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II


BEAUTIFUL MISS MENTON.


F", MlI,
7 ~ -  —,




THE MENTONS.


WASl~. IT          CRIME?0
By C F. R, HAYWARD.
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO
407-425 DEARBORN STREET
I go




COPYRIGHT, 1387,
1T R. R. DONNELLEY & SON,9
CHICAGO.




CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.                                       PAGE,
I.-OLD ENEMIES MEET,          -         - *    9
II.-AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES,                 22
III.-BEAUTIFUL HELENE MENTON, o      -.     82
IV.-IT WAS HARDLY MURDER,         -,,     35
V.-"WHY NOT MORE THAN FRIENDS,"     o          43
VIL-IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS,     -  54
VII.-" SHE IS A SHE DEVIL," -         -       -  66
VIII.-"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL,"     -     *    -  75
IX.-" BUT IS IT RETRIBUTION!-RETRIBUTION!"  -   86
X.-"I CALL GOD TO WITNESS THAT I DID NOT KILL
PAUL DENMAN,"   -                         94
XI.-HER HAND RELAXED ITS HOLD UPON THE RAILING, AND SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR,  103
XII.-" THANK GOD THERE IS LIGHT AHEAD,"         117
XIII.-A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE UPON THE
MAN WHO HAD ROBBED ME OF MY LOVE, *    - 127
XIV. —' NOT GUILTY,"  -...         140
XV.-THINK OF TRE AWFUL VENGEANCE SHE WREAKED
THROUGH YOU.    -.          v    *    152




_I




THE MENTONS.
WAS IT A CRIME?
CHAPTER I.
OLD ENEMIES MEET.
"What a strange old gentleman your father is,
Miss Menton," said Mrs. Mittens.
Mrs. Mittens is one of those women who look to
be anywhere between thirty and fifty. Her eyes
are faded; so are her cheeks, though she has found
a means of partly disguising the hard wrinkles
which have made eccentric zig-zag lines through
them. When she speaks it is apologetically; when
she laughs it is hysterically, and when she is silent
it pains one to look at her.
She had seen old Mr. Menton on several occasions-caught furtive glimpses of him as he had
passed a door, or slipped silently up the stairway.
But she had never heard Miss Menton speak of
him; and this had set Mrs. Mittens to thinking.
9                12




10


tWAS IT A ( 1OID1,:E?


There was one (Iquality which this washed-out
little widow possessed in all its pristine vigor -she
was as inquisitive as she had been twenty years
before; and the peculiar fact that Miss Mlenton's
father never joined in the conversations of his
daughter's guests - never even gave his presence to
the nightly assemblages in his own house, convinced Mrs. Mittens that there was some secret
reason for his mysterious conduct. She had been
eagerly awaiting an opportunity to apply the inquisitorial pump to Miss Menton.
It offered itself in this way: The old gentleman,
still vigorous under the weight of sixty years, with
eyes like a hawk's, which glittered under a fringe
of shaggy gray brows, had, a moment prior to Mrs.
Mittens' question, entered the dining-room. After
recognizing its half dozen occupants with a dignified bow, he had requested his daughter to come to
his study before she retired. That was all. He
had gone out as he had entered, and his footsteps
soon died away as he ascended the stairs leading to
his study.
"Strange! How, strange, Mrs. Mittens? I do
not understand you."
Miss Menton spoke with an icy deliberation
which chilled little Mrs. Mittens to the marrow.




OLD ENEMIES AMEET.


11


She stared at Miss Menton helplessly for a moment,
and then gathered her wits sufficiently to make
answer that she had merely meant to remark "that
Mr. Menton didn't seem to like society."
The beautiful woman who had caused Mrs.
Mittens' discomfiture thawed a little. Throwing
back her head she said, with a patronizing smile:
"Father is devoted to his studies. He has but
little time for society. But I'm sure he would feel
hurt if he knew you thought him unsocial."
This sugared sarcasm was wholly lost upon Mrs.
Mittens. She was glad to escape so easily, and she
suppressed herself for the remainder of the evening.
Mr. Lawrence Montague, a stage-struck young
man who had become an actor, but who had never
been able to convince even the critics that he knew
anything about his art-he was really not a bad
fellow, off the stage —had just asked the fair
hostess if she did not think that realism in art was
robbing the stage of its romance, when a servant
brought in a card. Miss Menton looked at it.
"Show them up," she said.
"Mr. Wheeler and a friend," she added, turning
to her guests. "I wonder who the friend is? I
beg your pardon, Mr. Montague; what did you say
about realism? "




12


W'AS IT A CRBIME?


"I said," repeated the actor, impiessively, "that
realism is crowding ---'
"Ah! here's Mr. Wheeler," said Col. McPhister,
who had been half-dozing in an easy chair in the
corner; and poor Mr. Montague did not get the
sympathy which his romantic nature and his idealized views of the dramatic art craved.
None of the company thought it unusual that
Wheeler should bring a friend to a house where he
himself was merely a visitor, without the formality
of first asking permission of the hostess. There
was nothing conventional about the Mentons. One
did about as one pleased at their house.
Mr. Henry Wheeler, artist and magazine scribbler, a constant caller at the Mentons, entered,
accompanied by his friend.
" My old chum, MIr. Denman," said he, presenting his companion to Miss Menton.
Wheeler's friend had entered the doorway as
self-possessed as an indifferent man of the world
could be. But when he raised his eyes to recognize
the introduction, he changed color perceptibly; and
Miss Menton turned pale. She stared at the man
before her as if in doubt whether to take the hand
he had extended. His embarrassment was too pain



OLD ENEMIES MEET.


13


ful to witness. Finally Miss Menton said with
much sweetness and grace:
" Mr. Denman is welcome-as all of Mr. Wheeler's friends are;" and she at once turned her attention to her guests, entertaining them with a rare
tact which had made her famous.
But Paul Denman did not recover his equanimity
so readily. He sat pale and silent throughout the
evening. His one or two attempts to appear at ease
were awkward failures. Wheeler, who had witnessed
with surprise the embarrassment which the meeting
between his friend and Miss Menton had caused
both, watched him as closely as he could without
attracting the attention of the others, and tried to
conceive a satisfactory explanation.
It was with a feeling of infinite relief that Denman saw him rise and say good night to Miss Menton, and he smiled for the first time during his brief
stay in the Menton house when the woman, the sudden meeting with whom had so visibly affected him,
held out her hand and very frankly and cordially
bade him repeat his visit soon.
Paul Denman was not a man whose appearance
invited confidence, though it was not altogether
unprepossessing. He was tall, well built, with good
features, and an easy, graceful carriage. But there




14


WAS IT A CRIME?


was a something about him that repelled one. A physiognomist would have said that his eyes were deceitful, his mouth cruel and sensual. Whatever it was in
his nature that told one he was not a man to trust,
readers of human nature were not slow to discover
its presence. Children were afraid of him, and
good women avoided him. And yet he was popular,
in a way, with men. He was a brilliant conversationalist, and delightfully entertaining as a raconteur.
He had been absent from New York for eight years
-since the death of his father, who had left him a
snug patrimony which he might by industry have
enlarged into a magnificent fortune, but which he
had chosen to fritter away in the fleeting enjoyments
of a fast life.
When Wheeler met him by accident that morning he had not been two hours ashore from the
Etruria, which had brought him back to his native
land. They had been chums at college, though
there had never been much sympathy between them,
and Wheeler had not hesitated to inquire if he had
come back to America to go to work for a living.
" Not quite so bad as that," Denman had replied,
"but devilish close to it. By economy "- and he
laughed derisively to show his contempt for the




OLD ENEMIES MEET.


15


word -" I suppose I can scrub along for a couple of
years longer as a gentleman."
Wheeler had invited him to be his guest until
he should decide whether he would remain in New
York, or go to San Francisco to visit a sister who
resided there, and Denman had accepted. Wheeler
was one of the few persons whom Denman really
liked - or thought he liked.
"One would not have much trouble in guessing
that the occupant of these rooms is an artist," said
Denman, as he lit his cigar, and sank comfortably
into a large chair and gazed lazily about him, upon
their return from the Mentons. He seemed to have
forgotten all about the unpleasant episode of an
hour before.
Wheeler had three rooms. The two larger ones
were connected by folding doors, which were always
open. A small apartment, adjoining the real parlor
-which Wheeler used as a studio, in which he
painted passable pictures and wrote clever sketches
and critiques-was the artist's bedroom.  They
were seated in the studio. The walls were decorated with all sorts of odd conceits. There were
studies in crayon, water color and oil, half-finished
pictures, a few really good paintings-by other
artists - and a dozen or more rare engravings and




16


WAS IT A CRIME?


etchings. A collection of old swords, lances, daggers
and pistols, with a shield in the center, hung upon
the wall, arranged with artistic effect. On the mantel beneath there were two very delicate statuettes,
a clock, and half a dozen smaller objects. An easel
stood in one corner of the studio, on which there
was a stretched canvas with a blue sky background
painted across the top, and a few dim  outlines
scratched on the lower half. The front room
Wheeler called his chamber of state. An old-fashioned bedstead, high and Puritanical in its severity,
stood in one corner. The half dozen chairs which
were scattered about were old style and unique.
Wheeler had succeeded admirably in producing an
antique effect of the tout ensemble.
The artist was not in his usual cheerful mood.
His thoughts reverted to the meeting between Miss
Menton and Denman. Again and again he tried to
solve the mystery of that strange expression in Miss
Menton's eyes, the sudden pallor of her face, and
the embarrassment of Denman. While his friend
was admiring the general arrangement of the rooms
and their furnishings, Wheeler arose and walked to
the fire-place; looked thoughtfully into its vacant
blackness, and then suddenly turned to Denman and
asked earnestly:




OLD ENEMIES MEET.


17


" What is there between you and Miss Menton?"
A shade of annoyance crossed his friend's face.
He moved uneasily in his chair.
"Nothing," he answered, evasively.
"But you have met her before?"
"Yes."
' Where?"
"In Paris."
"When?"
"Five years ago."
"Were you intimately acquainted with her?"
" No."
"It was not a love affair then?" with a nervous
attempt at a laugh.
" No."
Wheeler looked relieved. Denman arose and
walked to the window.
" Do you get a good light for your work here? "
he asked.
"Good enough," answered Wheeler, absently.
"But tell me," he added, impulsively, "why should
your meeting with Miss Menton have caused you so
much embarrassment? "
Denman frowned. "See here, old man," said he,
turning from the window and looking his companion square in the face, "it can do you no good to




IS


WAS IT A CRIME?


know anything about why I was for the moment
upset to find myself face to face with Miss Menton.
If you had told me the name of the woman whom I
was to meet, I would not have gone with you. However, I am surprised that she recognized me. We
were never even friends. Let that satisfy you for
the present. Some day I may tell you the whole
story - though it would probably put you to sleep,"
and Denman yawned as if the mere thought of it
were soporific.
To Wheeler there was something exasperating
in Denman's manner. He felt, too, that his friend
was concealing something from him; but he merely
said:
"Very well; as you please. Of course it's no
affair of mine."
Wheeler tried to say this as if he really did not
care to know the history of the "affair;" but he
soon relapsed into a moody silence. Denman looked
at his friend furtively, and, without changing his
expression, picked up a comic paper which was lying
upon the table and began to turn its leaves listlessly. He only half guessed the reason of Wheeler's inquisitiveness. He thought it was merely idle
curiosity. It never entered his head that Wheeler
was in love with Miss Menton, and Wheeler himself




OLD ENEMIES MEET.


19


would not have admitted it, for the reason that he did
not know it. And in truth he was not in love with her,
though with an artist's eye he had admired the lines
of her superb figure; and the peculiar dreaminess of
her red-brown eyes had impressed him strangely.
But an infatuation for the beautiful Miss Menton
had been growing within him none the less strong
because of his unconsciousness of it. It never
occurred to him that he might one day find it difficult to get out of the meshes into which he had voluntarily plunged.
The meeting between Denman and Miss Menton,
the former's refusal to explain the cause of the palpable uneasiness of both attending it; Denman's
evident desire to conceal from him the history of
their acquaintance in Paris, and Miss Menton's sudden change from coldness to warmth, as she invited
Denman to repeat his visit —all this irritated
Wheeler, and he lashed himself into a silent passion
of jealousy. He made himself believe that he was
simply annoyed because Denman had not given him
his full confidence, to which he convinced himself
he was entitled through the fact that he had been
the cause of their meeting.
Henry Wheeler was an impulsive, warm-hearted
fellow of thirty-two; as susceptible to kindness as




20


WAS IT A   JI:ME'{


to sunshine; moody at times, always illusionary, and,
though of a cheerful, open disposition, a victim to
presentiments. He lacked poise. If the day on
which he was about to seek a purchaser for his last
painting or critique were cloudy, he regarded it as
an omen of failure. If he were contemplating an
undertaking, the success of which seemed doubtful,
he would flip a coin in the air. If it fell "tails"
when he had mentally called "heads," he would try
the charm again, and if with the same result, he
would either turn from his purpose in morbid discouragement or go about it weighed down by the
conviction that he would fail. His moral nature
was a weathercock, which swung more easily to the
right than to the wrong, but which any wind, good
or bad, could move, were it strong enough.
The physical man was pronounced.  He stood
six feet in his stockings, and was of symmetrical
proportions. A pair of hazel eyes looked out at
you from under a high brow, almost abnormally
developed at the sides, where the hair grew away
from the temples. A phrenologist would have said
that the organs of ideality and sublimity were developed so greatly in excess of the other organs as to
make it impossible for Henry Wheeler to view the
affairs of every-day life from a practical standpoint.




OLD ENEMIES MEET.


21


It is very rarely that a man of his temperament
attains perfect physical development; and Wheeler
would not have attained it but for his great love of
the fields and the water. He would stroll for hours
across the rolling farms on the Hudson, happy to be
alone with the birds and flowers; and he found
scarcely less delight in sailing and rowing. He
was a paradox in more ways than in his mental and
physical temperament. Though possessed of great
spirituality, yet he was at times grossly material;
though tender hearted as a woman and generous in
his instincts, yet he could be guilty of the most
atrocious and cruel selfishness. He never studied
himself, nor attempted to solve the lack of harmony
in his nature.
A yawn from Denman aroused Wheeler from his
feverish musings. He chided himself for having
acted so ungraciously to a guest, and with as much
cheerfulness of countenance as he could assume, he
showed Denman to his room, and bade him good night.
Denman's eyes glittered with coarse desire as he
sat upon the edge of the bed, deep in thought. He
arose, disrobed, and as he turned out the gas muttered to himself:
"I wonder if it would be as dangerous to cultivate the Mentons in New York as it was in Paris."




CHAPTER II.


AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES.
Little Mrs. Mittens told the truth when she said
that Mr. Menton was " a strange old gentleman,"
and she might have added that Miss Menton was a
strange young lady. Between this odd pair there
existed a relation that was utterly devoid of the
affection natural between father and daughter.
They seemed to be nothing more than good friends,
who understood each other's idosyncrasies, and tolerated them.
The old man spent most of his time in the study.
It was in the roof. No one but Menton and his
daughter had ever set foot within the threshold
since the old man had completed the arrangement
of his retorts, furnaces, surgical instruments, chemicals, and books. The servants were almost afraid to
pass the door. You could not have hired the chambermaid to enter this terrible apartment -indeed,
the strange ways of the Mentons, with the added
mystery of the old man's laboratory, made it almost
impossible for them to keep a servant longer than a
22




AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES.


23


month. The servants liked Miss Menton well
enough, for she permitted them to do about as they
pleased, and seemed to be an ordinary mortal like
themselves. But the old man was a constant source
of terror to them. Even their lively imaginations
could not picture the inside of his laboratory sufficiently horrible. They were confident that he was
in league with the devil; and the cook, who had
never seen him, but who had been filled with fear
and wonder by the tales the chambermaid and
dining-room girl had told her touching the old
man's peculiarities -very much exaggerated, of
course, and colored as highly as the imaginations
of these simple women could paint them -would
not have been at all surprised if this magician in
the attic should take it into his head to transport
the house, servants and all, to the infernal regions
by one wave of the wand which she felt assured was
always convenient to his hand. Nothing but her
laziness kept her in the Menton kitchen. She was
opposed to early rising; and the Mentons did not
breakfast till ten.
There was one thing which the servants did not
attempt to explain; and that was, what Mr. Menton
did with so many dogs. Nearly every week a fresh
dog was coaxed or driven into the old gentleman's




WAS IT A CRIME?


study. Menton would go out for a walk and come
back with a dog. TWhen once the door of the
"study" had closed upon the canine the night
knew  his howl no more. Thus old IMenton's
mystery was always associated with dogs, and the
cook was of the opinion that he ate them.
Lucius Menton was a true sacant. He was unknown to the world, though one or two of his
friends were members of the French Academy; but
he had never written anything for the scientific
magazines, and knew only three scientific men in
New York; one, a doctor whose countenance was so
evil that no Christian would have him at his bedside; the second, a chemist who was employed by
one of the large chemical manufacturing firms of
New York; and the third, a specialist in physiology
-a man who would have won a name in the world
had he not made the mistake of experimenting on
himself in order that he might fully appreciate the
condition of mental exaltation produced by opiates.
This man eked out a precarious existence by assisting as a proof reader in a house which published
medical works.
These men were not in Menton's confidence. 0,
No! He treated them with consideration because
they were at times useful to him; but not one of




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AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES.


27


them had ever been in his study, and he was always
careful that they should not find the slightest indication to lead them to the secret of his investigations. He had an income which made it possible
for him to live in ease without a thought of to-morrow or time. He was of French blood, and, as a
fitting conclusion to the dissipations of his youth,
had married a French ballet dancer, who had died
five years after giving birth to a beautiful girl
whom Menton had always regarded very much as he
would the child of a friend, which he was in honor
bound to rear. He had named her Helene. She
had traveled all over the world with him, and had
grown to have some interest in her father's scientific studies, though she spent only as much time in
his company as pleased her; and he never bothered
himself to inquire how she occupied herself when
he was busy with his books and experiments.
In fact he did not care. He believed in neither
religion nor ethics, and though not coarse in his
nature, was totally devoid of moral refinement.
With all this, he was kind to the poor, cultured, and
apparently a gentleman of the old school. Such
were Lucius Menton's surroundings when we find
him devoting the ripe strength of his intellect to
the investigation of a theory which, if proved,




28


WAS IT A CRIME?


would startle the physiological world. It was to
this end that he was continually luring stray cogs
to his laboratory, where, by the aid of vivisection,
he might demonstrate the error of the established
theory of the circulation of the blood. He fondly
hoped to some day burst upon the scientific world
like a comet, and in a blaze of glory show the old
fogies that the lungs, not the heart, are the organs
which pump the life blood through the arteries of
the body.
He was seated at his desk, writing rapidly, his
eyes aglow with enthusiasm when his daughter entered. Her guests had departed. She had come at
her father's request —and with a purpose of her
own.
"I'm nearing the end," said the old man, throwing down his pen, and clenching his fists through
nervous excitement; "my theory is right and it
will be accepted - it must be accepted!"
Miss Menton had heard this before. It did not
elate her; indeed, if she had fully believed her father
had really accomplished his great undertaking she
was not in a mood to rejoice with him.
"I hope so," she said indifferently, and then
with a sudden burst of feeling which seemed to intensify the peculiar redness of her eyes, and in a




AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES.


29


voice trembling with only half suppressed passion,
she exclaimed:
"I have found him!"
"Who?" and Menton frowned. He did not
like to have his great discovery disposed of so flippantly for any " he."
"Denman!"'
"Denman!" repeated the old man in surprise.
"Well, what do you propose to do with him now
that you have found him?" he continued coolly
after a pause. He picked up his pen and turned to
his writing
Miss Menton was silent. The quiet of the
laboratory, heavy with the stale fumes of acids and
gases, was broken only by the scratching of Menton's pen, and the rustle of the silk which covered
Miss Menton's heaving bosom. The fire died out
of her eyes.  Her lips trembled. She looked
vacantly toward the window:
"I don't know," she answered hopelessly.
"Where did you find him?" asked the old man
grimly.
" Here."
"What, in New York?"
"In this very house," and the color came back
to Miss Menton's cheeks, and her eyes blazed again.




30


WAS IT A CRIME?


"He did not seek you?"
"4 No.  Wheeler brought him.    He seemed
frightened when hlie stood face to face with me.
He could not have known that he was going to
meet me. And I was startled, too; but I recoverecd myself much quicker than he did."
"I amni not surprised at that," and the old man
gazed upon his daughter admiringly.   " But I
suppose you will forget the past, and let him go?
It will save trouble and annoyance."
"Forget!"   The woman drew up her superb
figure to its full height.  She looked a very
Phmedre. "Forget! Never!" she hissed. "Cani I
forget that it was hlie who robbed me of the man
I loved, of position, wealth, and happiness? Can I
forget that but for his act I might to-day be a
Countess? No! No."
" But what do you purpose to do?" asked the
old man, without a trace of sympathy in his voice.
His daughter did not answer. After a moment of
thought she said in a strained voice:
"If he is as anxious to make love to me as he
was once, I may give him an opportunity."
"What theni?"
" Wait and see."  With a nervous laugh Miss
Menton started toward the door, and after a con



AMID RETORTS AND FURNACES.       31
ventional and meaningless good night, she left the
room.   The old man was alone with his retorts
and bottles. He soliloquized  -: "She'll pay
that poor devil principal and interest on the debt
she owes him. Of course, he will make a fool of
himself over her if she gives him the slightest
encouragement - they all do. Well, if she can take
her revenge in that way, it's harmless enough
But what if the fellow has no heart to break? "




CHAPTER III.


BEAUTIFUL HELENE MENTON.
Helene Menton was more beautiful and fascinating at thirty than she had been at twenty. She
was a rare woman - a beautiful animal, and clear
and sparkling in her intellectuality. It is doubtful
if she could have become a truly good woman
under any circumstances. She had inherited the
passionate nature of her mother, with its attendant
lack of moral balance, together with the selfish,
indifferent temperament of her father; and these
hereditary traits were as strongly marked as is the
color of a child born of negro parents. Such as
she was nature had made her. She had no desire
to be better; she might have been much worse.
She was tall, sinuous, and yet not slender. Her
figure contained all the charms which plumpness
gives, with the dignity and grace which are almost
inseparable from slenderness. There was a magnetism in her presence which sent a thrill through
men who were susceptible to physical beauty. Her
eyes - which had exerted so strange an influence
32




BEAUTIFUL HELENE MENTON.


33


over Henry Wheeler, despite the natural aversion
he had felt for the woman upon meeting her for
first time -were of that odd combination of color
which to the student of faces denotes a peculiarly
passionate nature and pronounced will power.
Had she been born a man, and become a soldier,
she would have moved men to great deeds of daring
by her personality, and the magnetism of her eyes.
Her position in society was equivocal.  In
truth, it must be admitted that she did not move in
what is called society. She never went out except
to the play and the opera, and the only people she
knew in New York were those who came to her
house. And a queer lot they were; artists, actors,
Bohemian writers, one or two retired army officers,
and a few women, whose only accomplishments were
an ability to talk a great deal, sing a little, and
dress decently. These women were not what one
would call comme il faut, and yet one could not
prove that the lives they led were not above
reproach. They stood upon that neutral ground
which lies between admitted virtue and pronounced
wickedness. Miss Menton was head and shoulders
above this collection of femininity, intellectuallyand morally, too.
She was resigned to existence as she found it;




34


WAS IT A CRIMIE?


never craved that society whichl was beyond heror if she did her anmbition was known to no one but
herself —and did not burden her mind with speculations upon what may come after death.
A bad woman-the gentle reader will say.
Bad? Yes; but is she responsible for it? Her
very individuality was inherited.  She can not
make herself better than she is. Her surroundings
would forbid that, had she the desire. It is not
pleasant to draw the picture of a woman who has all
the graces of body and mind, and yet who is as
empty of holy womanly sentiment as a statue is of
feeling. But the duty of the writer is to show you
the people in this strange episode of the nineteenth
century as they really existed. It would be a more
pleasing task to give virtues to all of them, and
warm, open natures; but it would not be a true
picture. If you can find anything in Miss Menton
to admire, cherish it. If you can not, at least
remember that she is the child of Lucius Menton,
and a French ballet dancer; and be charitable.




CHAPTER IV.


IT WAS HARDLY MURDER.
Denman became a constant visitor at the Mentons. He was, there almost nightly, and by the
good natured people who gathered there was voted
the wittiest and cleverest of Miss Menton's guests.
Wheeler viewed Denman's popularity and the
advancement he seemed to be making in Miss Menton's good graces with displeasure. He grew morbid and restless. Once or twice he resolved to
remain away from the Menton house and the
unhealthful atmosphere which permeated it, and
devote himself to honest work with brush and pen.
But these resolutions were no sooner made than
broken. He felt miserable in that atmosphere; but
he was in despair when out of it, especially when
his imagination pictured Denman and Miss Menton
'chatting gaily together.
The peculiarity of Wheeler's passion was that it
probably would never have assumed serious proportions if Paul Denman had not come upon the scene,
and, by the mystery of his former acquaintance with




36


8WV  1  A  Iil fI'


Miss Menton, aroused his jealousy, which in turn
had increased his infatuation.
He did as other impressionable men had done
before him: refused to listen to reason and rushed
headlong into a sea of misery with his eyes open.
Denman was not long in discovering his friend's
unhappy condition. He liked Wheeler, and with a
seriousness unusual with him, he asked:
"Tell me frankly: do you really care for that
woman? "
Wheeler's face flushed, and he asked hotly:
"By what right do you speak of Miss Menton as
'that woman? "
" Well, call her Miss Menton, if you please. But
I see that it is not necessary to repeat my question;
you evidently care a great deal for her. I'm sorry
for you, my friend."
"I don't want your sympathy," said Wheeler,
sulkily; "you seem to be as much in need of condolence as I."
Paul Denman laughed. "Not at all, my dear
fellow," he said. "There is not the slightest danger of my heart ever becoming entangled there."
This satisfied Wheeler for a moment. Then he
asked: "If you dislike her so much why do you
spend so much of your time at her house? "




IT WAS HARDLY MURDER.


87


' She is very pretty," replied Denman, twisting
his moustache; "and one can't meet pretty women
every day, and clever ones at that."
To hear Miss Menton discussed in this insolent
manner was unbearable. "You are trifling with
her then," exclaimed Wheeler. At that moment he
would have laid down his life to defend the woman
whom he did not even thoroughly respect.
Denman looked at him in genuine surprise.
"Wheeler," said he, "you really seem to have some
faith in Miss Menton. You don't know her. She
is not worthy of your confidence-certainly not of
your love."
Wheeler rose arid paced nervously up and down
the room. Denman watched him with much concern, He honestly pitied him. Suddenly Wheeler
stopped in front of Denman's chair. His face was
very white.
" Denman," he said, his voice tremulous with the
intensity of his feelings, " we are friends. Friendship has its obligations. I beg of you to, tell me
what you know of Miss Menton.    Why; is she
not worthy of my confidence?  Why is she not
worthy of the love of any man? Explain to me
the mystery that lies between you. How came you




388


WAS IT A CRIME?


to know her in Paris? Tell me all. I have a right
to know."
"I would   rather not,"  answered Denman,
gravely.
"But you said you would, and I hold you to
your promise."
"You are mistaken, Wheeler; I did not promise,
for I never intended to tell you. I merely said that
perhaps I would tell you. However, you shall hear
the story. I have never told it to anyone else, and
I now tell it to you in the confidence of friendship.
The secret which you so desire to know concerns
me more closely than it does Miss Menton. I
killed her lover."
"Murdered him!" exclaimed Wheeler, starting
to his feet in horror.
"Hear me out," said Denman, motioning with
his hand for Wheeler to resume his seat. "I
killed him in a duel. It was his life or mine. It
would have been mine but for an accident. The
circumstances which led up to the duel were these:
Five years ago I was in Paris. You have never
been in Paris. Multiply the wickedness of New
York by ten, and you will only approximate the
gilded degeneracy of the French capital. Being
young, rich, and with a desire to leave no pleasure




IT WAS HARDLY MURDER.


89


untasted, I plunged into dissipations of every
description.  The Mentons lived in Paris very
much as they live here. It was not difficult to get
into their house. I was taken to it by a friend, just
as you took me to see Miss Menton here in New
York. I saw men playing cards; there was a general air of looseness about the place-at least it
seemed so to me. I took it for granted that it was
a gaming place, and I had not a doubt but that the
beautiful woman who presided over it was the decoy
that led men to their ruin. To me, an American,
the presumption was natural that this woman was
like hundreds of others in Paris. I was wrong in
my first supposition. Her house was not a gambling den; and perhaps she was not so bad a
woman as I believed. But I did not discover my
error until too late. Heated with wine, upon taking
my departure, I said something to Miss Menton
which she construed as an insult. You should have
seen her eyes flash! Nothing daunted, I returned
the next evening. I was refused admittance; that
is to say, in polite terms, 'Miss Menton was not at
home.' This angered me. To be kicked out of
such a place made me frantic. I felt sure that I
was not culpable. I did not believe that any pure
woman could lead the life that woman led. By that
13




4 0


WAs IT A CRIME?


reasoning I excused my action, and I hated her
eartil v.
"Three nights later I entered a cafe. Not ten
feet from the table at which I had taken a seat, sat
Miss Menton and a fine looking fellow-a German
Count, as I afterward learned. Still smarting under
the humiliation she had put upon me, I boldly and
insultingly stared and sneered at the woman. Her
companion could not but observe it. He crossed to
where I sat and demanded an explanation and an
apology. I laughed in his face. He slapped me
with his open hand. I retaliated in a very unParisian way by knocking him down. Upon regaining his feet he handed me his card, and demanded
mine. I gave it to him. As I expected, on the
following day I received a challenge. You may be
surprised, but the prospect of a duel delighted me.
It had been the ambition of my silly youth to fight
one, and one of the first things I did on arriving in
Paris was to secure a fencing master-you reiember
how much I liked fencing at college?  Well, under
this Frenchman's training I became, as I thought,
very proficient. The Count's challenge gave me
the very opportunity I had been longing for. I
accepted it, and much to his surprise, chose rapiers.
He had supposed that being an American I would,




IT WAS HARDLY MURDER.


41


of course, choose pistols-they have an idea over
there that every American carries a revolver and
uses it on the slightest provocation.
" We fought in Belgium. I very soon made two
discoveries: first, that fighting a duel with naked
swords was quite a different thing from a combat
with foils, with the face protected by a mask; and
second, that the Count was more than my match.
Twice he lunged at me so wickedly that it was with
the greatest difficulty I parried his thrust. I acted
entirely on the defensive. After we had been on
guard for, say three minutes, he began to act as if
he intended to finish me at once. He advanced
cautiously. I retreated as well as I could, but he
continued to approach, disengaging his sword by
quick feints. It unnerved me. I thought my time
had come. In sheer terror I ducked my head and
involuntarily extended my sword arm. It saved my
life; for it so happened that at that very instant the
Count was preparing to lunge. His blade passed
harmlessly over my shoulder; mine penetrated his
heart-ran clear through him. He gasped, threw
up his arms, and fell dead. I returned to Paris,
took the first train for London, and two days later
was steaming toward India. I have not been in
Paris since."




42


WAS IT A CRIME?


During the recital of this story, Wheeler had not
once removed his eyes from the man who had so
coolly and graphically detailed the killing of another.
"I am glad you told me," he said in a constrained voice. "I can not say that I blame you.
It was hardly murder. But do you think this
Count was Miss Menton's lover-I mean in the
French significance?"
"You know as much about that as I do," returned Denman, recovering his old free-and-easy
manner. "For my part, I mean to find out. To
that end I am a visitor at her house. If he was,
why should not I, the victor take his place?"
Wheeler recoiled. "This is horrible," he said.
"I should think you would shun rather than seek
her. I believe," continued Wheeler, with conviction,
" that your opinion of the woman is wrong, and that
you will be sorry if you try to prove that it is right."
"What! Haven't I cured you?" exclaimed
Denman.
"No; you admit yourself that you do not know;
that you only surmise."
"Let's drop the subject," said Denman. "No
good can come of a further discussion of it."
They did not speak of Miss Menton again until
three weeks later.




CHAPTER V.


" WHY NOT MORE THAN FRIENDS?"
Wheeler found Miss Menton alone when he
called a few nights after he had become possessed
of Denman's secret. He looked into her eyes with
a new interest in their beautiful possessor. "A
good opportunity to study her," he thought as he
took the hand which she charmingly extended as he
entered.
"It's not often I have the pleasure of a quiet
conversation with you, now," he said.
"Is it really a pleasure?" she asked, gently.
"A very great one," Wheeler replied.
"Then you must come often in the afternoon,
when I am always alone. You may be sure the
pleasure of our talks will be mutual. But where is
Mr. Denman to-night?"
Wheeler's spirits sank. "Oh, he'll drop in later,
I suppose," he replied, indifferently. But he could
not entirely conceal his annoyance. "Why does
she think of him, after what has happened?" he
asked himself. "Can it be that Denman's opinion
43




44


4WAS IT A CtIME?


of her is right?"  The thought was misery. He
sat silent and morose. The change in his expression and manner did not escape Miss Menton. That
it conveyed an intelligence was evident from the
softer light that came into her eyes.
"Let us not talk about him," she purred insinuatingly. "I want to tell you of a conversation I
had with Professor Ryse - you know the professor,
the old gentleman who knows so much about physiology and who comes here to talk with papa sometimes? Of course you do. Well, just before you
came, he was telling me of some very wonderful
things that have been done recently by the French
psychologists, who have been investigating hypnotism. Do you believe in it?"
"Most assuredly," said Wheeler, happy once
more.
"What do you think it is; magnetism or something of that sort?"
"No; not exactly, though something like the
hypnotic condition may be produced by magnetism.
To tell the truth, I don't know much about it - only
enough to believe in it."
" It seems to me," said Miss Menton, with a perceptible shudder, "that there must be something
supernatural about it"




fI


K
I   PTHR
MINE PENETRATED HIS HEART-RAN CLEAR THROUGH HIM.


See page 41








WHY NOT MORE THAN FRIENDS?


47


"Don't you believe her; she knows better," said
a voice.
They looked up. There stood old Mr. Menton.
He laughed. " Don't let me interrupt your learned
conversation," said he; "I'm  merely looking for
the daily papers."
He found them on the floor, near where his
daughter was sitting. As he started to leave the
room he turned to Wheeler and said jocosely:
" Don't let my daughter deceive you. She is not so
silly as to believe in the supernatural in anything.
She would not be my daughter if she were."
Wheeler smiled, for want of something better to
do. Miss Menton followed her father with her eyes
as he went out of the door. It was not an affectionate glance that she gave him.
At this moment Col. McPhister and Mr. Montague were announced. The former came in briskly;
the latter strode in as if he were making the fifth
entrance in the r6le of Hamlet.
"We were talking    about hypnotism," said
Wheeler, who had a real interest in the subject.
"What do you know about it, Colonel? We are
sadly in need of enlightenment."
"Never heard of it," grunted the old warrior,




4f!J$


WAS ITr A C (R1IIME?


gallantly lifting the hand of the fair hostess to his
lips.
"A most entertaining subject," said Montague
with. a superior air; "one whiclr appeals to all contemplative minds, and one to which I have given
much thought."
"If that's the case, I suppose you've exhausted
it," barked the Colonel, with rasping sarcasm; "but
what's it like, anyway?"
Mr. Montague did not deign to reply. He even
turned his back upon the grumpy Colonel.
"It's something like mesmerism," volunteered
Wheeler.
"Then it's a damned humbug-if you'll excuse
my emphasis," replied the Colonel, promptly.
Miss Menton smiled. His "emphasis" was pardoned. He knew it would be, He had often
offended in the same way, and had been forgiven
every time.
"Yes," the old fellow continued, "I've seen a
good deal of that kind of humbug. It's a good
enough thing to write about, and it may interest
scientific men to fool away their time over it, but a
man's a fool to believe in it, all the same. It's like
the mind cure - something for women to talk about




WHY NOT MORE THAN FRIENDS?


49


-good enough for infants and idiots, but nonsense
for level-headed men."
"The mind cure, as you vulgarly call it," said
Mr. Montague, interjecting himself into the conversation with mild dignity, "is one of the transcendental discoveries of our time. It proves that
thought is; that matter is not."
"The devil it does," said the Colonel, contemptuously.
Mr. Montague was above noticing the interruption. "You are a metaphysician, are you not, Miss
Menton?" he continued.
" I'm afraid my knowledge of metaphysics is not
great enough to entitle me to that distinction,"
smiled Miss Menton.
"Beg pardon, but you do not understand me,"
explained Montague with a kindly patronizing air
that was so ridiculous that Wheeler almost laughed
aloud; "I meant to ask if you had not studied the
science of curing what is commonly called disease
by the influence of the mind?"
"And do you call that metaphysics?" broke in
the Colonel, impatiently. ' How long does it take
to learn it? '"
"I mastered it in two weeks," said Mr. Montague, with  considerable  emphasis; " but, of




50


WAS iT Ai CRIME?


course," he added, " I had no part to play in that
time."
"Except the part of a fool," said McPhister,
sotto voce. He went on in a loud, aggressive voice,
as if his intelligence had been outraged: "Two
weeks, do you say? And you call yourself a metaphysician! Why, my dear sir, it may surprise you,
but there are men - men of brains, too - who have
studied metaphysics for a lifetime who dare not
call themselves metaphysicians.  Metaphysicians
made in two weeks! Bosh! I am pained to tell
you, sir, that your philosophy is even worse than
your acting —a damned sight worse, sir," and the
Colonel sat down very hard in a very soft chair.
The old fellow was disgusted, and he did not conceal it. But if he thought he could hart Mr. Montague's feelings he was mistaken. That aesthetic
representative of the art histrionic had only pity for
the vulgar materialism of his military friend. He
made no reply.
Wheeler had been very much amused by the
passage at words between McPhister and Montague.
He admired the old soldier for his blunt nature as
much as he disliked Montague for his weak-minded
pretentiousness.  Turning to Miss Menton, he
said, pleasantly:




WHY NOT MORE THAN FRIENDS?


51


"If our belligerent friends will permit me, we'll
resume our instructive conversation on hypnotism.
So you really believe there is something supernatural about it?"
"Papa has given me a reputation for such pronounced materialism that you would not believe me
if I were to say yes," replied Miss Menton, elevating her brows.
The Colonel was already dozing; Montague was
at the other end of the room making himself believe
he was criticizing an etching.
"I would believe anything you might say."
Wheeler said this in a low voice - almost a whisper;
so low that only the ears for which it was intended
heard it.
Miss Menton gave him a glance that made his
blood tingle. McPhister was soon sound asleep, and
Montague, having sense enough to see that he was
de trop, took his departure. It was the shortest
call he had ever made at the Menton house. When
they were alone, save for the sleeping presence of
the Colonel, Miss Menton placed her hand confidingly on Wheeler's arm and said:
" Do not think me bold, Mr. Wheeler, but I feel
drawn toward you; we shall always be friends, shall
we not?"




VA1,;    iT rA  C(ItIME?


" Why not more than friends? ' he asked,
eagerly, taking her hand nd holding it in both of
his, as lie looked tenderly into her eyes,
Miss Menton sighed. " That can never be,' she
said, with a sad smile '" besides, I could not make
you happy. But we may always be friends. I need
friends, Mr. Wheeler.9'
The voice was so soft, so sweet, that Wheeler
would have sworn its possessor was as good a
woman at heart as ever breathed. He was about
to say something foolish when Miss MIenton said,
prettily:
"I move the previous question; let's go back to
hypnotism."
"Anything you like,' said Wheeler. "Hypnotize me, if you want to; you already have me under
a spell."
Miss Menton rose suddenly and walked over to
the mantel.   She  trembled  violently.  Could
Wheeler have seen the expression on her face he
would have been startled by its awfulness. It was
that of a person who has conceived an idea that
frightens even the mind which has created it. But
when Miss Menion returned to her seat her face was
calm, and only;ile strange light that burned in her




WHY NOT MOBE THAN FRIENDS?


eyes indicated her mental excitement; and Wheeler
did not notice this.
"I believe I could hypnotize you," said Miss
Menton, slowly; "for it seems to me that sympathetic natures have power over one another."
Wheeler was at the point of putting her hand to
his lips to prove that the sympathy to which she,
referred existed, when McPhister awoke with a
snort and asked Wheeler to go to lunch with him.
The artist was not hungry, and he would have
declined the Colonel's invitation had not Miss Menton risen from her chair, prepared to bid them good
night, thus indicating that she was not averse to
bringing the conversation to an end.
Wheeler left the house in company with the Colonel in a feverish daze. He was not sure whether
he was satisfied or not with the result of his visit.
When they had gone Miss Menton began to pace
nervously up and down the room. Her face was a
study-a combination of fear, doubt and determination. She stopped short in her walk. "I'll try it,
anyway," she said. She turned out the lights. A
moment later she was alone in her chamber.




CHAPTER VI.


IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS.
Wheeler got on famously with Miss Menton after
their psychological interview. He thought he discovered new  qualities in her every day. She
seemed more thoughtful. In her society lie found
peace and contentment, and he was quite satisfied to
let matters run as they would. He was not in love
with her; but the sentiment he entertained was very
much like love.
Denman still remained his guest. They had
pleasant chats at night before retiring, and Denman's friendship for Wheeler increased. The two
weeks prior to the night at the Menton house, which
will be described presently, were the most peatceful
that Wheeler had enjoyed for years, and Denlman
seemed to have been refined by his association with
the artist. Apparently he had abandlloned his campaign on Miss Menton's affections- mu ch to
Wheeler's relief. All the good in the man seemed
to have suddenly come to the surface. His conversation was not so coarse and flippant as it had been,
54




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE M-NTONS. 55


and he was less cynical in his criticisms of persons
and things. He once actually considered the advisability of opening an office and beginning the practice of law. Wheeler had laughed at him. "You
will not do that until the banks return your checks
unpaid," he said, and Denman had laughingly
admitted that his friend was about right.
It was a swell night at the Mentons. The parlors had not contained so many guests for a year.
It was an informal gathering; and its size was due
to the coincidence of a great many of Miss Menton's
acquaintances having taken it into their heads at
the same time to pay her a visit. Professor Ryse
was there, with his friend Dr. Grip-who looked
like a caricature; Mr. Landis, the chemist; Mrs.
Mittens (her first appearance since the sudden congealing Miss Menton had given her some weeks
before); Mr. Montague and a friend who could act,
but who could not do anything else, and who could
do that only under the stage manager's coaching;
Col. McPhister; Judge Blackwood, a sedate looking
man, who, through the invitation of McPhister that
night made his first appearance in the Menton
circle, and half a dozen other men and women who
cut no greater figure in this.strange episode than
they did in Miss Menton's reception that night; they




VAS IT A CRIME?


were useful simply as a background. Wheeler and
Denman dropped il about nine o'clock. They were
both in high spirits. The conversation had drifted
through one channel into another, and out again
into vagueness, until finally it ran against the
theme in which the greatest number of those present
seemed to be most interested. It was psychology.
Professor Ryse introduced it by referring casually to the wonderful feat in mind reading which a
young man had accomplished in Boston.
" This young man," continued the Professor with
the air of a man who speaks ex cathedra, "succeeded in finding a small scarf pin which had been
concealed in a fireplace in a house nearly a mile
distant from the room in which he sat, blindfolded,
and in the presence of a committee. The person
who concealed the pin was also a member of the
committee. The mind reader was placed in a carriage. The committee man,who had hidden the pin
took a seat beside him. The reins were placed in
the mind reader's hands. There was a constant
contact between the hands of the mind reader and
the person who concealed the pin. After some hesitation the mind reader drove straight to the house
where the pin was hidden and found it without
difficulty."




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS. 57


"He must have had a confederate," remarked
Judge Blackwood.
"No," replied the Professor, "I am quite sure
the test was honest. Several members of the committee occupied seats in the carriage with him.
There was no opportunity for deception."
" Do you not think it can be explained by muscle
reading, and more reasonably than by mind reading?" ventured Mr. Landis. "There are a number
of scientific men in Boston who investigated the
matter and convinced themselves that it was really
muscle reading.  It seems to me quite natural that
the person who hid the pin, and kept its location
constantly in his mind, should have unconsciously
directed the young man to the object by muscular
pressure on his hand, or by some other indication
of that nature. The sympathy between the mind
and the muscles is strong, you know."
" I do not put any faith in that theory," said the
Professor. "I have not the slightest doubt of the
truth of what is called mind reading. Tests have
been made by the use of the galvanometer. The
mind reader has held one end of a wire, the subject
the other. When the galvanometer was applied to
the wire there was a perceptible deflection of the
needle. To me this proves what I have always




WAS IT A (RITIE?


maintained in theory, that thought is what one
might call, an electric essence. But I see no reason
why one should question the genuineness of mindreading, when more wonderful psychological phenomena thrust themselves under our eyes every
day. The experiments which the French scientists
have made in hypotism-and successful experiments,
too - indicate that we are as yet infants in our understanding of the subtle qualities of the mind and
its power." The Professor was eloquent. It was
his favorite theme.
"Is this hypnotic power a special natural gift,
or can it be acquired?" asked the Judge, who had
become interested in the subject.
"Any one can acquire it, though there are still
quacks who profess that it is possessed by but
few persons. I was discussing this question at
some length with Miss Menton on my last visit,"
continued the Professor, "and was describing to
her a remarkable case which has just been reported
from
"Yes," interrupted Miss Menton hastily, but not
rudely; "the Professor told me all about this wonderful power, and how easily it can be acquired. I
feel that I could exercise it myself with a little




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS. 59


practice," and Miss Menton laughed lightly as she
tapped her fingers with her closed fan.
"I haven't the slightest doubt of it," said the
Professor. "The only requisite would be a willing
subject and the proper conditions. There is noth*     ing mysterious about the power, and the sboner the
charlatans are exposed the better. Miss Menton
could produce the hypnotic sleep as readily as any
one could."
"Let's have an experiment," said the Judge,
who believed in improving opportunities as fast as
they presented themselves, when they promised instruction.
" Wouldn't that be nice," chimed in Mrs. Mittens; " it reminds me of the time my sister and I
sat down at a table at Madame La Grange's and
tried to get the spirits to move it."
Professor Ryse looked at the faded little widow
with benignant pity.
"Won't you try the experiment?" urged the
Judge, turning to the Professor.
"I beg you'll excuse me," Ryse answered. "It
will be more amusing to let some of the young people try it. The result will be the same, I think."
"I'm willing to try my power," said Miss Menton. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her




60


WAS IT A CRIIME?


eyes blazed with a light that was peculiarly intense.
'"Who will be my subject?"
"I will," said Denman promptly. He had no
faith in Miss Menton's ability to mesmerize him,
but he was quite ready to undergo the pleasure of
the experiment.
" So will I, Miss Menton," said Wheeler, rising
and crossing to where Miss Menton stood; ' and my
claim is the prior one. Don't you remember I
offered myself as a subject once before?"
Miss Menton remembered it only too well; but
she only said: "Did you? Well, then you shall
be my subject. 'First come, first served,' you
know," she added with benignity to Denman.
"Your turn will come," and she laugbed almost
hysterically.
Denman good-naturedly withdrew in favor of
Wheeler, and as Miss Menton made preparations
for the test, Montague remarked to McPhister,
"What a gay mood Miss Menton is in to-night. I
have not seen her so lively for a long time," and the
Colonel nodded.
The fair hostess placed a chair in the middle of
the room, and at her direction Wheeler took his seat
in it with mock gravity. He was quite willing to




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS. 61


be hypnotized, but like Denman, he doubted Miss
Menton's ability to do it.
"Now I must have some small, bright object,"
said she, assuming the air of the platform experimenter in mesmerism; "something    round and
bright."
"I have just what you want," said Colonel
McPhister, as he unhooked from his watchchain a
small gold sphere. He handed it to Miss Menton.
" What makes it so heavy, Colonel? " she asked.
"There's a bullet inside of it," he replied; "it
was inside of me once. When the surgeon cut it
out I asked for it. When I got so I could walk to
a jeweler's I had it incased in a gold shell. I carry
it as a cheerful memento," and the Colonel smiled
grimly.
Miss Menton shuddered and turned pale. Ryse
thought she was going to faint. "How awful!"
she exclaimed; and Wheeler thought to himself,
"How tender hearted she is! "
"Now let's begin," said Miss Menton, recovering
her spirits, though her face was still pale and a
wild excitement burned in her eyes.
"I'm ready," said Wheeler, assuming an air of
resignation.
After enjoining silence Miss Menton took a seat




WAS IT A CrtIME?


immediately in front of Wheeler. At her direction
he placed his left hand in her right. Then with
her left hand she held the golden bullet, grasped
between the thumb and fore finger, immediately in
front of Wheeler and about two inches above his
eyes.
" That is one of the simplest ways of producing
artificial somnambulism," explained Professor Ryse.
"I must have quiet-perfect quiet," said Miss
Menton with mock severity; and then to Wheeler:
"Now put your mind in a quiet, receptive condition, and fix your gaze intently upon this little
ball."
Wheeler did so. He stared at it with an earnestness that made even Miss Menton smile; Mrs. Mittens tittered audibly, and Colonel McPhister burst
into a loud guffaw. This broke the spell. Wheeler
laughed outright, and Miss Menton in prettily assumed displeasure declared that she would make no
more experiments in the presence of flippant people.
" I am confident I could hypnotize Mr. Wheeler if
we could be left alone," she said with earnest conviction.
"I've no doubt of it," chuckled McPhister to
himself.
"Let's give her a trial," said the Professor.




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS. 63


"She's only a novice and can surely do better if
left alone with her subject."
At his suggestion they all retired to an adjoining room, closing the door behind them, and leaving
Miss Menton and Wheeler alone. Three minutes
had not passed before Miss Menton called, "Come
in." McPhister, the Professor, Denman, Montague,
Judge Blackwood and the others re-entered the
drawing-room. They found Wheeler sitting in the
chair precisely as they had left him, except that his
eyes were closed.
" He seems to be asleep," said the Professor.
"He's shamming," said Denman, incredulously.
"You may be sure he's not," retorted Miss Menton, sharply. "He is completely hypnotized. I
will prove to you that he is absolutely under the
influence, and under my control."
She stuck a pin in his arm. Wheeler did not
move nor evince the slightest indication of pain.
Then she made him laugh, weep, declaim and sing,
much to the amusement of all who were assembled,
save Judge Blackwood, who regarded these phenomena more seriously.
"Will Mr. Wheeler have any recollection of this
when he comes to himself?" he asked of Professor
Ryse.




WAS IT A CRIME?


"Not the slightest."
"I will send him to Paris," exclaimed Miss
Menton, with a sudden impulse. There was quiet
for a moment.  "What do you see?" she asked,
placing her hand upon Wheeler's head.
The subject's lips moved, but no sound came
from them. After a short interval he began to
speak slowly and without animation:
"I see a large restaurant. A lady and gentleman are seated at a table. They are talking. Now
the gentleman rises and goes over to another table
where a dark complexioned man is sitting. There
is a quarrel. The gentleman slaps the dark man in
the face. The dark man knocks him down."
"What else do you see?"
There was another pause, then Wheeler continued in the same slow manner. "A beautiful
woman sits alone and weeps."
"Well, we'll let her weep," said Miss Menton,
with a harsh laugh, putting her hands to her
temples nervously.
"Now," she said, turning to her astonished
guests, "if you will all retire I will bring my subject
out of his sleep. You know it will not do to let you
see how this is done," she added, with an air of
mystery.




IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS. 65


The Professor led the way into the next room.
Denman was very white and his legs trembled
under his weight as he followed the others, but he
said nothing. After a few moments had passed,
Miss Mentop came to the door again and opened it.
" Now you can come in," she said, " Mr. Wheeler is
himself again."
Wheeler was standing by the mantel examining
his face as reflected in the mirror. He looked dazed
and sheepish as he turned to the many eyes that
were looking at him so quizzically.
" Well, how did I do? " he asked.
"You were a fine subject," said the Judge, "and
afforded us much entertainment. I would not have
believed so wonderful a thing could be done, had I
not seen it with my own eyes."
The others congratulated him,'and particularly
Miss Menton, upon the success of the experiment.
A few moments later, at McPhister's suggestion,
Judge Blackwood and himself started to go. The
others of the gathering soon followed.  Wheeler
went down the stairs out into the cool air with
Denman, like a man walking in his sleep. He did
not seem to have fully recovered from his hypnotic
nap.




CHAPTER VII.


"SHE IS A SHE DEVIL."
They walked several blocks in silence. Wheeler
was too much engrossed in thought to speak, and
Denman was so angry that he dared not trust himself to refer to what had just taken place in Miss
Menton's parlors. Wheeler proposed that they stop
at a restaurant which they were passing.
" I think a cup of coffee will do me good," said
he; "I feel stupid and heavy."
"I should think you would," remarked Denman
with bitter sarcasm.
" What do you mean? " asked Wheeler in surprise.
They entered the restaurant and seated themselves
at a table.
"After you have given your order I will tell
you," replied Denman, shortly. "All I want is a
pint of claret and some crackers," said he, turning
to the waiter.   Wheeler gave his order, and
repeated his question. He was hurt by Denman's
manner.
"I mean that you have made a fool of yourself,"
66




'000,, *-., N    leo,5                   'N
I, -t -, 4 1  , Oin,, z", " A A i-,I


IT WAS A SWELL NIGHT AT THE MENTONS.


See page 55




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"SHE IS A SHE DEVIL."


said Denman, angrily, "by permitting that woman
to put her nonsense into your head."
"But you offered yourself as a subject, too.
Where's the difference?"
Denman laughed contemptuously.
" What are you driving at? " said Wheeler, knitting his brows.
" You act your part very well, Wheeler." Denman's voice was bitter, and his manner was insinuatingly insulting. Wheeler was not slow to resent it.
"Do you mean to say that I am not telling you
the truth when I say that I'm utterly ignorant of
what took place while I was under Miss Menton's
influence?" he demanded, rising and looking down
at Denman sternly. There was not a trace of color
in his cheeks.
Denman saw that he was wrong. "If you give
me your word as a gentleman that what you say is
true, I accept it, and apologize. But I will tell you
what happened. You will then be better able to
judge whether I was altogether to blame for suspecting you."
He related all that had taken place while
Wheeler was in the hypnotic sleep, repeating,
almost word for word, Wheeler's description of the
scene in the French caf6.




WAS IT A CRIME?


Wheeler was amazed and alarmed. ' "What a
dangerous power," he said with an expression of
awe. " She must have said those words mentally
which I uttered, and conveyed them to my mind in
that way. But what could have been her object?"
"To show me that she has not forgotten. Your
description brought back that scene very vividly, I
assure you. Was it for this she encouraged me to
come to her house? Her manner to-night filled me
with a strange fear. I shall never set foot in her
house again."  Denman kept his word.
"I do not blame you for suspecting me," said
Wheeler with gentle frankness, all his anger disappearing; "but do not be blue about it. I shall
never let her experiment on me again. You may be
sure of that. However, I do not think you need
fear Miss Menton; she is a very tender-hearted
woman."
"She is a she devil," said Denman savagely.
Wheeler did not answer. He saw that his friend
was out of sorts and he pitied him. There was a
silence between them for a moment. "Let us go
home," said Wheeler, rising abruptly.
Denman kept his seat. "Wheeler," said he,
moodily, "I think we had better part. That woman
exerts a dangerous influence over you. You do not




"SHE IS A SHE DEVIL."


71


see her as I do. She hates me, and is sure to break
our friendship sooner or later. Why not escape
that unpleasantness? Let us go our different ways
from this point. You go to your rooms; I will go
to a hotel. I feel wretched to-night and want to be
alone. I will send for my luggage to-morrow."
"I won't listen to it," interrupted Wheeler.
"But I am determined."
" Well, then, at least do not make me feel that I
have driven you from me. Go to-morrow, if you
will, but come home with me to-night. I beg you
will show me that much consideration. I think it
due me, don't you? "
Denman reluctantly consented.  They arose
and left the restaurant in silence.
"That's a strange pair," said the waiter to the
cashier; "quarreling one minute and good friends
the next. If I'd 'a been the slender chap I'd 'a
never held out to have the other one come and sleep
with me if he didn't want to."
But the cashier evinced no interest in the matter, and the waiter strolled leisurely down the hall
to attend to the wants of an old gentleman, who had
for ten minutes been vainly trying to get somebody
to bring him something to eat.
14




72


WAS IT A CRIME?


Denman and Wheeler soon reached the latter's
quarters.
" Cheer up, old man," said the artist; "I never
saw you so down in the mouth before. You'll
be all right in the morning."
"I hope so."
They bade each other good night. It was very
cordial on Wheeler's part. Each retired to his own
room. The little clock on the mantel, with its
sweet, far-away-sounding bell, was just striking the
hour of twelve.
It is one of those brilliant nights in November.
The moon is at its full. The stars glitter ill the
steely air, and the earth slumbers peacefully in the
pale light. The heavens are glorious in their radiance. They reflect none of the blackness and misery of the great city, whose pulse is not stilled, even
in the hour of sleep.
The moon's rays penetrate the room in which
Denman sleeps. One can almost distinguish every
article in the room - and even beyond, in the studio, the outlines of the furniture can be seen dimly.
The clock on the mantel, with its soft, mellow
bell, is sounding the hour of three. The figure of
a human being comes out of the darkness and




"SHE IS A SHE DEVILo"


73


moves slowly toward the center of the studio. It
stands for a moment motionless.
It crosses slowly and softly to the fireplace. It
seems to be searching for something on the mantel
-no; it is above the mantel, for it reaches up to
the collection of arms, which can be seen dimly in
the faint light. The hand moves mechanically over
the lower part of the heavy shield which forms a
center piece - around which the knives, pistols and
sabers are arranged —and finally rests on the
handle of a poniard. This it removes cautiously
and noiselessly. Grasping it tightly in its hand,
the figure advances slowly toward the front room.
The only sound is the breathing of Denman. His
sleep is deep and healthful. Just at this moment
he turns from his side and lies full upon his back;
but his sleep is not broken
The ghost-like figure continues to approach. Its
walk is slow, almost stately. It has entered the
front chamber. It pauses an instant. Now it
clutches the poniard more tightly and resumes its
measured tread across the large room to the bed
where Denman lies.
It stoops over the sleeping man. With great
deliberation it pulls down the covering, and with its
left hand locates the exact position of Denman's




74


WAS  IT  A  (1:i'; i -SL


heart; then, with a downward stroke, plunges the
poniard into it up to the hilt.
Denman gives a faint gasp, and is dead.
The figure in white relaxes its grasp upon the
handle of the poniard, and slowly straightens to an
erect position. Its hand is empty. The bright
handle of the poniard glistens in the moonlight. Its
blade is hidden in the heart of Wheeler's friend.
With the same mechanical motion that has characterized its every motion in this silent tragedy, the
white form slowly retraces its steps to the rear room,
and disappears noiselessly in the darkness.
All is quiet. A murder has been done, without
a sound to give evidence of the deed, and without
human recognition.  The moon is shining.   Its
rays fall upon the dead body of Paul Denman.


I




CHAPTER VIIL


"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL!
As Denman was generally a late riser, Wheeler
was not surprised when he awoke at nine o'clock to
find his friend not yet out of bed. At any other
time he would have gone out to breakfast and left
Denman to sleep as long as he liked; but knowing
that Denman would keep his word, and seek new
quarters that day, he felt it incumbent upon himself
as host, to be present when the man with whom he
was about to part for so strange a reason, should
take his leave. So, after he had finished dressing,
he called out in a cheery voice: "I say, old man!
Isn't it about time you were crawling out?"
There was no answer. Wheeler gave an extra
stroke of the brush to his hair, and called again.
Still no answer.  "H e sleeps like a log," he said to
himself as he crossed the studio and entered the
front chamber. The sight which met his eyes fairly
curdled his blood.
Upon the bed, only half covered, lay Paul Denman, dead. His eyes were wide open, set in an
75




WA-S IT A CnIME?


expression of ag>oy. His hands were raised above
his head, tightly clasped. The breast of his night
shirt was stained with blood, and there was a pool of
it on the bed near the left side of the body. Near
the stain on the night robe the handle of a dagger
stood upright. The blade was buried to the hilt in
the heart of the motionless body which lay before
Wheeler's terrified gaze.
"My God! This is awful!" he exclaimed, and
under an impulse of extreme terror he ran to the
window, raised it with frantic haste and cried:
" Murder! Help! - Murder! "
Then he returned to the bed on which Denman
lay. A sudden desire to remove the dagger from
the bloody wound took possession of him. He leaned
over the body of his dead friend; but the instant his
hand touched the poniard he recoiled with an
undefinable horror.
He stood gazing at the ghastly spectacle, almost
helpless. He made an effort to collect his thoughts
-to do something; but he was like one who has
lost his reason.
There were sounds of hurried feet upon the
stairs, and a moment later loud knocks upon the
door. It occurred to Wheeler then, for the first
time, that all the doors were locked. This recalled




"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL!"


77


him to something like his normal mental condition.
He hurriedly unlocked the door. A policeman
entered the room, and peered about. inquiringly,
still holding the knob of the door. A dozen or more
persons, who had followed him up the stairs, attempted to squeeze their way in, but the officer drove them
back and closed the door.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
" Matter? Can't you see," said Wheeler pointing
to the bed.
"When did this happen?"
Wheeler calmed himself sufficiently to describe
briefly how he had risen, dressed, entered the front
room to awaken Denman, and found him dead.
"Were all the doors locked? " asked the officer.
"I suppose so," said Wheeler. "This door is
always locked. I have not tried the other one, which
leads into my studio. That's the one I use, and I'm
sure I locked it last night."
He started toward the studio door. "Let me
see," said the officer peremptorily. This door was
also locked; evidently just as Wheeler had left it
the night before.
" There is something mysterious about this," said
the officer to himself, casting a suspicious glance at
Wheeler.




78


WAS IT A CBIME?


Can't we take that knife out?" 'asked the artist,
with a shudder.
"No. I will have the Coroner here in a few
moments. Leave the body as it is."  Tie officer
leaned over and examined the hlandle of the dagger.
"Have you ever seen this knife?" turning to
Wheeler.
The smell of the blood made Wheeler sick and
dizzy, as he bent over the rigid forl. " Why! " he
exclaimed, rising in surprise, "it belongs to me.
Here is its fellow," and he led the officer into the
studio to the collection of arms over the mantel.
He was right; the poniard on the right of the shield
was missing; the other was in its proper place on
the left.
"He must have committed suicide," said Wheeler,
with conviction.  "Poor fellow!"
"Was there any reason why he should?"  The
policeman asked this as a matter of form. He was
not impressed with the suicide theory.
"Perhaps not," said Wheeler thoughtfully,
"though he was not in his usual spirits when he retired."
" That will be looked into," said the officer. "I
will notify the Coroner at once -I must ask you to
come with me."




"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL!"


79


"I am very faint; I have not had my breakfast
yet," explained Wheeler. "I will go and get it and
return at once."
"I will go with you."  These words, and the
officer's manner, suggested to Wheeler the first
thought that he would naturally be suspected of the
murder of Denman; but he dismissed it as not
worthy of serious consideration.
" Very well," said he, with dignity. "Come with
me if you wish. It will only take me a few moments."
They left the scene together. The policeman
locked the door and put the key in his pocket. On
their way to a neighboring restaurant he telephoned
for the Coroner. Wheeler was just finishing a
chop when the Coroner entered the dining-room.
"Is the corpse here?" he asked with an air
which indicated that he was ready for business.
"No, sir; just around the corner.  This gentleman," pointing to Wheeler " occupied rooms with
the deceased (the policeman spoke as if he were
giving his testimony). He was in the room with
the body, with the doors locked, when I was
called."
Wheeler gave the officer a contemptuous look.
To the Coroner he said: "My name is Henry




80


WAS IT A CRIME?


Wheeler. I'm an artist (the preserver of the peace
jumped to the conclusion that he was a song and
dance man). The dead man was my friend."
"What was his name?" asked the Coroner.
"Paul Denman."
The Coroner made a note in a small book which
he took from his pocket. Then he said: "Come,
Mr. Wheeler, let us go at once and get this business off our hands as soon as possible."
Wheeler accompanied the representatives of the
law to his rooms. "This is murder," said the Coroner, as he bent over the corpse and examined the
position of the body and the expression of the face.
"Might it not have been suicide?" asked
Wheeler.
"No." The Coroner spoke with decision. "I'm
sure it was not. If he had plunged that knife into
his heart himself he never would have removed his
hand. He would have retained his grip upon the
handle, and you would have found him in that way.
Muscular action ceased too soon after the knife
entered the heart to have permitted his hand to be
removed."
Wheeler was silent. He did not agree with the
Coroner; but he did not think it worth while to
argue the point over Denman's death.




"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL I'


"Well," said the Coroner briskly, "we may as
well take that knife out now," and he leaned over,
and with some little difficulty removed the poniard.
The blood had congealed around it, and set it firmly
in its death sheath. "He has not been dead more
than five or six hours," he added. Turning suddenly to Wheeler, he said, "My dear sir, I am compelled to perform an unpleasant duty. I shall have
to place you in charge of this officer."
"You can not think I killed my friend," exclaimed Wheeler in horror.
"I have not formed any opinion," replied the
man of inquests, with much tact. "You will be suspected; you can see that yourself - indeed, you are
suspected. It is, therefore, my duty to have you
placed under arrest."
"But can I not give bail?"
"That will be for the magistrate to decide."
The Coroner wrapped the knife in a piece of paper
and put it in his pocket. "Come," he said, "I
will go to the Police Judge with you. If he will
admit you to bail you will have no further annoyance until the inquest is held. You will have to be
there, of course."
"But," expostulated Wheeler, beginning to lose
his temper, "you have no right to suspect me. Do




WAS IT A CRIME?


you suppose that if I had committed a murder I
would take no precaution to conceal it? Is it reasonable that I would call for an officer to come and
find me with the doors locked?  Could I not have
averted suspicion in a hundred ways?"
"That's all very true, M1r. Wheeler. I'm sorry
for you; but you are the victim of circumstances.
My advice to you is to keep cool, and get the best
lawyer you can find in New York to defend you. It
is better for you to come quietly and avoid sensation as much as possible."
Wheeler saw that there was no alternative. He
accompanied the Coroner and the officer down the
stairs out into the street, past a gaping crowd which
had assembled at the door.
They found the recorder in his private office. It
did not take long to issue a warrant for the arrest
of Henry Wheeler, charging him with the killing
of Paul Denman. The Coroner suggested that as
Mr. Wheeler was held merely on suspicion, and was
prepared to give bonds for his appearance, it would
be well to permit him to send for his bondsmen at
once. The recorder placed the bail at $20,000, and
Wheeler hurriedly wrote and dispatched a note to
Mr. Ellersly, a rich merchant who had bought
many of his pictures, and whom he regarded as a




"MY GOD! THIS IS AWFUL!"


83


patron, to come at once and bring with him another
bondsman. Half an hour later, Mr. Ellersly, a
bluff, genial-faced old gentleman, appeared accompanied by his partner Mr. Furst. Without a moment's
hesitation, after listening to Wheeler's nervously
narrated story of the tragedy, they signed a bond
for his appearance. Mr. Furst left them at the
door, after assuring Wheeler that he would do all
that lay in his power to aid him."
"Now you must get a good lawyer" said Mr.
Ellersly to Wheeler - " do you know one? "
"No; except by reputation,"
"Well, I do" said Mr. Ellersly. "My friend
Jack Wright - Jack and I were boys together - is
just the man. He is not a criminal lawyer, but he
will take an interest in your case, and do you more
good than any professed criminal lawyer could. Do
you know, if I were charged with a crime, and was
innocent of it, I would get a lawyer who had never
figured in the criminal courts, but who had the confidence of judges; but if I were guilty, I would retain a criminal lawyer as soon as possible - the
more criminal the better. Now as you are innocent
it is plain you don't want a criminal lawyer; but
one like Jack Wright."
The old gentleman's hearty manner was a tonic




84


WAS IT A (IJIME?


to Wheeler. He grasped Mr. Ellersly's hand and
thanked him as only a man who is in desperate
straits cal thank the one who brings succor and
hope. Mr. Ellersly called a cab. They entered it,
and were driven to the office of John C. Wright,
Esq.
Lawyer Wright was about the age of Mr. Ellersly, say sixty. His face was grand in its strength of
will and character. Thoughtful gray eyes looked
straight at you from beneath a broad projecting
brow. Here was a man on whom a weak brother
might lean with full confidence in his strength and
honor. When he had heard Wheeler's story, recited
in exact detail, he asked, kindly but very seriously:
"Have you told me all," Mr. Wheeler.
" Everything."
"You do not think it possible for a person to
have entered the room at night, by other means
than the door?"
" No -unless by the window."
"That's not likely. Is there anything which
could be construed into a cause that would warrant
the suspicion that you had committed this crime -
anything that could be made to appear as a motive?"
Wheeler thought a moment. "No," he answered
"I can think of nothing."




" MY GOD! THTS IS AWFUL!'


85


"Return to-morrow, and we will go deeper into
the case" said Mr. Wright.  "I have other business
that must be disposed of at once. But you may
trust me not to forget you. You shall have my
best efforts, for the sake of my old friend" and he
gazed affectionately upon Mr. Ellersly, who grasped
his hand warmly, and said, "Always the same, old
Jack."
Mr. Ellersly insisted that Wheeler should accompany him to his home. "Returning to your
rooms is out of the question" he said. "It would
unsettle your nerves - and they are in a pretty bad
condition alreadyo You need all the strength you
have. Come and make your home with me until
this thing's all over." There were grateful tears in
Wheeler's eyes, as he re-entered the carriage with
his big-hearted patron.




CHAPTER IX.


" BUT IT IS RETRIBUTION - RETRIBUTION! "
Miss Menton stood at the window and looked
down into the street. She had been restless all
day.  The excitement of the night before had
brought on a nervous headache. She had tried to
read, but even the latest French novel failed to
interest her. The servants were surprised to see
her rise from the table leaving her breakfast almost
untouched; and she had eaten very sparingly at
lunch. It was an unusual thing for Miss Menton
to be without appetite. Even her father noticed it.
"What is the matter? " he had asked.
"' Nothing. I will be all right by evening," she
had answered, as she abruptly left the dining-room.
Turning from the window, Miss Menton rang
for a servant.  "Go out and buy me an evening
paper," she said. The girl soon returned.
"There's bad news in that paper, Miss!" she
said, excitedly, as she placed a copy of The Telegram in Miss Menton's lap.
"What is it?"
80




Ph.  A t.


cl!
i~ iil~ i     k -~   ~
r -r q, 77"'
O7 k
H          Ii      -
CD~
cIc


87




i
I
i
i
I
i;
I
I
i!
i
i
I
i




"BUT IT IS RETRIBUTION!


89


Miss Menton looked up suddenly, and with interest. Any kind of news was welcome if it would
drive away the ennui from which she was suffering.
"Mr. Denman has been murdered, and Mr.
Wheeler has been arrested," replied the servant,
breathlessly. "It's awful, ain't it, Miss?"
Miss Menton turned deathly pale, put her hand
to her heart convulsively, and sank back in her
chair. Thinking she had fainted, the girl started
to leave the room to call old Mr. Menton.
"Never mind," said Miss Menton, recovering
herself with an effort. "I am better now. It was
a great shock to me. You may go, Mary,"
"She was awfully fond of one of them," said
Mary to the cook, to whom she hastened to tell the
news which she had read in The Telegram, before
giving it to Miss Menton, "but I can't tell which.
I think it's Mr. Wheeler, though."  The cook and
Mary settled themselves comfortably for a long
talk. They had not had so exciting a subject for
conversation for a long time.
Miss Menton opened the paper with trembling
fingers. Under flaming head lines she found this
sensational account of the mysterious death of Paul
Denman. It did credit to the reporter who wrote
it, considering that he had devoted only two hours




90


WAS IT A CItI3ME?


of his legs andit brains to the collection and the
embellishment of the facts (?):
Paul Denman and Henry Wheeler occupied
rooms together on Sixth avenue, near Thirty-fourth
street. Denman was a man of leisure, having, it is
understood, an assured income. Wheeler is wellknown in artistic circles. He is said to be an artist
of promise, and has exhibited several paintings at
the Academy. He is also a frequent contributor to
the magazines. These men were apparently friends.
As Officer Sullivan was passing the house this
morning, at about nine o'clock, he heard a cry of
"Murder! Help!"    He looked up and saw a man
standing at an open window.    This man was
Wheeler. It was he who had cried for help. Officer
Sullivan hurried promptly to the scene. To his
surprise he found the door of the room locked. He
demanded admittance.  After a short delay the
door was opened. The officer found Mr. Denman
lying dead upon the bed with a knife in his heart.
His suspicions were at once aroused. He believed
that a foul murder had been committed. Wheeler
pretended to be very much grieved at the death of
his friend. He said he had found him dead upon
rising a few moments before, but he could give no
satisfactory explanation of how the crime could




" BUr IT IS RETRIBUTION! "


91


have been committed by anybody but himself. He
tried at first to make the Coroner -who was summoned by Officer Sullivan -believe that Mr. Denman had died by his own hand, but the Coroner did
not accept that theory. He had Wheeler arrested.
The prisoner furnished bonds at the Jefferson Market Police Court. The reporter tried to find him to
get his statement, but was unable to do so, the
alleged murderer disappearing very mysteriously
after leaving the police court.
The evidence against him thus far is circumstantial; but it so strong that Officer Sullivan thinks
there is not the slightest doubt of his guilt. He
devoted the entire morning to working up the case,
and he has discovered what he believes to be a valuable clue. A waiter in a restaurant on Sixth avenue,
about six blocks from the house in which the murder
was committed, tells a story which connects Wheeler
very closely with the crime. His name is John
Snyder. He is on what is called the " night watch "
in the restaurant in question. He begins work at
noon and stops at two o'clock the next morning.
This morning he was on his way down town -" taking an airing "-as he expressed it to the officer,
before going to work.  It so happened that he was
passing the house where Wheeler and the murdered




92


2WAS ITil? A (C:RIME?


man lived just as Wheeler was brought out by the
Coroner and Officer Sullivan. He says he recognized
him at once as one of the two men who had been in
the restaurant in which he (the waiter) is employed,
on the night before. These men had high words,
and one of them rose to his feet, as if about to strike
the other. Snyder says that Wheeler was this man.
He went on to tell Officer Sullivan that the quarrel
seemed to have been amicably settled, and that the
man whom he recognizes in Wheeler, begged the
other to go home with him  if only for that night.
He seemed to be particularly anxious, so Snyder
says, that his companion should go home with him.
Upon hearing this story Officer Sullivan took the
waiter to the morgue and showed him Denman's
body. Without hesitation Snyder pronounced it to
be that of the man with whom Wheeler had had the
quarrel in the restaurant the night before.
This would seem to establish a motive for the
crime, though it is not yet known what the quarrel
was about. Certain it is, however, that Snyder's
testimony will aid the authorities to unravel the
mystery. The Coroner says Denman had not been
dead more than seven hours when he was called.
The date of the inquest has not yet been set.
Mliss Menton gazed vacantly before her. The




"BUT IT IS RETRIBIUTION!"        93
paper had fallen from  her hands. She seemed
dazed - unalble to comprehelnd the full meaning of
what she had read. She heaved a profound sigh.
"Poor Wheeler," she murmured, and an expression
of true pity softened her face.
"But it is a retribution — retribution!" she
added hysterically, and she staggered out of the
room.




CHAPTER X.: I CALL GOD TO WITNESS THAT I DID NOT KILL
PAUL DENMAN.'
Mr. Ellersly insisted on going to lawyer
Wright's office with Wheeler, when the latter
started down town to keep his appointment. The
old gentleman's heart went out to the young artist
in his suffering.
"You need a friend, my boy, and I intend to
devote myself to you until this bad business is
ended," said he. "I am convinced of your innocence, and it will help others to believe in it if the
world sees that your friends stand by you."
"Yes; but can we make the world believe it?"
Wheeler asked, moodily.
He had passed a sleepless night. His face was
pale and worn, and there were dark circles beneath
his eyes. The strain was beginning to tell on him
already. The more he thought of the situation in
which circumstances had placed him, the clearer it
became that it would be difficult to prove his innocence. After reading the statement of the waiter,
94




" I CALL GOD TO WITNESS."      95


9W


Snyder, in the morning papers, he had been filled
with a sudden fear. He had entirely forgotten the
incident in the restaurant. It came back to him now
with startling force. He saw that its bearing upon
the case would be magnified by those who were disposed to believe him guilty. So depressed was he
that he felt that only a miracle could save him. He
tried to formulate a theory to explain Denman's
death by other means than suicide, but he failed at
the very start. Denman had no enemies - at least,
none that he knew of; and besides, even if an
enemy had desired his death, how could it have
been accomplished? Were not all the doors locked,
and every means of entrance barred? It was possible, of course, for the murderer to have entered
by the aid of a pass key, but that was not likely.
In despair he turned to his first impression, that
Denman had died by his own hand; but even that
theory seemed weaker to him than it had the day
before. Leaving out of consideration the Coroner's
presumption-that if Denman had stabbed himself
death would have followed so suddenly that he
would not have had the strength or will to remove
his hand from the poniard - Wheeler could not
entirely convince himself that Denman would have




96


WAS IT A CRIMTE?


had the moral courage to end his own life. Still,
there was no other way to solve the mystery.
" Come, come," said Mr. Ellersly, cheerily; " keep
up your courage. Jack Wright will get us out of
this; you may depend upon it."
" I hope so," said Wheeler, in a voice indicative
of anything but hope.
They had reached the lawyer's office. Mr.
Wright was waiting for them- or rather, for
Wheeler. He seemed surprised to see Mr. Ellersly.
The latter noticed it.  "You'll see a good deal of
me, Jack," he said; " more than you have seen for
years. I intend to stay right with this matter until
you have brought my young friend out all right."
The lawyer's face wore an unusually grave expression.
"I would like to talk with Mr. Wheeler privately, if you will kindly leave us alone for a few
moments, Ellersly," he said. "We have serious
business on hand, and there must be no misunderstanding at the start."
"He, too, suspects me," said Wheeler to himself, bitterly.
" Do you want me to go out, Henry?"  The old
man spoke with the solicitude of a father.
"No, no," replied Wheeler, with feeling  "I




"I CALL GOD TO WITNESS. '


97


have nothing to hide from you; and I want to lay
my whole heart bare to Mr. Wright."
"That's well spoken," said the lawyer. "Now
we shall know what we are about. To begin with,
explain to me the story of the waiter, which is
printed in all the papers this morning. I was dumfounded when I saw it; for it does not accord with
the assurance you gave me yesterday, that there
was nothing which could be construed as a motive
to connect you with the crime. Tell me all about
it."
"I had forgotten the circumstance," said
Wheeler, and he spoke with a sincerity that carried
conviction. "The waiter has exaggerated. There
was no serious quarrel. It was over in a moment."
" What was the cause? "
"We had spent the evening at the house of
Miss Menton-a kind of general resort for men
about town. The Mentons are scientific people —
that is, the old man is a scientist, and his daughter,
who lives alone with him, has naturally taken some
interest in his studies. We had an experiment in
hypnotism. I was the subject. I permitted myself
to be put under the hypnotic influence by Miss Menton, who caused me to describe a certain scene
which took place several years ago in Paris, in




98


WAS IT A CRIME?


which both she and Mr. Denmianl had figured. This
made Mr. Denman angry. At the restaurant he
suggested that we part company at once. He knew
Miss Menton was his enemy, and he believed she
had sufficient influence over me to break our friendship in time. He finally consented to return to my
rooms that night. That was all."
"Why did this Miss Menton hate Denman?"
asked the lawyer.
" Must I tell you? I pledged my word to Denman that I would never disclose his secret."
"Your life is in danger, Mr. Wheeler; if that
secret has the slightest bearing on this quarrel, it
is your duty to make it known. I insist upon knowing it."
Wheeler hesitated a moment, and then without
reserve told Denman's story. The lawyer followed
its recital closely. "A very strange case!" he
muttered.
" Do you love this woman- Miss Menton? " he
asked abruptly.
Wheeler flushed. "I admire her very much,"
he admitted.
" Were you ever in love with her?"
" Seriously? No."
Mr. Ellersly had listened with wonder to Wheel.




"I CALL GOD TO WITNESS."


99


er's statement. " How in the world did you ever get
into such company?" he asked, shaking his head
reprovingly.
"They are not such bad people," explained
Wheeler, quickly. "They are very clever, and I
liked to visit them because there is nothing conventional about their house."
"It's always wiser for a man to be conventional,
even if he does find it dull," put in the lawyer,
dryly. "Many a man, and woman too, has got
into trouble by trying to ignore the rules which
govern society."
"I can see that very plainly now," said poor
Wheeler, dejectedly.
There was a moment's silence, broken by Mr.
Wright, who said: "The line of the State's prosecution which we must meet, is quite clear to me. It
will be alleged that you were in love with this
woman; that Denman came between, and you grew
jealous; that after the quarrel in the restaurant you
seemingly forgave him, and urged him to come to
your rooms. Why? Simply that you might kill
him."
Wheeler almost groaned aloud. Dark as was
the picture his fears had drawn, it was not so black
as this.




100


100          XA~- "IT A Cr'ii2Hl7


"What can I do ~?i e a; led tie question hopelessly.
Mr. Wheeler," said lawyer WriTght, " look me
squarely in the face. As you expect your life to be
spared in this world, and forgiveness in the next,
tell me the truth. Did you kill Paul Denman?
Wheeler rose to his feet, raised his right hand
involuntarily, and with a voice choked. with the
emotions which swelled his bosom, said: " I call
God to witness that I did not kill Paul Denman.
A murderous thought never entered my heart."
He tottered to his seat, and wept like an hysterical woman. "This is unmanly, I know," hle said,
attempting to calm himself. "But I can't help it.
All is dark before me. I feel like a man at the
bottom of a deep pit, groping around for an outlet,
and fearing every moment to fall into a1n awf, ul
abyss. My mind is a chaos of a thousand vagnue
thoughts chasing one another in mad confusion. I
fear I shall go mad."  The wretched man arose
and paced the floor in a nervous excitement painful
to witness.
"He has a highly nervous temperament," said
Mr. Ellersly to Mr. Wright, by way of explanation.
"I have always known that."
"Poor fellow!" and the lawyer arose and




"I CALL GOD TO WITNESS."


101


placing his hand on Wheeler's shoulder, said: "I
believe you are innocent, and I will use my heart
and brain and soul to make a jury believe so."
"God bless you!" said Mr. Ellersly wiping a
tear from his eye.
This confidence and sympathy made a man again
of Wheeler.  It was what he had craved.    He
began to show an interest in his case.
"What defense will you make?" he asked.
The lawyer did not answer at once.  After a
moment's thought he said:   "I can't tell until
after the inquest. I don't know what evidence
they will produce."
Wheeler and Mr. Ellersly took their leave, the
former in better spirits, and with a faint hope that
lawyer Wright would be able to clear him with
honor.
No new facts were developed by the inquest.
The Coroner courteously permitted Mr. Wright to
be present and to cross-examine Snyder the waiter,
who finally admitted that the quarrel between
Wheeler and Den man was not a serious one. He
said he could not tell what the quarrel was about,
because lie only heard a word now and then; he
judged the men were quarreling from Wheeler's
actions. The result of the inquest was as Mr.




rlpjrlraSeWllr*ujI5BRPaB _________3ssLa-xsS;asEcqsPna


102


WAS IT A CRIME?


WAright had supposed; Wheeler was held to await
the action of the grand jury, which, it is needless
to say, found a true bill against him.
Wheeler had come to regard Mr. Ellersly's
house as his home. He remained there until the
trial took place three weeks later, going nowhere
except to lawyer Wright's office. Mr. Wright had
prepared the only defense that could reasonably be
made. He purposed to show that the relations between the men were really friendly, and to deny
that the testimony of Snyder was sufficient to warrant even the suspicion that Denman had died by
Wheeler's hand; but had in a moment of despondency committed suicide.
"That ought to clear me," said Wheeler, when
Mr. Wright told him his plan. "There can be no
doubt that Denman committed suicide."
"I have very grave doubts," said the lawyer
seriously; "but it is the only defense we can
make. The truth is, circumstances are very much
against us."
Wheeler's hopes fell again. "If that's the case
I'm afraid the jury will take the worst view of it."
The lawyer made no reply.    He was afraid
so, too.




CHAPTER XI.


HER HAND RELAXED ITS HOLD UPON THE RAILING,
AND SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.
On the day of the beginning of the trial of
Henry Wheeler, charged with the killing of Paul
Denman, the court room was well filled with spectators. The Denman murder was still the sensation
of a great city where sensations are the daily product of the police courts. Up to this time the
newspaper reporters had not been able to discover
that there was really a woman in the case, though
several of them in their speculative articles on the
mystery had hinted at it, on general principles.
However, the peculiarity of the crime in itself was
sufficient to hold public interest.
When Wheeler entered the court room and took
a seat by the side of his lawyer there was a buzz of
whispering voices. The sentiment of the spectators
was that he did not look like a murderer. He was
very pale, very thin, and his once erect form was
slightly stooped.  He had suffered during that
short month more than a man of harder nature could
103              15




104


WAS IT A CRIME?


have suffered in a year. He had been despondent
ever since Mr. Wright had so frankly told him that
the chances were against him.
A  fine, drizzling rain was falling without.
Wheeler regarded this as a bad omen; and when he
looked up to the bench and saw Judge Blackwood
there, his heart sank within him. His mind went
back to that memorable night in the Menton house.
Not one of the guests who were present that night
had come to offer their sympathy-yes, one had;
Colonel McPhister, and he had done it with a
heartiness characteristic to the man. "The Judge
will be like the others," Wheeler thought. "He
will believe that I was in love with that woman, and
jealous of Denman."
The day was consumed in getting a jury —and
an exceptional jury it was, composed of sensible
business men and intelligent mechanics.
"If we can't get justice from that jury," remarked lawyer Wright to Mr. Ellersly, "we may
as well give up."
Mr. Wright's purpose was to gain as much time
as possible, and he improved every opportunity that
offered itself to delay the trial. He was not without
hope that something would turn up that could be
used to the advantage of his client. He was fearful




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See page?7.




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SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.


107


that he could not make the suicide theory sufficiently
strong to overcome the circumstantial evidence
which the prosecution would offer.
The next day the examination of witnesses was
begun. Officer Sullivan testified to the discovery of
the body, to the fact that the door of the room in
which the dead man lay was locked when he arrived,
and he swore that Wheeler seemed to be dazed and
frightened. The Coroner related the conversation
which he had with Wheeler; and the physician who
made the autopsy satisfied the jury that a man
could not live long with a knife in his heart, and
that, consequently, Denman had died almost instantly. It was his opinion that Denman had not
been dead more than ten hours when he first saw
the body, which was at 1 o'clock on the afternoon
of the discovery of the crime.
Snyder, the waiter, told a straight story of the
quarrel in the restaurant. It was evident that he
was honest, and Mr. Wright's cross-examination did
not materially weaken the testimony he had given.
Something of a sensation was created when the
clerk called the name of Miss Helene Menton. It
was the first intimation the audience had received
that there was a woman in the case; and when it
saw that there was a woman, and a handsome one as




108


1WAS IT A CRIME?


well, its interest increased one hundred per cent.
Miss Menton came forward and took the stand.
"How old are you, Miss Menton?"    Question
by the District Attorney.
"Thirty."  The answer came in a clear, melodious voice.
"Do you know the defendant?"
"Yes." It was little more than a whisper.
"Your Honor," interrupted Mr. Wright, " I must, ask that the witness remove her veil. I do not
think Miss Menton will object," he added politely.
i'       Before the Judge could speak Miss Menton had
removed her veil, disclosing a face deadly white.
Its strange beauty captivated jury and audience at
once. The examination was continued.
"Miss Menton, how long have you known the
defendant?"
" More than a year."
"Did you know the deceased?"
" Yes."
"How long?"
"About a month."
Mr. Wright hastily scribbled a memorandum on
the foolscap before him.
"What were the relations between the defendant
and the deceased, so far as you could discover?"




SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.   109


"Apparently friendly."
The District Attorney seemed to be disappointed
in the answer. He continued:
"Did the defendant ever express an opinion of
the deceased to you?"
" Once, I think. He said that Mr. Denman was
a strange fellow; that there were some things in
his character that he liked, and many that he did
not."
"Miss Menton, did not the defendant regard
himself as your lover?"
"I'm sure I can not say," replied the witness,
with perfect self-possession, and without change of
countenance.
"Did he not make offer of his love to you?"
"Not exactly."
"Did he never, in all the time you knew him,
say anything which led you to believe that he loved
you?"
"I don't know how to answer that," said Miss
Menton with a faint smile.
"Answer in your own way," said the District
Attorney encouragingly.  Miss Menton after a
moment's hesitation replied:
" Once he intimated that he entertained a warmer




110


WAS IT A CRIME?


feeling than friendship for me. I think that was
all."
" Did he not in many ways show that he thought
more of you than of other women? "
"Perhaps so; your question is difficult to answer."
"Was not Mr. Wheeler jealous of you?"
"Not that I know of."
"Did he have any reason to suppose that Denman, the deceased, was his rival?"
"No." It came very sharp and bitter.
" Might he not have imagined that he had some
cause to believe so? "
"I object to that question," said Mr. Wright.
"He's got no business to ask the witness what she
thinks some one else thought."
The objection was sustained.
"Then I will put it in another form," said the
District Attorney, determined to carry his point.
"Was there, or had there ever been, anything
between you and the deceased, which the defendant
could have construed into a cause for jealousy?"
" I refuse to answer that question," said Miss
Menton coolly. The jurors opened their eyes very
wide, and there was quite a stir in the audience.
"The question is a proper one," said the Judge;
"the witness will please answer it."




SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.    111


Miss Menton was defiant for a moment, then she
answered, apparently with great frankness:
"I can truthfully say there was never anything
between Mr. Denman and myself that could have
made Mr. Wheeler jealous."
The District Attorney did not press that point
further.
"The defendant and the deceased were both
guests at your house on the night before the murder, were they not?" he continued.
"Yes,' answered the witness, with a slight
tremor in her voice.
"What took place at your house that night?"
"We had some experiments in hypnotism,"
replied Miss Menton, making a perceptible effort to
appear at her ease.
"Well, what was done?"
"Mr. Wheeler was hypnotized."
"By whom?"
"By me."
"What do you expect to show by this rambling
examination," interrupted Mr. Wright.
"You'll find out soon enough. Just be patient,"
replied the District Attorney sarcastically. He went
on with the examination:




112


WAS IT A CRIAME?


"Did Mr. Wheeler do anything on that night
which led you to believe he disliked the deceased? "
" No."
"Did he do anything at which the deceased
could have taken offense? "
"Mr. Denman seemed to have taken some
offense at something Mr. Wheeler said."
"Said when?"
"When he was hypnotized."
"What was it?"
"I don't know; nothing that appeared to me to
be a cause for offense. He may have been angry
because Mr, Wheeler consented to make the experiment."
"I shall show before I get through, Your Honor,
that the quarrel in the restaurant was on this very
point."  Having thus delivered himself, of his
intentions, the District Attorney announced that he
had no more questions to ask the witness.
Mr. Wright began his cross-examination. Miss
Menton had not made a bad witness -that is, she
had not done much injury to Wheeler's case. It
would seem to have been politic for Mr. Wright not
to press her further, but he could not afford to lose
a possible trick in this game of life and death.
"Miss Menton," he began, "you say you knew




SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.  118


Mr. Denman about a month. Are you not mistaken?"
Miss Menton clutched the railing nervously, as
she answered in a low voice:
" NO."
"Let your mind go tack five years, and see if
you can not recall a meeting with the deceased
before you met him in New York two months
ago?"
"No." The voice was still lower, and she
pressed her hand to her heart. Mr. Wright followed up his advantage. He asked in a stern voice,
which was very effective:
"Didn't you meet him in Paris five years ago,
and haven't you good cause to remember that meeting? Answer my question."
But the witness was in' no condition to answer
questions.  Her hand relaxed its hold upon the
railing, and she fell from the witness chair in a
swoon. Her father, who had occupied a seat near
by, rushed to her side and raised her in his arms.
"My daughter has been very ill for some days,"
said the old man, addressing the Court. She is suffering from a nervous affection which I fear is likely
to end her life at any moment. The excitement has
been too much for her."




T"irY-c_,Yllr*ti


114


WAS IT A CRIME?


A carriage was summoned, and Miss Menton,
still unconscious, was placed in it and hastily conveyed to her home. As it was then late in the
afternoon, the trial was adjourned to the next day.
Mr. Wright rubbed his hands with satisfaction
as he entered his office accOnpanied by Wheeler and
Mr. Ellersly. " I don't know what advantage I can
put this to," he said, "but it's something to have
got the best of it on the first day. We've got the
sympathy of the jury to-day. We'll try hard to
keep it, and we may yet be able to upset this motive
theory."
But Wheeler could not see it in that light. He
feared that all the facts, if they were brought out,
would make the alleged motive stronger than ever.
That night, while Mr. Wright was in his library
at home, busily at work upon a theory that Denman
had committed suicide through remorse for the
killing of Miss Menton's lover - a theory which he
purposed to have Miss Menton aid by her testimony, a servant brought him a letter. To his surprise it was from Lucius Menton; but its contents
were even more surprising. It read:
"Come to my house at once. My daughter is
very ill - dying, I fear. She insists upon seeing
you, and Mr. Ellersly."




SHE FELL FROM THE WITNESS CHAIR.   115


Without stopping to speculate upon the object
of Miss Menton's desire to see him, but feeling intuitively that it had some important bearing upon
Wheeler's case, Mr. Wright ordered a cab and drove
rapidly to Mr. Ellersly's house.. That good old soul
was in bed, but it did not take him long to dress himself. He entered the cab with the lawyer, and soon
they were at the door of the Mentons. They were
shown at once to the room where Miss Menton lay.
The ugly face of Dr. Grip met them at the door.
"She is very low; she can not live much
longer," he said as he passed out of the door,
leaving them alone in the room with the dying
woman.
A moment later Mr. Wright re-entered the drawing room, where Dr. Grip and Menton were quietly
discussing the efficacy of a new anaesthetic.
" I must have a stenographer at once," he, said
with only half suppressed excitement. "There is
no time to lose."
Dr. Grip volunteered his services as a messenger.
At Mr. Wright's suggestion he took the cab in
which the lawyer and Mr. Ellersly had come, and
which was still standing at the door, and drove to
the house of Mr. Wright's managing clerk, who was
soon ready to return with him.




116


WA8 lit A tI IME IE


Upon arriving at the Menton house they found
Mr. Wright awaiting their return with anxiety. He
hurried the stenographer into the sick room. The
door closed behind them.
Two hours later it opened, and Mr. Wright,
Mr. Ellersly, and the clerk re-entered the draiwing
room.   Lucius Menton was not inquisitive.  He
asked them no questions, and the trio entered their
cab and drove away.
Dr. Grip hastened at once to Miss Menton's bedside. "She seems calmer," he said to Mr. Menton
who had followed him into the room, "but she is
very much weaker. Death may come at any
moment."
As lawyer Wright let himself into his house
with his latch-key he said to himself: " This
wonderful story may be true -I believe it is, but
can I ever make a jury believe it? "




CHAPTER XII.


"THANK GOD THERE IS LIGHT AHEAD."
Johnson, Mr. Wright's clerk and stenographer,
did not sleep that night. The December sun peeped
in through the window and found him still at his
desk. His busy pen did not rest until it had
covered a score or more sheets of close lined legal cap.
The poor fellow was tired out, but he appreciated
the importance of the task, and he did not grumble.
Johnson was a representative of a large class:
Trustworthy, loyal to his employer, and always willing. How rare it is that one of these over-worked,
under-paid clerks, to whom matters of great import
are entrusted, proves false or recreant! And how
rare it is that their loyalty is appreciated and
rewarded!
Mr. Wright made his appearance an hour earlier
than usual that morning, and Mr. Ellersly and
Wheeler entered the office only a few moments behind him.
"What is this hurry and excitement?" asked
117




118


WAS IT A CRIME?


Wheeler. "Mr. Ellersly is very mysterious. He
will not enlighten me. Is there new hope?"
" Yes; let that satisfy you, for I have no time to
talk now," he answered. " We have a month's work
to do in a day, and we can't waste a moment."
Piqued at the abruptness of Mr. Wright's reply,
Wheeler took a seat near the window, and tried to
interest himself in the morning paper. He had
grown indifferent. He did not care much how the
case might end.
Court would not open for an hour; and Mr.
Wright improved every moment of the intervening
time. On the way down town he had stopped at
the residence of Dr. Gray, his family physician,
and left word for him to come to his office as early
as possible; and the doctor put in an appearance
shortly after the arrival of Wheeler and Ellersly.
Wright had a hurried consultation with him in his
private office. As they came out, and Dr. Gray prepared to go, he turned to Mr. Wright and said:
"You may depend upon me. It will not be so
difficult as you thought. Fortunately Nurgson, the
celebrated physiologist of Paris, who has made this
subject a special study, is now in New York. I can
get you half a dozen other scientific men who will
give their testimony, and be glad of the opportunity."




"THANK GOD THERE IS LIGHT AHEAD."  119


"We must have them to-morrow," said Mr.
Wright.
"Do not fear; they will be on hand, I promise
you." And the doctor hurried away.
"Have you completed that document, Johnson? "
asked Mr. Wright.
The clerk replied that it was all ready for him,
but that he would like to compare it with his notes
again. Johnson was a very careful clerk.
All this hub-bub and mysterious conversation
awoke Wheeler from his apathy. He knew that
something must have happened to affect his case
favorably, but what it was he could not surmise.
However, he had grown to have such complete confidence in Mr. Wright that he was quite willing to
leave the case entirely in the lawyer's hands. Besides, he had grown weary of speculating upon the
mystery of Denman's death. He had believed from
the first that his friend had died by his own hand,
and no matter how he might reason and theorize he
always returned to that conclusion. He could not
understand how any man who knew him could for a
moment doubt his innocence.
"Come, Mr. Wheeler; it is time to go." The
brisk voice of Mr. Wright startled Wheeler from his
reverie.




120


WAS IT A CRIME?


The crier was opening the session when they
entered the court room. The attendance was larger
than it had been on any previous day of the trial.
The newspaper accounts of the testimony of Miss
Menton, and the dramatic climax which her falling
from the witness stand in a swoon had caused, had
created a new interest in the trial; and applicants
for admission were so numerous that one could
hardly squeeze into the space between the doors
and the railings.
When the jury had entered the box, and the trial
had been formally resumed, Mr. Wright arose and
in a grave voice and impressive manner, said:
"I beg the Court to adjourn this trial for a day.
New evidence —evidence which affects my client
very closely, which proves his innocence has been
discovered. I will present it to the Court to-morrow,
together with the testimony of several witnesses, for
whom I shall ask the Court to issue subpoenas today."
"What is your new evidence? " sneeringly asked
the District Attorney.  "Could you tell us now?"
"I could, but I will not," answered Mr. Wright
curtly.
" The Court will grant the adjournment if you can
show good cause," said the Judge.




" THANK GOD THERE IS LIGHT AHEAD."  121
"I have no wish nor reason to conceal the evi.
dence which I purpose to introduce," replied Mr.
Wright. "And I am willing that the gentleman
who seems determined to have my client punished,
guilty or not guilty, shall have full opportunity to
investigate its source, and overcome it if he can."
"Proceed," said the Court.
"I purpose to show," continued Mr. Wright,
speaking with a force and earnestness which commanded the attention and respect of every one in
the room, "that my client has been the victim of a
strange plot - and as foul as it is strange. I shall
show that it was his hand that drove the dagger into
the heart of Paul Denman, but that he is not responsible - neither to God nor to the law for -  "
"I protest," cried Wheeler, with startling vehemencs, jumping to his feet and raising his hand to
the Judge. "I have been deceived. Whatever
Mr. Wright may mean by this I shall not consent
to it, for it is false. I kill Paul Denman! I a
murderer! It's a lie! I will not submit!"
Wheeler was beside himself with excitement.
His eyes dilated and his whole frame shook with
emotion. The District Attorney smiled, and looked
at the jury out of the corners of his eyes as much




122


WAS IT A CRIME?


as to say: "What do you think of this business
now?"
A quiet satisfaction beamed in Mr. Wright's
eye for a moment. Then turning to Wheeler he
said, kindly: "You may trust me, Mr. Wheeler.
Sit down and compose yourself." Wheeler resumed
his seat in a maze of bewilderment.
"It's all right, Henry," said Mr. Ellersly, leaning over and whispering in his ear.
"I shall show," continued Mr. Wright, after
quiet had been restored, " that my client committed
this act while in a hypnotized condition, the scientific explanation and proof of which will be furnished in due time. This condition was produced
in him by the witness who gave her testimony yesterday, and who fainted on the stand - Miss Helene
Menton. I have her dying statement to that effect
- a statement which no court can refuse to receive.
The poor creature may be dead now; at the best she
can last only a few hours."
It was almost impossible to preserve order in the
court room. Men and women began talking aloud,
and the commotion finally became'so great that it
was necessary for the bailiff to assert his muscular
power as well as his official authority to restore
quiet.




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"THANK GOD THERE IS LIGHT AHEAD."  125


The District Attorney was on his feet in an
instant.
"This is without precedent-"
"That's true," assented Mr. Wright, parenthetically.
"I say it is without precedent," repeated the
District Attorney, waving his arms like a windmill.
" Here comes an attorney and asks for delay that
he may present evidence to prove that his client is
guilty -to which the client very naturally objects.
And what kind of testimony is it? Why it's as
ridiculous on its face as an old woman's ghost
story.  I hope Your Honor will not grant an
adjournment."
"But the Court will," said Judge Blackwood,
with a promptness and decision that almost took the
District Attorney's breath away. " It will not do,"
he continued, gravely, "to scoff at things we can
not understand, especially when there is a life
at stake," and the adjournment was granted.
Wheeler was so weak and nervous when he
reached Mr. Wright's office that he begged permission to go into the private room and lie down. Mr.
Wright's explanation to the Court, in which he had
shown that Miss Menton had caused him to do a
murder, had unmanned him. He dared not think




126


WAS IT A CRIME?


of it, and yet the lawyer's words echoed and reechoed through his brain.
"Now do you see why I did not want to tell
Wheeler?" said lawyer Wright to Mr. Ellersly
when they were alone. "I knew that a man of his
impulsive, nervous nature would be quite certain to
act just as he did when the secret was revealed. We
can never make him believe that he committed that
murder, and that very fact strengthens our case
with the court and jury. To-morrow I will read the
confession."
"Thank God there's light ahead,"  said Mr.
Ellersly, fervently. "But poor Wheeler! It will
blight his life."
" That's where you are mistaken," answered Mr.
Wright. "It will not blight his life a whit more
than it will mine."




CHAPTER XII


A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE UPON THE MAN
WHO HAD ROBBED ME OF MY LOVE.
When the Denman murder trial was resumed on
the following day there were half a dozen scholarlylooking men occupying seats within the railing.
"Those are the experts," said a quid nune in the
audience, and those who heard him looked at the
scientific gentlemen with much the same interest
they would have exhibited in viewing a collection of
Bengal tigers.
When Mr. Wright arose and began to unfold a
roll of manuscript the audience held its breath, for
the promised confession, the strangest of all confessions ever knowin in the annals of crime of the
great city of New York, was about to be read.
"This," said Mr. Wright, "is the statement of
Helene Menton, made in articulo mortis on the
twelfth day of December of this year- the day
before yesterday. The unhappy woman since that
time has gone before that higher Court where all
may hope for mercy. Let us hope that she may
127




128


WAS IT A CRIME?


receive it. She died at 12 o'clock last night."
Mr. Wright continued: "The confession reads
thus:
"' Believing death to be at hand, I, Helene Menton, as an act of justice to an innocent man, and in
the hope of forgiveness through this act, solemnly
declare that I am morally guilty of the murder of
Paul Denman. That the world may not judge me
too harshly let me relate the story of my life: —I
will tell why I was moved to be revenged upon the
man who robbed me of happiness and honor, when
they were almost within my grasp, after long years
of misery and neglect. I was born in Paris on the
30th of June, 1856. My mother, who, at the time
of her marriage was a dancer of some renown in
the theatrical world of Paris, died when I was five
years old, leaving me to my father's care. Even
my earliest recollections are sorrowful and bitter.
I craved affection but could not find it. My father
was cold in his nature. I saw but little of him, as
most of his time was devoted to his studies. When
I was eight years old I went with him to India.
We spent three years there. I was left to the care
of nurses most of that time. My father had a
craze to solve the mysteries of occultism. It never
occurred to him that the nature of his child was




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


19


worthy of investigation. From India we went to
England. Russia soon offered attractions to him.
So it was, up to my twentieth year we were constantly journeying from one country to another.
His associates were mostly scientific men. It made
no difference what a man's moral character was; so
long as he was a scholar my father's house was
always open to him. I grew to womanhood in an
atmosphere of cynicism, selfishness and materialism. I never knew a truly good woman in my life.
I have never known the refining influence of home.
My surroundings have been without sentiment,
without love, and without a tinge of moral color.
"'And yet the woman's heart within me did not
wither in this unhealthy atmosphere. I had vague
longings for a life that was not cold, hard and selfish. I believed that I deserved a kinder fate. My
hopes seemed about to be realized when Paul Denman thrust himself into my life. We had been
living in Paris about five years. Those five years
had been full of misery to me. It would have
been better for me had I left my father's house and
sought refuge in a convent. Once I thought of
doing so; but my father had destroyed my faith in
religion, by his cold and lqgical arguments, and I
turned back to the old life without hope.




13f6


WAS IT A CRIME?


"' The society which I met at our house in Paris
- I could not call it home - was gradually killing
what little sentiment and tenderness there was left
in me, when I met the Count Ludwig. He was
brought to our house by one of my father's friends
a German. He was the first man I had ever met
since I had become old enough to understand
human motives who seemed to have an honest respect for me. He talked to me of those things of
which I had so often thought in my lonely misery
-of home life, of his mother, and once I found
myself weeping as I listened to his description of
the beauty and goodness of his sisters, and the
happiness of one of them in her preparations for her
approaching marriage to a man she loved and
respected. These were the first tears I had shed
since childhood. My grief deeply moved    the
Count. His sympathy was sweet to me and I
poured out to him the story of my unhappy life.
"Poor child!" said he, and he took my hand and
pressed it kindly. From that moment I loved him
with a love that women who have had affection all
their lives could not understand. I worshipped
him.
"' He became a constant visitor at our house. I
held myself aloof as much as possible from the




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


131


others who came almost nightly. My father put no
restraints upon his guests. They played at cards,
drank till late into the night, and came and went as
they pleased. This was my father's idea of hospitality. It amused him to see men get drunk, and
he would laugh heartily when they lost their money
at cards. He never joined them at the gaming
table. My love for the Count ennobled my aspirations, and I hated my surroundings with a bitterness stronger than ever. To my great joy I soon
discovered that my affection for the Count was
reciprocated. The bliss of the moment when he
took me in his arms and kissed me- the first kiss
a lover ever imprinted upon my lips - comes back
to me now, and I am happy, even in these my dying
moments. I was to be his wife, an honored wifeand a Countess. I will not deny that the position I
would secure in society by marrying Ludwig
increased my desire to become his wife, and influenced me almost equally with my love for him, in
naming an early day for the wedding.
"' I was to get out of the meshes which had held
me all my life. I was to live among good people,
to be respected- a Countess. Women who have
never known what it is to be without the respect of
the world - to be unknown and neglected - can not




132


WAS iT A CRIMSE?


appreciate how great was the joy which possessed me
when I saw the way opened to an honored place in
in society. I was to have been married to the Count
in December- five years ago. In November Paul
Denman was brought to our house by a young art
student - a forward young man who had called only
once or twice before. Denman was one of the coarsest
men I had ever met. He did not have even the superficial refinement of the professional roa6. HIe presumed that because it was not difficult to be introduced at our house, and because of the unconventionality of the life we led, that I was entitled to
little better treatment than the shameless women of
the streets. I directed the servants not to admit
him if he should call again. He came on the following night. The servants carried out my commands, and he turned from the door, cursing me and
every one in the house. I think he was drunk that
night as well as the night before.
"' A few nights later, on returning from the opera
with the Count, happy in his society and in tihe
prospect of our approaching marriage, we stopped
at a craft, as was our custom after the play or opera.
This man Denman occupied a seat at a table near
where we sat. I had not told Ludwig of the insult
he had offered me. I dared not. Denman seemed




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


133


bent upon showing me that he despised me. He
stared at me so contemptuously and insultingly that
Ludwig noticed it, and before I could entreat him
not to pay any attention to him he had crossed to
where Denman sat. They quarreled. Ludwig was
the smaller man of the two, and Denman, the
coward, took advantage of his physical power; he
knocked him down. The Count challenged him.
I begged him not to fight with so low, so base a
man, but I could not change his purpose. I prayed
that night for the first time since my childhood. I
might have known that such prayers as I could offer
would not be answered; I had no right to expect it.
" ' I never looked upon the face of Ludwig again.
He fell by the hand of a man his inferior in courage, in honor, and in manliness. Perhaps it was
his fate. My father had a passing interest in my
grief.  He searched all Paris for Denman, but
could not find a trace of him. Two years later we
came to New York. My father was born here, but
was educated abroad, and had no love for his native
country. We live here very much as we did in
Paris, though my father's associates in New York
are of a better class, morally, than those who
gathered around him there. I had drifted back
into the old life. If anything I grew harder, more




134


WAS IT A CRIME?


indifferent than ever, without hope of happiness,
but with a burning desire for revenge upon the
man who had robbed me of my love, and cheated
me of a place among good women. Can I be
blamed? What else was there for me to live for?
"'I was leading this miserable existence when
Mr. Wheeler- who, next to the Count, I admired
more than any one I had ever met - brought Denman to our house. He did not know whom he was
to meet. He trembled under the glance I gave
him.   His conscience made a coward of him.
From that moment I devoted my every thought to
devising some means of revenge. Nothing but his
life would satisfy me. I encouraged him to return.
I knew his weakness, and seemingly lowered myself
to the level on which he had placed me. I had not
yet thought of a way of wreaking my revenge. I
had only one desire; that was, to kill him. I
believe it would have resulted in my doing the
deed with my own hand had not a novel means presented itself. The method which I used suggested
itself to me after a conversation I had with Prof.
Ryse. He described to me how the investigations
of hypnotism had been carried to such an extent in
Paris as to prove beyond a doubt that an impression could be conveyed to a person, while in the




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


135


hypnotic state, which could be re-awakened at any
time that might be determined upon by the operator. He showed me the report of a case in which a
man who had been hypnotized had been directed
by the person who hypnotized him one week
from that day and hour, to take off his shoes and
stockings. and walk barefooted for a hundred yards.
The experiment was a success.  The Professor
pointed out the danger of the abuse of this strange
power —a murder might be done by its aid, he
said.
" 'My mind acted quickly. I decided to try this
powerful agent, with which I was familiar in a
general way. I never thought of Mr. Wheeler as a
subject until he himself suggested it in a playful
way.  I can not comprehend how I consented to
make him a partner to my crime. The opportunity
suggested itself sooner than I had expected. On
the night of the 6th of November there were a
number of guests at our house; among them Paul
Denman, Mr. Wheeler, Dr. Grip, Mr. Landis,
Colonel McPhister, and his friend Judge Blackwood. The conversation turned upon psychology,
and Prof. Ryse, who has made hypnotism the subject of thoughtful study and investigation, began to


16




13(6


1WAS IT A CRIME?


describe the advancement which had been made
in it.
"' I felt guilty even in the contemplation of the
act, and was fearful that Professor Ryse would go
on to say that it was possible for a murder to be
done through its power -as he had suggested to
me.
"' I was not unfamiliar with the method of producing the hypnotic trance. I would have known
how to do it without Professor Ryse's directions.
To every one in the room but myself the hypnotising of Mr. Wheeler was a pleasing experimentnothing more. My first attempt failed. I had not
intended that it should succeed. It was my purpose to be alone with Mr. Wheeler. I succeeded
in getting the other members of the company to
leave the room. Mr. Wheeler was perfectly willing
to be hypnotized. He suspected nothing, feared
nothing.
"' I could not have found a better subject. In a
very few moments he had, by following my directions and gazing fixedly at the small object I held
in my hand - a golden bullet - prophetic instrument, which I had borrowed from Colonel McPhister -passed into the hypnotic state. It was




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.


137


then that I called the guests in. I caused Mr.
Wheeler to do a few of the things which are in the
alphabet of hypnotism. I could not resist the
temptation to mentally describe the scene at the
caf6 in Paris, which led to the loss of my lover, the
blasting of my hopes —and to this crime. Mr.
Wheeler repeated the words aloud.  I could see
that it struck fear to Denman's heart, and I enjoyed
it with a savage satisfaction.
" 'I was in doubt as to whether I could convey
an impression to Mr. Wheeler mentally that would
be active after I should arouse him from his trance.
So, pretending that there was a great deal of mystery connected with the process of bringing him out
of the sleep, which I did not care to explain, I asked
the company to leave the room. They did so. It
was in the moment that they were absent that I
repeated aloud, and with all the impressiveness I
could assume, these words: "At three o'clock, get a
knife and plunge it into Paul Denman's heart." I
said these words three times. Poor Mr. Wheeler
repeated them after me, as innocently as he would
have repeated a prayer. Then I awoke him from
his trance, and the party dispersed. Suddenly, the
thought entered my mind that it was impossible for




138


WAS IT A CRIME?


Wheeler to carry out my directions, because ne
would doubtless be asleep at that hour.  I had
never heard that an impression could be retained
and put in execution if the subject were in a natural
sleep at the time when that impression should suggest itself to the mind. This doubt brought with
it the hope that my wicked plan would fail. I began then to realize how awful it was to make a
murderer of this innocent man who trusted me.
The deed was done as I had ordered it: it was done
at the hour I had named, as the autopsy proves.
Henry Wheeler is as innocent of the crime as a
babe unborn. I am the murderess, as much so as if I
had with my own hand driven the dagger into Paul
Denman's heart. The persons whose names I have
mentioned in this, my dying confession, who were
present when I hypnotized Mr. Wheeler, will attest
the truth of my statement as to what took place at
my house. I am about to die. I am not sorry that
Denman was murdered. I feel that the only crime
I committed was in making Mr. Wheeler the instrument.  By the friendship he once professed
for me I beg his forgiveness. I was heartbroken
and desperate when the means was placed in my
hands to destroy the man who had, without cause,




A BURNING DESIRE FOR REVENGE.   139
robbed my life of the only hope and happiness it had
ever known, and I could not resist the temptation to
employ it. I die; glad to quit a world which has
been so hard to me. Henry Wheeler is no more
responsible for the death of Paul Denman than is
the inanimate knife which penetrated that bad
heart."'




CHAPTER XIV.


"NOT GUILTY."
During the reading of the dying confession of
Helene Menton. the voice of Mr. Wright was the
only sound that broke the stillness of the court
room. It created a profound sensation, not only
among the spectators, but among tihe jurymien.
Mr. Wright proceeded to prove by IMrT Ellersly
and Johnson the correctness of the documient which
he had just read, after which Prof. Ryse was called,
and the taking of what has come to be called
"expert" testimony was begun. Prof. E-se first
described what had taken place at the 3rMento~n house
on the night of the murder, corroboratilng the testimony of Miss Menton in every detail. so far as it
related to what was done in the presence of the
guests.
"You are sure that Mr. Wheeler was hypnotized
by Miss IMehton, are yonu?" asked Mr. Wright.
"There is no doublt of it.,
"Do you believe it,,;ssile for an impression to
have been conveyed to him while he was in the hyp140




"NOT GUILTY."


143


notized state that would impel him to commit an
act after he should be brought out of that state?"
"Yes."
"Do you think it possible for this crime to
have been committed as set forth in Miss Menton's
confession?"
"Yes."
"Please tell the jury something of the general
characteristics of the hypnotic power."
"Hypnotism," began Professor Ryse, "is not yet
thoroughly understood. The uses to which it may
be put are more numerous than even the most
advanced scientific men dreamed of five years ago.
The hypnotic condition, as nearly as it can be
defined, is almost a counterpart of somnambulism.
It is a well established fact that the sleep-walker
has absolutely no remembrance in his waking
moments of what he has done in his somnambulistic
tours. It is so in hypnotism. It has been proved,
by frequent experiments, that a man may be hypnotized on a certain day and have a train of thought
awakened in his mind by the operator, and then
be suddenly restored to his normal condition. A
week later, say, the same man is again put into the
hypnotic trance. It is quite likely that he will at
once take up the subject which the operator had




144


WAS IT A CRIME?


suggested to his mind when he was in the same
condition a week before, and continue it until the
operator directs his thoughts into other channels.
It has been proved, too, that the operattr may convey impressions to his subjects, which, under a
command given to the subject at the same time,
will emerge from the registering ganglia of the
brain at a day and hour, even weeks distant, and be
as potent as if the subject were still in the hypnotic
sleep before the operator."
'"What kind of memory would you call that?"
asked Mr. Wright.
"That can only be conjectured. Some writers
claim that it is purely cerebral memory. There can
be no doubt that the spinal cord may be educated
to perform the functions of cerebral memory. I
believe that actors have unconsciously cultivated
medullary memory. By its aid they are enabled to
repeat lines of a part without conscious volition.
However, wherever the place of retention of an
impression may be, there can be no question but
that it is retained. I see no reason to doubt that
the crime was committed through the hypnotic
power, in view of the statement of the operator."
The celebrated Nurgson, the French physiologist, could not give his testimony in English, and




"NOT GUILTY."


145


it was with some difficulty that the court interpreter
made clear some of his technical phrases.   He
began by describing the immediate effect of the
hypnotic influence. Said he:
"The first step is to put the subject into a profound sleep - a state of complete unconsciousness.
His mind is a blank. He has no thoughts save
those which are suggested to him by the operator.
He is as if in a dreamless sleep; dead, for the time.
As I have said, mental activity is awakened only
by the operator. In the ordinary biological condition the subject has his eyes open and seems to
know what is taking place; but in the complete
hypnotic trance his eyes are almost invariably
closed. He seems to be in a torpor. His bodily
movements are slow, and his mind, even under the
immediate direction of the operator works laboriously. There is an appearance of stupidity about
him.
"Some subjects are more susceptible than
others, though nine persons in ten may be hypnotized. The chief requisite is a willingness to
submit to the influence. The subject must be in a
state of mental abstraction; from that state he
passes by imperceptible stages into the hypnotic
condition. He becomes, as has been well expressed




t46


WAS IT A CRIMiE?


by an English writer, a mere statue of attention, a
listening, expectant life; a perfectly undistracted
faculty. While in this expectant condition, anything that is suggested to the subject is magnified;
joy is doubly joyful; fear is doubly fearful. Every
sense is exalted. The subject's whole being, his
entire sensibility seems to live in each faculty
of perception, as it is aroused to action. Even his
physical strength is increased; his muscles will
stand a strain that would lacerate them if he were
in his normal condition. Men who are incapable
of lifting a hundred pounds can be made to lift
twice that weight. Persons have been known to
perform feats while under the hypnotic influence
which they would not dare even attempt in their
usual state.
"' Hypnotism is really an artificial sleep. What
takes place during the time that a person is in that
sleep may be likened to the dreams that one has in
his natural sleep of which he has no recollectionunconscious cerebration.  There is nothing supernatural about it. There can be no doubt that it is
a dangerous power. Properly used, however, it
may be made of incalculable benefit to mankind.
Patients on whom operations were to be performed
have been hypnotized and the operation done with



"NOT GUILTY."


147


out pain to them and without their knowledge. It
is the most powerful of all anaesthetics, and altogether harmless in its effects. Its value in medicine is just beginning to be understood.  Just
before I left Paris an experiment was made in the
Salpetriere Hospital, which was more wonderful
than the exhibition of the power of hypnotism
which this case affords. A woman who had been
hypnotized was placed in a chair on one side of a
screen; a dumb woman suffering from hysteria was
seated on the other side.  A large magnet was
placed near the hypnotized dumb woman, and by
its aid a magnetic current was established between
the two women.   Speech was almost instantly
restored to the dumb patient; and the other, when
awakened from the hypnotic condition, was dumb.
She was unable to utter a sound for several hours,
but in a very short time recovered the full use of
her organ of speech."
"But do you believe that an impression conveyed as you have described, could be put in
execution while the subject was in his natural
sleep?" asked the District Attorney.
"It is not impossible."
"Have you ever known of such an instance?"
M. Nurgson admitted he had not. He added:




148


WAS IT A CRIMEY


"No man can say to what extent hypnotism may
be carried. It is one of the most powerful agents
mankind possesses. The world is only awakening
to its uses."
"If murders are to be done by its aid it is better that the world continue in ignorance, I think,"
remarked the District Attorney.
Other scientific gentlemen were called. They
all testified to the admitted existence of the hypnotic power, and in various ways described its
attendant phenomena. They asserted their belief
in the possibility of the commission of a crime by
a hypnotic subject at the command of a wicked
operator.
The District Attorney had no testimony to offer.
He had not been able to find a scientific man in
New York who was willing to go upon the stand
and deny the existence of the hypnotic power, or
the possibility that a crime might not be committed
by its agency. Thus the trial of Henry Wheeler
was brought to a close, so far as the taking of testimony was concerned.
The District Attorney knew that he had lost his
case; he read it in the faces of the jury, in the
manner of the Judge, and there could be no doubt
in his mind as to where the sympathy of the spec



"NOT GUILTY."


149


tators lay. His argument was brief. He showed
that it had been proved that Wheeler was found in
the room with the body of the murdered man,
and with the doors locked; that there had been a
quarrel between the prisoner and the deceased on
the night before the crime was committed, and that
there was presumptive evidence of the existence of
jealousy on Wheeler's part, creating a sufficient
motive for the crime. He sat down, feeling that he
had done his duty.
"I leave the case of my client as it stands,"
said Mr. Wright. "The dying words of Helene
Menton, and the testimony of these eminent men,
versed in the science of the mind have, I believe,
convinced the jury that Henry Wheeler is not
responsible to his God, nor to the law, for the commission of this act. The scientific gentlemen, who
have described this strange power, have told you so.
If they can not be believed in a matter of this
nature, who can? If they do not know, who does?"
In charging the jury Judge Blackwood felt it to
be his duty to lay particular stress upon the importance of the "expert" testimony. "We live in
a progressive age," he said, "and it will not do to
set aside those things which our minds can not at
first fully grasp. My name is mentioned in the




150


WAS IT A CRIME?


confession of Helene Menton. It is true that I
was present at her house on the night before Paul
Denman came to his death. I feel it to be my
duty as a Judge, irregular as it may seem, to assure
you that on that night I saw indisputable evidence
of this strange power. Now, if you believe that
Helene Menton told the truth in her dying words,
it will be right for you to accept the testimony of
the scientific gentlemen who have explained the
known extent of this power, and acquit the prisoner
at the bar."
"Thank God for a Judge who is not afraid to
aid justice," said Mr. Wright to himself.
The jury retired. It had been absent not more
than ten minutes when a tipstaff announced that it
was ready to report. The jurymen filed in and
took their places.
"Have you agreed upon a verdict?" asked the
Judge.
"We have," responded the foreman. He handed
a slip of paper to the Clerk who read, aloud:
"Not guilty."
A cheer went up from the audience. No attempt
was made to restore order. Wheeler was hurried
away by Mr. Wright and Mr. Ellersly. Seated in




" NOT GUILTY."1


151


the lawyer's office, Mr. Ellersly said with pride, as
he glanced at Wright:
" Didn't I tell you, Wheeler, my boy, that Jack
would get you out of your troubles?"
"To him and that noble woman I owe my life,"
replied Wheeler with feeling.
"What noble woman?" asked Mr. Ellersly in
surprise.
"Miss Menton, of course. It was a grand sacrifice; only a noble woman could have made it."
"What are you talking about? " said Mr. Ellersly
sharply. " If this noble woman had not died as she
did you would have been hanged. There was no
sacrifice about it. Most people confess their crimes
before they die."
"You are mistaken in your opinion of Miss
Menton," replied Wheeler calmly. "She had committed no crime. I believe she made that statement
to save my life, not because it was true. I am as
sure in my heart of that as I am that I did not
commit a murder."
"Who did then? " asked Mr. Ellersly, beginning
to fear that his friend had gone daft.
"Denman died by his own hand."     Wheeler
seemed to be annoyed that Mr. Ellersly should
believe that Denman had been murdered.




CHAPTER XV.


"THINK OF THE AWFUL VENGEANCE SHE WREAKED
THROUGH YOU."
The Menton house was closed - indeed, it was
the Menton house no longer. With its beautiful
hostess cold in a new-made grave, with the wonderful laboratory of Julius Menton denuded of its furnaces and retorts, and their owner over the seas in
Paris, ending his degenerate days in selfish oblivion,
it suggested only a memory of the days agone.
But the drawing room in which Miss Menton had
held her salons seemed to retain the old atmosphere.
When Julius Menton advertised the sale of his
furniture, Henry Wheeler hastened to buy it; and
when old Menton moved out Wheeler moved in,
much to the surprise of his friends, who thought lie
should be the last man in the world to take up his
abode there.  Mr. Ellersly protested vehemently.
He could not comprehend how Wheeler could voluntarily surround himself with the associations which
lingered around the place.
"You might as well go to an insane asylum at
152




" THINK OF THE AWFUL VENGEANCE. '


153


once," he said. "The memories of this place will
drive you mad."
"They will be sweet memories to me," Wheeler
answered, simply.
And so they were. He placed his easel in the
old drawing room, and his working hours were
spent there. He believed he could feel the presence of the woman who had spent so many sad and
bitter moments within its walls. The only grief
he had was for the loss of her society. In his
dreamy moods he could imagine himself listening again to her voice, and he could see the outlines of her superb form. He erected a monument
over her grave, and revered her memory with a tenderness that was almost hallowed. At times, his
friends feared that the shadow which had fallen
upon his life had unsettled his mind, and yet there
was nothing in his manner to indicate that he was
unhappy. Though more thoughtful than of old,
yet he was as frank and cheerful as ever. He was
not in need of their sympathy.
He rarely thought of Denman, and when he did
it was without tenderness. The friendship which
had once existed between them was not perpetuated
in memory. He sometimes felt that he owed it to




154


WAS IT A CRIME


Miss Menton to despise the man who had caused
her so much misery.
He painted as he had never painted before, and
he wrote with a new virility. His character seemed
to be more stable, his individuality more intense.
He made a name for himself. Perhaps his strange
history had something to do with bringing him into
prominence, for anything or anybody who is unlike
anything or anybody else is quite sure of attention
from the world these days. However that may be,
Wheeler had more commissions than lie could fill.
Thus he had entered a new life. The mystery of
Paul Denman's death had been a turning point in
his career.
One day, five years after the trial, Mr. Ellersly,
still hale and genial, though whiter of beard and
hair, sat in Wheeler's studio, watching with interest
the development of a picture under the artist's
brush. They had sat for some moments in silence.
Mr. Ellersly looked long and thoughtfully at a lifesize, half-length painting in oil which lhung upon
the wall immediately opposite the artist's stool. It
was an idealized portrait of Miss Menton - a truly
wonderful work in its poetic treatment.
"Henry," asked Mr. Ellersly, suddenly, "why
do you have that picture hanging constantly before




" THINK OF THE AWFUL VENGEANCE."


155


you?" nodding toward the portrait. "Doesn't it
give you the blue devils when you look at her, and
think of the awful vengeance she wreaked through
you?"
"Why should it? " asked Wheeler, turning from
his work, seriously but with evident irritation.
"Of course it should not," replied Mr. Ellersly,
quickly and apologetically, "for you are not responsible for the act; but doesn't it call up unpleasant memories?"
"My dear Mr. Ellersly," said Wheeler, "I can
never forget the kindness you have shown me, nor
the true friendship and aid you gave me when I
most needed sympathy and help. But I must beg
of you not to speak of this matter as if it was I
who killed Paul Denman. The thought is repulsive to me and equally as absurd. I have never
talked with you on this subject -that is, I have
never told you what I believe, what I know.
"Let us admit to start with that Miss Menton
despised Denman. It is possible that in the bitterness of feeling which the wrongs he had done her
engendered, she may have attempted to take her revenge in the way she described in her confession.
This may be possible; but I do not believe it. She
would never have made me a party - even an inno



156


WAS IT A CRIME?


cent one to a crime - to a murder. However, admit that she did intend that I should do a murder.
Does it follow that I did it?  Not at all. If she
had directed me to fly across the East River I believe those experts would have sworn that it was
not impossible for me to have done it. The theory
on which I was cleared of the charge of killing
Paul Denman was ridiculous. I am very sorry that
Miss Menton's confession was ever introduced. It
placed me in an awkward position. I could have been
cleared by showing that Denman killed himself.
We were all frightened at the time. For myself I
know that it was impossible to think clearly. But
I can see it all very plainly now.
" Wright should have shown that there was no
motive to connect me with the crime; that there
was absolutely no reason why I should have killed
Denman. We were not rivals, and I was never jealous of him, simply annoyed, at first, because I could
not learn what the relation had been between Denman and Miss Menton in Paris. The fact that I
was discovered in the room with the doors locked
conld have been used to my advantage, for a murderer does not give the alarm to notify the world of
his crime, and call in witnesses to prove that he is
the guilty man. The whole theory is wrong.




"THINK OF THE AWFUL VENGEANCE."


157


"I am convinced that Denman died by his own
hand. There was no murder about it. He was
morbid and full of strange fears that night, as he
himself confessed to me. Probably remorse so
preyed upon his mind as to suggest the ending of a
useless life. The jury could have been made to see
this. Wright's theory and his experts were unnecessary. If I committed that crime, don't you
believe that in all the years that have passed some
sudden thought would have come to me-some
re-awakened impression that would bring back the
deed to my mind? There would be a something
that would tell me that it was really I who killed
Paul Denman. I have never had such a thought —
never the vaguest kind of impression. On the contrary, my belief that Denman committed suicide
grows stronger every day. I am a reasonable man;
I am in health; my brain is not affected, and I can
understand a proposition as clearly as most men.
Therefore I refuse to believe that I could commit
a murder under any influence and not know it. A
thousand experts could not make me think otherwise. I shall believe as I do now to my dying day."
And he did.


THE END.




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