IPS 3539 
 U13 P8 
 1922 
 Copy 1 
 
 KICE THIRTY-FINE CENTS 
 
 I ALIAS 
 x,w5S SHERLOCK 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR LEWIS TUBBS 
 
 m 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
Successful Rural Plays 
 
 A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
 Next Play 
 
 FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
 j-EWis TuBBS. For five male and six female characters. Time 
 of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
 easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
 farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
 Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
 and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
 Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
 intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
 Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
 . learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
 plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
 alternately to tears and to laughter. 
 
 HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
 Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
 hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
 acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
 has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
 Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
 of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
 She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
 When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
 Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
 covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
 he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. 
 
 THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 
 
 England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
 males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
 modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
 in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
 the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
 terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
 uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
 everybody understands and likes. 
 
 THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
 in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For five males and four 
 females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
 terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
 from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
 niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
 wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
 and novel. 
 
 A WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
 Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
 females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
 One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
 country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
 results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
 in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
 mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
Alias Miss Sherlock 
 
 A Drama in Four Acts 
 
 By 
 ARTHUR LEWIS TUBES 
 
 Author of "Tht Fingtr of Scorn,'' "Home Ties, 
 " Farm Folks, ' " Home Acres," etc. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1922 
 
/^S 
 
 
 Copyright 1922 by The Pknn Publishing Company 
 
 Alias Miss Sherlock 
 
 'CI.D L*3256 
 
 M -7 1923 
 
 we I 
 
Alias Miss Sherlock 
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 (As they are first heard to speak.) 
 
 Lily Ann " Help " at the farm 
 
 Aaron Flint The hired man 
 
 Mrs. Brewster From New York 
 
 Helen Brewster Her daughter 
 
 Leonard Fillmore A young country lawyer 
 
 Sarah Newcomb Sister of Mrs. Brewster 
 
 Dick Brewster. 
 
 Henson A butler 
 
 Ralph Deering. 
 
 Henry Markham A detective 
 
 Officer Higgins. 
 Delphine. 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 Act I. — Yard of Miss Newcomb's farm, Brookville, 
 N. Y., on an afternoon late in August. 
 
 Act H. — The home of Mrs. Brewster, New York 
 City, two weeks later. 
 
 Act III, — An apartment up-town, New York. Two 
 more days have elapsed. 
 
 Act IV. — Same as Act II, three weeks later. 
 
 Time of Playing. — Two hours and a half. 
 
COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Lily Ann. Plain, rather severe-looking and " bossy " 
 country woman, of about forty. A likeable char- 
 acter, in spite of her brusqueness. In first act 
 she wears calico or gingham dress, with apron — 
 regular farm " hired girl " get-up, not untidy nor 
 too neat. In fourth act, somewhat exaggerated 
 " going away " costume of a country bride, but by 
 no means grotesque. 
 
 Aaron Flint. Middle-aged farmhand, quaint and 
 comical, but not a caricature. In first act, baggy 
 old trousers, dark shirt with suspenders, dusty 
 boots or shoes and large straw hat. Act IV, 
 rather conspicuous new suit, hat, etc., with 
 brightly polished new shoes. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Handsome, haughty woman of the 
 "society climber" type, about fifty or fifty-five; 
 stately, with gray hair and attractive face. Ele- 
 gant summer costume in first act; afterwards, ap- 
 propriate costumes, rich and attractive, with 
 jewels, all a bit extravagant but still in good taste. 
 
 Helen Brewster. A girl of about twenty-five, 
 " citified " and of beauty and charm, reflecting to 
 a degree her mother's pompous manner, but still 
 capable of inspiring admiration, and, eventually, 
 confidence and sympathy. Dainty dress, with hat 
 and parasol, in Act I. Later, elegant house 
 dresses. 
 
 Leonard Fillmore. About thirty; tall, well-built, 
 good-looking, of a rather free, offhand manner, 
 but genial and ingratiating. Just a slight trace of 
 " rurahsm," but still a man of refinement and 
 culture. Plain suits. 
 
 Sarah Newcomb. A neat, prim, but attractive 
 woman of forty-five or thereabouts ; an " old 
 maid," but of the sweet, " mother and home " 
 variety. Not " green," though ingenuous and just 
 a bit " countrified." In last three acts, on occa- 
 sion assumes more of " greenness " than is really 
 
C0STU3IES 
 
 natural to her. Act I, plain summer dress; Acts 
 II, III and IV, a little more " dressy," but plain 
 and appropriate. 
 
 Dick Brewster. A handsome, boyish young man of 
 about twenty-two. Shows some evidence of fast 
 living, but should inspire sympathy, pity, and be- 
 lief in his innocence. Act I, suit in good city 
 style, but with some signs of rough usage. Acts 
 II and III, same or similar, but neater. 
 
 Henson. Conventional type of English butler, 
 straight, stiff, pompous. Black suit, not neces- 
 sarily livery or " evening clothes," but appropriate 
 to his position in city house of some social dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 Ralph Deering. About fifty-five; wealthy man of 
 the world, of " roue " type ; stout, florid, veneer 
 of pohsh, but showing his true nature on provoca- 
 tion. Very well dressed, with stylish top-coat, 
 stick, etc. 
 
 Henry Markham. Stern, keen-eyed man of thirty- 
 five or so, in plain business suit. 
 
 Officer Higgins. Police uniform, or plain dark suit. 
 
 Delphine. Young woman of stern, forbidding as- 
 pect ; pale ; light eyes, very black hair, somewhat 
 incongruous with her natural coloring. Speaks 
 with assumed but excellent French " accent." 
 Act III, plain black costume, not that of the con- 
 ventional stage " maid." Hair plainly combed, 
 with no " cap." Act IV, plain street dress, with 
 wraps, hat and veil. 
 
ARGUMENT 
 
 Mrs. Brewster and her daughter Helen are staying on 
 the farm of the former's sister, Sarah Newcomb. 
 Helen is attracted by Leonard Fillmore, a young 
 country lawyer, but her mother tells her she must 
 accept the wealthy Mr. Deering. Dick Brewster, 
 a likeable boy, for whom his mother has no sym- 
 pathy, is implicated in a murder and comes to the 
 farm to hide. His Aunt Sarah stands by him in 
 his need and they all move to the city in the effort 
 to clear his name. Fillmore takes up the case 
 because of his love for Helen. Ralph Deering 
 calls on Helen and sees Dick there. Deering was 
 in the apartment when the murder was committed 
 and calls up the police to arrest Dick in revenge 
 for Helen's refusal to marry him. Delphine, a 
 pretended French maid, figures in the trial, and 
 Miss Newcomb feels that she knows more than 
 she has told. She, therefore, investigates on her 
 own account and Delphine confesses she com- 
 mitted the murder unintentionally by trying to 
 shoot Deering, the man who wronged her. Dick 
 is cleared; Mrs. Brewster is thwarted; and Leon- 
 ard and Helen find their happiness. 
 
 NOTICE TO PROFESSIONALS 
 
 This play is published for the free use of strictly 
 amateur companies only. Professional actors or 
 organizations wishing to produce it, in any form 
 or under any title, are forbidden to do so without 
 the consent of the author, who may be addressed 
 in care of the publishers. 
 
Alias Miss Sherlock 
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE. — The yard of a comfortable farm residence, 
 in the northeastern part of New York State. The 
 house, R., is an ancient but fine and well-preserved 
 structure of the old homestead type. There is a 
 porch; windows, with vines; plants, etc.; across 
 back of stage a fence, with open gate c. ; at l., a 
 small arbor or summer-house , on the edge of an 
 orchard. At back a road leading to r. and l., 
 beyond fence, and, on flat, the glimpse of rolling 
 fields, a church spire and the roofs of a few 
 houses scattered in the distance. 
 
 (It is the afternoon of a day in the latter part of 
 August. At rise, Aaron Flint is heard whis- 
 tling, off L. u. E. Mrs. Brewster is discovered in 
 hammock or chair, in arbor, l., asleep, her book 
 fallen to the ground.) 
 
 (Enter Aaron Flint, l. u. e., beyond fence, to gate 
 c. ; almost at same moment, Lily Ann appears 
 on porch of house. Aaron carries several letters, 
 sealed, addressed and stamped, a newspaper or 
 two and a good-sized parcels-post package of 
 books, addressed. Lily Ann comes down to 
 R. c.) 
 
 Lily Ann. That the mail, Aaron? Le's see. Quite 
 a lot, ain't they? ( She takes letters from him.) 
 
 Aaron Flint. Should say they was. Most all for 
 Mis' Brewster, though, 'n' a letter for her daugh- 
 ter. Seems t' me 'tain't nothin' but them around 
 
 7 
 
ALIAS MISS SEEBL09K 
 
 here, one way 'r 'nother. Wonder how much 
 longer they're going t' stay. 
 LoLY Ann. Land, I d' know. Looks Hke we'd got 
 'em saddled onto us for Hfe. Be'n here sence 
 June, 'n' here 'tis 'most September. 
 
 {She is closely inspecting the letters.) 
 
 Aaron. 'T 's a wonder t' me Miss Newcomb don't 
 git tired o' board'n' 'em for nothin', 'n' havin' 'em 
 putt'n' on secli airs 'n' all, even if they are her own 
 sister 'n' niece. All-fired cheeky, I call it. 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, you know her — easy as all git-out. 
 Guess I'm the one t' do most of the kickin , when 
 y' come right down to it — all the extry work they 
 make, with coffee took up to their rooms at nine 
 in the mornin', " luncheon," as they call it, about 
 half-past one, and dinner — a full meal, mind y' — 
 at seven at night, when it's 'most time for sensible 
 folks to be goin' t' bed. Keeps me up all hours. 
 I must say I'm gett'n' pretty tired of it. 
 
 Aaron. I guess you be, 'n' no wonder. But, 's you 
 say, Miss Newcomb's that easy she wouldn't say 
 a word, if they stayed till Kingdom Come, If 
 they ever was a saint on earth, she's one. 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, even saints git imposed on. But I 
 suppose, bein' saints, it's up t' them not t' find any 
 fault, even when it's rubbed in. For my part, I 
 think even a saint ought t' have a little gumption. 
 That some more books for her? 
 
 Aaron. Yep. Some more o' them Sherlock Holmes 
 detectative stories she's always readin', I reckon. 
 Must be four or five here, from the heft o' this 
 bundle. 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, it beats all, the amount of that 
 trash she does read — them terrible yarns, all about 
 murders and mysteries. Land, I should think 
 she'd be so full of murder clues 'n' everything 't 
 she couldn't sleep nights. They'd give me the 
 creeps if I was t' read 'em the way she does. 
 
 Aaron. Oh, I d' know. I sort o' like 'em m'self. 
 Miss Newcomb lent me a few and they certainly 
 8 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 are hummers. I sure would like t' be one of them 
 detectatives they tell about, with all the excite- 
 ment they have, tracin' up murderers and sech. 
 Lily Ann. Yes, a pretty detective you'd make. 
 You'd better be gett'n' along detectin' a few 
 chores, instead o' standin' here talkin' murder 
 clues. Here, I'll take that bundle in the house 
 with these letters. 
 
 {She takes package. They do not notice Mrs. Brew- 
 ster, who is still asleep. Aaron gets closer to 
 Lily Ann, " making up " to her. She seems un- 
 conscious of his intention, about to go to porch. 
 He detains her.) 
 
 Aaron. Say, Lily Ann, what y' goin' t' do after sup- 
 per? 
 
 Lily Ann. Wash the dishes, I suppose, as usual. 
 " Dinner " I guess you mean, though — 'n' a pile 
 of dishes it makes, too. Makes me sick! 
 
 Aaron. Say, Lily Ann, if — if I'll wipe 'em, then '11 
 you go 'n' take a walk? 
 
 Lily Ann. Walk? Land, I feel more Hke walkin' t' 
 bed than anywheres else, once I git through. 
 What do I want t' take a walk for? 
 
 Aaron. Wal, I thought mebbe you 'n' me'd jest go 
 for a little stroll, if you'd Hke t', seein' it's moon- 
 light 'n' all. 'T any rate, looks like it was goin' 
 t' be a nice evenin'. 
 
 Lily Ann. I declare, Aaron Flint, you're old enough 
 t' have more sense. Gitt'n' sentimental at your 
 age. How many times 've I told you 
 
 Aaron. M'm — wal, you know the old sayin', " Them 
 that loves last, loves best," so I guess it ain't too 
 late for you 'n' me 
 
 {He attempts to kiss her; she gives him a playful slap, 
 and starts to go up steps. Mrs. Brewster wakes 
 and sees them. They pause, turning, as she 
 speaks. ) 
 
 Mrs, Brewster {rising, coming towards c). Per- 
 
 9 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 haps, when you have finished your most unbecom- 
 ing behavior, you will inform me whether any of 
 those letters are for me. 
 
 Aaron (with an awkward bow of apology). Y-yes, 
 ma'am, several of 'em is 
 
 Lily Ann {looking over letters, quite unperturbed). 
 I guess some of these are for you, if your name's 
 Mis' Brewster. (Holds out letters.) 
 
 (Exit Aaron, l. u. e.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (frigidly, as she takes letters). 
 Thanks. 
 
 Lily Ann. They look mostly Uke bills, ma'am, seems 
 t' me 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. You are entirely too familiar for a 
 servant. I shall speak to my sister about it. 
 
 Lily Ann. Huh! I ain't afraid of anything you'll 
 say to Miss Newcomb about me. I guess I ain't 
 lived with her the past fourteen years without her 
 knowin' me well enough not t' let anything you 
 could say count, even if you are her own sister — 
 and from " the city." I should think, the way 
 you've been stayin' here all summer, you 'n' your 
 daughter, 'n' been waited on 'n' everything, with- 
 out payin' a cent for it, that you wouldn't have so 
 very much to say. That's my opinion, 'f I was 
 to express it. 
 
 (Lily Ann is on porch, in a " huff." Mrs. Brewster 
 has crossed back to l., near seat, almost overcome 
 by her indignation.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Oh ! this is more than I can be ex- 
 pected to stand 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, then you can set down to it. 
 There's a seat, right b'hind you. 
 
 (Mrs. Brewster sinks into chair, apparently about to 
 faint. Lily Ann disdains her. Enter r. u. e., 
 Helen Brewster and Leonard Fillmore. She 
 carries a parasol and a bunch of wild fiotvers. ) 
 
 lO 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK , 
 
 Helen {coming do-mn. Leonard stays up by gate). 
 Why, Mother, what's the matter ? Are you ill ? 
 
 (Goes to Mrs. Brewster.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I have been insulted — by that " per- 
 son" there, (Indicating Lily Ann.) 
 
 (Leonard looks at Lily Ann with a knowing smile.) 
 
 Lily Ann. Land, I ain't hurt her any. Jest sayin' 
 a few things to ease my mind. I guess she'll live 
 through it. 
 
 (Exit Lily Ann to house, with a toss of her head and 
 an indignant sniff. ) 
 
 Leonard Fillmore (coming down to r. c). You 
 mustn't take Lily Ann too seriously, Mrs. Brew- 
 ster. She's a privileged character around here, 
 you know. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I should say she is. It is insuffer- 
 able, the way my sister permits that woman to 
 domineer and make herself so offensive. I shall 
 have her dismissed. 
 
 Leonard. M'm — well, I'm inclined to think even you 
 couldn't have that done, Mrs. Brewster. I'm 
 sorry if she has been rude, and I'll speak to Miss 
 Newcomb about it, but — well, I imagine it would 
 be about as easy to dismiss the — er — the pump, 
 or — the barn, as Lily Ann. The farm wouldn't 
 be complete without her. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (changing the subject). Helen, I 
 should like to know where you have been all this 
 time. 
 
 Helen. We have been for a stroll, Mr. Fillmore and 
 I. Are any of those letters for me? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. One. (Gives Helen letter.) 
 
 Leonard. I am afraid it was largely my fault. I 
 believe I inveigled Miss Brewster into walking 
 rather farther than she otherwise would have 
 done. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Indeed ! The persuasive powers of 
 
ALIAS 3IJSS SHERLOCK 
 
 a promising young legal light. How interest- 
 ing 
 
 Helen {smiling, with a slight trace of sarcasm'). 
 Mother ! — " promising." He has already quite 
 " arrived," you know. He was telling me of one 
 of his cases. What was it, Mr. Fillmore — de- 
 fending a yokel whose cow is accused of infring- 
 ing upon another man's property and destroying 
 some cabbages? 
 
 Leonard. Yes — quite as important as that. I think 
 I shall win my case, too — after a hard judicial 
 struggle. And when I do, I shall come and claim 
 your congratulations. {At steps.) Now, if you 
 will excuse me, I will look for Miss Newcomb. 
 I have a little business to transact — and at the 
 same time I will speak to her about the offending 
 Lily Ann. 
 
 {Exit Leonard to house, with a show of good-natured 
 dignity. ) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! I believe he was half laugh- 
 ing at us. 
 
 Helen {who is reading her letter). No doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster {again seated, l.). And I should like 
 to know what you mean by such a show of in- 
 timacy with him — a mere country lawyer. Tak- 
 ing a stroll with him, and 
 
 Helen. Oh, well, one has to have a little amusement 
 in this forsaken place. Do let me entertain my- 
 self in some way. Besides, look what a reward I 
 reaped — this beautiful bouquet. 
 
 {Puts flowers in Mrs. Brewster's lap.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster {throwing flowers to ground). And 
 what of me? I hope you don't think I stay here 
 from choice? Surely, it is better than shutting 
 ourselves up in the city, or going to some cheap 
 boarding-house, as we would have had to do. 
 You know Bar Harbor or Newport were out of 
 the question. Look at these — bills, bills, bills! 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Threats — lawsuits. We dare not go back to Ne-w: 
 York, for fear of our creditors. I don't knov? 
 what is to become of us ! 
 
 Helen. We can't stay and Hve on Aunt Sarah much 
 longer, that's certain. It is becoming unbearable. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. If we only could have kept up ap- 
 pearances one more season, you might have — 
 well, something might have turned up. 
 
 Helen {she has gone up by gate; now comes down). 
 I suppose you mean I might have sold myself — 
 or you might have sold me. Why not say it? I 
 am in the market — for the highest bidder. Even 
 you are not beyond possibilities, 
 
 Mrs. Brewster, Helen! How can you say such 
 things to me, your own mother? I am sure I 
 have enough to bear, without that. 
 
 Helen. I guess I am about as desperate as you are, 
 for it seems to be up to me. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I — ^I don't know why you need put 
 it in that vulgar way. But, as you say, we cannot 
 stay here much longer. Look at these. (Showing 
 bills.) If we go back to New York 
 
 Helen. There's Dick. If only he could do some- 
 thing 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Dick ! You know how much good 
 he is to me. I did hope, when he secured that 
 position in the bank at forty dollars a week, that 
 he might at least cease to be a worry to me. But 
 no 
 
 Helen. Nevertheless, he is still your son and my 
 brother. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Much good such a son is to me. I 
 have practically disowned him, — you know it is 
 nearly a year since we have even seen him. No, 
 we must think of something more reliable than 
 Dick, my dear. Now, there was — m'm — Mr. 
 Deering 
 
 Helen. Yes — one of the likely bidders. Well, if it 
 will be any satisfaction to you, this letter is from 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! — and does he 
 
 13 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Helen. Yes, Mother, I believe you really have a 
 chance to sell me at a very good price. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen! I refuse to listen to such 
 talk. You know he is a gentleman — he is worth 
 millions, — you should consider yourself a very 
 lucky girl. 
 
 Helen. I suppose I am, so far as your idea of luck 
 is concerned. But that man — old, gross — the very 
 thought of him repels me, 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Why, Mr. Deering is not more than 
 forty-five — well, or eight — or nine, perhaps, — and 
 think of all you could command as his wife. But 
 the question is, at present, how we are to man- 
 age to get back to New York, pay our bills, and 
 keep up appearances until it can be brought about. 
 I know of just one way — my sister 
 
 Helen. What! — Aunt Sarah — that simple, countri- 
 fied old maid ? Pray, what could she do ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. She could help us out of all our 
 difficulties, if she would. You may not know it, 
 my dear, but Sarah Newcomb is rich. At least, 
 she must have a great deal of money. When our 
 father died, Sarah and I came in for everything 
 he had. He had run this farm for many years, 
 as his father had before him, and had made 
 money, which he invested and increased. When 
 he made his will, I chose cash, and, in time, re- 
 ceived ten thousand dollars. Sarah kept the farm 
 as her share and has rusticated here ever since, 
 while I — well, I .went to the city, met your fa- 
 ther — married him — and entered upon the life 
 that appealed to me. Your father's death left me 
 
 well provided for, but Oh, well, it has all 
 
 vanished, while Sarah, — her money must have ac- 
 cumulated and increased. So, you see, my dear 
 — she is rich. 
 
 Helen. Well, I must say, it is the last thing I ever 
 would have thought of. But even so — do you 
 think you could manage it — or her? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. It would have to be carefully done, 
 of course. .By the way, that Mr. Fillmore is 
 
 14 
 
ALIAS MISS SEEBLOCK 
 
 her legal adviser, I believe. He has charge of all 
 her affairs — he'd know just how much she is 
 worth, and she would accept his advice. M'm — 
 perhaps, after all, you'd better be a bit nice to 
 him. 
 
 Helen. You want me to pump him — to exert an in- 
 sidious influence, as it were. Oh, very well. 
 Leave it to me. He's rather too nice a fellow to 
 be made a fool of, even if I can do it, but, as you 
 say, something must be done. Anything is better 
 than the poorhouse — and oblivion. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. And, in the meantime, don't forget 
 that it would be good policy to keep on the right 
 side of all these people — to make as good an im- 
 pression as possible 
 
 Helen. Oh, yes, we may as well begin to do the 
 thing up right, even if it is rather late in the day. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! sometimes you shock me by 
 your absolute vulgarity. Please do not use such 
 expressions. We shall do nothing dishonorable. 
 
 Helen. I hope not. But I must say, the very idea 
 is repellent to me. I wish it were well over, 
 
 {Enter Lily Ann from house, to porch, her hands 
 rolled up in apron.) 
 
 Lily Ann. Say! Miss Newcomb wants t' know 
 
 what you think you'd like t' have for supper — or 
 
 " dinner " I suppose you'd call it. 
 Mrs. Brewster. It's very kind of you to consult us. 
 
 Isn't it, Helen? Can you think of anything you 
 
 should like to have, dear? 
 Lily Ann. Well, of course this ain't no first-class 
 
 hotel. We ain't got everything. 
 Helen. I'm sure, anything Aunt Sarah is kind 
 
 enough to provide will be most acceptable. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Yes — of course 
 
 Lily Ann. Land, you're gittin' mighty unp'tic'lar all 
 
 of a sudden, seems t' me. Well, how would a 
 
 good boiled dinner do y' ? 
 Mrs. Brewster. I'm afraid I don't know just what 
 
 you mean 
 
 15 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Lily Ann. Huh! I guess you know what a boiled 
 dinner is, all right; used t' live here on the farm 
 y'rself till you went away t' boardin'-school 'n' 
 got in with city folks 'n' their high notions. I 
 guess you've et boiled dinners b'fore now. 
 
 Mrs. Brev/ster. Indeed! 
 
 Helen. But I never lived on the farm, you know, 
 Lily Ann, so perhaps you will inform me just 
 what a " boiled dinner " is. Something boiled, of 
 course 
 
 Lily Ann. Sure. Cabbage, turnips, p'tatoes, and so 
 forth, boiled in with a nice hunk o' salt pork, part 
 lean. It jest touches the spot with us, but — well, 
 Miss Newcomb ain't let me have one all summer, 
 thinkin' it wouldn't be " stylish " enough for y'. 
 But I guess you'd manage to eat it. 
 
 Helen. I am sure it sounds quite alluring. 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, it sounds good and fiUin', anyhow. 
 Squash pie goes fine with it — 'n' — as I said to 
 Miss Newcomb, " 'F they don't like it, let 'em go 
 without." 'T any rate, it's what we're goin' t' 
 have, 'cause I got it over. 
 
 (Mrs. Brewster, as if unahle to control herself, has 
 gone up by gate, is looking off l. Helen shrugs 
 her shoulders good-naturedly. Lily Ann goes to 
 door, meeting Leonard, who enters from house. 
 He passes her and comes down to R. c. Exit 
 Lily Ann to house.) 
 
 Leonard {looking hack at Lily Ann). I hope she 
 
 hasn't been letting out again. I tried to get here 
 
 in time to ward her off, but was talking to Miss 
 
 Newcomb. 
 Helen. We have been ordering our dinner, that's 
 
 all. It's to be a " boiled " one — quite a feast, I 
 
 beheve. 
 Leonard. Yes, indeed; you have a treat in store — 
 
 one of Lily Ann's boiled dinners. And squash 
 
 pie for dessert, I hope ? 
 Helen. Yes, I believe that is to be a part of the 
 
 banquet. {Going part way up c.) Mother, aren't 
 i6 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 you going to take a little nap, in preparation for 
 such a gastronomical — {Smiling, to Leonard.) — 
 is that a good word ? — feast ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. No. I napped quite sufficiently this 
 afternoon, while you and Mr. Fillmore were tak- 
 ing a stroll, and picking wild flowers, I believe. 
 (Leonard has crossed to l. ; notices the flowers 
 on ground, now glances rather ruefully at them.) 
 I wish to go in and see Miss Newcomb — if you 
 can spare me for a few moments? 
 
 Leonard. Oh, yes — certainly, 
 
 Helen. Perhaps we will go in the orchard for a 
 little while. I just love those early red apples. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster {on steps, about to go in house). 
 But, my dear, just before dinner— and such a 
 dinner ! 
 
 Helen. Don't worry — only a nibble, you know. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Very well. Then I will leave her 
 in your care, Mr. Fillmore 
 
 Leonard. Thanks. Trust me. 
 
 Helen {going l., in a slightly coquettish mood). 
 Will you come ? 
 
 Leonard. Ask me. 
 
 Helen. I do. But, beware — I might tempt you — 
 with an apple, you know 
 
 Leonard. Ch, what a willing Adam am I! {They 
 are about to go out l. He surrenders to her 
 mood.) But poor Adam had only an apple to 
 tempt him, while I — I see a " peach " 
 
 Helen. Oh, Mr, Fillmore, is that worthy of you? — 
 a lawyer, too ! 
 
 (Mrs. Brewster has stood on steps, or porch, watch- 
 ing them, with a crafty smile. As they exeunt 
 L., she turns and is about to go into house, but 
 meets Sarah and comes back to c. Enter Sarah 
 Newcomb from house, down steps to r. c.) 
 
 Sarah. Oh, here you are, Em? I was looking for 
 you. Lily Ann tells me you have ordered a boiled 
 dinner. I hope your headache is better, or I am 
 afraid 
 
 17 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. It is, thank you. But I ordered 
 nothing. It was entirely the maid's suggestion, I 
 assure you. I simply thought it best to submit. 
 She has pretty much her own way, it strikes me, 
 
 Sarah. Well, I suppose she has, I guess I've let her 
 have it so long there's no breaking her of it now. 
 Len Fillmore has just been telling me she said 
 something that offended you. You mustn't mind 
 her, Em, I really couldn't get along without her, 
 you know. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I am willing to overlook a great 
 deal, Sarah, but — she actually had the presump- 
 tion to insinuate that Helen and I are imposing 
 upon you by remaining here. As if you — my own 
 dear sister 
 
 (Wiping eyes, pretending to be near tears.) 
 
 Sarah. The idea! Why, you're welcome to stay 
 here as long as you please; you know that. I 
 feel honored to think it's good enough for you, 
 after all your city grandeur and everything, Lily 
 Ann just blurts things out. You mustn't pay any 
 attention to her, Em. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Well, I'll try not to do so, hereafter. 
 But, please don't call me " Em," Sarah. It quite 
 annoys me. 
 
 Sarah. Does it? Land, it never occurred to me. I 
 can't seem to think of " Emmeline," somehow. 
 You see, it sort o' seems just the same to me as 
 it did when we was girls here together, and we 
 used to always call you " Em " in those days. 
 My, but it's a long time since then, isn't it, Em — 
 meline ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Quite too long to mention, or even 
 think about, I should say. 
 
 Sarah. I don't see why, 'Tain't no disgrace to be 
 gett'n' old, as I can see. All the best people are 
 doing it, you know. Besides, you ain't more 
 than 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Sarah — please 
 
 Sarah. Oh, well, then I won't. But think how long 
 
 i8 
 
ALIAS HISS SHERLOCK 
 
 it IS since you were here that other time, when 
 Helen was only about four years old and your 
 boy was only a baby. What a cute little thing he 
 was — your Dick, Emmeline. Why, he must be 
 almost a man now, and a real joy to you. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. A " joy " — my son ! Little you 
 know him, or what he is to me — a trial, a tribu- 
 lation — I might say even a disgrace. Sometimes 
 I think it would have been better had he never 
 been born. 
 
 Sarah. Why, Emmeline, what do you mean? I've 
 wondered why you never said much about him, 
 
 why you never seemed to want to tell me ■ 
 
 But, Emmeline — your boy — little Dick, your own 
 son — how can you say such a thing? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Because it is true. Little has he 
 ever considered me. He spends what he earns 
 on riotous living, in the company of persons who 
 are called " fast," and who tempt him to misdeeds 
 and forgetfulness of what is honest and upright. 
 That is the kind of son I have, Sarah — my " lit- 
 tle Dick," as you call him. 
 
 Sarah. Dick — the baby boy I used to hold in these 
 arms and cuddle up to me and wish was mine. 
 And then, that summer you let him come here 
 and stay with me, when he was ten years old — be- 
 cause he wasn't very well — the summer that was 
 like heaven to me, because I had him — just like he 
 was mine — my very own. Oh, how I loved him 
 — and he learned to love me, too — and then — I 
 had to give him up — let him go — back to you, who 
 can say such things about him — that he is a trial 
 and a tribulation. Oh, Emmeline — Emmeline 
 Brewster — what kind of mother have you been, if 
 you have let him grow up to be that kind of man ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I dare say you think I am to blame. 
 Little you know of such matters — of the world — 
 of life. 
 
 Sarah. Maybe I know more about some things than 
 you think I do. 'T any rate, I know enough about 
 the world, and life, to know what a real mother 
 
 19 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 ought to be, and that the right kind never would 
 talk that way about her own son, no matter what 
 he was, or what he had done. " Mother " — you ! 
 You never was fit to be one — it wasn't in you. 
 Forgive me, Em, but I'm goin' to speak the truth, 
 if it does hurt. When you was a girl, it was all 
 for dressing up and looking pretty with you — 
 goin' away to boarding-school and getting " edu- 
 cated," as you called it. Well, you did — there in 
 the " real world " you talk about and that you 
 say I don't know or understand. Then I thank 
 heaven I don't, and I wish you didn't — a world 
 that makes a woman so hard that she calls her 
 own son a tribulation and a disgrace, instead of 
 the blessing he ought to be to her. 
 Mrs. Brewster. I refuse to listen to any more of 
 your abuse. Even my own sister has no right to 
 say such things to me. 
 
 {She crosses, to exit l., but Sarah bars her way; she 
 pauses.) 
 
 Sarah. I guess you'll have to listen, Emmeline, for 
 I'm going to say what I've got to say. I've had 
 it on my mind for some time, and I might as well 
 let it out, right now. I thought it was bad enough, 
 the way you've let your girl grow up to be proud 
 and vain — though I can see she has her soft side 
 and might make a good woman, if she had a 
 chance — but when you talk that way about your 
 boy — about Dick, who was so sweet and cunning 
 when he was a baby, and such a manly little fel- 
 low when he was only ten years old — why, that's 
 more than I can Hsten to and not say something. 
 Oh, Emmeline, why wasn't he my boy? Why 
 was he given to you, that doesn't care for him, 
 instead of to me, who has wanted him and could 
 have been a real mother to him, and loved and 
 protected him and helped him to be a good, true 
 man, instead of what you say he is? It's me that 
 has had the mother-feeling in me all these years, 
 instead of you, though I'm nothing but a poor 
 ao 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 little " old maid," with a soul that has starved for 
 what you have neglected and thrown away. 
 
 (Mrs. Brewster has listened, at first disdainfully, 
 even angrily, then in a gradually somewhat soft- 
 ened mood; she now shows some tenderness for 
 her sister, though still obviously thinking of her- 
 self and her own advantage.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I — I am sorry, Sarah, if you have 
 missed what you think would have been your 
 happiness. But my life has been one that you 
 could not understand. You have no right to up- 
 braid me. Perhaps you have fared better than I 
 have, after all. You at least have a home to 
 shelter you — enough to live in comfort, even 
 luxury, if you wished, the remainder of your life 
 — while I am at the end of my resources. Unless 
 you help me, I see nothing but ruin — despair — 
 ahead. 
 
 Sarah. Why, Emmeline, what do you mean? I 
 thought you had a grand home — everything 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. We have been trying to keep up ap- 
 pearances, Helen and I. She has prospects of 
 marrying a very rich man, if we can manage to 
 go back and resume our accustomed way of liv- 
 ing for another season, at least. But unless you 
 can help me, everything I have must go — house 
 — furniture — all. A few thousand dollars, which 
 I feel sure you could spare 
 
 Sarah. A few thousand dollars? Land, I never saw 
 more than a twenty-dollar bill all at one time in 
 my life, as I know of. It was you had the money 
 after Father died. If you've used it up and got in 
 debt — why, it seems to me that's your fault, not 
 mine. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Oh, Sarah, I didn't think you could 
 be so hard ! So you refuse to help me. You 
 would let me starve — your own sister 
 
 Sarah. Well, I guess you won't need to do that, as 
 long as I have a home and plenty for you too. 
 But of course, if you're so poor, and I'm what 
 
 21 
 
ALIAS 3nSS SEERLOCK 
 
 you call rich, why — well, — I'll speak to Len Fill- 
 more about it. He knows how much I've got and 
 everything". I always take his advice. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I should think you need not con- 
 form to the opinions of a mere country lawyer, 
 
 Sarah. Well, Len may be a " country lawyer," but 
 he's a good one, and I reckon they's a few city 
 ones he could give a few pointers to, when it 
 comes to that. You know, all the smart folks 
 don't live in the city. I guess maybe it's so full 
 it's run over and a few of 'em have to stay in the 
 country. 'T any rate, it's Len Fillmore I'll have 
 a talk with, and maybe we can fix things up for 
 y'. Do y' know, I've sort of thought I'd like to 
 go to the city for a spell myself and see " real 
 life," as you call it? If Len thinks I can afford 
 it, I might go home with you, set you on your 
 feet, and see a little style m'self. Got a room you 
 could spare me in that grand mansion of yours? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Why, I hadn't thought of that. I 
 hardly think you would care for our method of 
 living, Sarah, dear. It is so diiferent, you know 
 — so — m'm — so 
 
 Sarah. You needn't get fidgetty about it, yet a while. 
 I ain't begun t' pack my trunk yet. Now I'll have 
 to go in the house and see how Lily Ann's getting 
 along with that supper — or " dinner," as you call 
 it. {Going to r.) If you see Len Fillmore, you 
 might tell him I want to see him before he goes 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Very well. 
 
 Sarah {on porch, about to enter house). And, by the 
 way, if you want that rich man you spoke about 
 to have a chance, it's my opinion you'd better 
 keep an eye on that daughter o' yours and that 
 " plain country lawyer." Goin' to court's sort of 
 in his line, you know, and they do say he's pretty 
 good at pleading a case. 
 
 (Exit Sarah to house; Mrs. Brewster looks slightly 
 alarmed, starts l., as if to go and seek Helen 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 and Leonard. Enter Aaron, l. u. e., with milk- 
 ing pails.) 
 
 Aaron (coming down through gate). Was y' lookin' 
 f'r anybuddy, Mis' Brewster? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. No. 
 
 Aaron. Oh, — thought mebbe y' was, 'n' I was goin' 
 t' say 'f 'twas y'r daughter 'n' Len Fillmore, I 
 seen 'em out in the orchard there, eat'n' enough 
 apples t' give 'em the stummick-ache. Sett'n' 
 pretty close t' each other, too, on th' stun-wall. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I beg of you, spare me your ple- 
 beian observations. 
 
 Aaron. Gosh ! didn't know I had any. Sech hi- 
 falutin fixin's ain't in my line. (He crosses to 
 R., puts pails on porch, comes back to r. c.) Say, 
 ma'am, if y' don't mind, I wish you'd tell me 
 somethin'. I'm gitt'n' kind o' tired o' this coun- 
 try life. Like t' go to the city and do somethin'. 
 Think they's any chanct f'r a feller like me down 
 there ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Scarcely. Your place evidently is 
 where you are. 
 
 Aaron. Wal, I d' know. Sometimes we country fel- 
 lers fool y'. Y' wouldn't think it now, t' look at 
 me, thet I've got the makin's of a fust-class de- 
 tectative in me, would y'? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. No. It is the last thing I should 
 be willing to believe. 
 
 Aaron. Thet's what I thought. But they is. Yes, 
 siree — ma'am. Mis' Newcomb, she gits all them 
 books, about crimes 'n' sech, y' know — detectative 
 stories — Sherlock Holmes, Ashton-Kirk and all 
 them — 'n' sometimes she lets me read 'em. They 
 suttinly do give a feller an insight int' the way 
 things go there among you city folks. Must be 
 a pretty hard lot, come right down to it. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (about to go out l.). I have no de- 
 sire to listen to your opinions. I understand that 
 Miss Newcomb is in the habit of reading those 
 lurid romances, and I am much surprised that she 
 
 23 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOOK 
 
 should burden her mind with such sensational 
 
 trash. 
 Aaron. Oh, she jest dotes on 'em; says the biggest 
 
 men read 'em. Even Len Fillmore. He says they 
 
 help him in his law business. 
 Mrs. Brewster. Indeed! I must say, that is about 
 
 the opinion I had of him and his " legal ability." 
 
 {Calling, as she goes off l.) Helen — Helen, 
 
 where are you ? 
 
 {Exit Mrs. Brewster, l. 2 e.) 
 
 Aaron {going to l., calling after her). Better tell 
 her 'n' Len t' stop eatin' them apples, 'cause Lily 
 Ann says we're goin' t' have a biled dinner, 'n' 
 they won't have room for it. (Aaron goes to R., 
 takes pails and is about to enter house, when he 
 turns, glances off l. u. e., stops, looks, then sets 
 down pails and goes up to gate, looking off L., with 
 shoiv of interest. Hurries off l. u. e., and, after a 
 pause, reenters, leading Dick Brewster by the 
 arm. Dick is dusty, pale and almost exhausted.) 
 Who be y', 'n' what d' y' want? {Leads Dick l., 
 to seat; Dick sinks down; Aaron regards him 
 suspiciously.) Why don't y' speak? Sick? 
 
 Dick Brewster. No. Only tired — about played out. 
 I — I've walked a long distance, and I haven't had 
 anything to eat since — since last night. 
 
 Aaron. Y' ain't? Gosh, I should think you would 
 be weak. M'm — y' don't look jest like a tramp. 
 
 Dick {with some spirit). I'm not. You needn't think 
 I'm anything like that. I — is this where Miss 
 Newcomb lives? 
 
 Aaron. Why, yes — this is her place. You don't 
 want t' see her, do y' ? 
 
 Dick. I want to know if Mrs. Brewster is here — 
 Mrs. Brewster and — and Miss Brewster. 
 
 Aaron. Oh, you know them, do y'? Yes, they're 
 here. I should say they be — hev be'n sence I d' 
 know when, 'n' it looks Hke they was goin' t* keep 
 right on bein'. 
 
 24 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Dick. I — I want to see Mrs. Brewster — right away. 
 
 Will you tell her, please? 
 Aaron. M'm — why, yes, I guess so. {Looks off l.) 
 
 She's out in the orchard there, with her daughter 
 
 'n' Len Fillmore. I see 'em coming, now. 
 Dick {rising, almost tottering, starting to go r.). I — 
 
 I don't want to see anybody else — just my — just 
 
 Mrs. Brewster — or Helen 
 
 Aaron. Wal, then, you jest come up here and wait a 
 
 minute and I'll see if I can fix it. (Aaron assists 
 
 Dick off r., beyond house, then returns.) Stay 
 
 right there till I tell y'. 
 
 {Enter Helen and Leonard, l. 2 e.) 
 
 Helen {laughing; evidently forgetting herself for the 
 moment and acting with a natural manner of 
 good humor). I'm afraid we're in for it. At 
 least I am — for a good scolding. I must have 
 eaten at least half a dozen of those apples. It's 
 all your fault. 
 
 Leonard. Oh, say, — come, now; that's reversing 
 Scripture, and will never do. " The woman did 
 tempt me," you know. 
 
 Helen. Nothing of the sort. It was the man who 
 did the tempting, this time. 
 
 Leonard. All the better, since you yielded. I didn't 
 know I had the power. Thanks for the compli- 
 ment. 
 
 Helen. You might be welcome, had I intended to 
 pay you one ; but I didn't. 
 
 Leonard. Alas, poor Adam! He's bound to get the 
 worst of it. Thus does he have another fall — 
 from the heights of expectation to the depths of 
 despair. 
 
 Helen. My, what an ancient joke — going back to the 
 first pair 
 
 Leonard. And the first apple. 
 
 Helen. Oh ! — worse and worse ! 
 
 {Enter Mrs. Brewster l. 2 e., crossing to r.) 
 
 25 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen, I am going to my room, and 
 you'd better come too. After your walk — and 
 such a feast of apples — I should think you would 
 need a Httle rest and quiet before dinner. 
 
 Helen. Very well, Mother, I'll come right in. 
 
 (Helen crosses to r. Leonard goes up c.) 
 
 Leonard. And I think I'll say " Good afternoon." 
 Mrs. Brewster. By the way, Mr. Fillmore, Miss 
 Newcomb wished me to inform you that she 
 would like to see you again for a moment before 
 you leave. 
 Leonard. Thanks. Then I'll wait. 
 
 {Exit Mrs. Brewster to house.) 
 
 Helen. Yes, you'd better. You might get invited 
 to stay and have some of that " biled dinner," you 
 know. 
 
 Leonard. That's so, — guess I had. Squash pie, too. 
 Umm — the Garden of Eden was nothing Hke this. 
 
 {Exit Helen, to house, followed by Leonard. Enter 
 Aaron, r., looks about, then summons Dick, who 
 enters and stands by fence, r. c.) 
 
 Aaron. You stay right here. I'll see 'f I can git her. 
 (Dick stands leaning on fence, weak, and show- 
 ing some agitation. Aaron goes over by porch, 
 looks in house, making motions.) She sees me — 
 she's comin'. 
 
 (Aaron goes and helps Dick to c, partially conceal- 
 ing him, as Helen enters.) 
 
 Helen. Did you want me, Aaron? 
 Aaron. M'm — yes, Miss Brewster. They's some- 
 buddy here 't wants t' see y'. It's 
 
 Dick {disclosing himself). Helen- ! 
 
 Helen. Dick ! Dick — what are you doing here ? 
 
 Dick. Where's Mother? I — I want to see her 
 
 26 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 (He totters; Helen goes and supports him.) 
 
 Helen. But, Dick, how did you happen to come 
 here? We didn't expect you. You are ill — is 
 anything the matter ? 
 
 Dick. Yes, lots is the matter. I — I'm in trouble, 
 Helen. I 
 
 (He looks about, as if not zvishing to speak before 
 Aaron. Helen motions to Aaron, who nods and 
 exits R., beyond house, taking pails.) 
 
 Helen. There, we are alone now. Tell me, Dick — 
 what is it — what is the trouble ? 
 
 (She has assisted him to seat, l. ; he. sits, she stands 
 by him, showing more surprise than tenderness, 
 but is not wholly without sympathy.) 
 
 Dick. I've — run away 
 
 Helen. Run away ? But why — from what ? 
 
 Dick. I can't tell you now. I've got to have money, 
 that's all. Plenty of it — to get away — out of the 
 country. Where's Mother? 
 
 Helen. She couldn't help you, any more than I can. 
 What do you mean — what have you done? 
 
 Dick. Never mind that. There isn't time. I'm your 
 brother, that's all, and her son, and you've got to 
 help me. It's for your sake as well as for mine, 
 I guess, if you don't want 
 
 Helen. Oh, Dick, will you never learn to behave 
 I yourself — to be a manf Mother is almost des- 
 
 perate already, with ruin staring her in the face, 
 and now to have you come here in this condition 
 — you, who ought to help her, instead of bring- 
 ing disgrace upon her. You ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself. 
 
 Dick. And so would you be, if you were any kind of 
 a sister, instead of turning on me now, when I'm 
 
 facing (Enter Sarah from house to porch; 
 
 Dick sees her and shrinks down, as if to hide.) 
 
 Who's that ? I don't want to see 
 
 27 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Helen (disclosing him). Aunt Sarah, this is my 
 brother 
 
 Sarah (coming down, looking at Dick, at first un- 
 coniprehendingly, then with gradual recognition 
 and dawning tenderness). You don't mean that 
 — that it is Dick — httle Dick? Why, you — if you 
 haven't grown up into a man. The last time I 
 saw you, you were just a Httle fellow — that was — 
 it was twelve years ago, and you were only ten 
 
 years old — and now Why, you're sick — 
 
 something is the matter 
 
 Dick (breaking down). Oh, I can't stand any more 
 — I'm played out. I can't go any further. 
 
 (He has tried to rise, but sinks back on to seat. 
 Sarah goes to him, sits, puts arm about him, af- 
 fectionately. ) 
 
 Sarah. Why, of course you can't — ^you needn't. 
 
 You've got home, Dick. You've come right here, 
 
 where we've been waiting for you and are glad 
 
 to see you 
 
 Dick. Oh, you don't know — you don't know 
 
 Helen. I hope Mother doesn't come. 
 
 Sarah. You go in the house and see that she doesn't. 
 
 I'll talk to Dick and see if I can't find out what's 
 
 the matter. 
 
 (Helen goes l., to steps; Dick starts up, but sinks 
 back, as Sarah gently draws him down beside 
 her.) 
 
 Dick. But I must see her — I want to tell her 
 
 Sarah. Maybe it would be just as well if you told 
 me. I'm your Aunt Sarah, though you've sort 
 of forgotten me, haven't you ? But I haven't for- 
 gotten you, and — I — I guess maybe it would be 
 better if you told me about it first, then we'll 
 see 
 
 Dick. You'll help me — to get away 
 
 Sarah (to Helen, who still stands l.). You go, 
 
 28 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Helen, He will be all right. {Exit Helen U, 
 to house.) Now, Dick, tell me 
 
 Dick. Oh, I can't — I can't ! I don't know what to 
 do. They may be after me by this time 
 
 Sarah. Who? Who is after you? 
 
 Dick. The poHce. They may have found out by this 
 time. I didn't do it — I didn't — but they will think 
 I did. They'll find out I was there, some way, 
 and then — unless I can get away, where they can't 
 find me 
 
 Sarah. But tell me about it. What was it — how did 
 you happen to come here? 
 
 Dick. Why, I had heard Mother and Helen speak 
 of you — and I remembered you, too — about the 
 summer I stayed here, so long ago, and how good 
 you were to me — and then I thought they — or 
 you — could help me in some way. I didn't know 
 where else to go. I've got to have money, — she's 
 my mother, if I haven't done just right, and she's 
 got to help me. Where is she ? I must see her. 
 
 Sarah. Pretty soon, maybe; but tell me first — what 
 do they think you have done ? 
 
 Dick. It's murder — that's what they'll say. But I 
 didn't do it — no, no, I didn't! It was somebody 
 else — but they'll have it on me, if they find out. 
 I was there — I was found with the gun — I'm inno- 
 cent. But they'd never believe it — I'll have to go 
 away 
 
 {He starts up, as if to go. Sarah again detains him.) 
 
 Sarah, But how — where was it — when 
 
 Dick. Never mind. Let me go. It may be too late 
 — they may have followed me. Where can I go? 
 
 Sarah. You can't go anywhere. You're in no con- 
 dition. You'll have to stay right here, till we 
 can fix you up and decide what to do. What I 
 want now is, for you to tell me all about it — 
 just what happened — what you had to do with it, 
 and everything — and if it's possible, I'll help you. 
 
 Dick. You will? You'll give me money — to get 
 away? 
 
 29 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. I don't know about that, but I'll do just the 
 best I can. You can trust me, Dick — trust me 
 with your very life. 
 
 Dick. It's worth a lot, just to hear somebody talk 
 like that — to know somebody believes in me a lit- 
 tle bit and wants to help me. It's an old story, — 
 the way I've been made a fool of by a woman. 
 But I loved her — trusted her — I thought she was 
 as good as she was beautiful. She thought I was 
 a rich man's son — that was all she cared — and 
 then, when she found out I was spending every 
 cent I had, just to buy her flowers and suppers 
 and — then she tried to throw me over. That made 
 me desperate, and one night — three nights ago — 
 I insisted on going home with her. She tried to 
 get rid of me, but I went, and when we got there 
 she told me she had no more use for me — that I 
 wasn't worth bothering with. Then I threatened 
 her — I'll admit that, though I didn't really mean 
 it — I only thought perhaps I could make her 
 change her mind. Then another man came — a 
 really rich one, I suppose — and she told me to 
 get out. I wouldn't, so she made me go in another 
 room, behind some curtains — she was afraid he'd 
 be jealous, too — and when he came in, he sus- 
 pected there was somebody else there, and they 
 had a row. I stood looking through the curtains, 
 watching them, and all of a sudden 
 
 Sarah. Yes — then — all of a sudden ? 
 
 Dick. There was a shot, and Lora — Miss Navarre 
 —fell— dead ! 
 
 Sarah. Dead ! She was killed ? But who — who did 
 it ? Dick — not 
 
 Dick. No ! You needn't think I did it. I didn't. I 
 don't know who did. All I know is, that I was 
 alone, there in that room, behind those curtains, 
 and that it was dark in there, so that I couldn't 
 see. And I didn't hear any one — but a hand 
 reached over my shoulder — there in the dark — 
 and fired that shot 
 
 Sarah. Did you — see — the hand ? 
 
 30 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Dick. No. But I felt something — for an instant — 
 it just seemed to touch my shoulder — that was all. 
 
 Sarah. But there must have been somebody else 
 there — in that room. 
 
 Dick. Yes, when I went in — but I didn't see anyone, 
 as there was no light in there. They must have 
 been v/aiting there all the time — for her. 
 
 Sarah. And after — after that shot was fired, what 
 did you do? 
 
 Dick. Why, at first I just stood there, for a minute, 
 I was so frightened and dazed 
 
 Sarah. But that other man that was there with her 
 — what did he do? 
 
 Dick. I just caught a glimpse of him — kneeling down 
 by her — he held her up a little — and just then 
 Miss Navarre's maid rushed in from the hall, 
 came across and threw apart the curtains where I 
 was, and there on the floor, just by my feet, was 
 — the gun! She picked it up, stared at me, and 
 cried, " You have killed her ! " 
 
 Sarah. And the man 
 
 Dick. I didn't notice. I don't remember. All I know 
 is, that the maid went to the telephone — to call 
 up the poHce, I suppose — and before they could 
 stop me I rushed out — and got away. Then I 
 
 came here — it was all I could do — and Oh, 
 
 you don't think I did it — you don't believe I'm a 
 murderer? You're my aunt — my mother's own 
 sister — you won't let them hang me 
 
 Sarah. No, no, Dick — I want to believe you — I want 
 to help you, if you are innocent, and I can. 
 You're the same as my own boy. I want to save 
 you. Look at me, Dick — look me straight in the 
 face and tell me, God seeing you and hearing 
 every word you say — that you didn't kill that 
 woman — you don't know who did. Can you do 
 that, Dick? 
 
 Dick. Yes — I can — I do ! {He straightens up, and, 
 with a clear, candid expression — finding sudden 
 courage and determination — looks her squarely 
 in the eyes, and, in slightly wavering, hut honest, 
 
 31 
 
ALIAS MI8S SHERLOCK 
 
 convincing tones, speaks.) I swear to you, I 
 didn't kill that woman — I don't know who did. 
 As I hope for eternal salvation — so help me God 
 — I am — innocent ! 
 
 (Sarah stands motionless for a moment, one hand 
 on each of Dick's shoulders, looking searchingly 
 into his eyes, her face showing infinite tenderness 
 and pity. His gaze never falters. After an elo- 
 quent pause, she suddenly clasps him in her arms, 
 holding him closely. He buries his face against 
 her shoulder, sobbing gently.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 32 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE. — Parlor or reception-room in the New York 
 residence of Mrs. Brewster, handsomely fur- 
 nished. An alcove, or hallway, across l. u. e,, 
 shows staircase and leads to front door off L. ; 
 there is a hallrack in alcove. Door l. 2 e. ; an- 
 other in flat R. c, and one r. Table down r. c, 
 with few hooks, etc.; smaller table, or stand, up 
 R. c, with telephone; also button of electric call- 
 bell; davenport, l., chairs, etc. 
 
 {At rise, door-bell is ringing off l. u. e. Enter Hen- 
 son r., crosses, exits l. u. e. As he exits, enter 
 Mrs. Brewster down stairs, comes down to r. c, 
 just in time to receive Ralph Deering, who is 
 shown in by Henson. He hands light top-coat, 
 hat and cane to Henson, who leaves them on 
 rack and exits r. Deering comes down to c.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Mr. Deering — how good of you to 
 call so soon ! I am delighted to see you. 
 
 Deering. Delighted to be here, I assure you. Miss 
 Brewster was kind enough to write me when you 
 were to return, and, you see, I have lost little time 
 in coming. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. And you are a welcome visitor — 
 the first we have had. We returned much earlier 
 than usual, you know. I had some business to 
 attend to, and — well, we were satiated with " rural 
 felicity " ; for we were quite in the country, you 
 know — on a farm, in fact. 
 
 Deering. Quite a change, I should imagine, from 
 former seasons ? 
 
 (They are seated.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Decidedly; but just what we re- 
 quired, after a strenuous social season, and very 
 
 33 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 beneficial to both Helen and myself. Neither of 
 us felt equal to Bar Harbor or Newport — and 
 they have become such an old story, summer after 
 summer — so I thought it an excellent opportunity 
 to visit my sister, back at our old home. Oh, yes, 
 a decided change; quite the thing, however, you 
 know — for tired nerves, and all that. 
 
 Deering. But rather irksome, no doubt, after a 
 while 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Terribly so. But, then, it was years 
 since I had seen my sister, and I felt guilty, hav- 
 ing so long neglected her, so I summoned cour- 
 age to go and make her a Httle visit. It did her 
 so much good, dear soul, I felt fully rewarded. 
 I have brought her home with me. 
 
 Deering. Ah, — for a Httle ghmpse of city life, I 
 
 suppose 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Yes — her first. I had quite a task, 
 persuading her to come. She has always been 
 such a home-body — formerly resisted all my im- 
 portunities to come and stay with me. Of course, 
 she is quite out of her element here. Not that 
 she is not a dear — but such a little country mouse 
 — so shy, — I am sure you understand. {She rises; 
 he does the same.) I will call Helen. She will 
 be delighted to see you. 
 
 (Goes up, presses button.) 
 
 Deering. You think so? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I am sure of it. (Enter Henson 
 
 R.) Henson, inform Miss Brewster that Mr. 
 
 Deering is here. You will find her in her room. 
 
 (Exit Henson, l. u. e., up the stairs.) 
 
 Deering. I think you understand what my feelings 
 are towards your daughter, Mrs. Brewster — at 
 least, I hope you will not be displeased if I tell 
 you that it is my desire to make her my wife. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Nothing could give me greater hap- 
 piness. Ah, to be sure of my dear child's future 
 — in your care — it would indeed be a blessing. 
 
 34 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Deering. The greater share would be bestowed upon 
 me, I am sure. But may I hope — that Miss Brew- 
 ster — Helen 
 
 Mrs. 'Brewster. You will meet with no discourage- 
 ment in that direction, I am sure. 
 
 {She pauses, as she sees Helen, tvho comes down- 
 stairs; Deering also sees her, goes part way up 
 C, to meet her. Helen comes down, greets him 
 with politeness, hut little show of warmth.) 
 
 Deering. Miss Brewster! — it has been a long 
 time 
 
 (Henson comes down-stairs, exits r.) 
 
 Helen. How do you do, Mr. Deering? It is very 
 kind of you to call so soon after our return. 
 
 Deering. I was only too glad to have the oppor- 
 tunity. In fact, I came up from my country 
 place expressly for the purpose of being the first 
 to welcome you. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. How very, very kind of you. Was 
 it not, Helen ? 
 
 Helen. Most kind, I am sure. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster {wlio has gone up r.). I hope you 
 will stay to dinner, Mr. Deering — and take such 
 as we can offer you. Things are not wholly in 
 running order yet, but 
 
 Deering. Thank you ; but I scarcely think I shall be 
 able to do so, to-day. May I not hope to come 
 again — soon ? 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Indeed — yes; only let us know. 
 And now, if you will excuse me 
 
 (He assents; she exits r.) 
 
 Deering. I hear you had a very quiet summer. Miss 
 Brewster? Quite in the midst of " rural fehcity." 
 
 Helen. Oh, that is what Mother calls it, is it ? I am 
 afraid she would speak m less poetic terms if she 
 were to express her real opinion. We were un- 
 utterably bored — I thought it never would end. 
 
 35 
 
ALIAS 3nSfJ SHERLOCK 
 
 Deering. I think I understand. You were not in 
 the right setting there — you, who were made for 
 big places, for brilHant crowds — regal surround- 
 ings — where you can reign as queen 
 
 Helen {smiling, zvith a lift of her eyebrows). Dear 
 me, who is getting poetic now? You honor me 
 too much. 
 
 Deering. No, no — I could not do that. {He gets 
 close to her, speaking zvith a warmth of feeling 
 which repels her, though she means to encourage 
 him; in spite of herself, however, slightly draw- 
 ing away.) You know my feelings for you — this 
 is not the first time I have tried to express them. 
 Miss Brewster — Helen — tell me I don't hope in 
 vain — that I may make you the happiest woman 
 in the world. 
 
 Helen. Ah, — that is a pretty big order. Do you 
 think you could fill it ? 
 
 Deering. Only let me try. I can give you all that a 
 woman can wish — a beautiful home, gorgeous 
 clothes, jewels — you shall have everything that 
 money can buy. You shall lead them all — have 
 what you will — do what you choose 
 
 Helen {somewhat cynically). I am afraid it takes 
 more than all that to make a woman happy, Mr. 
 Deering — some women. 
 
 Deering. But devotion — love — all my heart 
 
 Helen. And isn't that what you would expect in re- 
 turn — love, devotion ? And if I could not 
 
 give them? 
 
 Deering. You could give yourself — your radiant, 
 beautiful self. That is what I want — you, you ! 
 
 {He is about to take her in his arms; she shows at first 
 some shrinking, but makes an effort to yield — is 
 about to do so, when the door-bell rings. This 
 gives her the opportunity to turn from him; he is 
 compelled to release her, with some annoyance. 
 Enter Henson, r., crosses, exits l. u. e.) 
 
 Helen. Will you go in the library? I will join you 
 there. 
 
 36 
 
ALIAS mSS SHERLOCK 
 
 Deering {again approaching her, but she goes part 
 way up c, he desists, goes k.). Very well. I 
 will wait for you there — anxiously. Don't be 
 long 
 
 Helen. No. I will come to you — at once. 
 
 (Exit Deering, r. Helen shudders slightly, with evi- 
 dent reptdsion and relief at his absence. She is 
 R. c. Enter Henson, l. u. e.) 
 
 Henson. Mr. Fillmore. 
 
 (Helen's attitude changes; her expression brightens, 
 denoting pleasure, zvhich she is unable to con- 
 ceal. ) 
 
 Helen. You may show him in, Henson. {Exit 
 Henson, l. u. e. Helen stands looking up 
 L. u. E. expectantly. For the moment she becomes 
 her natural self, greeting Leonard Fillmore cor- 
 dially when he appears. Enter Leonard Fill- 
 more, L. u. E., followed by Henson, who exits r. ) 
 Mr. Fillmore — this is quite a surprise ! How 
 do you do? 
 
 Leonard. Fine, thanks — and feeling better still — 
 now. Needn't ask how you are — you're looking 
 scrumptious. 
 
 Helen. My ! — all of that ? M'm — well, apples agree 
 with me, you know. 
 
 Leonard. And " biled dinners " — squash pie ? Say, 
 the farm lost all its charm after you left. Excuse 
 me — I guess there's no law against paying a few 
 compliments — I'm a lawyer, and I know, you see 
 — if a fellow means 'em. With you and Miss 
 Newcomb both gone — well, it was too much for 
 me. 
 
 Helen. One cannot imagine the farm without Aunt 
 Sarah. How glad she will be to see you ! 
 
 Leonard. I suppose she will. How is she? 
 
 Helen. She's well. A bit homesick though, I fear — 
 but brave, as I also try to be. But it's hard, with 
 
 37 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 all we have on our minds — and trying to keep it 
 from Mother. 
 
 Leonard. So she doesn't know yet? 
 
 Helen. No. I want to keep it from her as long as 
 possible. She has enough to bear. Oh, Mr. Fill- 
 more, what is going to happen? Do you think 
 they will find my brother — convict him? I can- 
 not think of it — I dare not 
 
 Leonard, We're going to do everything there is to be 
 done for him, and I feel it in my bones every- 
 thing'll come out all right. Why, I don't see how 
 Fate itself could defeat such a spirit as your Aunt 
 Sarah shows — she's just bound to save her " boy," 
 as she calls him — and, in spite of all obstacles, I 
 feel that she'll do it — and I mean to help. Just 
 you leave it to us — and try to look on the bright 
 side. I can't bear to see you worry 
 
 Helen. You are very kind. You do help me — you 
 make me feel better 
 
 Leonard. Do I? That's great. — M'm — if I — well, 
 I'd like to feel better, too — if you'd just say the 
 word. I know I haven't the right to ask it — just 
 a plain, country lawyer like me — but — you're not 
 mad, are you? 
 
 Helen. Mad? Why, of course not. How could I 
 be? Besides, being poor is no disgrace — and as 
 for " plain," — well, there might be two opinions 
 about that. 
 
 Leonard (impulsively; forgetting himself). Miss — 
 er — Helen 
 
 Helen (suddenly realizing that she is encouraging 
 him too much; changing her mood — repulsing 
 him, though not too pronouncedly). But Dick — 
 you haven't told me. What about him? Where 
 is he? 
 
 Leonard. That's right. We have no right to think 
 of other things now. But you — you see, I sort of 
 
 forgot, and Why, he's here. I brought him 
 
 with me. 
 
 Helen. Here ? 
 
 Leonard, Yes; we stayed there in Brookville nearly 
 
 38 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 a week, you know, after you all left, and then I 
 decided the only thing to do was to bring him 
 here, have him give himself up, and stand the 
 chances. Miss Newcomb thought so, too. 
 
 Helen, But if they convict him 
 
 Leonard. Well, there doesn't seem to be much use 
 running away. He wants to — thinks they'd never 
 find him — but they always do, and it would be all 
 the worse when they did — they'd hold it against 
 him — that he was afraid 
 
 Helen. Afraid? Of course he's afraid — so am I — 
 afraid of the horror, the disgrace ! Oh, it seems 
 too terrible to be true. How can I ever bear it? 
 
 Leonard. Oh, say now, don't give way like that. I 
 can't bear to see you, you know. I 
 
 Helen {looking l. u. e.). Is he — there? 
 
 Leonard. Yes. Your man remembered him, it 
 seems 
 
 Helen. Henson? Yes, he has been with us for 
 years 
 
 Leonard. And he's keeping him out there for the 
 present. Do you want to see him? 
 
 Helen. No. Not yet. I can't. I have a caller. 
 He is waiting for me, in the library. 
 
 Leonard. M'm — oh, a " he " caller ! 
 
 Helen. Yes, and a very important " he." So I must 
 ask you to excuse me. But I will have Henson 
 tell Aunt Sarah you are here. 
 
 (Goes up; is about to press button.) 
 
 Leonard. Oh — all right ; and then, after a while, will 
 you — er — have him inform you that / am still 
 here? 
 
 Helen. Perhaps. If I can get rid of that other 
 " he." 
 
 (She smiles, not wholly able to conceal her real feel- 
 ings for him; he looks relieved.) 
 
 Leonard. Thanks. 
 
 (Enter Henson, l. u. e.) 
 39 
 
ALIAS MISS SHEBLOOK 
 
 Helen. Henson, tell Miss Newcomb that Mr. Fill- 
 more is here. You will find her in her room, I 
 think — the blue room. 
 
 {Exit Henson upstairs.) 
 
 Leonard. " Blue " room ? Pretty appropriate, seems 
 to me. Kind of in that state myself, unless you 
 change it. 
 
 (Helen ignores this remark, though she looks back 
 with a faint smile as she exits, r. Leonard looks 
 after her, adoringly; goes up r., then comes hack, 
 shaking his head doubtfully, hut with an expres- 
 sion of determination. Enter Henson, coming 
 down stairs; part way to c.) 
 
 Henson. Miss Newcomb will be right down, sir. 
 (About to go, lingers.) Beg pardon, sir, but — 
 Master Dick. He looks very down — and sick 
 like. Is anything the matter, may I ask, sir? 
 
 Leonard. Why, I guess he isn't just feeling his best. 
 
 Henson. No, sir; that's how it struck me, sir. I 
 hope you will pardon me, if I seem too familiar, 
 but Master Dick always was a favorite of mine, 
 and I've wondered often, without daring to men- 
 tion it, what had become of him, so to speak, and 
 how he was. He's been absent for the greater 
 part of a year, if I remember rightly. 
 
 Leonard. Yes. He's been away, I believe. You 
 say Miss Newcomb will be right down? 
 
 Henson. Yes, sir ; to be sure, sir. I beg pardon. 
 
 (Exit Henson, l. u. e. Leonard stands down r., by 
 taj)le, not seeing Sarah, as she conies down-stairs, 
 enters l. u. e. ; sees him, with a pleased expres- 
 sion; comes down, stands close to him a moment, 
 before she speaks.) 
 
 Sarah, Well ! 
 
 Leonard (starts, slightly; turns, sees her, speaks in an 
 assumed matter-of-fact manner). Fair to mid- 
 40 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 
 
 dling, ma'am, — and hope I see you the same; — 
 lirst-class, I mean. How — are — you? 
 
 Sarah {as they shake hands, warmly). Oh, Len, it's 
 good for sore eyes to see you ! I've been waiting 
 and hoping and praying, expectin' you every min- 
 ute — and, now you're here, I declare, I could al- 
 most hug y' ! 
 
 Leonard. Why — almost? Make it a real one. 
 
 Sarah. Oh, Len, I've almost died here, this last week 
 with six or eight months in it. It's been ter- 
 rible 
 
 Leonard. Pshaw ! that'll never do. I thought you 
 were the brave one. It won't do for you to give 
 up. 
 
 Sarah. No, of course, and I don't mean to; but — • 
 well, it's the lonesomeness of it. I'm Hke a cat in 
 a strange garret, and as homesick as anything — 
 at least, I suppose that's what the feeUng is I've 
 got here — and here — and oh, all over me. But 
 sit down, Len, and tell me — everything. 
 
 {They sit.) 
 
 Leonard {speaking rapidly, pretending to misunder- 
 stand her). Well, when I left, the brindle cow 
 was beginning to wean her calf, the pigs were 
 fatter 'n ever and just fit to kill — Aaron Flint 
 seemed to be getting along a little better in a cer- 
 tain direction — I guess their being left there alone 
 sort of softens the obdurate lady — and — anything 
 else? 
 
 Sarah. Leonard Fillmore! You know it isn't all 
 that I want to know. Of course, it's that, too — 
 and I'm glad if Lily Ann has begun to give in a 
 little, though goodness knows it's time — but it's 
 my boy, Len — Dick! — how is he — where is he — 
 and 
 
 Leonard. Oh, he's well and safe and not far off. 
 But first I want to hear about you. How do aou 
 like it here? 
 
 Sarah. Oh, as well as could be expected, I suppose 
 — me, in this hif alutin place ! But I've wished I 
 
 41 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 was back home, every minute. Such foolishness 
 — such extravagance ! 
 
 Leonard. Well, it was your own doings — you would 
 do it, you know 
 
 Sarah. Yes, I know, and I'm not sorry as I know of. 
 But it's something terrible, the v/ay Em has lived 
 and got into debt, trying to " keep up appear- 
 ances," as she calls it. It's simply scandalous — a 
 " butler " and everything. Land, he's the stiffest 
 thing in the shape of a man I ever did see. I was 
 fairly afraid of him at first, the way he puffed 
 himself up and said "Yes, Madam," "No, 
 Madam," and " Madam this " and " Madam that," 
 till I up and told him I wa'n't a " Madam " and 
 had no desire to be, and wouldn't he please just 
 call me Miss Newcomb. I'm beginning to get a 
 little bit used to him now, and to a few other 
 things, but, I declare — I guess the farm's the place 
 for me. 
 
 Leonard. Nonsense, I'd trust you with the best of 
 them. They can't make a fool of you. 
 
 Sarah. Too late, maybe. But mebbe it'd be just as 
 well to let some folks think they can. 
 
 Leonard. Who — why 
 
 Sarah. Well, some of the city folks, the kind that 
 think us from the country are all as green as 
 grass. Mebbe I can get the best of some of 'em 
 and find out a few things all the easier, if I let 
 'em think I don't know a street-car from a steam- 
 boat. Not but what I do, and I guess I can see 
 through a barn door when it's wide open 
 
 Leonard (laughing). Well, I should say you can! 
 
 Sarah. But if some of the big-bug detectives and all, 
 that are trying to find Dick and prove he's — what 
 they'll say he is — think I'm but a poor, simple lit- 
 tle old maid from the country, why, I guess it'll 
 make the way all the clearer for me when I try to 
 show 'em a thing or two. 
 
 Leonard. Well, now, I don't knov^ but there's some- 
 thing in that. 
 
 Sarah. I'm here to save my boy — and it's any means 
 
 42 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 to that end. You know how crazy I've always 
 been about reading those detective stories, Len — 
 murder mysteries and such — " trash," you call 
 'em? 
 
 Leonard. Why, yes, — I guess you've read a hundred. 
 
 Sarah. Say seven hundred and you'll be nearer to it. 
 Well, I'm glad I have. They've sort of given me 
 an insight into things — clues and such. I feel as 
 if I could beat the best detective in New York 
 City at his own game. I'd like the chance — and 
 maybe I'll have it before we get through. 
 
 Leonard. I guess you'll find it a hard job, Miss New- 
 comb. They're a slick lot, and I'm afraid in this 
 instance they'll have it pretty much their own 
 way. To tell the truth, I don't see a loophole as 
 yet. 
 
 Sarah. But there must be one, Len — there's got to 
 be. There always is. In all those detective 
 stories, the one you're sure did it and that evei-y- 
 thing's against, never did. It's when they come 
 up against a blank wall and you think there's no 
 way around, through, or over, that a way opens 
 up, after all. And there will this time, Len — 
 there must. 
 
 Leonard. I hope so. But don't you think you need 
 a bigger man than I am to help you. Miss New- 
 comb? I'm only a country lawyer, after all, you 
 know, without much experience 
 
 Sarah. Now, see here, Len Fillmore, don't you begin 
 that all over again. You know my opinion, and 
 that ends it. If you're not what they call " a big 
 man " yet, you're going to be, and maybe this is 
 your chance to prove it. I want you to show 'em 
 what you can do, — you and me together — in spite 
 of the best of 'em. They may think we are two 
 greenies from the country and as easy as pie. 
 Well, let 'em think so — till we open their eyes 
 and show 'em a thing or two. 
 
 Leonard {giving her his hand). We will. Put it 
 there. 
 
 Sarah. That's the way to talk. Go ahead, don't 
 
 43 
 
ALIAS MISS SHEBLOCK 
 
 leave a stone unturned, till we've overthrown that 
 stone wall we're up against. I'm back of you 
 with all I've got — to my last cent — all I can beg, 
 borrow or — I was going to say " steal," and I d' 
 know but I'd do even that to save Dick. But 
 where is he? Can't I see him? 
 
 Leonard. Sure, He's right here. 
 
 Sarah. Here, — in this house ! — and you haven't told 
 me, all this time? {Going up, looking off l. u. e., 
 excited. ) Where is he ? I want to see him ! 
 
 Leonard. And so you shall. But I want to be sure 
 his mother doesn't know he is here. Helen — Miss 
 Brewster — thinks it best for her not to know 
 about it, yet. 
 
 Sarah. There's no danger. She's gone to her room 
 and won't come down till dinner's ready, prob- 
 ably. Where is Helen ? Have you seen her ? 
 
 Leonard. M'm — why, she just went in what they call 
 the library, to see a caller — a " he " one. 
 
 Sarah. Oh, I suppose it's that rich Mr. Deering her 
 mother's trying to catch for her. She can't en- 
 dure him and I know it — since she saw a certain 
 other " he " I could mention 
 
 Leonard. Miss Newcomb, — you're on the wrong 
 scent. There isn't a chance in the world for 
 
 me 
 
 Sarah. Who said anything about you? I guess 
 there's more than two " he's " in the world. 'T 
 any rate, she ain't good enough for you — vain, 
 stuck-up thing ! 
 
 Leonard. No, — she isn't that ! You wrong her. 
 
 Sarah. Oh ! stickin' up for her, are you ? Sure sign. 
 Guess you can't fool me. I've read too many 
 detective stories, you know, not to see a clue when 
 it's laying around loose, and I found a pretty good 
 one sometime ago, in that direction. 
 
 Leonard. But don't you think you're up against an- 
 other stone wall? 
 
 Sarah. Well, if I am, I'm pretty good at climbing 
 over — and I might give you a boost, if necessary. 
 
 Leonard. Thanks. I guess I'll need it. {He has 
 
 44 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 gone up to l. u, e. ; she is close to him.) And 
 now I'll get Dick. 
 
 (Exit Leonard, l, u. e. Sarah stands, looks off, 
 anxiously. There is a short pause, then Dick 
 enters l. u. e., cautiously, looking about, as if 
 afraid. He looks much neater than in first act, 
 hut is still pale, shozving signs of his fear and 
 worry. Sarah welcomes him joyously, taking 
 him in her arms, in silence. He brightens a bit 
 as he sees her.) 
 
 Sarah (after a moment's pause). Dick — my boy — 
 my poor boy ! 
 
 Dick. Is nobody else here — Mother — Helen ? 
 
 Sarah. Not now. You can see Helen in a few min- 
 utes, maybe. I don't know about your mother. 
 She doesn't know yet, and — but we'll see. Just 
 now I want you to talk to me a little. (She has 
 led him to davenport, l. ; sits by his side. ) How 
 are you, Dick? Keeping up bravely? 
 
 Dick. I'm trying to, Aunt Sarah, but it's hard. It's 
 been almost more than I could stand. If it wasn't 
 for you — and Mr. Fillmore — I guess I'd end it all. 
 I couldn't face it alone. I don't know as I can, 
 anyway. There doesn't seem to be a chance for 
 me — not a chance. 
 
 Sarah. Why, yes, there is, Dick. There's always a 
 chance. I believe in you — so does he — and there's 
 sure to be some way of proving your innocence. 
 We're going to find it, too, and save you. Aren't 
 we, Len? 
 
 (Leonard has been standing r., not listening to them; 
 he has looked off r. in a manner that shows he is 
 thinking of Helen and her companion. He now 
 turns, comes to c.) 
 
 Leonard. Sure, Of course we are. 
 
 Dick. You say that, but if you meant it — if you 
 
 really wanted to save me — you'd let me get away. 
 
 You wouldn't ask me to stay here and face it — 
 
 45 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 
 
 no, nor you either, Aunt Sarah. I tell you I 
 can't 
 
 {He springs up, as if to go; Sarah detains him.) 
 
 Sarah. Dick — my boy ! 
 
 Leonard. There, there ; you'll be all right. You 
 must listen to reason. 
 
 Dick. Reason — reason ! You call it " reason " for 
 me to stay here and give myself up — without a 
 chance in the world ! I tell you, they've got it on 
 me. But if I don't give myself up, they'll never 
 find me. They can't. They don't know my name 
 — or anything. I'll be safe, if you'll only let me 
 go away. 
 
 Sarah. Are you sure they don't — any of 'em, know? 
 
 Dick. No, — of course they don't. Miss Navarre 
 was the only one. The maid never saw me be- 
 fore, nor that man. I got aWay before anybody 
 else came. I tell you they haven't a chance in the 
 world. Let me go ! You will — you must ! You 
 don't want me to stay here and get hanged — for 
 what I never did? You can't make me do that — 
 you can't ! 
 
 {He breaks down, sinking on couch and covering face 
 with hands. Sarah sits by him, striving to com- 
 fort him.) 
 
 Leonard. You're sure nobody knows that it was you 
 in that woman's room when she was killed — not 
 the man, nor the maid? 
 
 Dick. No. Neither of them ever saw me before. I 
 used to meet Miss Navarre at the stage door and 
 take her out to supper — but that night was the 
 first time she ever let me go home with her. She 
 didn't want to, then, but I went. So, you see, her 
 maid never had seen me, and as for that man who 
 was there — he was a perfect stranger to me. 
 
 Leonard. If that's so — why, the police haven't a 
 thing to go by — no name — no picture. So long 
 
 as neither of those two sees you 
 
 46 
 
ALIAS MISS SBERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. But would you want him to run away? 
 
 Leonard. If we believe him innocent, and that is his 
 only chance — as it seems to be — I don't know but 
 it would be the best thing for him to do. 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes, — of course it is. That's what I've 
 been trying to tell you all along, only you wouldn't 
 listen to me. If I go away somewhere, it'll be all 
 right. But if they find out who I am, and catch 
 me — I tell you everything is dead against me un- 
 less you let me go away. You will — won't you? 
 Don't you see. Aunt Sarah ? — it's my only chance ! 
 
 Sarah. There must be some way of finding out the 
 truth. You are innocent, Dick — I believe that — 
 and I mean to go to work and prove it 
 
 Dick. But if you couldn't — if you failed 
 
 Leonard. Yes, Miss Newcomb, we've got to think of 
 that — if you failed. And I'm afraid the chances 
 are that you would. I've been looking into the 
 matter thoroughly, trying to see what defense we 
 could put up, and I must confess it looks pretty 
 dubious. The police say all they have to do is to 
 find their man — they've put their machine to work 
 to find him — and it's more than likely they'll suc- 
 ceed, if Dick stays here, 
 
 Dick. When can I go — to-night — now? 
 
 Sarah. Oh, not to-night — you can't go to-night, 
 Dick! You must stay here till to-morrow morn- 
 ing, then Mr. Fillmore can see that you get away 
 — if that's what's best, and I don't know but it is. 
 You must be saved, Dick,— some way. 
 
 Dick. But I can't wait — I'm afraid 
 
 Leonard. He's right. He must go to-night. You 
 keep him here for an hour or so, Miss Newcomb, 
 and in the meantime I'll go and get some things 
 ready — buy a ticket — and then come back for 
 him. But where to — where shall he go? 
 
 Sarah. Why not to the farm ? Lily Ann and Aaron 
 would look after him. 
 
 Leonard. No, not yet ; they might trace him there — 
 through his mother — they do all sorts of unlikely 
 things, you know. He'll have to go farther away 
 
 47 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 — say to the West. I'll buy a ticket. He can 
 leave late to-night. 
 Dick. Yes — I know — I can do it 
 
 (He braces up, looking more hopeful, rising. Leon- 
 ard starts up L.) 
 
 Sarah. All right. Just as you say, Len. You go 
 and make the arrangements. I'll take Dick up to 
 my room. Nobody will see him there. But I 
 suppose we'd better tell Helen ? 
 
 Leonard. Yes, it would be best to let her know. We 
 can still keep it from his mother. (Leonard goes 
 up, about to exit, but pauses, looks off r.) They 
 are coming — Miss Brewster and 
 
 (Dick starts to go; Sarah holds him, then leads him 
 to L. 2 E.) 
 
 Sarah. Here — come in here — till he goes — then I'll 
 get you up-stairs. 
 
 {Exeunt Sarah and Dick, l. 2 e. Leonard glances 
 R., then goes up, gets hat and coat, exits l. u. e. 
 Enter Helen and Deering, r. She seems sonie- 
 ivhat disturbed; he shows evidence of anger and 
 chagrin. ) 
 
 Deering. Do you mean to say that this is your final 
 
 answer — you refuse me? 
 Helen. Yes. I cannot be your wife, Mr. Deering, — 
 
 I don't love you. 
 Deering. But if I am willing to wait — to run the 
 
 chance of being able to win your love? 
 Helen. Love does not come like that. I 
 
 {Hesitates meaningly.) 
 
 Deering. I see. You don't think I am fit 
 
 Helen. It is sufficient that I say I do not care to be 
 
 your wife. 
 Deering. It was not so long ago^not many weeks, 
 or days — since you seemed rather inclined to con- 
 sider the transaction. Perhaps you have met the 
 48 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 man whom you can " regard " — I think I imder- 
 stand. 
 
 Helen. I cannot help what you think. There is no 
 more to be said. (Starts r., about to go out.) 
 
 Deering. You may change your mind — a woman 
 does sometimes, you know. If so — you may find 
 the — the proposition — still open. 
 
 Helen. No. Please — you will excuse me. {She 
 turns from him, rings hell, then goes up r. After 
 slight pause, enter Henson, l. u. e.) The gentle- 
 man's hat and coat, please, Henson. 
 
 {She hows coolly, and exits r. Deering stands look- 
 ing after her, resentment, then anger, with a 
 mean, vindictive expression dawning upon his 
 face. Then he smiles derisively, stops, listens, 
 and goes and looks off l. 2 e. ; stands looking off, 
 with growing interest. Henson has gone out 
 L. u. E., now returns with Deering's hat and coat; 
 stands up l., waiting.) 
 
 Deering. Look. Who is that in there? 
 
 Henson {coming down, looking off l.). You mean, 
 
 sir 
 
 Deering. There — the young man — talking to Miss 
 
 Newcomb and the others. 
 Henson. That, sir? Why, that's Mr. Richard. 
 Deering. You mean Mrs. Brewster's son — Miss 
 
 Helen's brother? 
 Henson. Why, yes, sir. 
 Deering. I — see. That will do. Thank you. You 
 
 — needn't wait. 
 Henson. Very well, sir. 
 
 {Exit Henson, r. Deering is still looking off l., 
 with renewed interest, which becomes repressed 
 excitement, with something of exultation. He 
 pauses a moment, then, with a gloating smile, goes 
 up and takes up telephone receiver.) 
 
 Deering. Hello — hello! Give me PoHce Headquar- 
 ters. Yes, the Bureau of Police. The Chief of 
 
 49 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Police. At once, please. {Waits feverishly; 
 there is an appreciable pause, then he speaks 
 again, mith tones that thrill zviih tense impa- 
 tience.) Yes — yes. Is this Police Headquarters? 
 Yes, the Chief — it is most important. {There is 
 another pause, during which, holding the receiver 
 to his ear, Deering glances towards l. with a look 
 of vengeful triumph.) Hello! Is this the Chief 
 of Police? All right. {Sufficient pause between 
 speeches.) Never mind who this is. You are 
 looking for the man who killed Miss Navarre — 
 Lora Navarre, the actress — about two weeks ago ? 
 Well, his name is Brewster — Richard Brewster. 
 You will find him at his home, 176 Ellington 
 Avenue. Yes, Ellington — 176. He is there now. 
 But lose no time — send at once — or it will be too 
 late. 
 
 {He hangs up receiver, takes coat and hat, glances 
 once more towards l. 2 e., with a smile of wicked 
 satisfaction, tosses his head slightly, knowingly, 
 and exits quickly, l. u. e.) 
 
 CWRTAiN 
 
ACT III 
 
 SCENE. — Parlor of a small apartment, up-town. New 
 York; well, but not elaborately furnished. There 
 is a door r., leading to a small entry, with another 
 door, beyond, to hall; door, or narrow archway 
 L., with thick draperies, parted in centre. Tele- 
 phone, etc. Discover Dick Brewster seated c. ; 
 he is ghastly pale, looking exhausted, his head 
 drooping, eyes nearly closed, hands hanging limply 
 over sides of chair. He has just been put through 
 the " third degree " and is almost a mental and 
 physical zvreck. He is muttering, in a final gasp 
 of denial to the demands that he " confess." 
 Henry Markham, the detective, stands at his 
 left, looking sternly down at him; Higgins, an 
 officer, in uniform, r. c, somewhat back. 
 
 Dick {shaking head slowly and speaking in wavering 
 tones). No — no — I didn't — I didn't do it 
 
 Markham {sternly, seising his shoulder, shaking him 
 roughly). Come now, stop that faking. You've 
 got life enough in you, if you wanted to show it. 
 You can't fool me. The sooner you make a clean 
 breast of this thing, the better it'll be for you. 
 
 Dick. No, no — I can't 
 
 Markham. You stood behind those curtains and 
 fired the shot that killed that woman — the woman 
 that threw you over — and we can prove it. If 
 you own up to it, and tell us all about it, so we 
 know what your provocation was, — why, then 
 you'll get some mercy. But if you don't 
 
 (Dick still shakes his head, weakly, murmuring a 
 refusal. ) 
 
 Officer Higgins. Plucky little guy, ain't he, boss? 
 Don't look as if you'd 
 
 51 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 (The door-hell rings, r.) 
 
 Markham. That'll do for you — no remarks from the 
 gallery. See who that is, and whoever 'tis, tell 
 'em they can't come in. 
 
 {Enter, l., Delphine, the French maid. Without 
 looking to right or left, she goes to r. to open 
 door, but HiGGiNS is ahead of her. He opens 
 door, goes into entry. Delphine goes hack to l., 
 exits, hut stands behind curtains, peering through, 
 listening. Markham sees her, glances in her di- 
 rection and she disappears, pulling curtains to- 
 gether. HiGGiNS enters R., cautiously holding 
 door slightly open.) 
 
 HiGGiNS. It's that young lawyer-feller — Fillmore 
 
 Markham. D' know what right he has here. Tell 
 him he can't come in. 
 
 (HiGGiNS is about to go out r. when the door is pushed 
 open and Leonard enters, thrusting him aside. 
 He is followed by Sarah, who at once sees Dick 
 and goes to him, kneeling by his side, in spite of 
 Markham, who is too surprised to prevent her.) 
 
 Sarah. Dick — oh, Dick, what have they been doing 
 to you? Dick, I am here — your Aunt Sarah. 
 Look at me, Dick. Dick ! 
 
 (Dick falls over, lifelessly, into her arms; she fondles 
 him. ) 
 
 Markham. What's all this ? Where did this woman 
 come from? She has no right here — nor you, 
 either. {Addressing Leonard.) 
 
 Leonard. I d' know. No law against coming in, I 
 guess, seeing we rang the bell and somebody 
 opened the door. Anyhow, we're here. 
 
 Markham. So I see, and I'd like to know what it 
 means. How'd you find out? It wasn't given 
 out, down to Headquarters, I reckon? 
 
 Leonard. I found out, though, it seems. I heard 
 
 52 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 you were going to put this boy through your vil- 
 lainous " third degree," and I would have man- 
 aged to prevent it, some way, if I'd known it in 
 time 
 
 Markham. Oh, you would ? Think you've got a lot 
 of influence, don't you? Well, maybe you have, 
 back in that jay-burg where you come from. But 
 I guess you can't very well upset the whole New 
 York Police Department and the Detective Force. 
 We haven't got through with this young fellow 
 yet, and you won't find it wise to interfere. 
 
 Sarah {placing Dick's head against hack of chair and 
 springing up, facing Markham boldly). Well, 
 I'll interfere ! I won't let you torture this poor 
 boy any more. Look at him — what shape he's in. 
 
 It's wicked — shameful How can you do it? 
 
 It's cruel, it isn't fair ! 
 
 Markham. Excuse me, Madam, but I guess we 
 know our business and what's right and fair, 
 without any advice from anybody. We brought 
 this young fellow here, where he committed that 
 crime, to make him confess — and if he knows 
 what's best for him, he'll do it. 
 
 Sarah. Confess! Confess — to something he never 
 did? No, never — he shan't do that. You can't 
 make him do it 
 
 Leonard. I wouldn't interfere. Miss Newcomb, if I 
 were you. {To Markham.) I don't beheve you 
 want to do anything unjust — m'm — inadvisable, I 
 mean. You must see that my client is in no con- 
 dition to stand any more. It looks like you'd put 
 him through a pretty severe ordeal already. Give 
 the poor boy a chance. 
 
 Markham. Huh !— yes, he had a chance, all right — a 
 chance to skip, with your help, it seems, if we 
 hadn't had a tip and been a little too quick for 
 you. We got there just in time, it seems, to catch 
 the bird almost on the wing. What kind o' busi- 
 ness you call that — for a " lawyer " — helpin' a 
 murderer to escape ? 
 
 Leonard. We believe the boy to be innocent. I am 
 
 53 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 his attorney — I wanted time to look up evidence — 
 to prepare a defense. 
 
 Markham. To get him away, you mean — ^because 
 you know there ain't a chance for him. Well, 
 you see — you didn't do it. {Seizes hold of Dick, 
 trying to make him rise.) Come — come along, — 
 you needn't try any more o' that pretendin'. I 
 know all about that 
 
 Sarah. What — what are you going to do with him? 
 
 Markham. Going to finish our job, of course. You 
 don't think we ever give up, do you? Guess not. 
 We got jest a little more to say to this chap, just 
 as soon as you'll be so obligin' as to leave. Beg 
 pardon, Madam, f'r seemin' impolite, but business 
 is business and duty's duty 
 
 S\RAH. But can't you see he isn't able to stand any 
 more? Look at him — he's nothing but a poor, 
 weak, scared boy 
 
 Markham. I guess I know what he is, all right. 
 You'll have to stand aside, Madam. (Sarah has 
 sunk down by chair, holding Dick in her arms, 
 as if to shield him. Markham starts to take hold 
 of him. Leonard, who stands r. c, looks on, as 
 if doubtful just what to do. Higgins comes 
 down, stands near Markham, l. c.) Come — you 
 might as well get up — I got a few things to say to 
 you yet 
 
 Leonard. See here, Mr. Markham, don't you think 
 you could call it off — for the present ? 
 
 Markham. I know when it's time to call things off. 
 What I want you t' do is to take this lady and get 
 out. This is serious business, and we're losing 
 time, 
 
 Leonard. Very well; I suppose we must submit. 
 {Patting Dick on back.) Brace up, my boy — 
 don't give in. We will have to go now, but we 
 shan't forget you a minute — remember that. 
 
 Dick {reaching up his hand, which Leonard grasps). 
 Thanks. I know. I'll — try 
 
 Leonard {dropping Dick's hand, taking Sarah by 
 arm, assisting Iter to rise). Come, Miss New- 
 
 54 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 
 
 comb, we'll have to go now, I'm sorry, but we'll 
 have to, I guess. 
 
 Sarah {once more appealing to Markham). Oh, 
 sir, won't you stop trying to make him say what 
 he never means to say — unless you drive him to 
 the point where he doesn't know it? He's not a 
 murderer — that boy. Look at him, — can't you 
 tell he isn't that kind? Promise me, if we go, 
 you'll let him alone, for to-night anyway, and take 
 him back and let him have some sleep. Why, he's 
 all played out — just a wreck. 
 
 Markham. I know what t' do, Madam — ^you leave it 
 to me 
 
 Sarah. I'm not " Madam "—I'm just Miss New- 
 comb, from the country, where folks have hearts 
 and give them that are in trouble a chance, instead 
 of kicking 'em and grinding 'em down and never 
 givin' 'em a fair show. I'm this boy's aunt — his 
 mother's sister — and I love him as much as his 
 own mother ever did — I guess more — and I want 
 to help him. Won't you do what I ask — let 
 him 
 
 Markham. Excuse me, 'tain't no use your talking, 
 Madam — or " Miss " — because I've got orders 
 and I'm going to carry 'em out. We came here 
 for a purpose and we're going to stick to it ; so 
 the sooner you get out of the way, the better it'll 
 be for all concerned. 
 
 Sarah {standing over Dick, her hand on his shoul- 
 der). Then you'll have to carry me away, for 
 I'm here and I won't budge a step 
 
 Leonard. Miss Newcomb — — 
 
 Markham. See here, ma'am, this won't do. It's all 
 fooHshness, us losing time this way. You step 
 aside and let us do our duty. 
 
 Sarah. Is it your " duty " to crush the very life out 
 of this poor boy? Well, then it's my duty to 
 stand between him and you and protect him, and 
 I mean to do it as long as there's a mite of 
 strength left in my body. 
 
 Markham {seizing hold of her arm). See here — I've 
 
 55 
 
ALIAS MISS SEEBLQOK 
 
 had enough of this. Either you step aside, or I'll 
 
 place you under arrest. 
 Leonard. Mr. Markham ! 
 Markham. That's what I said. What do you think 
 
 I am ? She's interfering with the law 
 
 (Sarah wrenches herself free from his grasp, facing 
 him defiantly; for a moment he seems too taken 
 aback to interrupt her.) 
 
 Sarah. You talk about the law, that the Hkes of you 
 are chosen to enforce — you — ^you who are not 
 men, but great, ravenous beasts, looking for some- 
 thing to tear to pieces and devour. You want a 
 victim. What do you care if it is a poor, weak 
 boy, who hasn't the strength to defend himself? 
 It's all the better for you, all the easier! It's 
 somebody for you to shake and choke and grind 
 under your heel, till they haven't life enough left 
 to do anything but give up. What if he is inno- 
 cent — you don't think of that, — all you want is to 
 show that you represent the " law " — to hold your 
 jobs and prove what great detectives you are 
 
 Markham. Madam — you'd better 
 
 (He approaches her, menacingly ; Leonard also makes 
 an attempt to silence her, but she thrusts them 
 both aside, still assailing Markham.) 
 
 Sarah. " Law " ! Don't you know there's a law of 
 pity and mercy and justice, as well as one of 
 might and terror — the kind that puts folks behind 
 prison bars and hangs 'em — maybe for something 
 they never did? Is it " justice " to try to prove a 
 person committed a crime, and never try to prove 
 they didn't? Why don't you look for something 
 that might help this poor boy, instead of saying 
 he's guilty and letting it go at that ? " Proofs " — 
 you say you have proofs — but you don't mean to 
 let him prove that you're wrong. You don't want 
 him to — you're afraid he will, — even if you saw a 
 chance to save him, you wouldn't take it, 'cause 
 56 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 then you'd have to go to work all over again. 
 
 All you want is a victim — some one to hang. 
 Well, you shan't have my boy — you shan't — ^you 
 shan't! 
 
 (^She finally gives up, partly exhausted; again sinks 
 down on floor by Dick, shielding him, still looking 
 up at Markham defiantly, though with wavering 
 strength. He has stood looking at her, at first 
 angrily, then dumbfounded, finally with a half 
 good-natured expression. He now shakes his 
 head, murmurs.) 
 
 Markham. Well, I'll be 
 
 Leonard {to Markham, in a conciliatory tone). 
 She'll be all right, Mr. Markham, if you'll just let 
 me 
 
 Markham. Oh, — all right; go ahead. I guess we 
 won't bother any more to-day. 
 
 Leonard. You mean you'll call it off ? 
 
 Markham. Yes, I guess so — for the present. 
 
 Leonard {to Sarah, helping her to rise). Miss New- 
 comb — it will be all right now. Mr. Markham 
 says they won't carry it any further to-day. 
 
 Sarah {in a sort of daze — to Markham). You mean 
 —you'll let him rest — sleep? 
 
 Markham. Yes, I guess we can fix it. It's getting 
 late, and — see here, Higgins, we'll take him back 
 now and postpone this business till to-mor- 
 row 
 
 (Markham and officer are r. c, somewhat hack; 
 Leonard, r. ; Sarah and Dick, c, she with arm 
 about him.) 
 
 Sarah. Do you hear, Dick? They're going to let 
 you have some rest now. It'll be all right. You 
 try to be brave, and don't forget I'm not giving up 
 for a minute. 
 
 Dick {with a show of better courage). I will. Aunt 
 Sarah. I'm going to brace up and make the best 
 of it. I didn't mean to give way like that, but I 
 couldn't help it — they drove me to it 
 
 57 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. I know, Dick, boy, — I know. Come now, 
 you'll have to go; but keep up your courage and 
 we'll save you yet, you see if we don't. 
 
 (She leads him up; he goes zvith the officer, with an 
 attempt at hraveness, smiling faintly at Sarah, as 
 she kisses him, with a pat on the shoulder. The 
 officer takes him out r., followed by Makkham, 
 who shakes his head slightly, as if it were all too 
 much for him. Leonard lingers.) 
 
 Leonard. Well — I must say! 
 
 Sarah. No you mustn't. You needn't say a word. 
 I know what you think, but I ain't crazy, and I 
 wouldn't care if I was — I got the best of that de- 
 tective and gave him a piece of my mind that I 
 hope he won't forget 
 
 Leonard. Well, I should say you did — a pretty gen- 
 erous piece. But I'm afraid you have a wrong 
 idea as to what you did to him. 
 
 Sarah. But I made him give up. You think he'll 
 keep his word, don't you? 
 
 Leonard. Oh, yes, so far as that goes. But I don't 
 see as we've gained much, except a brief respite 
 for Dick. Of course, that's something — but we 
 might as well face the facts. We haven't found 
 a clue yet — not a thing to refute their evidence. 
 Not even who gave them that tip which upset all 
 our plans. That certainly was a blow. 
 
 Sarah. Yes. I almost gave up for a while. It cer- 
 tainly is a mystery. Somebody knows — somebody 
 who has an object in causing Dick's arrest. But 
 who — who ? 
 
 Leonard. He declares nobody knew his name but 
 Miss Navarre — nobody else saw him there except 
 those two — the man and this French maid, Del — 
 what-ever-her-name-is. 
 
 Sarah. Then it was one of them that notified the 
 poHce. But how did they know? You haven't 
 found out who the man was ? 
 
 Leonard. No. There seems to have been a lot of 
 them. 
 
 58 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. My, she must have been one of them " vam- 
 pire " things it tells about in some of those detec- 
 tive stories — the kind they have in the movies. 
 Poor thing, maybe her fate was no more than she 
 deserved. But to say that Dick Len, some- 
 thing's got to be done. For one thing, I'm going 
 to stay here and talk to that French woman. I 
 may be able to get something out of her. 
 
 Leonard. I doubt it. She seems to have told all she 
 knows. The police say her story hangs together. 
 No, we can't get away from it — everything points 
 to young Brewster. 
 
 Sarah. But points wrong — I know it. There's some- 
 thing strange about all this, I mean, something 
 we haven't even got an inkling of yet. Len, I 
 want you to go away and leave me. I want to 
 look around a little — and talk to that woman. 
 
 Leonard. I don't see the use. The police have ex- 
 amined everything here. So have L 
 
 Sarah. Yes, I know; the police have, and you have 
 — but I haven't. I may think I'm too smart, 
 Len, but it won't do any hurt for me to try. 
 Something's got to be done. We are right up 
 against that blank wall, and I'm going to make a 
 desperate effort to find a loose stone in it. There 
 must be a hole in it somewhere, if it's only a 
 chink — and I shan't give up till I see at least a 
 speck of light shinin' through. 
 
 Leonard. Well, I suppose, being a woman, you'll 
 have to have your own way, 
 
 Sarah. You ought to know that, by this time. So I 
 want you to go and leave me here for a while. 
 
 Leonard. M'm — I don't know about that — not so 
 sure it would be safe 
 
 Sarah. Pshaw! I guess I can take care of myself. 
 Of course, you can wait down-stairs for me, if 
 you want to. You might come up — say in fifteen 
 minutes or so, and see if I'm still alive — or need 
 any help, 
 
 Leonard, Well, I suppose — if you say so 
 
 Sarah. I do. So supposing you vanish. I want a 
 
 59 
 
ALIAS 3nSS SHERLOCK 
 
 chance to look around and take things in. There 
 may be a clue here somewhere, just waitin' for me 
 to pick it up, and maybe I can beat the great 
 Markham at his own game. 'T any rate, I'll feel 
 better satisfied to try. 
 
 Leonard {at door, r.). Very well. There's the tele- 
 phone. I'll be down in the office. If you need 
 me, 'phone down, and I'll come right up. Other- 
 wise, I'll wait fifteen minutes 
 
 Sarah. Or twenty. You needn't be in such an aw- 
 ful hurry. 
 
 Leonard. Oh, all right— take your time. Only re- 
 member — there's the telephone — and be care- 
 ful 
 
 Sarah. Oh, go on. I know what to do. {Exit 
 Leonard, r. Sarah goes and closes door after 
 him; stands for a moment, knob in hand, looking 
 about; then comes to c, stands gazing around, to 
 R., to L., up, down; goes about, examining every- 
 thing closely. She does not appear to notice the 
 curtains across door l., but, gradually working 
 her way in that direction, suddenly flings them 
 apart, disclosing Delphine, who has been watch- 
 ing her.) Come right in. I was just goin' to call 
 you. 
 
 Delphine {entering, a bit confused, but still self- 
 possessed). Oui, Madame, I — I was about to en- 
 quire if I could be of assistance 
 
 Sarah. That's very kind of you. Seem real anxious, 
 don't y' ? 
 
 Delphine. Anx-i-ous? Oh, oui — certainment, Ma- 
 dame 
 
 Sarah. You've got it a little different from the rest 
 of 'em, haven't you? I suppose that's French — 
 " W-dani " — meaning the same as just plain 
 " Madam " in New York language. Well, I ain't 
 either of 'em. I'm just Miss — plain " Miss New- 
 comb." 
 
 Delphine. I see — Ma-dam-oiselle 
 
 Sarah. M' — "dam" — "sell"? Land, sounds like 
 swearin', don't it? I always heard you French 
 60 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 women wa'n't very partic'lar how you talked. 
 Come all the way from France, did you? 
 
 Delphine. Oh, oui — a ver' long time ago. Since I 
 am quite petite. 
 
 Sarah. So? Must feel quite at home here by this 
 time. Kind o' strange you still jabber French- 
 talk. Seems so you might know all " United 
 States " by this time. 
 
 Delphine. Oh, — but always I am of my own lan- 
 guage so fond. I do not so much seek to speak 
 the Anglaise. 
 
 Sarah. I see — " to memory dear," as the old song 
 says. Well, anyway, supposing we sit down for 
 a while and have a little talk. I'd kind o' like to 
 ask you a few things, if you don't mind. 
 
 Dei^phine. So — certainment — if Madame wish. But 
 I will stand. To sit also, with Madame, would 
 not be — what you say ? — " the thing " — so ? 
 
 Sarah. I suppose maybe it wouldn't, if that's the 
 way you look at it. Still working here, are you? 
 
 Delphine. I stay — for a time. Ah, my poor mis- 
 tress — Mademoiselle Navarre ! ( Wiping her 
 eyes, appearing grief -stricken.) Far-don, but it 
 is so terreeble — such " shock," as you say. I 
 have not yet of myself the control. She was so 
 kind — I am of her so fond 
 
 Sarah. How long had you worked for her? 
 
 Delphine. Oh, not for so long a time, T'ree month 
 — maybe four — I am with her; I cannot now just 
 remember. Almost she treat me as a friend, my 
 poor, poor mistress, who have been so cruelly 
 murdered by that — Mistaire Brewstaire 
 
 Sarah. Stop — don't say that. He's my nephew — 
 and no murderer. Oh, I know, they say he is — 
 you may think he did it — but I don't, and all the 
 detectives in New York and the whole police de- 
 partment to boot, couldn't make me believe it. 
 
 Delphine. I beg of Madame the par-don. I mean 
 not to offend — but — it is so plain— there can be 
 no doubt. What I see, I see; what I know, I 
 know. 
 
 6x 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. Well — sometimes folks think they see more'n 
 they do, and don't know quite so much as they 
 think they do. {Rising, looking about.) Do you 
 mind sort of pointing out just what you did see — 
 what happened here, that day that your mistress 
 was — killed? You didn't see it done, did you? 
 
 Delphine. Ah, but, yes — almost it was the same. I 
 heard — I saw — her, poor Miss Navarre, lying — 
 there, — oh, so cruelly murdered — lying In a Uttle 
 pool of — of blood — her blood! And then — 
 then {She pauses, shuddering.) 
 
 Sarah. But ain't you getting a Httle ahead of your 
 story ? First you say you " heard." Heard what 
 — a pistol go off ? 
 
 Delphine. Go — offf Oh, oui — it make the bang- 
 noise — so, — just as I come up in the elevator and 
 get off here, at this floor 
 
 Sarah. So you didn't come on home with Miss Na- 
 varre that day? 
 
 Delphine. No. Seldom I would do that. Always 
 she would have some friend — some zshentleman 
 — who would take her out — to suppaire — escort 
 her home, I am to stay at the theatre — in the 
 dressing-room, to put away her costumes — to ar- 
 range everything, you know. I come later — by 
 and by — when I am through. That is how. But 
 seldom it is that I come with her. 
 
 Sarah. She had quite a lot of gentleman friends, 
 didn't she? 
 
 Delphine. Oh, — oui — it was many ; she was so popu- 
 laire. That day, it seems it was the young man — 
 Mr. — Brewstaire — as you say, your, how is it? 
 
 Sarah. My nephew. 
 
 Delphine. Oui. But I did not know him — nevaire 
 would she tell me the names. It is sometimes the 
 one, sometimes it is anothaire. I ask no ques- 
 tions — I know my place. 
 
 Sarah. You had never seen my nephew — Mr. Brew- 
 ster — before that day? 
 
 Delphine. No, nevaire had I seen him until I enter 
 — after the shot — find my mistress dead — run 
 62 
 
ALIAS SIISS SHERLOCK 
 
 here — to this door — put aside these curtains — 
 so, — and there — there stand the young man — your 
 Mr. Brewstaire. His eyes bulge, his face is of 
 the crazy-look, and there — there on the floor — 
 right by him, — I see — the peestol — with which he 
 had just fired the shot that kill my mistress ! 
 
 (Delphine is holding back the curtains, looking 
 zuithin the room, off l. Sarah stands near her, 
 looking at same spot.) 
 
 Sarah. The pistol laid — right there. 
 
 Delphine. Oui. I peek it up. 
 
 Sarah. Oh, you picked it up? And looked at it? 
 
 Delphine. Oh, oui — then I think — it is too horrible 
 
 — I drop it 
 
 Sarah. In the same spot? 
 
 Delphine. Oui. In the same spot — right there — 
 
 you see? 
 Sarah. Yes, I see. M'm — and in the meantime, 
 
 what else happened? Where was Dick? 
 Delphine. Ah, but he escape. I am so excite — he 
 
 go, queek — there — (points r.) and disappear. I 
 
 am at the telephone. When again I look, he is — 
 
 gone. 
 Sarah. What about that other man that was here — 
 
 what became of him? 
 
 Delphine. Then — why, he also — he is gone 
 
 Sarah. Oh, he skipped too? Where did he go? 
 Delphine. I do not see. When I have call the po- 
 
 leece, I am alone. Alone with her — my mistress 
 
 — dead ! 
 Sarah. But it seems that man showed up afterwards. 
 
 They have his testimony. 
 Delphine. But then it is too late — the murderer, he 
 
 is gone. 
 Sarah. Yes, whoever it was — not the one you think. 
 
 But we won't argue that question now. I want to 
 
 look around a little. I'll see what this room looks 
 
 like. (Exit Sarah, l. Delphine holds back 
 
 curtain, looking in at her. Sarah calls from 
 
 within.) Where does this door go to? 
 
 63 
 
ALIAS 3JISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Delphine. The door? Oh, that door, it lead to the 
 dining-room — then it is the kitchen-" ette," as 
 they say. 
 
 {There is a slight pause; Delphine drops curtain, 
 comes to C, looking toward l., showing some an- 
 noyance — scozvls, with a vindictive expression. 
 Sarah enters; holds curtain aside, looking back 
 off I..) 
 
 Sarah. There's just that one door. You say it leads 
 
 into the dining-room — and on into the kitchen. 
 Delphine. Though the kitchen we seldom use. 
 
 When we have the meals here, it is the caterer 
 
 that would come in. 
 Sarah. Oh, that was the way? You never did the 
 
 cooking ? 
 Delphine. I? — cook? But no — nevaire! I am not 
 
 the cook — Mon Dieu — no ! 
 Sarah. I don't see what you're staying here all this 
 
 time for, anyway. No work for you to do ; — not 
 
 getting any pay, are you? 
 Delphine. But my mistress, already she have paid 
 
 me — in advance — and the apartment, also for 
 
 some time it is paid. The poleece, they say I 
 
 shall stay, for the present, till they have been here 
 
 sometimes 
 
 Sarah. Yes, and brought that poor boy to torture 
 
 him. But don't you get lonesome here — feel kind 
 
 of — m'm — sort of "creepy" like? 
 Delphine. " Creepy "-Hke ? I do not know. It is 
 
 the strange word — but I need not to creep 
 
 Sarah. Well, never mind. Only I wondered. Now, 
 
 let me see — couldn't somebody have come in 
 
 through that door in there, and — done it? 
 Delphine. But it is not posseeble. The door always 
 
 it is locked. 
 Sarah. Locked! — that door, between that room and 
 
 the dining-room? That's funny. Why? 
 Delphine. No — the other door, beyond — the one 
 
 that opens to the hall — the other entrance. You 
 
 see ? Always that is locked. Nobody could come 
 
 64 
 
ALIAS MISS SBERLOCK 
 
 in. Besides, Mr. Brewstaire, he was there — in 
 this room — he see nobody. It is he that say so. 
 He was alone — quite — when I come. The door — 
 beyond — I find it still locked. 
 
 Sarah {puzded — looking about, thinking deeply). 
 M'm — and — that other man who was here, — the 
 one who skipped out too, — you don't know who 
 he was? 
 
 Delphine. But no, as I have told Madame. I be- 
 lieve some friend of Miss Navarre who also come 
 that day for the first time here. She know him 
 as so jealous — is afraid, — she tell Mr. Brewstaire 
 to hide — there — and then, when he suspect, they 
 quarrel, perhaps, and then, from there, behind the 
 curtain, — Mr. Brewstaire — wild— jealous, too, of 
 the other one — crazy with the angaire — he 
 
 Sarah. Oh, that's how you figure it out, is it ? Well, 
 there may have been somebody in there, crazy 
 and wild with " the angaire," — but you needn't 
 tell me you have named the right person. I know 
 better 
 
 Delphine. Madame! — is it that you would say I do 
 not tell all — that it is not true, what I have said? 
 But it is — what you call? — "corroborate." The 
 poleece — they believe. 
 
 Sarah. Of course they do. They'll believe anything 
 that suits their side. You won't catch them try- 
 ing to make it look any other way. 
 
 Delphine. But what does Madame think ? 
 
 Sarah. I don't think — I know that it wasn't Dick 
 Brewster that shot that woman — no matter if 
 everybody else in the world says he did. But to 
 prove I'm right— that's another thing. You'd Uke 
 to help me, wouldn't you ? 
 
 Delphine. I ? But I cannot. It is not that I would 
 not, but — but what I know, it is. Of course — I 
 sympathize. {Beginning to tire of the interview.) 
 Now, if Madame would care to go? 
 
 Sarah. Thanks, but I'm in no hurry. Guess I'll stay 
 a while longer. {Sits l. c.) But you needn't 
 wait. I know the way out. 
 
 65 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Delphine (goes to d. l.). And if Madame should 
 wish for me — she will call? 
 
 Sarah. Yes. But, say, I wish you'd call me " Miss." 
 I hate that " Msi-dam " business. 
 
 Delphine. Oh, certainment — " Mees." 
 
 Sarah. Thanks. That's more like it — just " Miss 
 Newcomb." It makes me feel Hke a dressmaker, 
 or a woman that tells fortunes or fixes finger- 
 nails, to be called " Madam " all the time. {She 
 sits in deep thought, seeming not to notice Del- 
 phine, who is about to exit l. She looks to- 
 zvards door r., and speaks, just as Delphine parts 
 curtains l. and is about to exit.) M'm — by the 
 
 way — that door, there (Pointing to R.) 
 
 There's another one, and a little entry between, 
 isn't there? 
 
 Delphine (coming part way back, to l. c). En — 
 tree ? Oh — oui — vestibule. 
 
 Sarah. Yes, if that's what you call it. (She goes r., 
 opens door, looking out.) That door — the one 
 into the hall — that's kept locked, I suppose? 
 
 Delphine. Oui — always it is locked. It is the 
 spring-lock. 
 
 Sarah. Then It was locked that day — of the — that 
 it happened ? 
 
 Delphine. Certainment. 
 
 Sarah. But you burst right in, after you heard that 
 shot? Had a key, I suppose? 
 
 Delphine. Why, of course. Miss Navarre, — I, — 
 both, we have the key. 
 
 Sarah. The same one? 
 
 Delphine. No, no, — each we have one. 
 
 Sarah. Then when you got off the elevator — just as 
 you heard the shot — you unlocked the door and 
 rushed right in? (Delphine makes assent.) I 
 see. And when you came in, you saw Miss Na- 
 varre there — on the floor 
 
 Delphine. Yes, yes ; — as I have said. My poor mis- 
 tress ! 
 
 Sarah. "Yes, yes"? You mean "oui, oui," don't 
 y'? Well, anyway — you rushed right across this 
 66 
 
ALIAS MISS SffERLOCE 
 
 room and pulled aside those curtains How 
 
 did you know there was anybody behind 'em ? 
 Delphine. But I have heard the shot — I look — I see 
 
 a hand — a face — there, in the curtains. I look — 
 
 it is he 
 
 Sarah. M'm — it didn't take you long to unlock the 
 
 door and get in, after you got off the elevator, 
 
 did it ? Had the key all ready, I suppose ? 
 Delphine. Why, of course. It is so easy — it take 
 
 but a second 
 
 Sarah. Of course. That's just one of my foolish 
 
 questions. But I'd like to see the key. 
 Delphine. The key? It is nothing — just a key. 
 Sarah. I know. But I'm sort o' curious. Just like 
 
 to look at it, if it ain't too much trouble. 
 Delphine. It is strange, — ^but of course It is 
 
 in my bag. I will get it. 
 
 (^Exit Delphine l. Sarah has closed door r. ; comes 
 to c, stands, squinting her eyes, with a keen, sus- 
 picious look, after Delphine — seems to be " put- 
 ting two and two together." After slight pause, 
 enter Delphine l.) 
 
 Sarah. That it ? 
 
 Delphine {indicating Yale key — one of two, tied to- 
 gether) . This 
 
 Sarah {taking keys, examining one indicated). Yes, 
 and — er- — what's this other one? 
 
 Delphine. The other one? Oh — why, it is that we 
 have two. 
 
 Sarah. Sure. Of course. So if you should lose one. 
 
 Delphine. As one might — so easily — you see? 
 
 Sarah. Sure — easy as anything. I've lost things my- 
 self, lots of times — keys, too. But it seems kind 
 o' funny to have 'em tied together like this. If 
 you lose one, you lose both. Then how'd you get 
 in? 
 
 {She has placed one key on top of the other, compar- 
 ing and examining them closely, feeling of nicks 
 in them.) 
 
 67 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Delphine. It is not that I keep them so. I have just 
 
 tie them — since 
 
 Sarah. Oh — I see. Of course, — now you've got the 
 
 other one — the one that — she — had ? 
 Delphine {somewhat relieved), Oui. 
 Sarah. Why, of course; if you lose these, you have 
 
 that one now. All very plain. You say these are 
 
 both to that door. {Indicating door r.) 
 Delphine. Oui — both. 
 
 {She holds out her hand to take keys; Sarah is about 
 to give them to her, when the door-hell rings, r., 
 and she keeps them.) 
 
 Sarah. There — that's Len Fillmore. He said he'd 
 
 come up after me. {Starts to door.) 
 Delphine. I 
 
 {Is about to open door r., hut Sarah intercepts her.) 
 
 Sarah. Never mind. I'll let him in, 
 
 Delphine. But, Madame — pardon — it is my 
 place 
 
 Sarah. Land, I guess I've been to doors! {She is 
 too quick for Delphine, opens door and quickly 
 goes out, pulling door shut behind her. Delphine 
 seems annoyed; after pause, opens door cau- 
 tiously, peering out. Sarah outside.) All right, 
 Len ; go right in. 
 
 (Delphine closes door, quickly goes to c, just as 
 Leonard enters r.) 
 
 Leonard. Oh, you're here, are you, Del-" peen " ? 
 
 Delphine. Del-" phine," Monsieur. 
 
 Leonard. Oh, yes — " phine." New one on me. 
 
 French, isn't it? 
 Delphine. Oh, — oui. 
 Leonard. Nice name all right. Suits you. 
 Delphine. Merci. 
 Leonard. Mercy? Oh, yes, that means "much 
 
 obhged." You're welcome. Nice name — nice 
 68 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 girl. You were Miss Navarre's maid, I under- 
 stand ? 
 
 Delphine. Oui ; I am her maid. 
 
 Leonard. Am? Oh, I see — that's your way of say- 
 ing " was." Sort of a hired girl you were, I 
 
 suppose 
 
 Delphine. I know not that — " hired girl." If it is 
 
 the servant that you mean — non! 
 Leonard. Well, yovi're a girl, and you got paid — 
 
 guess it's about the same thing. But I suppose 
 
 you didn't do much housework? 
 Delphine. Monsieur would " joke " with me. I beg 
 
 to be excuse. {About to exit l.) 
 Leonard. Pshaw, you needn't get mad about it. 
 
 You and Miss Newcomb been having quite a chat 
 
 here, haven't you ? 
 Delphine. Oh, indeed — much. It is that she is so 
 
 — inquisi-teev. 
 Leonard. You mustn't mind her. She means all 
 
 right. {Looking r.) I wonder if she's got lost. 
 
 Guess I'd better look. 
 Delphine {at door r.). I will see. 
 
 {She is about to open door when Sarah enters.) 
 
 Sarah. Ready, Len? 
 
 Leonard. Well, I should say. You? 
 
 Sarah. Yes, all ready — now. Guess you think it'i 
 about time. {Looking about, in search of some- 
 thing — in bag, tJien on floor.) I declare, I've lost 
 my handkerchief. Must have dropped it. {To 
 Delphine.) Maybe it's in that room there. 
 Would you mind looking? 
 
 Delphine. Non. Certainment. 
 
 {Exit Delphine l. ; the curtains are closed.) 
 
 Sarah {glancing l., then going and looking through 
 curtains; closing them, coming back, speaking 
 cautipusly to Leonard). Len 
 
 Leonard. Yes ? 
 
 69 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. Sh! (Glancing l.) You know that stone 
 
 wall? 
 Leonard. The blank one? Yes. 
 
 Sarah. Well, — there is a chink in it — a hole 
 
 Leonard. A 
 
 Sarah. And it's a — " key "-hole. (Going r., about to 
 
 exit; he follows her, curiously.) Yes, Len, a 
 
 keyhole. And I think I've got the key — that — 
 
 fits it! 
 
 {Exit Sarah d. r. ; Leonard, at door, holding it part 
 way open, looks out after her, with wrinkled 
 brows; then smiles indulgently. Exit Leonard 
 R. At same instant, enter Delphine l.) 
 
 Delphine. I did not find (She looks surprised 
 
 — puzzled — hastens to d. r., just as Leonard 
 closes it behind him. She opens it — calls.) 
 Madame ! — the — key! 
 
 (The outer door is heard to slam. Delphine stands 
 with knob of inner door in her hand, looking out. 
 A perplexed expression, then one of apprehension 
 — fright — dawns upon her face.) 
 
 curtain 
 
 70 
 
ACT IV 
 
 SCENE. — The same as Act II, about three weeks 
 later. Discover Aaron Flint, standing up by l. 
 u. E., with cheap suitcase in one hand, a rolled-up 
 umbrella in the other; his hat on, pushed back. 
 Lily Ann is part way down c. She wears hat, 
 coat, etc., has hand-bag and a good-sized package 
 of brown paper, ivell tied with string. They are 
 both looking at Henson, who is posed in L, u. e., 
 in his most pompous attitude. 
 
 Aaron. Wal, I guess you can tell Miss Newcomb 
 we're here, can't y'? Should think you might do 
 that much t' obUge. She's stayin' here, ain't she ? 
 (Henson gives a stiff bow, in assent.) Wal, 
 then, can't y' go 'n' tell her 
 
 Lily Ann. Aaron, you keep still — and take y'r hat 
 off. Where's your manners? (Aaron removes 
 hat, sheepishly, murmuring, "Oh!") I s'posed, 
 seein' you let us in, that mebbe you worked here, 
 but if I've made a mistake, I beg your pardon 
 
 Henson. I am the butler 
 
 Aaron. Any relation to Sam Butler, up in Warren 
 County ? 
 
 Lily Ann. Land, Aaron Flint, ain't you got a bit o' 
 sense? He means he's a waiter 
 
 Aaron. Oh, that's it? Then mebbe he's wait'n' for 
 a tip. (Feeling in pockets; Henson shows of- 
 fended dignity.) That's the way they all be, 
 down this way. Won't budge an inch, 'nless y' 
 tip 'em. 
 
 Henson. If you will present me with your cards 
 
 (He has card-tray, which he now holds out. Aaron 
 places a coin on it. Henson pays no attention to 
 this, though assuming an even more pompous 
 manner.) 
 
 71 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Lily Ann. Land, we ain't got no cards. We ain't 
 that stylish. I guess it'll be all right if you just 
 go and tell her some friends of hers are here. 
 
 Henson. What name, please? 
 
 Lily Ann. Newcomb — Sarah Newcomb. 
 
 Henson. Pardon me — the names I am to announce. 
 
 Lily Ann. Oh — you mean our names. Never mind, 
 jest tell her what I said — some friends of hers. 
 We want to s'prise her. 
 
 (Henson turns, and, in a most dignified manner, goes 
 upstairs. ) 
 
 Aaron {going to foot of stairs, looking up after him). 
 Wal, I'll be gum-swizzled, if he ain't the dam- 
 dest ! Thought mebbe 'twas the King of Egypt 'r 
 somebuddy here makin' 'em a visit. 
 
 Lily Ann. Yes, of course you had t' go and show 
 your greenness. Land, I should think you'd know 
 what a " butler " is, after all them story books 
 you've read. It's only another name for hired 
 man, same as you. 
 
 Aaron. Me? Like that? Gosh ! strangle me ! Seems 
 t' me you didn't know much more about it 
 'n' I did, though, when it comes t' that. Guess 
 if I'm green, you're a pretty good match f'r me. 
 (They have come part way down; Aaron has 
 placed grip, etc., at one side. Both go about, 
 examining furniture, pictures, etc.) Got it fixed 
 up pretty swell here, ain't they? Guess this is 
 what y'd call style. 
 
 Lily Ann. Yes — the kind o' style Mis' Brewster 'n' 
 her daughter keep up, 'n' then come 'n' live on 
 Miss Newcomb all summer. I guess if the truth 
 was known, she's putt'n' up for some o' this too — 
 though she never lets on. I know her. 'Tis 
 pretty grand, though. Ain't nothin' in Brookville 
 like it — even at the hotel. 
 
 Aaron. D' know's we'll know how t' act 
 
 Lily Ann. Huh ! They can't scare me with their 
 hifalutin things and stuck-up ways. I'm as good 
 as they are, when it comes to that — and you 
 72 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 needn't go to apologizin', Aaron Flint. Hold y'r 
 head up, and act as if you was good as anybuddy. 
 
 Aaron. Gosh ! I never could act 's if I was such a 
 big-bug as that butler feller 
 
 Lily Ann. The idea — him ! Sh ! Here she comes. 
 
 (Sarah appears at top of stairs. They see her and 
 draw back to one side, so that she does not see 
 them, as she comes down, enters and to c. They 
 then approach her, one on each side. Henson 
 comes down-stairs ; exits r. Sarah turns, sees 
 them — in utter bewilderment, almost unable to 
 speak.) 
 
 Sarah. Why — if it isn't — it can't be 
 
 Lily Ann. But it is, Miss Newcomb — it's us. We've 
 
 found y', at last. Thought we never would. Talk 
 
 about your needle in a woodpile 
 
 Aaron. Guess we wouldn't yet, 'f 't hadn't be'n f'r 
 
 my detectative instinc'. 
 Sarah. But I don't understand — I can't believe it. 
 
 You, Lily Ann — and Aaron — way down here in 
 
 New York — and together! What does it mean? 
 Aaron. Oh, we just thought we'd take a little trip. 
 Lily Ann. Thought mebbe you'd be glad to see us. 
 Sarah. Why, — I am — of course — but — it don't seem 
 
 respectable. What'll folks say? Do they know 
 
 about it, there in Brookville? 
 Aaron. Sure. Regular crowd there, t* see us off. 
 Sarah. Lily Ann — what does it mean? Are you 
 
 crazy ? 
 Lily Ann. I d' know but I am. Miss Newcomb. I 
 
 guess you'll think so, when I tell y'. The truth 
 
 is — we're married, 
 Sarah. Married! You — and — Aaron Flint? 
 Lily Ann. Good land, you don't suppose I'd be 
 
 takin' a trip with him, t' New York, if I wa'n't? 
 
 You know me better 'n that, Miss Newcomb. 
 
 We've been married — three days, ain't it, Aaron? 
 
 Seems more like three weeks — 'r months — t' me. 
 Aaron. Oh, it does, does it? Much obliged. 
 Sarah. But how 'd it ever happen? After the way 
 
 73 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 you always vowed, Lily Ann. But, I declare, 
 I'm so upset I forgot to be polite. Set down, Lily 
 Ann — and you, too, Aaron. Land sakes, Lily 
 Ann, I suppose I ought to call you " Mrs. Flint." 
 
 Lily Ann. Mercy me, don't you do it. I wouldn't 
 know the answer. Lily Ann I was, Lily Ann I 
 am, and Lily Ann I always will be. 
 
 Sarah. I guess you will be, to me, anyway. But 
 tell me 
 
 Lily Ann. Oh, — well, Aaron he kept pesterin' me 
 till I couldn't stand it any longer, so all of a 
 sudden I up 'n' said yes. Had t' do it t' get red 
 of him. Made up m' mind it 'd be easier t' handle 
 a husban' than a feller 't wanted t' be. B'sides, 
 th' 'nducements was too much for me. I couldn't 
 hold out any longer when he said we'd come t' 
 New York 'n' see you— 'n' all the sights. 
 
 Aaron. I'd be'n savin' up f'r a consid'able spell, with 
 this 'ere trip in view — 'n' when I set my mind to 
 a thing — wal, I mos' gen'ally git it. 
 
 Sarah. I must say I admire your perseverance, 
 Aaron. 'N' I'm glad you took him, Lily Ann. 
 Only I hope it don't mean you're goin' t' desert 
 me 
 
 Lily Ann. No, indeed. Miss Newcomb, not much. 
 I cal'late we'll stick closer 'n ever. Jest run away 
 for a little wedd'n' tower, so t' speak. Sile Ben- 
 nett and Fidelia are lookin' after things 't the 
 farm — we attended t' that all right. We're jest 
 takin' a week. 
 
 Aaron. Yes, 'n' crowdin' a heap int' it, you bet. 
 Be'n stoppin' at the Astor House 
 
 Lily Ann. Sounds real flowery, don't it? 'Tis, too, 
 — 'n' expensive. 
 
 Aaron. 'Propriate, too, for a newly married bridal 
 couple. He " aster," and she said she would 
 
 Lily Ann. Aaron Flint, don't try t' be smart. Land 
 sakes, Miss Newcomb, I have my hands full with 
 him. Honest, I didn't know anybuddy could be 
 so green 
 
 Sarah, Why, Lily Ann 
 
 74 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, he is. The man at the hotel told 
 us a good show t' go to would be the " Hippo "- 
 drome, and Aaron, he says, " Is that where they 
 have trained ' M/»/>o '-potumuses ? " As if they 
 could ! 
 
 Aaron. I guess you needn't talk. When a policeman 
 told us that tall, slim building was the Flatiron 
 Building, Lily Ann, she says, right out — " Oh, 
 le's go in 'n' see 'em make some flatirons ! " 
 
 Lily Ann. I was jest jokin'. I guess that wa'n't no 
 worse'n you tryin' t' blow out th' 'lectric light 
 
 Aaron. Say — that'll do ! Don't you believe her. Miss 
 Newcomb. I guess I ain't sech an old hay-seed 
 's all that. 'Twa'n't me, 't any rate, when we was 
 up in Central Park, 'n' they p'inted out that big 
 statute they call Cleopatry's Needle, 't said, " Nee- 
 dle? What do they call it a needle for — they 
 ain't no eye-hole to it." 
 
 ( They begin to show signs of a real *' tiff-" Sarah 
 tries to pacify them.) 
 
 Sarah. When it comes to that, I guess we ain't no 
 greener 'n the city folks are in the country. Re- 
 member that girl from New York that boarded 
 with Mis' Orcutt last summer — 't wanted t' know 
 which cow it was 't give butter milk 
 
 Aaron. Gosh! I remember her. She jes' thought 
 it was cute t' pertend she didn't know nothin'. 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, they's plenty of 'em 't don't have 
 t' " pertend." But my goodness, Miss Newcomb, 
 we ain't asked y' how you are, and — about that 
 boy, your nephew — 'n' all. How's it comin' out? 
 
 Sarah. We're hoping for the best, Lily Ann. I'll 
 tell you all about it, later on. You must be tired 
 now, and want to get brushed up a little. I'll see 
 about a room 
 
 Lily Ann. Oh, you needn't bother, Miss Newcomb. 
 It might put you out some — b'sides, what 'd Mis' 
 Brewster think? 
 
 Sarah. Oh, I can fix that all right. You leave it to 
 me. 
 
 75 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 (She starts up c, as if to show them upstairs. Lily 
 Ann pauses c. ; Aaron is l. c.) 
 
 Lily Ann. Well, we might stay one night. Looks 
 real stylish here, don't it? But I s'po«e you're 
 gett'n' used to it? 
 
 Sarah. No, I can't say I am. I can't hardly wait 
 to get back to the farm. But, come on, and we'll 
 see where you can sleep. I guess in the room 
 right next to mine. 
 
 Lily Ann. Oh, that'll be fine. Aaron, where's that 
 bundle ? 
 
 Aaron (taking package from chair, where she had 
 placed it). Here 'tis, dearie! 
 
 Lily Ann (sniffing, at his display of sentiment. 
 Takes package). Here's a few things I brought 
 you. Miss Newcomb. Jes' two 'r three o' my 
 fried-cakes, a little bottle of that preserved water- 
 melon rine you're so fond of — 'n' two or three 
 other little things 
 
 Sarah (taking package). Oh, Lily Ann — how good 
 of you ! My, but they'll taste good. I'm so tired 
 of their fancy cookin' here — and some of your 
 fried-cakes ! 
 
 Lily Ann. Of course, they may be a little dry 
 
 Aaron. 'N' I got a dozen or so o' red apples for 
 Len Fillmore in m' grip — thought he might want 
 t' treat Miss Brewster. Is he still shinin' up to 
 her? 
 
 Lily Ann. Aaron Flint — as if she'd have him ! Not 
 but what he's too good for her. And how is Len, 
 Miss Newcomb? 
 
 Sarah. Oh, he's well. 'Bout played out, though, with 
 the struggle to save my boy. But we'll do it — 
 we will. I'd better show you your room now. 
 
 (She is about to lead the way upstairs, zvhen Helen 
 enters r. She sees them — shows surprise.) 
 
 Helen. Why, if it Isn't 
 
 Sarah. Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Flint! 
 Helen. What! married — vou two? 
 
 76 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SBERLOCK 
 
 Aaron. Sure. Ain't two enough? 
 
 Lily Ann. Don't mind him, Miss Brewster. He 
 ain't responsible. Yes, we're married and on our 
 trip. Jest called to see Miss Newcomb and she's 
 kind enough t' want us t' stay all night — if it 
 won't put you out 
 
 Helen {with a display of cordiality, shaking hands 
 with them). Why, no, of course it won't. We 
 have plenty of room. Please accept my congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 Lily Ann. Thank you. 
 
 Aaron. And wishin' you the same 
 
 Sarah. I was just going to take 'em up-stairs, Helen. 
 I thought I'd put 'em in the room next to mine. 
 I guess it'll be all right, won't it ? 
 
 Helen. Of course it will. But I'll call Henson. 
 
 {Presses button.) 
 
 Aaron. Huh ! I guess he ain't much stuck on waitin* 
 on us, if we be a newly married bridal couple on 
 our wedd'n' tower. (Helen smiles good-na- 
 turedly. Lily Ann frowns at Aaron, with an 
 admonishing shake of her head.) Oh, well, that's 
 what we be, 'n' I ain't ashamed of it. By the way, 
 we brung you something, Miss Brewster, 
 
 Helen. Something for me? 
 
 Aaron. Yep. Right from the farm. Some o' them 
 red apples. Leastwise, I brung Len Fillmore 
 some, 'n' I reckon he'll be willin' t' divide with y'. 
 
 (Helen looks somewhat confused. Enter Henson r.) 
 
 Helen. Henson, show Mr. and Mrs. FUnt to the 
 r©om next to Miss Newcomb's. 
 
 (Aaron has taken up grip, hut now yields it to Hen- 
 son, who handles it with extreme caution, as if 
 fearing contamination.) 
 
 Aaron. Y' needn't be afraid of it, Mister Butler. It 
 won't bite. (Henson, in his stiff est manner, goes 
 up the stairs, carrying the suitcase. Aaron takes 
 the umbreUa, package, etc. He and Lily Ann 
 
 77 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 are following Henson upstairs, she preceding 
 
 him. Part way up, Aaron turns and speaks.) 
 
 Hope you'll like the apples, Miss Brewster. 
 
 Thought mebbe they'd seem like old times — them 
 
 red ones, y' know. 
 
 Helen. T-thank you. You are very kind 
 
 Lily Ann. Aaron Flint, you come up here. They 
 
 ain't the same apples at all. Miss Brewster. 
 
 They're all gone long ago, them summer ones. 
 
 But these are red — and twice as sweet. 
 Aaron (at top of stairs, as he is about to follow Lily 
 
 Ann, who has made her exit). And not half s' 
 
 apt t' give y' the stummick-ache. 
 
 (Exit Aaron. Helen, paying no attention to his re* 
 mark, crosses to r. c. Sarah comes down to c.) 
 
 Sarah. You mustn't mind them, Helen. They mean 
 all right. I hope you don't mind their comin'. I 
 was just as much surprised as you were. They 
 never let me know a thing about it. 
 
 Helen. Why should I care? I am glad, if you are 
 pleased to see them. 
 
 Sarah. Well, I don't know what Em '11 say. 
 
 (Henson comes down-stairs. Exit r.) 
 
 Helen. She has no right to object. Isn't this prac- 
 tically your house, now? Surely 
 
 Sarah. Helen ! You know I don't want you to feel 
 that way. Don't you think, with all we've got to 
 bear, we might be a little closer together — you 
 and me, Helen ? I'm your aunt — I want to see 
 you happy — if only 
 
 Helen. I'm afraid there's not much happiness in 
 store for me. Aunt Sarah. Even if you succeed 
 in saving Dick, as you seem to think you can, you 
 can't save me 
 
 Sarah. Why, Helen, girl, what do you mean? 
 You've given up that man, and now — isn't there 
 
 another one — some one you really 
 
 78 
 
ALIAS 31188 SHERLOCK 
 
 Helen. There is no one else. I have sent for him 
 — to ask his forgiveness for what I said to him. 
 He is coming this afternoon. I am to be — his. 
 
 Sarah. But, Helen, vou can't marry that man. Even 
 if he still wants you — you mustn't 
 
 Helen. I can. I must. It is the only way. I have 
 made up my mind. 
 
 Sarah. Well, I guess you're woman enough to 
 change it — to make it up all over again. If you 
 knew what that man is — what he has done 
 
 Helen. It would make no difference. 
 
 (She kindly but firmly puts Sarah aside and goes up 
 R. There she meets Mrs. Brewster, who enters 
 R. u. e. Sarah goes towards Mrs. Brewster, 
 speaks with vehemence. , Helen pauses.) 
 
 Sarah. Em Brewster, what kind of woman are you 
 — what kind of mother? A woman that thinks 
 of nothing but herself — of having a fine house to 
 live in — grand clothes to put on her back and 
 jewelry to hang around her neck and dangle in 
 her ears ! — a mother who would sell her own 
 daughter to get those things — sell her to a man 
 who isn't fit to wipe a decent girl's shoes. Is 
 that what you are — my sister ? Then I'm ashamed 
 of you — sorry we had the same mother. Look 
 what's come to your son — and now you want to 
 bring your daughter to something worse. He's 
 innocent, while you — you want to make this girl 
 
 the property of a man who has — who But 
 
 you shan't do it — you shan't ! 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (who has stood, apparently too dumb- 
 founded to speak, or as if trying in vain to do so). 
 How dare you talk to me like this — how dare 
 you? 
 
 Sarah. Dare? Do you think I'm afraid of you — of 
 anything — when it comes to this? No! What 
 I'm afraid of is to trust you with your own child 
 — and I'm going to save her — from you — from 
 her own mother ! 
 
 79 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 (She has gone up r. and now exits. Mrs. Brewster 
 and Helen seem too surprised to speak. Mrs. 
 Brewster quivering with anger, standing c. ; 
 Helen, who has gone to l. c, overcome with 
 grief and shame, sinks into chair, covering her. 
 face with hands.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I will not put up with it. I shall 
 turn her out of the house, even if she is my sister. 
 
 Helen. Perhaps it is she who can turn us out. Don't 
 forget that. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. She — with her paltry money ! We'll 
 see how far she can go. She shall leave this 
 house ? 
 
 Helen. But wait. Soon she may have no further 
 claim upon us. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen — what do you mean? That 
 you have reconsidered ? That it is not too late ? 
 
 Helen (she has risen, stands c). It means that I 
 have sent for him — that he is coming back. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (as if to caress her, but desisting, as 
 Helen draws away, coldly). My daughter! — my 
 own, darling child 
 
 Helen. No — please. Let there be no false sentiment 
 between us. I am going to sacrifice myself-^he 
 is coming to gloat over me — over the woman who, 
 after all, humbles herself at his feet. Let us un- 
 derstand each other. Mother — tell the truth, this 
 once, then I will seal it up in my heart forever 
 and bear it all in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen — no! If you feel that way 
 about it, I won't let you 
 
 Helen. Oh, you needn't upbraid 3^ourself. I know 
 what I am doing. It may mean that we can free 
 Dick, too — hide our disgrace. Money can do any- 
 thing Hke that. I needn't count. It doesn't mat- 
 ter that I shall be living a lie. I shall not be the 
 first woman that has sold herself — for money — 
 to a man she loathes — when she — loves — another ! 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Helen ! You don't mean — ^you 
 
 can't Not that you love 
 
 80 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 (Helen turns to her, in a sudden, brief surrender tq 
 her real feelings.) 
 
 Helen. Yes. Let me own it this once — though not 
 to him. He shall never know. But I love him — 
 I love him! I have, from the first — though I 
 didn't realize it then. He is a " man " — a true, 
 noble man — worthy of my love — of any woman's 
 love. But I — I am not worthy of his ! 
 
 {She breaks down. Mrs. Brewster looks at her with 
 some show of compassion, but still evidently re- 
 joicing that she has gained her point.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. But — that uncouth countryman 
 
 Helen {throwing off her real feelings, zvith a forced 
 air of hardness and indifference, though still with 
 a trace of deeper emotion). We will not speak of 
 it any more — ever again. Remember. But you 
 needn't fear. I shall keep my word. (She is 
 about to go up r., but suddenly pauses.) Oh, by 
 the way, I forgot — we have some guests. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. Guests? 
 
 Helen. Yes. Whom no doubt you will be overjoyed 
 to see. Old friends of yours — Mr. and Mrs. 
 Flint 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. F- Flint ? You cannot mean ? 
 
 Helen. Aaron and his blushing b'ride, Lily Ann, 
 from the fair domain of the Newcomb farm in 
 Brookville. They are here on their wedding trip, 
 and have honored us with their presence for a 
 brief sojourn. I must confess I was quite pleased 
 to see them. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I shall not submit. How could 
 Sarah presume to invite them here ? 
 
 Helen. She didn't. They took her by surprise also. 
 But I shouldn't worry. Doubtless they will be 
 sufficiently entertained, without our assistance. 
 {The door-bell rings; Helen starts, with a sup- 
 pressed shudder.) That may be — I cannot see 
 him, just yet. I will be in the library. 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 {Exit Helen r. Enter Henson r., goes out l. u. e. 
 Mrs. Brewster stands r. c, with an expectant 
 look, denoting triumph. After a pause, Henson 
 shows in Leonard Fillmore. Exit Henson r.) 
 
 Mrs. Brewster (sttddenly assuming a cold, distant 
 manner). Good afternoon, Mr. Fillmore. You 
 will pardon me. I was expecting a gentleman 
 
 (Starts to go up r., disdaining him. He has entered 
 expectantly, with a cordial look, but " wilts," half 
 good-naturedly, at her attitude.') 
 
 Leonard. Oh ! — I see. Sorry, if I don't fill the bill. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster {realizing her rudeness, speaking a 
 bit more cordially). Of course, I meant — an- 
 other gentleman. 
 
 Leonard. Thanks. I feel better. But I called to see 
 Miss Newcomb — if I may. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster. I will have her informed that you 
 are here. 
 
 {Exit Mrs. Brewster r. Leonard is down r. c, by 
 table ; does not notice Aaron and Lily Ann, who 
 appear at top of stairs. They have " tidied up" 
 Aaron with hair shiiply sleeked, etc.; Lily Ann 
 with change to brighter dress or shirtwaist, or 
 with an added gay ribbon or something of the 
 sort. They see Leonard, steal down close to him, 
 one on either side.) 
 
 Aaron and Lily Ann. How d' do? 
 
 Leonard {turns, sees them, almost overcome by sur- 
 prise) . Wh-what ? Aaron — Lily Ann ! 
 
 Aaron. Mr. 'n' Mrs. Aaron Flint, 'f you please. 
 
 Leonard. Never! You don't mean ? 
 
 Aaron. Sure thing. Ask m' blushing bride. 
 
 Lily Ann. Yes, Len — that's us. 
 
 Leonard. Well, I'll be switched! You've put one 
 over on us this time, and no mistake. Shake! 
 {Gives one hand to each; they shake most cor- 
 dially. ) Wonders will never cease. So you gave 
 in at last, Lily Ann ? 
 
 82 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Lily Ann. Land, Len, I jest had to. They wa'n't 
 no other way, 's I could see, of ever gett'n' t' New 
 York. I jest had to come and see you and Miss 
 Newcomb, 'n' find out everything — if you're goin' 
 t' save that boy, 'n' all. Jest couldn't stand it. 
 
 Leonard. And a little thing like having Aaron, here, 
 for a husband, didn't count. 
 
 Aaron. She's got me, though, 'n' I'll keep, even after 
 we git back to the farm. Then my part '11 come 
 in. 
 
 Lily Ann. I ain't worry in'. Tell me, Len, how are 
 you — what's the prospects — 'n' everything? 
 
 Leonard. I can't tell you now ; I'm almost too over- 
 come — and so glad to see you — that I can hardly 
 talk. Hope you'll stay long enough for us to give 
 you the best time anybody ever had. But just at 
 present I'm up to my neck in the job of my life. 
 The trial comes off day after to-morrow, and 
 there's a lot to do before then. 
 
 Lily Ann. Oh, Len — you going to save him? 
 
 Leonard. Well, I can tell you this much — if I do, 
 it will be owing to Miss Newcomb — to what she 
 has done. That woman's a wonder. What she 
 can't see through and figure out 
 
 Aaron. Detectative instinct — jest like mine. 
 
 Lily Ann. Huh ! you couldn't detect a clue as big as 
 an elephant, 'nless it bit y'. I ain't s'prised at 
 Miss Newcomb, though — all them mystery stories 
 and sech 
 
 Leonard. I'm waiting to see her — it's most im- 
 portant — so, if you don't mind — will you just 
 leave us alone for a few minutes? I'm sorry, 
 but you understand 
 
 Aaron. Sure we do. We'll jest snoop around a lit- 
 tle 'n' see what we can see. Come along, sweetie ! 
 
 Lily Ann {sniffing at his show of sentiment, as she 
 follows him fo l. 2 e.). All right, Len. Mebbe 
 we'll find the kitchen, so 't I can see what kind o' 
 hired girl they got. I might get a few pointers on 
 real style, so 't when you and your city bride come 
 to Brookville on your wedd'n' trip 
 
 83 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Aaron. Oh, come, Lily-bud. I'll bet he'd ruther 
 have your cookin' any day. Wouldn't y', Len ? 
 
 Leonard. You've said it, Aaron 
 
 Aaron. But I ain't objectin' t' gitt'n' a sniff o' what 
 we're goin' t' get here for supper. I'm as hungry 
 as seven bears and a woodchuck. 
 
 {Exit Aaron l. 2 e.) 
 
 Lily Ann. So'ra I, t' tell the truth. 1 don't see's 
 bein' married spoils y'r appetite a bit — 'ceptin' for 
 bein' married. 
 
 {Exit Lily Ann, l. 2 e. Leonard smiles, turns and 
 meets Sarah, who enters r.) 
 
 Sarah. Oh, Len, here you are at last, I've been al- 
 most crazy, waitin' for you. Tell me — did you 
 fix it? Will that woman be here? 
 
 Leonard. Yes. I had quite a time, but at last con- 
 vinced Markham that it was of crucial impor- 
 tance. She has left the apartment, and at first 
 he said we must come to headquarters, wdiere she 
 is detained as a material witness. But finally he 
 consented to bring her here. It looks like things 
 were playing into our hands, at last. 
 
 Sarah. Didn't I tell you they would? They're sure 
 to come right in the end. 
 
 Leonard. Well — it's a good thing to hope, anyway. 
 And as for hope — do you think there's any — I 
 mean, do you think 
 
 Sarah. Sure there is, Len. But you've got to fight 
 for that, too. It's her mother. If it wasn't for 
 her 
 
 Leonard. Why, what has she done — now? 
 
 Sarah. I hate to tell you, Len, but the truth is, 
 Helen has sent for that man to come back — to 
 take back what she said to him — to tell him she'll 
 be his. 
 
 Leonard. But how can she — when she knows? 
 
 Sarah. You mustn't let her. Assert your rights. 
 She thinks she must sacrifice herself, — but do you 
 mean to stand back and let that man have her? 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Huh ! I'd grab her up and carry her off by main 
 force, first. 
 
 Leonard. M'm — " Cave-man " stuff. A good idea. 
 
 Sarah. Well, I don't know about any cave part, but 
 I guess you're just the man that could do it, once 
 you got y'r spunk up. But tell me — I'm dying to 
 know — how is Dick bearing up ? 
 
 Leonard. Like a man. He has new courage — thanks 
 to you. We can't fail now — we mustn't. But I 
 guess it's still up to you. Miss Newcomb. The 
 woman sticks to her story — hasn't budged an 
 inch — the police believe her, and if you can't 
 shake her, I don't know who or what can. She's 
 a pretty slick one. 
 
 Sarah. All I want is one more chance at her. What 
 we've found out in the past three weeks may be 
 a little surprise for her, and a few others. It 
 takes a woman to see through a woman — and 1 
 began to see through that one in just about two 
 minutes. That French accent didn't sound quite 
 like the real thing to me, little as I know about it. 
 She slipped back into plain " American " with- 
 out noticin' it, once or twice, — and I noticed what 
 none of you men did — that her eyes don't match 
 that black hair and that that hair has been dyed. 
 And she was a httle too ready to explain things 
 — hke she'd thought 'em out beforehand. And 
 those two keys ! Two keys that fit the same lock 
 don't have different nicks to 'em — my fingers soon 
 told me that. (The door-bell rings.) There's the 
 bell again. I guess that's about the busiest little 
 door-bell in New York lately. Henson is earning 
 his wages for once, and I mean to see that he 
 gets 'em. (Enter Henson, r.) Henson, who- 
 ever that is, keep 'em out there in the hall, till 
 you let us know who it is. (Exit Henson, l. u. 
 E. There is a slight pause; Sarah goes up and 
 looks off L. u. E.) It's them. 
 
 Leonard. Then I'll vanish, for the present. Now's 
 your chance. 
 
 Sarah. Ur-rrr! I sort o' dread it, after all. (Exit 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Leonard, l. 2 e. Sarah is down r. c, as Mark- 
 ham enters l. u. e. He comes down, looking 
 somewhat puzzled and not altogether pleased.) 
 Good afternoon, Mr. Markham. 
 
 Markham. Well, I've brought the woman. What 
 you going to do about it ? 
 
 Sarah. Talk to her a few minutes, if you'll let me. 
 
 Markham. I don't see what for. That woman's 
 talked and been talked to, till there's nothing more 
 to be said. Don't you suppose we've got every- 
 thing out of her she's got to tell? 
 
 Sarah. All she's got to tell you, maybe — but not all 
 she's got to tell, if I can make her tell it. 
 
 Markham {sneering, with a sarcastic laugh'). Queer 
 kind of business, this, anyway, and sort of ir- 
 regular. But Fillmore told me it was for some- 
 thing that couldn't jbe done in any other way, and 
 I didn't want to be contrary. I suppose it's all 
 right. It's only fair to give you your chance, I 
 suppose, though I must say I don't see what you 
 think you're going to do. 
 
 Sarah. What I'm going to do first, Mr. Markham, 
 is to ask you to leave me alone with her. 
 
 Markham. I don't see any objection to that. But 
 
 of course, I'll have to stick around 
 
 Sarah. I want you to. {Indicating l. 2 e.) In that 
 room. I want you to hear every word that is 
 said, and act accordingly. 
 
 Markham. That's satisfactory. She's out in the 
 hall, there. I told her to wait. Oh, — Higgins is 
 outside. I told him to trail along and keep his 
 eye peeled. {Going to l. 2 e.) In here? 
 
 Sarah. Yes. You'll find Mr. Fillmore in there. He 
 understands. 
 
 Markham. Well, that's more than I do. But I'll 
 chance it. 
 
 (^Exit Markham, l. 2 e. Sarah stands a moment, as 
 if to gain courage; then goes and looks off l. u. e. 
 She makes a slight motion. Henson appears in 
 
 L. U. E.) 
 
 86 
 
ALIAS 3IISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. Bring the woman in here, Henson. 
 
 {Exit Henson. He reappears, shows in Delphine, 
 and again exits. Delphine appears in l. u. e., 
 pauses, looks about, curiously, with a manner de- 
 noting some suspicion. She wears a long Mack 
 veil over her hat, which she now throws back. 
 Sarah, having withdrawn to r. c, stands watch- 
 ing her. Delphine comes down, turns, sees 
 Sarah. Starts. ) 
 
 Delphine. So! — it is you, Madame? 
 
 Sarah. Won't you sit down ? 
 
 Delphine {she does not sit as yet). But — why am I 
 brought here? I do not understand. I was not 
 told that it was to see you. What house is this — 
 why do I come here' 
 
 Sarah. Well, you see, I thought you must think it 
 kind of funny, the way I left you so suddenly that 
 day — and I haven't been feeling very well lately, 
 so I — I thought it would be real kind of you to 
 come and see me, so I could apologize for carry- 
 ing off your keys the way I did. You see, I was 
 so excited, after what I'd been through, that I 
 really didn't know what I was doing. I guess 
 you understand 
 
 Delphine. Oh, oui — certainment, Madame. But to 
 come here — it is strange. However — I am here. 
 
 Sarah. Yes, and do sit down. Might as well be 
 comfortable. I hear you're not staying at that 
 flat any more. 
 
 Delphine. No. It was so — as you said — gloomy — 
 " lonesome." And the thought of poor Mees 
 
 Navarre Oh, it is too much! But I must 
 
 not go away — they detain me — as a witness. Ooo ! 
 it is too terreeble — I must tell it all — in court ! 
 
 Sarah. I don't wonder you dread it. But think of 
 me — and my boy 
 
 Delphine. It is too bad — I sympathize — but I must 
 tell all 
 
 87 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Sarah. Yes, you must tell — all. Aren't there a few 
 things you haven't told — yet ? 
 
 Delphine. I do not understand. Does Madame in- 
 tend to insinuate 
 
 Sarah. No. That's a good, plain English word — 
 " insinuate " — and you didn't say it a bit 
 " Frenchy," but — I wa'n't " insinuating." I'm 
 just asking. Couldn't you tell a few more things, 
 if you would? 
 
 Delphine. Madame ! What is it that you mean ? 
 
 Sarah. Oh, I wish you wouldn't keep calling me 
 " Madame." What I meant was, 't mebbe you 
 could help me a little as to why those two keys 
 were different, when you said they were for the 
 same lock. 
 
 Delphine. Then I mistake. It does not matter. 
 We have many keys. 
 
 Sarah. But those two were enough for me — they 
 proved a pretty good fit to what I was tidying to 
 open. One fit the front door to your apartment 
 — the other the back door — to the kitchen-" ette," 
 or whatever they call it. 
 
 Delphine. But of course, there must be a key to that 
 door also. 
 
 Sarah. Of course. Or how could you, after you 
 came up in the elevator, that day, have slipped 
 around first to that hack door — gone into the 
 kitchen — through the dining-room, into that other 
 room — and then 
 
 Delphine {becoming alarmed, but making a good ef- 
 fort to conceal her growing suspicion and fear). 
 What do you mean ? I came in the front door — 
 directly to the room where Miss Navarre lay dead 
 — shot by your nephew — direct from the hall I 
 entered, after getting off the elevator 
 
 Sarah. So you said. But it happens I didn't quite 
 see it that way. So I found out which elevator 
 boy brought you up. He remembers very well. 
 You say you got off the elevator just as the shot 
 was fired. You didn't. He let you off at the 
 fourth floor, went on up to the tenth, and it was 
 88 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 when he got hack to the fourth floor that the gun 
 was fired. He heard it. You had been off the 
 elevator for five minutes or more 
 
 Delphine {who has sprung up — beginning to lose 
 control of herself). It is not true. He lies — 
 lies, I say 
 
 Sarah. You had plenty of time to go around to the 
 other door — look in to see who was there — see 
 your chance of having your revenge, with some- 
 body else to be suspected of your deed — fire the 
 shot — go back — come in — and 
 
 Delphine (in a furious rage). How dare you say 
 such things — accuse me of such an infamous act ? 
 It is an outrage ! So that is why you have had 
 me brought here — to insult me — to accuse me of 
 killing my dear mistress, who was all kindness to 
 me — whom I loved. Ah, it is infamous! You 
 shall pay for this — you will see — you will see ! 
 
 Sarah. I see that you talk United States much bet- 
 ter than you put on a French " accent " — for all 
 you are a very clever actress — Miss Bateman! 
 
 Delphine. What ! What do you mean — my name 
 is 
 
 Sarah. Eliza Bateman. Of course it is — your real 
 name. Quite a well-known actress, too — and a 
 pretty good one. French maids are quite a spe- 
 cialty of yours, and so your impersonation came 
 in very handy, when you went and hired out to 
 Miss Navarre — even she didn't see through your 
 neat disguise and your assumed " accent." It 
 happens I did, though. I was sort of lookin' to. 
 That was the difference. 
 
 Delphine. Lies — lies — I say you lie. It is all lies 
 — an infamous, vile plot. I will not stay here 
 
 {She is about to leave, hut Sarah bars her way — so 
 determinedly that she is compelled to stay, though 
 fuming with rage and illy-disguised fear.) 
 
 Sarah. You see, I haven't been losing any time — 
 me and that "plain country lawyer" the smart 
 89 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 New York lawyers and great detectives have 
 made so much fun of. We have done a little de- 
 tective work on our own hooks. And found out 
 a few things — about you, Miss Bateman. 
 
 Delphine. I know not that name. It is false 
 
 Sarah. You mean " Delphine " is. About that pis- 
 tol, too. It was Miss Navarre's. She kept it there 
 — you knew where it was — in that room. It was 
 easy enough for you to get in, the way you did — 
 shoot over Dick Brewster's shoulder — slip out 
 and 
 
 Delphine. Be still — ^be still, I say — I will not listen 
 — it is false ! I did not do it — no ! — no ! — you lie ! 
 — ^you lie ! 
 
 Sarah. It is the truth. 
 
 Delphine. You say I killed my mistress — Miss Na- 
 varre. No — no — it was not she I {She 
 
 stops, suddenly, confused, trying to cover her mis- 
 take.^ I mean — I could not — she who was so 
 good to me How can you say 
 
 Sarah {going close to her — looking straight into her 
 face and speaking very deliberately and dis- 
 tinctly) . A woman seldom hits what she aims at. 
 You didn't ! 
 
 Delphine. What do you mean? I 
 
 Sarah. There was a man in that room also 
 
 Delphine. I know — yes — but to me he was a 
 stranger 
 
 Sarah. Maybe a woman has a right to kill the man 
 who has wronged her — the man who has prom- 
 ised to marry her and then thrown her over — for 
 another. Maybe she has a right to put on a dis- 
 guise, so she can follow him and prove just how 
 false he is to her — I don't know. Maybe there's 
 some excuse for a woman doing that. There may 
 be some for you. You didn't mean to kill Miss 
 Navarre — I believe that — but you meant to kill 
 him — it was him you shot at — and you killed her ! 
 
 Delphine. No, no ! You shall not say that ! It is 
 not true. I did not know him — I never saw him 
 
 before 
 
 90 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 {The door-hell rings. Sarah goes to l. u. e. — looks 
 off. After a slight pause, enter Ralph Deering. 
 He conies part way down c. — stops as he sees 
 Delphine — surprised, but not recognising her.) 
 
 Deering. I beg pardon. I did not know 
 
 Sarah. Mr. Deering, permit me to introduce — Miss 
 Eliza Bateman! 
 
 Deering {too much taken aback to conceal his amaze- 
 ment). Eliza — you! What does this mean ? 
 
 Sarah. So, — you recognize her? 
 
 Deering. Why, yes, I — I do now — though she is not 
 the same. I never thought 
 
 Sarah. Of course you didn't. How could you — a 
 blonde turned into a brunette? 
 
 (Deering looks dumbfounded, but recognizes Del- 
 phine, who is unable longer to conceal her 
 identity. She still tries desperately to brazen it 
 out, hozvever.) 
 
 Delphine. This gentleman is a stranger to me. You 
 will excuse 
 
 {She starts to go l. u. e., but Deering steps in her 
 way, so that she is compelled to remain.) 
 
 Deering. Wait. I begin to understand. A very 
 clever disguise, my girl. It's no wonder I didn't 
 recognize you. So — you were tracking me down 
 — seeking revenge — eh? I see. It was you who 
 fired that shot — at me 
 
 Delphine. It is not true. It's a lie — a lie, I say. 
 Let me pass 
 
 Deering. Not so fast. I guess your little game is 
 up, Miss Bateman. It didn't work, did it? And 
 she took my place 
 
 Delphine (at first seeming about to attempt to brazen 
 it out; then, as Deering continues looking stead- 
 ily at her, showing fright, which turns to despair 
 and desperation). It's no use — I see now. It's 
 true — true, — I can deny it no longer. Yes, it was 
 you — ^you — who made love to me, led me on, till 
 
 91 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 I gave all — all! — and then deserted me for an- 
 other. It drove me mad. I was alone — outcast 
 — all because of you, and I resolved to have re- 
 venge. But it was not to kill you. No, no, — not 
 that! But that day, when I saw you with her, 
 heard what you said, I was mad — mad — and in 
 that one moment of desperation I tried to end it 
 all. The pistol was there, where she kept it, and 
 he — the boy — he was there — I fired — at you — al- 
 most before I knew what I was doing. I didn't 
 know, I was mad — insane, I say, — but I fired, at 
 you — I thought — but I killed her — the one who 
 
 had been kind to me, whom I loved Oh, it 
 
 was terrible ! Take me away — I don't care now 
 what becomes of me. You are not fit to live, but 
 I didn't mean to be a — what you say I am. No — 
 no 
 
 \She breaks down, sobbing hysterically. Markham, 
 who has entered l. 2 e., goes to her, taking hold 
 of her, not ungently.) 
 
 Markham. Leave her to me. I'll look after her. 
 
 (Helen has entered r. in time to hear part of the fore- 
 going, unnoticed by the others. Markham sup- 
 ports Delphine and takes her up l. He pauses 
 as Sarah goes up, speaking to him.) 
 
 Sarah. What will they do with her? Do you 
 think 
 
 Markham, No, not so bad. Manslaughter. " Tem- 
 porary insanity," perhaps. 
 
 Sarah. Oh, I'm glad. Perhaps she had some ex- 
 cuse. 
 
 (She turns, looks accusingly, scornftilly, at Deering, 
 who has a defiant attitude, paying no attention to 
 her. ) 
 
 Markham. And as to that other — your " boy," 
 
 ma'am, why — this changes things. 
 Sarah. You think now, that — that he — that 
 
 Dick 
 
 9a 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 Markham. Well, you and Fillmore might come 
 down to headquarters, soon as you can. It'll be 
 all right for the boy, now. 
 
 (He goes out l. u. e., with Delphine, who is still 
 sobting and moaning, though more quietly than 
 before. Deering follows them, after one look at 
 Helen, zvhom he has discovered standing up R. 
 She " freei::es " him with a contemptuous glance; 
 he shrugs his shoidders and exits l. u. e. Sarah 
 stands l. c, looking after them, her hands clasped, 
 almost zveeping, but with a rapt, joyful expression. 
 After a slight pause she turns, sees Helen, who is 
 still standing r., pale and motionless, staring 
 straight ahead, as if dazed.) 
 
 Sarah {going to Helen, taking hold of her, gently). 
 Helen, you have heard — you understand. 
 
 Helen. He is the man who — who 
 
 Sarah. Yes, Helen, the one who was there that night 
 — the man who, for revenge on you, told the police 
 
 that it was Dick Oh, Helen, did you need 
 
 this to show you what he is ? 
 
 Helen. No. But this ends it. 
 
 Sarah. It was ended before, dear, only you wouldn't 
 believe it. Aren't you glad — thankful ? It means 
 that Dick will be free — that you 
 
 Helen. Yes, and you have saved him — saved me. 
 Oh, Aunt Sarah, can you ever forgive us — for- 
 give me? 
 
 Sarah. There, there, my dear. There's nothing to 
 forgive— not a thing. (Helen is weeping. 
 Sarah, with an arm about her, leads her up R., 
 but pauses as Leonard enters l. 2 e. He pauses 
 L. Sarah sees him, leaves Helen and goes to 
 him, holding out both hands, which he takes.) 
 Oh, Len, Isn't it wonderful? 
 
 Leonard. Wonderful? Yes, it is all wonderful— 
 and you are the most wonderful of all. I declare, 
 you're a regular Miss Sherlock Holmes ! 
 
 (Helen, at Leonard's entrance, gives him one glance, 
 
 97 
 
ALIAS MISS SHERLOCK 
 
 her face showing deep emotion, indicating that 
 she dare not trust herself to speak to him. She 
 exits R. ) 
 
 Sarah. Pshaw, I haven't done anything. 'T any 
 rate, if I have, I've had pretty good help. And 
 now I'm going to — to him ! — and you're going 
 with me. 
 
 Leonard. Y-yes, but {Looking r., longingly.) 
 
 Sarah {looking around). Oh, I see. She's run 
 away. Wait. {Going r.) And don't forget what 
 I told you, Len — about 
 
 Leonard. Oh, I don't think that will be necessary 
 now, that " cave stuff." I have something better 
 
 than that. Look — what Aaron gave me 
 
 {Takes a red apple from his pocket; holds it up.) 
 I don't think she'll be able to resist that. Do you? 
 
 Sarah. N-no — not when you go with it. 
 
 {Exit Sarah r., looking hack at him with an encour- 
 aging smile. He goes over to l. c, stands there 
 waiting, looking eagerly towards r., the hand in 
 zvhich is the apple behind him. After a slight 
 pause enter Sarah r., leading Helen, who comes 
 timidly, looking down. Sarah urges her on, to 
 c.) 
 
 Leonard. Helen ! {She looks up at him, then her 
 glance again falls and she turns as if to go, hut 
 Sarah holds her, pushing her gently towards 
 Leonard. Helen yields, slozvly. Leonard ad- 
 vances a step, holds out the apple, smiling, with 
 an adoring look at her.) Look — from the old or- 
 chard — our Eden. Will you share it — with me ? 
 
 (She falters, looking down, then up again, meeting his 
 gaze with a tender smile — yields — he takes her in 
 his arms, puts apple to her lips; kisses it where 
 her lips were, — then kisses her. Sarah, her face 
 radiant, has gone up r., and exits quietly, just as 
 the curtain falls.) 
 
 curtain 
 94 
 
ilnusuaily Good Entertainments 
 
 Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
 Your Next Program 
 
 A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An Ea- 
 
 tertainiaent in Oae Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
 seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
 ont scenery. Costumes, modem. Time, one hour. By thel 
 ifwthor of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
 ^chool," "Ba<ck to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
 fclanned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently, 
 KTaduated from college. They adl join in jolly games, songs,^ 
 fconundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises! 
 the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. 
 
 JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
 Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six femaile characters, with 
 supernumeraries if deeired. May be played all male. Many of the 
 parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
 interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
 Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
 features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
 character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
 many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. 
 
 THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in Oae 
 Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or 
 imay be all male. Parts may be doubled, vnth quick changes, so 
 that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
 Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent 
 of a sight-seeing automobile engages tf ' men to run the 
 machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady a». ^ other humorous 
 characters give them all kinds of trouble This is a regular gut- 
 ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. 
 
 THE CASE or SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 
 Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
 and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. 
 Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
 in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
 nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
 produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
 any number of good parts. 
 
 THE OIJD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
 lainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
 female« and one male. The male part may be played by a 
 female, and the niamber of characters increased to twenty of* 
 Imore. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery?, 
 tnor properties, acid very little in the way of costumes. Caa' 
 'easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. ■ 
 
 ^ BARGAIN DAY AT BI^OMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 
 Entertainment in One Act, by Edwabb Mumford. For five males 
 and ten females, with supers. Interior sc©nc. Cdstumes, mod- 
 ern. Time, thirty minutes. The ebaraotsrs aati the situatieww 
 which arise from their e«deav»FS to buy and sell make rapid-^n 
 ftui froKD start to finish. 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
Uousualiy Good Entertainments 
 
 Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
 Your Next Program 
 
 GRADUATION DAT AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 
 
 An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macaulky. For »ix 
 males and four females, with several minor parts. Time ®f 
 flajing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; 
 may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com<i 
 j^ination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations 
 etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exerciseel 
 include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptioa^ 
 aad a comical speech by a country school trustee. 
 
 XXAMIMATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOXi. 
 
 Aa Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight mal« 
 •ad six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
 Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cea- 
 tuxnes, modem. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
 trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination ia- 
 •ludcs recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
 lo questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
 the teacher. Very easy and very effective. 
 
 BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
 tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
 and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
 Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played effectively witk- 
 •ut scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
 sure hits. Quiglcy Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in 
 a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
 decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is ia 
 Qais's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
 in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
 surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 
 
 DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketcb 
 ia One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
 feaiale, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
 numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special' 
 Wcaery is required, and the costumes and properties are all' 
 easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
 veation. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 
 
 fion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
 csque modem politics and to work in local gags. Every 
 part will make a hit. 
 
 81 SLOCUM'8 COUNTRY STORE. An Et;tertainmenV 
 ia One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female 
 characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
 Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
 scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
 ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for 
 Specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
 t» ahaest any place or occasion. 
 
 THE PENN PUBUSHING COMPANY 
 
 PHIL ADEU*HI a^ 
 
Successful Plays for All Girls 
 
 In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook Thia List 
 
 YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
 by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellovv. One of the most popular 
 plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
 playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
 ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
 young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
 sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
 When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
 the physician is a female practitioner. 
 
 SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
 DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
 fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
 of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
 Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
 and they institute a similar organization. 
 
 A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
 tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
 acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
 hour. Costumes, modem. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
 scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
 Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." 
 Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
 school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. 
 
 HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
 in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
 Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. 
 Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
 deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
 the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
 ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
 Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
 But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
 friend and so the secret travels. 
 
 THE OXFORD ATFAtR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
 by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
 characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
 iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
 play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
 chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
 her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
 of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
 Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
 an evening of rare enjoyment. 
 
 THE PENN PUBUSHING COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
The Power of 
 
 J 
 
 LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 Expression and efficiency go hand i ..,.„. „ 
 
 018 482 086 9 4 
 The power of clear and forceful expression uuugs ^^,m^ 
 
 dence and poise at all times — ^in private gatherings, in pubtk 
 
 discussion, in society, in business. 
 
 It te an invaluable asset to any man or woman. It can often 
 be turned into money, but it is always a real joy. 
 
 In learning to express thought^ we learn to ccMtnmand 
 tiiought itself, and thought is power. You can have this 
 power if you will. 
 
 Whoever has the power of clear expression is always suf« 
 of himself. 
 
 Tile power of expression leads to: 
 
 The ability to think "on your ie^ 
 
 Successful public speaking 
 
 Effective recitals 
 
 The mastery over other rnind^ 
 
 Social prominence 
 
 Business success 
 
 Efficiency in any undertaking 
 
 ^1* these things worth while? 
 
 IJIicy are all successfully taught at The National Sehod oC 
 Elocution and Oratory, which during many years has de- 
 veloped this power in hundreds of men and women. 
 
 A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these 
 •coomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request. 
 
 THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF 
 ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 
 
 40n Chesrnot Street PhiladclphU