," said the stonemason, "he couldn't get into that there vault without a key. i built him myself, me and my mates. if that fat man put the doctor there, he must have killed him. there's a hole in his heart as you could put your fist in. it's murder!" cried the man, dashing his hand on the table, "sacrilege and murder!" it took a good many tankards of mrs. timber's strong ale to wash down the sinister word "murder." every point of the matter was discussed, but no one could arrive at any decision. slack voiced the general sentiment when he rose to go. "we must wait for the police," said slack. but alan thorold was of the contrary opinion. he did not wish to wait for the police, or to have anything to do with the police. the difficulty was that he could not get the rector to take this view, and the next morning mr. phelps sent the village constable for the inspector at burchester, the big market town twenty miles away across the heath. meantime, at an early hour, alan presented himself at the moat house. he broke the news as gently as he could. both sophy and miss vicky were horrified. "to think of such things taking place in a christian graveyard!" cried the little woman, wringing her hands. "sacrilege and murder! it makes one believe in the existence of atheists and anarchists, and such-like dreadful people--it does, indeed!" contrary to thorold's expectation, sophy proved to be the more composed of the two. she neither wept nor fainted, but, very pale and very still, listened to all that he had to say. when he had finished, she had only one question to ask. "who did it?" she demanded in the calmest voice. "i can't say--i don't know," stammered alan, taken aback by her attitude generally. "we must find out. if your father had enemies--but even an enemy would have had no object in doing this." "what about the man in bournemouth?" "cicero gramp? i intend to go up to london to-morrow and see him. if he can tell the truth, it will be well worth the money he demands." "so i think, alan. can't you go to-day?" he shook his head. "there is so much to do here, sophy. the rector has gone to break the news of her husband's death to mrs. warrender. and he has sent over to burchester for the police. the inspector--blair is his name--will be here at noon. i did not want the police brought into the matter, but mr. phelps insisted." "why did you not want to consult the police?" "i am afraid if this vagabond gets wind that the law has intervened he may give us the slip. however, i shall go up to dixon's rents first thing in the morning, before the case gets into the papers." "do you think this man gramp has anything to do with the murder, and with the removing of poor father's body?" "no, i don't," replied alan promptly. "he would not dare to give evidence if he were. i hear that he was turned out of the good samaritan on the night of the funeral. it is likely enough that he saw the removal of the body, and possibly the murder. naturally, such a creature as that wants to sell his information. he is a blackmailer, this man, but i don't credit him with murder or bodysnatching." "body-snatching!" cried miss vicky, who was dabbing her red eyes with eau-de-cologne. "oh, the terrible word!" "alan," said sophy, after a pause, "do you believe the man who took my father's body killed dr. warrender?" "i do. warrender was out on that night, and might have come across the man carrying away the body, and the murder might have arisen out of that." "how do you know dr. warrender was out?" cross-examined sophy. "mrs. warrender told the rector so. warrender went to see the quiet gentleman, but not finding him in, said that he would return. he never did, and now we know the reason." "why don't you make certain whether he saw the quiet gentleman?" "brown? that's impossible; he also has disappeared." "who was he?" "i don't know," said alan gloomily. "does any one know?" "not to my knowledge. perhaps the police may find out. sophy, what is the matter?" for the girl was clapping her hands and laughing hysterically. "it was brown who took my father's body and killed the doctor!" she cried. "i am certain of it!" "why are you certain?" "i feel it. i can't say why." "but your father did not know this man. i never heard him allude to the quiet gentleman." "i dare say not," returned sophy doggedly; "but if the man had nothing to do with it, why should he disappear? and dr. warrender went to see him. oh! i am sure he is the guilty person. he might be an enemy of father's." "sophia, your father did not know him," put in miss vicky, who was listening open-mouthed to all this. "oh, i am not so sure of that!" cried the girl impatiently. "if he did, joe will know. ring the bell for him." "did joe know the quiet gentleman?" alan asked when he had rung. "i do not think that joseph did," said miss vicky. "he told me that he tried several times to speak to him, but got no reply." "i don't wonder at that," replied the young man dryly; "the man was dumb." "dumb!" echoed the ladies. "didn't you know? ah, well, perhaps not. i didn't know myself until the rector told me last night. yes, he was dumb--that was why the village called him the quiet gentleman. oh, here is joe!" "joe," said sophy, going directly to the point, "have you heard about----" "yes, miss," said joe, interrupting to save her mentioning so painful a subject, "i know, and if i find the swab as did it, i'll kill him." joe said this in a quietly savage way, which made miss vicky shudder. "have you any idea who carried off the body, joe?" "no, sir, i have not--but," added the man grimly, "i'm going to look for him." the old maid shuddered again at the expression in his bloodshot eyes. "'vengeance is mine. i will repay, saith the lord,'" she put in severely. "all werry good," said mr. brill, "but i guess the lord needs an instrument to carry out that text." he spat on his hands and added slowly, "i'm that instrument!" "had my father any enemies that you know of, joe?" "no, miss, not that i knowed of. he had rows, as a man should, had the cap'n, but i don't know any swab as 'ud have stolen his corpse." "and murdered dr. warrender," said alan, who was watching the man. "as you say, sir," replied the sailor calmly, "and murdered dr. warrender. no, i can't rightly call any one to mind." "did you know the quiet gentleman, joe?" "i did not, miss. brown he called hisself--leastways, mrs. marry told me so, for brown had no tongue. i tried to pass the time o' day, meeting him friendly like on the road, but he only put his hand to his mouth and shook his white head. i don't know nothing about him." "do you know a tramp named cicero gramp?" asked alan, after a pause. "well, i did in a way." joe drew his huge hand across his mouth, and seemed to be considering his reply. "in this way, sir. he comed here to the kitchen and put 'em all wrong with his lies. i kicked him out--leastways, i giv 'im something to take 'imself orf." "what did he come here for?" joe clenched his teeth and frowned dreadfully. "i wish i knowed, i'd ha' broken his cocoanut!" said he. "he was a liar, miss, savin' your presence. said 'e knowed your father, the cap'n, which," said joe slowly, "was a d----d lie--beggin' your pardon, miss." "said he knew my father?" echoed sophy anxiously. "what did he know about him?" "nothin'," replied joe firmly. "make your mind easy, miss--nothin'." it seemed to alan as though the old sailor wished to intimate that there really was something in marlow's past which might be known, but that the tramp was ignorant of it. he evidently wanted to reassure the girl, yet alan was well aware that sophy knew practically nothing of her father's life. he resolved to try the effect of a surprise. "joe," said he slowly, "it was this tramp who told me the body had been stolen." joe's hard, shiny hat, which he had been twisting nervously in his hands, fell to the ground. his face was a dark crimson when he stooped to pick it up, and he stammered: "hi, sir! that--that lubber. how did he know?" "that i have to find out. he offers to sell the information for a hundred pounds." joe rubbed his hands and looked ferocious. "what i want to know, sir, is, where is the swab?" "in london. i'm going up to see him to-morrow." "this afternoon," put in sophy sharply. "you are going this afternoon, alan." "certainly, my dear," alan said promptly; "i'll go this afternoon--if the police don't want me." "the police!" gasped joe, shifting nervously from one leg to the other. "yes." alan darted a keen glance at him. "mr. phelps has sent for the police to investigate this murder of dr. warrender." "well, i hope they'll find him, sir," said joe, recovering his stolidity, "for i make no doubt that the swab as killed the doctor carried off the cap'n's body." "so i think, joe, and i am going to london to find out from cicero gramp." "you'll find he'll tell you that the quiet gentleman killed dr. warrender," put in sophy. the old sailor choked, and looked at her with absolute terror. "how do you know that, miss?" he asked. "i only think so. the quiet gentleman has disappeared. probably he killed the doctor, and then took my father's body." "it might be so, miss. if i find him----" joe repeated his former savage declaration, and miss vicky duly shuddered. "then you can't help us in any way, joe?" said alan, eying him thoughtfully. "no, sir, i can't. i don't know who carried off the cap'n, and i don't know who stabbed the doctor. if i did, i'd kill him. when you find him, sir, let me know." after which speech the old sailor again pulled his forelock, scraped his foot, and rolled out of the room. he appeared somewhat relieved to get away. alan did not quite know what to make of joe. the man was so nervous that it seemed as though he knew something and was afraid of committing himself. on the other hand, this sailor was devoted to sophy, and had been in marlow's service for thirty years. it was only reasonable to conclude, therefore, that he would wish her to benefit by any knowledge he might possess. on the whole, alan was perplexed, but he kept it to himself, determining, nevertheless, to keep an eye on joe. when the door was closed, sophy turned to alan. "alan," she said slowly, "i love you dearly, as you know, and i wish to become your wife. but i swear by the memory of my father that until you find out who has done this wicked thing and bring the man to justice, i will not marry you!" "sophy!" cried thorold entreatingly. "i mean what i say," repeated the girl, in a low, fierce voice. "we must avenge my father. when the wretch is caught and hanged, then i'll marry you, alan." "sophia, a marriage under such circumstances----" "miss parsh," cried sophy, turning on the meek old maid, "do you think i can sit down tamely under this insult to the dead? my father's body has been carried off. it must be found again before i marry--before i can think of marriage, alan." "sophy is right," cried thorold, drawing the girl to him and kissing her. "she is right, miss parsh. i swear also that i will devote my life to solving this mystery. your father's body shall be brought back, sophy, and the murderer of dr. warrender shall hang. good-bye, dear. to-day i go to london. the first step towards the discovery of this crime will be to see cicero gramp. he may supply the clue." "yes, yes. bribe him; pay him anything, so long as you get at the truth." alan kissed the girl again, and then left the room. before he started, he intended to see the rector and the local inspector of police. as he stepped out on to the road, he noticed phelps coming along in the hot sunshine. the little parson was puffing and blowing and wiping his forehead. "alan! alan!" he called out in short gasps as he came within speaking distance. "she's gone! she's gone to----" "she! gone! who's gone? where?" "why, mrs. warrender! she's disappeared. oh, dear me; how terrible all this is! whew!" chapter vi. the missing key. so excited was the little parson that alan feared lest he should take a fit. the good samaritan was no great distance away, so thither he led him, into mrs. timber's private parlor. "now, sir," said alan, when his old tutor seemed somewhat more composed, "tell me all about mrs. warrender." but before mr. phelps could reply, the vixenish landlady made her appearance. she was highly honored at seeing the rector within her doors, and curtsied a hint for orders. and, in truth, the little clergyman, undone with excitement, was quite ready to stimulate his jaded nerves. "eh, mrs. timber?" he said. "yes; you might get us a little cognac, i think. old; the best you have, mrs. timber, and a jug of fresh-drawn water from the well, please. alan?" "i'll join you," said young thorold promptly. he, too, felt that he was in nowise beyond reach of a little stimulant. silent for once in her life, mrs. timber brought of her best, which, be it said, was passing good. mr. phelps lost no time in brewing his measure and drank it down with gusto. "that's good, alan, my boy; very good," said he, setting down the tumbler with a sigh of relief. "god forgive me, i fear to think what my good brethren would say did they see their rector in a public-house! though to be sure the good samaritan is a most respectable hostelry. but, alan, why did you bring me here?" "indeed, sir, i feared you would be ill out there in the blazing sun. i did only what i thought wise. but about mrs. warrender--you say she has disappeared?" "eh, yes." mr. phelps wiped his bald head vigorously. "i went to break the news to her after you had gone to see sophy, and i found she had left for london." "london? why london?" "that is just what i wanted to know, my dear alan. it seems she received last night a letter which threw her into a state of great excitement. she was bad enough that way, as it was, the servant said; but this letter, it appears, drove her into a perfect frenzy." "do you know what was in the letter?" "i asked that--oh, trust me, alan, to be precise about details--but the servant said she did not know. mrs. warrender put it in her pocket. that spoke volumes from the servant's point of view. all night long, it appears, she was walking about the room using the most fearful language--god forgive her!--and this morning at eight o'clock she started off to catch the . express at the junction." "and is she coming back?" "that i don't know, my boy." mr. phelps looked round cautiously and lowered his voice to a whisper. "she took her jewels with her." "her jewels?" "yes; she had a quantity of jewelry. she put all the money she could get from her husband into clothes and diamonds--a most extravagant woman, alan. well, she's gone, that's certain, jewels and all. she left no address, and said no word about returning. what do you think of it?" "upon my word, sir, i don't know what to think. the whole place has gone mad, it seems to me; the entire village is topsy-turvy. marlow's body stolen, warrender murdered, and his body placed in poor marlow's coffin; and now here is mrs. warrender cleared out significantly with her jewels; and the quiet gentleman----" "brown, the dumb man? what about him? i know he, too, has vanished; but what else?" "i'm going to tell you, sir. the key of the vault----" "not your key, alan?" "yes, my key, mr. phelps; the quiet gentleman has it!" "god bless me--that is, god forgive me, alan, are you mad too?" "no, sir, not yet; though i admit i'm fairly on the way, with all this. tell me, do you know who this so-called quiet gentleman really is?" "no, alan, i don't. i spoke to him, but found he was dumb. now he too is gone." "yes, with marlow's body on his hands, and warrender's death on his soul!" "you don't mean that! are you sure?" mr. phelps was greatly agitated. "i go only by circumstantial evidence, it is true. you know, of course, the funeral of mr. marlow took place in the morning?" "yes, yes; and at two o'clock you took sophy and miss parsh to bournemouth." "i did. well, about five o'clock, brown--we'll call him that instead of the quiet gentleman, though i don't believe it really is his name--well, about that time brown walked over to abbey farm. he brought a letter purporting to come from me to my housekeeper, mrs. hester." "from you, alan?" "yes, the letter was forged," said alan with emphasis. "it directed mrs. hester to allow brown to remain at the farm until i returned. it was in my handwriting, and signed with my name. she knew nothing about brown, save that he was staying at mrs. marry's, and she thought it somewhat strange he should come to stop at the farm during my absence. but as the instructions in the letter were quite plain, and she knew my handwriting well--that shows how expert the forgery was--she gave brown the run of the place. in the meantime she wrote to me at bournemouth asking me if all was right, and inclosed the forged letter. here it is!" as he saw the handwriting, mr. phelps started. "upon my word, alan, i don't wonder mrs. hester was deceived, especially when you consider her sight is not good! why, i myself with my eyes should certainly take it for yours." (mr. phelps wore pince-nez, but nevertheless resented any aspersion on his optical powers.) "but why on earth didn't she telegraph to you?" "well, you know how old-fashioned and conservative she is, sir. she makes out through the scriptures--how, i cannot tell you--that the telegraph is a sinful institution. therefore it is not to be wondered at that she trusted to the post. i got her letter only this morn as, of course, it followed me on from bournemouth. nevertheless, i knew about the loss of the key last night." "ah! the loss of the key. yes, go alan." "very well. brown, being allowed to remain in my house, proceeded to make him quite at home in the library. mrs. hester writing her letter--no easy task for her--took no further heed of him. he was in the room for quite an hour, and amused himself, appears, in breaking open my desk. having forced several of the drawers, he found at last the one he wanted--the one containing the key of the vault. then he made all things beautifully smooth, so that mrs. hester should not see they had been tampered with, and leaving a message that he would return to dinner, went out ostensibly for a walk. he returned, appears, to his lodging, and left there again about nine o'clock in the evening. since then nothing has been seen or heard of him." "god bless me, alan! are you sure he has the key?" "positive. i looked in my desk last night and it was not there. but everything was done so nicely that i am strongly of the opinion that mr. brown has served his apprenticeship as a cracksman, and that under a pretty good master too. no one but he could have stolen that key. besides, the forged letter shows plainly that he came to the farm with no honest intentions. but what i can't understand," continued alan, biting his mustache, "is how the man came to know where the key was." "extraordinary--yes, that is extraordinary. undoubtedly he it was who stole the body and gained access to the vault with your key. but the murder of dr. warrender----" "he committed that too; i am convinced of it. warrender called to see him, found he was out, and i have no doubt followed him. he probably saw brown remove the body, and of course interfered, upon which the villain made short work of him. that is my theory, sir." "and a very sound one, too, in many respects," said the rector. "but brown could not have removed the body alone. he must have had an accomplice." "true; and it is for that very reason i am going to town this afternoon. cicero gramp may be able to supply some information on that point. it is quite possible he slept in the churchyard and saw the whole business--murder and all." "alan! alan!" cried mr. phelps, horrified. "do you believe this murder was committed on the sacred soil of the churchyard, in god's own acre, alan? no one, surely, could be so vile!" "i do, sir; and at the door of the vault. brown, as you say yourself, cleverly concealed the body in marlow's coffin. he had no time to screw it down again, apparently. he must have had a pretty tough job to cut through that lead. he had to trust to chance, of course, that the vault would not be visited until he had got a safe distance away with his booty. and, indeed, but for gramp's letter, no one would ever have thought of going there. in fact, this brown is a most ingenious and dangerous criminal." "he is; indeed he is. but what could he possibly want the body for?" "ha! that's just it! i fancy this is a case of blackmail. if you remember, a millionaire's body was stolen in america some few years ago, and only restored to the family on payment by them of a very large sum of money." "oh, that is what you think he is after?" "yes, i do. it is highly probable, i think, that in a few weeks, or perhaps even in less time, we shall receive a letter demanding some thousands for the return of the body." "but surely the police----" "oh, mr. brown will look after all that. you may depend upon it he'll make himself quite safe before he goes that far. so talented a gentleman as he would not be likely to omit all necessary precautions of that kind." "humph!" muttered mr. phelps, considering, "and of mrs. warrender's suspicious flight, what think you?" "i confess i don't know quite what to make of that. i have no great opinion of her as a woman; still, i should hardly credit her with being in league with this ruffian." "no, indeed; for that, she must needs be the worst of women," said mr. phelps with warmth. "why, alan, poor warrender was simply crazy about her. he worked day and night to provide her with the finery she craved for. besides, she seemed really fond of him." "who was she?" asked alan bluntly. "well, i shouldn't like to say it to every one, alan, but mrs. warrender had been an actress." "an actress! under what name?" "that i cannot tell you. i called there one day and i heard her reciting shakespeare. her elocution seemed to me so fine that i complimented her upon it. then she told me that she had been on the stage, and had retired when she married warrender." "that's very strange! i always thought she had somewhat of a professional manner about her." "and her hair, alan! _flava coma_--yellow hair; not that i mean, for one moment, she was what the romans referred to by these words. well, my boy, what is to be done now?" "i am going up to london in an hour's time." alan glanced at his watch while speaking. "but you'll miss seeing blair, the inspector," remonstrated mr. phelps. "i'll see him when i return: you can explain the case as well as i, sir. i shall bring gramp back with me if i can manage it." "and mrs. warrender--shall i tell blair about her?" "i fear you must. but let him be circumspect. it is not necessary to take any steps against her until we are tolerably sure of the reason for her sudden flight. when do they hold the inquest on warrender?" "to-morrow." "well, i'll be back to-night and tell you what i've done." and alan rose to go. "one moment, my dear boy. what about sophy?" "i've seen her, and, of course, i was judicious in what i told her. she knows nothing about the loss of the key and my suspicions of brown, although, funnily enough, she herself suspects him." "bless me! on what grounds can she do that?" "oh, on the purely feminine grounds that she suspects him. she declares she will not marry me until her father's body is discovered." "very right; very proper. i quite agree with her. you should start your married life with an absolutely clean sheet, alan." the young man nodded, and as he left the inn he delivered himself of one warning. "whatever you do, keep your eye on joe brill," he said significantly. "why--why? what for?" "because i fancy he knows a good deal more than he is inclined to tell," replied alan. then, without further comment, he drove off, leaving the rector considerably bewildered at this abrupt interpolation of a fresh name into the persons of the drama. meanwhile, alan caught his train, and in due time, or a very fair approach to it, arrived in london. he took a hasty lunch at waterloo, and drove to westminster bridge. here he dismissed his cab, and set about inquiring for dixon's rents. the slum--its name was highly suggestive of its being such--appeared to be well known. the first constable he asked was both familiar with and communicative about it. "it's within easy distance of lambeth palace, sir," he said. "a bit rough by night, but you'll be all right there in the daytime. ask any constable near by the palace, sir, and he'll put you right. thank you, sir." alan left the officer of the law well pleased with his unlooked-for half-crown, and walked on towards the palace. the second constable could not leave his beat, but the bestowal of another half-crown elicited from him the practical suggestion that a certain young shoeblack of repute should act as guide. the shoeblack was quite near at hand, and very shortly was enrolled as guide for the occasion. together he and alan started off, leaving the constable well content, though withal a trifle mystified, not to say curious. the shoeblack led the way, and alan followed closely. they turned away from the river into a mass of houses, where the streets became more and more squalid, and the population more and more ragged and unkempt. at length, after many twistings and turnings, they arrived at the entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac, and he was informed that this was his destination. he rewarded and dismissed the shoeblack, and proceeded down the dirty lane. almost the first person he saw was a tall woman standing at the entrance of the court, closely veiled. she seemed to be hesitating whether she would come on or not. then, suddenly, she threw up her veil. as she did so alan uttered an exclamation of surprise. it was mrs. warrender! chapter vii. in dixon's rents. at the sound of alan's voice mrs. warrender started like a guilty thing. he was astonished beyond measure at finding her in the same unsavory neighborhood as himself, bound, for all he knew, on the same errand. at all events, it was surely more than a coincidence that she should be on the threshold of gramp's dwelling, so to speak. "mrs. warrender," he said, gravely lifting his hat, "this is indeed a surprise. of course, you know what has happened at heathton?" "i know all," answered the woman, in a rich, low voice. "jarks, the sexton, told my servant this morning what has happened to poor julian, and that his body has been found in the marlow vault." "are you sure you did not know of it last night?" asked alan quietly. "mr. thorold!" the color rushed to her face. "i mean that the letter which disturbed you so much might have hinted at the murder." "a letter? how do you know i got a letter last night?" "the rector called to break the news to you this morning, and your servant told him that you already knew it; also that you had left for london--with your jewels, mrs. warrender," added alan significantly. "and you followed me!" cried the woman savagely. "do you intend to accuse me of my husband's murder?" "i certainly do not; and i did not follow you. i am here on the same errand as yourself." she looked terrified. "how do you know what my errand is?" "because i can put two and two together, mrs. warrender. i also received a letter--at least, miss marlow did, and from the same man--the man who lives here." "cicero gramp?" "that is the name. you see, i was right. does he intend to blackmail you also, and did you bring your jewels to satisfy his demands?" she looked down the court. they were comparatively alone. a few ragged children were playing about, and some slatternly women were watching them from doorways. a man or two, brutalized by drink, hovered in the distance. but a smart constable, who passed and repassed the entrance of the cul-de-sac, casting inquisitive glances at alan and his companion, kept these birds of prey from any nearer approach. finding that they were out of earshot, mrs. warrender produced a letter and handed it to alan. it was written on the same thick, creamy paper, and in the same elegant handwriting as had been the communication to sophy. he read it in silence. as he had expected, it informed mrs. warrender that her husband was dead, and that cicero gramp, on payment of two hundred pounds, could inform her where the body could be found. his price had evidently gone up. but what struck alan most was the nature of the information now offered. cicero declared that he could tell the widow where her husband's body was to be found. the body had already been discovered in the marlow vault. ergo, cicero gramp knew it was there. if so, had he seen the murder committed and the body taken into the vault? it seemed probable. indeed, it seemed likely that he could solve the whole mystery; but, strangely enough, the prospect did not seem to afford mr. thorold much satisfaction. he handed back the letter with a dissatisfied smile. "i think you have wasted your time coming up," he said. "jarks, no doubt, told your servant that the doctor's body had already been discovered. why, then, come up to pay blackmail?" "i want to find out who killed julian," she said. "then you are on your way to see this man?" "yes." she shuddered. "but this terrible place. i am afraid." "then why come here? i am going to see mr. gramp on miss marlow's behalf. if you like, i will represent you also." "no, thank you; i must see him myself." "very well. i suppose you are not staying in town?" "yes, at the norfolk hotel. i shall remain until to-morrow, so as to sell my jewels and bribe this man." "there will be no need to sell your jewels," said alan soothingly. "i will be responsible for the blackmail. have you the jewels with you?" "no, i dared not bring them. he might have robbed me. they are in my bedroom at the hotel." "then go back at once and look after them. i will bring this man there in, let us say, an hour." "thank you, mr. thorold," she said. "i accept your offer. i am really afraid to go down that slum." he gazed after her fine figure as she walked hurriedly away. somehow that haughty air and resolute gait did not fit in well with her expression of fear. it was curious. he felt there was something strange about mrs. warrender. however, she had been open enough with him, so he did not choose to think badly of her. the man he sought was not easy to find. mr. cramp had his own reasons for keeping clear of the police. the whole alley was known by the name of dixon's rents, and thorold had no idea in which of the houses to ask for him. he questioned a stunted street arab with wolfish eyes, emphasizing his request with a sixpence. "oh, cicero!" yelped the lad, biting the coin. "yuss, he's round about. dunno! y'ain't a 'tec?" "what's that?" "a de-tec-tive," drawled the boy. "cicero ain't wanted, is he?" "not by me. is cicero generally--er--wanted?" inquired alan delicately. the urchin closed one eye rapidly, and grinned with many teeth. but, instead of replying he took to shouting hoarsely for "mother ginger." the surrounding population popped out of their burrows like so many rabbits, and for the next few minutes "mother ginger" was asked for vigorously. alan looked round at the ragged, blear-eyed slum-dwellers, but could see nothing of the lady in question. suddenly his arm was twitched, and he turned to find a dwarf no higher than his waist trying to attract his attention. mother ginger, for it was she, had a huge head of red hair, fantastically decked with ribbons of many colors. her dress, too, was rainbow-hued, like joseph's coat. she had carpet slippers on her huge feet, and white woolen gloves on her large hands. her face was as large as a frying-pan and of a pallid hue, with expressionless blue eyes and a big mouth. alan saw in her a female quasimodo. "wot is it?" she inquired. evidently mother ginger was vain of her finery and of the attention she attracted. "is it mr. gramp you want, m'dimber-cove?" "yes. can you take me to him?" asked thorold, wincing at the penny-whistle quality of her voice. "is he at home?" "p'r'aps he is, p'r'aps he ain't," retorted mother ginger, with a fascinating leer. "wot d'ye want with him?" "this will explain." and alan put cicero's letter into her hand. "give him that." she nodded, croaked like a bull-frog, and vanished amongst the crowd. mr. thorold found himself the center of attraction and the object of remark. this somewhat unpleasant position was put an end to by the appearance of mother ginger, who clawed alan, and drew him into a house at the end of the court. the tatterdemalions gave a yell of disappointment at the escape of their prey, and their prey congratulated himself that he had not made his visit at night. he felt that he might have fared badly in this modern court of miracles. however, it appeared that he was safe under the protection of mother ginger. with the activity of a monkey, she conducted him up a dirty staircase and into a bare room furnished with a bed, a chair, and a table. here alan was greeted by a bulky creature in a gorgeous red dressing-gown, old and greasy, but still pretentious. he had no difficulty in recognizing the man whom he had seen reciting on the parade at bournemouth. "i welcome you, mr. thorold," said cicero in his best turveydrop style. "mother ginger, depart." to get rid of the woman, mr. thorold placed a shilling in her concave claw, upon which she executed a kind of war-dance, and vanished with a yelp of delight. left alone with the pompous vagabond, the young man took the only chair, and faced his host, who was sitting majestically on the bed, his red dressing-gown wrapped round him in regal style. "so you are cicero gramp?" began alan. "i have seen you----" "at bournemouth," interrupted the professor of elocution and eloquence. "true, i was there for the benefit of my health." "and to blackmail miss marlow." "blackmail--a painful word, mr. thorold." "how do you know my name?" "it is part of my business to know all names," was the answer--"_ex nihilo nihil fit_, if you understand the tongue of my namesake. if i did not know what i desire to know, my income would be small indeed. i visited the salubrious village of heathton, and learned there that miss marlow and mr. thorold, to whom she was engaged, were recreating themselves at the seaside with an inferior companion. bournemouth was the seaside, and i went there. on seeing a young lady with a spinster and a gentleman in attendance, i noted miss marlow, mr. thorold, and miss parsh." "and made yourself scarce?" "i did," admitted cicero frankly. "i departed as soon as you were out of sight, knowing that my letter would be delivered, and that you might call in the police." "ah, a guilty conscience!" "far from it." cicero flung open his dressing-gown and struck his chest. "here purity and innocence and peace are enthroned. i did not wish to be taken by the minions of the law, lest they should wrest from me for nothing what i should prefer to sell for a few pounds. besides, i wished to see you in my own house. a poor establishment," said mr. gramp, looking round the meager room, "but mine own." he bowed gracefully, as if for applause. "come, mr. gramp," said alan diplomatically, "let us get to business. what do you know about this matter?" "about the hundred pounds?" asked the man with an appearance of great simplicity. "i'll pay you that, more or less, when i know what your information is worth." "more or less won't do, mr. thorold. i want, from miss marlow or from you, one hundred pounds." "i know, and two hundred from mrs. warrender." "ah!"--cicero did not move a muscle--"she has told you that i can give you information about the body of her husband?" "yes, and she has come to town to see you. however, i have intercepted her, and she is waiting to see you in a place i know of. you must come with me, mr. gramp." but cicero shook his head uneasily. "an englishman's house is his castle," he said. "this is my house, my keep, my donjon. _quod erat demonstrandum!_" "oh, confound your dictionary latin!" cried alan impatiently. "you are afraid of the police?" "far from it, mr. thorold. i have nothing to fear from them. for one hundred pounds i lay bare my heart." "i'll give you fifty pounds on condition you tell me all you know. from mrs. warrender you won't receive a penny." "then she shall never know where lies the body of her late lamented partner." "she knows that already," said alan coolly. "ha!"--cicero gave a dramatic start--"you seek to deceive me!" "indeed, i do nothing of the sort; i found the body myself." "where, may i ask?" said gramp, his thoughts going back to the hut on the heath. "in the marlow vault, in the coffin of the dead man who was carried away." cicero's jaw fell. he was truly surprised. "how the devil did it get there from the hut?" he said. "the hut--what hut?" "i want my money before i tell you that, mr. thorold." alan took five ten-pound notes out of his pocket. "here is fifty pounds," he said; "it will be yours if you tell me all you know, and come with me to see mrs. warrender." "aha!" cicero's eyes glittered, and his fingers longed to clutch the money. such wealth had not been his for many a long day. "and the police?" "i thought you did not fear them?" was the reply. "i don't, for i have done nothing to put myself in the power of the law. but i am afraid, as this body has been found, that you will have me arrested, and so i shall lose the money." "if you are innocent of the murder and the sacrilege, you won't be arrested, gramp. and the money i will give you after we have seen mrs. warrender." "on your word of honor as a gentleman?" "yes, on my word of honor. if you can throw light on this mystery, and bring home these crimes to the person who has committed them, i am quite willing to pay you." "i don't know about bringing home the crimes, mr. thorold," said cicero, rising, "but i will tell you all i know in the presence of mrs. warrender. permit me to assume my visiting garb. where is the lady?" "at the norfolk hotel." "i know it. many a glass which cheers have i drained there. _dulce desipere in loco_. you don't know horace, perhaps?" "i suspect you don't," said alan, annoyed by this hedge-latin. "hurry up!" "fifty pounds, mr. thorold." "after our interview with mrs. warrender," amended the other significantly. "command my services," said cicero, and rapidly put on his frock-coat, battered hat and gloves. after he had brushed his greasy broadcloth, and dusted his large boots with the red bandana, he announced that he was ready. the oddly-assorted pair proceeded to the norfolk hotel through the lambeth slums. cicero seemed to be very well known and very popular. he exchanged greetings with shady acquaintances, patted ragged children on the head, and arrived at the hotel swelling with pride. he felt that he had shown alan he was a man of consequence. arrived at their destination, they were shown by a slipshod waiter into a shabby sitting-room on the first floor where they found mrs. warrender. she rose, and on seeing cicero, gave a shriek of surprise. "bill!" she cried with a gasp. "clara maria!" exclaimed the so-called cicero, "my beloved sister! what a surprise!" chapter viii. an important interview "well, i never!" gasped the widow, who, womanlike, was the first to find her tongue. "is it really you, billy?--but i might have guessed it, from your writing. yet it never entered my head!" she stopped and grew suddenly furious. "my husband, you wretch!--have you killed him?" "no, clara maria, no! i came here to give information about his poor body. i did not expect to find my sister--the celebrated miss de crespigny--in the person of mrs. warrender!" "what is all this about?" demanded alan quietly. "is this your brother, mrs. warrender?" "to my shame, sir, i confess this--this creature"--mrs. warrender brought out the word with a hiss--"this degraded beast, is my brother." "oh, clara maria, how can you----" "hold your tongue!" interrupted the lady angrily. "you were always a drunkard and a scoundrel! now you've come to blackmailing! two hundred pounds from me, you wretch! not one sixpence!" "i have already," said her brother majestically, "arranged pecuniary matters with my friend mr. thorold. but i wonder at you, clara maria, i really do, considering how we parted. is this the greeting of flesh and blood?" cried mr. gramp in a soaring voice, and standing on tiptoe. "is this what human nature is made of? the late sir isaac newton was a prophet indeed when he made that remark." "mountebank!" hissed mrs. warrender, curling her handsome lip. "we were both mountebanks at one time, mr. thorold," he said, turning to alan, who, in spite of his anxiety, was watching the scene with unconcealed amusement. "my sister was the celebrated miss de crespigny; i, the once noted actor, vavasour belgrave----" "and his real name is billy spinks!" put in mrs. warrender scornfully. "william spinks," corrected mr. gramp, as it may be convenient to call him. "billy is merely an endearing term to which, alas! your lips have long been strangers. but you needn't talk," said cicero, becoming angry, and therewith a trifle vulgar; "your name is clara maria spinks!" "and a very good name, too," retorted the lady. "cut the scene short, billy." "that is my advice also," put in alan, who was growing weary. "i do not want to know any more about your relationship. that you are brother and sister is nothing to me." "i hope, mr. thorold, that you won't reveal my degraded connection in heathton," cried mrs. warrender, much agitated. "it would ruin me. with great difficulty i attained a position by marrying my poor dear julian, and i don't want to fall back into the mud where this worm writhes." she darted a vicious glance at cicero. "be content, mrs. warrender; your secret is safe with me." "denying her own flesh and blood!" moaned gramp, and sat down. speech and attitude were most effective, and mrs. warrender, with a spark of her old theatrical humor, played back. "yes, i deny you," she cried, rising quickly and stretching out a denunciatory hand. "you were always a brute and a disgrace to me. look at that creature, mr. thorold! he is my brother. our parents were on the stage--barnstormers they were--and played in the provinces for bite and sup. they put us on the stage, and when thy died, left a little money to billy there. he was to bring me up. how did he fulfil his trust? by making me work for him. as an actor, even in the meanest parts, he was a failure. i am not much of an actress myself, although i was well known as miss de crespigny, and billed all over london. it was my figure and my looks that did it. i appeared in burlesque ten or twelve years ago, and i had wealth at my feet." "i have heard of you," said alan, recalling his college days and certain photographs of the most beautiful burlesque actress in london. he wondered he had not recognized her long before. mrs. warrender, shaking with passion, went on as though she had not heard him. "wealth was at my feet," went on the widow--"wealth and dishonor. he," she cried, and pointed the finger of scorn at the unabashed cicero, "he lived on me! he would have me stoop to dishonor for his sake! then i lost my voice. the creature treated me basely. i left him; i ran away to the states of america, and appeared in ballets for my looks alone. in new orleans i met julian warrender--he was old, but he was madly in love with me--and i married him for a home. we came to england five years ago, and settled at heathton. i always did my best to be a good wife, although i dare say i was extravagant. diamonds! yes, i have diamonds, and i made julian buy me all he could. and why?--to provide against the days of poverty which i knew would come. they have come--my husband is dead. god help me!" her voice rose to a scream. "murdered!" she cried. "this," interpolated gramp, addressing no one in particular, "is very painful." "you beast! why do you come into my life again? i wanted to know about my poor husband's death, and i brought up my jewels to bribe the man who called himself cicero gramp into confessing who had murdered him. i find that my own brother is the blackmailer. you would extort money from me, you wretch! never! never! never! i disown you--i cast you out! william spinks, blackguard you were! cicero gramp, scoundrel, thief, blackmailer, and, for all i know, murderer, you are! away with you--away!" and mrs. warrender, very white in face and very exhausted in body, sat down. "very good," said her brother, rising; "i go." "without your fifty pounds?" asked alan, sneering. "i forgot that," he said, smiling blandly. "don't give him a penny, mr. thorold!" cried the woman with vehemence. "i promised him the money, and he shall have it," replied alan coldly. "i have heard your story, mrs. warrender, and it is safe with me. no one in heathton shall know. your brother will not speak of it either." "how do you know that?" asked cicero, with an evil look. "because you shall not have the fifty pounds until i have your promise to hold your tongue about your relationship to mrs. warrender while you are in heathton." "i am not going to heathton," growled gramp like a sulky bear. "yes, you are. you are coming to tell your story to inspector blair. if you don't, not only will you lose your fifty pounds, but i will have you arrested as a suspicious character." "you promised that the police should not touch me." "i promised nothing of the sort. now, tell me what you saw of these crimes--for there are two: sacrilege and murder--and then come to heathton. behave well, keep mrs. warrender's secret, and you shall have fifty pounds and your freedom. otherwise----" alan held up his finger. "oh, mr. thorold!" cried the widow, wringing her hands, "if this horrible man comes to heathton, i am lost!" "indeed no! he will hold his tongue. won't you?" "you seem very sure of it," said the professor of eloquence. "of course i am. you see, mr. gramp, i have the handling of the late mr. marlow's money, and i can buy your silence." "not for fifty pounds." "we shall see about that. it's either fifty pounds or the police. choose!" cicero folded his arms, and bowed his head. "i will take the money," he said, "and i will hold my tongue--while i am at heathton giving my evidence. afterwards----" he looked at his sister. "afterwards," said alan smoothly, "we will make other arrangements. now tell your story." "and tell the truth!" put in mrs. warrender sharply. "clara maria!" cicero was about to break forth in furious speech, but he restrained himself. "_hodie mihi eras tibi!_" said mr. gramp, with a strange look at alan--"if you understand latin." "i think i am able to follow you, my friend. you mean 'to-day to me, to-morrow to thee,' which would be all right if it was i who quoted the saying. but this time it is not your day, and as to your to-morrow, it may never come." "we shall see about that," said cicero savagely and pointedly. alan felt an unpleasant thrill run through him, for the man's look was evil beyond telling. but he betrayed nothing of this, and signed to gramp to continue. quite understanding the position, cicero reverted to his grand theatrical manner. he rose from his chair, rested one hand on the back of it, and thrust the other into his breast. as from a rostrum he delivered his speech, and dwelt upon his own words with the gusto of a modern micawber. "mr. thorold and clara maria," he began in deep tones, "a few days ago circumstances connected with money turned me weary and hungry from the seaport of southampton. i went--let us be plain--i went on the tramp, and in the course of my peregrinations i drew near heathton, a salubrious village, notorious at the present moment for the crimes which have been committed there. i spun a coin, my only sixpence, to decide if an intrusion into that village would bring me good or evil fortune. the coin said good, so to heathton i went. as i shall shortly pocket fifty quid--a vulgar term, but eloquent, clara maria, so don't frown--i dare not say that my only sixpence told me a lie. that sixpence bought me a meal in the heathton public-house. where is that meal or sixpence now? _eheu! fuit ilium._" "go on," said alan curtly, for the orator paused. "at the good samaritan i heard much about mr. marlow and the funeral, and learned a few facts which were of use to me afterwards." "when you thrust yourself into the kitchen at the moat house, i presume?" "you are correct, mr. thorold. i did good business there; and i learned, from the irresponsible chatter of the domestics, a few other facts which may also prove valuable." he looked directly at alan as he said this. "go on! go on!" said thorold again. but he felt uneasy. "i was turned out of the good samaritan by a hard-hearted landlady called--appropriately, i confess--mrs. timber. as the night was fine, i slept in the churchyard, opposite the tomb of mr. marlow. soon after midnight i was awakened by voices. i looked out, and saw two men, one tall, the other short." "who were they?" alan asked anxiously. "one i knew later; the other one i am still in doubt about, as i did not see his face." "but the names?" "you shall hear the names, clara maria, when i am ready, not before. these men went into the tomb, remained there for some time, and came out with the body. they lifted it over the low wall of the churchyard, and went, i think, across the moor." "you followed?" cried alan breathlessly. "no. i was afraid i might get into trouble, so i ran in the opposite direction. i slept the rest of the night in a hayrick far from the churchyard. next day i sought the moat house kitchen, and listened to the talk of the servants. then i went away with the idea of seeing miss marlow at bournemouth, as the servants said she was there with mr. thorold. on the moor i saw a hut. i went into it to eat a frugal meal. in it i found"--cicero paused to give his words due effect--"a corpse." "whose corpse?" "that of the man who had assisted to steal the body, clara maria. your husband, dr. warrender!" "you liar!" shrieked the widow, making a bound at him. "oh, you liar!" alan flung himself between these affectionate relatives, or it might have fared badly with cicero. "hold hard, mrs. warrender!" he said, holding her back; "let us listen." "listen to his lies! do you hear that he says my husband stole mr. marlow's body?" "so he did," said cicero doggedly. "i'm telling you what i shall tell to the police. the tall man was dr. warrender. i saw his face in the lantern-light. who the short man was i do not know." "how did you recognize dr. warrender?" demanded alan, when mrs. warrender had sat down again. "i didn't know him at the time; but i had his description from the servants." "tall, yellow beard, bald head?" said thorold rapidly. "yes, that was the man who assisted to remove the body, and that is the description of the corpse i found in the hut." "my husband's body was found in the vault, you liar!" cried the widow. "was it, clara maria? well, all i can say is i don't know how it got there. i left it in the hut myself." "why did you not give information to the police?" "what! and get locked up on suspicion of murder? no, thank you, mr. thorold. i ran away from that corpse as i would have done from the devil." "whose child you are," said his sister bitterly. "don't miscall your own father, clara maria. well, sir, i went on to bournemouth, and wrote two letters, one to miss marlow, and one to my sister, although i did not know she was my sister then. had i known i had a relative in heathton," said cicero with pathos, "i should have asked for a bed." "and your sister, billy spinks, would have set the dogs on you." "i am sure you would, clara maria. you were always one for sentimental scenes." "tell me, gramp, is this all you know of these crimes?" put in alan. "all, mr. thorold. i think, sir, it is worth fifty pounds." "humph! we'll see what the police say. you have no objection, i suppose, to come with me to heathton and repeat this story?" "having a clear conscience," said cicero, with a superior smile, "i can safely say that i have not. but the fifty, mr. thorold?" "will be paid after you have told blair this story." "if you are so poor," put in mrs. warrender, "where did you get money to buy that writing-paper? it was costly paper." "it was," admitted mr. gramp with pride--"it was, clara maria. i always do things in style. if you remember, i got a prize at school for letter-writing." "where did you get the money?" "from a nautical man called joe brill--a sovereign." "a sovereign from joe brill?" cried alan, starting. "why?" "ah! you may ask," said cicero. "in my opinion it was hush-money." "hush-money! what do you mean, man?" "mean! i mean that i believe joe brill was the short man i saw that night. yes, mr. thorold, joe stole the corpse, and joe killed foully, with a knife, my respected brother-in-law. _hinc illæ lachrymæ!_" chapter ix. investigation whilst alan thorold was dealing with cicero and his sister in london, inspector blair was co-operating with the rector in obtaining evidence relating to the murder. the inspector was a dry, dour, silent man, born in england, but of scotch descent. he was cautious to a fault, and never expressed an opinion without having well considered what he was going to say. it was now a common sight in heathton for his long, lean figure and the rector's short, plump one to be seen constantly together. he was now in the rectory dining-room with a good glass of port beside him, and mr. phelps, standing on the hearthrug, was supplying him with all the details he had collected in connection with the mystery. the case was getting so much more interesting than blair, the sad and silent, had expected that he was becoming, for him, quite vivacious. he asked the rector one question after another. "mr. thorold has gone to dixon's rents, sir?" "yes, mr. inspector; i expect he'll have some news for us when he returns to-night." "he seems a clever young gentleman," blair said musingly. "i dare say he will bring this man gramp with him." "do you think that gramp can point out the guilty person?" "that, sir, i am not prepared to say offhand. if convenient, i should like to take a look round." "certainly. where shall we go, mr. inspector?" and mr. phelps rose briskly. "to the vault, if you please, sir. afterwards we will call on mrs. marry." the rector paused at the door. "i told you all mrs. marry had to say about brown." "quite so, sir. but i wish to have a look at the rooms occupied by the man. also, i think it would be as well to examine his luggage." "can you do that without a warrant?" "i'll take the risk," said blair coolly. "an examination may not be quite legal under the circumstances, but as brown undoubtedly procured the key of the vault by that forged letter, i am entitled to look upon him as a suspicious character. should he come back, sir--of which i have my doubts--i can account for my action." "humph! i think you are right. come, then, and look at the vault." to the vault they went, and found jarks showing the outside of it to a crowd of morbid sightseers. indeed, the tragedy had drawn people from far and near to heathton, and the usually quiet place buzzed like a hive. mrs. timber was making her fortune, and blessed the day she had turned cicero the tramp out of her house. to him alone did mrs. timber ascribe the theft of the body. as to his connection with the murder of dr. warrender, she was not so certain. "come, come!" cried mr. phelps, in his fussy manner, on finding jarks haranguing the crowd. "this is most ridiculous--most out of place. jarks, i am astonished at your desecrating the graveyard in this way." "no desecration, reverend sir," said jarks, in his rusty voice, "i wos only showing 'em where i laid muster marlow by, comfortable. go----" "go away--go away, all of you!" "come on to the right!" shouted jarks. "i'll show 'ee where a soocide as they brought in crazy is tucked away. a lovely grave with a good view, an' as nice a stone as i iver seed. in my young days he'd have been buried in cross-roads with a stake, but they do trate 'em kindly nowadays. ah yis. this way to the soocide, neighbors!" and jarks headed the crowd to the other side of the graveyard. the keen, cold eye of inspector blair cleared them out more quickly than jarks' invitation. "dear me! most indiscreet of jarks!" said the rector, opening the door of the vault. "come in, mr. inspector. here's a candle. tut, tut! i've burnt my fingers. deuce take---- hum--god forgive me for bad language! this is the niche, mr. inspector; yonder the coffin--a very handsome one. the lead is cut, you perceive. ah, poor soul! and we meant it to last till the great day." while the rector ran on in this fashion, blair the silent examined the empty coffin. he noted that the lead casing had been cut with a sharp instrument, and very neatly done--so neatly that the inspector became thoughtful. "that wasn't done by a man in a hurry," he mused. but he said nothing, and merely turned to mr. phelps with a question: "who screwed down the coffin?" "who?--bless me, let me think! yes, yes. dr. warrender--poor soul!--and joe brill. faithful fellow, joe! would see the last of his master." "wasn't the undertaker present?" "crank? well, yes, he was. but i am sorry to say, mr. inspector"--here the face of the rector became severe--"that on that day crank was intoxicated." "h'm! who made him drunk?" "himself, i suppose," rejoined mr. phelps, a trifle tartly. "crank requires no one to tempt him." "few men do, sir," said blair, and again examined the coffin. he passed his long, delicate hand over every inch of it, particularly fingering the lid; then he looked round the niche where it rested, peered into the others, and considered well all that he saw, while mr. phelps chattered. "quite so," said the detective at length; "let us go outside." he examined the graveyard as carefully as he had done the vault. in the angle formed by the lady chapel he found the long grass crushed down, and part of it torn up to make a pillow. "humph! a squatting-place," said blair, who had read a good deal about prehistoric man. "a tramp has been sleeping here." "a tramp!" repeated the rector. "of course that was cicero gramp, who wrote the letter." "no doubt. i dare say he saw the whole business." blair continued his researches, and came to a halt at the wall which divided church-yard from pine-wood. he pointed to a loose stone which had been knocked off. "did you observe this before, sir?" "no," replied mr. phelps, raising his pince-nez. "but that's nothing. you see, the wall has been put together without mortar--simply stones piled one on top of the other. a high wind, now----" "i don't think a high wind knocked this stone off. you will notice, sir, that it has fallen on the other side. excuse me," and blair, active as a deer, leaped over the wall and disappeared into the pine-belt. phelps rubbed his nose, not understanding these red indian methods. in ten minutes the inspector returned. "i can't find the trail," said he, "but from the evidence of that wall, i suspect the body was carried over it." "where to, mr. inspector?" "probably to a cart waiting on the highroad, which runs across the moor. but, of course, i'm in the dark as to that. let me see the keyhole of the vault-door." he went back and had a good look at it. there were no scratches to be seen. "humph!" said the inspector; "this was opened quietly enough, and by a man who knew what he was about. there was no hurry or fumbling in putting in the key." "ah!" said the rector, looking wise. "what key? not this one?" "no, mr. phelps, i don't suspect you. probably the key was that stolen from mr. thorold's desk by the quiet gentleman." "you speak as though you were not quite sure." "there might have been a third key," blair said cautiously. "if so, why should brown have stolen thorold's key?" "that's one of the things i have to find out. let us call on mrs. marry." mrs. marry was a voluble, buxom woman, with rosy cheeks, and a great amount of curiosity as to matters which did not concern her. but, clever as she was, it seemed that she had nothing to tell about mr. brown. with many curtsies and much talk she conducted rector and inspector into a gimcrack parlor full of gaudy furniture, berlin wool mats, antimacassars, and wax flowers. "when jeremiah died," explained the widow with pride, "i spent the nest-egg he left me on that elegant set of chairs and sofa, also on the curtains, table, and glass lusters, which are considered very fine. it was my intent, gentlemen, as a lone widder, to take in single gentlemen, and they likes something to tickle the eye." "a most inviting room, mrs. marry," said the rector, perching himself carefully on a fragile chair, all varnish and design, but entirely wanting in solidity; "but mr. brown----" "ah, sir, he's gone where we must all go;" and mrs. marry wiped away an imaginary tear. but her remark called forth a question from blair, who had been making a close examination of the room: "how do you know he is dead?" "bless the man! wouldn't he be back if he wasn't? i'm sure he was comfortable enough, and my cooking is above blame, thank heaven! if any one----" "mr. brown went out at nine o'clock?" said blair, cutting her short. "i won't deceive you, mr. policeman, he did. he stayed in most of the day, and went out in the afternoon. at six he came back for his bit and sup, and at nine he went out again to take the air. he said so, at least, and i ain't set eyes on him since." "he said so?" remarked mr. phelps. "on his fingers, of course. he was dumb, sir, but not deaf, and he conversed on his fingers wonderful. i can talk myself that way," said mrs. marry gravely, "having a niece as is deaf and dumb in an asylum. i expect it was my knowing the language as brought mr. brown here to lodge." "where did he come from?" "london town, he gave me to understand, sir. but he didn't talk much--on his fingers--about himself. he was very quiet, ate and drank, read books----" "what kind of books?" "novels, sir--yellow novels, in a foreign tongue. here, sir, is the rosewood bookcase. he also wrote a great deal, but what i don't know. i thought he had ideas of becoming a writing person himself." blair opened the bookcase, and one by one examined a dozen or so of french novels ranged on the lower shelf. they were all by good authors, the usual paper-covered cheap editions--nothing strange about them. no name was written in any one of them. he shut up the bookcase with a look of disappointment. "was your lodger a frenchman?" he asked. "lor', sir, i dunno! he talked english with his fingers. i've seen him reading the newspapers." "he did not look like a foreigner," remarked the rector. "ah! i quite forgot you knew the man, mr. phelps. can you describe his looks?" "he was not very tall, had long white hair and a beard, ruddy cheeks, and dark eyes. he was usually dressed in a gray suit, and walked with a stout stick." "gout in his feet," put in mrs. marry, not at all pleased at being left out in the cold. "he wore cloth boots for his gout--walked very badly, did mr. brown." "strange!" murmured blair, again looking round the room. "how could an old man helpless through gout in the feet carry off a dead body? humph!" "he carried off no dead body!" cried mrs. marry, crimson with wrath, "if it's mr. marlow's corpse you're talking of. i believe mr. brown's bin murdered like the doctor." "why do you believe so?" "because i've made up my mind to believe it," said mrs. marry fiercely. "and i'd like to see the man as would change my mind." "so should i," remarked blair. "well, mrs. marry, show me mr. brown's room. i must examine his luggage." "there's only one box, and that's locked." "i'll take the liberty of opening it." "but you can't. i'm an honest woman. what'll mr. brown say when he comes back and finds his things gone? besides, there's a trifle of rent, and----" "hold your tongue!" said the inspector, with a glance which quelled her. "i will take nothing away. you forget who i am, mrs. marry. show me the bedroom." and the landlady, thinking better of it, obeyed without further argument. the box was there--a common, brown-painted traveling-box. there was no name on it, and it proved to be locked. the inspector asked for a chisel, and forced it open. within he found three suits of gray clothes, some linen and socks, together with a pair of cloth boots--nothing else. no name on the shirts, no tailor's tag on the clothes. evidently nothing of mr. brown's identity was to be learned from his belongings. "the man from nowhere," said phelps, gazing blankly around him. but inspector blair was not yet satisfied. he searched both sitting-room and bedroom, questioned mrs. marry, looked at some torn pieces of paper in the fireplace, and--found nothing. rector and inspector walked out of the cottage as wise as when they had entered it. so far their search had been a failure. all that afternoon blair hunted the village for evidence. he heard how warrender had called at mrs. marry's house, how he had left there to follow the quiet gentleman, who had been seen by the peasant going in the direction of the moor. blair recalled the loose stone dropped from the churchyard wall, and his own theory that the corpse had been taken to a cart on the road. he sent out the police, and had the heath searched, even to the hut where the corpse had been, but all with no result. and as yet he was ignorant of what cicero knew. tired and baffled, he returned to heathton to the inn. here he found a messenger from mr. phelps, asking him to call at the rectory. he hurried there, and was met by alan thorold, who presented cicero and mrs. warrender. then the tramp told the story of all that he had seen. blair rubbed his chin. "can the doctor have helped brown to do it?" he said half aloud. "no, he did not!" cried mrs. warrender angrily. "my husband was as good a man as ever lived. why should he steal a corpse?" "humph! why indeed!" blair recollected something he had seen in the vault of which he cared not to speak until he could be more certain. so he held his peace. "even if the late lamented dr. warrender did violate the sanctity of the tomb," said cicero softly, "who killed the late lamented dr. warrender?" "perhaps the shorter man who helped him," said the rector. "that was----" "hold your tongue just now," whispered alan, for cicero was about to mention joe brill's name; "we'll come to that later. who's that?" it proved to be mrs. marry, who came in with part of a torn envelope in her hand. on the envelope was an obliterated stamp, but the writing had been torn off. "i found this in mr. brown's room," she said, "on the floor by the edge of the carpet. how it escaped my dusting i don't know." blair looked at this piece of evidence. "jamaica stamp," he said. "strange!" cried the rector. "i know marlow was at one time in jamaica." "and my husband, dr. warrender, came from jamaica," said the widow. there was silence. they looked at one another. but no one had any explanation to offer. chapter x. another disappearance in the course of his investigations mr. blair had examined the servants at the moat house. from the footman he heard of the west indian letter, and of the effect it had produced upon mr. marlow. search had been made for that letter as likely to throw some light on the mystery, but without success. evidently mr. marlow had thought it important enough to destroy. his secret, whatever it might have been, had gone to the grave with him. it was a strange coincidence that the man brown should also have a correspondent in jamaica. he it was who had stolen the key of the vault from alan's desk. again, dr. warrender--who, as his wife told alan, had been in jamaica--had been murdered. between these three men, then--marlow, brown and warrender--there was evidently some connecting-link. had there not been, warrender would not have assisted to remove the body of the millionaire, and brown, by stealing the key, would not have helped him. "there is no doubt in my mind that brown was the short man seen by gramp," blair said to alan. "and he was followed from mrs. marry's by dr. warrender, who was bound on the same errand." "you mean the theft of the body?" "i think so. brown had the key and gramp saw them remove the corpse." "he saw warrender," corrected alan, "not brown." "i judge the other was brown, from the theft of the key and the fact that warrender called to see him, and then followed. again, both men have disappeared--at least, one has. the other is dead." "and who murdered him?" "brown," said the inspector, with conviction. "i am sure of it." "how can you be sure?" "because something unforeseen happened--the murder, probably. in the ordinary course of things, i take it, brown would have come back to fetch his luggage, and would have gone away in a manner less likely to arouse suspicion. probably he and warrender had a quarrel when they put the corpse in the cart. brown killed the doctor, and then drove away." "but, blair," argued alan, "you forget that the doctor's body was seen in the hut. even if brown had dragged it there--which, i admit, he might have done--i don't see how he could have brought it back again to the vault." "i do, mr. thorold. it was brown who had the key. most likely he put the dead body in a place of safety, then came back the following night, to hide it away in the safest place he knew of--to wit, the vault. if you recollect, no alarm as to the loss of marlow's body was given, or was likely to be given. warrender's dead body would not have been searched for in the vault. it is, at least, highly improbable that the vault would have been opened." "that is true," assented alan. "but that cicero by chance saw the affair, i dare say we should have remained in ignorance of the business for many a long day. no one would have gone to the vault. a very clever man, this brown." "very clever. but for the accident of cicero having slept in the churchyard, he would have got off scot-free. as it is, i don't see how we can hunt him down. his gout, his dumbness, his white hair and beard may have been assumed. the fact of the linen left at mrs. marry's being unmarked is proof enough that he was disguised." "perhaps," said alan doubtfully. "what i can't make out is, how he knew i had the key of the vault in my desk." "did you mention it to any one?" "only to mr. phelps." "where?" "in the churchyard after the funeral. we were all round the vault and the service was just over. phelps locked the door with his key and asked me where mine was. i said, 'in my desk in the library.'" "was brown present at the funeral?" "yes, i think i caught a glimpse of him." "was there a crowd round the vault door when it was closed?" "there was; but i didn't notice brown on that occasion." blair nodded. "very probably. you were too much taken up with the business in hand. yet, i'll swear brown was in the crowd, and heard you say where the key was. the clever scoundrel made use of the information that same afternoon." "i believe you are right," said alan, clenching his fist. "oh, i do wish we could find the villain! but what object could he have had in stealing the body?" "i can guess. mr. marlow was a millionaire." "well, in a small way, yes." "in a way quite big enough to pay a handsome ransom, mr. thorold." the inspector smiled. "depend upon it, we shall hear from this so-called brown. he will ask a good few thousands for the return of the corpse. oh, it is not the first time this game has been played." "well, if brown writes, we'll have him arrested for the murder." "humph!" said blair, shaking his head, "that is easier said than done. he has been too clever for us so far, he may prove too clever in the matter of obtaining the reward of his wickedness. well, mr. thorold, the inquest takes place to-morrow, but i haven't got much evidence for the jury." he was right. all his talk had been built up upon theory, and on the slenderest of circumstantial evidence. the fact that brown, the mysterious, had stolen the key--and even that was not absolutely proved--did not show that he had stolen the body. cicero could not swear to his identity, and, even presuming that he had committed the sacrilege, there was no evidence that it was he who had murdered warrender. and so the inquest on the body of the ill-fated doctor was held, the theft of the millionaire's corpse being merely a side-issue. can it be wondered that the jury were puzzled? all that could be scraped together by blair was put before them. cicero related his midnight experience; mrs. warrender told how her husband went out to see a patient; mrs. marry how the doctor called at her house, and afterwards followed brown. finally, alan and his housekeeper gave evidence as to the loss of the key, and the forged letter was produced. out of this sparse detail little could be made, and after some deliberation, the jury brought in the only verdict possible under the circumstances: "the deceased has been murdered by some person or persons unknown." "most unsatisfactory," said blair grimly; "but there is no more to be said." "what can you do now?" asked alan. "shall you give up the case?" "that depends upon you, sir, or, rather, upon miss marlow." "in what way?" "in the money way, mr. thorold. i'm a poor man, and must attend to my duties. all the same, if miss marlow will offer a reward, i will do my utmost to find out who stole her father's body and who murdered the doctor." "why couple the two crimes?" "because, sir, in my opinion, brown committed both. give a reward, mr. thorold, and i'll do my best; otherwise, as i have other urgent matters on hand, i must drop the business. but i don't deny," continued the inspector, stroking his chin, "that if i were a moneyed man i'd work at this business for the sheer love of it. it is a kind of criminal mystery which does not happen every day." "the reward shall be offered," said alan. "miss marlow will be guided by me." needless to say, sophy was guided by him. indeed, so eager was she that the remains of her father should be recovered that, had not alan suggested it, she would have offered a reward herself. also, she was anxious to assist mrs. warrender, who in spite of her vulgarity and somewhat covetous disposition, was really a well-meaning woman. the result of this was that two rewards were offered--one thousand for the detection of the person who had stolen the body, and a like sum for any information likely to lead to the arrest of warrender's murderer. so here were two thousand pounds going a-begging, and hundreds of people hoped to have a chance of gaining the money. the case was so strange and mysterious that it had attracted not a little attention, and the fact that the missing body was that of a millionaire added to the interest excited by the fact of its disappearance. the london papers were full of leaders and letters suggesting solutions of the mystery. the provincial press took up the cry, and throughout the three kingdoms every one was talking of the case. it was even said that miss marlow, the present possessor of all this wealth, would marry the person who secured the thief and the murderer. "i won't marry you, alan dear, until my father's body is back in the vault," said sophy; "but at the same time, i won't marry any one else." "but suppose i fail to find the body, sophy?" "then i must remain a spinster for the rest of my life." "in that case you condemn me to be a crusty old bachelor." "never mind. we can still be friends and lovers." "i'd rather we were man and wife," sighed alan. but he did not believe that she would cling to this idea of perpetual spinsterhood for any length of time. as for miss vicky, she thought sophy mad to have thought of such a thing, and took her roundly to task. "a woman ought to marry," she said, breaking through the barriers of her ordinary primness. "do you think, if my darling had lived, i should now be a wretched old maid? no, indeed! it would have been my delight to have been an obedient and loving wife to edward." "i'm sure i wish he had lived!" cried sophy, embracing her; "and i won't have you call yourself crabbed. you are the sweetest, dearest woman in the world!" "so poor edward thought," sighed miss vicky, fingering the precious brooch which always decorated some portion of her small person. "alas the day! how often he told me so! but he died for his country on the field of glory," she cried, with a thrill of pride; "and in spite of my lonely old age, i don't grudge his precious blood. noble--noble edward!" and she wept. "don't cry any more, vicky." "it's your obstinacy i'm crying at, sophia. if your poor dear pa's remains are not found within a certain time, marry mr. thorold and be happy." "i can't--i won't. how can i be happy knowing poor father isn't at rest?" "his soul is at rest--the earthly tabernacle is nothing. come, sophia, don't break with your life's happiness!" "alan and i understand one another, vicky. i dare say we shall marry some day. but the body must be found." "lord grant it!" ejaculated miss vicky piously, and said no more. for she found that the more she argued the more obstinate sophy grew. amongst those who had hopes of gaining the reward was cicero. he had come out of the ordeal of a public examination unscathed, and was now in the possession of his well-earned fifty pounds. being anxious to remain in heathton for the purpose of prosecuting his inquiries, he magnanimously forgave mrs. timber, and took up his quarters at the good samaritan. now that he had money and paid his bill regularly, the good lady considered it politic to treat him with more civility, although, after the manner of women, she felt constrained to remind him, every now and again, of his former poverty. but these remarks did not affect mr. gramp in the least. he regarded her no more than if she had been a fly, and sailed about the village in a suit of new broadcloth and the best of tall hats, airing his eloquence. he became an attraction at the inn, and discoursed there every evening in fine style. mrs. warrender was much averse to his staying on at heathton. she lived in constant dread lest the relationship between them should be discovered. but cicero never mentioned it--nor did he ever mention her. still, she felt doubtful, and one evening, on the plea that she wished to hear more of what he knew about her husband's murder, she sent for him. he arrived to find her in a low evening dress, glittering with diamonds, and looking very handsome--so handsome, indeed, that even he could not refrain from giving vent to his admiration. "upon my word, you are a juno, clara maria!" he said, when they were alone. "there is money in you yet!" "i know what you mean, billy," replied the doctor's widow coldly, "but i'm not going on the stage again in burlesque or anything else." "how are you going to live?" he asked with brutal candor. "that's my business," retorted mrs. warrender. "i have enough to live on, even without selling my jewels. perhaps i shall marry again." "i'm sure you will, clara maria. you always were a determined woman." "hold your tongue, and tell me how much longer do you intend to disgrace me here?" "how can i tell you, if i am to hold my tongue?" said cicero coolly. "as to staying here, i'm not disgracing you that i know of. no one knows you are my ungrateful sister." "billy, if i wasn't a lady, i'd---- ungrateful, indeed, you brute! go away at once!" "no, clara maria, not till i find out who killed my brother-in-law. i never knew him," said cicero, wiping away a tear; "but as his nearest relative, i must avenge him." "that won't do, billy," said his sister sourly; "you only want the reward." "both rewards, clara maria. with two thousand pounds i could be a gentleman for the rest of my life." "that you will never be." "i would do nothing----" "you never have, you lazy vagabond!" "don't interrupt and insult me, clara maria, but work with me." "work with you?" gasped mrs. warrender. "at what?" "at this case, clara maria. i believe that the secret of this mystery is to be found in the island of jamaica--in the past life of mr. marlow. now, your husband knew the late lamented millionaire in jamaica, and he might have left some papers relative to the acquaintance. if so, let me see them, and i'll get on the track of the assassin. we will share the reward." "my husband did leave papers," mrs. warrender said thoughtfully, "but i won't show them to you, billy. you'd take all the money. no, i'll read his papers myself, and if i can find anything likely to reveal the name of the person who stole the body and murdered julian, i shall tell mr. thorold." "you won't get the reward!" cried cicero in an agony. "oh yes, i will; i'm as clever as you are, billy. thank you for the idea!" "you won't work with me?" "no," said she firmly, "i won't; i know you of old, and i want you to keep out of my way. leave this village and i'll give you twenty pounds." "what! when there is a chance to make two thousand! no, clara maria." "then earn the reward yourself. there's joe brill, he might tell you what you want to know," mocked mrs. warrender. "my husband said he was with marlow for thirty years." "i wish i could ask joe brill," said cicero gloomily. "ever since he tipped me the sovereign i have suspected joe brill; but he's gone!" "gone! gone where?" "i don't know. i only heard the news to-night. he's gone away without a word, and vanished!" and cicero groaned. chapter xi. the stranger that joe brill had disappeared from heathton was perfectly true. so far cicero was correct; but in stating that the man had vanished without a sign he was wrong. news--to be precise, gossip--travels more quickly in a village than in a town; it also gets more quickly distorted. for the intimacy of villagers is such that they are readier than less acquainted folk to take away from, or add to, any talk about those whose everyday life they know so well. joe brill had left a letter for sophy, who, in much alarm, consulted miss parsh. the consultation was overheard by the footman, who told the servants, without mentioning the letter, about which he was not very clear himself, having caught only scraps of the conversation. the kitchen discussed the news, and retailed it to the baker, who, with the assistance of his wife, a noted gossip, spread it broadcast over the village. thus, in the evening, it came to cicero's greedy ears; and so it was that he came to tell his sister that joe brill had disappeared without a sign. sophy knew better. "isn't it dreadful?" she said to miss vicky. "joe is very cruel to leave me like this in my trouble. he knows that i look upon him as one of my best friends. to be thirty years with father, and then to leave me! oh, dear vicky, what does it mean?" for answer, miss vicky read the letter aloud. it was badly written, and badly spelt; but it was short and to the point. amended it ran as follows: "honored miss, "i am called away on business which may turn out well for you. when i'll come back, miss, i don't know; but wait in hope. stand by and nail your colors to the mast. don't trust no one but mr. thorold. your prayers, honored miss, are requested for your humble servant, "joseph brill." "most extraordinary!" said miss vicky, and laid down the letter to gaze blankly at sophy. "i shall go mad with all this worry!" cried the poor girl, taking the letter. "oh, dear vicky, everything has gone wrong since father died." "hush! don't talk of it, sophia. your pa's remains have gone, but his soul is above. dr. warrender has been buried, and the verdict of twelve intelligent men has been given. we must think no more of these matters. but joseph's letter----" "is more of a mystery than all the rest put together," finished sophy. "just listen to the nonsense joe writes: 'i'm called away on business.' what business, vicky?--and how can it turn out well for me? he doesn't know when he'll come back; that means he won't come back at all. 'wait in hope.' hope of what, for goodness' sake, vicky? and alan--of course, i'll trust no one but alan. how absurd to put that in! then he finishes by asking my prayers, just as though he were going to die. vicky, is joe mad?" "no; joseph is too clear-headed a man to lose his wits. it's my opinion, sophia, that he's gone to search for your poor papa's remains." this was alan's opinion also when he read the letter, and heard of joe's disappearance. he questioned the servants, but they could give no details. the page, who slept in the same room, declared that he woke at six o'clock to find joe's bed empty; but this did not alarm him, as joe was always the first in the house to be up. so alan went to the railway-station, and learnt there that the old sailor, carrying some things tied up in a handkerchief, had taken the . train to the junction. a wire to the junction station-master, who knew joe, elicited the reply that he had gone on to london by the express. beyond this it was hopeless to attempt to trace him; for at waterloo station joe had vanished into the crowd, and was lost. alan told the lamenting sophy that nothing could now be done but wait for his return. "but will he return?" demanded the girl tearfully. "i think so. i agree with miss vicky: joe has gone to search for your father's body." "but he has no idea where it is. if he did, he would surely have told me or you, alan, knowing how anxious we are!" "he may have a clue, and may want to follow it up himself. and i believe, sophy, that joe knows more about the matter than we think. do you remember that he gave cicero a sovereign to leave the moat house?" "what of that?" "only that a sovereign was a large sum for a servant like joe to give. he thought, no doubt, that cicero knew too much, and he wanted to get him away before he could be questioned. it was his guilty conscience which made him so generous." "guilty conscience, alan? what had joe done?" "nothing, so far as i know," replied thorold readily. "but i am convinced there is something in your father's past life, sophy, which would account for the violation of the vault. joe knows it, but for some reason he won't tell. i questioned him about the ridiculous sum he gave to cicero, but i could get no satisfactory explanation out of him--nor could blair." "you don't think he was the short man with dr. warrender on that night, alan?" asked the girl somewhat tremulously. "no, i do not; i asked the boy who sleeps in the same room. he said that joe went to bed as usual, and that he never heard him go out. besides, sophy, i am certain the accomplice of warrender was brown." "the quiet gentleman?" "yes; he had the key of the vault. and also, by the evidence of the stamp, he had something to do with jamaica. perhaps he knew your father there." "perhaps he did. joe would know." "joe will not speak, and, at all events, he has gone. we must wait until he comes back." "are you not going to make any more search for the body, alan?" "my dearest, i have not the slightest idea where to begin. the case has baffled the police, and it baffles me. i have made inquiries all round the country, and i can find no one who saw brown with your father's dead body, or, indeed, anything else which might have aroused suspicion. there is only one hope that we may get it back." "the reward?" "no; although blair, and, i believe, cicero, intend to work for that. the hope lies in the chance that brown, whoever he is, may have taken away the body for blackmail. in that case we may get a letter demanding money--probably a large sum. we must pay it, and have your father's remains brought back." "and the murder, alan?" "ah! that is a difficult part. when brown stole the body he did not intend to commit murder; that came about in some unforeseen way. the danger that he may be arrested for the murder may keep brown from applying for blackmail, always supposing, sophy, that such is his object." "in that case we may never recover poor father." "i am afraid not. however, we must live in hope." this conversation ended in the usual unsatisfactory way. on the face of it there was nothing to be done, for alan could obtain no clue. brown, if brown were indeed the guilty person, had managed so cleverly that he had completely cut his trail. even the offer of the reward brought forth no fresh information. the mystery was more a mystery than ever. in his capacity of trustee, alan had looked through the papers of the dead man. he found no documents or letters whatever relating to his life in jamaica, yet there were plenty dealing with his doings in south africa. twenty years before he had left kingston with the child sophy. he brought her to england, and placed her in the hampstead convent. then he sailed for the cape, and had made his fortune there. fifteen years after he returned, to buy the moat house, and settled. sophy came to live with him, and he had passed a quiet, peaceful time until his sudden death. so far all was clear; but the jamaica life still remained a mystery. when he died he was over sixty. what had he done with himself during the forty years he had lived in the west indies? joe could have told; but joe, as mysterious as his master, had disappeared, and even if he had remained, alan could have got nothing out of him. the old sailor, as had been proved both by thorold and the inspector, was as dumb as an oyster. "did marlow ever mention jamaica?" alan asked mr. phelps, when next they met. "once or twice, in a casual sort of way. he said he had sailed a good deal amongst the islands." "and joe was a sailor. i wonder if marlow went in for trading there?" "it's not impossible," said the rector; "but that fact, even if we knew it to be true, could throw no light on the disappearance of his body." "i don't know. i have a good mind to go to jamaica--to kingston--to make inquiries. the west indian island area is not so very large. if marlow had been a trader there twenty years ago, he would still be remembered amongst them. i might come across some one who knew of his past life." "you might," assented phelps, with an amount of sarcasm surprising in so mild a man, "if marlow were his real name." the two were sitting over their wine in the twilight amid the glimmer of shaded candles. this last remark of the rector's so surprised alan, that he turned suddenly, and knocked his glass off the table. after he had apologized for the accident, and after the débris had been collected by the scandalized butler, the squire asked mr. phelps what he meant. "it is hard to say what i mean." the rector sipped his port meditatively. "marlow was always a mystery to me. undeniably a millionaire and a gentleman, alan, and while here a man of clean life. and i have met people in london"--the worthy parson dabbled a little in shares--"who knew him in south africa. he was highly respected there, and he made his millions honestly, so far as millions can be made honestly in these gambling days. but i always felt that there was some mystery about the man. it was warrender who gave me the clue." "ah! warrender came with marlow to heathton." "yes, but there was no mystery about that. warrender told me that he had met marlow at kingston, jamaica. afterwards the doctor settled in new orleans. there he met his wife, who was on the stage. he did not do very well, so mrs. warrender urged him to return to england. he did so, and met marlow by chance in london, where they renewed their acquaintance. sorry to see that warrender was so unfortunate, marlow brought him down here, where he did very well." "i don't think he did well enough to have supplied mrs. warrender with her diamonds, sir." "alan, don't speak evil of the dead. she did not get the diamonds from marlow, but legitimately, my dear boy, from her husband." "and where did he get them? his practice must have brought him in little enough." "no, i won't say that. the fact, i think, is that there was some understanding between the two men, and that marlow gave warrender money." "he must have given him a good deal, then. those jewels represent a lot. seems like a kind of blackmail, sir." "on that point, alan, i would prefer not to give an opinion." "and warrender helped to steal the body of his patron," mused alan. "strange. but about this idea of a false name." "well, it was at dinner one evening. the ladies had retired, and i was alone with marlow and warrender, talking over our wine, just as you and i might be now, alan. the doctor had taken a little too much, and on one occasion he addressed the other man as beauchamp. marlow flashed one fierce glance at him, which sobered him at once. i made no remark on the incident at the time, but it stuck in my memory." "then you think that mr. marlow was called beauchamp in jamaica?" "warrender's slip gave me that impression," said the rector cautiously. "how very strange!" murmured alan, toying with his glass. "do you know the will? of course, i am trustee." "sophy's trustee--why, yes. all the money goes to her, doesn't it?" "most of it. there are legacies to myself, joe brill, and miss parsh. sophy gets the rest, on conditions." "what conditions?" "one is that she marries me, the other that she pays two thousand a year to a man called herbert beauchamp." it was the rector's turn to be startled. "bless me, the same name!" "it would appear so. perhaps this herbert beauchamp is a relative of the so-called marlow. the money is to be paid into the occidental bank of london for transmission to him." "where is he?" "i don't know. but now that you have told me so much, i shall take the first instalment myself to the occidental bank and make inquiries about the man. the manager may be able in some measure to account for all this." "i hope so, i hope so," cried the bewildered rector, "for the mysteries seem to me to deepen." "meanwhile," went on alan calmly, "i shall see mrs. warrender. she may know something that will be useful to us." "i don't think so," the rector said doubtfully. "bless me, why should she? it was long afterwards that she met the doctor in new orleans." "well, he might have told her about marlow. at all events, i'll see her. you know," added alan, curling his lip, "mrs. warrender is fond of money, and amenable to bribery." thorold was usually correct in his forecasts of what would happen, but this time he was quite wrong. the widow received him kindly, and told him absolutely nothing. acting on the advice given her by cicero, she had been searching through the papers of her late husband. she had not found what she sought, but she had found quite enough to show that there was a mystery in mr. marlow's past life--a mystery which was sufficiently important to be worth money. it was the intention of this astute woman to play her own game, a game which had for stake a goodly portion of sophy's millions, and she had no desire for a partner. to cicero and to his wish to join her she soon gave the go-by. and when alan came upon the scene, she gave him to understand that she knew nothing. her intention was to prepare her bombshell alone, and when it was ready, to explode it in sophy's presence. that her knowledge would be profitable to her from a financial point of view she felt pretty secure, for the same blood ran in the veins of clara maria warrender and of cicero gramp. "i wish i could help you, mr. thorold," she said; "but i knew nothing of mr. marlow. my husband never spoke to me about his life in jamaica." "did he leave any papers?" "lots of rubbish, but nothing that could enlighten us as to mr. marlow's past." "can i see them?" "oh, i am so sorry, but i burnt them." he did not believe her, and went away with the conviction that she was playing a deep game. meanwhile a new personage had come upon the scene--a man who told an astonishing story, and who made a no less astonishing claim--a slight, dark, bright-eyed man, accurately dressed, but foreign looking. he presented his card at the moat house, with a request to see miss marlow. "captain lestrange!" exclaimed sophy. "who is he, thomas?" "looks like a foreigner, miss. shall i show him in?" "yes," she said; and the visitor was announced almost immediately. he started theatrically when he saw the girl. sophy, annoyed by his manner, drew back. "captain lestrange?" she queried coldly. "captain lestrange," was the reply, "and your father." chapter xii. a strange story sophy neither screamed nor fainted at this extraordinary announcement; indeed, it appeared to her so very ridiculous that she felt more inclined to laugh. however, she controlled her feelings, and spoke very quietly--so quietly that the visitor was somewhat disconcerted. "why do you make this strange assertion?" she asked, looking again at his card. "because it is true." "what proof can you give me of its truth?" "three proofs, sophy, if i may call----" "you may not!" interrupted the girl, flushing. "i am miss marlow." "for the present," assented the man, with an ironical smile. "soon you will be miss lestrange. three proofs, then, i have. firstly, i can tell you the story of how i lost you; secondly, there is the resemblance between us; and, thirdly, i have the certificate of your birth. oh, it is easily proved, i can assure you." she shivered. he spoke very positively. what if his claim could be substantiated? she looked at him; she glanced into a near mirror, and she saw with dismay that there _was_ a strong resemblance. like herself, lestrange, as he called himself, was slight in build, small in stature. he also had dark hair and brilliant eyes; the contour of his face, the chiseling of his features, resembled her own. finally, he had that spanish look which she knew she herself possessed. so far as outward appearances went, she might well have been the daughter of this rakish-looking stranger. he smiled. from her furtive glance into the mirror he guessed her thoughts. "you see the glass proclaims the truth," said he. "think of your supposed father, richard marlow--tall, fair, blue-eyed, saxon in looks! like myself, you have the spanish look and possess all the grace and color of andalusia. i always thought you would grow up beautiful. your dear mother was the loveliest woman in jamaica." she did not answer, but the color ebbed from her cheeks, the courage from her heart. it was true enough that she in no way resembled mr. marlow. this man might be her father, after all. yet he repelled her; the glance of his glittering eyes gave her a feeling of repulsion. he was a bad man, of that she felt certain. but her father? she fought against her doubts, and with a courage born of despair she prepared to defend herself until help arrived. her thoughts flew to alan; he was the champion she desired. "i expect my guardian, mr. thorold, in a quarter of an hour," she said in a hard voice. "you will be good enough to relate your story to him. i prefer to hear it when he is present." "you don't believe me?" "no, i do not. mr. marlow treated me as his daughter, and i feel myself to be his daughter. do you expect me to believe you, to rush into your arms without proof?" "i have shown you one proof." "a chance resemblance counts for nothing. what about the certificate?" he produced a pocketbook, and took out a piece of paper. "this is a copy of the entry in the register of the church of st. thomas at kingston, you will find it all correct, marie." "marie! what do you mean?" "that paper will inform you," said lestrange coolly. sophy read the certificate. truly, it seemed regular enough. it stated that on the th of june, --, was born at kingston, in the island of jamaica, marie annette celestine lestrange. the names of the parents were achille lestrange and zelia, his wife. sophy could not suppress a start. the th of june was her birthday; the date of the year was also correct. she was twenty-one years of age now. she turned to him. "you are achille lestrange?" "your father--yes." "i don't admit that, monsieur." "why do you call me 'monsieur'?" "you are french, are you not?" "french by descent, if you will, but i am a british subject. also, i am a roman catholic. you are of the same faith?" "yes, i am of the true faith." "i am glad of that," said lestrange indolently; he was as indolent as graceful, and reminded sophy of a full-fed tiger. "i am pleased to hear that marlow allowed you to retain your faith since he took from you your father and your name." "do you know that my father is dead?" "pardon me, he is alive, and sitting before you." sophy ignored his remark. "do you know that mr. marlow is dead?" she asked again. "ah! now you speak as you should. yes, i heard something about his death. the fact is, i have only just landed from a royal mail steamer at southampton--two days ago, in fact--so i know very little. but i have heard of the disappearance of his body. it is town talk in london. one cannot open a newspaper without coming across theories of how it happened." "and the murder of dr. warrender? do you know of that also?" "of course. the two things go together, as i understand. marlow's body is lost; warrender was stabbed. how unfortunate that two people i knew should be out of the way when i come to claim you!" "did you know dr. warrender?" asked sophy quickly. "as i know myself," was the answer. "twenty years ago, when you were a child, a mere infant, he practised in the town of falmouth, jamaica. he left after certain events which happened there, and, i believe, practised again in new orleans. he married there, too, it was said." "yes; his wife lives at heathton." "ah! i shall be glad to see her. has the man who murdered her husband been discovered?" "no; he cannot be found." "nor ever will be, i suspect," said captain lestrange coolly. "from what i read, the whole criminal business was conducted in the most skilful manner. i wonder why they stole poor dick's body." "poor dick!" retorted the girl indignantly. "are you speaking of my father?" "of the man who passed as your father--yes, marie, i am." "pray don't call me marie! i am sophia marlow." "as you please. temper again! oh, how you remind me of zelia!" she was confounded at the cool assurance of the man. nothing seemed to ruffle his temper or banish his eternal smile. he was more hateful to her than ever. never would she acknowledge herself his daughter, even should he prove his claim! she was of age, and her own mistress. the will of richard marlow left the money, not to "my daughter," but to "sophia marlow," so there was no possibility of the money being taken from her. then she thought of alan. he would stand between her and this man. and even as this thought came into her mind, the door opened, and thorold came forward eagerly to meet her; but, on perceiving the stranger, he stopped short. lestrange rose and bowed in a foreign fashion. "oh, alan!" cried sophy, "i am so glad you have come! i was waiting for you." "and i also," remarked lestrange. "who is this gentleman, sophy?" demanded alan. "he calls himself captain lestrange. here is his card." "captain in the army of the peruvian republic," said the man, "and this young lady's father!" "confound you!--what--what----!" "oh yes, alan. he says he is my father--that my true father stole me from him. here is the certificate of my birth, he says." "and here"--lestrange pointed to sophy--"here is my second self. can you deny the resemblance? by the way, who are you?" the inquiry was made with graceful insolence, and was meant to provoke the young man into losing his temper. but in this it failed. "i am alan thorold," he said quietly, "the squire of heathton, and i am engaged to marry miss marlow----" "pardon--mademoiselle lestrange," interpolated the captain, and resumed his seat. "i claim this young lady as my daughter." "good," said thorold coldly. "your proofs?" "the resemblance between us, the certificate of her birth, and the story of how i lost my dear marie twenty years ago." "the resemblance i admit, but that goes for nothing. as to the certificate, it is that of marie lestrange, and not of sophy marlow." "is not the birthday of miss marlow, as you will call her, on the th of june----" "yes," said sophy, before alan could stop her. "the day and the year are both correct. i am twenty-one, and i was born on the th of june, --." "very good; and at kingston?" "at kingston," admitted the girl; "but, for all that, i am not your daughter." "i agree with miss marlow," said mr. thorold. "let us hear your story. that it will convince me i do not promise." "ah!" cried the foreigner, with an ironical smile. "none so blind as those who won't see. what a pity that marlow and warrender are both dead!" "oh, you know that?" "as i had the honor of telling miss marlow"--lestrange put so sneering an accent on the name that alan felt inclined to kick him--"i know that. i landed in england from jamaica only two days ago. but, as you know, every one is talking of the mystery, and by this time i know the case as well as you do." alan winced, and sophy glanced at him apprehensively. would her champion fail her? would this man prove his claim? she was in deadly terror lest he should. but alan had no intention of yielding. "go on," he said again. "miss marlow and i will hear your story." "very good. i am glad to see that you have the british instinct of fair play. i will be as brief as possible, and you can ask me any questions you wish. my name is achille lestrange, the man who is mentioned in that certificate. i am--or, rather, i was--a captain in the peruvian army. i retired after the war between that country and chili. however, i have ample means to live on, and i retain my military rank, out of sheer vanity, if you will." "all this," said alan, "is beside the point." "it is necessary to explain my position. more than twenty years ago i was married at kingston to zelia durand. we had one child--a little girl--the same who now sits beside you." "i won't hear of it!" cried sophy angrily. "we shall see," he went on cheerfully. "you may change your mind when i have got to the end of my story. i regret to say that mrs. lestrange--i do not call her madame," explained the captain, "because i am truly english in speech and manner--well, mrs. lestrange had a bad temper. we did not get on well together. and, besides, i was jealous"--his eyes flashed fire--"yes, i was jealous of herbert beauchamp." "herbert beauchamp!" alan thought of marlow's will and of the legacy. how did this man come to know the name? chapter xiii. a strange story--_continued_ captain lestrange recovered from his momentary emotion, and raised his eyebrows at alan's involuntary exclamation. "i beg your pardon, mr. thorold." "nothing," said the other hastily. "i fancied the name was familiar." "ah! you may have heard marlow mention it." "no. he never spoke of his past life." "he had good reason to be reticent, as you shall hear." but here sophy burst out: "be good enough to continue your story without vilifying my father." "your father!" sneered the captain. "the story--the story!" cried alan. "i continue," said lestrange, with a nod. "as i say, i was jealous of beauchamp, for before our marriage he had been an admirer of my zelia's. and, as a matter of fact, she was a singularly attractive woman. you might guess as much," added he blandly, "seeing that her grace and beauty are reproduced in her daughter. but to continue: zelia had many admirers, three of whom she distinguished above the others--myself, herbert beauchamp, and my cousin, jean lestrange. i was the lucky man who won her. jean ceased to pay any attention to her after the marriage, but beauchamp was persistent. i remonstrated with him--we nearly had a duel--but to no purpose; and i am sorry to say that zelia encouraged him." "proceed with your story, and leave my mother alone," cried sophy. alan started, for he remembered with a pang that sophy had told him her mother's name was zelia; but he kept silent, and a terrible dread came over him that this man would prove his statements after all. meanwhile the narrator went on pleasantly. "beauchamp," he said, fingering his mustache, "was a sugar-planter--at least, he was supposed to be one. he had a plantation some miles from the town of falmouth, which is on the other side of jamaica. it was there that dr. warrender practised. he was a bachelor in those days, and he was considered rather a wild fellow. probably for that reason he was a bosom friend of beauchamp's." "do you mean to infer that beauchamp was wild?" "well, not exactly. i must be honest. he was adventuresome rather than wild. he was fond of yachting, and had a smart sailing boat in which he used to cruise amongst the islands. warrender frequently went with him. beauchamp was a very handsome man, and extremely popular with women. i know that to my cost," he added bitterly, "when he set his affections on zelia. she was my wife--she was the mother of my child--yet she eloped with him." "i--i--don't believe it," said sophy in a suffocating voice. "if it were not true, my child, you would not be sitting there under the false name of sophia marlow." "one moment," put in alan, clasping the girl's hand, "you have yet to prove that miss marlow is marie lestrange." "if you would not interrupt so often, i could do so," said the man insolently. "as i say, zelia ran away with beauchamp. he brought his yacht to kingston when i was absent, and sailed off with her. she carried with her my child--my adorable marie." here lestrange fixed an affectionate look on sophy. "i returned to find my home dishonored," he went on, "my life wrecked. jean came to console me. he also had heard of beauchamp's treachery, and that the boat had sailed for falmouth. we followed----" here lestrange broke down. whether his emotion was genuine or not, alan could not say. he looked at sophy, and she at him. having fought down his emotion, the captain resumed his seat and his story: "jean and i arrived at falmouth. there we heard that zelia was very ill, and that beauchamp had taken her to his plantation. dr. warrender, our informant said, was in attendance. the whole town knew that she was my wife, that she had dishonored me, and that i was on my may to settle accounts with the man who had wrecked my happiness. my cousin and i rode out to beauchamp's plantation, for it was within a few miles of falmouth, as i said. the night was dark and stormy--we arrived in pouring rain, and by the wailing of the negroes we knew that death was in the house. yes"--he grew dramatic--"zelia was dead; torture, remorse, sorrow, had brought about her punishment!" "you are very ready to condemn her," said alan. "she had dishonored me!" cried the man, waxing melodramatic. "it was well that she should die. i rushed away to her room, where she lay calm in death, and jean remained to arrange matters with beauchamp. i challenged him to a duel. jean was my second. but beauchamp refused to fight, and--he murdered jean." "murdered your cousin?" queried alan skeptically. "yes. i was praying beside my wife's bed. i heard cries for help, and when i came out i found jean dead, stabbed to the heart by beauchamp. the scoundrel had fled--he had taken my child with him." "why should he have encumbered himself with the child?" "to wring my heart!" replied lestrange savagely. "he knew that i loved my little marie. he carried her away. i would have followed, but all my troubles and the shock of zelia's death brought on an attack of fever. i rose from my bed weeks later to hear that beauchamp had vanished. on the night he committed the double crimes of murder and kidnapping he went on board his yacht at falmouth, and was never heard of again. i searched for him everywhere, but without success." "what about his estate?" asked alan. "there he has been cunning. it seemed that he had long since planned to elope with zelia, and that some weeks before he had sold his land. he took the money with him, and the child. had zelia been alive she would have gone too. as months and years went by, i gave up hope, and i believed that the yacht had foundered." suddenly sophy got up, much agitated. "i can listen to this no longer," she said. "you are telling lies." "her mother's temper," muttered lestrange. "zelia's masterly way of crushing argument." "don't call her my mother!" cried sophy. "i won't have it. i am not the child that was taken away by beauchamp. i never knew any one of that name." "probably not," replied lestrange smoothly. "there were reasons for its being kept from you. but mr. thorold----" "mr. thorold is waiting to hear the end of the story," said that gentleman coolly. "i have yet to hear who beauchamp is and how you traced him." "this is mere evasion." the captain was losing his temper somewhat. "you know who the man is as well as i do." "i am waiting to hear how you connect the two." "what two?" asked miss marlow. but in her own heart she knew the answer. yet, like a loyal soul, she kept true to the memory of the dead. lestrange took no notice of her. "you are either very dull or very cunning," he said addressing alan pointedly. "the latter, i think. how did i find beauchamp again? in a curious way. i saw an illustrated paper in jamaica, which gave a portrait of the famous south african millionaire, richard marlow. the face had on its right cheek a jagged scar. jean gave that scar to beauchamp with his diamond ring. no doubt it was the drawing of blood which led to the murder." "then you assert that marlow was none other than herbert beauchamp?" "i do. also that sophia marlow is my child whom he carried away. i have mourned her for twenty years. by the accident of the illustrated paper i have traced her. at southampton i heard of marlow's death, so i knew that he had escaped punishment on earth. but at least i have found my dear child marie." "i am not your child!" she cried. "i will never acknowledge you as my father." "in that case"--lestrange rose to his feet and looked very stern--"i must appeal to the law." alan laughed. "the law can't help you," he said. "sophy is over age and her own mistress. even if you can prove your case, you cannot force her to go with you." "natural affection----" "don't talk to me about natural affection!" cried the girl. "i know nothing about you. nothing in the world will make me go with you!" "but if i tell my story to the world?" cried lestrange, hinting a threat. "tell it, by all means," said thorold, putting his arm round sophy. "you can hurt only the memory of the dead. even if marlow, as you assert, killed your cousin, he is dead, and beyond your reach." "are you so sure he is dead?" sneered the man. "of course we are sure," cried sophy indignantly. "didn't i see him dead in his coffin?" "well," said lestrange, preparing to go, "it is most extraordinary to me that he should have died so suddenly and so conveniently. his body, too, has been stolen. that also is convenient." "do you mean that he is alive?" "yes. he feigned death to escape me." "how could he have known that you were coming?" "i don't know," was the answer, "but i shall find out. it shall be my business to search for the body of richard marlow." "do," said thorold calmly. "and when you find it you will gain the reward of a thousand pounds." "i shall gain more than that, mr. thorold. my daughter----" "never! never! leave this house, sir, and don't come near me again!" the man moved towards the door. he had picked up the certificate and put it in his pocket. "you turn your own father out into the street," he said. "very good. i shall take my own means of punishing you for your want of filial respect. it is to the bad influence of mr. thorold that i owe this reception. be assured, mr. thorold, that i shall not forget it. to revert to the tongue of my progenitors, i shall say _au revoir_ but not 'adieu.' we shall meet again." and clapping on his hat with a jaunty air, captain lestrange walked out of the room. when the door had closed after him, sophy turned to alan. "do you think this story is true?" she asked. "i must admit that there appears to be some truth in it," was the reply. "the certificate is correct as to your age, your birthday, and your birthplace, and the name of your mother also is correct." "then, am i that man's daughter?" "not necessarily. he may have assumed the name. he may--oh, i don't know what to think! but even if he proves his case, you won't go with him?" "never! never! how can we find out the truth?" "joe might know. i wish he would come back. i wonder if, after all, your father can be alive--marlow, i mean." "how can that be? we both saw him dead. dr. warrender gave a certificate of the death. why do you ask?" "well, it is strange. in his will a sum of two thousand a year is left to be paid to a man called herbert beauchamp, through the occidental bank." "and he says that my father was herbert beauchamp." "i know. can your father have feigned death to avoid him?" "impossible. he did not know captain lestrange was coming." "well," said alan slowly, "there was that west indian letter which agitated him so much. it might have been a warning. however, it is no use theorizing. i'll go to the occidental bank, and find out herbert beauchamp." "you won't find that he is my own father, alan; i am sure of that. he may be a relative. no, no! he is not a murderer! he is dead--quite dead! i don't believe a word of the story." alan sighed. "time alone can prove its truth or falsehood, sophy," he said. chapter xiv. the enmity of captain lestrange that same evening the rector was coming in to dine with alan. the young man was glad that he had asked him, for he was anxious to consult his old friend about the strange tale he had heard, and about the steps which should be taken to prove its truth or falsity. he stayed with sophy till it was nearly six o'clock. miss parsh had not been called into counsel. she was too timid, they thought, and too likely to lose her head. moreover, alan felt that she would give the girl overmuch sympathy and make her nervous. so he did all the bracing he could, advised her not to take the old lady into her confidence, and rode home to the abbey farm in the cool twilight. as he passed the good samaritan, mrs. timber came flying out in a flutter of excitement. "sir! sir! mr. thorold!" she called. and then, as he checked his horse: "is the gentleman all right? he's a furriner, and i never did hold as they could pay honest." "what are you talking about, mrs. timber?" asked the young man, utterly bewildered. "why, of the gentleman you sent to me, sir." "i sent no gentleman. stay! do you mean captain lestrange?" "yes, sir, that's his name--a nasty french name. he said you recommended my house. i'm sure i'm very much obliged, mr. thorold." here mrs. timber dropped her best curtsy and smiled a sour smile. "but i arsk again, sir, is he good pay?" alan was amazed at the captain's impudence in making him stand sponsor for his respectability. "i don't know anything about the gentleman, mrs. timber," he said, giving his horse the spur. "he is a stranger to me." "oh, is he?" muttered the landlady to herself as alan galloped off. "well, he don't get nothing out of me till i sees the color of his money. the idea of giving mr. thorold's name when he had no right to! ah! i doubt he's a robber of the widder and the orphan. but i'll show him!" and mrs. timber, full of wrath, went into her hotel to have it out with her new lodger. alan rode fast and hard in the waning light, between the flowering hedgerows--rode to get away from his thoughts. the advent of lestrange with his cut-and-dried story, with his accusation of the dead, and his claim to be sophy's father, was ominous of evil. alan had his own uncomfortable feelings, but of these he decided to tell no one, not even phelps, although phelps was his very good friend. in taking this resolution, alan made a very serious mistake--a mistake which he found out when it was too late to remedy his injudicious silence. he had just time to dress for dinner before his guest arrived. knowing that mr. phelps was dainty in his eating, mrs. hester had prepared a meal such as the good rector loved. alan's wine was of the best, and he did not stint it, so mr. phelps addressed himself to the solemn business of dinner, with the conviction that he would enjoy himself; and alan kept his news to himself until they were in the smoking-room. then, when his guest was sipping aromatic black coffee and inhaling the fragrance of an excellent cigar, the young squire felt compelled to speak, and exploded his bombshell without further notice. "mr. phelps, i have unpleasant news," he said, filling his pipe. the clergyman looked piteously at the excellent cigar, and took another sip of the coffee. "oh, alan, my boy, must you?" "you can judge for yourself," replied alan, unable to suppress a smile. "sophy had a visitor to-day." "indeed! any one connected with these mysteries which so perplex us?" "in one way, yes; in another, no. he is a captain lestrange." "lestrange! lestrange!" repeated the rector. "i don't know the name. who is he?" "sophy's father!" said alan simply, and lighted up, while mr. phelps remonstrated: "my dear alan, if this is a jest----" "it is no jest, sir, but, i fear, a grim reality. this man comes from jamaica." "dear me! marlow came from jamaica. does he know----" "he knows all marlow's past life." "the dev--ahem! god forgive me for swearing. and who was marlow?" "according to lestrange, a murderer." phelps dropped his cigar and stared at his old pupil. "alan, are you mad?" "no. at the present moment i am particularly sane. this man says that marlow was a murderer, and he himself claims to be sophy's father. take some green chartreuse, mr. phelps, and i'll tell you all about it." the rector's nerves had received such a shock at the abrupt way in which alan had told his news that he very willingly poured himself out a liqueur. then he relighted his cigar, and signed to the young man to proceed. "if i must hear it!" sighed he. "such a pity, too, when i was so comfortable. ah! man is born to trouble. go on, my dear lad!" "you will find it really interesting," said thorold encouragingly, and told his story in as concise a way as he could. the narrative was interrupted frequently by the rector. when it was ended he was too much astonished to make any remark, and the other had to stir up his intelligence. "what do you think of it, sir?" "really--bless me!--i hardly know. do you believe it, alan?" "there are so many things in it which i know to be true, that i can't help thinking the man is honest, in so far as his story goes," said alan gloomily. "whether sophy is really his child i can't say. she is certainly very like him, and the certificate appears to be genuine. again, mr. phelps, you heard warrender call marlow 'beauchamp,' and, as i told you, a sum of two thousand a year is by marlow's will to be paid to a herbert beauchamp. what if he should be marlow himself?" "i can't--i won't believe it!" cried the rector, rubbing his bald head. "the man is as dead as a doornail--you saw the corpse yourself, alan. the body was put in a leaden casing, hermetically sealed, and that in a tightly-screwed-down oaken coffin. even if marlow had been in a trance--if that is what you mean--he could not have survived that! he would have died of suffocation--he would have been asphyxiated. bless my soul! i don't believe it for one moment." "but how do you account for the income left to herbert beauchamp?" "he must be a relative," said the rector. "but the same christian name, mr. phelps? still, of course, that is not impossible--he might be a relative. i will see the manager of the bank, and insist upon knowing the address of this man." "supposing he won't give it?" "then i shall call in the police. i must get to the bottom of this affair. why should that body have been stolen?" "perhaps lestrange can tell you, alan." the little parson jumped up in a state of wild excitement. "what if he should be the quiet gentleman--brown?" "impossible--he landed at southampton only two days ago." "oh! so he says, but you must find out if it is true." "i will examine the passenger-list of the last steamer." "it is strange," said the rector--"strange that marlow--let us call him marlow--should have died so opportunely. if you remember, he was much worried by a west indian letter he received a week before his death." "yes; i believe that was written to warn him against lestrange. to escape being arrested on a charge of murder, he--he--well, what did he do." "he didn't feign death, at all events," said mr. phelps. "bless me, alan! i know the feel and the look of a corpse. i've seen dozens! besides, you studied for medicine--your knowledge must tell you----" "yes, i could have sworn he was, as you say, dead as a doornail. of course"--alan cast about in his mind for some hypothesis--"that is--the shock of impending danger hinted at in that letter might have killed him. he died in a fit, sir, and died very suddenly." "humph! you didn't attend him?" "i--a layman! my dear sir, warrender attended him." "and warrender was his bosom friend in jamaica. alan, warrender must have recognized him as beauchamp--must have known sophy was not his daughter--must have known that he had been accused of murder in jamaica." "quite so," said alan composedly, "and so mrs. warrender's diamonds are accounted for. he blackmailed marlow. i can see it plainly." "then the murder of--of warrender?" whispered the rector, with a look of terror. "ah! we are still in the dark about that. marlow, being dead, could not have killed him. humph! i wonder if lestrange is the quiet gentleman after all!" "alan!" said phelps suddenly. "joe brill!" "what about him?" "do you think he is guilty? he was devoted to his master. warrender possessed his master's secret, and joe might have killed him, and have run away to escape arrest." alan shook his head. "there was no suspicion against joe," he said. "why should he have run away?" "his guilty conscience, perhaps." "a man who had nerve enough to commit such a murder and take the corpse of his victim back to the vault wouldn't have any conscience to speak of. besides, the boy who slept in joe's room says he was not out on that night." "no, no--of course not," said the rector. "then it can't be joe. well, i give it up!" "i don't," said alan grimly. "i go to london to-morrow to solve the mystery." this he did. he left next morning and was away for three days, leaving mr. phelps to console and protect sophy from any annoyance on the part of lestrange, who remained in the village. the captain propitiated mrs. timber by the payment of a week's board and lodging in advance, and this was enough to convince the landlady that he was a most estimable person. naturally enough, he and cicero gramp came into contact, and, equally naturally, cicero did his best to find out what business the captain had in heathton. but this was no easy task, for lestrange was guarded in speech, and did not at first encourage his advances, judging very truly that mr. gramp was a scoundrel, and could be dangerous. but finally he decided that the gentleman in broadcloth, if properly handled, could be converted into a useful tool, and he determined to make use of him in that capacity. the intimacy began one night when cicero, having taken more than was good for him, allowed his tongue to wag more freely than usual. lestrange thus became aware that it could dispense useful knowledge. "i tell you what it is, my noble captain," said cicero, with drunken gravity, "you are a clever man--i am another. why shouldn't we get that reward by working together?" "really, my friend, i hardly see what i can do. i am a stranger here." "that's why we ought to work together. you are not in these parts for nothing. the gossip of servants--ah!" gramp looked significantly at lestrange. "oh, i heard how you were turned out of the moat house." "what do you mean, my dear friend?" asked the captain, in silky tones. "oh! that you've got some game on--so have i. let us work together." "pooh! pooh! you are talking nonsense." "nonsense which may mean money. see here, i know that you were kicked out of the moat house. ah! the gossip of menials." "pardon me, but i was not kicked out." "you were. young thorold did it. he wants all the money, and he'll get it by marrying that girl--if i let him." "if you let him? what do you mean?" "mean? why, that i hate young thorold, and that i want a few thousands!" "oh! and how do you intend to get them?" "never you mind. if we work together--but, then, we don't. _cedant arma togæ_--which means, you're a soldier, i'm a lawyer--so that's all right. goo'night." and he staggered off, leaving lestrange with much food for meditation. the outcome of this was that next morning the captain met cicero halfway, and later in the day sophy received a note from lestrange asking to see her. if she would not consent, he added, mr. thorold would be placed in a position of great danger. after some reflection sophy sent for mr. phelps, and they decided to see the scamp. so on a saturday morning captain lestrange was received in the library of the rectory. "well, sir," said phelps, "and what have you to say about mr. thorold?" "only this," was the reply: "that he is a scoundrel!" "indeed!" the rector stopped sophy's exclamations. "on what grounds?" "on the grounds that it was he who stole the body of richard marlow!" chapter xv. trouble. the rector and sophy looked at one another, and then at lestrange, smiling and confident. they knew alan too well to credit so monstrous an accusation for one moment. indeed, the idea appeared so ridiculous to sophy that she laughed outright. lestrange frowned. "you laugh now," he said. "you will weep later. what i say is true. thorold stole the body of your father--your supposed father!" he sneered, "for, say what you like, you are my child." "i don't acknowledge the relationship," retorted the girl with spirit, "and i never will. mr. marlow was my father. i shall always think of him as such. as to your accusation of mr. thorold, it is merely another trick to cause me trouble. i suppose you will say next that he murdered dr. warrender?" "i say nothing of the sort," replied the captain, nettled by her open contempt, "yet he may have done so, for all i know. but i state only what i can prove." "you cannot prove this ridiculous charge?" cried the rector. "mr. thorold is incapable of such a crime." "ah!" drawled the other coolly, "you see, mr. thorold is scientific, and does not look upon his deed as a crime." "what do you mean by that?" asked mr. phelps sharply. "i mean that mr. thorold was once a medical student--at least, i have been told as much." "it is true, quite true," said sophy, opening her eyes, for in her innocence she did not see what the man meant. but the rector did, and winced. he anticipated the accuser. "you mean that mr. thorold stole the body for scientific purposes?" "for dissection--yes. mr. thorold is, i understand, an enthusiast in surgery. marlow--or, rather, i should say, beauchamp--died of an obscure disease, and warrender and thorold removed the body to hold a post-mortem on it. they were the men seen by cicero gramp--you see, i know all about it. they probably carried the body to the moor hut to dissect it. whether they quarreled or not, i do not know, nor do i know if it was thorold who killed the doctor. all i say is, that those two stole the body." "oh, indeed!" remarked mr. phelps ironically, "and thorold put the remains of dr. warrender back in the vault, i suppose? and what did he do with marlow's body?" "i don't know. buried it on the moor, very likely." "mr. thorold had not the key of the vault," cried sophy indignantly. "it had been stolen by the quiet gentleman." "so i understand," retorted lestrange sharply. "and who says so? mr. thorold himself. believe me, sir," he turned to the rector, "that key was never stolen. thorold had it in his pocket. he lied about that for his own safety." "i don't believe it," said mr. phelps decisively. "thorold was at bournemouth on the night the crime was committed." "i know he was!" cried sophy, with emphasis. "he was with me and miss parsh." "you are wrong, both of you. he came back to heathton on that night, and returned to bournemouth before dawn. i understand it is only an hour's journey from here." "it is not true," insisted sophy uneasily. "i saw mr. thorold at eight o'clock that night at the soudan hotel." "i dare say. but at ten o'clock he was at heathton." "how can you prove that?" "if you will permit me," said lestrange, and rising, he left the room. before mr. phelps and sophy could exchange a remark, he was back again with a man who had evidently been waiting. "jarks!" cried the rector, much annoyed. "and what has jarks to do with this preposterous story?" "if you ask him he will tell you," said lestrange politely, and resumed his seat. the rector looked indignantly at his sexton, who, as minor official in the church, should have quailed before his superior. but there was no quailing or cringing about jarks. the old fellow was as malicious as a magpie, and as garrulous. looking more rusty than ever, he stood twisting his greasy old hat, and shifting from one leg to the other. "oh, i seed muster alan; yes, i seed un. on the night o' the funeral i were in the yard, a lookin' at 'em as i'd tucked away, an' i clapped eyes on muster alan. he wor' lookin' at the vault where i'd put away the last of 'em, he wor." "about what time was that?" asked mr. phelps, with severity. "well, it might be about ten, muster phelps, sir." "and what were you doing out of bed at that hour?" "lookin' at 'em," retorted jarks, wiping his mouth. "lor' bless you, muster phelps, all in the yard's m'own handiwork save some of the old uns. i like to see 'em all quiet an' humble in their narrow homes. ay, an' i seed muster alan, an' he sez, 'i've come to look round, jarks, an' you needn't say as i've bin about. here's money for ye.' ay, he did say that, an' guv me money. course i said nothin' as there isn't no law agin folk walkin' round to see how them as has passed away is gettin' along." "how long was mr. thorold with you?" "it might be about five minutes, sir. he went to ketch a train at the half-hour to go back to miss sophy--hopin' i sees you well, miss!" with a pull of his forelock to the girl, who was standing pale and trembling at this disastrous confirmation. "why didn't you tell me this, jarks?" "lor' bless you, miss sophy, 'twas little use vexin' you. 'sides, when i found muster marlow was gone, arter bein' put away comfortable-like in the vault, i did say to muster alan arterwards as it wasn't friendly-like of him to upset my handiwork. but muster alan he says as he had nowt to do with the takin' of him, an' how he got out of the vault, being screwed and soldered down, was more than he knew. so he being the squire, miss sophy, it wasn't my place to say nothin'. i knows the station of life i've bin called to." "it was your duty to come to me," said the rector severely. "naw, naw!" jarks shook his head. "'tain't no good makin' bad blood, muster phelps. muster alan wor in the yard, but he didn't take the last of 'em away." "i say he did!" put in lestrange, with emphasis. "ay, ay! you thinks you knows a lot. but i tell you, you don't. if it wasn't that i let slip to that fat un while mazed wi' drink, as i seed muster alan, you'd niver have know'd naught. naw! but when the wine's in jarks he talks foolish-like. ay, he babbles as a babe does jarks!" "who is this fat man he speaks of?" asked sophy. "my other witness," replied lestrange promptly. "you can go, jarks. send in cicero." the sexton nodded, wiped his mouth, and backed to the door with a final excuse. "as i wor sayin', muster phelps, 'twouldn't be right to blame jarks for holdin' the tongue o' he, muster alan wantin' it so. but the red wine--which is to say, beer an' such like--maketh the heart of jarks glad, as sez holy scripture. an' i'll go now, wishin' you an' miss sophy happiness an' long life." after which apologetic speech the old sinner creaked out of the room pulling his forelock. "you see," said lestrange, with a triumphant look at the other two, "thorold was in heathton, and in the churchyard on that night." "it would seem so; but that does not prove he took away the body," put in sophy. "my second witness can prove that. come in, cicero." the fat man, resplendent in new clothes, rolled into the room. "pax vobiscum," said he. the rector turned an angry glance on him. "this is not the time for playing the fool," he said cuttingly. "you are a cunning rogue, but some day you will overreach yourself. now, then, out with your lie." "lie! i scorn to pervert the truth, reverend sir. i shall tell the truth _in puris naturalibus_." "i hope not," threw in the rector, laughing, in spite of himself, at this abuse of quotation. "which means, reverend sir," went on the old scoundrel coolly, "that in the hut on the heath i found the corpse of dr. warrender." "but not the body of my father," said sophy. "no, but i saw that taken away from the vault. undoubtedly, miss marlow, the body was carried to the hut for the purpose of dissection by mr. thorold. he was foolish enough to leave behind him evidence of his iniquitous purposes. behold!" and cicero produced a lancet in his most dramatic manner. "nota bene," said he grandly. phelps bent forward and took the instrument in his hand. it had an ivory handle, on which were carved two letters, "a. t." "you found this in the hut?" he asked. "i did, reverend sir. it must have been dropped by mr. thorold. if not, how did it come there? i pause for a reply." "why did you not tell mr. thorold about this?" demanded sophy. "i bided my time----" "to blackmail him!" she cried, with scorn. "a harsh word, miss sophia. certainly i would have demanded a small payment from mr. thorold, had i shown him that. but mr. thorold insulted me, it matters not how. _nemo me impune lacessit_, miss sophia, and i determined to punish the young man. my military friend was good enough to enter into partnership with me for the purpose of clearing up this matter, hence i told him of my discovery. there is no more to be said." "save this," put in lestrange, who appeared to be getting somewhat weary of cicero's cumbersome diction, "that here is the proof that it was thorold who carried off the body. do you believe now in his guilt?" "i reserve my opinion," said the rector, who could not but acknowledge to himself that things looked black for alan. "i don't!" cried sophy, rising. "if fifty men, with fifty lancets, came to tell me this story, i would not believe a word against mr. thorold. he can explain. i believe in him firmly, and, to prove my belief, i shall marry him as soon as i can." "you'll do nothing of the sort!" cried lestrange, losing his temper. "i am your father, and i command you to come with me." "and i am my own mistress, and i refuse," she said quietly. "you can't frighten me. i don't believe your stories." "nor do i," said the rector. "when mr. thorold comes back, he will, no doubt, be able to explain his presence in heathton on that night, and also the loss of his lancet." "he shall explain it to the police!" cried lestrange, in a threatening manner. "no, no," said cicero, apprehensive at this mention of his natural enemies; "let us take counsel together. cannot this matter be adjusted, so that mr. thorold may escape the reward of his iniquitous proceedings?" sophy looked at him with a satirical smile. then she turned to address lestrange as the senior partner in this firm of scoundrels. "how much do you want?" she asked. the captain winced. he did not like the question to be put quite so crudely. "i do not understand," he said. "i think you do. how much do you require to hold your tongue?" "say five thousand," whispered mr. gramp. but lestrange shook him off, and marched to the door very upright and indignant. "i will let you know my price----" "ah!" said sophy scornfully. "when i have seen the police," finished he, and marched out. cicero had to follow, but he turned at the door and winked. "he will not go to the police," said he, in a hurried voice. "might i suggest five----" "be off, you scoundrel!" cried the rector indignantly, and thrust him out. then he resumed his seat, and looked at sophy. "well?" said he. "alan can explain," said she decisively. "but if lestrange goes to the police?" "he won't," she said. "cicero will stop that. meanwhile i wait for alan." they talked on for a long time, but could come to no conclusion. undoubtedly alan had been near the vault on that night, had been in the hut, and had said nothing of these things to any one. it certainly looked suspicious, but sophy insisted that her lover could and would explain. in spite of appearances, she had faith in alan's honesty and in alan's honor. that same evening she dined with the rector, without even miss vicky in attendance. towards the end of the meal, alan walked in unexpectedly. he looked somewhat downcast, but there was no sign of fear in his bearing. after greetings had been exchanged he sat down with them. neither the rector nor sophy was anxious to inform him of the accusation which had been brought against him. "how went the business?" asked mr. phelps. "badly--for us," was the reply. "lestrange certainly arrived by the boat he said he came by. i saw his name, achille lestrange, on the passenger-list of the _negress_." "ah! the devil speaks true sometimes!" said the rector. "and what about beauchamp?" "yes, yes!" cried sophy. "did you find him? did you see him?" "no," replied alan quietly, "but i heard of him. beauchamp is dead!" chapter xvi. alan's defense "dead!" repeated sophy, after a pause. "then was this mr. beauchamp really my father or a relative?" "i think he was mr. marlow, dear," said her lover gravely. "no doubt your father intended to feign death to escape lestrange, but it would seem that he overdid it, and really died. i saw the manager of the occidental bank. he informed me that he had received a letter telling him that beauchamp was dead." "how long ago was this?" "a little over a week." "who wrote the letter?" "that he refused to tell me." "had he seen this mr. beauchamp, to whom the money was to be paid?" "never. your father had informed him that he had left an income to beauchamp, and that drafts for the money were to be sent to a certain place--where, i don't know. the manager sent a draft, but it was returned to him with a letter stating that the man was dead. for my own part, i believe that mr. marlow was beauchamp. his plan to hide himself from lestrange has succeeded only too well." mr. phelps now joined in. "then i understand, alan, that you think marlow is really dead?" "i do. if he had only feigned death, then beauchamp would be receiving his income. in my opinion, the two men are one and the same. i believe lestrange's story so far." "humph!" said the rector, who was really of the same opinion. "but let us leave this question for the moment and talk of the other. you say that lestrange arrived on the day and by the boat he asserted that he did?" "i saw the passenger-list myself. if he had not been on board, his name would not have been there. even he could not falsify a passenger-list." "then our idea that lestrange was the quiet gentleman is false?" "it must be, sir. the man--lestrange i mean--was not in england when the quiet gentleman lived in this village. i believe brown had to do with the stealing of the body and the murder. but, then, brown is not lestrange. who he is i don't know!" "alan!" cried sophy--for if what lestrange stated was true, this hypocrisy was detestable--"you are not straightforward with me!" "indeed i am," he said, with a stare of astonishment. "i have told you of my discoveries. why should i deceive you?" "why, indeed!" said the girl bitterly. "you know how much i love you, yet you keep me in the dark about matters which concern us both--matters which i, if any one, have a right to know." he might have had some inkling of what she meant, for his face turned a dark red. nevertheless, he held himself well in hand, and looked inquiringly at the rector. "what does she mean, sir?" "i think you can guess," said phelps, more coldly than he had ever before spoken to alan. "no; upon my word, i----" sophy rose from her chair and closed his mouth with her hand. "don't! don't!" she cried despairingly. "i can't bear it. captain lestrange----" she hesitated. "ah!" said alan fiercely. "i might have guessed he had been making mischief. well, and what does he say?" "that you stole my father's body, alan!" "i--i--stole the body?" "yes!" chimed in the rector. "and he further says that you took it to the hut on the heath, where warrender's corpse was found." "oh, indeed!" cried the young man derisively. "and did i murder warrender, too?" "alan! alan! oh, don't jest! if you love me, alan, tell me the truth." "sophy! what do you mean?" he pushed away his plate and rose. "do you believe this man's tale for one moment? am i the man to violate a grave--to drag the remains of a man i respected and honored to the light of day? you must be mad to think of such a thing! how dare he bring forward such a terrible--such a dastardly accusation? for what reason does he say that i did it?" "out of revenge, i expect," said phelps. "he dislikes you, alan. he says you took poor marlow's body to dissect it." "and bases his lie upon some gossip of my having been a medical student, i suppose?" cried the young man, now thoroughly angry. "i'll thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life!" "oh, alan, i am so glad--so thankful! i said so, didn't i, mr. phelps? you didn't do it!" "do it--of course i didn't do it! why should i? phelps,"--alan forgot his respect for the rector in his rage--"do you believe this lying story?" "knowing you as i do, i don't believe it. but i must say that lestrange--he is a very dangerous man--makes out a strong case against you." "oh! let me hear on what grounds." "alan!" sophy came forward and took him by the lapels of his coat, "before we tell you anything, confess if you have kept anything from us." he looked at her in a puzzled manner. then a light seemed to dawn upon him. he glanced at the rector. "now i understand, mr. phelps. jarks has told you." "told me what?" asked the rector, with well-feigned ignorance. "i see! i see!" alan sat down again. "it's all right, sophy. i kept that from you only that you should not be worried. so lestrange found out--from jarks, i suppose--that i was at heathton on the night of the funeral?" "yes, yes. oh, alan, is it true?" "true--of course it is. why should it not be true? does the fact of my having been here corroborate this cock-and-bull story? you ought to know me better, sophy, and you too, phelps." "i couldn't believe it--i didn't," cried the girl. "nor i. we both told him that he lied. but i must admit that things looked bad for you, as he put it. why didn't you tell us you were at heathton on that night? why did you come? was there any serious reason for such secrecy?" "no reason whatsoever," replied the young man frankly, "save the trifling one that i did not want to bother sophy with my suspicions. yes, i came by the . train from bournemouth, and i returned at half-past eleven. i had to go to another station to keep my secret, you know. jarks saw me in the graveyard about ten, and as i wished to keep my visit quiet, for the reason i have told you, i gave him something to hold his tongue. it appears that he did not. i suppose lestrange bribed him?" "well, no," said the rector, "not exactly. jarks, in his cups, told that scoundrel gramp, and he told lestrange." "oh! so there are two of them in league to make trouble. a proper pair of scoundrels!" "but," said sophy, more composedly, "you have not told us why you came." "i came," said her lover, determined now to make a clean breast of it, "to look at the vault--to see that all was safe." the rector uttered an exclamation of astonishment. "did you expect, then, that there would be some foul play?" "well, i hardly know, sir. it was this way: after mr. marlow received that letter from the west indies--which doubtless warned him that lestrange was on his track--he was much worried. he would not tell me the reason, but kept speaking of some shock he had had which might cause his death. 'and i don't know if the scoundrel will let my body rest in its grave,' he said in a fit of passion. i asked to whom he alluded, but he would say no more. when he died so unexpectedly, his words came back to me. i wondered if he had enemies who might disturb his remains, and all that day after the funeral i felt so bothered about it that i could not rest without coming back to see if all was well." "and you found nothing wrong?" "nothing, sir. i was in the churchyard for about a quarter of an hour. i examined the door of the vault, and saw everything was right. as i came away i met jarks; the rest you know." "you saw no signs of that tramp in the churchyard?" "none! i expect he was sleeping when i was there. according to his story, it was after midnight when the vault was opened." "alan," said sophy, much relieved, "how is it they did not know at heathton station that you were here?" "i did not go to heathton station. i stopped at murbury, and walked from there across the heath. i went back the same way. i did so simply to keep the tongues of gossips quiet. i did not want you to be worried, sophy; and after all," he said, after a pause, "beyond the chance words of your father i had no reason to think that anything was wrong. ah! if i had only stayed in the churchyard all night, i should have prevented this trouble. the vault would never have been broken into, and poor warrender would still be alive." the rector nodded approval of this speech, and poured himself out a glass of wine, which, poor man, he sadly needed. lestrange's accusation had been disproved; still, there remained the evidence of cicero. sophy put the question which was in the rector's mind. "captain lestrange brought cicero here, alan," she said abruptly, "and he--cicero, i mean--declared that you were in the hut on the moor that night." "i was not!" cried young thorold hotly. "i was never near the hut. why should i have been? ask yourself, as i had to walk to and from murbury, and spend a quarter of an hour in the churchyard, had i time to cross the moor all the distance to the hut?" "of course, you know i don't believe it. but cicero----" "well, and how can he prove i was there?" he said impatiently. "he found something there which belonged to you." "what?" "a lancet." "a lancet! and why mine? warrender was a doctor; he took away the body--why should the lancet not belong to him? if he had intended to dissect the body--which he might have, for all i know--he would want one." "no doubt," mr. phelps said dryly. "but this lancet had your initials on the ivory handle. it is your lancet, alan, and it is now in cicero's possession." "h'm! that's queer. initials?--yes, it might be mine. but how did it get there?" "did you ever lend a lancet to dr. warrender?" "no, not that i can remember." "then there was the other man, his accomplice, brown the----" "ha!" cried alan, starting up and pacing the room. "i see, i see!" "see what?" cried sophy eagerly. "how the lancet came to be found in the hut. the quiet gentleman stole it." "stole it?" "of course. did he not steal the key of the vault from my desk? there was a case of lancets in the same drawer; he took one. ha! this proves to me that brown stole the body and murdered warrender. a clever scoundrel! he stole my lancet to throw suspicion on me." alan clenched his hands and looked upward. "in god's name, what does this roguery mean?" it was indeed a perplexing case. they were all in the dark, and such gleams of light as came served only to confuse them the more. lestrange could not be the quiet gentleman, for, as had been proved by alan, he had landed in england only the week before. brown was the _deus ex machina_ who could put matters right, and brown had vanished. he could reappear only at the risk of being charged with murder. why had the body been removed? if it were a case of blackmailing, the claim would have been made long since. the police were apparently as much at a loss as alan himself. and blair---- "does blair know of this accusation?" asked mr. thorold suddenly. "i am certain he does not," answered the rector emphatically. "in the first place, it was only made to-day. lestrange, i am sure, wants money, and would come to us before going to the police." "if he does not want money, cicero does," put in sophy scornfully. "in the second place," resumed mr. phelps, "blair is away." "where has he gone?" "i can't say, but he will be back in a fortnight." "well," said alan moodily, "i don't know if he will be much good when he does come. i shall see this firm of scoundrels at the good samaritan, and threaten them with the police, unless they tell all they know. lestrange is as bad as cicero, and i know _him_ to be a scoundrel. what's that?" this exclamation was drawn from him by the violent ringing of the door-bell. before the sounds had ceased, miss vicky, red, hot and agitated, rushed in a most unladylike manner into the room. "oh, sophy! mr. phelps! mr. alan! i really never! joseph brill--oh, that joseph brill! he's back again!" chapter xvii. joe's evidence for a moment the three gazed in silence and amazement at the old maid. she stood before them, all tousled and red with haste, a figure of fun she would not have recognized for herself. her buckram demeanor had for once given way to the real woman. alan was the first to speak, and he jumped up from the table with a shout of joy. from an unexpected quarter, in the most unexpected manner, help had come, and at the moment when it was most needed. "joe brill!" cried mr. thorold. "he is the very man i want. where is he, miss vicky?" "at the moat house. i went to the kitchen for a moment; he was there--he had just come in. i thought he was a ghost," declared the little lady solemnly; "indeed i did until he convinced me that he was flesh and blood." "what explanation did he make?" asked sophy anxiously. "none--to me. he said he was ready to explain his absence to mr. thorold." "did he? then he shall have the chance. go back to the moat house, miss parsh, and send on joe to the good samaritan." "why there of all places?" asked the rector. "because i am going to see lestrange, and force the truth out of him. there shall be an end to all this devilment. he accuses me, does he!" cried thorold, with an ugly look. "let him have a care lest i accuse him, and prove my accusation, too, with the help of joe brill." "joseph!" cried miss parsh, quite at sea. "what can he do?" "he can prove if lestrange's story is true or false." "story, mr. alan! what story?" "never mind, vicky," put in sophy, catching miss parsh's arm. she saw that alan was growing impatient. "come back home, and we will send joe on to the inn. come, you look quite upset." "and i am upset," wailed the poor woman. "i ran all the way to tell you that joseph had returned--like a thief in the night," she added. "oh, dear me! and i'm so hot and untidy. i don't like these dreadful things!" miss vicky suddenly caught sight of herself in an adjacent mirror, and made a hasty attempt to arrange her disordered dress. "oh, what a spectacle for a genteel gentlewoman to present! a glass of wine, mr. phelps, i beg of you." the rector poured out the wine in silence, then turned to alan. "shall i come with you!" "no, sir. joe and i are quite able to deal with this brace of blackguards." "remember that lestrange is a dangerous man, alan." "so am i," retorted the other grimly. "if i happen to find a whip handy, i don't know what i might be tempted to do." "but if joe declares that lestrange is sophy's father?" "he is not my father!" cried sophy. "his story is a lie! i am the daughter of richard marlow." "sophia! this man--your father!" wailed miss vicky. "oh dear, what is all this?" "i'll tell you when we get home," said the girl. "alan, i will send joe to the inn at once." and she led the weeping vicky from the room. "let me come, alan. you will want a witness." "joe will be witness enough," said the young man decisively. "no, sir; better let me see him alone; there may be rough work. your cloth----" "deuce take my cloth!" cried the rector. "bless me, may i be forgiven! my cloth might keep the peace." "i don't want the peace kept," retorted thorold. "unless that creole frenchman apologizes i'll thrash him!" the rector stared, and well he might. all the well-bred composure had gone from alan's face and manner, the veneer of civilization was stripped off, and man, primeval man, showed naked and unashamed. he stared back at the clergyman, and for quite a minute the two looked at one another. then the younger man turned and left the room, and mr. phelps made no attempt to stay him. he knew that he might as well have tried to chain a whirlwind. he bowed to circumstances and sat down again to his wine. "i hope to heaven he'll keep himself in hand," he muttered, without his usual self-apology for swearing. "lestrange is dangerous; but alan, in his present mood, is more so. i should not care to be the man to meet him with that look on his face. dear! dear!" the little man sighed. "i wish all these mysteries were over and done with, and we could resume the quiet tenor of our way." meantime, alan was making for the inn. it was just on nine o'clock, and the night had turned out wet. as he had no overcoat, the rain was soaking him. but he did not care for that. his blood was on fire to meet this man and force the truth out of him. he was certain that lestrange could explain much if he chose; and whether he chose or not, alan intended that he should speak out. he was determined that an end should be put to these troubles. the rain whipped his face and drenched him, but he walked on steadily. there was no gas in heathton, which was so far uncivilized, and the roads were dark and miry. not until he got into the principal street did he leave the mud and the darkness behind him. then before him glimmered the feeble lantern over the door, with which mrs. timber illuminated the entrance to her premises. alan could hear the drowsy voices of the villagers sitting over their ale in the taproom;--heard above the rest the pompous speech of cicero, who was evidently playing his favorite part of sir oracle. in the hall mr. thorold was found by the landlady. the woman pervaded the house like a fly, and was always to be discovered where she was least expected. she recognized alan, curtsied and awaited instructions. "take me," he said abruptly, "to captain lestrange." "lor', sir!" mrs. timber, in her amazement, overstepped the bounds of class. "you said he was no friend of yours, sir." "nor is he. come, show me his room. he is in, i suppose?" "catch him wetting himself!" she said, leading the way, with a sour smile. "he's a furrin' jack-o-dandy, that he is. not but what he don't pay reg'lar. but i see the color of his money afore my meat goes down his throat. this is the door, sir." "very good. and, mrs. timber, should joe brill come, show him in here." "joe brill!" yelped the landlady, throwing up her hands. "you don't mean to say as he's back, mr. alan! well, i never did! and i thought he'd run away because of the murder." "you think too much, mrs. timber. some day you will get yourself into trouble. now go, and don't forget my orders." chilled by the severity of his tone, mrs. timber crept away, somewhat ashamed. alan knocked at the door, heard the thin voice of lestrange call out "entrez," and went in. the man was lying on the sofa, reading a french novel by the light of a petroleum lamp, and smoking a cigarette. when alan appeared, he rose quickly into a sitting position, and stared at his visitor. of all men, the last he had expected to see was the one he had so basely accused. the thought flashed into his mind that thorold had come to have it out with him. but lestrange, whatever his faults, was not wanting in a certain viperish courage. he rose to greet his enemy with a smile which cloaked many things. "good-evening, mr. thorold," he said, with a wary glance; "to what am i indebted for this visit?" "you shall know that before long," replied alan, closing the door. he was now considerably cooler, and had made up his mind that more was to be got out of this man by diplomacy than by blind rage. "have i your permission to sit down?" he asked, with studied politeness. "certainly, my dear sir. will you smoke?" "no, thank you." "have some refreshment, then?" "no, thank you." "ah!" sneered lestrange, throwing himself again on the couch, "your visit is not so amiable as i fancied. you come as my enemy." "considering your behavior, it would be strange if i came as anything else." "my behavior?" "i refer to your interview with mr. phelps and miss marlow." "mademoiselle lestrange, if you please." "ah, that is for you to prove!" "i shall prove it," said the other, quite unmoved, "in open court." "that will be a harder task than you imagine," retorted alan quickly. "but i am not here to discuss miss marlow's parentage. my errand is to ask you why you have accused me of taking away the body of her father." "richard marlow was not her father," replied the man with heat. "so you say--we can pass that point, as i told you before. i speak of the charge you have thought fit to bring against me." "it is a true one. i am willing to take it into court." "you may be brought into court sooner than you expect," remarked alan dryly; and from the sudden start the man gave he saw that the shot had gone home. "on what grounds do you base this charge?" "if mr. phelps reported the interview correctly, you must know," said he sullenly. "to save time," retorted alan, "i may as well admit that i do know. jarks and cicero speak the truth." lestrange looked surprised. "then you admit your guilt?" "no; that is quite another thing. i admit that i was in heathton on that night when jarks saw me. what i came for does not concern you, captain lestrange; but i can prove also that i was back in bournemouth before twelve o'clock. you will observe that i can establish an alibi." "upon my word, i really believed you guilty!" cried the captain with sincerity. "no doubt," was the scornful reply. "the wish is father to the thought. i will thank you not to accuse me falsely again." "you have to explain away the finding of the lancet." "that was stolen from my desk, with the key of the vault, by a man called brown, whom i believe to have been guilty of a crime. you need not try to fasten the guilt upon me! i can defend myself--to use your favorite phrase--in open court, if necessary." "your word is enough," protested lestrange. "i was wrong to accuse you!" "very wrong. you did it out of spite----" "no, no! i really believed----" "what you wished yourself to believe," interrupted alan in his turn. "it was my intention to have given you a thrashing, captain lestrange----" "sir!" the man started up white with rage. "but i have changed my mind," pursued alan, without noticing the interruption. "i now intend to take another course. if you do not at once leave heathton, i shall bring a charge against you of defamation of character." "oh!" lestrange shrugged his shoulders. "you are a true english shop-keeper. a man should protect himself by more honorable means." "i know very well what i am about, sir. i wish to bring you into contact with the law. for that reason--unless you go--i shall bring the action." "and what can the law do to me?" he asked defiantly. "i have committed no wrong." "you intend to. oh! i know that you are innocent of taking marlow's body, and of murdering warrender. but you are here to blackmail miss marlow on the threat of proclaiming her dead father a murderer." "i am here to claim my daughter!" shouted lestrange fiercely. "sophia marlow i know nothing of; but marie lestrange is the daughter of achille lestrange, and i"--the captain struck his breast--"i am he!" while he was still posing in a very effective attitude, the door opened, and mrs. timber ushered in joe brill. hardly had it closed, when brill took a step forward, staring at lestrange as though he had seen a vision. lestrange turned white, this time not with rage but with fear. in the silence which ensued alan looked from one to the other, wondering what revelation was about to be made. joe was the first to speak. "you swab!" cried joe. "d----d if it ain't captain jean!" chapter xviii. a portion of the truth joe was not in the least changed. wherever he had been, in whatever nefarious transactions he had been engaged, he was still the mahogany-colored, tough old sailor whom nothing could surprise or alarm. after having greeted lestrange he hitched up his trousers in true nautical style and touched his forehead. "you wished to see me, sir," he said to alan, and took a sidelong glance at the captain. that polished scoundrel had, for once, lost his coolness, and, colorless with rage, was glaring at the seaman like a devil. "joe," said the squire, as soon as he could take in the situation, "you are making a mistake." "not me, sir! i knows a shark when i sees one." "but this is captain achille lestrange." "curse me if he is!" cried joe vigorously. "achille weren't no captain. this one's a captain right enough, and a blazing fine lobster he is! jean's his name, sir, but he ain't a scotch girl, for all that. no, it's the french lingo for john." "i am achille lestrange," persisted the captain, very shrill and very short of breath. "this man is a liar!" "say that again, and i'll knock the teeth down your throat!" growled joe, like an angry mastiff. "achille be blowed! i know'd you twenty year ago in the islands, i did, and a bad lot you were then. jean lestrange--why, there never was a wuss lot! i never did think much of achille, for all his money; but you----" joe spat to show his disgust. "then this man is not sophy's father?" gasped alan. "oh, he sez that, does he, the lubber? missy's father! why, he ain't fit to be her shoeblack!" "achille was the girl's father," said lestrange sullenly. he saw that it was useless to lie in face of joe's positive knowledge. "and if i'm not her father, i'm her uncle." "that's a d----d lie!" put in joe. "you weren't no more nor achille's cousin. what you are to missy, i don't know. but she won't have nothing to do with you, you landshark!" "joe, do you mean to say your late master is not sophy's father?" "i do, sir. it's got to come out somehow, if only to put a stop to that devil's pranks. she's the daughter of achille lestrange." "who was murdered by marlow!" finished the captain savagely. "ah, my friends, i have still some cards left." "you'll have no teeth left!" growled joe, making a step forward. "you're a liar, captain jean--you always was! mr. marlow----" "beauchamp," corrected lestrange, with a glance at alan. "beauchamp it is," continued brill coolly. "oh, you needn't be afeared that i'm going to lie! but mr. beauchamp never stabbed munseer achille, and you know it, you lubber! let me get at him, mr. thorold!" "no, no, joe!" alan kept the irate seaman back. "we'll deal with this gentleman in a better fashion. sit down, joe, while we talk it over." joe nodded, and sat down on a chair, which he placed directly before the door. with a glare that showed he noticed and resented this action, lestrange resumed his seat. he was too clever a man not to recognize that joe's cunning would dislocate his plans. but he was evidently determined to fight to the last. at present he held his tongue, for he wanted to hear what joe would say. he preferred, for the moment, to remain strictly on the defensive. it was with a thankful heart that alan thorold realized the value of joe as an ally. at one time he had really believed that lestrange was truly sophy's father, and although she would never have admitted the relationship, still it was satisfactory to know that the man had no claim on her obedience. the knowledge of lestrange's falsehood cleared the air somewhat. for one thing, it proved conclusively that the captain had come to blackmail the girl. his claim to be her father was doubtless made in the hope that she would accompany him back to jamaica, and would give him control of her money. failing this--and lestrange had long since realized that there was no doing anything with sophy in a paternal way--there remained the chance that, to preserve marlow's memory from stain, she might buy his silence. thus lestrange argued, and alan, with his eyes on the man's expressive face, guessed his thoughts and answered them. "no, lestrange," he said, with decision, "you won't get one penny." "we shall see about that," was the rejoinder. "of course. we are going to see about it now. you will be brought to your bearings, sir. joe, you say that this man is jean lestrange?" "yes, sir. but may i ask, mr. thorold, how you know about the shark?" "i have heard the story from his own lips, joe. he claimed to be achille lestrange and miss sophy's father." "did he, now, the swab! and you know, sir, how mrs. lestrange ran away to mr. beauchamp from the way her husband treated her?" "i know----" "achille treated zelia well," interrupted the captain; "only too well." "that's another lie!" retorted joe. "he was fond-like of her the first year they were married, but it was you, captain jean, who made a mess of them. you made him jealous of mr. beauchamp, and he treated her crool. no wonder she ran away, poor lass!" "did the way achille treated zelia give beauchamp any right to murder him?" "he didn't murder him. you know he didn't." "he did, i say. achille was found stabbed to the heart on the veranda of beauchamp's house. zelia was dead, and your master took the child away to his yacht at falmouth. you were on board." "yes," said joe coolly, "i wos; and it wos well for you, captain jean, that i wasn't near the house that same evening. i'd ha' wrung your neck, i would! anyhow, master didn't kill munseer achille." "there was a warrant out for his arrest, however." "i know that, captain jean, and it was you who got it out. and i know as you came over here after master from seeing his picter in the papers. we both knowed you were coming, captain jean." alan interposed: "was that the west indian letter, joe?" "yes, sir, it was. master got a letter from a friend of his in jamaica telling him this swab was after him to say as he'd murdered munseer achille, which," added joe, deliberately eyeing lestrange, "is a d----d lie!" "then who killed achille?" sneered the captain, quivering with rage. "i dunno rightly," replied mr. brill stolidly. "i wasn't in the house that night, or i'd ha' found out. but master ran away, because he knew you'd accuse him out of spite. but mr. barkham, of falmouth, believed master was innocent, and know'd where he was, and what was his new name. 'twas he wrote the letter saying as captain jean was on his way to england to make trouble." "barkham!" muttered lestrange. "ah! he was always my enemy." "a shark like you, captain jean, ain't got no friends," remarked joe sententiously. "do you think that barkham's letter caused mr. marlow's death?" asked alan. "do i think it, sir? why, i knows it! after twenty years of hearing nothing, the shock, as you might say, killed my master." "then he was guilty, and my accusation was a righteous one to make," chimed in lestrange. "a clean conscience fears nothing." "mr. beauchamp's conscience was a darned sight cleaner nor yourn, captain jean, but you had the whip-hand of him, as all those in jamaica thought he'd murdered munseer achille, from them quarreling about him coming after his wife. but master didn't do it--i swear he didn't! more like you did it yourself," added joe, with a look of contempt, "though i dare say you ain't man enough to stick a knife into any one." alan thought for a few minutes, then turned to lestrange. "i think you must see that you have failed all round," he said quietly. "your plot to pass as miss marlow's father is of no use now. the accusation against me is not worth considering, as i have shown. if necessary, i can defend myself. on the whole, captain lestrange, you had better go back to jamaica." "not without my price," said the adventurer. "ah, blackmail! well, i always thought that was at the bottom of it all. a man with clean hands and honorable intentions would not have joined hands with a confessed rogue like cicero gramp. but may i ask on what grounds you demand money?" "i can prove that beauchamp killed my cousin." "what good will that do? beauchamp is dead, and beyond your malice." "ay, that he is," said joe approvingly. "he's gone where you won't get him. i reckon you'll go the other way when your time comes, you blasted swab!" lestrange, writhing under these insults, jumped up and poured out a volley of abuse, which the seaman bore quite unmoved. "i'll not go without my money," he raged, "and a good sum, too, otherwise i shall see the girl----" "if you annoy miss marlow again, i'll have you arrested," said alan sharply. "we don't permit this sort of thing in england." "i shall put the story of beauchamp's wickedness in all the papers." "as you please. it cannot harm the dead." "and will that girl stand by and see her father's memory disgraced?" "you seem to forget," said thorold, with quiet irony, "that he was not miss marlow's father. well, there is no more to be said. if you make yourself a nuisance, the law shall deal with you." "and i'll deal with him myself," said joe. "i'll make them eyes of yours blacker than they are by nature." "leave him alone, joe. he'll go now." "i won't go!" cried the man. "i'll have my price." alan shrugged his shoulders. "i shall have to give you that thrashing, after all." "let me do it, sir," put in mr. brill, who was simply spoiling for a row, and he stepped towards lestrange. the man's courage, genuine enough of its kind, suddenly gave way before the ferocity of the sailor. he sprang up, ran into an inner room and bolted the door. joe uttered the roar of a baffled tiger. "never mind, joe; we're quit of him now. he will leave heathton." "i'll wait for him at the station," muttered joe, following the young squire out of doors. "'tain't right that the swab should get off scot-free." outside the rain had ceased. alan looked at his watch, and finding that it was late, turned his face towards home. suddenly he recollected that joe had not explained his absence. "well, joe, where have you been?" he asked sharply. "after him." joe pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "when master's body was carried away, i thought that shark might have done it. i know'd he was coming from jamaica, so i went to southampton to see when he arrived." "you did not see him?" "no," was the gloomy reply. "but i seed the list of passengers in one of them boats, and his name wos on it. he couldn't have done it!" "i found that out myself. no; lestrange is innocent." "if i'd know'd he wos on his way here to make trouble with missy, i'd have waited," said the sailor; "but i thought if i dropped across him i'd keep him off." "he stole a march on you, joe. and you have been at southampton all this time?" "i have, sir--there and in london. but it's all right now, mr. alan. he won't worry miss sophy any more. but now you know, sir, why i gave a sov. to that tramp. he talked about one as sent him, and i thought he wos talking of captain jean, so i hurried him away as soon as i could, lest miss sophy should hear." "i understand, joe. but cicero knew nothing at that time." "ah!" joe clenched his fist. "he's another as needs a beating. beg pardon, sir, but i suppose you ain't found out who killed the doctor?" "no; i believe myself it was that man brown, who was called the quiet gentleman. do you know who he was, joe?" "no, sir, i do not," replied joe doggedly. "good-night, mr. alan," and he walked off in great haste. the young squire pursued his way to the abbey farm, and all the way wondered if joe's sudden departure hinted at an unwillingness to talk of brown. "i'll ask him about the man to-morrow," muttered alan. but on the morrow he had other matters to attend to. while he was at breakfast a card was brought to him and he jumped up with a joyful cry. "inspector blair!" he said, throwing down the card. "show him up, mrs. hester. ah! i wonder what he has found out." chapter xix. a reappearance "i am glad to see you, blair. sit down and have some breakfast." "aha!" the inspector rubbed his hands as he looked at the well-spread table. "i never say no to a good offer. thank you, mr. thorold, i will peck a bit." "you are looking well, blair." "never felt better in my life, mr. thorold. i have good cause to look jolly." "enjoyed your holiday, no doubt," said alan, as he assisted the officer liberally to ham and eggs. "where did you spend it?" "in brighton--pleasant place, brighton." blair looked so jocular, and chuckled in so pleasant a manner that the squire guessed he had good news. however, he resolved to let blair tell his story in his own way. "what took you to brighton of all places?" he asked tentatively. "well, you might guess. joe brill took me." "joe brill?" the inspector nodded. "i followed him there." "but i have seen joe. he tells me he was at southampton and in london." "no doubt--a clever fellow joe. he knows how to hold his tongue. well, mr. thorold, i hope your troubles about this matter of the lost body will soon be at an end." "blair!" alan bent forward in a state of great excitement. "you have found out something about it?" "yes, enough to gain me a thousand pounds." "not enough to gain you two thousand pounds?" "no." blair's face fell. "but i intend to get that also. however, i have learned all about the theft of mr. marlow's body--how it was removed, and why it was removed." "by jove! how did you find out?" "through joe brill. somehow i suspected joe from the first. that sovereign he gave cicero gramp, you know--i always fancied there was something behind his anxiety to get that man away. so i had him watched, and applied for leave of absence. when he left heathton i followed as a tourist," chuckled blair. "oh, i assure you, mr. thorold, i make a very good tourist." "and he went to brighton?" "yes, direct to brighton. i went there and found out all about it." "you don't mean to say that he stole the body!" "ay, but i do and with the best intentions, too." "was he the short man cicero gramp saw with warrender?" "he was the short man," replied blair, finishing his coffee. "then, why did he not tell me?" alan burst out angrily. "i saw him last night, yet he said nothing. he knew how anxious miss marlow is about the loss of her father's body." "not her father," corrected the inspector. "achille lestrange was her father." "what!" alan started from his seat. "you know that?" "i know all--the elopement in jamaica; the kidnapping of marie lestrange, whom we know as sophy marlow; the coming of jean lestrange to blackmail the girl, and--and--all the rest of it. you see, mr. thorold, i interviewed joe brill this morning, and he told me all about your conversation with that rascal. i am posted up to date, sir." "joe brill had no business to keep me in the dark," said the squire angrily. "he should have relieved my mind and miss marlow's. "miss lestrange," hinted blair. "no, sir--sophia marlow she is, and sophia marlow she will remain until she changes her name for mine. her father is dead, and jean lestrange has no claim on her. sophia marlow, mr. inspector, if you please." "well, well--as you please. we shan't quarrel about a name. have you anything to smoke, mr. thorold?" alan got him an excellent cigar, and returned to the point. "why did joe keep me and miss marlow in the dark?" he asked. "acted under orders, mr. thorold." "whose orders?" "mr. marlow's, or rather, i should say mr. beauchamp's." "blair!" alan gasped out the name. his face was white and he was appalled at the news. for the moment he believed the inspector must have taken leave of his senses. "oh, i dare say your astonishment is natural," said the inspector, lighting his cigar. "i was astonished myself to find the dead man alive and kicking. yet i should not have been, for i suspected the truth." alan had not yet recovered from his amazement. "you suspected that mr. marlow was alive!" he said faintly. "on what evidence?" "on circumstantial evidence," said blair smartly. "when i examined the coffin with mr. phelps i noticed what he did not. at the sides small holes were bored in inconspicuous places, and the shell of the leaden case was pierced. only one inference could be drawn from this--that the man had designedly been buried alive. the design must have been carried out by warrender and the short man. i suspected joe, from the fact of his having given that sovereign to cicero, and i watched him. presuming my belief to be correct, i made certain that sooner or later he would rejoin his master. as i say, he went to brighton. i followed close on his heels to a boarding-house in lansdowne place. there i saw mr. marlow." "did he recognize you?" "of course. while he was living at heathton i had seen mr. marlow several times on business. he made no attempt when i saw him at brighton to disguise himself--not thinking, i suppose, that his clever scheme to frustrate lestrange would come to light in this way." "but, blair, you did not know about lestrange then!" "true enough; but i soon heard the whole story. mr. marlow told it to me himself. as you may guess, he was in a great way about my having discovered him, and seeing no means of evading the truth, he told it. i insisted upon it, in fact; and now i know all." "and how did it come about?" blair held up his hand. "no, mr. thorold," said he, "i shall leave mr. marlow--i think we had better continue to call him so--to tell his own history. he can do it better than i. besides," added the inspector, rising briskly, "i have business to do." "what sort of business?" "you can judge for yourself. i want you to come with me." "where--what to do?" "to see mrs. warrender. you see, it was her husband who carried out this scheme of feigned death to deceive lestrange. marlow, accused of having murdered achille in jamaica, was afraid that this captain jean would have him arrested. now, warrender was in beauchamp's house at falmouth, jamaica, when mrs. lestrange died, and he knew all about it. it is my belief," added the inspector slowly, "that beauchamp is innocent, as he asserts himself to be, and that warrender knew as much." "but, my dear blair," protested alan, "in that case warrender could have told marlow the truth, and could have stopped jean lestrange from making mischief." "i dare say he could, but he did not. warrender, my dear mr. thorold, was a blackmailing scoundrel, who assumed the mask of friendship to bamboozle marlow. i had considerable difficulty in impressing this view on marlow, for, strange to say, he believed in the doctor. joe did not, however, and joe told me a few facts about warrender's practice in jamaica, which showed me that the doctor was not the disinterested person he pretended to be. no, i am sure warrender knew beauchamp to be innocent, and kept the fact quiet so as to retain a hold on the man, and get money out of him. now, do you understand why i want to see his widow?" "no," replied alan, not following the inspector's hypothesis, "i do not. if warrender kept the truth from marlow, he would most certainly have kept it from his wife. the woman would have babbled, even against her own interests, as women always do. mrs. warrender can tell you nothing--i feel sure of that." "you forget that the doctor may have left a confession of his knowledge." "would he have done that?" said alan doubtfully. "it would have been a foolish thing." "and when do criminals do other than foolish things?" was blair's response. "the murderer usually returns to the scene of his crime--as often as not sets out its details in writing. it is impossible to account for the actions of human beings, mr. thorold. it would not surprise me in the least to hear that warrender had written out the whole story in a diary. if so, his wife must have found it amongst his papers, and she will be disposed to sell it--at a long price." "if she had found such a document, she would have shown it to me or to sophy before now." "by no means. if she knew that marlow were alive, then, of course, she would realize that the document was valuable. but she believes him to be dead." "humph!" said alan. "you seem very certain that such a document exists." "perhaps i am too sanguine," admitted blair; "but mr. marlow gave me a full account of what happened on the night achille was murdered. moreover, he swore that he was innocent, and i believe him. as to warrender, he was a scoundrel, and i am sure that, like all scoundrels, he has left a record of his villainies in black and white. if this is so, i can prove marlow's innocence, and he can defy lestrange." by this time alan and the inspector were walking along the road which led to heathton. it was a bright, sunny morning, and alan was in high spirits. how happy blair's news would make sophy! "and warrender, what about his death?" he asked. "does marlow know who killed him?" "strange as it may seem, he does not, mr. thorold. he is as ignorant as you or i. that death is a mystery still." "but if warrender was killed on the heath----" "i can't explain, mr. thorold. hear marlow's story, and you will be as much in the dark as i am. but i suspect lestrange." "so did i," replied alan, speaking in the past tense. "but i learned for certain that lestrange was not in england on the night of the murder." "i proved that, too," said blair thoughtfully; "yet i can't help thinking there is some trickery. lestrange is at the good samaritan?" "yes, dancing on miss marlow's doorstep in the hope of getting money." "does he receive any letters?" "i don't know. why?" "merely an idea of mine. i'll tell you later on what i think." "you are keeping me very much in the dark, blair," said alan, somewhat piqued. "i don't care to show incomplete work," replied the inspector bluntly. "i believe i can unravel the whole of this mystery, but i don't want to show you the raw material. let me work it out my own way, mr. thorold, and judge me by the result." "as you please. so long as you do it, i don't care how you go about it." "i am working for two thousand pounds," said blair, "and i don't intend to let any one else have it. that blackguard tramp would like to be the man." alan laughed. "he has already made a clutch at it by accusing me of the theft of mr. marlow's body." the inspector nodded and smiled grimly. "the two are working in unison," said he, rubbing his hands; "but i'll catch them." "by the way," said thorold, "is mr. marlow coming back here?" "to be caught by lestrange? no, i think not. he is not such a fool. if you want to see him, you must go to brighton." "i shall go to-morrow, blair. i am most anxious to hear the story of that night." "a strange story--more like fiction than truth." "truth is always stranger than fiction." blair assented. they walked on through a steep lane, which led into the high street of the village. as they breasted this, mrs. marry, with a basket on her arm, met them. she was evidently excited. "well, mrs. marry," said alan kindly, "what is it?" "the poor dear isn't dead, after all," cried the panting woman. "i declare, mr. thorold, you could ha' knocked me down wi' a feather when i saw him." "saw who?" "why, mr. brown, sir--the quiet gentleman. he has come back!" chapter xx. the amazement op alan thorold mrs. marry delivered her startling piece of news with an air of triumph. she did not guess for one moment how very important it was, or in what peril it placed the quiet gentleman. "he came back last night," she continued, "and he told me with his fingers how he had been lying ill in london town. poor dear! he took it into his head to go for a jaunt, he says, and went by the night train. he meant to have come back to me next morning, but a nasty influenza took him and kept him away. i'm that glad he's come back i can't tell!" cried mrs. marry joyfully, "for he do pay most reg'lar, and gives not a bit of trouble, innocent babe that he is!" and having imparted her news, she hurried on down the lane. the two men stood looking at one another. "brown back again!" said alan. "now we shall know the truth." "if he knows it," said blair dryly--he was less excited than his companion--"but i doubt if we shall learn much from him, mr. thorold. if he had anything to do with the murder, he would not have come back." "but he must have something to do with it, man! have you forgotten that it was he who stole the key of the vault from my desk?" "no," said blair pointedly, "nor have i forgotten that he did not use the key. it was joe brill who opened the vault." "indeed! and where did joe get the key? not from mr. phelps, for he still has his key. ha!" cried alan suddenly, "did joe get it from brown?" "no, he did not. the key was not used at all. there was a third key in existence, of which neither you nor mr. phelps were aware. marlow had had it made to provide against the contingency which arose. he had always resolved to feign death, should lestrange track him. so he kept the third key, and joe used it on that night." "well, even granting that such is the case, why should brown have stolen my key? and how could he have known that it was in my desk?" "i think we discussed that point before," replied the inspector composedly, "and that we came to the conclusion that brown overheard your conversation with mr. phelps on the day of the funeral. where are you going?" "to see brown. i am determined to get the truth out of him." blair looked at him. "well, mr. thorold," he said, "i don't suppose it will do any harm for you to see the man. meanwhile i will go on to mrs. warrender's." "but you ought to come with me and arrest him." "i do not think i have sufficient evidence to procure a warrant, mr. thorold. a charge of murder is serious, you see." "pooh! pooh! i don't want him arrested for murder, but on the charge of breaking open my desk." "i could do that certainly. well, you go and see him, mr. thorold, while i interview mrs. warrender. i'll call along at the cottage later. you needn't let brown out of your sight until i come." "you'll arrest him?" "if you wish it; i'll take the risk." "very good, i'm off!" and with an abrupt nod alan ran down the lane. blair looked after him with a queer smile on his dry face. he had his own ideas regarding the termination of alan's attempt to make brown the mysterious speak out. mrs. warrender was at home when the inspector called. at first she felt she could not see him, for the idea of coming into contact with the police was abhorrent to her. she wondered if blair could have discovered the relationship which existed between herself and cicero, and it was her anxiety to ascertain this which made her grant the inspector an interview. if her brother were playing her false, the more she knew about his plans the better would she be able to frustrate them. mrs. warrender was a capable woman, and had a genius for intrigue. she was quite decided that she could hold her own even against the trained intelligence of a police officer. and so it came about that the gentleman in question was shown into the drawing-room, a meretricious, gaudy apartment, which betrayed in furniture and decoration the tawdry taste of the doctor's widow. she came forward to receive him in an elaborate tea-gown of pink silk trimmed with lace, and, in spite of the early hour, she wore a quantity of jewels. blair had an eye for beauty, and could not deny that this lady was a fine woman, though, perhaps, too much of the ponderous type. he wondered why she did not wear mourning. she could have cared but little for her husband, he thought, to appear in gay colors so soon after his untimely end. but, in truth, mrs. warrender had never professed to be an affectionate wife. she had married for a home, and made no secret of it. "good-morning," she said, with a sharp glance at blair's impassive face. "i understand that you belong to the police, and that you wish to see me--why, i cannot conceive." "if you will permit me to explain myself, i will soon give you my reasons," said the inspector, in his best manner. "may i sit down? thank you. now we can talk at our ease." "i suppose it is about the sad end of my poor husband," she said, in tones of grief, which her gay attire somewhat belied. "have you found out the truth?" "no; but i hope to do so--with your assistance." she looked up suddenly. "if you think i killed the poor lamb, you are mistaken," she said. "i can account for all my actions on that night, policeman." this last was hurled at blair with the object of keeping him well in mind of her condescension in receiving him. "i never had the slightest suspicion of you," he protested. "my errand has to do with quite a different matter. and might i suggest," he added, a trifle testily, "that i am usually addressed as inspector blair?" "oh, of course, if you insist upon it!" she cried, with a shrug. "inspector blair--will that do?" "that will do very well, thank you." he paused, and stared hard at the expensive tea-gown and the aggressive jewelry until the widow became restive. "are you rich?" he asked abruptly. "what has that got to do with you?" cried mrs. warrender furiously. "remember you are talking to a lady!" "to a rich lady or to a poor one?" "upon my soul, this is too much? mind your business, inspector blair!" "this is my business," he retorted, keeping himself well in hand. "i merely asked you the question, because, if you are not rich, then i come to make you so." "what do you mean?" "answer my question first: are you rich?" and he took another good look at the dress and the jewels. "no," she said sullenly, "i am not. my husband left me fairly well off, but not with so much money as i expected." "then you would not object to making some more?" her eyes lighted up with the fire of greed. "i should! i should! i am dying to leave this dull village and take up a position in london; but i cannot do it without money." she paused, then clapped her hands. "i see," she cried; "sophy marlow is going to compensate me for the death of my husband. it would be easy enough with all the millions she has!" "i am sure it would," assented blair coolly; "but i don't mean to supply you with money for nothing." "you! what have you to do with the matter?" "a good deal. mr. thorold and miss marlow will rely on my advice." "oh, miss marlow!" jeered mrs. warrender, sitting up. "that is her name, is it, inspector blair? are you sure it isn't marie lestrange?" he leaned forward and caught her wrist in a grip of steel. "so you know the truth, then?" he said. "give me the confession." "what confession? what do you mean?" she cried, trying to release her hand. "the confession left by your husband, in which he tells the story of achille lestrange's murder." "i--i--i don't know----" "yes, you do; yes, you do--no lies!" he shook her wrist. "you know that marlow never murdered captain lestrange." "let go my wrist!" cried mrs. warrender, and succeeded in wrenching herself free. "what do you mean by behaving like this? i know nothing about the matter--there!" blair jumped up and made for the door. "very good. then you lose the money. i have got for you." "come back! come back!" she followed him to the door and laid her hand on his shoulder. "don't be in a hurry. is there--is there money in it?" "if you have the confession, yes." "how much?" "we will talk of that when i know the truth. have you a confession?" "yes, i have." she thought she might with safety admit as much. "i found the whole story of mr. and mrs. lestrange and mr. beauchamp amongst my business papers--my husband's papers, i should say. it was signed and witnessed in new orleans. it seems warrender was dying there, and wanted to tell mr. beauchamp--marlow, i mean--the truth, so he had the confession drawn up by a lawyer. afterwards, when he got well, he did not destroy it." "beauchamp was innocent of the murder, then?" "yes. he knocked achille lestrange down, but he did not kill him." "aha! i thought so!" chuckled blair, rubbing his hands. "who did?" mrs. warrender drew back with a look of cunning on her face. "that's tellings," said she, relapsing into the speech of her people. "i don't part with my secret unless i get my price." "name your price." "two thousand pounds." "what!" cried the inspector. "two thousand pounds for clearing the memory of a dead man! my dear lady, five hundred is nearer the mark." "two thousand," she repeated. "if sophy marlow has the millions left by her supposed father, she can well afford that." "humph! we'll see. i must speak to mr. thorold first. you have the confession?" "i have--safely put away. it was my intention to have seen sophy marlow about it, but i thought i'd wait." "to see what price you could get?" put in blair. "quite so. i'm a woman of business. if i don't get my price, i burn that confession." "you dare not! i can have you arrested, remember." she snapped her fingers. "pooh!" she said. "i don't care for your threats. this is my one chance of making money, and i'm going to take it. two thousand pounds or nothing." "i'll think it over," said blair. "i am to have the refusal of that confession, mind." "what! do you want to make money too?" "certainly," said blair, with irony; "i am a man of business." she laughed, and took leave of him in a very amiable frame of mind. when he had gone, she smirked in front of a mirror and took a long look at herself. "two thousand pounds," she cried, "and my own savings! i'm not so old, after all. i'll run away from cicero and marry again. ha! ha! i've made a deal this time!" and she went in to luncheon with a most excellent appetite. while this interview was taking place, alan had been at mrs. harry's cottage. having received no orders to the contrary, she ushered him into the sitting-room. there sat the quiet gentleman in his gray suit. at sight of alan he started violently. "good-day, mr. brown," said his visitor, looking closely at him. "i have come to see you about that key you stole. you are dumb, i believe, but not deaf, so no doubt you follow my meaning." the quiet gentleman made a step forward, and, to the amazement of his visitor, he spoke. "alan," he said--"alan thorold!" the young man dropped into a chair, white and shaking. he knew that voice--he knew what was coming. with a laugh the quiet gentleman pulled off his wig and beard. "don't you know me, alan?" he asked. "richard marlow!" gasped alan. "herbert beauchamp," was the quiet reply. chapter xxi. the story of the past "come, alan," said beauchamp after a pause, "you need not be tongue-tied with astonishment. i sent blair on to tell you all that had happened, so you must have known that i was alive." "yes, yes--but your disguise," stammered the young man. "i expected to see brown. you are not brown, never could have been; for when he was here, i have seen you and him at the same time." "that's all right, my boy. i was not brown, as you say, and who brown was i know no more than you do. but i am brown now," with emphasis, "and brown i shall remain until i can show myself with safety as richard marlow. not that i intended to stick to that name. no; if blair is right, and that scoundrel warrender has left papers to prove my innocence, i shall take my own name. but this disguise! it is a plot between me and blair. it was necessary that i should be on the spot, so we thought this was as good a mask as any. oh, depend upon it, alan, i am perfectly safe here from jean lestrange!" as he spoke, beauchamp was putting on his wig and beard. and when this was done to his satisfaction, he seated himself on a chair opposite to alan, looking the very image of the quiet gentleman. thorold did not wonder that mrs. marry had been deceived--the completeness of the disguise would have deceived a cleverer woman. "still," said he doubtfully, "if the real brown should reappear----" "we will have him arrested for the murder of warrender," said beauchamp quietly. "yes, i am convinced he is guilty, else why did he steal the key of the vault? blair told me about that. he must surely be some tool of jean lestrange's. no, not the man himself--i am aware of that. blair saw the passenger-list." "are you certain that the quiet gentleman killed warrender?" "no, because i did not see the blow struck. i was insensible at the time--but it is a long story, and to make things perfectly clear, i must begin at the beginning. one moment, alan." beauchamp crossed to the door and turned the key. "i don't want mrs. marry to come in." "she will hear your voice, and believing you to be dumb----" "i'll speak low. come nearer to this chair. first tell me how sophy is." "very well, but much cast down. she thinks you are dead, and that your body has been stolen. oh, beauchamp!" cried alan passionately, "why did you not trust sophy and me? you would have spared us both many an unhappy hour." "i wish now that i had told you, but i acted for the best. i had little time for thought. i expected daily that lestrange would appear. if i had only considered the matter rather more--but there, it's done and we must make the best of it. sophy's tears will be turned to smiles shortly--if, indeed, she still loves me, knowing that i am not her father," and the old man sighed. "you need have no fear on that score," said alan, with a faint smile. he was getting over the first shock of surprise. "sophy would have nothing to do with jean lestrange, although she half believed his story. she always insists that you are her true father. she will welcome you back with the greatest joy." "she must welcome me secretly." "secretly--why? should your innocence be established, you would surely reappear as richard marlow?" "what! and have the whole story in the papers? no, alan, i shall spend the rest of my life under my true name of beauchamp, and live on the two thousand a year i left myself in my will. you and sophy can marry and take the rest of the money. i shall travel, and take joe with me." "well, perhaps it is the best thing to do," said thorold. "but tell me, how was it that the manager of the occidental bank reported you dead?" "joe wrote to him by my order to say so. when joe came to me at brighton and told me how the death of warrender had complicated matters, i was afraid lest i should be traced, and perhaps accused of a second murder. so i thought it best to put it about that i was dead, and end all pursuit." "if you had only trusted me, sir, all this trouble would have been avoided. i merited your confidence, i think." "i know--i know. indeed, on that day when i spoke to you of the probability that my body would not be allowed to rest in its grave, i had half a mind to tell you. but somehow the moment passed. even then i had designed my plot of feigning death. it was the only way i saw of escaping lestrange." "tell me the story from the beginning," said alan. "i know only scraps." "the beginning was in jamaica, alan," said beauchamp sadly. "all this trouble arose out of the love i had for sophy's mother. poor zelia! if only she had married me, i would have made her a good husband. as it was, she chose achille lestrange, a roué and a gambler, a spendthrift and a scoundrel. i could never tell sophy what a bad man her father was. he treated poor zelia abominably." "but was that altogether his fault, beauchamp? joe hinted that jean lestrange caused much of the trouble." "so he did, the scoundrel! jean was, if anything, worse than his cousin, though there was not much to choose between them. but jean was madly in love with zelia--worshiped her with all the fierce passion of a creole. when he lost her he vowed he would be revenged--he sowed dissension between them on my account." "he hinted that you were in love with her, i suppose?" "yes, and he was right!" cried beauchamp with emphasis. "i was in love with zelia, and pitied her from the bottom of my heart. well, a year after sophy was born things came to a crisis. i was at kingston, and my yacht in the harbor there. i saw a good deal of zelia, and one night she came on board with her child, and asked me to take her away. lestrange had struck her, the beast! and she had refused to live with him any longer. at first i hesitated, but she was in such a state of agony that i consented to take her away from her wretched life. i had to go first to falmouth to fetch some things which i did not wish to leave--i had sold my plantation some time before, having made up my mind to leave jamaica. so we sailed, reached falmouth in safety, and i went to my estate, leaving joe brill on board." "ah! that was why joe could not say who killed achille?" "precisely. joe knew little of the events of that night; but he believed in me, and stood by me like the noble, faithful fellow he is. but to continue: zelia arrived at my house only to die; worry and melancholy had brought her to a low state of health, and she caught a fever. on the very night jean and her husband came in pursuit she died. i had made all arrangements to sail; i had sold my estate, and had sent the proceeds to england. it had been my intention to have married zelia when achille had divorced her, to adopt little marie, and to start life afresh in a new land. her death put an end to these plans." "but the murder, beauchamp?" "i am coming to that. warrender was attending zelia when she died, and he was in the house when achille and jean arrived. i was quite determined he should not get the child; for zelia had left some money, and i knew well that achille would soon squander it. well, lestrange demanded his wife. i told him she was dead; he declined to believe me, and we quarreled. i am naturally of a fiery temper," continued beauchamp with some agitation, "and i knocked him down on the veranda. the blow stunned him, and he lay there like a dog." "was jean present?" "yes. he saw me knock achille down; then he went away to see the body of zelia. i had to look for the child, intending to take her to my yacht until such time as i could obtain the guardianship. when i came out again i found warrender kneeling down beside the body of achille. he was dead!" "not from the effects of your blow?" cried alan incredulously. "no. he had been stabbed to the heart while senseless." "by whom--warrender?" "i don't know. warrender always swore that his hands were clean of blood, and certainly he had no reason to murder achille. i suspected jean, but warrender told me that jean had been in zelia's room praying beside the body. he advised me to fly." "yes, yes; but who killed achille?" "well, i supposed it must have been a negro whom achille had brought with him--a zambo, called scipio, who was devoted to his mistress and who hated his master. on hearing that zelia was dead--knowing, as he did, that her husband's brutality had probably had a good deal to do with it--he might have stabbed achille as he lay senseless on the veranda. at any rate, warrender said that he found him dead when he came out. to this day i don't know who killed him. it must have been either warrender, scipio, or jean. i am inclined to suspect scipio. however, at the time there was nothing for it but flight if i wanted to escape an accusation of murder. you see bow strong the evidence was against me, alan. i had taken away achille's wife and child; he had come in pursuit; i had quarreled with him and knocked him down; he had been found dead. therefore i fled with the child. can you blame me?" "no," said alan decisively. "under the circumstances, i don't see what else you could do. so you escaped?" "i did. i went on board my yacht and told joe all. of course, he believed in my innocence, and strongly advised me to leave at once. we sailed down the coast of south america, round the horn, and home to england. i called myself richard marlow, and i sold the yacht under another name at a french seaport. i had plenty of money, and there was no one who suspected my past." "i suppose the news of the murder had not reached england?" "no. i believe there was a casual reference in one of the papers, but that was all. the yacht was supposed to have foundered. i felt secure from pursuit, and determined to start a new life. i gave out that marie was my daughter, and i called her sophy. then i placed her in the convent at hampstead, with a sum of money for her education, and besides that, i secured a certain sum on her for life in case of my death. when this was settled i went to africa. there fortune, tired of persecuting me, gave me smiles instead of frowns. i made a fortune in the gold-mines, and became celebrated as richard marlow the millionaire. the rest of my story you know." "up to a point," said alan significantly. "i know how you bought this place and settled here with sophy. but the letter from barkham----" "ah! joe told you about that, did he?" said beauchamp composedly. "yes, the letter was from an old friend of mine called barkham. he told me that jean lestrange had recognized my portrait in an illustrated paper, and that he intended to come to england to hunt me down. the letter was sent to the office of the paper, and by them forwarded here. you may guess my feelings. i thought myself lost. i showed the letter to warrender, and he suggested that i should feign death. i jumped at the idea, made a will, allowing myself an income under my true name of herbert beauchamp, got another key of the vault fashioned from the one which afterwards was taken to phelps, and took joe into my confidence. then warrender drugged me." "what did he give you?" asked alan. "you looked really dead." "i can't tell you the name of the drug. he said it was some vegetable preparation used by the negroes. then i died--apparently--and i was buried. they had bored holes in the coffin, and that night, when you were all absent, joe and warrender took me out of the vault and carried me to the hut on the heath, where warrender revived me. it was while he was doing this that he heard a noise, and ran out. he never came back, and when i was myself again we went out to find his body. he was quite dead, stabbed to the heart, and lying some distance from the hut. who killed him i do not know." "but how did his body get into the vault?" "joe did it. after he had got me away, he dragged the body into the hut, and next night came back and took it to the vault. he put it into the coffin, never dreaming that any one would look for it there. nor would they, and all would have been well had it not been for that man cicero gramp. he saw too much, and----" he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. chapter xxii. the beginning of the end alan started to his feet at that imperative summons. had beauchamp been overheard by mrs. marry? had his disguise been penetrated? had she brought some one to witness the discovery? these thoughts rushed through his mind with lightning speed, and for the moment he lost his presence of mind. not so the man who was truly in danger. adopting the peculiar shuffle of the quiet gentleman, he crossed the room and opened the door. as the key turned in the lock alan fully expected to see lestrange, menacing and sinister, on the threshold. but the newcomer proved to be blair. "how are you getting on, mr. thorold?" he said, stepping through the door, which beauchamp locked behind him. "you know now who the quiet gentleman is. don't look so scared, sir." "can't help it," muttered the young man. "this business has been rather too much for me. i thought when you knocked, that lestrange had run his prey to earth." "he won't get much out of his prey if he does," said blair, with a nod to beauchamp. "i have seen mrs. warrender." the old man turned as white as the beard he wore. "and--and--what does she say?" he stammered. "say!" blair seated himself and chuckled. "she says two thousand pounds will pay her for that confession." "then it does exist! warrender knew the truth!" "of course. didn't i tell you the man was a blackmailing scoundrel? faith! and his wife is not much better. two thousand pounds for a bit of paper!" "and for my freedom!" said beauchamp excitedly. "oh to think of being free from the horror which has hung over me all these years! and warrender knew the truth! what a scoundrel! he always swore that he knew nothing, and i paid him money to hold his tongue about my supposed guilt. ungrateful wretch! he and his wife arrived in england almost penniless. i met him in london, and, as he knew my story, i brought him down here. i helped him in every way. how was it he left a confession behind him?" "it is an old confession," replied blair. "it seems that warrender fell ill of fever in new orleans. his conscience smote him for his villainy, and he made a full confession, signed it, and had it witnessed. when he recovered he did not destroy it, but kept it safely with the rest of his papers. there mrs. warrender found it, and she is now prepared to sell it for two thousand pounds. a nice sum, upon my word!" grumbled blair. "she shall have it," said beauchamp eagerly. "i would pay five thousand for that confession--i would indeed!" "i dare say. but mrs. warrender will give it to you for the lesser sum, sir." "does she know that i am here? did you tell her?" "not such a fool, mr. beauchamp. she'd have asked five thousand if she had known that. the woman has the blackmailing instinct." "like her brother," put in alan. then, observing the looks of surprise directed at him by the other two, he added: "didn't you know? cicero gramp is mrs. warrender's brother. i found that out in london." "a nice pair of jail-birds!" cried blair. "i'd best get that confession at once, or she'll be giving it to cicero, and they'll demand more money. mr. beauchamp, can you give me a check?" "no," he said, shaking his head. "you forget, blair, i am dead and buried, and, what's more, i do not intend ever to come to life again as marlow. but mr. thorold, as sophy's trustee, can give you the money." "if blair will come to the abbey farm, i will do so," said alan, rising. "i agree that the sooner the confession is obtained the better, or cicero may give trouble. by the way, who was it killed achille, blair? was it the doctor himself?" "no, no!" cried beauchamp. "it was scipio, the negro." "i can't tell you that;" and the inspector shook his head. "mrs. warrender declares that you are innocent, mr. beauchamp; but she declines to give any further information until she has received her pound of flesh." "she shall have it this very day," said alan, putting on his cap. "come, blair. mr. beauchamp, will you remain here?" "yes. i am safer as the quiet gentleman than as anything else." "you don't want me to bring sophy here?" "not until we get that confession, alan. sophy might make a scene when she met me. mrs. marry would learn the truth, and the news would spread. if lestrange knew, all would be lost. get the confession, alan." "yes, i think that is the best plan. good-day, mr. brown," said the inspector, speaking for the benefit of mrs. marry, and with alan he left the house. alone again, beauchamp fell on his knees and thanked god that his innocence was about to be vindicated. for years he had lived in dread of discovery; now he was about to be relieved of the nightmare. talking as they went of the strange and unexpected turn the case, as blair called it, had taken, the two men walked through heathton and out on to the country road. on turning down a quiet lane which led to the abbey farm, they saw a ponderous man behaving in a most extraordinary manner. he danced in the white dust, he shook his fist at the sky, and he spun round like a distracted elephant. blair's keen eye recognized him at once. "very pretty, mr. cicero gramp," he observed dryly. "are you in training for a ballet-dancer?" the man stopped short, and turned a disturbed face on them. "i'll be even with him!" he gasped, wiping his streaming forehead. "oh, the wretch! oh, the judas! gentlemen, proceed, and leave an unhappy man to fight down a whirl of conflicting emotions. _e pluribus unum!_" quoted cicero, in a pathetic voice; "that is me--ai! ai! i utter the wail of orestes." "and, like orestes, you seem to be mad," observed alan, as the fat man returned to his dancing. "and no wonder, mr. thorold. i have lost thousands. lestrange----" cicero could say no more. he was choked with emotion, and gave vent to his feelings by shaking his fist at the sky. "ah," said blair, who had been taking in the situation, "lestrange! you have found a cleverer villain than yourself." "he has gone away!" roared cicero, with the voice of an angry bull. "yes, you may look. he went this morning, bag and baggage. i don't know where he is, save that he roams the wilderness of london. and my money--he paid his bill to mine hostess of the hostel with my money!" "the deuce he did!" said alan. "and how did you come to lend him money?" "i do not mind explaining," said mr. gramp, with a defiant glance at the gentleman who represented the police. "i went into partnership with lestrange. he had no money; i lent him a goodly part of your fifty pounds, mr. thorold, on an undertaking that i should get half of what he received from miss marlow." "a very creditable bargain," remarked alan grimly; "but you invested your cash in a bad cause, mr. gramp. i saw lestrange last night, and assured him that he would not get one penny of the blackmail he proposed to extort. i dare say, after my visit, he found the game was up, and thought it advisable to clear out. i should recommend you to do the same." "so should i," put in blair significantly, "or i'll have you arrested as a vagabond without proper means of support." "i am a professor of eloquence and elocution!" cried cicero, his fat cheeks turning pale at this stern hint. "you dare not arrest me; and you, mr. thorold, will be sorry if you do not employ me." "employ you? in which way?" "to hunt lestrange down." alan shrugged his shoulders. "i do not wish to see the man again." "but i know something about him. promise to pay me some money, and i'll show you a letter written to captain lestrange, which came to the inn after he left. i took it and opened it to find out his plans." "well, you are a scoundrel!" said alan, looking mr. gramp's portly figure up and down. "by opening another person's letter you have placed yourself within reach of the law." "i don't care!" cried cicero recklessly. "i am desperate. will you pay me for a sight of that letter?" "yes," said the inspector before alan could reply, "if it is worth paying for. on the other hand, you could be arrested for opening it. come, the letter!" cicero produced the document in question, and kept firm hold of it while he made his bargain. "how much, mr. thorold?" "if it proves to be of use," replied the young squire leisurely, "i'll pay you well. leave the amount to me." the tramp still hesitated, but inspector blair, becoming impatient, snatched it out of his hand and proceeded to read it aloud. it was a short note to the effect that if the writer did not receive a certain sum of money "at once" (underlined), he would come down to heathton and "tell all" (also underlined) to miss marlow. these few lines were signed, "o. barkham." "barkham!" exclaimed alan. "that must be the man who warned beauchamp that lestrange was coming. i wonder what he knows." "humph!" grunted blair, putting the letter into his pocket, "very likely he will be able to tell us sufficient to enable us to dispense with mrs. warrender's confession. i am not particularly anxious to pay her two thousand pounds for nothing." "two thousand pounds!" wailed cicero, with his eyes staring out of his head. "oh, clara maria! has she got that out of you! my own sister--my very own!" wept the old scamp, "and she won't go shares! yet i offered to work with her!" he finished. "i don't think you'll get a sixpence out of her," said alan; "a desire to grab money evidently runs in your family. however, if this letter turns out to be of any assistance in clearing up these mysteries, i'll see what i can do." mr. gramp, seeing no other alternative, accepted this offer. "when am i to get it?" he asked sulkily. "when i choose," alan replied tartly. "go back to the good samaritan, and don't let me catch you annoying your sister, or i'll make it hot for you!" and he moved away, followed by blair. cicero shook his fist at them, and spent the rest of the day making futile guesses as to how much they would give him. "what's to do now, blair?" asked thorold abruptly. "i shall pay mrs. warrender and get the confession. you can take it to mr. beauchamp and set his mind at rest." "and you--what will you do?" "catch the . train to london. i shall go straight to the address given in this letter"--blair tapped his breast-pocket--"and see barkham, and," he added, "i shall see lestrange." "will he be with barkham?" "i think so. he--lestrange, i mean--went away before he got this letter. it is likely enough that he has gone to london to see his accomplice." "if barkham were an accomplice, he would not have written, warning beauchamp of lestrange's departure from jamaica." "it is on that point i wish to be clear," retorted blair. "it seems to me that barkham is running with the hare and hunting with the hounds." "well, i hope you'll find out sufficient to solve the mystery," said alan, bringing the conversation to a close; "but i confess i am doubtful." the check duly written and safely deposited in the inspector's pocket, the two men set out on their visit to mrs. warrender, who was graciously pleased to accept the money, in exchange for which she handed over the confession. alan and blair read it on the spot, and were greatly astonished at the contents. then the inspector hurried away to catch the london train, and alan set out for mrs. marry's cottage, taking with him the precious document. mrs. warrender--fearful lest the check should be stopped--left for london by a later train. she had decided that she would cash it herself the moment the bank opened the following morning. her business capacities were indeed undeniable. alan returned home, tired out with the day's work, and was glad enough to sit down to the excellent meal provided by mrs. hester. but his troubles and excitements were not yet over. hardly had he finished his dinner when a note from sophy was brought in. "come at once," she wrote; "lestrange is here." chapter xxiii.. one part of the truth after his interview with alan, captain lestrange had come to the conclusion that it would be the best and wisest course to retreat before the enemy. alan knew much, brill knew more, and the two together might prove too much for him. moreover, since his design of passing as sophy's father had been rendered useless, it was not necessary that he should remain in heathton. therefore, he paid his account at the inn with money borrowed from cicero, and departed in hot haste before that gentleman was afoot. it was not until he got to the junction that he began to wonder if he was acting judiciously. it struck him that he should have made at least one attempt to get money out of sophy. for some time he pondered over this question, and finally decided to leave his baggage in the junction cloak-room and steal back to heathton under cover of darkness. true, his accomplice barkham was waiting for him in london, but he would not get much of a welcome from that gentleman unless he brought money with him. moreover, after joe's intimation that it was barkham who had warned beauchamp of the plot to hunt him down, lestrange had had no confidence in him. but that barkham knew enough to be very dangerous, he would have left him out of his calculations altogether. he decided at last that he must get money out of sophy, bribe barkham to return to jamaica, and then deal alone and unaided with the lucrative business of extracting further blackmail. having made up his mind to this course of action, he loitered about at the junction until he could with safety return to heathton. it was during this tune that he had a surprise. while lurking in the waiting-room, he saw blair arrive by a local train and catch the london express. what could he be doing? was he hunting him down? the very idea terrified him, and he began to congratulate himself on having remained at the junction. had he known that blair was now on his way to see barkham, he would have had still greater cause for alarm. matters were indeed coming to a crisis, but lestrange did not guess that the crisis was so near at hand. when he had seen the lights of the london express disappear, he took his seat in a local train, which was timed to leave shortly after eight o'clock. on arriving at heathton, he left the station hurriedly, and stole through deserted by-ways to the moat house. here he asked for miss marlow, and sent in his card, on which he had scribbled, "news of your father." the lie, which was not all a lie, gained him the interview he sought; but before seeing him, sophy sent off the note to alan. then she induced miss vicky to retire, and received her visitor alone in the drawing-room. the captain entered the room with a somewhat cringing air. his nerve was gone, and with it a goodly portion of his courage. miss marlow, on the contrary, was quite mistress of herself and of the situation. she had heard from joe brill, amongst other things, that this man was not her father, and she now felt no fear of him. he was anxious and ill at ease, like a culprit before a judge. "good evening, captain lestrange," said sophy, sitting very erect in her chair. "you wish to see me, i believe. why have you come?" "to make reparation, miss marlow." "oh," she said ironically, "then i am not your daughter?" "i expect you have heard as much from joe brill," replied lestrange, looking at her gloomily. "no, you are not my daughter, but you are my cousin, marie lestrange, although you choose to keep your name of sophia marlow." "i keep the name of the man who has been a father to me." "in that case, you should call yourself beauchamp," he retorted. "may i sit down? thank you. well, i suppose you are wondering why i have come to see you?" she glanced at the card. "to give me news of my father, i presume," she said. "do you mean my real father?" "no, i mean the false one. your real father died long ago. he was murdered by beauchamp." "he was not!" cried sophy vehemently, and started from her seat. "i have heard the story from joe, and i know now why you came here. but nothing will induce me to believe that he killed my father. my mother fled to him from the cruelty of her husband, and you were at the bottom of all the trouble." "yes," he cried fiercely, "i was! i loved your mother dearly. she gave me up for achille, and i swore i would be revenged. i sowed dissension between them. it was through me that zelia fled with beauchamp. do you think i am sorry for what happened? i am not. i hated achille; but he is dead. i hate beauchamp, for your mother loved him----" "and he also is dead," interrupted sophy; "you cannot harm him." "are you so sure he is dead?" sneered lestrange. "i saw his dead body!" cried the girl, with emotion. "you saw him in a state of insensibility, brought about by warrender's devilish drugs!" said the captain sharply. "i don't believe beauchamp is dead. if he had been, why should his body have been carried off?" "you declared that mr. thorold did that, and----" "i do not say so now. thorold had nothing to do with it; but i am quite sure that warrender had. in order to escape me, beauchamp allowed himself to be drugged by warrender, and that was why warrender assisted at the removal of the supposed dead body. i feel certain that beauchamp is alive." "alive! oh! i hope so, i hope so! my dear father!" cried sophy. "only prove that he is alive, captain lestrange, and i will forgive you all!" "you forget that i am his enemy," was the fierce reply. "were i able to prove that he is alive, i should at once have him arrested for the murder of your father--my cousin." "it is not true! it is not true!" "it is, and you know it. beauchamp must have had some very good and strong reason for allowing himself to be buried alive so as to escape me. but for your sake and for my own i will leave beauchamp, should he be indeed alive, to the punishment of his conscience." "what do you mean?" "i mean that i want money. you are rich, and you can pay me. give me a thousand pounds, and i will go away and never trouble you again." "i refuse!" she walked up and down the room in a state of great agitation. "if you were certain that mr. beauchamp was alive--if you were certain he had committed that crime, you would not let him escape so easily." "i would! i would! i am tired of the whole business." "no, no," insisted the girl; "i don't believe you. if i gave you money, i should only be supplying you with the means to cause further trouble. if my dear father--for i shall still call him so--is alive, i will leave the matter in his hands." "and hang him." "and save him," retorted the girl firmly. "you can go, captain lestrange. i shall not give you one penny!" lestrange made a bound and caught her wrist. "take care!" he cried, shaking with rage; "i am desperate--i will stick at nothing. if you do not give the money i want, i shall go to the police!" "go! go! i defy you!" "little devil!" muttered lestrange, and he gave her arm a sharp twist. she screamed for help, and as though in answer to her summons, alan appeared at the door. with an exclamation of rage he sprang forward, seized lestrange, and flung him on the floor. "you hound!" he cried, panting. "you dog!" "alan! alan! thank heaven you are here! let me sit down, alan; i--i feel faint." while alan was assisting the girl to a chair, lestrange rose slowly from the ground. the sudden and opportune arrival of the young squire disconcerted him greatly, and he began to think it was time to retire. if sophy refused him money when alone, she would most certainly not yield to his demand now that her lover was beside her. so with deadly hatred in his heart, he stole towards the door, which was still open. on the threshold he recoiled with a shrill cry of fear. before him stood herbert beauchamp, alias richard marlow. "you--you here, after all?" beauchamp, shutting and locking the door after him, strode into the room. "yes, i live to punish you, jean lestrange. hold him, alan, while i speak to sophy." the girl, with a pale face and staring eyes, was looking at the man who had come back from the grave. he approached and took her hands. "my poor child!" he said in caressing tones, "do not look so alarmed! i am flesh and blood." "you are alive, father?" gasped sophy, amazed and somewhat terrified. "yes." he kissed her. "i feigned death to escape from this man. come, sophy, have you no welcome for me? it is true that i am not your father; but--after all----" "you are as dear to me as ever!" she cried, putting her arms round his neck. "you are my true father--my real father! i shall never think of you as anything else. oh, thank god--thank god!" and she wept and kissed him by turns. "amen!" said beauchamp in a solemn tone. "but we have much to do before things are put straight. there is the cause of all my trouble, and i must deal with him." he rose and crossed to where lestrange, white and shaking, was in the grip of thorold. "what have you to say for yourself, lestrange?" the man made a violent effort to recover his self-control, and partially succeeded. "i have to say to you what i shall shortly say to the world: you are a murderer!" "that is a lie!" "it is no lie. you murdered that girl's father?" "that is a lie!" repeated beauchamp sternly. "do you think i am a judas, to kiss that innocent girl if i knew myself to be her father's murderer? i knocked your cousin achille senseless, and well he deserved it; but it was not i who stabbed him to the heart. it was you, jean lestrange!" "i--i----" gasped the wretch, his lips white, his limbs shaking under him. "you dare--to--to--accuse--me--of----" "i do not accuse you," said beauchamp solemnly. "out of the mouth of the dead you are condemned. here is the confession of warrender, and in it he tells the truth. you are the murderer of achille!" sophy uttered a cry of horror, and throwing herself back on the couch, hid her face from the guilty wretch. he strove to speak, but no words came, and he continued to look silently on the ground. but for the support of thorold he would have fallen. "warrender," continued mr. beauchamp, "himself almost as great a villain as you, knew the truth these twenty years. but he kept silence in order to terrorize me, to extort money from me. it was he who proposed that i should escape you by feigning death, knowing, as he did, that i was innocent. well, he has been punished!" "i did not kill him, at all events!" cried lestrange savagely. "i know you did not; you were not in england at the time. but you killed achille. yes, you left the room where zelia lay dead, you found achille senseless on the veranda, and you stabbed him to the heart. warrender saw you commit the crime. it is all set out here, and signed by warrender, in the presence of two witnesses. can you deny it?" lestrange moistened his dry lips, looked at sophy, at beauchamp, then suddenly shook off alan's hold. "no, i don't deny it," he said in a loud, harsh voice. "you have been one too many for me. i am so poor as to be almost starving, so i don't care what becomes of me. hang me if you like. i hate you, beauchamp--i have always hated you, the more so when i found how much zelia cared for you. and i loved her, though that was not the reason i killed her husband; for she was dead then, and could never be mine. but i killed him so that blame might rest on you. and i wanted the custody of the child, because i should have been able to handle the money. i found achille senseless where you had knocked him down. i did not intend to do it; but i had a knife--and the devil put it into my head to stab him. then you fled, and the murder was laid at your door." "and had you not done me harm enough, wretched man, without hunting me down?" said beauchamp sternly. "i wanted money," he cried recklessly. "i saw your portrait in the paper, and i arranged with barkham, who was as hard-up as i, that we should come to england and get some of your money. he played the traitor, and wrote you that letter--why, i don't know, as he stood to make as much as i did. but for that letter i should have found you alive, and i should have forced you to pay me. as it turned out, you escaped me." "and will you escape me, do you think?" asked beauchamp with emphasis. "i don't know--i don't care. call in the police and have me arrested if you like. i have played a bold game, and lost--do your worst!" he folded his arms, and stared defiantly at the man whose life he had ruined. beauchamp looked irresolutely at him, then he turned to sophy, who, pale and quiet, was clinging to her lover's arm. "the daughter of the man whose life you took shall be your judge," said the millionaire. "sophy, is he to go free, or shall the law take its course?" "let him go--let him go," murmured the girl. "his death shall not be upon my soul. let him go and repent." "i agree with sophy," said alan thorold. "let him go." "and repent," finished mr. beauchamp. "go, jean lestrange, and seek from an offended god the mercy you denied to me." lestrange pulled himself together, and put on his hat with a would-be jaunty air. he tried to speak, but the words would not come, and he slunk out of the room like a beaten hound. and that was the last they ever saw of jean lestrange. chapter xxiv. the other part of the truth shortly afterwards mr. beauchamp returned to his lodgings as the quiet gentleman. having been informed by alan, on his way to the moat house, that lestrange was there with sophy, he had taken off his false wig and beard to confound him; but now, in spite of the girl's protestations, he put them on again. "no, child, no," he said; "i am as dead as richard marlow, and i shall not come to life again. what purpose would it serve? it would only cause a scandal, and the papers would be full of the story. i have no wish to be a nine days' wonder." "but, father, what will you do?--where will you live?" "oh," said he, with a smile, "i dare say you will carry out the terms of the will and let me have that two thousand a year. i shall take my departure from mrs. marry's as the quiet gentleman, and appear in london as herbert beauchamp. you can join me there, and we can go on our travels." "but what about me?" cried poor sophy, who had found her adopted father only to lose him again. "you shall marry alan." "but i want you to be at the wedding, father." "i shall be at the wedding, child, and i shall give you away." alan looked at him in surprise. "then you will be recognized, and the whole story will come out." "so it would if you were married here," answered beauchamp composedly. "but the wedding must take place in london. can't you see, alan, that sophy must be married to you under her true name--marie lestrange?" "oh, must i?" cried the girl in dismay. "i think so; otherwise i doubt if the marriage would hold good." "you are right," said alan, after a pause. "we must do as you say. but i am sorry. i wanted to be married here, and i wanted phelps to marry us." "there is no reason against that. bring him to london and tell him the whole story." "but i will never be called marie!" "no, no; you will always be sophy to us," said her lover, kissing her. "and we will go abroad with mr. beauchamp for our honeymoon." "with my father!" cried sophy, embracing the old man; "my dear and only father!" he sighed as he kissed her good-by. he was devoted to his adopted daughter, and felt deeply parting with her even to so good a fellow as alan thorold. but he comforted himself with the thought that they could be much together abroad. and so, taking this cheerful view of the situation which had been created by the villainy of lestrange, the ex-millionaire, as he may now be called, withdrew to his lodgings. it was there that alan took leave of him, promising to call the next morning. a thankful heart was herbert beauchamp's that night. the sorrow of his life was over, the dark clouds had lifted, and now, under his own name, and with a good income, he could spend the rest of his days in peace. lestrange had slunk back into the night whence he had emerged, leaving one part of the mystery cleared up by his confession. it still remained to discover who had been the murderer of the unlucky warrender. and that came to light the very next day. alan did not wait until beauchamp had departed for london to acquaint his revered tutor with all that had taken place. on the afternoon of the next day he proceeded to the rectory, and told the whole story to the amazed and delighted phelps, nothing would serve but that he must go at once to mrs. marry's and see with his own eyes the man who had been buried alive. but alan restrained the rector's impetuosity by pointing out that mrs. marry supposed brown, the quiet gentleman, to be dumb. if by any chance she should hear him speak all secrecy would be at an end. "ay, ay," assented mr. phelps, "true enough, alan, true enough. mrs. marry is a terrible gossip, and we must keep the matter quiet. i don't want my churchyard to be made the subject of another scandal. but i must see marlow--i mean beauchamp. god bless me! i shall never get his name right--may i be forgiven for swearing! bring him here, alan--bring him at once. i must see my old friend after all he has suffered." this alan agreed to do, and an hour later appeared with beauchamp and sophy. phelps received his old friend as one returned from the dead, and insisted upon having several points cleared up which he felt to be obscure. "how about getting away, marlow?" he asked. "you had no clothes. how did you manage?" "but i had clothes," replied beauchamp. "we prepared all our plans very carefully. joe took a suit of clothes to the hut, and brought money with him. then i walked to the nearest town and caught the train for london. there, at a quiet hotel, a box in the name of beauchamp was waiting for me. i slept there, and went on to brighton, and took rooms in lansdowne place. i was comfortable, you may be sure. joe came down to see me, and told me all the trouble which had ensued upon the death of warrender." "ah!" said alan reflectively; "we don't know who murdered him, and we never shall know. it could not have been lestrange, and if it were the quiet gentleman, he has escaped us." "i wonder who that quiet gentleman was," said sophy. "we all wonder that, my dear," put in the rector; "but i fear we shall never know." "well, what does it matter?" said beauchamp, with more asperity than he usually showed. "whoever murdered warrender gave him no more than he deserved. the man was a blackmailer, although the money he got out of me was obtained under the guise of friendship. he could have saved me years of agony had he only spoken the truth--ay, and honesty would have paid him better than dishonesty." "no doubt. but the man is dead; let us not speak evil of the dead," said phelps. "but there is one question i wish to ask you, marlow--beauchamp, i mean. how was it that the page-boy swore joe brill was never out of the room on that night?" "joe drugged the lad's supper-ale, and slipped out when he was fast asleep. he did the same the next night when he had to take warrender's body to the vault. that was my idea, for i was terrified lest i should be traced by the murder, and i wanted to get rid of the evidence of the crime. that tramp, confound him! spoilt all." they were interrupted by the entrance of a servant, with the card of inspector blair. he was admitted at once, leaving a companion whom he had brought with him in the hall. "you must excuse my intrusion, sir," he said, addressing mr. phelps; "but i have already been to the moat house and to the abbey farm in search of mr. thorold." "here i am," said alan. "what is the matter, blair? you have some news." "i have, sir. i have been to london, and i have brought back with me a gentleman whom mr. beauchamp may know;" and he summoned the gentleman in the hall. "barkham!" exclaimed mr. beauchamp; "you here!" mr. barkham was a dapper dark man, not unlike lestrange, with an expression which a schoolboy would have called "sneaky." he did not recognize mr. beauchamp until that gentleman stripped off beard and wig. then he hastened to acknowledge him. "mr. beauchamp," he said, in a servile voice, "i hope, as i warned you of lestrange's plot, you will hold me blameless." "why? what have you been doing?" "i will tell you," interposed blair. "this gentleman, as you see, bears a slight resemblance to captain jean lestrange. he and the captain were hard up in jamaica, and seeing your portrait, mr. beauchamp, in the papers, they thought they might have a chance of extorting money from you. in case lestrange got into trouble here, he wished to have an alibi, so he left for england under another name, and mr. barkham here came to southampton in the _negress_ as captain lestrange." "yes, yes," said barkham nervously; "but i warned mr. beauchamp that lestrange was coming." "quite so; but you did not tell him that lestrange was masquerading as a dumb man in heathton." "what!" cried alan and sophy in one breath. "was lestrange the quiet gentleman?" "yes," replied blair, with triumph. "he confessed as much to barkham here. that was why he wore the gray wig and beard and assumed dumbness--oh, a most effective disguise; quite a different person he made of himself! he came down to keep a watch on you, mr. beauchamp, in order to plunder you when he thought fit. your unexpected death took him by surprise and upset his plans. then barkham, as jean lestrange, arrived at southampton, and our quiet gentleman disappeared from his rooms here, to reappear from london in his own proper person, as captain jean lestrange. no wonder that, with so carefully-prepared an alibi, we did not guess it was he who had been masquerading here." "ha!" exclaimed alan, "and he stole the key of the vault?" "mr. barkham can explain that, and other things," said blair significantly. "wait!" cried sophy, rising excitedly, "i know--i know! it was lestrange who murdered dr. warrender!" "yes," admitted barkham, "he did." there was a deep silence, which was broken at length by beauchamp. "the scoundrel!" he said hoarsely, "and i let him escape!" "what!" cried blair, jumping up. "you let him escape, mr. beauchamp--and when you knew that he killed achille lestrange?" "it was my wish," struck in sophy; "i thought he might repent." "such scoundrels never repent, miss marlow," said blair; "he has committed two murders, he may commit two more. but i'll hunt him down. he can't have gone far yet." "no, i don't suppose he has," said alan. "he was here last night. by the way, how did he kill dr. warrender, and why?" "barkham!" the little man obeyed the voice of the inspector, and meekly repeated his story. "lestrange," he said, "did not believe that mr. beauchamp was dead. he heard mr. thorold say something to the rector about the key of the vault----" "god bless me!" cried phelps, "so you did, alan." "yes," said the little man, nodding, "then he stole the key. he sent for the doctor to ask him about the burial. the doctor came, but lestrange was out." "did warrender recognize him?" asked beauchamp abruptly. "no, sir, he did not--at least, not then. well, lestrange waited and waited to enter the vault. when he went at last he found warrender and another man taking the body out. he followed them to the hut on the heath; he tried to look in, and he made a slight noise. warrender came out, and in the moonlight he recognized lestrange, who turned to run away, but the doctor caught him and they struggled. then lestrange, knowing that he would be arrested for the murder of achille in jamaica, stabbed the doctor to the heart. terrified at what he had done, he lost his head, and hurried up to me in london. at first he refused to tell me anything, but i made him drink," said barkham, with a leer, "and so i got the whole truth out of him." "you scoundrel!" cried thorold. "call me what you like," was the sullen rejoinder. "i wanted to get money out of beauchamp myself, and wrote to warn him that i might have a claim on his gratitude. i was afraid to come here. i sent a letter to lestrange asking him for money, and it got into this policeman's hands. he traced me, and brought me down here. that is all i know; but as mr. beauchamp is alive, i ought to have something. after all, it was i who warned him." "you shall have fifty pounds," said beauchamp sternly. "but you must leave england." "i don't know that i will let him," said blair. "he should have communicated with the police." "i'll turn queen's evidence if you like," said barkham. "i don't care if i am arrested or not. i have had nothing but this fifty pounds--and you call that gratitude, mr. beauchamp!" "let him go, blair, if you can consistently with your duty," said beauchamp. "i'll see," was the reply. "hullo! what's that! gramp, what do you mean by rushing into the room?" it was indeed cicero who stood, hot and puffing, at the door. he took no notice of blair, but addressed himself to alan. "mr. thorold," he said, "i have information if you will pay me well." "you shall be paid if what you have to say is worth it." "then i must tell you that lestrange was the quiet gentleman. you see this lancet? he stole it out of your desk, and gave it to me to say that i found it in the hut. this proves that he was the quiet gentleman, and i believe he murdered dr. warrender." "you do, you scoundrel!" cried mr. beauchamp. "but you are too late--we know all!" "too late!" cried gramp. "good heavens! to think of my getting nothing, and clara maria two thousand pounds!" * * * * * little remains to be told. lestrange was traced to southampton, but there the trail was lost, much to the disappointment of inspector blair, who, although he duly received the two thousand pounds, never ceased to regret the man's escape. alan paid him the reward gladly, for without him the mystery would never have been solved, and mr. beauchamp's innocence would never have been established. sophy and alan were married in the presence of the ex-millionaire and of miss vicky. after the ceremony, the former left england with joe. he bought a small yacht, in which he and his faithful servant sail the waters of the mediterranean. no one has ever guessed the truth. mrs. marry continues to lament the loss of the quiet gentleman, but she has always believed him to have been one and the same person. that mr. beauchamp was the second representative of the part, she never dreamed. mr. marlow is dead to the heathton villagers, and to this day they talk of the mystery which surrounded the disappearance of his corpse--indeed, the vault has the reputation of being haunted. barkham left england with his fifty pounds, and mrs. warrender returned to america with her two thousand and her many jewels. there she married a canadian doctor, and vanished altogether. cicero received a small sum, and now spends his time frantically hunting for clara maria, in the hope of extorting a share of her money; but clara maria is a clever woman, and he is not likely to come across her. sophy and alan are supremely happy in their life at the abbey farm. they make frequent trips to the continent, where they meet mr. beauchamp. miss vicky, too, is happy. she has sophy's son and heir to care for, and what more can she want? "the heir to millions," says the old lady, "and what a mystery there was about it all! to this day, i don't understand everything." "few people do," is alan's reply. "the millionaire's mystery will always remain a mystery in heathton." -------------------------------------------- billing and sons, ltd., printers, guildford.