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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
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THE 
 ASTOUNDING 
 CRIME 
 
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THE 
 ASTOUNDING» 
 CRIME “e ue 
 ON - 
 ROAD 
 
 BEING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT MIGHT BE 
 TERMED “THE PENTECOST EPISODE” IN 
 A MOST AUDACIOUS CRIMINAL CAREER 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS” “pt BEISH » 
 New York and London, Mcmxxvii 
 
THE ASTOUNDING CRIME ON TORRINGTON ROAD 
 COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY WILLIAM GILLETTE | 
 PRINTED IN THE U. & A. 
 
THIS RECITAL 
 
 —AS TAKEN DOWN AND THEN SET 
 FORTH HEREIN—IS DIVIDED INTO 
 SEVEN PARTS OR SECTIONS WHICH 
 MAY BE ROUGHLY DESCRIBED AS 
 FOLLOWS: 
 
 PART I: Leading up to the arrangement that 
 Andrew Howard Barnes finally succeeded in 
 making with Horace McClintock for the 
 Reporting of the Facts in This Most Unusual 
 Series of Events. Page 1 
 
 PART II: Introducing Hugo Pentecost and his 
 Partner Stephen W. Harker, with a side 
 light thrown on the Business Methods em- 
 ployed by this firm. Alsojdefining the Steps 
 which led Mr. Pentecost to call at the House 
 on Torrington Road. Page 20 
 
 PART III: Dealing with old Michael Cripps and 
 his Synthetic Family—thus making it clear 
 how Charles Haworth came to be the Sole 
 Occupant of the old Cripps Mansion. Page 44 
 
 PART IV: Attempting to convey Some Idea of 
 the Overwhelming Passion that swept upon 
 Charles Haworth and Edith Findlay when 
 the Findlays came to live at the House on 
 Torrington Road. Page 67 
 
 PART V: Wherein is set forth the Painful Pre- 
 dicament which soon involved the Young 
 Couple, and the Vast Relief which ensued 
 
upon the Sale of the Haworth Machine to 
 Harker and Pentecost. Page 112 
 
 PART VI: Touching on the Amazing Prepara- 
 tions for and the Hideous Details of the 
 Crime that took place in the Cripps Man- 
 sion and Describing the Activities of the 
 Police in connection therewith as well as the 
 Behavior of Others Concerned in this Appall- 
 ing Affair. Page 169 — 
 
 PART VII: Giving an account of the Attempts 
 of Certain Persons no longer enjoying an 
 Earthly Existence to take part in the Investi- 
 gation of the Crime and the Final Result of 
 this Most Amazing Interference. Page 259 
 
THE 
 ASTOUNDING 
 CRIME 
 
 ON 
 TORRINGTON 
 ROAD 
 
PART I 
 At the request of Mr. Andrew H. 
 
 Barnes I make the following siatement in 
 order to explain how tt came about that I 
 entered into the arrangement for taking 
 down from his dictation an Account of 
 a Certain Extraordinary Affair. 
 
 Horace McCiintock 
 
 M* name is signed above. I am a staff reporter on one 
 of the town papers. New York, I mean. Several 
 times in the past three or four years when some special work 
 in my line—which has come to be mostly interviewing—was 
 required there, they have sent me over to Boston. 
 
 This last time I went over—which is now, for I am there 
 yet—I was particularly glad to get the assignment, as my 
 friend Dudley Knapp had recently made a shift from a big 
 Life Insurance Company in the West to a very much bigger 
 one in Boston, and it was a great pleasure to see him. 
 
 Duds (his schoolboy name still sticks with me and I forgot 
 to state that we were boys together in a small town in 
 northern Ohio) has got to be quite a “high up” in the 
 Insurance line. I don’t know exactly what they call him, but 
 he’s an expert of some kind, and is a sharp one on any 
 fraud or tangle that has to be attended to. I don’t mean to 
 say he’s a detective or anything like that, but in nine cases 
 
 I 
 
2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 out of ten he saves them from having to get one. He has 
 the gift of knowing a man pretty well when he gets a good 
 look at him—with a little conversation thrown in—and 
 they put him on cases that have the look of being a bit off 
 color. There’s plenty of that kind in the Life business. 
 That’s how he happened to be in Boston, and we got ahold. 
 of each other almost the minute I arrived there. 
 
 Wed been having dinner together in the men’s café at a 
 specially good hotel—one of the few cafés left where they 
 hadn’t let women and dancing in and changed the name to 
 the Wild Rose Room or something like that, and where— 
 as Dudley put it—you could still get a feed without having 
 girls’ legs flashed in your face with every mouthful. 
 
 It was down to coffee and cigars—that is, cigars for Duds 
 and cigarettes for me—and we were lolling back talking over 
 our experiences, when I happened to think of an odd thing 
 that occurred on my last trip over—which was before Duds 
 had made the shift to the Boston Company; and I started in 
 to give him an idea of it by asking if he knew anything 
 about a suburb called Roxbury. 
 
 “No,” he said, “but for God’s sake’ (lowering his voice) 
 “don’t let anyone hear you call it a suburb—you’d be 
 mobbed.” 
 
 “Well it looked like that to me,” I returned. “I struck 
 a place where I thought I was out on a farm.” 
 
 “When was this?” he asked. 
 
 “About a year ago.” 
 
 “What were you doing?” 
 
 “Following a man.” 
 
 “Who was it?” 
 
 “Never found out.” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 2 
 
 Dudley looked at me a couple of seconds; then settling 
 back in his chair struck a match and began to light a cigar. 
 
 “Anything—er—out of the way?’ he mumbled between 
 puffs. 
 
 “No,” I told him, “just odd, that’s all. Peculiar way a 
 couple of people acted on the train coming over got me guess- 
 ing to that degree that when we arrived here about eleven 
 o'clock at night I trailed the man through the south station 
 till he got into a taxi, and then jumped into one myself and 
 followed him out into that Roxbury region looking for the 
 answer—which I never got.” 
 
 “Slipped you, did he?” 
 
 “Amounted to that. Went into an old house out there— 
 gloomy-looking place—long way back from the road—no 
 other houses near. I had him down for some sort of a 
 yegg, and when I saw him go into that murky old mansion 
 I called it a day and quit.” 
 
 “What made you think he was crooked ?” 
 
 “One or two things I overheard on the train—and then 
 he played a few queer games when I was trailing him in the 
 taxi.” 
 
 “Get the address?” 
 
 “There wasn’t any number at the gate, but I got the name 
 of the street on a lamp post. Not sure what it was, though. 
 Something like Torreytown—or Torringtown—or one of 
 those ——” I broke off suddenly. 
 
 Duds gave me a quick look. 
 
 “Table behind you!” I muttered. 
 
 “What’s the matter with it?” he grunted, his voice down 
 with mine. 
 
 “Man got a shock when I mentioned that street.” 
 
4 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Maybe he lives on it.” 
 
 I shook my head slightly. 
 
 “Well, go on—what do you care?’ 
 
 I was just going to speak when Duds stopped me. 
 
 “Wait a minute!” he said, his voice down several pegs 
 more. ‘That street you mentioned—I’ve read about it some- 
 where—in some paper.” 
 
 “About the street?” 
 
 “Yes—or—or something that happened on it. Remember 
 there was a lot of excitement—everybody guessing. What 
 did we get from Boston along then?” 
 
 “One of their murders most likely—if it was something 
 you read about outside.” 
 
 “Hold on—I’m getting it! It was that case the police 
 tried to hush up—lot of queer stuff to it—everybody wonder- 
 ing what in God’s name it was all about. Inventor in it 
 somewhere—don’t you remember that? It was first-page 
 stuff all over the country.” 
 
 “No—they had me down in Panama after that Boston 
 trip, covering a Senate Investigating Committee. Saw some 
 headings but didn’t know what it was all about.” 
 
 “Peculiar case all right. What was it you overheard on 
 the train?” 
 
 “Began at the Grand Central. I was running for the five- 
 eleven Boston express—P.M. I needn’t say. Just as I got to 
 the gate an excited old woman—poorly dressed—queer hat 
 on sideways—dangling gray hair and all that—came hurrying 
 across from somewhere and plunged in ahead of me trying to 
 pass the gateman. He held her up for a ticket of course, 
 and there was quite a time, she calling out that her son was 
 on the train—she’d got to speak to him—he had no business 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 5 
 
 to be there, and a flood of talk like that. It made a kind of 
 a riot—for the gateman put her down as crazy and didn’t like 
 to pass her in among the rolling stock; and in a minute there © 
 was a crowd of people about, and a station policeman coming 
 over on the run, and the assistant station master arriving a 
 second or two later: with the result that the two of them— 
 the station master and the policeman—took her through 
 and down the incline to the train, to see if she really had a 
 son on board. 
 
 “She was a queer old thing, this dame, and kept mumbling 
 to herself that she wasn’t going to let him (her son, I took 
 it) go to that place—not if she could help it. The officer 
 tried two or three times to fix her hat on straight as they 
 walked along, one on each side of her—but it wouldn’t stay. 
 
 “Most of the passengers who came along while the old 
 woman was blocking the left-hand passage of the gate— 
 where I was—were passed in on the other side; there’s two 
 ticket punchers, you know. But I hung back till they took 
 her through, and then followed them down to the train and 
 through the cars. Wanted to see if there was anything to 
 it. Might be a story if I followed it up. 
 
 “After they'd gone through nearly the whole train, in- 
 cluding the Pullmans, she spotted the chap she was after in 
 the first coach forward, next behind the smoker, and com- 
 menced to call out to him to get off and come home with her. 
 He was a decent-appearing young chap, but what struck me 
 as peculiar was that his face didn’t show the least surprise 
 or anger or even annoyance when he saw his mother—in 
 fact, it didn’t show anything at all. He shook his head a 
 little when the old woman told him to get off, but he wouldn’t 
 budge, and finally when the station master told her she’d 
 
6 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 have to leave the coach or go along with it, she plumped 
 down in the seat with him and a few seconds later the train 
 was under way. 
 
 “The nearest seat I could get was in with another man next 
 behind. I’d have preferred to be in front—you know how. 
 well you can hear people sitting behind you in a car—but 
 the whole seat was occupied. So I sat down there behind 
 them in the aisle seat (the other man was next the window) 
 and getting out a newspaper, leaned forward as far as I 
 could as though trying to get a good light on it, and keeping 
 an ear turned in the right direction to catch anything they 
 might say. - 
 
 “We must have passed Stamford before a word was 
 spoken by either of them, but along near that place the old 
 woman opened up suddenly and began remonstrating—l 
 judged by the tone (her voice was too low to catch any 
 words) with tremendous earnestness. She hadn’t been talk- 
 ing long though, when something he muttered got her excited 
 and she raised her voice enough for me to hear, “Well you’re 
 goin’ to get off this train the next place they stop at an’ come 
 home—yes ye be Jamie—I won’t have you goin’ on with this 
 —I won’t have it!’ 
 
 “‘Tisten here!’ Jamie said under his breath but with an 
 earnestness that carried it over the back of the seat to me: ‘I 
 got an A-I situation as butler an’ general house man!’ 
 
 ***An’ don’t I know how you came by it? It’s them same 
 people in that agency! Look at the trouble they’ve got 
 you into, Jamie! Wasn’t you arrested twice an’ wasn’t it 
 them who ; 
 
 “Aw, can that! Didn’t they push me into some o’ the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 4, 
 
 finest houses there was—an’ didn’t I get recommendations 
 that takes me anywheres ?” 
 
 “ ‘First off they did but sense then there’s nothin’ but 
 trouble—an’ you comin’ nigh to bein’ put in Sing Sing!’ 
 
 “Well I wasn’t, was I? 
 
 “*__An’ one dreadful mess after another—an’ put with 
 people you’d ought ter know better’n to be with! Don’t ye 
 s’pose I know ’em, with your father what he was! I tell 
 you I ain’t goin’ to have it!’ (Her voice rising into a loud 
 wail.) ‘You got to stop, Jamie. You got to git off this tram 
 an’ come back home with me! You , 
 
 “Quiet down, can’t ye—people might get it!’ 
 
 “There was silence between the two for a while, and I no- 
 ticed, as the train was running into the Bridgeport station— 
 the first stop after One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street— 
 
 _ that Jamie was watching for something out of the window, 
 
 his quick glance shifting up and down the west-bound tracks. 
 
 “The old woman got to her feet as the train came to a stop, 
 and told him he must come with her and get the next train 
 back. But he pulled her down into the seat again—not 
 roughly but rather protectingly in a way—saying as he did, 
 ‘Not here, Jenny! We can get a better train out of New 
 Haven.’ 
 
 “*You'll come then?’ the old woman asked. 
 
 “ <Sure,’ said Jamie. 
 
 “She seemed greatly relieved. 
 
 “He had a time-table, and studied it for quite a while, 
 and as we neared New Haven (the next stop) he kept the 
 same keen watch on the west-bound tracks as he’d done at 
 Bridgeport. But this time he saw what he wanted, for 
 there was a New York Express three or four tracks over, 
 
THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ie) 
 
 roaring and sizzling to get away. It was No. 21 from 
 Boston, and as luck would have it, running nine minutes late. 
 He had his mother up and at the door before our train had 
 come to a standstill, and they were off the car in a jiffy 
 and disappearing down the stairway—for he had to cross — 
 to the New York tracks in a subway. It was an even bet 
 whether he made it or not, and I got off the train—keeping 
 close to it, though, in case it started—and ran along the plat- 
 form trying to find a place where I could see across into the 
 windows of the other train—there were roofs or something 
 that cut off the view here and there. Just as I came about 
 opposite to the last coach of the New York Express I got 
 a view through, and saw them in that car, walking down the 
 aisle looking for a seat,—so I knew they’d made it. Jamie 
 was carrying his heavy valise—the old woman close herding 
 on him as the cattle men say. 
 
 “It was only a few seconds after they got aboard when 
 No. 21, after hissing contemptuously a few times as the 
 brakes went on and off, got under way for New York. 
 ~ “Vhe train I was on—the Boston train—left the station 
 about five minutes later, and I was sitting down, nursing my 
 balked curiosity and the story that didn’t pan, when it dawned 
 on me that I had a seat reserved in one of the Pullmans, 
 which, in the case of this train, were trailing at the rear with 
 the dining car. So I got my bag and started back to find it. 
 
 “I had to go through several coaches before reaching the 
 parlor cars, and as I was walking down the aisle of the last 
 one I suddenly caught sight of Jamie sitting quietly in a 
 seat on my left—Sat there as if he’d never been off the 
 train.” 
 
 “Take it that’s the man you followed?” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 9 
 
 “The very one. Kept an eye on him through the station 
 when we got in—South Station, not Back Bay—and when he 
 took a taxi and drove off I skipped into another and slipped 
 the driver a ten to keep his machine in sight but not get up 
 too close. When Jamie’s taxi had led us six or eight blocks 
 out Columbus or Huntington or one of those avenues, it 
 made a sudden turn and shot around a corner to the right. 
 Then there were more corners right and left until you 
 couldn’t even tell where the State House was, but my man 
 was on the job and kept behind like a shadow with a string 
 to it. 
 
 “All of a sudden he ran up to the curb and jumped off, 
 coming to the door. ‘If it’s the fare ye want out o’ that car, 
 he’s payin’ off and goin’ into the station.” “What station?’ 
 I asked. ‘North,’ says he, ‘down there where all them lights 
 is. He’s on to us, an’ he'll wait long enough to make ye 
 think he’s took a train, an’ then git a taxi in there where 
 they go in—out o’ sight. I got ye where ye can keep a squint 
 on ’em as they come out. He’s liable to stoop down or cover 
 up his face. Ye might know him by that.’ 
 
 “And sure enough that’s just what happened. In, say, 
 half an hour (he waited inside that long) we were after 
 him again, but this time keeping so far away that he must 
 have thought he’d thrown us off, for we got out into a sort 
 of country region—houses far back into grounds and that 
 sort of thing—most of ’em dark, too—people gone to bed. 
 
 “At a corner out there, where Jamie’s taxi had made a 
 turn to the right, my driver stopped before rounding it and 
 listened, as he’d been doing since we’d got to where it was 
 quiet. Rather suddenly he jumped off and hurried on to the 
 corner, and after one look came running back and told me 
 
10 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the other machine had pulled up near a street lamp some 
 distance down the road and the fare was paying off. I 
 got out and told him to wait for me—that I’d walk down a 
 bit and look around. 
 
 “T edged along at the side of the road and could see that 
 Jamie had gone in at a gate or entrance; and very soon the 
 taxi that brought him went plunging by on its way back to 
 town. After some careful work to keep in the shadow, I 
 came to the old gate, or rather old posts—there wasn’t any 
 gate—and looking up the weedy and overgrown drive (I 
 could see it for a little way by the light of the street lamp) 
 I made out the black bulk of what must have been a large 
 house back in among trees, and gloomy as a prison. ‘There 
 was a pale yellowish light in one window—that was all. 
 
 “While I was trying to make out something in the dense 
 gloom, a door of the house opened, the dim light showing 
 through it from inside, and the form of a man—which must 
 have been Jamie—could be seen passing in, the door closing 
 quickly after him. That’s all there was to it. I told you 
 the rest. Got the name of the street when I went back to 
 the corner.” 
 
 “Taxi there all right?” 
 
 “Yes—but I didn’t see it at first. Chauffeur had backed 
 up into some private grounds so the other driver, rattling by 
 toward the city, wouldn’t see him. 
 
 ““*T don’t know what your man that you’re trailin’ amounts 
 to,’ he said as I got in, ‘but that ain’t no amateur what run 
 him out here!’ ”’ 
 
 “Strikes me you picked a pretty good one yourself,” ob- 
 served Dudley. 
 
 “I sure did,” I agreed; “and his parting words put the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 11 
 
 flag on it. When I'd paid him off at the hotel he stood look- 
 ing at me with a queer twist to his face and then gave a quick 
 glance about. ‘Say, cap,’ he said, moving quite close, ‘I don’t 
 know as it’s any use to ye, but we was shadowed too.’ And 
 he was gone before I could ——” 
 
 I stopped in the midst of what I was saying. The man 
 who'd been sitting behind Duds—the one who’d started 
 slightly when I mentioned the name Torringtown—was 
 standing beside our table. I hadn’t noticed him come up. 
 
 “Pardon this intrusion, gentlemen,” the stranger said in 
 
 a low voice and with a most courteous inflection, “‘but it was 
 impossible to avoid overhearing what you were saying. I 
 should hardly have thought it wise to trouble you with an 
 apology for this, but it occurred to me that the very remark- 
 able coincidence involved might possibly be of some slight 
 interest.” 
 _ We'd both risen as he began to speak, and now assured 
 him that the apology was unnecessary and that the coinci- 
 dence would interest us in the extreme, and begged him to 
 be seated. But he shook his head in a manner to convey 
 that what he had to say would only take a moment. 
 
 On the first glance the man wasn’t remarkable in any way 
 that I could see: medium height—medium weight—medium 
 age—no particular expression to his face. But in an instant 
 it was different, for he’d hardly begun to speak before I felt 
 —and so did Dudley as he told me afterward—that a person 
 of powerful or compelling character stood before us. Pow- 
 erful in some peculiar way. I never took much stock in 
 hypnotism and don’t now; at the same time I can see how 
 things like that, carried a bit further, might put a man where 
 he couldn’t see straight. These things occurred to me after- 
 
12 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ward—I couldn’t have got away, at the time, from what 
 the fellow was talking about. 
 
 He went on at once, after declining our invitation to sit 
 down: “A few moments ago I heard, from the direction of 
 your table, the name of a street which is intimately associated 
 with an affair I’ve been investigating for nearly two years.” 
 
 Something made me murmur, without the slightest inten- 
 tion of doing so, “Torringtown Road.” 
 
 “That was it—not quite the correct name, but so near that 
 I shuddered with the fear that other parties were looking 
 up the same case—which would, of course, head my work for 
 the discard. With that fear in mind I was unable to prevent 
 myself from listening. I am sorry.” 
 
 We both begged him not to speak of such a thing as no 
 offense could possibly be taken, and I asked him to tell me 
 the right name of the street. 
 
 “Torrington Road,” he answered. “Of course I saw in a 
 moment—or rather heard—that although the case was the 
 same that I’d been working on, you gentlemen were making 
 no special drive at it. But in addition to thus dispelling my 
 anxiety, the few words I overheard supplied me with the 
 answer to the only question that has completely baffled me 
 up to the present time. For two years I’ve been making 
 fruitless efforts to find out who shadowed Jamie Dreek from 
 the South Station in Boston to the old mansion in Roxbury 
 on that August night, and what object he could have had in 
 view, seeing that nothing ever came of it; and this evening 
 I happen to drop in for dinner at a place I’ve never patron- 
 ized before, and the answer comes across to me from the 
 next table!” 
 
 , We agreed that it was a strange coincidence, all right, and 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 13 
 
 as he seemed to be on the point of withdrawing I asked him 
 —more to detain him than anything else, for it seemed that 
 he must be charged up to the muzzle with interesting stuff— 
 if he happened to know how it was the Dreek chap was sit- 
 ting in a coach on the Boston train after I’d seen him go out 
 of New Haven on the New York express. 
 
 “Very simple,” Barnes answered. “He sat with his mother 
 as the New York train went down through the yards, and 
 after it got headway enough for the old woman to feel easy 
 about him, he shoved a wad of bills into her lap, saying, ‘Hold 
 that for me, will ye—I want to go to the smoker,’ walked 
 back to the rear platform, and a second later let himself 
 down by the knuckle of the coupler, which projected a few 
 inches, and dropped off. His mother saw his valise in the 
 rack and didn’t worry. It was somewhere along under the 
 Cedar Street bridge and they don’t get into any speed by then, 
 so he was up in a second or two and sprinting back for the 
 Boston train—the one you were on” (looking at me). 
 “Nothing much at stake you see, as he could have got No. 
 30 four hours later if he’d missed it. But he didn’t. You 
 must have noted the fact that you can always make a train 
 if there’s no special need of it.” 
 
 He was getting out a pocketbook as he talked, and laying 
 a card on the table, murmured something about his name 
 being Barnes and that he was taking the liberty of introduc- 
 ing himself ; whereupon we very informally introduced each 
 other. And the man, who appeared to be in a hurry, was 
 just turning away as Dudley mentioned the fact (having 
 
 given my name) that I was a staff reporter on a New York 
 Daily. 
 
14 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Upon this Mr. Barnes rather abruptly turned back and 
 stood looking at me. 
 
 “May I accept your recent invitation to sit down?’ he 
 asked, after a moment. 
 
 We begged him to do so, and all three seated ourselves. 
 
 “T was concerned in this West Roxbury affair,” he said in 
 a lowered voice, “in a way that gave me an insight into some 
 of its unusual features.” 
 
 “Detective?” asked Dudley, also sinking his voice. 
 
 “Not at all,” Mr. Barnes replied. “To be perfectly frank 
 with you—as it’s only right I should be in view of the favor 
 I’m going to ask—lI was associated in a confidential way with 
 the defense. Hard put to it for evidence they were, and I 
 was able to turn up some for them. But the case was so 
 extraordinary that after it was all over I began looking into 
 various points that came up, and one thing led to another 
 until I found I was in deep and moreover so interested that 
 I couldn’t quit. Besides that, it began to look to me like 
 a gold mine if it was handled right. Although the papers 
 were full of it at the time, not only here in Boston but 
 throughout the States and Canada, the real facts at the bot- 
 tom of it never came to light—a case of ‘diplomatic suppres- 
 sion’ by the police, if I may be allowed to use the expres- 
 sion.” 3 
 
 “How gold mine?” asked Dudley. 
 
 “Publication,” answered Barnes. “I now have virtually 
 the whole thing; and some of it is bound to stir up the ani- 
 mals a bit. I wouldn’t have thought of troubling you with 
 all this but for hearing you say that Mr. McClintock is a 
 reporter. I’m hoping you can give me a little advice, Mr. 
 McClintock, on getting the thing into book form. I have 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD OMe 
 
 it all in my mind, and notes and memoranda to keep it there. 
 But I’ve got to get some one to write it down for me, as 
 that’s something entirely out of my line.” 
 
 “What you want, Mr. Barnes,’ I said, “is a literary chap 
 —some one in the fiction line—a story writer.” 
 
 “Pardon me, Mr. McClintock, but that’s the very thing 
 I don’t want. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time— 
 not to speak of some money—in digging up the truth about 
 this affair ; and after all this to have it get into the hands of a 
 story writer and be labeled on every page as a cheap con- 
 coction of his brain would be a calamity. I don’t want any 
 ‘our hero’ and ‘dear reader’ and that sort of throw-down in 
 the account of this Haworth case, nor any ‘Foreword’ or 
 dedication to somebody whose loving care has helped me 
 through or sustained me in hours of anguish. Everything 
 that’s going into this book I saw, or heard, or got first-hand 
 from the parties concerned. And as you’re in that line Mr. 
 McClintock, I thought perhaps you could put me in the way 
 of finding a reporter of the kind I need, who’d take it down 
 the way I give it to him, the same as he would for a news- 
 paper. I’m asking a great favor, but if you haven’t anyone 
 in mind don’t hesitate to say so.” 
 
 I considered for a little, but finally had to tell him that 
 at the moment I couldn’t think of anyone available for such 
 a piece of work. 
 
 He rose apologetically, but hesitated an instant as he stood 
 there. 
 
 “T don’t suppose there’s a chance of its appealing to you?” 
 he asked, looking me full in the face; and went on before I 
 could open my mouth to answer: “It would net you three 
 
16 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 thousand, and as you don’t know me I’m perfectly willing to 
 pay for each quarter of the work in advance.” 
 
 By this time I’d recovered speech, and after expressing 
 appreciation of his liberal offer, told him it would be im- 
 possible for me to accept as I had a regular staff job and 
 didn’t want to lose it. 
 
 “Why lose it?’ he asked, seating himself again as he 
 spoke. “Your work with me would scarcely take ten days, 
 for you’d have the idea in your notebooks as fast as I could 
 talk it off. You can take your time writing it out—not the 
 least hurry about that. And if your managing editor doesn't 
 want to give you the time off, I can follow you round and 
 manage it evenings or whenever you had an hour or so to 
 spare.” 
 
 I was in a most peculiar mental condition, with this glit- 
 tering chance to reach up and pull down three thousand dol- 
 lars, and with Mr. Barnes’s impelling personality seeming 
 almost to force me into the arrangement without any con- 
 sideration whatever. I tried to pull myself together and 
 shake off something that seemed like a “spell,” and in doing 
 so caught sight of Dudley, whose chair was near but slightly 
 back of mine. All through this talk about my doing the work 
 I’d felt a consciousness of his sitting there quietly smoking, 
 and wasn’t surprised, as I glanced about, to hear him say: 
 
 “Why rush this ?” 
 
 Mr. Barnes instantly disclaimed any idea of wishing to 
 do so, explaining that as I’d appeared to show some slight 
 interest in the matter, he’d been tremendously anxious to 
 get before me whatever advantages it might possess. 
 
 “Let’s have a look at the disadvantages,’ countered Dud- 
 ley. “Suppose Mr. McClintock, on taking up the work (if 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 17 
 
 he does that) finds, for one reason or another, that he'd 
 rather not go on with it.” 
 
 “He'll be at perfect liberty to discontinue,’ was Barnes’s 
 quick rejoinder. “Tl say,” he added, “that at any time be- 
 fore the first quarter of the work is finished he may abandon 
 it without even troubling to give a reason.” 
 
 Shortly after this we adjourned the conference to Dudley’s 
 apartment—not far distant; and it was finally left that I’d 
 have a night to think it over and that Barnes was to meet us 
 at the Subtreasury the next day at four in the afternoon. 
 
 “Think he’s straight?” I asked Duds, after we’d heard the 
 elevator door clang to with Barnes going down in the car. 
 
 “Put a question mark to that,” grunted Dudley as he lit 
 his pipe. ‘But Dll say this,” he added a minute later, “if he 
 isn’t, there’s nothing he’d stop at.” He reflected awhile and 
 then went on: “Uncommon specimen I must say.... 
 Strange sort of influence, too. ... If he’d had you there 
 alone you'd be writing his book for him now.” 
 
 We sat smoking for some little time before Duds made 
 further observations. I waited patiently, realizing the value 
 of his advice in such a matter. After a while he spoke up 
 in the manner of having arrived at conclusions. 
 
 “On the first shot I don’t see where he could get you,” he 
 said. “Blackmail’s out of it. Robbery’s out of it. Playing 
 this game to get a hook in you for another is out of it. 
 Of course he didn’t come into that restaurant by any chance 
 or accident.” 
 
 MNO e? 
 
 “Not on the cat’s pajamas—or whatever it is they say. 
 
18 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Wouldn’t be surprised if he followed you over from New 
 Mork. 
 
 “Why not talk to me there?” 
 
 “Can’t say, but he had his reasons. Nothing accidental 
 goes with him. ... All the same, what of it? If there’s 
 anything criminal about his stuff, you can quit... . If he’s” 
 cribbed it somewhere, that doesn’t touch you. Another 
 thing: if you do it I’m going to sit in with you. If Barnes 
 objects, he’s crooked and that ends it. Lot of things I don’t 
 like about the man, from his one-sided smile to something 
 damned peculiar back in his eyes. And I don’t take much 
 stock in his book, or whatever it is. Most likely a blind to 
 cover a job he’s got on hand. Rather interesting to know 
 what it’s all about, eh? If he talks all right to-morrow, 
 suppose we go ahead and see what he’s got!” 
 
 Mr. Barnes certainly did talk all right the next day, and 
 not only raised no objections to the presence of Dudley while 
 the dictating was going on, but seemed quite enormously 
 pleased at the proposal, explaining that with two of us hed 
 be able to get his mind off the dictation business—which, to 
 tell the truth, had rather alarmed him—and run it off on the 
 idea of simply giving us an account of the affair. 
 
 I phoned the office, and my managing editor gave me a 
 week or ten days, which Mr. Barnes said would do. The 
 working time was arranged to suit Dudley, as his affairs 
 couldn’t be shifted. Always we had the evenings, and fre- 
 quently the afternoons as well. The place was the living 
 room of Dudley’s apartment. 
 
 Mr. Barnes made it a part of the agreement that I should 
 write out a brief statement of the episode of my trailing of 
 Jamie Dreek, and our chance meeting with him (Barnes) 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 19 
 
 in the restaurant,—this to serve as an explanation of his dic- 
 tating the account of the affair to me. He suggested also 
 that in this statement I make mention of the fact that be- 
 cause of the incidents he proposed to relate being actual 
 happenings with actual people involved in them, he felt it 
 necessary in some cases to use fictitious names and addresses. 
 
 This and the preceding pages constitute my effort to 
 comply with Mr. Barnes’s wishes. 
 
PART II 
 
 The following Account of a Series of Oc- 
 currences in the Jamaica Plain District of 
 Boston during the year 1920, and Certain 
 Facts Relating Thereto, was dictated by 
 Mr. Andrew H. Barnes, who claims to be 
 one of the Only Two Persons now living 
 who have a knowledge of the True Solu- 
 tion of the Affair. The Recital of these 
 things as set forth by him is in the main 
 Correctly Reported. The Language Used 
 ts as close an approach to his own as could 
 be managed with the rapid stenography 
 required. 
 
 H. McC. 
 
 DECREE who didn’t know—and let me tell you at the 
 
 start that few did—could hardly avoid the supposition, 
 on being shown into the offices of the Messrs. Harker & 
 Pentecost, that they were entering the headquarters of a 
 long-established, prosperous firm, evidently of high standing 
 and doing a conservative and wisely managed business. Con- 
 clusions such as these are by no means beyond what furni- 
 ture, fittings, and employees are able to convey, and Mr. 
 Pentecost had seen to it that all these things had done a part 
 toward so conveying it. Everything of the best quality, and 
 more important still, not new—nothing to suggest the flashily 
 
 20 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 21 
 
 fine furnishings so often associated with flashily conducted 
 business. 
 
 Three years and three months before this time at which 
 I’m calling your attention to the firm’s office, they didn’t have 
 any, and Mr. Hugo Pentecost had Mr. Stephen W. Harker 
 in such a double-twisted strangle grip that it was either hand 
 over whatever price the former named or the latter went to 
 jail. There was only one answer to that, and when Mr. 
 Harker said, “Name the loot, you bastard,” expecting a re- 
 sponse of, “I’ll take the pot!’ he was considerably surprised 
 to get no answer at ail. 
 
 Pentecost—bullet-headed—regarded him with glassy, half- 
 closed eyes. 
 
 Harker—slim, dapper, perfectly dressed, with a pleasant, 
 attractive face (which was a pearl without price in his busi- 
 ness) finally broke the silence. 
 
 “What’s masticating you?” he said. “You’ve got me cold, 
 haven’t you? Go on an’ give it a name!” 
 
 Pentecost spoke in a low, soft voice. “TI’ll take the busi- 
 ness,” he said. 
 
 “One minute, George. I’m-on to you from the send-off— 
 see? You're the guy that drops down on the boys when 
 they’ve been working hard for it an’ rakes ’em for ninety 
 per cent! Quite a name you’ve made for yourself! Know 
 what they call you in the Mercer Street joints? ‘The Vul- 
 ture’—that’s what they’ve put on you!” 
 
 “Fitting, too,” was the quiet rejoinder. “Vultures prey on 
 the dead ones.” 
 
 “T can cough twenty grand. Do you want it?” 
 
 “You can cough forty-six, but I don’t want it. The busi- 
 ness will do for the present.” 
 
ae THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Get to hell with it. My business is my business. Where 
 do you cop the idea I can pass it around?” 
 
 “No passing around—lI declare myself in.” 
 
 Harker—a man seldom surprised and never showing it— 
 stood looking at Pentecost, amazement concealed behind his 
 “dead” face. 
 
 “In on my game?” he finally asked. 
 
 Pentecost nodded slightly. “But not as you play it, my 
 friend,” he said. 
 
 Harker was a successful fake promoter. Anything was 
 grist for his mill that was slick enough in operation to catch 
 the public fancy or timely enough to ride on the crest of a 
 craze. Cheap novelties in medicine, food, housekeeping 
 utensils, electric refrigerating and washing machines, oil- 
 burning heaters,—anything attractive enough to sell stock 
 on—that was the sole requirement. The organization of 
 promoting companies—vast newspaper advertisements for a 
 few days—window displays when it was an operating device 
 of some kind; and after the crop from stock sales had been 
 skillfully gathered in, came the little matter of the company 
 paying for the patent or a factory site or whatever it was, 
 and of course it took all the money realized on stock sales 
 to do this; and as Harker was the man who happened to 
 own the patent or factory site, he was naturally the person 
 who sold it to the company, and there he was. 
 
 But he wasn’t there for long. That was the chief incon- 
 venience connected with this simple method of relieving the 
 “one-born-every-minute” crowd of their superfluous capital. 
 It compelled the practitioner to travel for his health after 
 every operation. Often, too, he had to change his name as 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 23 
 
 well as the climate, and to make some drastic alteration in 
 what might be referred to as his identity. 
 
 The reward, though, was frequently of large proportions, 
 which it happened to be in the case I’m speaking of. And 
 the vulture Pentecost, soaring above the vast and darkened 
 stretches of crookdom, got the odor of tainted money and 
 began circling nearer and nearer and eventually sunk his tal- 
 ons into Mr. Harker and found that he was good. Also that 
 his game was well enough—indeed might be quite a big one if 
 properly run—the effective method of playing it flashing in- 
 stantly through his mind. He observed, too, that Harker 
 was a skillful operator; also a good looker as a figurehead 
 for an important and high-class concern. He had planned 
 for some time to have an office to work from. So it came to 
 be a partnership. No papers of course—just understood. 
 Harker was to run his line of work in the office of the firm 
 —after that work had been put on Pentecost’s basis. Pente- 
 cost would have the partnership and the office to give him 
 solidity and standing in his own line of nefarious and fre- 
 quently hazardous undertakings. He could, without trouble, 
 pick up many things in Harker’s way and turn them over to 
 him; and Harker could give him assistance in his own 
 affairs, should he require it. They would divide at fifty- 
 fifty. 
 
 Before he took to vulturizing again Pentecost gave his 
 attention to the rearrangement of the Harker game. An 
 office that was “the thing” was found in precisely the local- 
 ity required, and in a modest but high-class building. When 
 it came to the matter of furnishings, not an item escaped him. 
 Being thoroughly aware that the various articles in a room 
 
24 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 have voices and can cry out, he took good care to have only 
 those which would use the tones that he wanted. 
 
 Having now an office which would eloquently lie for them, 
 the next thing in Mr. Pentecost’s scheme of operation was 
 to secure a business reputation that would do the same. With 
 this in view he and Harker went after inventions or devices 
 for the firm to take hold of and exploit, that had some degree 
 of solid merit. At the end of a year they had been able to 
 get only two, in each case having to purchase from a com- 
 pany that was running it at a profit. Expensive deals, but 
 both men were plungers. They found another during 
 the second year, and that made three, which was enough. 
 Companies were organized for each and the business carried 
 on with success and profit, large dividends going out to the 
 stockholders; the firm, however, on account of the expenses 
 involved in buying out going concerns, made nothing. 
 
 Harker was now in a position to engineer another class of 
 enterprise with entire safety. The firm was well known, 
 conservative, solid. Stock of companies it organized was 
 bought without question. Instead of piking along he found 
 he had in his hands swindles of great magnitude. With the 
 solid business they were doing an occasional failure cut no 
 figure. 
 
 The most important members of the office force—the 
 heads of departments as you might say—were all in the 
 family. Harker’s family, I mean—Pentecost had none. Al- 
 fred Harker—son of the senior partner, twenty-two and a 
 sharp one for his age—had charge of the office. Chief clerk, 
 I suppose you might call him. The head stenographer, Miss 
 Mary Finch Dugas, was a sister of Mrs. Harker, and the 
 head accountant Mrs. Harker’s nephew. As for the others, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 25 
 
 it didn’t matter. Nothing could get by young Harker or 
 Miss Dugas or the head accountant that there was any reason 
 for keeping in the shade. So the rest of the force had been 
 picked—like the furniture and decorations—to express inno- 
 cence and respectability—and they did it. 
 
 When you realize that about two and a half years before 
 this Mr. Pentecost (under another name) had been practis- 
 ing law in Chicago—and would most likely have been there 
 still if he hadn’t been disbarred—and that during the seven 
 years he'd been at it he’d got to be one of the most success- 
 ful and sought-after defense attorneys they’d ever had out 
 there, you'll have a pretty good basis to figure on him, es- 
 pecially when I tell you the sort of business he drifted into 
 and his amazing methods of handling it. 
 
 When he came to be notable in certain ways among the 
 legal practitioners of Chicago, and inquiries began to be 
 made as to who he was and where he came from, nobody 
 could give the answer. A rumor went the rounds during the 
 proceedings of his disbarment, that he’d formerly been a 
 confidence operator of some kind and had gone listening 
 in at the trial of one of his pals. It was said that something 
 about the legal maneuvers and court proceedings so im- 
 pressed him with the idea that a lawyer was a pretty slick 
 thing to be, that he started right in studying and reading 
 and got by in a couple of years. I don’t know what there is 
 to that story, but it’s as good as any. 
 
 He was a solid, thick-set man of average height, with dark 
 eyes that bulged a little and occasionally went glassy—an 
 odd trick you seldom see. Made you think he’d gone off and 
 left them for a moment while he was attending to other 
 
26 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 matters. His eyelids a good part of the time were at half 
 mast, giving him a sleepy sort of look. It had a great effect 
 when, in a court proceeding, he suddenly came out of it with 
 one of his lightning strokes. 
 
 His face, smooth-shaven, was heavy and hardly ever ex- 
 pressed anything, but he had expressions he could use when 
 it suited his purpose. His forehead slanted back quite no- 
 ticeably—not retreating in any sense—rather gave you. the 
 idea of the possibility of sudden and relentless advance, like 
 some beast that springs or strikes. All these things didn’t 
 make him appear anything especially remarkable. You see 
 lots of bullet-headed men about, also men whose eyes are 
 prominent and may go glassy for all you know. And droop- 
 ing eyelids aren’t uncommon. 
 
 I’ve been speaking of this man as Mr. Pentecost, but that 
 wasn’t his name at this time—in Chicago, I mean. On the 
 door of his musty little office in the North Western Build- 
 ing a bit of modest black lettering announced the occupant as 
 Max Spellman, Attorney at Law. 
 
 This Spellman (later Pentecost) had been plugging along 
 in the law game out there for something like two years before 
 he attracted attention. Then it began to be noticed in what 
 is referred to as the underworld, that a young attorney in 
 the Ashland Block seemed to be having extraordinary suc- 
 cess in the cases of a number of small-caliber crooks for 
 whose defense he’d been engaged or appointed. The court 
 named him the first time, in a petty-larceny case where the 
 accused was unable to get counsel. It was the ingenuity of 
 this fellow’s tactics that first made him talked about, and 
 a couple of instances of his lightning quickness and audacity 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 27 
 
 went the rounds of crookdom. This underworld comment 
 was hardly more than beginning when one of the high-up 
 operators—a super-crook you might say—who’d been 
 rounded up after a six months’ hunt—got Spellman to de- 
 fend him, and from that time he was in the middle of 
 the map. The upperworld now began to take notice, and 
 inquiries regarding the man flew about, but found nothing 
 to light on. 
 
 More business than he could handle came in—and, with 
 hardly an exception, from below. Of course he didn’t get 
 verdicts for his clients every time, but his average was amaz- 
 ing. There was always a surprise in some quick turn he’d 
 make—some entirely unexpected stroke—the finding of new 
 and vital evidence and the throwing it at them just when it 
 would knock them silly. He’d get at them this way nearly 
 every time, and of course there was a rush to finda flaw, but 
 there wasn’t a screw or a bolt missing. 
 
 Don’t get the idea that he was in the least spectacular. 
 Nothing of the kind. No oratory nor impassioned pleading, 
 nor any of those fancy things you read about. He'd sit 
 hunched up like a toad in court, solid and motionless, never 
 speaking unless necessary, and then in a voice so low that 
 spectators, if there were any, found it difficult to hear. But 
 —again like a toad—he struck with lightning quickness when 
 the time came. 
 
 To witnesses for the prosecution he was a scourge and 
 a terror. His gentle questioning, his weary manner and 
 sleepily drooping eyelids, nursed his victims into unguarded 
 confidence, and then came the lightning out of a clear sky, 
 striking upon the least contradiction or misstatement. His 
 yery appearance at such times—the backward slant of his 
 
28 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 forehead, the sudden scorching fire of usually somnolent eyes 
 —confused and disconcerted. 
 
 ~ When underworld business came in on him with a rush he 
 began to be careful about what cases he took—not as to the 
 guilt or innocence of the applicant, but in order to pick out 
 what he hada sporting chance to win. The possibilities of what 
 extraordinary and ingenious defense he could accomplish— 
 sometimes not only approaching the danger line, but fre- 
 quently going a considerable distance on the other side of it 
 —would flash through his mind almost automatically as he 
 made his first hasty examination of the case; upon the 
 character and attractiveness (for he greatly enjoyed this 
 phase of the game) of these possibilities would depend his 
 going into the defense. 
 
 After Spellman really got going there wasn’t much of 
 anything in his line he wouldn’t do. All the tricks and 
 political pulls were as lower-case a-b-c to him, not to speak 
 of the intimate personal records of lawyers, judges, and 
 police officials who were likely to come within his sphere of 
 action. Sphere doesn’t sound precisely right, but you know 
 what I mean. He had an extensive collection of the weak 
 spots—vulnerable regions, you might say—everywhere, and 
 saw in an instant how to play them in any given case. 
 Through some sharp move or threat in the right direction, 
 or by dropping a bit of money where he knew it would be 
 picked up, or by whatever else he could use as a club, he’d 
 be about ninety per cent sure to get his man out of the 
 mess. 
 
 One day, to give you an instance, the assistant cashier of 
 a Chicago bank of fairly decent standing was shown into 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 29 
 
 Spellman’s office, and told him, after some beating about, 
 that he was shy in his accounts by some two hundred and 
 fifty thousand. The man, whose name was Chatfield, gave out 
 the well-known tale about playing the stock market. 
 
 “All gone?” Spellman inquired, without bothering to pull 
 up his drooping eyelids. 
 
 “Why—I think—not quite.” | 
 
 “Damn think! You know to a nickel what you’ve got!” 
 
 “Yes—yes, sixteen thousand odd. I was—you see I was 
 keeping it to—to get away on.” 
 
 “They'll be on to you soon, of course, or you wouldn’t be 
 here.” 
 
 “There’s—there’s barely two days! My God! Barely 
 two!” Chatfield glanced about in a kind of agony. ‘And 
 the—” (he swallowed with difficulty) ‘the examiner might 
 get here sooner. We can never be sure!” 
 
 “You've got the remnant with you I see.” 
 
 Chatfield nodded and his eyes moved painfully about in a 
 way that made you think they’d fill up with tears in a minute. 
 
 “You want me to handle this affair I take it.” 
 
 “Oh, I hoped you would. That’s what I-——~” 
 
 “Pass me the sixteen.” 
 
 The terrified cashier handed Spellman a large fat envelope, 
 which the latter opened in a weary sort of way, and having 
 pulled the bunch of bills out a little way, flicked their ends 
 as he might a pack of cards before the shuffle. Then he 
 looked glassily at the assistant cashier for a full minute. 
 
 “Can you steal another hundred thousand?” he finally 
 asked. 
 
 “Why—why—I—you don’t mean 
 
 3? 
 
30 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Can you steal another hundred thousand?’ with no 
 change in inflection. 
 
 “Why—why, yes—I could—but you 
 
 “Take you long?” | 
 
 “Long?—Oh yes! Well—quite a while. I should say 
 several hours.” | 
 
 “Two o’clock is several hours. Come here with it then.” 
 
 “Mr. Spellman, I can do it!—Yes—lI can you know—but 
 they—they’re bound to find it out inside of twenty-four 
 hours the way I—the way I’ve got to get it this time!” 
 
 “T don’t care how you get it—I want it at two.” 
 
 Of course it didn’t happen as quick as that. I’m only giv- 
 ing you the high spots. 
 
 When Chatfield came back at two with the money, Spell- 
 man put it in his safe where the sixteen was already repos- 
 ing. Then he phoned the bank and got an appointment. 
 Inside of half an hour he was seated in the private office 
 of the president, and was conveying to him alone (having 
 satisfied himself that no witnesses were within hearing dis- 
 tance) the information that he had a client, Henry Parsons 
 Chatfield by name, who claimed to be the bank’s assistant 
 cashier, and that—unless the man was lying—they’d find his 
 accounts a matter of three hundred and fifty thousand short. 
 He had strongly urged Mr. Chatfield, instead of trying to. 
 escape with the hundred thousand or thereabout that he still 
 had in his possession after dumping the rest into Wall Street, 
 to return it to the bank and make a confession. This he 
 found Chatfield willing to do provided he could be safe- 
 guarded against arrest or legal action of any description. He 
 (Spellman) wasn’t presuming to advise the acceptance of 
 such a proposition, It seemed to be only a question of 
 
 bP] 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 31 
 
 whether the bank wished the money or preferred to prose- 
 cute—the latter in case Chatfield could be apprehended. 
 
 Every time the bank president broke out on him—which 
 of course he did with all the force at his command—the law- 
 yer cut him short. 
 
 “I must say, sir—this is a most extraordinary—a most 
 outrageous i, 
 
 “Do you want it?” 
 
 “Are you aware, Mr. Spellman, of your own risk in 
 
 “Do you want it?” 
 
 “We shall certainly take steps to 
 
 “Do you want it?” 
 
 But of course Spellman knew they did—knew they’d have 
 to have it—or he wouldn’t have been there. Moreover, he 
 noticed that the president made no move to ring the bell and 
 call in other officials of the bank. The document he had 
 ready was duly signed and executed. It wasn’t until after 
 that was done and the thing securely in his possession that 
 he paid over the hundred thousand to the bank. He returned 
 six of the sixteen in his safe to Chatfield, and with it a 
 biting comment on the assistant cashier’s consummate 
 asininity. The remaining ten continued to remain. 
 
 | 
 99 
 
 32 
 
 For some time he played it this way, in and out of court, 
 his adroit defenses of various kinds attracting more and 
 more attention; and those who had begun to have symptoms 
 of suspicion were very soon looking for questionable work 
 back of the records. 
 
 I’m going to tell you at once what I dare say you’ve sus- 
 pected all along, that Spellman was an amazingly successful 
 manufacturer of evidence. He couldn’t use it always, but 
 
ao THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 when he did, the play was a marvel. Everything came to 
 that man in what is known asa flash. In the matter of bogus 
 evidence he not only saw instantly where it would come in, 
 but almost on the same ignition had the most elaborate de- 
 fenses figured out for it with every point protected. 
 
 No matter where those sharps and detectives who were 
 after him dug in and followed back the lines, they couldn’t 
 find a thing to get hold of. Witnesses had actually seen 
 what they testified to—the circumstances and surroundings 
 and objects spoken of and dates and time of day given, etc., 
 stood every test. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding the outcome of these investigations, 
 I have to tell you that Mr. Spellman’s downfall resulted from 
 a faulty piece of work in one of his manufactured-evidence 
 structures. He knew that it was faulty and that they’d have 
 it on him in the end, but the play did what it was intended to 
 do, which was to hold open a loophole for escape just long 
 enough so his client could dive through it. To save a com- 
 rade who'd once saved him—that was what drove him to it. 
 The outcome, which he plainly saw, didn’t come within a 
 thousand miles of making him hesitate. What this man, 
 whose name was Morrison, had done for him or what he 
 had saved him from, never came out; but it must have been 
 something worth while. 
 
 Morrison was in bad. If the case should come to trial he’d 
 stand no chance. Even Spellman couldn’t see any way out. 
 His only hope lay in quick action. I give you an idea of 
 Spellman’s play in this case to show you how it came about 
 that he was eliminated from Chicago’s fetid life, and, as 
 Hugo J. Pentecost, turned loose upon a more or less helpless 
 world. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD as 
 
 The quick action for the rescue of Bill Morrison from a 
 more than serious predicament involved the buying up of an 
 obscure movie actor named McArdle, doing small bits at the 
 Essanay Studio on the North Side, who looked enough like 
 Morrison to be his twin. Pentecost had used the movies in 
 certain of his activities for a number of years, having found 
 that field of endeavor packed with evidence possibilities that 
 had never been worked; and in consequence he not only 
 knew a lot of people employed in it, but he had quite a few 
 of his own men scattered about in various studios. He re- 
 membered this McArdle on the instant and must have paid 
 him ten or twelve thousand to disappear utterly for six 
 weeks and turn over everything he owned, including his 
 name, clothing, diary, letters, photographs, accounts, con- 
 tracts with Essanay, and, in fact, everything there was, to 
 him. 
 
 His game was possible because Morrison was a West Coast 
 man and had never operated in Chicago before, and McArdle 
 had only recently come over from London. If these things 
 hadn’t happened to be the case, Spellman would have taken 
 some other track. But he instantly saw the possibilities of 
 this game if he rushed it and planted money lavishly in a few 
 necessary places. 
 
 The Essanay was an enormous concern in those days, fre- 
 quently taking fifteen or twenty pictures simultaneously, and 
 naturally couldn’t keep a close watch on their hundreds of 
 small-part people—of whom McArdle was one. Particularly 
 was this so because these “artists” were hardly ever seen at 
 the studio except in make-up. 
 
 The crime for which Morrison was arrested—a murderous 
 
34 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 assault on one of the clerks in a jewelry store—was commit- 
 ted in the early afternoon, and he was picked up by the police 
 that same evening. At the time of the assault McArdle 
 was engaged in his work in one of the Essanay studios. 
 Spellman got at him in his room in a cheap apartment build- 
 ing between six and seven o'clock the next morning. It 
 was, of course, vital to the game that McArdle should not 
 go to the studio again, and, indeed, should be seen by no one 
 who knew him. Those who had seen and recognized him 
 after the time of Morrison’s arrest must be taken care of. If 
 they couldn’t be, the game was off. 
 
 But the game wasn’t off on that account, for McArdle had 
 been in his rooms all the evening and no one had come there. 
 He had dined at a cheap restaurant near, but that was four 
 hours before Morrison’s arrest. Clear sailing so far. The 
 money bargain was arranged after Spellman had lifted the 
 figure to the point where the temptation wrestled successfully 
 with McArdle’s fears. 
 
 As soon as Spellman had this nailed down he let Morrison _ 
 know by a prearranged signal—for he didn’t want to go 
 near him just then—and Morrison began to cut up in his 
 cell and cry and beg to see some one, as he wanted to con- 
 fess. In the inspector’s office it transpired that what he was 
 so anxious to tell them was not that he was guilty, but that 
 when arrested the night before he’d been so terrified for fear 
 his employers in Chicago would hear of it that he’d given 
 them a fictitious name; but now he realized that he’d got 
 to send word to the Essanay studios that he couldn’t get there 
 for his scene. You had to notify them. If you didn’t they’d 
 never give you another job. And would they please send 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 35 
 
 word for him to the Essanay? Couldn’t they say he’d been 
 in an automobile accident?—for if they knew up there that 
 he was in jail it would be the end of him. 
 
 He finally told them that his name was Walter McArdle, 
 that he’d lately come over from England, and that his occu- 
 pation was acting for the movies. He had no family and 
 the only people he knew were the Essanay managers who 
 engaged him, and a few of the actors in the company—and 
 those not very well. Morrison was an artist and pushed it 
 along the line of one of his pet roles. Everything tended to 
 show that the man was Walter McArdle. He later described 
 without effort or hesitation his lodgings on Rand Street and 
 everything in them (I don’t need to say that Spellman had 
 been there first), where to find his accounts, letters from 
 home, how many shirts he had, and so forth and so on. 
 
 He told them, in answer to questions, all about the picture 
 he’d been working in; you see Spellman had got everything 
 possible out of McArdle before he left. But his crook 
 artistry led to his instructing Morrison to make a slip or 
 two in places where a person with an ordinary memory 
 might not have been quite sure. Remembering too much is 
 often more dangerous than remembering too little. 
 
 McArdle, except in rare instances, was seen at the studio 
 in North Chicago only with his make-up on, and in these 
 tare instances it would be only for brief moments as he 
 passed in or out of the building on his way to and from 
 his dressing room. As a consequence those associated with 
 him in the picture—directors, photographers, electricians, 
 property men, and his fellow actors in the cast—were misled 
 by Morrison’s close resemblance, and testified to his being 
 
26 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 McArdle, and that he was at the studio occupied with his 
 work in the picture on the afternoon the robbery and assault 
 was committed. His entire familiarity with the piece they’d 
 been filming and incidents that happened during its prog- 
 ress—some, indeed, on the very afternoon of the arrest—had 
 great weight in the Essanay offices. 
 
 There were three persons whose evidence cost money, 
 owing to the fact that they knew McArdle too well for 
 Morrison to get by: the manager of the cheap restaurant 
 where the movie actor got his meals; the girl waitress at 
 the same place; and the actor who dressed in the same room 
 with him at the Essanay studios. Particularly the last. He 
 was a bit “fly” and saw that he had them. Also he wanted 
 his in advance. This mass of evidence, with much more— 
 such as that of the janitor of the building where McArdle 
 roomed and many minor things that had been attended to 
 —accomplished its purpose. No doubt existed that the police 
 had arrested the wrong man. The police themselves were 
 convinced of it. And the necessary formalities for his re- 
 lease having been gone through, Bill Morrison made his 
 getaway. 
 
 Not many days later Max Spellman did the same. 
 
 The collapse of the jerry-built structure that Spellman had 
 hastily thrown together for a rush showing, with its appar- 
 ently overwhelming evidence of mistaken identity, was de- 
 ferred several days longer than he expected. He waited on 
 the one-in-a-thousand chance that it might, after all, escape 
 destruction. But on the third day after Morrison had gone, 
 a strange car with a disguised Spellman in it disappeared 
 north of the Lake Boulevard, and Chicago saw him (as Spell- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 37 
 
 man) no more. The first weak point to give way was the 
 flapper waitress, who found it impossible to keep her mouth 
 shut about the money she’d been paid to do that very thing. 
 That started the crash. Proceedings for Spellman’s disbar- 
 ment swiftly followed. In addition it began to be said about 
 that he was “wanted.” But wanting was a matter of some 
 distance from getting. How could it be otherwise when 
 Spellman had ceased to exist? It was a plain case of trans- 
 migration of souls. The spirit that had tenanted the body of 
 Max Spellman now moved into that of Hugo Pentecost— 
 quite another proposition; and not differing alone because 
 of a dark and well-trimmed beard, giving him something the 
 appearance of a prosperous and experienced physician, but 
 owing as well to a number of other changes in form, shape, 
 expression, and more or less minor characteristics. 
 
 This metamorphosis, however, took time, and for months 
 nothing was known of the man undergoing it. Then some- 
 thing peculiar began to dawn on the Crooks’ and Malefac- 
 tors’ Guild. (You may as well call it that as anything.) 
 Two or three large operations engineered by some of the Big 
 Ones were mysteriously “tapped’”—which is to say, the 
 operators found themselves caught in a situation where they 
 had to give up a share or quit—otherwise it was the cooler. 
 It wasn’t a great while before word passed along that a peg 
 was playing them from the dark side. Whoever this super- 
 crook might be, he continued to stay in the gloom. When 
 he got the hook in his victim, his agent called, and it was 
 pay or get it in the neck. And as this came to be played on 
 them more and more they began putting a name to him— 
 “The Vulture.” 
 
38 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 It’s hardly necessary to call your attention to the fact that 
 the recently arrived Mr. Pentecost had a most extraordinary 
 equipment for the prosecution of such undertakings. Fully 
 acquainted, even before he took up the practice of law in 
 Chicago, with every phase of criminality, and familiar with 
 the methods and characteristics of those engaged in it, his 
 Spellman career brought to his hand all the weapons of 
 sharp practice and chicanery that the crafty and hazardous 
 defense of his underworld clients compelled him to use. 
 
 More than two years after Mr. Spellman’s disappearance, 
 Mr. Stephen Harker (not operating under that name at the 
 time) became suddenly aware that the talons of the offensive 
 bird recently spoken of had sunk themselves into him. But 
 a remarkable thing occurred. “The Vulture’ wanted to see 
 him. A meeting was arranged by an agent. Pentecost had 
 a few tried and tested assistants in his business whom he 
 liked to refer to as “‘trusties,” and this man was one of them. 
 A year later he had fifteen or twenty mostly planted in the 
 large cities throughout the country. These men were occu- 
 pied solely in assisting him about his own operations—he had 
 no idea of getting control of others and becoming a big boss 
 of criminality like those you read about. Nobody ever did 
 that anyway. 
 
 At the time he saw Harker he was beginning to have 
 schemes for some of the most daring operations that had 
 ever been conceived, and he’d got the idea that it would . 
 be a great advantage to work from the sound basis of a 
 partnership and an office and a high-class rating. 
 
 The thing was brought about, resulting in the firm of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 39 
 
 Harker & Pentecost, with a perfectly satisfactory standing 
 in the business world. Harker was the senior partner, but 
 Pentecost was the power plant, and as soon as Harker got 
 a gleam of the extraordinary sort of person it was who'd 
 picked him up, he didn’t want it any other way. The 
 running of the promoting schemes was left in his hands, 
 while Pentecost conducted operations that were sufficiently 
 dangerous and unusual to interest him. These affairs took 
 him to all parts of the country, and he quite frequently 
 spotted something in the way of a novelty that was more 
 or less in Harker’s department. He couldn’t so much as 
 glance at a thing without having a complete and, more often 
 than not, amazingly ingenious method of operating it flash 
 automatically through his mind. 
 
 They pegged along with a sort of team work for some time, 
 Pentecost running to operations with a higher and higher 
 - percentage of danger to them, and Harker running to a 
 higher and higher degree of anxiety on account of same, 
 for owing to the partnership, he was in on them too. Once 
 in a while he’d try to hook Pentecost back from something, 
 but he never succeeded, and as one after another of these 
 close-call enterprises got by—always, it turned out, pro- 
 tected by the most remarkable system of defensive lay-outs 
 ever seen—he quit talking about it. That big risk and pro- 
 tection game appeared to be Pentecost’s delight. Often it 
 would seem that he purposely played it as close as he could | 
 just to see them come up against his extraordinarily laid-out 
 safety systems. 
 
 He was over in Boston one summer (it was the third year 
 of the partnership), and had been there some five or six 
 
40 wey THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 weeks attending to a little affair he had going in that town. 
 Rather an ancient game it was, but he’d taken advantage 
 of conditions to rejuvenate it. “Fifty per cent in forty-five 
 days and pull out whenever you like,’ was the captivating 
 slogan set in circulation. All the boobs ask for is a new 
 excuse. If they can’t understand it, all the better—so long 
 as it has the sound of money. Pentecost had one for them 
 right fresh off the bat of the World War. “International 
 Postal Reply Coupons” was his, and it did the trick. After 
 the prompt payment of the forty-five days’ interest two or 
 three times, there was a rush. People blocked the corridors 
 of the office building where the headquarters of this hoary 
 but brought-up-to-date swindle were situated, and fought 
 for places in the line so they could get the chance to pitch 
 away their money. Over nine million five hundred thou- 
 sand was shaken out of socks and drawn out of savings banks 
 and pushed over to Pentecost—or rather to the dummy he’d 
 put in as manager, for of course he never appeared in it 
 himself. This dummy was an innocent, simple-minded Ital- 
 ian, or Italian-American, dug up by one of Pentecost’s men 
 and buzzed by two or three of them till he really came to 
 believe this “Postal Reply” business was a gorgeous and 
 legitimate undertaking. So enthusiastic about it did he be- 
 come that he set to work with something bordering on reli- 
 gious frenzy; and so completely did his favorable opinion of 
 the enterprise take possession of him that when, some time 
 later, the warning signal went up and Pentecost notified him 
 —through his trusties—to quit at once and he’d find a high- 
 powered car waiting for him at a certain place, the fellow 
 refused to budge. He was perfectly sure the Postal Reply 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 41 
 
 Coupons affair was a profitable and reputable undertaking, 
 and if the owners, whoever they were, were going to give it 
 up, he’d go on with it himself. He had clerks there who 
 knew the way torunit. It was in vain the two men who had 
 charge of him—the same two who’d been making a nightly 
 clean-up of the day’s receipts, transferring the amounts to 
 various banks in the distant cities—argued with him. 
 
 When Pentecost heard of the Italian’s crazy ideas he made 
 every possible effort to get him away. The simplicity and 
 innocence of the poor devil hit him in the one spot where he 
 was soft. But in this affair the time was too short. The 
 police pounced on the Italian before Pentecost’s men could 
 kidnap him, as they had orders to do. 
 
 The Sunday following, in his rooms at one of the hotels, 
 Mr. Pentecost had a stack of the morning papers and was 
 lazily running through the sensational accounts of the col- 
 lapse of the Postal Reply Swindle, with their graphic de- 
 scriptions of the arrest of the Italian supposed to have been 
 at the head of it—of his wild insistence that everything was 
 all right—of the frantic mob of investors fighting and 
 screaming for their money—together with the statenrents and 
 opinions of inspectors, district attorneys, financiers, Post 
 Office authorities and what not, on the various aspects of 
 the colossal fraud. It was a most amusing mess—one he’d 
 have enjoyed immensely if his crazy Italian hadn’t got the 
 hooks in him. He was sore as the devil about that. 
 
 As he carelessly turned the pages in other parts of one of 
 the huge Sunday editions, his eye was suddenly caught and 
 held by the heading of a full-page write-up in one of them, 
 which read: : 
 
ip THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 HERMIT INVENTOR OF WEST ROXBURY 
 
 MECHANICAL GENIUS SOLE OCCUPANT OF OLD CRIPPS 
 MANSION 
 
 MARVELOUS MACHINES BUT NO SALES 
 
 Pentecost had been lolling about in bathrobe and slippers, 
 but now he sat erect and read on rapidly. The article 
 strongly reinforced the notion he’d got from the headlines 
 that he might find something out there that would come in 
 nicely for Harker. His plan had been to leave for New 
 York on the “Merchants’ Limited” (that is, the Sunday train 
 running at that time on the “Merchants’” schedule), but he 
 decided to take one of the night expresses instead, so he 
 could get out to Roxbury and see what the fellow had. 
 
 The article spoke of the mansion as being on Torrington 
 Road, but gave no further indication of its locality, and even 
 at so early a stage of a barely possible chance, Pentecost 
 would no more have thought of making enquiries than of 
 swallowing rat poison. There were two or three pictures of 
 the house, and several of the mechanical genius himself, 
 which might help some. He took a taxi, dismounting as 
 soon as they reached Torrington Road. After paying the 
 fare and observing that the vehicle had safely disappeared 
 townward with no questionable hesitation, he walked up the 
 road. It was late in the afternoon and warm—the date being 
 precisely mid August. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost, as he thought he could, recognized the 
 old Cripps mansion from the newspaper illustrations. As he 
 walked up the weed-grown and rutted driveway there was 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 43, 
 
 nothing he failed to take in: the ruinous gateway at the 
 entrance with its great square posts—once painted white, 
 but now a streaked and dirty brown, and one of them con- 
 siderably off plumb; the neglected lawns with their tangles 
 of overgrown grass and weeds and ancient misguided shrub- 
 bery that had long since heeded the call of the wild; the old 
 elm trees clustered about the house and densely shading it; 
 and the mansion itself, much needing paint and repair, par- 
 ticularly as to the huge wooden columns supporting the roof 
 of a front portico two stories in height. 
 
 He saw, too, that the walls of the house were covered with 
 a heavy growth of Virginia creeper and that this vigorous 
 vine was massed thickly about most of the windows. An- 
 other thing he noticed was that several panes of glass were 
 broken out of the second-story window on the left under 
 the portico roof, and that the opening had been boarded 
 up on the inside. 
 
 He noted all these things without pause while approaching 
 the house, which was set at some distance back from the 
 road ; and after mounting the wide stone steps of the portico 
 and crossing it, he pressed the push button at the right of the 
 door. After waiting a little he gave it a more forceful shove. 
 Still getting no response, he was in the act of raising his 
 hand to the large and rusty knocker when the door was 
 quietly opened and a rather tall and exceedingly slender 
 young man stood before him in the dimness of the hall. 
 
PART IIL 
 
 NICP* people who knew the house supposed that 
 Michael Sutherland Cripps was the builder as well as 
 the owner and occupant of the Cripps Mansion, as it was 
 called, in the district of Boston popularly referred to as West 
 Roxbury, though in reality situated in the southwestern ex- 
 tension of Jamaica Plain. But most people were mistaken. 
 Mr. Cripps had, about middle life, made a pretty good 
 “deal”—for those days—when he suddenly got on to the 
 way things were going inthesuburbs and made a few choice 
 investments. As a result, he became what was then called 
 a millionaire. Of course he’d have been a mere piker now, © 
 but as he couldn’t read the future, he was well satisfied. 
 At last he could do something. And the first thing was to get 
 some sort of a family about him, 
 
 You see, this Cripps was naturally a lonely man—actually 
 suffered unless he had people in the house with him; and he 
 hadn’t had anybody since the death of his parents some years 
 before. 
 
 What I’ve said shows you that he had no family of his ~ 
 own—wife and all that. He wasn’t at all a woman hater, 
 but he was a merciless woman critic. Odd thing, too, for he 
 liked them first off, but every time he got within striking 
 distance of matrimony he saw what a tiresome thing it was 
 likely to be, and thereupon fled for his life. | 
 
 All the same, his ideal was to live in the midst of a family, 
 
 44, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 45 
 
 —to have about him those who would be company for him 
 and yet not have “claims” and things like that, that would 
 make life a wretched bore. 
 
 Now that he’d made his haul, his first thought was to ad- 
 vertise for a family to come and live with him. But really 
 nice people wouldn’t answer such an ad, and that was the 
 only kind he wanted. Along here the thought of his own 
 relatives occurred to him. That wasn’t a bad idea. He’d 
 get some of them to come. 
 
 His only near relative was a widowed sister, Cynthia Find- 
 lay, living with her two children in St. Louis. Mr. Cripps 
 had been supporting them for a number of years, both before 
 and after her husband—a poor, disreputable fish—died of 
 drink. She inherited nothing of value from Mr. Findlay 
 except his absence, which was priceless but couldn’t be turned 
 into money. She wouldn’t have parted with it, anyway. 
 
 He’d always liked Cynthia, and she’d had a tough life of it. 
 He’d have her as a starter for his adopted-family enterprise. 
 Yes, and the children would come in nicely, too. He’d 
 always heard that children kept things lively. Well, that was 
 the way he wanted them. 
 
 He had quite a lot of kin in the cousin line—mostly sec- 
 onds. A male one consented to accept his invitation—for a 
 _ time at least, and brought with him a sprightly wife and two 
 quite charming grown-up daughters. 
 
 Then there were two elderly ladies who might be called 
 cousins-in-law, one being the widow of a distant cousin and 
 the other her sister. He was delighted that they would come, 
 for they were witty and cheerful and level-headed. 
 
 And there were several youngish chaps in the remote dis- 
 tances of relationship. Cripps succeeded in getting two of 
 
46 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 them—one a second-rate sort of thing, the other a decent 
 young fellow who was temporarily out of a job and was 
 persuaded to try to find one in Boston. 
 
 That seemed to be about the limit of what he wanted. The 
 only children he drew were his sister’s two youngsters, 
 Dorothy and Augustus, nine and five years old, respectively. 
 
 After Mr. Cripps made sure he could get a decent lot to 
 come and be a family to him, he looked about for a satisfac- 
 tory place in which to establish it—and found it. One of the 
 finest old places of the time it was, out Roxbury way on 
 Torrington Road, and he picked it up at an extraordinary 
 bargain. 
 
 He had the house done over in various ways and every- 
 thing up to date, said date being back in the Nineties, but 
 they had a few things even in that benighted decade. Gas, 
 electricity, telephones, half a dozen bathrooms, a hot water 
 heating system, and a few little things like that, did him 
 very well. Fora couple of years or so he had to manage as 
 best he could with horses—but after that motor cars came 
 in. Movies, aeroplanes and radio he had to struggle along 
 without. But not knowing about them made the deprivation 
 less severe. 
 
 Michael Cripps was a good spender and was bound to have 
 the best of everything. A delightful host he was, too, revel- 
 ing in the consciousness that he was taking care of people— 
 giving them. a good time. Besides his adopted family, he’d 
 go out of his way to track down some unfortunate boyhood 
 friend, or some far distant relative who hadn’t done well, 
 and give him the time of his life. 
 
 So there he was, no longer suffering the—to him—hideous 
 nightmare of having to live alone in a desolate house, but 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 47 
 
 situated in a luxurious mansion, virtually in the country, yet 
 only a few miles from the violently beating heart of the town, 
 and surrounded by his own people, who turned out to be very 
 enjoyable company—some of them, indeed, quite charming. 
 
 All went well and pleasantly—if you leave out occasional 
 minor discords of small consequence—for quite some years. 
 But owing to the inroads of death, marriage, and desertion, 
 the population of the mansion decreased as time went on, 
 _and no way to recruit it to full strength occurred to Mr. 
 Cripps. His sister Cynthia died early in 1904 and was fol- 
 lowed by her daughter Dorothy a year and a half later. 
 Others of the household had crossed the line; then, too, a 
 couple of marriages had snatched their victims from the 
 fold; and a few of the members of this synthetic family 
 had departed for reasons of their own. 
 
 It had been quite a successful experiment as experiments 
 - go—morte so than you’d think; and there’s no denying that 
 old Cripps had got a lot of satisfaction out of it. But the 
 thing had been falling away from him piece by piece, and 
 finally his sister’s son Augustus was the only one left in the 
 house with him. The old man had had a good pull at it, but 
 here he was down to the last dreg—as you'd be likely to call 
 it if you were acquainted with that precious nephew of his. 
 
 Being the only near relative that old Mr. Cripps now had 
 on hand—or, indeed, had at all—it was generally supposed 
 that Augustus Findlay would inherit the mansion, together 
 with whatever else the old gentleman should die possessed of. 
 But all did not go well between the two and there were 
 times when gossip had it that the sporty young nephew 
 would lose out on the “give and bequeath” proposition if he 
 didn’t shove down the emergency brake on his behavior. 
 
48 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 It was surely a trying thing for Michael Sutherland 
 Cripps, with age and rheumatism already beginning to frolic 
 with him, and the most of his once big pile melted away— 
 or more truthfully pelted away, for during these years of 
 his family life he’d spent without limit—to have to associate 
 on intimate terms with a most objectionable brat of a nephew, 
 coming in nearly every night of his life fuddled with booze 
 —a cheap skate, and an unmitigated loafer in the real sense 
 of the word, for at the age of twenty-six never a thought of 
 earning his living had crossed his mind. Yet with all that 
 he wasn’t a bad looker—almost handsome in a dissipated sort 
 of way. And he could be charming on occasion. Women 
 appeared fascinated by him—that is, some women. He had a 
 high-class one on the line once and came near landing her, 
 but she found out in time, tore out the hook, and swam 
 away. 
 
 People wondered that old Cripps, whose violent tem- 
 per was known throughout the West Roxbury and Jamaica 
 Plains districts, was standing for that sort of thing in the 
 house with him day after day—night after night. But the 
 poor old boy had a reason for standing it—his absolute terror 
 of being left alone. Whatever else the presence of Augustus 
 did to him it saved him from that. 
 
 One afternoon late in October (it was 1910 by this time) 
 Mr. Cripps was in the attic of the mansion trying to find 
 something, when his glance happened to light on an old trunk 
 in which he’d been accustomed to put letters from people ac- 
 knowledging his delightful hospitality—a lazy way of keep- 
 ing a visitors’ book. Up to now he’d only once had occasion 
 to refer to these letters, and then merely to get an address. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 49 
 
 So long as the Present held out as an agreeable institution, 
 Cripps didn’t care a great deal about recollections of bygone 
 episodes. But of late the Present hadn’t been doing so well 
 by him, and the Past was beginning to exhibit symptoms of 
 attractiveness. One of these symptoms now manifested it- 
 self, drawing him so gently that he could hardly feel its pull, 
 toward the old trunk of letters. He found a crippled chair 
 in which he sat down before the thing and managed—with 
 some little difficulty—to raise the lid. 
 
 He'd been there nearly an hour, glancing at letters which 
 he picked up at random here and there, when he came upon a 
 little package of three tied together and addressed in a hand 
 he’d forgotten. But when he began to read one of them he 
 remembered. It was from a young girl who'd been visiting 
 there. | 
 
 More than eighteen years ago the first of the letters was 
 written. Pretty handwriting it was. Now he came to think 
 of it, he’d always liked her handwriting, whoever she was. 
 Glancing at the end, he found that she had signed herself 
 Iris. Oh yes, now he began to remember! Quite a—yes— 
 quite a charming little thing she was, too! By Jove yes! 
 And he’d come very near to—to His thoughts whirled 
 a little here, but they settled down again in a moment. What 
 was all this—he hadn’t married her, so why bother about 
 it? He couldn’t quite recall how she came to be visiting 
 there. Oh yes, now he remembered! She was a distant 
 relative—almost indescribably distant. One of those things 
 like second cousin of your brother-in-law’s first wife. And 
 that reminded him that he used to call her his cousin a thou- 
 sand times removed! It had been quite a joke between 
 them; and at one time he had come breathlessly near to 
 
50 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 wiping out the entire bunch of removals by making one little 
 suggestion—which, however, he never made. No, he never 
 made it, worse luck! Or was it worse? A sweet little thing 
 she was, and her name was—her name He’d forgotten 
 it again and glanced at the end of the letter. Oh, Iris—yes, 
 of course! Iris Heminway. He got her last name himself. 
 His dear little cousin, a thousand times removed. He 
 couldn’t think what ever became of her! Nothing in the 
 letter but what a perfectly lovely visit she’d had. Perhaps 
 the next one might have something. Postmark made it four 
 weeks later—no, five. He began to read. That was it— 
 just what he thought! Somebody has asked her to marry 
 him and she doesn’t know what to do. Wants to know what 
 he thinks of her marrying a machinist. Machinist! He 
 couldn’t recall what he’d answered. Most likely he’d told 
 her to go on and marry the entire machine shop if she felt 
 drawn to it! By George—now he thought of it, he did say 
 just that! Rotten beastly pride! Huffed that she’d spoken 
 of some one else—and there she was giving him the chance, 
 even though he’d never written to her in all that time! Prob- 
 ably doesn’t give the chap’s name. Yes—there it was— 
 Haworth! (Reading to himself from the letter): “His 
 name is Charlie Haworth. He’s a special kind of a machinist 
 and draughtsman and his home is in Montreal. I’m sure 
 he is a splendid fellow, but I thought I would like to ask 
 your advice about it.” 
 
 That was all. She didn’t say when or where, but just 
 wanted his advice. Well, he’d given it to her! 
 
 And here was the last letter—Canada stamp and Montreal 
 postmark. Yes, she’d married the machinist and gone up 
 there. Two years later the letter was, according to the post- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD : 51 
 
 mark. —Oh! Baby! That was it! (Reading again to 
 himself: “. . . wanted you to know, so I’m writing you the 
 first one. Of course we want his name to be from his father 
 —Charles—but I thought you wouldn’t mind if we called 
 his middle name after you, so it will be Charles Michael 
 Haworth.” 
 
 The old man sat there for quite a while, staring before 
 him. Then, rather suddenly, the thought came to him that 
 he might be able to find these people, especially that boy— 
 though of course he wouldn’t be a boy any longer. He'd 
 be along seventeen or eighteen, he should think. He looked 
 at the letter again. Montreal, and she gave the street ad- 
 dress ; but that was years ago. He might try it though, just 
 to see. Charles Michael Haworth. He rather liked the 
 name. 
 
 That evening he wrote a letter to the address given and 
 sent it out to the nearest mailbox. 
 
 But in the night he got to thinking the thing over so in- 
 tensely that sleep was impossible. It came to him then that 
 the letter business was a waste of time. He got nervous, 
 too, about the matter of death, the thought of which seldom 
 bothered him. And on top of everything his dissolute 
 nephew came lurching into the house about four-thirty in the 
 morning, banging the heavy front door after him so that 
 the building shuddered, careening against furniture, and 
 finally stumbling up the stairway, all the while emitting a 
 stream of disconnected profanity. 
 
 This was the finishing touch for old man Cripps. He 
 rolled himself out of bed and made one bull rush—in his 
 nightgown and bare feet—into the upper hall, meeting the 
 astonished inebriate near the head of the stairs, Seizing 
 
$2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 him by the collar with both hands, he shook him back and 
 forth, then dragged him bumping and rolling down the stairs, 
 through the great entrance hall, out of the front door, across 
 the entrance portico, and from there heaved him sprawling 
 into the roadway. 
 
 For one instant the enraged old man stood looking at the 
 dark mass lying there at the bottom of the steps, then turning 
 with a sudden start he charged back into the house and up 
 the stairs again and through the upper hall to his nephew’s 
 bedroom, where he seized with frenzied clutchings all the 
 clothing he could find in drawers, closets, on chairs, and on 
 the floor, which he forthwith pitched out through the door- 
 way into the hall, prancing back and forth across the room a 
 dozen times or more to do it. 
 
 Where the old gentleman got his wind for all this would 
 be a serious problem in physics and chemistry, for he was 
 heavily built, underexercised, and with a tobacco heart. Any- 
 way, he did it. 
 
 As soon as he’d cleared out everything he could find he 
 rushed out and down the hall to his own room, and shoved in 
 every bell push in the place, and kept on shoving until the 
 chauffeur came running up the stairs, followed by both maids 
 and the cook, and shortly after by the head gardener and his 
 ten-year-old son from their cottage near. All were clutch- 
 ing together such garments as they'd hastily snatched up 
 and thrown on over their night clothes. 
 
 Mr. Cripps had a fad for bells from his room to everyone 
 concerned. But it was the chauffeur he wanted this time, 
 and he yelled to him to get the car (it was 1910 by now, and 
 of course he had one) and take the blankety-blank carcass 
 of putrid hogwash at the bottom of the front steps an’ dump 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 53 
 
 it in the road—anywhere—any street—any road! Just get 
 the blankety-blank-blank-blank out of this place and his 
 clothes with him—that was all he asked! 
 
 “Here, you!” he shouted in a general way to the maids 
 and cook, “pitch those clothes out on top of him where Henry 
 can find ’em—that pile in front of his door! Take ’em all— 
 every damn stitch—you understand? Throw out everything 
 he’s got! Don’t leave a damn thing he ever touched!” (To 
 the chauffeur) “And when you’ve dumped the dirty loafer, 
 and his putrid stuff on top of him, a couple of miles down 
 the road, you come back and take me to town! North Sta- 
 tion is what I want! I'll be gone two or three days, and if 
 any of you people allow that dirty, foul-mouthed, booze- 
 soaked bum to crawl back into this house while I’m away 
 Pll fire the lot of you—take that from me!” 
 
 As in many instances, I can give you, in this one, only an 
 approximate idea of the language used. I had the testimony 
 of four persons who were witnesses of the scene, and the 
 only danger is that it lacks the proper amount of intensity 
 and force. If it isn’t clear what happened, just take it that 
 Augustus Findlay was thoroughly and effectually kicked out 
 of the house. 
 
 The servants, without exception, liked old man Cripps. 
 You could almost say they were fond of him. Their opinion 
 of Augustus I needn’t mention; so there wasn’t the slightest 
 danger that he’d get into the house again even if they had to 
 take turn and turn about in night watches to make sure of it. 
 
 The maids attended to the throwing out of the clothes 
 _ with a spirit that could only have been born of the great 
 enjoyment they took in the work, and the chauffeur did no 
 less when it came to his part of the job. After which he 
 
BAN THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 transported the old gentleman to the North Station, getting 
 him there in time for the morning train to Montreal. 
 
 Those three faded letters from Iris Heminway sent old 
 Mr. Cripps to Canada in the hope of finding her and her 
 husband and boy, and persuading them to come and live 
 with him. But after an hour on the train he began to 
 realize what an extremely off chance he had of succeeding in 
 his quest, with the meager amount of information in his pos- 
 session. They might have moved to another town—they 
 might even be dead. Many things can happen in eighteen 
 years. But now he’d started, he was going on with it! Well, 
 he should think so! 
 
 The following morning he began the search, and had no 
 difficulty in finding the address. It was a modest frame cot- 
 tage beginning to show its age. A large middle-aged woman 
 came to the door, and when Mr. Cripps explained that he 
 was trying to trace a family named Haworth which had 
 once occupied the house, she said at once, “Oh, I can tell 
 you that,” and asked him in. 
 
 In the little front room she said: “Charlie lives here with 
 me. Was it ‘im you was askin’ about?” 
 
 He was so dumfounded at coming upon the object of his 
 search at the very start that his “yes” was hardly audible. 
 Then he added, “And—and Mrs. Haworth and the boy?” 
 
 “It’s the boy as is ’ere, sir; there ain’t none of ’em left 
 but ’im.” 
 
 They sat down in the small room. 
 
 “You don’t—you don’t mean both of his parents are 
 dead !” | 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 55 
 
 “Yes, sir! ’Is mother she died about three years ago, an’ 
 is father quite a spell before that.” 
 
 “And the little boy’s been living here with you since?” 
 
 “Yes, sir, ’e ’as. But you'd ’ardly call ’im litile, sir; ’e’s 
 comin’ on to eighteen.” 
 
 “Yes yes—of course. I knew he must be grown up, but 
 in spite of that I couldn’t help thinking of him as a youngster. 
 Is he—is he a nice boy? All right and—and straight—and 
 good habits.?” 
 
 “Indeed ’e is—a dear boy—but ’e’s a bit strange; an’ I 
 ’opes, sir, if you ’ave any influence with ’im, you'll try if you 
 ean’t do something about it.” : 
 
 “Influence! But my God! I’ve never seen him, 
 Mrs. ie 
 
 “’Towse, sir.” 
 
 “Well, you see, Mrs. Towse, I don’t know the boy at all, 
 and what’s more I doubt if he ever heard of me. So what 
 I might say would hardly count with him, would it?” 
 
 “Of course,’ Mrs. Towse said, “if you don’t know ’im you 
 couldn’t do anything just yet, but after you get acquainted 
 ’e might listen to you.” 
 
 “What seems to be the matter?” Mr. Cripps inquired. 
 The devastating fear had come upon him that it might be an- 
 other case of Augustus, 
 
 “Tt’s the way ’e was born, I suppose. ’E’s got so many 
 ideas of ’is own that ’e can’t go along satisfactory with w’at 
 you might call reg’lar work. W’y, ’e’d be a first-class ma- 
 chinist drawin’ good pay, but ’e’s so full o’ plans an’ ideas 
 for this an’ that, ’e don’t seem to keep ‘is mind on anything 
 they put ’im to.” 
 
56 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Mr. Cripps inquired if the young man was doing anything 
 just now. 
 
 “Mercy on us! Why, we can’t ’ardly get ’im ’ome for ’is 
 meals, ’e’s that taken up with *is invention work; but the 
 thing ’e gets to workin’ on don’t never seem to be w’at people 
 want.” 
 
 “What kind of things are they?” 
 
 “W’y, there’s all sorts. °E gets an idea an’ then nothin’ 
 can stop ’im—no matter wether it’s somethin’ worth 
 botherin’ with or not. Some o’ the best men in Smith an’ 
 Gaynor’s—that’s w’ere his father use to work—they say 
 ’e’s got a wonderful invention faculty an’ Mr. Gaynor ’imself 
 said it just after ’e’d been lookin’ over a clock Charlie made. 
 It took ’im nigh to a year to finish it. Mr. Gaynor said the 
 boy ’ad some kind o’ new an’ un’eard-of escapin’ thing I 
 b’lieve they called it, that no one had ever seen or thought of 
 before.” 
 
 “Wouldn’t it sell?” 
 
 “Not at first it wouldn’t, but w’en ’e’d ’most given it up a 
 Mr. Patterson ’appened to come along an’ offered ’im two 
 *undred dollars for it an’ a patent on the new escapin’ thing, 
 an’ Charlie took it. That might sound good enough for a 
 clock, but it ain’t no pay w’en you comes to consider eleven 
 months’ work, not to speak of what ’e’d ’ad to buy to make 
 it of. But mercy! I didn’t ’ave any expectation it would 
 sell! I don’t see what anyone in their senses would want of 
 such a thing around the house, tickin’ that powerful you 
 could hear it ’alf a block, an’ strikin’ different sorts’ bells an’ 
 chimes, an’ cuckoos singin’, an’ sun an’ moon risin’ an’ settin’, 
 an’ ships rockin’, an’ folks comin’ in an’ out with umbrellas, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 57 
 
 an’ all. I don’t see how people can get any sleep with all 
 them things goin’ on!” 
 
 “Where is he, Mrs. Towse? Not here. I suppose?’ 
 
 “Wy, just now ’e’s workin’ over to Rawlingson’s Garage 
 on Westover Street. They took ’im in there to help on repair 
 work, an’ as soon as ’e gets to dreamin’ they dock ’is time. 
 You see, it was the on’y way to manage. But o’ course in a 
 big place like Smith an’ Gaynor’s they couldn’t trouble with 
 no such things.” 
 
 Mr. Cripps learned that the elder Haworth had succumbed 
 to an attack of pneumonia some five years previously, and 
 that his fragile little wife had outlived him only a year and a 
 half. The Smith & Gaynor people, where the elder Haworth 
 had been employed so long, were more than generous, sup- 
 porting Mrs. Haworth and the boy as long as she lived, 
 and after her death doing everything possible to give young 
 Charlie a good start as a machinist, which seemed to be the 
 only line of work he wanted to undertake. They apprenticed 
 him through their shops, finding that he was the master of 
 every machine in the place—as well as the drafting room 
 and foundry—in an incredibly short time. But when it came 
 
 to regular employment, nothing could be done with him. His 
 inability to hold his mind to the work in hand after it had 
 been swept by one of his inventive brain storms was abso- 
 lute. After many efforts to overcome this difficulty they 
 finally had to give it up and let the young man go. 
 
 Following that he picked up stray jobs here and there, 
 handing over whatever he earned to Mrs. Towse, who 
 -mothered him along, even buying his clothing for him when 
 she judged that it was necessary. 
 
58 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Mrs. Towse had gone to the garage to get him, and the 
 old gentleman waiting in the small front room felt his heart 
 pounding most unusually—he couldn’t imagine why. He'd 
 never set eyes on the boy. How could he be so disturbed 
 over the question of the kind of boy he’d prove to be? At 
 last Mrs. Towse, breathing hard, came briskly into the room, 
 followed by a boyish-looking young man with a pale face 
 and steady brown eyes. 
 
 “Ere ’e is, sir! This is Charlie Haworth!” 
 
 The two shook hands, Haworth with his serious, steady 
 gaze on the older man. 
 
 “Come now, Mrs. Towse” (from Mr. Cripps, smiling), 
 “you didn’t give him his full name. You may not know it, 
 Mr. Haworth, but your middle name is Michael and you owe 
 it, in a certain sense, to me.” | 
 
 The young fellow nodded slightly without taking his eyes 
 off Mr. Cripps. He was a trifle above medium height and 
 rather slim, with a delicate sort of face smooth shaven. 
 His hair was dark but not black. He wore “jumpers” over 
 his regular clothes, and his hands, notwithstanding that Mrs. 
 Towse had made him wash them, were soiled with what 
 would not come off. The most noticeable thing about him 
 was .a sort of innocent childlikeness in the steady, serious 
 gaze of his luminous brown eyes. When they were turned 
 toward a person who spoke or was spoken of, they rested on 
 him for some little time, giving the impression, not of staring, 
 but of calmly reflecting on what he saw or what the person 
 was or had been saying. 
 
 They talked a little, Haworth answering with quiet and 
 simple directness when asked about his work ana what, in 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 59 
 
 the way of inventions, was particularly interesting him at 
 the present moment. 
 
 It proved to be what is known as a “time stamp’—a de- 
 vice for printing the exact hour and minute of the day on 
 workmen’s cards as they passed in and out of factories, or on 
 letters and such things in offices and hotels. These machines 
 must carry a movable printing mechanism that is controlled 
 by clockwork. 
 
 “Ts that a new idea?” Cripps asked. 
 
 “No. I’m making one on a new principle, that’s all.” 
 
 “T see—new principle. And it'll be a better one than the 
 old, of course?” 
 
 “Well, I'll like it better, anyway,” Haworth answered, with 
 a shadowy smile, the first Mr. Cripps had seen on his serious 
 face, and he was struck by the way it lighted it up for the 
 brief time it was there. A moment of silence followed. 
 Then Haworth, serious again, asked in a low voice, “Is your 
 name Michael?” 
 
 ““Yes—Michael Cripps.” 
 
 “My mother told me. She spoke of you once in a while.” 
 
 Mr. Cripps was silent a moment, quite moved. 
 
 “T was looking over some letters,’ he soon resumed, “and 
 came across the one she wrote telling me she’d given you the 
 Michael out of my name, and it—well, I had a sudden feeling 
 that I—that I’d very much like to see you—and—and her too 
 if such a thing had been possible.” 
 
 Another silence, then, “Did you bring the letter ?”” Haworth 
 _ asked. 3 
 
 “Why, yes. I’ve got it over at the hotel.” He read the 
 eagerness in the young man’s eyes and went on: “Perhaps 
 
60 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 you'll drop in there this evening. There’s that letter and 
 two others. Do come. Id like to have a little chat.” 
 
 After a few seconds, while his steady calm eyes rested on 
 the old man, Haworth spoke. 
 
 “T will,” he said. 3 
 
 “Good,” said Mr. Cripps. And not long after—for he 
 knew the value of brevity in such a case, he shook hands 
 with both of them and told Haworth where he was staying. 
 He went on foot the entire distance to the hotel, vastly en- 
 joying a shadowy revisitation of the feeling known as tread- 
 ing on air. 
 
 The old fellow was captivated with the young one. So 
 much so that a painful dread took possession of him that he 
 might not be able to persuade him to leave Montreal, which 
 was his home, and where, undoubtedly, all the friends he 
 had were living. Young Haworth, he was certain, knew 
 little about money and cared for it even less; for which rea- 
 son no pecuniary advantages he (Cripps) could hold out 
 would be likely to attract him. 
 
 It was Mr. Ralph Gaynor of the Smith & Gaynor Ma- 
 chine Works, who gave Mr. Cripps the most light on Ha- 
 worth’s characteristics as to pecuniary matters, his genius 
 for invention, and his inability to do steady work. This 
 Mr. Gaynor, who was head of the works, thought young | 
 Haworth was hopeless. He could learn all right. Good 
 God! the boy was a marvel when it came to that! He'd 
 know more about a machine inside of two days than a man 
 they’d had on it for years. But when it came to steady work 
 he just couldn’t do it. Not but what he tried his best, but 
 his mind would get off on something else and you can’t leave 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 61 
 
 big lathes and complicated drill presses with anybody like 
 that. 
 
 “O’ course I lit into him and gave it to him right from 
 the shoulder,” Mr. Gaynor said, “but it didn’t do any good. 
 Then I fired him, and he’d sure have starved if that Towse 
 woman hadn’t gone on feeding him for nothing—which she 
 couldn’t afford to do. Then we took him back an’ tried him 
 with a helper to watch him, but even that wouldn’t work 
 when he got one of his real inventing fits on him. So we had 
 to give him up. Fond of the boy too, but there’s a limit.” 
 
 “What do you think of his talent—his inventive faculty?” 
 
 “Well, Pll tell you. There isn’t any doubt but what he’s 
 got a lot in him for new mechanical methods, but he can’t 
 get anywhere with it because he hasn’t got the faintest con- 
 ception of what people want. And telling him’s no good. 
 You might as well tell a rooster to lay eggs. Of course he 
 might hit on a winner by accident. That happens with these 
 dreamy chaps once in a while, but the big guns like Edison, 
 Marconi, and that lot know what they’re about every minute, 
 an’ what’s more they never forget it. Now you must excuse 
 me. There’s a new man on that third lathe down there I’ve 
 got to keep an eye on. Glad to see you. Welcome to look 
 through the shop if you care for such things. Good day.” 
 And Mr. Gaynor hurried out of his office. 
 
 Mr. Cripps ran a carefully managed campaign to bring 
 about the capture, as you might put it, of Charles Michael 
 Haworth, and he ran it well; for there’s no denying that he 
 was a man of judgment. And at once appreciating the seri- 
 ous limitations on what would attract the young man, he 
 came down without delay to pushing one thing—the advan- 
 
62 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 tage of having a shop of his own, with whatever machines 
 and room he required. 
 
 He played up to this with extreme caution, not speaking of 
 it at all when Haworth called upon him that first evening, and 
 only hinting at such a possibility during their next interview 
 the day after. The third time they met, which was at the 
 garage where Haworth was employed, he expressed curiosity 
 as to whether young Haworth would care for a place where 
 he could experiment and do what he pleased. 
 
 It appeared that young Haworth would; and soon there- 
 after Cripps brought in casually that, now he came to think 
 of it, he had rather a good place for a shop where he lived— 
 a large and airy sort of basement. Wouldn’t Haworth like 
 to come along and try it, just to see how it would go? He 
 needn’t stay if he didn’t like it. Just call it a visit or some- 
 thing like that. He, Mr. Cripps, would be delighted to 
 have him there—that is, of course, if he’d care for such a 
 thing. 
 
 The young fellow sat thinking for quite a time. Finally 
 he looked up, and his eyes rested softly on old Cripps’s face 
 as he asked in his quiet and serious way, “What kind of 
 power could we have?” And old Cripps knew that the game 
 was his. 
 
 A small trunk held all of Haworth’s personal belongings, 
 but two crates were required for the shipping of his mechani- 
 cal devices that he couldn’t leave behind. 
 
 Old Cripps was on edge for the few days following their 
 arrival, fearing the boy would be disappointed or lonely, 
 perhaps even homesick ; the mansion itself, now that he came 
 to figure how it might affect the young man, seemed hid- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 63 
 
 eously vast and hopelessly dismal—the huge high-ceilinged 
 roonis, the empty echoing halls, the whole place gloomy and 
 overcast from the great elms standing close about. 
 
 But the young man appeared to notice nothing of all these 
 things; on the contrary, he fell in quietly and easily with the 
 methods and habits of the diminutive household. 
 
 The large basement room he was to have for a shop was 
 thoroughly cleaned and double flooring laid. It was ceiled 
 and painted white; electric lights were installed, and an 
 electric motor for power. Old Cripps had a mechanical ex- 
 pert come out to go over with Haworth the matter of the 
 various machines and apparatus required, and insisted that 
 every one of them must be of the best and most modern 
 type. A lathe, a shaper, two drill presses, and an emery 
 wheel were put in at the time; some months later another 
 lathe for larger work was added. Also there was a bench 
 with vises, and all the small tools and accessories necessary 
 to complete a machine shop. 
 
 Opening off the main room was a smaller one with the 
 fittings for a drafting room, and a large rough-boarded-off 
 space in the ell of the basement was cleared out for the 
 finished machines and inventions and working models that 
 Haworth desired to store there. These came from Mon- 
 treal (after infinite trouble with the customs) and were set 
 up in this place. Altogether the little plant was quite com- 
 plete in all important particulars, and thereafter it was 
 always delightful to Mr. Cripps to add to its equipment at 
 _ the slightest hint from Haworth. For the old man was more 
 and more taken with the young one as the days went by. 
 Haworth’s gentle and charming personality, his quiet sin- 
 
64 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 cerity and straightforwardness, were singularly appealing. 
 But added to this for old Cripps was the effect of the vast 
 contrast between this clean, simple-minded, almost childlike 
 young fellow and the dissolute loafer of a nephew he had so 
 long endured. 
 
 It was an odd little household, the two composing it differ 
 ing so greatly in their ages, tastes, and temperaments, yet 
 living in that vast and gloomy mansion in perfect harmony 
 and content, neither of them saying much, yet thoroughly 
 enjoying each other’s company. 
 
 Mr. Cripps became intensely interested in the young fel- 
 low’s work, too, appreciating enthusiastically the extraordi- 
 nary ingenuity of his devices and altogether overlooking the 
 drawback which they invariably seemed to have of not being 
 in the line of popular demand. He had application made— 
 in Haworth’s name of course—for patents on several of the 
 most important. And when notice came from Washington 
 that patents had been allowed, the old gentleman fell to danc- 
 ing and prancing about like a rheumatic schoolboy, Haworth 
 standing silent but smiling serenely at him as he careened 
 ponderously about the room. 
 
 They had three years and four months of this life together, 
 and then the summons came for the old man. Some sort of 
 stroke, I think; but no matter—it did for him. Not at once, 
 but the next thing to it. A couple of days or thereabouts. 
 He tried to tell Haworth something about the property be- 
 fore he went, but couldn’t manage it. The young man sat 
 silent and looked at him wide-eyed like some timid animal, 
 distressed and fearful. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 65 
 
 Everything was left to Haworth. This included the house 
 and grounds—on which there was a mortgage—and a few 
 thousand dollars in the bank, doubtless the remnant of the 
 money so obtained. That was all, of value. Quite an enor- 
 mous lot of worthless stocks, mostly pune, were found in 
 his safe-deposit boxes. 
 
 Henry P. Trescott, who had been old Cripps’s legal ad- 
 viser, attended to matters connected with the will, and if it 
 hadn’t been for his suggestions Haworth would never have 
 thought of cutting down the expenses of the establishment. 
 He did what Trescott advised—discharged all the servants 
 except the cook and one maid, closed the entire north side 
 of the house, and had the telephones and more than half 
 the electric-light bulbs removed. It isn’t likely Haworth 
 would have consented to these economies but for Trescott’s 
 assurance that if he didn’t it would be but a brief time 
 before he’d have to give up the house and all that it con- 
 tained. The lawyer at first advised selling the place, but 
 to that Haworth wouldn’t agree. The house itself didn’t 
 matter so much—it was the shop and all his things down 
 there, and the quiet surroundings. 
 
 Trescott also looked over Haworth’s work and occasionally 
 sent out people who might be interested. But no one was. 
 And after a time the young inventor grew to dislike having 
 people come, knowing so well that they’d go away again 
 with awkward regrets for having troubled him. One day 
 when a caller was announced, he sent word by the maid that 
 he was busy and couldn’t see anyone. The result was so 
 gratifying that soon he came to rely on this expedient alto- 
 gether. Thereafter he led a perfectly quiet and uninter- 
 rupted existence, devoting himself to the work he loved, 
 
66 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 undisturbed by events of any kind. The loss of his generous 
 and sympathetic companion had affected him deeply, and 
 often he was beset with an aching loneliness. But always 
 he could retreat into the safe sanctuary of mechanics—the 
 perfect absorption in his inventive pursuits—where loneliness 
 and grief were successfully held at bay. 
 
 His time was mostly spent in his shop or drafting room, 
 but he liked to walk when there were problems on his mind. 
 He had certain places for certain kinds of problems: along 
 a near-by section of railroad track, for one; a lonely little 
 path in a patch of woods and weeds and bushes about a mile 
 down the road, for another, and so on. Franklin Park 
 wouldn’t do at all, for he was likely to meet people there; as 
 to that, so would he on the railroad, but there it would only 
 be men, and the sort he didn’t mind—working chaps, ma- 
 chinists, engineers, switchmen, and trainmen on the way 
 to work or home from it. 
 
PART IV 
 
 ONE late April afternoon—a chilly dismal day it had been, 
 with a drizzle of rain—the maid knocked at his work- 
 room door, and when he’d shut down the power on the drill 
 he was using, she told him a lady and gentleman were at the 
 door asking to see him, and they didn’t give any name. 
 
 “Busy, he answered mechanically, and was turning back 
 to his work. 
 
 “Excuse me sir, but the gentleman said, though you 
 wouldn’t know him, he’s a near relative of old Mr. Cripps as 
 used to live here.” 
 
 “Oh!” (Long pause.) “Relative.” 
 
 Aves sit.” 
 
 “Lady with him, you say?” 
 
 “Yes sir, there is.” This maid, whose name was Hulda, 
 had been there only a few weeks. 
 
 After a long consideration of the matter, turning it this 
 way and that in his mind, Haworth abandoned hope of find- 
 ing some way out of it, and told the maid to show them into 
 the hall and say he’d come soon. He got out of his jumpers, 
 washed his hands, and went upstairs. 
 
 Both the man and woman rose as he came toward them 
 from the rear hall. The man stepped forward a little. 
 
 “Mr. Haworth?” 
 
 eS 
 
 “It’s very kind of you to see us, but perhaps you wouldn’t 
 
 67 
 
68 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 have done it if I’d sent in my name. I thought it was only 
 right to give me a chance to explain.” 
 
 Haworth’s calm brown-eyed gaze was upon the man. “Ex- 
 plain what?” he asked, softly—almost timidly. 
 
 “You'll know well enough when I tell you that I’m Au- 
 gustus Findlay. ... Yes, I’m Augustus Findlay,” he re- 
 peated, as the first announcement of the fact appeared not 
 to have produced the effect expected, “an’ I’m not ashamed 
 to own it!” 
 
 “What did you want to see me about?” 
 
 “That’s just what I expected! Just it, by God! It’s what 
 I looked for, to be treated as a stranger!” And turning to 
 his companion who was standing a little back of him, 
 “Didn’t I tell you how it would ber” And to Haworth: “Of 
 course the old man poisoned your mind against me. What 
 else could you expect? He never had a kind word for me, 
 Mr. Haworth—not one! It was pure animosity and hatred 
 —and he my uncle, too!” 
 
 Haworth regarded him calmly for a moment. 
 
 “Who is your uncle?” he finally asked. 
 
 “Aw, what’s the good o’ pretending you don’t know who 
 I mean! Pretty rank that is, if you ask me!” 
 
 And then, as Haworth said nothing in the pause allotted 
 to him, he went on in a loud and blatant tone: “It’s old man 
 Cripps I’m talking about—the one you’ve been living with 
 for the last three or four years until he died and left you all 
 his money—an’ this place along with it, I suppose!” 
 
 “T’m sorry,’ Haworth murmured. And then, after a pause, 
 “Did he know about you?” 
 
 “Know about me!’ Findlay turned back to the young 
 woman with a bitter laugh. “That’s pretty neat now, isn’t 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 69 
 
 it? ... Why,” (to Haworth) “I lived here in the house 
 with him all my life until just before you came along! All 
 my life by God!’ 
 
 “And—you went away then ?” 
 
 “Well, I didn’t exactly—I didn’t so much You ain’t 
 kiddin’ me, are you? Didn’t he ever tell you about it?” 
 
 Haworth shook his head slightly. 
 
 “Well” (turning to his companion) “can you beat that? 
 The old man was Oh, I beg your pardon! This is my 
 wife, Edith. Mr. Haworth—Mr. Charles Haworth, I be- 
 lieve it is!’ The girl—for she was only that—put out her 
 hand timidly and Haworth took it. 
 
 “Now we haven’t come here as beggars, Mr. Haworth. I 
 said to Edith we’d never do a thing like that. Didn’t I say 
 it?’ turning to his girlish wife. 
 
 She shook her head almost imperceptibly and glanced down 
 in evident distress. 
 
 “No, I should think not!’ He, in a measure, answering 
 for her. “Don’t run away with the idea we’re that kind! 
 Never more mistaken in your life!” And Findlay went on, 
 becoming rather loud about it. “Far from it! We're not 
 that sort! But I'll say this much, Mr. Haworth,—that mat- 
 ters haven’t gone right with us for some little time. No, 
 they haven’t, and that’s a fact! We've certainly been up 
 against it at every turn of the cards and we're pretty close 
 to being up against it now.” 
 
 Haworth’s eyes were steadily on Augustus as he talked. 
 Only once did they shift for an instant to the girl. 
 
 “Now I wouldn’t go to any stranger,” Findlay went on; 
 “no, not even to an ordinary friend you know,—for—ah— 
 for advice at such a time. But I lived here all my life, an’ 
 
70 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 owing to blind prejudice an’ slander—that’s what it was, 
 Mr. Haworth—I lost out on the will. Everything went to 
 you. God knows I don’t complain of that! But in a time 
 of trouble like this it seems only proper and decent to come 
 to you for advice.” : 
 
 Haworth spoke after a little pause. “Advice?” (Almost 
 in a whisper). 
 
 “Yes, Mr. Haworth, that’s what I want! I need some one 
 to tell me what to do, for I don’t know which way to turn. 
 Of course, if out of the fullness of your heart you can—help 
 us a little—just till I get on my feet e 
 
 He broke off to give Haworth a chance to say something, 
 but the young inventor did not speak. 
 
 “Why it’s as bad as this, Mr. Haworth, though I hate like 
 hell to tell you! We haven’t actually—we haven’t actually 
 any idea where we're going to sleep to-night! That’s God’s 
 truth!” 
 
 “There’s plenty of room here,’ Haworth murmured in a 
 low voice. 
 
 “Why, but you I—I’d no idea of such a 
 dear, do you hear that?” 
 
 The girl smiled a little doubtfully, and looked at Haworth. 
 
 Augustus went right along piling words on top of Ha- 
 worth’s implied offer as if hoping to bury it so deep it 
 couldn’t be withdrawn. 
 
 “My God! but that’s a great relief! You’ve no idea! It’s 
 certainly splendid of you, Mr. Haworth! You really mean 
 we can put up here with you for a bit? Wouldn’t make you 
 trouble for the world or impose on your kindness, but if—if 
 you can manage it—just till I get on my feet again—lI can’t 
 tell how much—how i 
 
 Edith 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 71 
 
 “Come upstairs,’ Haworth said, “and see which room 
 you'd like.” He led the way to the floor above. 
 
 The large room at the front of the house on the south side 
 (the north side wasn’t in use, you'll remember) was finally 
 decided upon for the Findlays. Haworth occupied a smaller 
 one quite a distance back on the same corridor. There were 
 several rooms and two or three bathrooms between. 
 
 _ When they came down he took them into the living room— 
 that is to say, the room he used as such. It was a vast 
 panelled apartment with a marble mantel and fireplace, and 
 had been the dining room back in the old Cripps days. 
 The chamber chosen by Augustus for the use of his wife 
 and himself was directly above the front part of it. 
 
 Findlay now began a long recital of his misfortunes, tell- 
 ing with acrimony how he’d lost this position and that, 
 always through no fault of his own. Now and then he 
 managed to bring in references to his uncle, all tending to 
 impress one with the idea that he had been most unjustly 
 treated. 
 
 Haworth’s steady gaze, not for an instant leaving his face 
 as he talked on, began to disturb Augustus. It gave him the 
 feeling of being under calm and critical observation—which, 
 in fact, he was. So before he’d gone far in his pathetic nar- 
 tative he began to stumble about and lose track of what he 
 was saying, and finally he rose suddenly, announcing that 
 he’d completely forgotten about their trunks, which were at 
 the South Station—for it seemed they had come in from 
 somewhere—and he’d go and bring them out if Mr. Haworth 
 
 didn’t mind. 
 
 Mr. Haworth didn’t mind at all and said so, and Findlay 
 got his coat and haf and was just going out of the front door 
 
72 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 when he suddenly stopped, remembering something. Then 
 he called back into the room asking Haworth if he could 
 come out there just a moment—he’d like to speak to him. 
 
 “Awfully sorry, old chap,” he said in a carefully lowered 
 voice when they were at the door together, “but could you— 
 ah You see I—I’m ashamed to say I haven’t got 
 enough to pay an expressman. If I can once get the trunks 
 out here we'll be all right—if you don’t mind giving me a 
 bit of a loan for that.” 
 
 “T see,” said Haworth, and he turned and went upstairs. 
 
 The moment he was out of sight Augustus stepped quickly 
 to the door of the living room, and putting his head in, 
 spoke to his wife in a sharp half whisper: “No monkey busi- 
 ness now! If you give away anything you'll be sorry for 
 it!” And hearing steps near the top of the stairs he was 
 instantly back at the front door again, waiting. 
 
 Haworth came down with a ten-dollar bill which he 
 handed to Findlay, and the latter thanked him effusively 
 and left the house. Haworth stood for a moment in thought, 
 then went back into the living room, Edith Findlay looked 
 up at him as he came in, and he stopped with his eyes on 
 her, seeing that she was going to speak. 
 
 But it seemed hard for her to do so. 
 
 “Oh, I’m sorry!” she finally said in a sort of breathless 
 whisper. 
 
 He thought it over and then said, ‘Why ?” 
 
 “T didn’t want to come—lI tried to stop him.” Her voice 
 had a soft huskiness that was strangely appealing. Her 
 glance flitted painfully about the room, and she turned to 
 him again. 
 
 “Tt’ll be so terrible for you!” 
 
Po SOD cou ALE yal) Raa MNS a naa an a 
 ON TORRINGTON ROAD Ca ae 
 
 “You needn’t worry about me,” he said quietly, his eyes 
 resting softly on her face. 
 
 “T can’t help it. I No!” She suddenly stood up. 
 “We mustn’t stay, Mr. Haworth. I'll find him and tell 
 him so!” | 
 
 “Don’t do that,” he said. 
 
 “Oh, but I Mr. Haworth you—you don’t under- 
 stand!” 
 
 “Not very well,—but you'll tell me I hope... . No,— 
 sit down first—this chair.” And as he moved nearer she 
 sank into the old upholstered chair he indicated. 
 
 “Where could you go?” he asked as he stood before her. 
 
 “Oh ”” She waved her hand as if such a matter was 
 of no consequence. ‘“That’s—that’s nothing!” 
 
 “Nothing for him perhaps, but ——”’ He broke off, look- 
 
 ing down into her upturned eyes. 
 A little spasmodic shiver passed over her. Haworth 
 stepped quickly to the fireplace where wood and kindlings 
 were ready laid. He knelt there, lighting a match and hold- 
 ing it to the shavings and small splinters. 
 
 She seemed somehow like a child, sitting there so small and 
 demure in the big armchair. A child in distress, for from 
 her face you’d hardly think she’d had any sleep for a week, 
 and her dress was pitifully worn and shabby. 
 
 As Haworth was kneeling at the fireplace he turned to ask 
 her something. The quick flaming of the shavings and small 
 stuff threw a bright light on her poor little run-over shoes. 
 He stopped motionless looking at them, then leaned over 
 _ without getting to his feet and touched one. At once he rose 
 and walked around behind her chair, which he pushed and 
 turned until her feet were as near the fire as he thought 
 
74 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 would do. Then he pushed an electric button near the door. 
 
 “You may not know it,” he said as he stood waiting, “but 
 you're going to drink some hot tea—something near two 
 hundred and twelve in the shade. Also, you’re going to have 
 dry things for your feet, even if you have to shuffle about in 
 something of mine!” | 
 
 The maid came and he told her to make tea—the hottest 
 kind she ever heard of—and to bring things with it—toast 
 or whatever it was—she knew. Then he went on to ask 
 what she could do about footwear for Mrs. Findlay, who 
 was cold and wet and also very tired; and wouldn’t Hulda 
 please take charge of her and arrange things satisfactorily? 
 
 Hulda said she thought she could manage if the lady 
 wouldn’t mind wearing some of her things, and Haworth 
 said he was sure she wouldn’t—and over his shoulder toward 
 Edith, “You wouldn’t, would you?” And he saw the top 
 of her little round hat above the back of the chair shaking 
 slightly for “no” and heard a very faint sniffle, and told 
 Hulda it would be all right. Upon which the maid departed 
 to attend to everything. 
 
 Haworth stood uncertain a moment, for the first sniffle 
 had alarmed him, as he realized that he wouldn’t have an 
 idea what to do if Mrs. Findlay was actually crying. He 
 earnestly hoped she wasn’t, yet had a fairly trustworthy intu- 
 ition that such a thing was at that moment transpiring ; and 
 it occurred to him that if this was so, the correct and possi- 
 bly even the noble behavior might be to go away and leave 
 her. On the other hand, something might be seriously the 
 matter, and probably was, otherwise why should such a thing 
 be going on? 
 
 This latter seemed the most sensible view, and on arriving 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 75 
 
 at it he went over very quietly and stood by the marble man- 
 tel, which brought him quite near and almost in front of her. 
 
 She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief every now 
 and then, and as the firelight flickered on the hand that was 
 doing it, he couldn’t help seeing that it was a perfect dear 
 of a little hand. He didn’t understand how he could be 
 thinking of this at such a time, when she was in evident dis- 
 tress; but for a moment he couldn’t think of anything else. 
 And the diminutive wad of crumpled handkerchief,—also 
 the wet and worn-out little shoes, appealed to him in some 
 peculiar way that brought on, deep down in his system, an 
 almost unbearable ache. 3 
 
 Suddenly she looked up at him. 
 
 “Do you know what I ought to do?” 
 
 He shook his head as he stood looking down at ner. 
 
 “T ought to run out of the house this—this very instant.” 
 
 She glanced anxiously about as if meditating flight, which, 
 in fact, she was. 
 
 “What for?” Haworth asked. 
 
 “For you,” she said. 
 
 The shadow of a smile passed over Haworth’s face. 
 
 “That wouldn’t do me any good.” 
 
 “Oh, it would—it would!” she cried out. “Because our 
 being here is going to—to ” She was unable to go on. 
 
 “What is it going to do?” he finally asked. 
 
 She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then shook 
 her head a little, but did not speak. 
 
 “Please tell me this: Is it true that your husband 1s Mr. 
 - Cripps’s nephew ?” : 
 “Ves, Mr. Haworth.” 
 “Then, even though it’s going to be so terrible, I’d rather 
 
76 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 have him stay. Mr. Cripps never said anything about having 
 a nephew. I’m afraid there was some injustice done.” 
 
 Edith was looking up in his face, and there was something 
 about it that he simply couldn’t stand. The only alternative 
 seemed to be to go somewhere else as soon as he possibly 
 could. Acting on this idea, he made a considerable effort 
 and got his eyes away from her, and spoke quickly and mum- 
 blingly, addressing the floor. 
 
 “You know Hulda, the one you saw just now—she was 
 here i | 
 
 “Yes, I saw her.” 
 
 “That’s the one. Well, she'll take care of everything 
 —tea, you know—and dry—and warm—and—your room— 
 and—yes.”’ 
 
 He turned and walked rapidly past Edith and out of the 
 room by one of the rear doors, thence through a back hall and 
 down the basement stairs, making thus an instinctive retreat 
 to his machine shop, the mechanical panacea for all his then- 
 tal disturbances. At least he had found it so up to now. 
 
 Leaving Edith Findlay entirely in Hulda’s hands was pre- 
 cisely the effective way for getting results, though no thought 
 of it as such entered Haworth’s mind. ‘The maid, a neat, 
 blue-eyed young woman of Scandinavian origin, was greatly 
 pleased at being allowed to take entire charge of Mrs. Find- 
 lay, and proceeded to do so with enthusiasm. She brought 
 the poor child (that’s what Edith Findlay seemed to her) 
 hot tea and hot toast and thin sandwiches, and had her in 
 dry stockings and warm slippers before anyone—provided 
 only that he stammered badly—could have said “Jack Robin- 
 son.” At once after that she had an open fire burning in 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD ay 
 
 the room above and the covers of the furniture off and 
 thorough sweeping and dusting done. Then she returned to 
 Edith, and gave it as her opinion that the thing for her to 
 do was to go to bed and rest herself. So positive was Hulda 
 of the benefits to be derived from “just a few winks, Mrs. 
 Findlay,” that Edith was swept to the room on the wave of 
 her enthusiasm on the subject, and put snugly to bed. 
 
 But weary as she was, the realization of what must surely 
 happen when Augustus returned, kept her in a condition of 
 worried wakefulness. She knew so well what the interview 
 at the door meant. He had got money from Mr. Haworth. 
 There was no question in her mind as to what he would do 
 with it, and, as a result, in what condition he would return 
 to the house at two or three in the morning. If it could only 
 be that he could come in and get to bed and to sleep without 
 creating a terrifying disturbance, she would consider it serene 
 and heavenly rest compared to what was to be expected, for 
 he had reached the condition where alcohol came near to 
 making a maniac of him. Shouts and curses and horrible 
 songs; the throwing about of whatever came to his hand; 
 the threatening of her, sometimes with a revolver—an enor- 
 mous thing which he insisted on keeping under his pillow— 
 all this was to be expected if he had money enough to buy 
 drinks. And if Mr. Haworth had given him anything it was 
 enough, for there were no trunks to spend it on; all that was 
 pure fiction. Everything they owned had gone to the pawn- 
 shops long ago. 
 
 As it happened, however, her anxiety as to the home-com- 
 ing of Augustus was misplaced. It should have been applied 
 to future occasions. Findlay came in at a quarter before 
 
78 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 seven, a trifle electrified, to be sure, but not to a voltage that 
 was shocking. 
 
 The three sat down to dinner in what had once been the 
 breakfast room—opening off the present living room at its 
 rear end, opposite the swing door of the butler’s pantry. It 
 was, for that house, a rather small, cheerful place with a big — 
 bay window on the south side. 
 
 At this meal Augustus conversed with himself brilliantly. 
 Haworth said little, but looked smilingly on in his detached 
 way. Edith, who said hardly anything, stole an occasional 
 glance at him. Hulda waited on them. A cat came in from 
 somewhere.and entered pleas for refreshments,—not in vain. 
 
 When dinner was over the three went back to the large 
 room, Haworth sitting there with his guests for half an hour 
 or so; then, excusing himself, and telling them that break- 
 fast was whenever they asked for it (he remembered old 
 Cripps used to tell his visitors that), he went down to his 
 shop in the basement. 
 
 He had an unusual experience there—something quite un- 
 expected for him. He found that, for some reason, he was 
 utterly unable to keep his mind on his work—work which 
 had always so completely engrossed him that he had often 
 found it impossible, when he ought to have done so, to keep 
 his mind away from it. 
 
 He had begun on the first rough draft of a problem that 
 had been on his mind for days, and only that morning he had 
 got it. Consequently he was more than eager to get it down 
 on paper. But again and again after he had started on the 
 sketch, he would suddenly rouse himself to find that he was 
 sitting with pencil poised, doing nothing. He would seem to 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 79 
 
 wake up from something and find himself in this extraordi- 
 nary situation. 
 
 On making a startled inquiry of himself as to the cause of 
 this unusual phenomenon, he realized at once that the chief 
 trouble—or at least the chief diversion—was a pair of the 
 most exquisite hands, though sometimes two tired little feet 
 in worn-out shoes would share the guilt ; and even an appeal- 
 ing face with dark troubled eyes looking up at him was now 
 and again responsible. But why shouldn’t he have his guests 
 on his mind? It was a most astonishing affair, this coming 
 of Mr. Cripps’s nephew and his wife. Probably this 
 accounted for everything. 
 
 Finally, after a couple of hours of useless effort, he gave 
 up the struggle and allowed his thoughts to dwell in peace on 
 Edith Findlay. He went over and over in his mind every- 
 thing she had said or done and looked. What a pathetic and 
 helpless little figure! And there was her husband—a most 
 objectionable sort of thing. Most likely that was the trou- 
 ble—something wrong with him. Liquor—drugs—it might 
 be anything. Think of the fellow not bringing the trunks out 
 with him, knowing his wife had nothing! He would see to 
 it himself in the morning. Yet how wonderfully she had 
 managed to transform herself in some way—her hair so 
 becomingly arranged. Really, it was extraordinary. Per- 
 haps Hulda had lent her some of the things. And now he 
 thought of it, how nice it was of Hulda to take such an inter- 
 est. He hadn’t really appreciated her before. 
 
 After a time it occurred to him that he ought to go up 
 and see if there was anything he could do to make his guests, 
 in the absence of their trunks, more comfortable for the 
 
80 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 night. Yes, it certainly was his duty as host to do what he 
 could. | 
 
 On reaching the living room, however, he found that 
 they’d gone upstairs, so he stood awhile looking at the chair 
 one of them had been sitting in, and remembering how she 
 had looked up at him when he rolled that same chair, with 
 her in it, close up to the fire. From that he went on to recall 
 other things and to run the pictures over and over again in 
 his mind. Finally, when he came to himself, it was very late 
 indeed. 
 
 Haworth was an early riser, and the next morning Hulda, 
 hearing him in his machine shop in the basement, took him 
 down a pot of coffee with toast and a cereal, as she always 
 did when he went down there before breakfast; for if he 
 once got absorbed in his work the idea of coming up would 
 never occur to him. She found him at his drawing board, 
 apparently considering something very carefully before get- 
 ting it down on paper. Hearing her come in, he roused him- 
 self and looked up blankly. 
 
 “Your coffee, sir,’ she said; and placed the tray within his 
 reach. 
 
 He thanked her and at once poured out some, for he’d 
 been sitting there most of the night and felt the need of it, 
 now the matter was brought to his attention. 
 
 As the maid was going out he stopped her with, “Oh, 
 Hulda! It was—it was good of you to take care of Mrs. 
 Findlay so—so nicely.” | 
 
 “T was glad to, sir,” she responded after an instant of sur- 
 prise, for Mr. Haworth so seldom noticed anything. “Indeed 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 81 
 
 I was, sir, for she’s a sweet little body. If you’ll excuse me 
 saying it, it must be awful for ’er with that man.” 
 
 Haworth turned, surprised, and looked at the maid. 
 
 “What do you know about him?” he asked. 
 
 “Well, I—I can see ’im, sir, an’ that’s something!’ 
 
 Haworth was silent. 
 
 “‘And besides, cook tells me the cook before her was saying 
 things about a terrible ,person used to live here, until one 
 day in the middle of the night ole Mr. Cripps threw ’im out 
 o’ the house an’ kicked ’im down the front steps; an’ when I 
 was putting towels in their bathroom yesterday I heard ’im 
 telling ’er how different things was when ’e lived here, so I 
 can’t but think it’s ’im.” 
 
 Haworth looked silently at her for a moment and then 
 _ said: “Yes. Well, tell me when they’ve finished breakfast. 
 I want to see them about their trunks.” 
 
 Some two hours later the maid came down and told him. 
 But when he went upstairs Augustus had left the house and 
 Mrs. Findlay had gone to her room. Haworth went up and _ 
 knocked at the door. She opened it. 
 
 “Oh!” she said with a little gasp. “I was afraid you were 
 angry!” 
 
 “Angry ?” an 
 “Yes.” She was looking down, but soon raised her eyes 
 to his. Suddenly she thought of the disordered room and 
 stepped out into the hallway beside him, closing the door 
 
 after her. 
 
 “What made you think so?” he asked, after his eyes had 
 - rested on her in silence a moment. 
 
 “You didn’t come to breakfast at all!” 
 “Oh, that!’ Haworth smiled. “I nearly always don’t.” 
 
82 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Don’t you have any?” 
 
 “Yes, but when I’m down working Hulda brings it to me.” 
 
 “Oh!’”? She seemed relieved. “I was afraid it was be- 
 cause you—because we were here.” 
 
 He shook his head a little and muttered, “No.” 
 
 “Tt’ll be so some time,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. 
 
 “You’re mistaken about that,” he told her gently. 
 
 She looked at him with eyes showing gratitude, yet with it 
 the painful conviction that she was right. 
 
 “Did Mr. Findlay take the checks with him?” he asked. 
 
 She looked at him, not understanding. 
 
 “The checks for the trunks,” he explained. 
 
 “Oh! No, he—he didn’t!” 
 
 “There’s a truckman over at Jamaica Plain,’ Haworth 
 said. “He often hauls for me—that is, he used to. He'll 
 have the trunks here by noon. So if you'll give the 
 checks f | 
 
 “I—I don’t know where they She stopped for an 
 instant, then turned and looked him in the face. “There 
 aren’t any checks,” she said in a low voice. 
 
 Haworth was silent, his calm gaze upon her. 
 
 “There aren’t any checks—or trunks—or anything!” Hav- 
 ing made this sweeping confession, she stood guiltily before 
 him as though she’d acknowledged complicity in a bank rob- 
 bery. 
 
 “But you have some things—somewhere!”’ he finally asked 
 in a gentle voice, trying not to hurt her. 
 
 She shook her head a little without looking up. “You 
 see—you see, we did have some trunks. We had them— 
 but ft 
 
 “Yes yes, I know,” he said softly, his hand touching her 
 
 33 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 83 
 
 shoulder in sympathy for an instant. “It’s a tough thing for 
 you, iosing everything like that, but it’s simply wonderful for 
 me! Yes, it is,” (seeing her look of amazement) “for it 
 gives me the chance to do something that I—that I like doing 
 so very much indeed!” 
 
 “I’m afraid I don’t exactly What is it?” 
 
 “Why—why nothing at all, only to get you a few little 
 things you'll need. Hulda can do it; we'll leave it all to her. 
 
 . And then you’ll be wearing something that I 
 
 He stopped, seeing that Edith had turned away and was 
 fumbling with the door knob. 
 
 “But Mrs. Findlay,” he said, quickly, “I didn’t mean to— 
 won't you please ” 
 
 But she was shaking her head as she finally got the door 
 _ open, and he heard an indistinct, “No 
 fied blindly through it into her room, closing it quickly 
 after her. 
 
 Haworth stood motionless before the door—which had 
 almost been shut in his face, and a great fear nearly stopped 
 his heart from beating—the fear that she was angry with 
 him. 
 
 After standing some time quite unable to figure it out, he 
 suddenly thought of Hulda, and hurrying down to the room 
 on the left, rang the bell; after which he waited in a state of 
 near-panic till she came. 
 
 “Hulda,” he said the instant she appeared, “I’ve offended 
 Mrs. Findlay seriously! Yes, I’m afraid I have! Do you 
 know anything that could be done?” 
 
 “What makes you think it, sir? Did she say Nav thinn ra 
 _ “No—not exactly; but while I was talking to her she 
 
 turned and ran into her room and shut the door.” 
 
 I can’t!” as she 
 
84 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “What were you saying to ’er, Mr. Haworth? That 
 might be it.” 
 
 “Tt couldn’t be! I was only telling her that I was going 
 to have you get her some things fee wear you know—be- 
 cause all their trunks are lost, you see.’ 
 
 “T don’t think she’s angry.”’ Hulda had a smile concen 
 somewhere. “It’s most likely just feelings, sir.” 
 
 “Feelings ?” 
 
 “Yes sir—about you being that kind to ’er, I’d say.” 
 
 “Are you quite sure that was all?” 
 
 “Indeed I am, sir, but when she’s had a little time I’ll go 
 up and see te the room—they got up so late it isn’t done yet— 
 an’ then I’ll hear what she says.” 
 
 “Yes, do that! And if it ts so—as you think—and there’s 
 no trouble of any kind, I want you to go to town with her 
 as soon as you can and help about getting the things.” : 
 
 “Yes sir. An’ what was you thinking of getting?” 
 
 “Oh yes. Well you'd know that, wouldn’t you? Things 
 to wear, of course—dresses and—and—and so on. She must 
 have things to use, too—brushes and combs and shaving 
 soap—no, other soap, I mean—and hair things—you know, 
 to hold it up and all that. Get whatever there is, Hulda; she 
 hasn’t anything at all. That makes it quite simple, doesn’t 
 oh 
 
 “Yes sir; she wants to be fitted out.” 
 
 “That’s it—fitted out! And oh, there’s one thing—yes, 
 shoes. Be very careful about that, Hulda! I want her to 
 have some perfectly delightful shoes—the nicest you can get, 
 and quite a lot of them—all she can use. And oh, another 
 thing—gloves. Quite extraordinary gloves! Don’t forget 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 85 
 
 those two things, Hulda—shoes—gloves. They’re really the 
 most important of all!” 
 
 “T’ll do my best, sir.” 
 
 “And about the dresses—several different varieties—all of 
 them the most satisfactory in every respect. And then—get 
 the—the—” (making motions up and down his body to illus- 
 trate) “underthings, you know. Don’t fail to have them the 
 nicest that are made. I’m sure this is a very important—er— 
 phase of the matter.” 
 
 “Yes sir, it is.” 
 
 “And hats—of course she'll need a few of those. And 
 some fur things—don’t fail to get some fur things. She was 
 shivering yesterday.” 
 
 “T’ll do the best I can, Mr. Haworth, but wouldn’t it be 
 better to buy easy at first? Say, to-day a ready-made dress 
 or two an’ a pair o’ shoes an’ a few things, an’ let the rest 
 come gradual? I’m only thinking of ’er feelings as not being 
 equal to it if all the things was to come at a jump, as one 
 might say.” 
 
 “That’s perfectly true. Her feelings must be treated with 
 the greatest care!” He glanced at the stairway through the 
 open door. 
 
 “Tl go upstairs now, sir; but I’m sure you needn’t to feel 
 - uneasy about it.” 
 
 And Hulda went up the stairway and a moment later could 
 be heard gently knocking at Mrs. Findlay’s door. 
 
 When he finally heard Hulda coming down again his heart 
 _ pounded so violently that he was sure it shook him. A me- 
 chanical notion flashed in his mind that his pumping plant 
 was too powerful for the frame. He found himself, too, 
 
86 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 hardly able to turn and face the maid when she came to the 
 door. 
 
 “Tt’s all right, sir,” she said. “An’ we'll be going in as 
 soon as | finish the rooms. ant if you please, sir, she’d like 
 to speak to you before we go.” 
 
 The relief was unspeakable. She wasn’t angry or offended! 
 And she’d wear things that he gave her. 
 
 So everything was arranged and Haworth gave Hulda 
 enough money for the first day, not noticing or thinking for 
 an instant that he was making an ugly excavation in what 
 was supposed to carry him on for a year. When the maid 
 had gone for her hat and cloak, Haworth waited about in 
 the hall. At last he heard Edith coming down and went to 
 meet her at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 Seeing him, she stopped before she was quite down. The 
 thought came to him that he wished she could stay there—on 
 the stairs—a little above him—instead of going to town. 
 Couldn’t that, perhaps, be put off until the next day? Her 
 voice, slightly tremulous, uote his meditations. 
 
 “I’m awfully sorry I acted so,” was what she said. “Please 
 forgive me.” 
 
 He looked up in her face, drinking in with his eyes some- 
 thing indescribable and inconceivable that came to him from 
 hers. 
 
 “T’'ll be so glad,” she went on after the briefest pause, “to 
 ” suddenly putting out her hand, 
 
 wear anything that you 
 “oh, you’re so kind!” 
 It was incredible! At this time yesterday he had been un- 
 aware that she existed; now he was unaware that anything 
 else did. But there was hardly time to realize it before the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 87 
 
 hand was gone and she was moving toward the door; and 
 very soon Hulda came and the two went off together. 
 
 Haworth stood in the doorway and watched them go down 
 the great stone steps and along the curved drive to Torring- 
 ton Road. Then he came slowly in, closed the door, and 
 stood thinking—or rather, remembering. Not one word had 
 he said to her since she came down. Going over every small- 
 est detail of what had occurred, he couldn’t find any place 
 where he had said anything. But why should he? There 
 didn’t seem to be anything to say. As a matter of fact he 
 had no idea at all of what had happened to him. 
 
 From this you'll understand why he had no slightest sense 
 of guilt or trespass. It didn’t disturb him when Findlay came 
 back from the city and borrowed twenty dollars—an amount, 
 he told Haworth, that would enable him to take advantage of 
 an extraordinary business opportunity which had presented 
 itself. 
 
 Hulda brought Mrs. Findlay and a large number of pack- 
 ages home in a taxi about a quarter before five. Haworth 
 was down in his workshop, where he managed, by the exer- 
 _ tion of enormous will power, to do a few little pieces of 
 manual labor on one of the lathes. His being unable to con- 
 centrate on his work had worried him quite a bit. But 
 although he was entirely aware that Edith was tremendously 
 attractive to him in many ways, it did not occur to him to 
 connect that circumstance with what seemed to him a failing 
 intellect so far as mechanics was concerned. 
 
 Hulda descended to the basement to report to Haworth on 
 the shopping tour, which had resulted in not only what they 
 
88 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 had brought home, but several articles that were to be fitted 
 later. 
 
 “Tell me what you did about the shoes ?”’ he inquired, with- 
 out the least effort to conceal his eagerness for information 
 on that subject. 
 
 “Oh yes, sir! There’s lovely ones for the house an’ two 
 kinds for the street, that’s most beautiful on ’er. Wait till 
 you see ’em, sir!” 
 
 “T will,’ said Haworth, and went on with his screw-cut- 
 ting at the lathe, though his mind had absented itself entirely 
 from mechanical pursuits. Fortunately the process was 
 largely automatic, so no serious damage was done. 
 
 At half-past six he went to his room and got into a fairly 
 good suit of clothes. He’d never given anything that could 
 be called “thought” to what he wore, further than to have it 
 clean, and so far as possible not torn or otherwise mutilated. 
 Old Mr. Cripps, during the time the two were living to- 
 gether, had frequently taken him to his own tailor and 
 ordered clothing for him in a most generous way. Since the 
 old man’s death, however, Haworth had been to that place 
 only once, on which occasion he had asked them to make 
 him two suits, one thin, the other thick. But when they be- 
 gan to unroll the vast cylinders of “imported goods’ before 
 him, he had started for the door, muttering quite audibly 
 that it was their business to find the stuff to make them of, 
 not his. 
 
 Edith came down in a charming slip of a dress they'd 
 found. It had needed no alteration, so she could have it for 
 that evening. 
 
 Haworth, waiting in the living room, fixed his eyes on her 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 89 
 
 in calm astonishment. He would hardly have known her. 
 It wasn’t the dress alone, but everything, including herself. 
 
 She found herself standing still just inside the door, his 
 steadfast gaze of amazement and admiration acting like an 
 automatic signal set against her. 
 
 “Please sit here,” he said, after a moment of regarding her 
 in silence, and indicating the big chair she’d been sitting in 
 the day before when he lighted the fire. 
 
 She looked up at him from the depths of the chair with 
 wide-eyed questioning. 
 
 After he’d stood looking at her a moment or two with a 
 peculiar expression, he said, suddenly: “Come along—let’s 
 have dinner!” | 
 
 And she never got the answer—anyway not then—to her 
 optical interrogation points, Which was, that he wanted to 
 see her feet in their ravishing new slippers, just where he’d 
 seen them the day before in the poor little worn and down- 
 trodden shoes. 
 
 And there they were, these two by themselves, at dinner. 
 Mr. Augustus Findlay, running true to form (about the only 
 thing to which he did), failed to put in an appearance. He 
 was otherwise engaged in low-lived haunts, with a twenty- 
 dollar bill. 
 
 And there they were again, these two, sitting by the fire in 
 the evening, quietly talking and occasionally silent for a 
 space ; going down to see his shop; then each apparently read- 
 ing a book—though neither of them read a single word. And 
 so it went on for a number of days. 
 
 Everything seemed to be against them—pushing them 
 toward the edge of the precipice. Even the maid Hulda, 
 who must have seen the danger, was assisting their approach 
 
go THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to it instead of trying to hold them back; for which ques- 
 tionable behavior her opinion of Mr. Findlay was largely 
 responsible, her sympathetic attitude toward what is roughly 
 referred to as “romance” perhaps accounting for the rest. 
 
 But something shortly happened that not only showed them 
 where they were going, but flashed them an idea of the dis- 
 tance they’d gone. 
 
 It was the night of the ninth day after the Findlays had 
 arrived at the mansion. Augustus during this time, had 
 made what were, for him, supreme efforts to control himself, 
 knowing very well that a great deal depended on it. He and 
 his wife had been taken in and provided with a home free of 
 cost and containing among its other furniture a soft-hearted 
 boob out of whom he could apparently squeeze what money 
 he needed, if he was careful to handle it right. Haworth 
 was certainly an utter fool, but even at that he might be 
 troublesome if once aroused. Though by no means of pow- 
 erful build, he was a bit too husky to take a chance on. 
 
 For a while Findlay managed to avoid displays of himself 
 that would be positively objectionable. But as these nine 
 days wore on he seemed to be losing his grip on himself, 
 such as it was. He was coming home later and later each 
 night and making more and more of a disturbance each time 
 he did it. | 
 
 Haworth had several times been awakened in the small 
 hours of the morning by the slamming of doors and the 
 shouting of oaths and lines out of what are called, for want 
 of a worse name, songs. However, as the noise and uproar 
 seemed to subside when Findlay finally got himself upstairs, 
 Haworth waited for that relief, though with a sharp agony 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD gl 
 
 of pain at the thought of Edith having to endure the pres- 
 ence of the intoxicated loafer. 
 
 This had been going on for more than a week, and, as I 
 say, growing steadily worse, when a night came that the 
 raucous clamor failed to diminish on Findlay’s getting up- 
 stairs and into the room that he and his wife occupied. It 
 was somewhat muffled after the door closed, but even then 
 oaths and abuse could be heard, and violent demands for 
 something. 
 
 Haworth’s room was farther back on the same corridor, 
 and the old-fashioned transom above the door was open. At 
 first he couldn’t make out what the half-crazy sot was trying 
 to get from her, as he was evidently making an effort to 
 keep his voice down; but soon excitement or anger made him 
 raise it, and Haworth could hear his shouted demands for a 
 key to something. 
 
 Edith was saying nothing. All that could be heard were 
 the threats and imprecations of her husband. Suddenly this 
 stopped, then a quick and frightened, “Ok no!’ from Edith, 
 followed at once by deeper threats and in the midst of them 
 a subdued scream and the sound of the door flung open. 
 
 Haworth had sprung from his bed at the very instant of 
 Edith’s scream and was through the door and out in the cor- 
 ridor just as she came running out of her room, followed by 
 her husband. He was flourishing a big revolver and lurching 
 this way and that as he came. 
 
 Haworth started up the hall toward them, but Edith had 
 seen him and ran into his arms, terrified. He instantly swung 
 -her around behind him so that he was between her and Find- 
 lay, and without taking his eyes off the latter,—who had 
 stopped not far from the door of his room and was staring 
 
Q2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 with alcoholic malevolence at his wife and the man she was 
 clinging to. The light that had been left on for him in the 
 upper hall shone directly across them. 
 
 “Here!” he suddenly called out. ‘“Thish has gone far 
 enough!” And he flourished his weapon about. “Far 
 enough!” he repeated, and went on mumbling threats and 
 curses. 
 
 Haworth began gently to free himself from Edith’s fright- 
 ened clinging, at the same time pushing her back toward the 
 door of his room. 
 
 “Don’t worry,” he told her as they moved back; “he isn’t 
 going to hurt anybody. I want to speak to him a minute.” 
 
 “Oh no! You mustn’t! No—flease! He’s crazy! He 
 doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 
 
 “Yes—well, I thought I’d tell him.” 
 
 They’d reached his door by now. 
 
 “Could you wait here a minute—just in the doorway? 
 . .. That’s it. And please don’t come out in the hall.” 
 
 She obeyed and stood just within the door, but her eyes 
 were looking at him with wide anxiety. He touched her 
 shoulder soothingly, then turned away and walked easily up 
 the corridor toward the liquor-crazed brute with the gun. 
 
 “Now you wait juss precishly ware you are or I'll plug 
 you!” Findlay’s speech was thick but his revolver was steady 
 enough as he brought it down, covering Haworth. 
 
 There wasn’t the slightest hesitation, however, on the part 
 of that young man as he calmly walked up to Augustus. 
 “T’ll take that gun,” he said. 
 
 What !” 
 
 “That gun—there in your hand.” 
 
 Augustus stood blinking at him several seconds, then 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 93 
 
 slowly lowered his arm, and after another pause reached out 
 the weapon toward Haworth. The young man took it and 
 turning toward the front of the house, sent it crashing 
 through the big east window of the upper hall. Then he 
 stepped to the open door of Findlay’s room, and taking the 
 key out of the inside keyhole, inserted it in the outside one. 
 That done, he turned to Findlay and made a slight motion 
 to him to go in. Nothing marked, no assumption of com- 
 mand, a mere side motion of the head with a turn of the 
 hand. 
 
 Augustus did further vacant blinking. Then, seeming to 
 comprehend something, he turned and walked unsteadily 
 through the door, upon which Haworth closed it carefully 
 and turned the key on the outside. After trying it to make 
 sure the lock was holding, he went back to Edith. 
 
 She caught at him impulsively as he came to her in the 
 doorway of his room, and he could hear her breathing deep 
 relief. Almost without knowing it he had her in his arms, 
 held close against him. He felt that her whole body was 
 trembling. He looked down and noticed for the first time 
 that she had on only a thin slip of a nightdress—one of the 
 flimsy things that Hulda had bought her. 
 
 “You're cold,” he said. 
 
 “No,’ she whispered. “It’s only he—— How did I 
 know but—how did I know ii 
 
 Tell me.” 
 
 “He might have—killed you!” 
 
 “There was no danger of that— You're shivering! Do 
 
 you mind getting in there—in my bed—till I get some of 
 your things?’ And he pushed her gently back into the half- 
 
O4 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 dark room, “You must get warm. You must, my—my 
 dear.” 
 
 She still clung to him. 
 
 “Don’t go there again,” she whispered. 
 
 “But I want to get something warm for you—that fur 
 thing.” 
 
 “You can’t. It’s locked in a drawer.” 
 
 “Where’s the key?” 
 
 LNT r9 
 
 “Have you hidden it somewhere?” 
 
 “It’s on this string—around my neck. I didn’t want him 
 to get it.” 
 
 “Get it! For what?” 
 
 She wouldn’t say any more. But even as he asked the 
 question he knew—for the money he might raise on it. 
 
 “Let me have the key,” he said. 
 
 “No, please!” she remonstrated. “You mustn’t go—you 
 mustn’t. When he drinks he’s out of his mind—a maniac; 
 you don’t know what terrible things he might do.” 
 
 “He can’t do much now—his gun’s out there in the grass.” 
 
 She stared up at Haworth. 
 
 “Was that it—when the glass broke?” 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 After a moment she undid the string and gave him the 
 key. But her hands were trembling. 
 
 “Does he do this often?” Haworth inquired. 
 
 “Not with—with one of those things.” 
 
 “Gun, you mean?” 
 
 He could feel her head nodding “yes” as it rested against 
 him. 
 
 “But last night,’ she went on, “he—told me—if I didn’t 
 
 , 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 95 
 
 give him the key to-night he’d ” A slight shudder 
 passed over her. | 
 
 “Nothing like that’ll happen here, so please don’t worry.” 
 
 She looked up in his face, which she could just see—a 
 whiteness in the gloom. 
 
 “T didn’t mind so much till he fired it once,—not—not at 
 me, but I didn’t know that, and ever since I can’t—seem 
 to ” She shuddered again in his arms. 
 
 “He won't fire it again. . . . Your hands are like ice. Do 
 please crawl in there and pull the blankets over you.” 
 
 And he urged her toward the disordered pillows. 
 
 When she had turned and moved away in the dimness, 
 Haworth went back to the Findlay room and unlocked the 
 door. Taking the key out of the lock, he stepped inside, 
 closed the door and locked it again, putting the key in the 
 pocket of his pajamas. 
 
 Augustus was sitting on the bed. He appeared to be try- 
 ing to figure out what had happened to him, 
 
 “You again!’ he mumbled. 
 
 Haworth didn’t take the trouble to glance in his direction 
 but went across to the bureau and unlocked the drawers with 
 the key Edith had given him, then piled the contents across 
 his left arm, leaving his right free for other purposes. On 
 these things he tossed whatever articles of feminine apparel 
 he could find about the room, including a pair of little fur- 
 lined slippers which he handled with the utmost considera- 
 tion. He also made a clean sweep of the toilet articles on 
 the dressing table, managing to hold them on top of the other 
 things with his left hand backward over them. Then he 
 returned to the door and was taking the key out of his 
 pocket with his free hand when Augustus spoke again. 
 
96 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “You wait!’ he shouted, thickly. 
 
 Haworth turned to him. 
 
 “T shay wait—you there! Do I make myself plain?” 
 
 “What is it? I’m waiting.” 
 
 “Oh, you are, eh! You're waitin’, eh! Well, I’m damn 
 glad to know it! Now you juss tell me—I demand you teil 
 me where my wife is! You tell me that?” 
 
 “T’ll inform you of one thing—she’s safe from you!”” And 
 Haworth turned back to the door. 
 
 “Now, you!” Findlay had risen heavily and was lumber- 
 ing toward him. “Now juss one minute, my frien’—juss one 
 minute! I'll thank you to leave those things where they 
 b’long !’’ 
 
 Haworth waited until Findlay had come blustering up to 
 within a couple of feet of him and stopped. The two re- 
 garded each other in silence for a few seconds. Then the 
 young inventor spoke in a low voice. “I’ve got a few words 
 to say to you in the morning,” he said, and unlocking the 
 door, went out, and closed and locked it again on the outside. 
 
 “Getting warm all right?” he asked, standing by the bed 
 in the dimness of his room. 
 
 “T think so,’ came the voice of Edith, muffled by the 
 pillows. 
 
 He put down the clothing carefully on a chair. 
 
 “I think I found everything,” he said. “You must stay 
 here and keep warm.” And he tried to pull the blankets 
 closer round her neck. 
 
 “But if he comes with that—that ft 
 
 “He won’t. He’s locked in the room. And [ll be just 
 outside here in the hall, not ten feet away—not ten feet. 
 Til get the big chair down the hall sf 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 97 
 
 “But—oh no—I can’t drive you out of your room like 
 that! Ji stay out there.” She caught at his hand and 
 clung to it. 
 
 “But wait. Listen, darling—darling—darling ” (Now 
 that he’d found the word, he wanted to say it all the time.) 
 “T’d so—so much—so tremendously much like being there 
 watching while you’re asleep. You don’t know—it’s—it’s 
 beyond words. So you must let me do that while you're 
 attending to the sleeping part.” He was accustomed to the 
 near darkness now and could see her eyes wide open, fixed 
 on him. “If you want a light’”—he spoke rather hurriedly— 
 “the switch is there by the door. Can you see it? And 
 you'll call me if you want anything, won’t you?” 
 
 He tried to disengage his hand, but as she wouldn’t let it 
 go he lifted it so her hand came to his lips, and held it 
 pressed against them for a little; then gently undid her fin- 
 gers and tucked her arm under the coverlet. — 
 
 “T’ll take these on the way,” he said, gathering up an arm- 
 ful of his own clothes from a chair and moving toward the 
 door. | 
 
 “I’m coming too!” she suddenly announced, throwing the 
 bedclothes back and sliding out till her little white feet 
 touched the floor. “If you’re going to sit out there I’m going 
 to sit with you!” And she began to fumble among the 
 things he’d brought from her room. 
 
 He stood in the doorway, considering. She surely ought 
 to stay there and keep warm and rest. The house was chilly, 
 She’d be sure to—she’d be And at that point an idea 
 _ came to him. 
 
 “T’ll build a fire downstairs if you'll come and sit by it,” 
 he said. 
 
98 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 She straightened up from her search among the things on 
 the chair and looked at him for a second; then: 
 
 “Are you coming too?” 
 
 “Oh yes!” 
 
 “Oh !—Then J’ll be down in just a minute!” 
 
 He reached in and snapped the light on for her, closed the 
 door, and went downstairs. After putting on the clothes he 
 had caught up while leaving his room, he built a huge fire 
 in the fireplace of the living room. 
 
 Edith came before he’d quite finished, and he pushed the 
 big chair around in front of the fire for her, and another for 
 himself as near to it as its bloated old upholstery would 
 allow. There was only firelight in the room, and the two 
 were there in it without a thought of anything but that they 
 were there—together. Haworth had her dear, precious, ex- 
 quisite hands in his (I’m quoting from his thoughts) and 
 when she fell asleep her head rested on his shoulder. Never 
 had he imagined that such a miraculous night was within 
 the reach of members of the human race—nor, indeed, had 
 she. 
 
 Of course, they knew now. Perhaps not the strength of 
 the current that was whirling them along, perhaps not pre- 
 cisely how far they’d already been carried by it, but enough. 
 And the first idea in the minds of both Edith and Haworth 
 when they came to think it over by daylight was to resist, 
 to attempt to get out of the rapids. 
 
 With one accord and no words spoken they set to work 
 on the following morning with the brave idea of behaving as 
 though they were merely casual acquaintances, and not, as 
 was the actual state of things, the custodians of each other’s 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 99 
 
 lives. And they succeeded fairly well in acting this deceitful 
 drama whenever they chanced to meet—which was neces- 
 sarily quite often—and gave their performance as relent- 
 lessly when no audience was there to see, as they did in the 
 presence of spectators. Moreover, they really tried, both of 
 them, to avoid meeting. There was no attempted coldness; 
 their relationship would have seemed to an observer to be 
 of agreeable friendliness, nothing more. 
 
 And, as it happened, there was an observer and not 
 only that, but a close and eager one. 
 
 When Haworth went in to say a few words to Findlay 
 the morning after the latter’s revolver had been taken from 
 him and flung through the window, he found the fellow 
 silent and sullen. His ideas as to what had occurred during 
 the night were hazy in the extreme, but these few quiet 
 words from Haworth cleared his atmosphere in the space 
 of a few seconds, and put him in the way of distinct realiza- 
 tion of where he stood. He had threatened his wife with a 
 gun (he remembered having intended to do so) and the 
 weapon had been taken from him. He had been locked in 
 his room (he was already aware of this from having made 
 efforts to get out) and as the Haworth fellow gave it to him, 
 not only was Mrs. Findlay to have a separate sleeping room, 
 but she was to occupy it without interference or disturbance 
 from him. 
 
 As for Haworth himself, he would sleep downstairs on a 
 cot in his drafting room, as he had often done before. This 
 - would give them the entire floor to themselves. If, however, 
 he started any of his rowdyism again, or mistreated his wife, 
 or threatened her with mistreatment, he would be turned 
 
100 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 over to the police and locked up. That was all. Good 
 morning. 
 
 It was the matter of his wife being given a room by her- 
 self that put a knife in him. A dull but furious jealousy 
 began to rage somewhere in his interior. Though he had a 
 horror of losing these comfortable and cost-free quarters, 
 that aversion was as nothing beside the rabid fury generated 
 by his suddenly aroused suspicion. The mere thought of. 
 what might be—when he allowed himself to project his 
 imaginings on the subject as far as that—threw him into a 
 fit of murderous passion. He’d keep his eyes open! He’d 
 get on to it pretty damned quick if any funny business was 
 going on. And if it was 
 
 From that time and for more than a week it could have 
 been noticed—and probably was by Hulda—that Mr. Find- 
 lay went in to Boston with much less frequency than for- 
 merly, and that when he did so he arrived back at most un- 
 expected times,—once coming in quite hurriedly by one of 
 the rear entrances fifteen minutes after he had left the house 
 at the front door, apparently departing for the day. 
 
 It so happened, though, that neither of the two people 
 Findlay was endeavoring to surprise in some sort of misde- 
 meanor, was in the slightest degree aware of his violent 
 spasm of watchfulness. They were both fighting desper- 
 ately to struggle out of the torrent that had swept them off 
 their feet, and couldn’t be expected to take notice of other 
 things. Naturally, under the circumstances, Augustus dis- 
 covered nothing. There was nothing. Even when they met 
 alone, only a few commonplace words, if any, passed between 
 them. He never once overheard the least thing that was out 
 of the way when it happened that they were alone together 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 101 
 
 and he could manage to listen, and when they both went out, 
 as they did nearly every afternoon—Haworth for long walks 
 on the railroad track, Edith to trudge about the suburban 
 roads or sometimes to go in to Boston—and he followed one 
 or the other of them, he never found that they met anywhere 
 or came within miles of meeting. 
 
 As he was unable to gather fuel for his jealousy, it began 
 to burn with diminished ferocity, and it wasn’t long before 
 he revived his briefly interrupted custom of returning late at 
 night from his alleged business trips to the city, bringing 
 with him a heavy load of whatever intoxicant he could buy 
 with the money he borrowed from Haworth. For a while, 
 however, his subconscious department succeeded in keeping 
 uppermost in his mind the idea that it would be well to con- 
 trol himself when he came in, and to get into bed as quietly 
 as possible. 
 
 Something over a fortnight after the revolver episode and 
 the night together by the open fire, the two unfortunates, 
 caught in the merciless grip of a love trap and struggling 
 with all the strength they could command to extricate them- 
 selves from it, had come very close to reaching the limit of 
 what they could do. Was anything else to be expected? 
 Completely out of their normal minds—mad—even quietly 
 delirious—living there together in the same house—left 
 to themselves most of the time, and trying to carry on as if 
 they were casual acquaintances—wouldn’t that wear out the 
 strength of anyone, or, to be more accurate, any two? 
 
 Haworth, one day along this time, came in from a tramp 
 at dinner time and learned from Hulda that Mr. Findlay 
 hadn’t come in. He and Edith would be alone together. It 
 
102 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 had happened several times lately, but to-night he had the 
 feeling that he couldn’t manage to behave as an ordinary 
 friend might; he didn’t think he could carry it through. 
 
 “When Mrs. Findlay comes down, ask her please to have 
 dinner without me. I’ve got some important work to do— 
 very important.” 
 
 When Hulda went into the hall she saw Edith near the 
 top of the stairs and going up. She had come down and 
 stopped near the door as she heard Haworth speaking, and 
 couldn’t help hearing what he said. Upon which she fled up 
 the stairs again, and a moment after the maid had caught 
 sight of her she was back in her room with the door closed. 
 
 Hulda followed and knocked softly. 
 
 “Can’t I bring you up something, Mrs, Findlay?” 
 
 “No, nothing—/lease.” 
 
 Hulda left a tray on Haworth’s drawing table, before 
 which he was sitting absently. But she knew, as soon as she 
 saw him, that he wouldn’t touch anything. 
 
 It was a wicked evening for them both. Haworth sat in 
 a corner of his workroom and stared before him, seeing 
 nothing. Edith lay on her bed with her head pushed in 
 among the pillows. 
 
 With her it was simpler—just plain misery, and longing, 
 and hunger and thirst for him. But Haworth, while having 
 all these feelings for her, was at the same time feverishly 
 hunting for some way out, all the while knowing that noth- 
 ing could be done without money, of which he was by this 
 time nearly destitute. If he had had the means at hand, there 
 isn’t the slightest doubt he’d have fled with her. But he 
 hadn’t nearly enough for that, nor had he anything on which 
 he could raise it. The amount that old Mr. Cripps had left 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 103 
 
 to him (being probably the remains of the money obtained 
 on the mortgage) had virtually disappeared. 
 
 Haworth wasn’t in the habit of thinking of these things; 
 he’d always let them go until something happened. For him- 
 self what did it matter? But now...... Edith. And 
 he went over the problem again and again, hoping each time 
 to arrive at a better result. 
 
 It was very much later in the evening when Hulda came 
 down and tapped at his door. After she had knocked three 
 times he heard her. | 
 
 “Come in,” he said, huskily. 
 
 “Mrs. Findlay asked me to say could she speak to you 
 for a minute.” | 
 
 “Yes—yes.”’ Haworth roused himself and cleared his 
 throat. ‘Tell her I’ll go up there and—and see what she 
 wants.” 
 
 “axes sir.” 
 
 A moment later he knocked at Edith’s door and she opened 
 it. They stood silent. Suddenly he snatched both her hands 
 and held them pressed against him. 
 
 “Oh!” she breathed—a sort of whispered groan—and 
 turned her head away for God knows what—perhaps a last 
 feeble effort to avert the catastrophe she knew was coming. 
 Soon she turned to him again and spoke unsteadily, almost 
 whispering. 
 
 “This was what I—what I wanted to tell you,” she said. 
 “T’ve been thinking it over, and now—you see—you see the 
 way things are— I can’t Don’t you see I'll have to 
 
 99 
 
104 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “T couldn’t let you! How could I when I love you so!” 
 
 She was looking up in his face and her lips moved. 
 Though no sound came from them, he could feel what she 
 was trying to say—knew it almost before she began—and 
 had her close in his arms, kissing her madly, blindly, impetu- 
 ously; whispering brokenly the few words of endearment 
 he knew. 
 
 It seemed hardly a moment, but it was in reality a large 
 number of them, before the violent closing of the front door 
 recalled Edith and Haworth to the surface of the earth. 
 Not only were they made acquainted by this with the circum- 
 stance of Findlay’s return, but the demonstration following 
 said closing gave a fairly reliable indication of his condition, 
 consisting as it did of a burst of song and a bit of incoherent 
 monologue. 
 
 “T’m going to lock you in,’ Haworth whispered in Edith’s 
 ear. 
 
 “VY es)’ 
 
 He locked the door from the outside and put the key in 
 his pocket. Then he went along the corridor to the rear of 
 the house, down the servants’ staircase, and through the pas- 
 sage into the main hall. 
 
 Augustus was preparing to negotiate the stairs. 
 
 “Well, how-dy-do!” he said, supporting himself by one 
 of the newel posts. “You see before you, Misser Haworth, 
 a shinin’ ezample of the pernishus influences of too mush 
 happinish !”’ 
 
 Haworth stood silently regarding him. 
 
 “I’m shorry,” he went on. ‘“Deeply,an’ shincerely—e— 
 sinsherely shorry. But it was on account o’ shelibrashun! 
 Yes, sir—shelibration! You'll be d’lighted to hear th’ glad 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 105 
 
 tidings that I got a posishun. Yes, sir—though I say it 
 myseif they took me on to-day at the Boshun Nalb’ny freight 
 yards. You know men are very scarce!” 
 
 “They must be,” said Haworth; and turning away he went 
 into the living room. From there he could hear Augustus 
 finally accomplish the (for him) considerable feat of ascend- 
 ing the stairs, and from the summit of the same negotiate 
 the short distance to his room. In a moment he heard him 
 come out again and walk heavily down the corridor to the 
 room occupied by Mrs. Findlay. 
 
 Haworth could hear his loud pounding on her door and 
 boisterous demands to be let in, together with the shouted 
 information as to his having been taken on by the railroad 
 company and his urgent desire for further celebration of that 
 event. This he kept up interminably, varying it with whin- 
 ing and begging that she open the door. But he eventually 
 became tired of it and went shambling back to his room. 
 
 Haworth gave him about half an hour. At the expiration 
 of that time he went upstairs and listened at his door. Loud 
 breathing and raucous nasal reverberations were the only 
 sounds that could be heard from within. The key was at 
 his hand on the outside. He grasped it firmly so there 
 should be as little rattling as possible, and slowly turned it 
 in the lock. After listening a moment to make sure the 
 slight click hadn’t disturbed the sleeper within, he turned 
 and walked down the corridor, taking the other key out of 
 his pocket as he went. 
 
 It proved to be the truth that Augustus had got a job at 
 the Exeter Street freight yards. Whether to hustle boxes 
 and barrels about or sit on a high stool and work at bills 
 
106 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 of lading he never told. But whatever it was, it obliged 
 him to rise every morning at five-thirty and have breakfast 
 at six. 
 
 After three mornings of this, Alma, the cook, appeared 
 before Haworth and made the solemn declaration that she — 
 wouldn’t be staying there to get up and cook a special break- 
 fast “for the likes o’ him.” Haworth, much disturbed, in- 
 quired of Hulda what he’d better do, and she told him that 
 the only way to settle it was to turn that Findlay man out 
 of the house and get rid of him “for good an’ all.” But of 
 course if he did that Augustus would take Edith with him. | 
 No way to prevent it that he could see. He puzzled quite 
 distractedly over the matter for some time, and then be- 
 thought him of an old woman who came in from somewhere 
 once a week to clean. Mrs. Temple was her name, and sev- 
 eral times in the past when she’d been working in the base- 
 ment he had called her into his shop and got her to help him 
 about something that needed an extra pair of hands; and 
 twice since Michael Cripps’s death—there being no one else 
 to do it—she had gone in to Boston to manage the matter of 
 replacing servants for him. It now occurred to him to ask 
 her what had better be done about Mr. Findlay’s new break- 
 fast requirements. hha 
 
 Mrs. Temple was entirely equal to the occasion. She her- 
 self went to Mr. Findlay and notified him in not the politest 
 terms, that if he wanted his breakfast before eight o’clock 
 in the morning he’d have to get it somewhere else. There 
 was no more trouble; Findlay got his breakfast somewhere 
 else. And beginning about then Haworth came more and 
 more to rely on the old woman for advice and assistance. 
 She was a wise one, too, and had a perfectly clear idea of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 107 
 
 what she was about, which was particularly fortunate just 
 at this period, for the young inventor was in a daze—a 
 dream—an enchantment. 
 
 About this time the market where they bought provisions 
 notified Haworth that it could not extend further credit be- 
 cause of unpaid bills. Following shortly, a grocery estab- 
 lishment did the same thing. And Haworth, having no idea 
 what to do about it, as it appeared on investigation that he 
 had very little money left—certainly not enough to pay what 
 was Oowing—turned the matter over to the old woman, asking 
 her please to attend to it in whatever way she thought best. 
 This she forthwith did by opening accounts elsewhere. This 
 would carry them along for a time at least, and after that 
 “we'll see.” Put that in quotes, because it was Mrs. Temple’s 
 philosophy to do what she could at the time, and as to the 
 future, “we’ll see.” 
 
 Where this old woman came from or when she came, no 
 one seemed to know. Haworth himself hadn’t the faintest 
 idea. She spoke very seldom and never about herself. 
 Where she lived was also in the nature of a mystery. Of 
 course it could have been solved if anyone cared to follow 
 her, but no one did. And no one noticed it, either, when 
 she began coming in twice a week instead of once as for- 
 merly. Nobody had asked her to, and she said nothing to 
 anyone about an increase in wages. 
 
 Haworth and Edith Findlay were now making little or no 
 effort to conceal the fact from Augustus—or for that mat- 
 ter from anyone—that they were together for the greater 
 part of the time. They were in every way so utterly and 
 completely taken up with each other that nothing else ap- 
 
108 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 peared to them of the slightest consequence. They talked 
 and read together, and took long tramps in woods and 
 fields and along country roads. 
 
 Findlay usually got home from his work about half-past 
 five or six, often in plenty of time to see the two come in 
 from an afternoon’s tramp, or to find them working in the 
 old flower garden together, or something like that. And it 
 was entirely open to observation—when anyone was there to 
 observe it—that in the evening they were by themselves 
 somewhere, reading together or engaged over chess or crib- 
 bage. 
 
 While all-this, as I’ve said, could be seen without effort, 
 Augustus had all the appearance of being unaware of it. But 
 he had seen and heard enough in the course of a week or so, 
 to rouse his most malignant passions. Without appearing 
 to do so, he was watching every move they made. 
 
 When he first began work at the yards, Findlay had felt 
 too tired on getting home at the end of the day, to go back 
 to town again after dinner—or even to nearer places—for 
 alcoholic consolation. This resulted in a much clearer mind 
 than was normal with him. And once his overpowering 
 suspicion was awakened the thought of drinking never 
 crossed his mind. 
 
 As he became more and more aroused, at the same time 
 gaining a stronger perception of the situation and harboring 
 a more desperate desire to trap them, a scheme by which he 
 could do so came into his mind, and he set to work to put it 
 into practice. The first move was his failure to appear for 
 dinner, which had not occurred since he got the job at the 
 freight yards. Late that night he came in loaded—or ap- 
 parently so. One would have supposed, if not too close an 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 109 
 
 investigator, that the fellow was in a hopeless state of intoxi- 
 cation. And so, notwithstanding that his imitation of him- 
 self as a roistering inebriate was far from being a perfect 
 one, it succeeded with the two people for whose benefit (and 
 ultimate undoing) he was giving the performance; for, un- 
 fortunately, neither of them was in the mood to criticize 
 it. He was enabled, therefore, eventually to stagger into 
 his room with the impression successfully conveyed that he 
 was drunk and disorderly to the furthest limit. Once there, 
 and from the moment of his violently slamming shut the 
 door, his vigil began. 
 
 He had tools with which to open the door should anyone 
 lock him in, and the key was purposely left on the outside as 
 a further blind. It was the fourth time that he set this trap 
 before it closed on its victims. 
 
 Shortly before nine oclock of the morning following the 
 springing of the trap, Mr. Augustus Findlay drove up to the 
 front portico of the mansion in a taxi, and with two small 
 and exceedingly moderate-priced trunks set in front beside 
 the driver. He’d gone out early and bought them at a place 
 in Roslindale where they kept almost everything. The chauf- 
 feur lent a hand in taking them into the house, and about 
 an hour later renewed the loan in bringing them out again. 
 
 Edith came slowly down the great stairway, pulling on her 
 gloves. She wore the long fur coat that Haworth had given 
 her; indeed, everything she had on came from him. She 
 didn’t raise her eyes as she descended, seeming to be occu- 
 
 pied with her gloves. The veil which was pulled down over 
 her face failed to hide the paleness of it, which glimmered 
 through like a small white cloud. 
 
110 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Haworth was standing back against the wall near the foot 
 of the stairs, with the look of death upon him. It wasn’t so 
 much the mortuary pallor of his countenance as the strained 
 fixity of his staring yet unseeing eyes. He had gone to her 
 -room while Augustus was getting the taxi, and found it 
 locked. 
 
 “Open the door! Open it quick!” he’d called to her in a 
 half whisper as he knocked lightly, for to create a disturbance 
 would defeat what he had made up his mind to do. 
 
 “Oh, I can’t!” she answered, coming as near to him as 
 possible. “He’s taken away the key!’ 
 
 Haworth turned and ran down the two flights of stairs to 
 the basement, and was back in a moment with a heavy iron 
 bar. 
 
 “Darling, are you there?” 
 | “Oh yes—I’m right here—as near as I can get!’ 
 
 “Well, stand away—stand away from the door. I’m going 
 to break it in!” 
 
 i “No no!—Please don’t! Oh wait Michael!” 
 
 { “Get back by the window! You're coming with me!” 
 
 ' “Stop! Michael—stop! You'll hurt me! I’m close to the 
 door—right against it! Listen to me, dear—it’ll only make 
 it worse! Yes, it will—whatever you do! He could stop 
 us. There’d be police and, oh! reporters—and everything ! 
 I’m sure there would.” 
 
 Her low voice reached him clearly as she stood close 
 against the door. 
 
 _ “What can we do?” he got out, hoarsely. 
 
 “Nothing now—nothing, dear, just now! I must go with 
 him and you mustn’t do anything! Afterward, when it all 
 quiets down, we'll find some way!” This poor child was the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 111 
 
 wise and cool one through it all. Haworth was demented 
 with the hurt of it and his helplessness. 
 
 “Don’t let him find you here!’ she went on. “Let him 
 have his way. Don’t say anything! Good-by, darling. Til 
 be—I'll be loving you always—always—and oh, so much!” 
 
 Haworth tried to speak, but couldn’t. After a time he 
 moved slowly away. 
 
 And now she was coming down the stairs, buttoning one 
 of her gloves and with her white face showing through the 
 veil. He knew that she passed close to him and felt the 
 thrill of her nearness. Then came the terrifying conscious- 
 ness that she was going away from him. After that she 
 was gone. 
 
 Findlay, waiting outside, saw her seated in the taxi; then 
 he entered the house. Seeing Haworth near the stairway, 
 he walked down the hall and got out between his teeth with 
 a peculiar low-voiced malevolence: “You dirty loafer! You 
 ——! Sometime—yes, by God! I’m going to get 
 even with you.” Having delivered himself of which, he 
 strode through the front door. A moment later the taxicab 
 could be heard driving away. 
 
 eee 
 
PART V 
 
 OR interminable weeks Haworth had no idea where they 
 were. Edith had asked him not to try to find her, and he 
 would do nothing against her wishes. 
 
 Most of the time he was sitting somewhere in the house— 
 he didn’t notice where—staring before him with wide-open 
 eyes that saw nothing. Hulda brought him “just a taste” of 
 this or that at meal times and he’d make an attempt to eat 
 a little so she wouldn’t feel hurt. Sometimes he would start 
 walking aimlessly about the house. 
 
 For quite a time he couldn’t bring himself to enter the 
 room Edith had occupied—his own room. But the time 
 came when, with a fearful sinking of the heart, he opened 
 the door. After a while he ventured in a little way and stood 
 looking at the dressing table with the chair before it. He 
 could picture her there so well. His eyes slowly moved 
 to other things—the bureau, the chairs, the bed with the 
 soft rug at the side where her small white feet so often 
 touched before she could find her bedroom slippers. 
 
 Very soon—on his first visit—he had to turn away and 
 hasten gropingly out of the room. He was there again the 
 next day, and on the floor of the great wardrobe he found 
 the worn little shoes that were on her feet the day she came. 
 
 It was more than a fortnight after she left when he got a 
 note from her. It had been mailed. For a while he was 
 unable to open it, as he had been at first to enter her room. 
 When he did, life came back to him. Sometime they could 
 
 liz 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 113 
 
 meet somewhere—but not now. And he must not try to 
 find her. Would he please write and tell her if he still loved 
 her? It would help her to stay alive if she could only be 
 sure that he truly did. The best address would be the Gen- 
 eral Delivery, Boston. She would read the letter and destroy 
 it there at the Post Office. 
 
 After this he was able to look at all the things that spoke 
 to him of her, with painful delight instead of devastating 
 despair. 
 
 But now financial troubles began to bear down on him. 
 The greatly increased expenses from having the Findlays 
 there, together with Augustus’s borrowings and Edith’s 
 wardrobe, had more than made an end of the few thousands 
 left him by old Mr. Cripps. He had adopted the plan long 
 ago advised by Mr. Trescott, the attorney, of cutting down 
 living expenses and apportioning so much and no more to 
 each month. In this way the money could have been made 
 to last nearly four years, and surely by that time, Mr. Tres- 
 cott had said, he ought to be able to do something with his 
 patents and mechanical work. 
 
 But this wise financial arrangement had been abandoned 
 when the Findlays came; and now the funds that were to 
 have carried him for some two years longer had entirely dis- 
 appeared, and in addition to that a number of people were 
 clamoring for various amounts which he appeared to owe 
 them. Haworth turned in this emergency, as he had before, 
 to Mrs. Temple, who muttered something about ‘‘cormo- 
 rants,” and then did the best she could again, this time per- 
 suading some of the creditors to wait a little on the ground 
 that Mr. Haworth had valuable patents and was on the point 
 of selling one of them for thousands of dollars. In cases 
 
114 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 where further credit was refused she made arrangements 
 with other (and more distant) firms. Of course there wasn’t 
 the least use in going to the electric-light company—nobody 
 ever heard of their doing anything except shut off the cur- 
 rent—which they promptly did. 
 
 So far as light was concerned, Haworth minded it very 
 little. The oil lamps and candles Mrs. Temple got hold 
 of somewhere, answered well enough. But he did very 
 much mind—thkough not so much at this time as later, when 
 he tried to get back to his work again—losing the power 
 for his machinery. He had only the haziest ideas as to 
 creditors or electrical calamities or where his groceries were 
 or were not coming from. Mrs. Temple was attending to it, 
 and he let it rest at that. He could live in peace with his 
 dreams and memories and imaginings—all of Edith and the 
 exquisite pain of his longing for her. He wrote to her and 
 had another precious letter in reply. She told of their having 
 moved into a small house on Cherry Street, but said he 
 must not come there. Perhaps sometime, but not then. If 
 they could only meet somewhere, perhaps in town, before 
 long, just for a few minutes. She loved him so! And if 
 she could not see him soon it did not seem as if she could go _ 
 on living. | 
 
 It was a month after this before they finally met. He 
 waited for her on a quiet old street on the hill back of the 
 State House. When she finally came, neither could speak. 
 They found a bench hidden by shrubbery near the north 
 end of the pond in the Public Garden. 
 
 After a time, when they had whispered those first words 
 of endearment after the long separation, and he could begin 
 to realize things, he was greatly disturbed by her appear- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD ; 115 
 
 ance, so worn and thin she was, with a hunted look in the 
 eyes he loved beyond all measure. After much effort he 
 discovered in a roundabout way, that for one thing she was 
 half starved. It appeared that when Augustus earned any- 
 thing he spent nearly the whole of it on himself or gambled 
 it away. Very little came to her for household uses. Some- 
 times none.. And now he wasn’t working at all. He’d lost 
 his place at the freight yards. | 
 
 She wouldn’t mind so much about the food part of it, she 
 said, but when he came home late at night and there wasn’t 
 anything to eat, he was so violent! He seemed to think that 
 she was to blame for it. The trouble was he had a revolver 
 again and flourished it about. He always seemed to want 
 to do that when he’d been drinking. And though she felt 
 sure he wouldn’t fire it, she couldn’t help being frightened. 
 
 After that, although they talked of other things in their 
 brief time together, he never once escaped from the terrify- 
 ing realization that she was starving,—actually starving, and 
 he could do nothing. Until now he had never entertained 
 a suspicion of the tremendous importance of having money. 
 Even while they were there, with only those few precious 
 moments to themselves after weeks of loneliness, he was 
 desperately catching at straws of possibilities for obtaining 
 - some—in sufficient amount, that is, to relieve her distressing 
 situation at home. By a lucky chance he had brought with 
 him what little he had in the house, so he could at least 
 keep her from starvation for to-day. It would hardly do 
 more than that. But how to get more? How? How? 
 How? 
 
 Then suddenly he thought of Mr. Trescott. He remem- 
 bered one thing the lawyer had recommended was the sale 
 
116 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 of the place. There was a mortgage, but they could get a 
 figure, he had said, that would cover it and leave something 
 over. Haworth couldn’t bring himself to do it then. There — 
 was his shop and machinery and drafting room—all the 
 things he needed. But what did that amount to now? Edith 
 had come into his life; she was his life. There was nothing 
 else. He didn’t understand it, but it was so—there was 
 nothing else. 
 
 He would go and see Mr. Trescott the next day and ask 
 him to sell the place. That was settled. And for the rest of 
 the time they were together he had no thought but of Edith, 
 and of her presence close beside him. Most of it was spent 
 in a restaurant, for as soon as it would do after discovering 
 the state of things he claimed to be exceedingly hungry, and 
 they went to one together. She was entirely frank and said 
 she was hungry too, and he had the joy of seeing her pres- 
 ent famishment relieved. 
 
 While they were there he told her, as a preparation for 
 what would come from selling the mansion (for she might 
 not like that), that he expected to dispose of one of his in- 
 ventions and she was to go halves with him on whatever he 
 got. She said, ‘Oh!’ and her eyes were alight for a mo- 
 ment. But then she looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 “What is it, darling?” he asked. 
 
 “Oh—why, I’m thinking—I’m afraid you'll not be taking 
 care of yourself—your machinery and patents and—and all 
 that you need to do about them.” 
 
 “There'll be plenty for those things too.” 
 
 “Will there?” 
 
 And so at last she was satisfied, and they began to con- 
 sider the way of getting her “share” to her—whether a little 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 117 
 
 at atime ora lump sum. They finally decided on small and 
 more frequent remittances, for if Findlay once got the idea 
 that she had a considerable amount of money in the house 
 he would resort to any violence to get it. And mailing 
 seemed the best way of sending, for she could go to the 
 Post Office without danger of discovery, if she was careful 
 about it. 
 
 Soon after they had decided on this she left him, going out 
 of the restaurant by herself and getting a car in the subway 
 which would take her within a few blocks of Cherry Street. 
 
 On reaching the mansion Haworth found a letter waiting 
 for him. The envelope bore the name of a prominent sav- 
 ings bank in Boston from which he vaguely remembered hav- 
 ing heard before. Within was a formal notice to the effect 
 that if the interest on the mortgage note was not paid by 
 such and such a time (which was only five days away), fore- 
 closure proceedings would at once be instituted. This ex- 
 plained why the name of the bank had seemed familiar, 
 other communications on the same subject having come in 
 before, though none so definite and alarming. These—as 
 he had no idea what to do with them—he had turned over, 
 with other bills and requests for payment, to Mrs. Temple; 
 and although this estimable old woman quite well under- 
 stood grocery and market accounts, foreclosure notices were 
 as Greek to her. She had therefore done nothing about them, 
 quite certain that this behavior would bring further explana- 
 tion if there was any. 
 
 It looked serious to Haworth. If they foreclosed he 
 wouldn’t be able to sell the place. Naturally he wasn’t able 
 
118 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to sleep that night. Next morning he went to Mr. Trescott’s 
 office. 
 
 The old lawyer said at once that he doubted if anything 
 could be done, as the property was mortgaged to nearly the 
 limit. A forced sale was out of the question. When he 
 had advised selling some years before, prices were high; 
 now they were normal again. A second mortgage would 
 hardly be possible under the circumstances. The only chance 
 he saw was the possibility that the holders of the first would 
 be willing to make a new one for an increased amount, or 
 that a new one for a larger amount could be negotiated else- 
 where and the old one paid off with the proceeds, leaving 
 him something after the transaction. He would take the 
 matter up with the bank, and Mr. Haworth would hear 
 from him in a day or two. He inquired how the inventions 
 were selling and was sorry to hear that they hadn’t done 
 better. He had sent a few people out there to see them and 
 would try to do so again. 
 
 Four days later—four terrible days for Haworth—the 
 letter he was waiting for came. Mr. Trescott requested 
 him to call and attend to the execution of a new mortgage. 
 It seemed the bank was willing to increase the amount of 
 the loan to the extent of five thousand dollars—a consid- 
 eration being, however, not alone the payment out of this 
 of interest due, but interest on the new note for two years 
 in advance. 
 
 Haworth, enormously relieved, went to the Trescott & 
 Chamberlain offices and the business was transacted. Fifty 
 dollars was at once mailed to Edith, and he sent her that 
 amount weekly thereafter. Mrs. Temple was given what 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 119 
 
 was necessary to pay current bills and, at her suggestion, 
 the expenses of the establishment were reduced still further. 
 
 All thought of attention to the needs of the house, in the 
 way of repairs, painting, and the like, was abandoned, as 
 was also the keeping up of the grounds and gardens sur- 
 rounding it. Even the shattered window in front on the 
 second floor was still as Augustus’s hurtling revolver had 
 left it. These various economies and others wouldn’t have 
 occurred to Haworth, but his overwhelming desire to save 
 enough out of the additional mortgage money to enable him 
 to take Edith away, caused him to entreat Mrs. Temple to 
 think of all possible ways to cut down expenditures. This 
 she did. 
 
 In the course of the next few weeks Edith’s condition 
 was much improved, though it couldn’t be said that she 
 looked entirely well. The two met in town when they could 
 —which wasn’t often, for Augustus, being out of a job, was 
 hanging about. They’d thought of Franklin Park and other 
 places nearer than the Public Garden, but Edith couldn’t 
 lose herself before going to them as she could in the crowds 
 in the city district. Besides this, she had managed to find 
 a place where they’d give her needlework to take home—one - 
 of the “sweating” industries you read about—and this not 
 only furnished her with an excuse for going to town occa- 
 sionally, but had so far blocked Findlay’s suspicions as to 
 where her housekeeping money came from. 
 
 Several times they went out Cambridge way and beyond 
 to some woodsy place, and wandered among the trees. There 
 were still warm Indian summer days for them, though No- 
 vember was close at hand. 3 
 
 It was on one of these trips, as they were sitting on soft 
 
120 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 green moss with their backs to the trunk of a great oak, that 
 Haworth told her about going away—that he couldn’t live 
 without her. They would take a steamer to South America 
 or anywhere she wished. There would be money enough to 
 pay the fares and keep them until he could find work. He 
 wotld dig in the streets or do anything, it made no difference 
 what, if he could only be with her. 
 
 She looked at him in a half-frightened way and shook her 
 head a little. 
 
 “You—you don’t mean —— I thought you’d come!’ he 
 said. 
 “There’s a—there’s something ——” She couldn’t go on 
 
 and her face went white. 
 
 He looked at her silently, desolated by the thought that she 
 didn’t care enough for him to come. Finally he half whis- 
 pered: 
 
 “T suppose you You don’t love me—really.” 
 
 “There’s only you in the world, Michael—only you—now 
 —but before long .. .” 
 
 He looked at her for the rest. 
 
 “Before long there'll be some one else.” 
 
 It was a moment before he understood. 
 
 As weeks went by Haworth’s anxieties about Edith came 
 to be unbearable—the thought of her having to live in 
 that comfortless shanty and being subjected, at such a time, 
 to the brutalities of her liquor-crazed husband. Finally, in 
 desperation, he went to Mr. Trescott for advice, explaining 
 that the Findlays were relatives of old Cripps and that he 
 (Haworth) had taken them in at the mansion for a while, 
 though they were now in a house of their own; that Mr. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 121 
 
 Findlay was brutal and loathsome in every respect, often 
 drinking to excess and at such times abusing and browbeat- 
 ing his wife and frequently terrorizing her with a revolver; 
 so that, now she was to be confined, he feared she’d not 
 only have no care, but be seriously injured in some way. 
 
 “T suppose it wouldn’t do for her to have the trouble and 
 anxiety of divorcing him—now ?” 
 
 “I—lT’m afraid not.” 
 
 “Can’t she go home to her mother or family?” 
 
 “No.” (Shaking his head). “She hasn’t any.” 
 
 “Alone in the world, eh?” 
 
 “Not so good as that. She’s with him.” 
 
 “T see. ... Treats her badly, you say?” 
 
 “T don’t think that’s quite the word for it.” 
 
 “You said something about a revolver?” 
 
 Haworth nodded in affirmation. 
 
 “That he threatened her with it?’ 
 
 mocen’? 
 
 “Did anyone see him do that?” 
 
 The young man hesitated for an instant; then, “I did— 
 once.” 
 
 “Then this threatening with a revolver took place in your 
 presence ?” 
 
 REYES." 
 
 “Did you interfere in any way?” 
 
 “Yes; I took it away from him.” 
 
 Mr. Trescott regarded Haworth with peculiar interest for 
 an instant. Finally he said: “If the fellow’s slamming 
 around, threatening his wife with firearms, we can get the 
 patrolman on that beat to keep an eye on him. Write the 
 address for me.” 
 
122 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “But it’s no place for her there, where he might come 
 in crazy drunk any minute. Isn’t there some way so she can 
 be kept away from him—so he can’t get to her ?” 
 
 “T’m afraid not, Mr. Haworth, unless he ? Mr. Tres- 
 cott broke off as a possibility occurred to him. “Has he 
 any money?” he asked. “Enough, I mean, to have her well 
 taken care of—private hospital and all that?” 
 
 “Yes. 
 
 “Oh, he has! Well, do you think there’s any way to 
 make him do it? It’s going to cost something, you know.” 
 
 “He lL sdo at,” 
 
 “That’s the thing, then.” 
 
 Trescott wrote an address on a desk pad and scribbled a 
 few words below. “See the doctor personally. Tell his 
 secretary it’s from me.” He handed the address to Ha- | 
 worth. “He'll see that she’s sent to the right place. And 
 I rather think they can let her come along awhile before. 
 She’ll have nurses, doctors, everything, and nobody’ll be 
 allowed to see her that might have the least unfavorable 
 effect—you understand. As I say, it’s going to be rather 
 expensive. You feel quite positive the fellow can stand it?” 
 
 He was watching the young man narrowly as he put the 
 question. 
 
 WES i 
 
 “All right then— Now, Mr. Haworth, what about you? 
 I suppose, from what you’ve been telling me, that you’ve 
 had some—er—interruptions and—and anxieties. that may 
 have seriously interfered with your work?” 
 
 “Yes, I have.” 
 
 “Well, we’ve got one distraction out of the way,” Tres- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 123 
 
 cott said, hopefully, indicating the note and address that 
 Haworth was holding in his hand. 
 
 “Yes,” the young man said; and after thanking Mr. Tres- 
 cott in his laconic way, he went to the address of the doctor. 
 
 They kept Edith at the hospital for some weeks after she 
 could have gone home. For observation, it was said—but 
 that didn’t get to Haworth. He knew only that all had 
 gone well, that there was a very minute daughter in the 
 world, and that the conditions might perhaps be better than 
 they had been so far as Findlay was concerned, for a warn- 
 ing from the patrolman given before his wife was taken 
 to the hospital had apparently accomplished its purpose. 
 Augustus entertained a serious repugnance to jail from hay- 
 ing once been compelled to sample it, and the patrolman’s 
 words were seed sown in specially fertilized soil. 
 
 For some time he had kept on the safe side of the line 
 which divided bestial drunkenness from mere gentlemanly 
 intoxication. And when Edith, after an absence of some 
 two months, returned to the cottage on Cherry Street with 
 the baby and a nurse, the comparative decency of his con- 
 duct came near astounding her. Findlay, however, was con- 
 trolling himself with the utmost difficulty. To the fear of 
 the police was now added the presence of a nurse—and in 
 a damned uniform, at that! How did he know but that she 
 was sent there to report him? His mania to get even with 
 Haworth increased till he was in a condition of chronic fury. 
 He’d found out that Haworth had been meeting his wife, 
 that the money she’d been using for household expenses 
 came from him instead of being earned by her, that he had 
 
124 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 sent her to the hospital for her confinement and paid for it 
 —though as to that, who should pay for it if not he?—and 
 he hadn’t a doubt that it was Haworth who’d set the police 
 on him. Haworth—Haworth—Haworth—whichever way 
 he turned. And here she was, still wearing the clothes this 
 fellow had given her—brazenly wearing them before his 
 face! The getting of his money was nothing; it was what 
 it meant—what it showed was going on. 
 
 He’d been told by some of his disreputable associates that 
 he could bring suit for alienation and get all the rotter’s prop- 
 erty away from him. He'd do it, too! He knew a lawyer 
 who’d take it on spec. Cost nothing. But that wasn’t 
 enough. Money was all very well, but satisfaction—that was 
 what he wanted—-satisfaction ! 
 
 Haworth had been allowed to see Edith a few days after 
 the child was born. She was very white and beautiful. 
 When the nurse brought the little speck of humanity, sound 
 asleep, and laid it beside her, he sat gazing at it for a long 
 time. Edith lay looking at him with a shadow of a smile 
 flitting about her face. Soon the nurse made a little sign 
 and turned away. Haworth bent over and pressed his lips 
 to Edith’s hands as they lay on the coverlet—first one and 
 then the other, and then the first again and then the other 
 again. Then he looked once more at the little one, and 
 finally let his eyes meet Edith’s in a long embracing look 
 that told her everything. After that he rose and tiptoed out 
 of the room. Neither of them noticed that not a word had 
 been said. They had spoken in a language not crippled by 
 words. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 125 
 
 I’ve always had the idea that those innocent and delightful 
 people who are born without a trace of what might be re- 
 ferred to as economics, and who are unable to acquire enough ~ 
 of same for personal use, should have financial guardians 
 appointed to help them through. Charles Michael Haworth, 
 the inventor, should have had one. 
 
 Everything that he could lay his hands on was expended in 
 providing the best possible care for Edith during the period 
 of her maternity. No still small voice—indeed, no voice of 
 any description—was heard by him in warning against 
 overdoing in the matter of present expenditure, as future 
 needs were likely to be still greater. 
 
 Haworth could not think of such things. He could think 
 only of Edith. And not Edith in the future, but Edith 
 now. One day, upon roughly figuring from his check-book 
 stubs (which was the only figuring he ever did) he was 
 amazed to find that he had very nearly expended the en- 
 tire amount deposited from the new loan. Only a few hun- 
 dred left, and he needed that for the nurse who was taking 
 care of Edith! The doctor had advised keeping some one 
 with her for a while, as she was still far from well. 
 
 After a tough night worrying about it, he got old Mrs. 
 Temple in and told her that he had come to the place where 
 there was no more money for his own use—none at all. All 
 the servants must go—the cook and Hulda, even herself, 
 for he would be unable to pay any more wages. He was 
 sorry, but they must all go. 
 
 “What will you do, sir ?” the old woman asked. 
 
 “Oh, that’s—that’s nothing. Tl be all right.” 
 
 “You won’t be all right without your food, Mr. Haworth.” 
 
 “I can get it somewhere.” He had vague notions of things 
 
126 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 in tins and oatmeal and baked beans, that he could live on 
 for a few cents a day. That money in the bank, every dollar 
 of it, must go for the nurse—for the nurse and their food, 
 too. Augustus was doing nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Temple went out in a blind sort of way. Soon Hulda 
 appeared. 
 
 “She told me, sir.” She came just within the door, em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 “Oh yes—about going. I’m sorry.” 
 
 “T—I’d rather stay, Mr. Haworth.” 
 
 “You mustn’t.” 
 
 “If you please, it’s nothing to me about the paying—not — 
 till you can.” 
 
 “T don’t see how I ever can, Hulda. And there won’t be 
 anything for you to eat—nothing you'd like at all. It’s too 
 bad, isn’t it? You've been so good to me, Hulda.” 
 
 A strange convulsion twitched the honest Swedish face 
 and a couple of large-sized tears went sliding- down her 
 cheeks, upon realizing which, she bolted out of the room. 
 
 Haworth went down into the shop. Not to work; that 
 was impossible—impossible even if the power current hadn’t 
 been shut off. He stood for half an hour gazing vacantly 
 down the long room with the lathes and heavier machines 
 lined along one side, the dead power shaft above them, and 
 the bench with vises and tool racks and the lighter machines 
 along the other. 
 
 Hulda and the cook left four days later, the former mak- 
 ing spasmodic swipes across the upper part of her face with 
 a bunched-up handkerchief as she stood near the taxi wait- 
 ing for them to bring down her trunks. Nothing, however, 
 would induce old Mrs. Temple to budge. Haworth’s earnest 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 127 
 
 pleading (on her behalf) that not only would he have no 
 money for her wages, but nothing wherewith to buy food 
 for her, made no impression on the old woman. She an- — 
 nounced that she was a-goin’ to come in an’ see to him an’ he 
 might just as well make up his mind to it. Wages wasn’t 
 no consequence; he could pay her later when he was doin’ 
 well with his inventions. A compromise was finally reached. 
 She was to come in once in a while to put things to rights, 
 but you may as well know now that the said “once in a while” 
 eventually developed into twice in a while and then to three 
 times a week; later still, as you will see, to the old woman 
 remaining in the house night and day as long as she was able 
 to manage it. 
 
 Three months had passed since the baby was born, and 
 Edith hadn’t regained her strength. It was absolutely neces- 
 sary that she should have proper care and nourishment. The 
 doctor continued to visit her at intervals and insisted on the 
 importance of having the nurse remain with her. So far 
 Haworth had been able to manage these things, but he was 
 now close upon the end of his resources, and as time went 
 on his anxiety became appalling. 
 
 He had been to a number of machine shops and manufac- 
 turing establishments and applied for work. At two places 
 he got a chance to try, but in neither did he last more than 
 three days. It wasn’t the trouble of earlier years—inability 
 to hold his mind concentrated on work that was deadly and 
 meaningless repetition. With the tremendous incentive he 
 had and the absence of interfering inventive ideas, he could 
 have done it. But with his marvelous mechanical knowledge 
 he couldn’t compete in cheap rapidity with a boob they might 
 
128 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 pick up in the street. What he did he must do carefully and 
 well. That lifelong habit was absolutely unbreakable, and 
 it unfitted him for modern work. It took time. That 
 wouldn’t do. 
 
 It came to be the day after to-morrow that he was ex- 
 pected to pay the monthly expenses for Edith, and he realized 
 that he couldn’t do it. Mrs. Temple saw from the way he 
 strode blindly about the house that he was in distress. 
 She’d been watching him (without seeming to do so) for 
 some hours. Finally she managed to get in his way so that 
 he was compelled to stop before her. He hesitated and 
 looked at her blankly. 
 
 “Oh, Mrs. Temple. Yes—yes.” 
 
 “T was just thinkin’, Mr. Haworth, there’s furniture in 
 this house that you ain’t got any use fur that I c’n see.” 
 
 “Take anything you want, Mrs. Temple.” He turned to 
 resume his feverish pacing. 
 
 “No, Mr. Haworth, it wasn’t that!” She was so emphatic 
 that he stopped again and stood looking at her. 
 
 “There’s good furniture here, Mr. Haworth. Now that 
 sideboard—I don’t see’s you really need it. Maybe I could 
 find somebody that’d give a good price for it x 
 
 “What?” 
 
 She repeated what she’d said. 
 
 “Could you find him now ?”’ 
 
 “T’ll have to go in to Boston. There’s a man there 
 
 “Would—would it be enough to—to ‘ 
 
 “T dunno exactly, but that sideboard’s wuth consid’rable; 
 and that walnut set in the East Room f a 
 
 “Anything—anything, Mrs. Temple. Please hurry. You 
 might lose a chance!’”” And he almost pushed her out of the 
 
 oP 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD ) 129 
 
 room. The enormous relief made him feel really faint and 
 he sank into the nearest chair. 
 
 It was more than two months after the sale of the side- 
 board—during which interval many other articles of furni- 
 ture and four paintings had been disposed of in one way or 
 another, together with the largest of his two lathes and his 
 shaper and drill press—that Edith heard what was going on. 
 The information reached her via Augustus, who kept a close 
 watch on Haworth, and observing the trucks of second- 
 hand dealers taking these various articles from the man- 
 sion, took delight in taunting her with it. 
 
 At once she insisted that the nurse should not remain an- 
 other day—that it was entirely unnecessary, as she was 
 feeling very much better. She seemed so determined about 
 this that the doctor thought best to give way, and told her 
 the nurse could go at the end of the month. 
 
 In a letter to Haworth, Edith told him that she was so 
 much better that the nurse was going, and that hereafter she 
 could manage with very little help—perhaps none at all—as 
 Augustus had got a job again and she was going to insist 
 that he turn over half his pay to her for household expenses. 
 She would miss the nurse, of course, she said, especially 
 about getting his letters at the Post Office and taking hers 
 there. But she would find some way. 
 
 This letter reached Haworth at a time when he was be- 
 ginning again to be frightfully anxious as to where he 
 could obtain money to go on with, for he had only a small 
 amount left and everything they could find in the house that 
 would sell had been disposed of. He was cutting off every 
 possible expense, even to half starving himself, pretending 
 
130 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to Mrs. Temple, when she came in on one of her “on” days 
 and wanted to cook things for him, that he had just eaten 
 a hearty meal and couldn’t possibly get down any more. 
 He had an empty baked-bean can that he feloniously left 
 where she would see it, in order to help with the deception. 
 
 Edith’s letter gave him relief. He sat on his bench in 
 the workroom, thinking it over, and before going to bed he 
 
 wrote one to her asking if he couldn’t call and see her before 
 
 the nurse actually left as it was better for him to come while 
 she was there. And so it was arranged. 
 
 And the nurse was discreet and left them to themselves. 
 And he held the minute bundle of recently arrived humanity 
 in his arms a few moments until it protested vigorously on 
 account of his profound awkwardness. An exquisite hour 
 it was for both of them. But Augustus was informed of 
 what had occurred by the small boy he’d hired to keep a look- 
 out, and on reaching home that evening was so violent and 
 abusive that the nurse started out of the house to bring the 
 police, but he called her back, thereafter subsiding into a 
 scowling silence, and not long after leaving the house. 
 
 On the following day, along toward afternoon, a car came 
 up the drive and the front-door buzzer sounded. Haworth 
 opened the door to the physician in whose care Edith had 
 been at the hospital and who’d been keeping an eye on her 
 since she came back to the Cherry Street cottage. 
 
 “Mr. Haworth, good afternoon.” 
 
 “Oh—the doctor, isn’t it?” 
 
 “Yes, Markham. Met you two or three times at the hos- 
 pital. Dropped around to have a little talk.” 
 
 Haworth stood, near to being paralyzed with a frightful 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 131 
 
 dread—some sort of premonition concerning Edith—that 
 stopped his heart. 
 
 He was aroused by the doctor’s gently turning him about 
 and walking with him into the house. There was no furni- 
 ture left in the vast dim hall, and Doctor Markham, seeing 
 through the open door on the left that the room beyond had 
 at least chairs and a table in it, guided him in there. Haworth 
 managed to make a motion toward one of the chairs and 
 Doctor Markham seated himself. Then Haworth slowly 
 sat down, without once taking his eyes off the doctor. He 
 heard a voice saying something about there being no cause 
 for alarm and wishing to assure somebody that there was 
 nothing that couldn’t be taken care of if the proper steps 
 were taken without delay. 
 
 “We've had Mrs. Findlay under observation for some lit- 
 tle time,” Doctor Markham went on. “I needn’t tell you 
 that the important thing in these cases is to get them in 
 time; and while there was no me 
 
 “What cases?” broke in Haworth, who was on the rack. 
 
 “The situation is this, Mr. Haworth: During the time 
 Mrs. Findlay was at the hospital we deemed it inadvisable 
 to make a thorough examination, for she could hardly have 
 failed to realize what we were looking for, and the effect 
 on her might have been unfortunate. But we feared a tend- 
 ency toward tubercular trouble. We could say nothing more 
 at the time.” 
 
 The doctor paused. 
 
 Haworth heard himself repeating huskily, “At that time.” 
 
 axes. 
 
 “But you—you can now?” 
 
 “We've made an examination, Mr. Haworth.” 
 
132 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Doctor Markham waited a moment and then continued: 
 “Fortunately the infection is very slight—only a small tract 
 at the top of the left lung. We’re in plenty of time, you 
 see, and by sending her to the right locality and making sure 
 that she has proper treatment and surroundings, there’s no 
 occasion for anxiety. I came to see you about this because 
 I don’t know of anyone else. Her husband is out of the 
 question. Perhaps you know of some relatives or—or 
 
 Haworth shook his head a little and tried to say “no,” but 
 accomplished no more than a movement of his lips. 
 
 “The only thing, then, is to leave it in your hands, Mr. 
 Haworth,” the doctor went on, “and I’m very much hoping 
 you'll see your way—or—or find a way” (he could not help 
 a glance about the poverty-stricken room) “to send her to 
 one of the best high-altitude cures, where she'll have a com- 
 plete change in every respect :—air—food—sunlight—sur- 
 roundings—even language if possible, for every little helps. 
 Attitude of mind is an important element you know. Of 
 course there are State and other institutions here—all ad- 
 mirable in their way. But I’m sure Mrs. Findlay needs 
 something more than we can find near at hand. Moreover, 
 there’s a child to be considered. That complicates matters 
 a little.” 
 
 Haworth sat rigid, his eyes fixed on the physician. 
 
 “I’m going over the case carefully with Doctor Benjamin, 
 our lung specialist, and I’ll have you fully informed of the 
 steps to be taken. Mrs. Findlay is aware of her condition. 
 Just as well, too. She’d have to know very soon in order to 
 understand why certain things in the way of treatment are 
 necessary.” Doctor Markham understood the situation pretty 
 well and felt no resentment nor, indeed, surprise that Ha- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 133 
 
 worth failed to rise from his chair or even seemingly to be 
 aware that he was going. He left the young man sitting 
 motionless, staring before him. 
 
 Mrs. Temple came in next morning and found Haworth 
 in the room on the left, sitting motionless, staring before 
 him. He had the appearance of having been there for some 
 time, though she had no idea it was so long as since the day 
 before. For that matter, neither had he. 
 
 It wasn’t necessary to make an effort to rouse him; he 
 looked up at her as she came near and answered her “good 
 morning’ absently. Later he took a cup of strong coffee 
 she brought, and drank it in compliance with her request. 
 Afterward she heard him murmuring faintly and mechan- 
 ically, as from force of habit, that he had had all the break- 
 fast he wanted and really couldn’t eat any more, so would 
 she please not get it for him. She paid no attention to this, 
 though, and cooked him an egg with two little ribbons of 
 bacon which she had brought over from her own limited 
 base of supplies. When she set the tray on a kitchen chair 
 by his side he looked up at her gratefully but shook his head 
 a little. But when she said, “Please eat it, Mr. Haworth,” 
 he did so. Afterward, when she had gone back to the kitchen 
 and was washing the dishes he came out and asked if she 
 could take a note to Mrs. Findlay for him and bring back 
 an answer. He explained how to get there, and she started 
 at once, without waiting to finish the dishes. There was a 
 strange and disquieting look in his eyes that she hadn’t 
 seen in them before. 
 
 He had scribbled in pencil, “I must see you—I must—I 
 must.” And the answer came back, “Darling—oh, my dar- 
 
134 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ling, please don’t be worried—it will be all right. Come 
 to-morrow—three is the best time.” 
 
 When he was with her once more and she with him, there 
 wasn’t much that could be said. It was mostly the two 
 silent ones clinging to each other, feeling even then that the 
 dread specter was standing over them, making ready to tear 
 them eternally apart; yet each managed to find a few words 
 of encouragement, Edith stopping his eyes with kisses when 
 they turned that terrified look on her, and telling him there 
 wasn’t any danger at all—that she felt so perfectly well; 
 he muttering about a patent he might sell, and anyway there 
 were other things he had in mind, so that she’d have every 
 care and be sent to a place where cure was certain. 
 
 And then there was the little one—Mildred they were 
 going to name her—sound asleep on the near-by couch! It 
 was inconceivable that tragedy could come to such an inno- 
 cent! He sat for a long time looking down at the child, 
 with Edith’s hand, now so white and thin, pressed against 
 his lips. 
 
 While he was there the maddening inability to do what 
 would save her seemed not to burn into him so mercilessly. 
 It was when he left her and was back in the vast and gloomy 
 house with its shadowy candlelight and bareness of furniture 
 that these things returned upon him and assaulted him with 
 their full force. And something that made it still more ter- 
 rible was lying on the table in the living room, awaiting 
 his return—the large envelope from Doctor Markham’s office 
 containing the specialist’s report. An agonizing thing to 
 read, yet he did not hesitate. 
 
 Mrs, Findlay was in a serious condition. Though much 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 135 
 
 of the detail was beyond his comprehension, he had no dif- 
 ficulty in understanding that. No time must be lost in get- 
 ting her to one of the high-altitude cures. Switzerland was | 
 recommended as most desirable for one of her type. There 
 were several that were held to be as beneficial in the United 
 States, but for Mrs. Findlay they were not to be preferred 
 if it were possible to send her abroad. 
 
 Haworth saw it all. To save her life she must be sent to 
 one of those places—and little Mildred taken care of. And 
 there was no one but himself to do it,—no one. 
 
 Mrs. Temple, pretending to be busy with an unusual 
 amount of cleaning, managed to hover near, not annoying 
 him as he sat distracted or moved blindly about the house, 
 but ready at any time to do what she could—for she saw 
 there was serious trouble. Along toward seven o’clock she — 
 made tea and cooked a small chop she’d bought while he 
 was away. When she asked him to come and have his sup- 
 per, he stared at her vacantly, seeming not to know what 
 she meant; but it came to him after a little, and he seated 
 himself at the table in the small breakfast room without fur- 
 ther urging, drinking and eating, but plainly without an idea 
 of what he was doing. _ 
 
 Afterward he wandered back into the living room, be- 
 having somewhat as people probably do when they’re walk- 
 ing in their sleep—I never saw one. 
 
 The old woman glanced in occasionally while doing the 
 dishes, and saw each time that he was sitting there staring 
 into vacancy, the pallor of his face emphasizing the dark- 
 ness of his deep-set eyes. She was greatly worried, and 
 wasn’t going home that night, no matter what! He might 
 be taken ill or something. She would lie down on the old 
 
136 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 lounge she’d found in the loft of the barn and brought into 
 the kitchen when all the good furniture was taken away. The 
 last thing before doing this she stole quietly to the door and 
 looked in again. Mr. Haworth hadn’t moved from the chair 
 nor changed his position in any way. She went back to 
 the kitchen and stretched herself on the ancient and moth- 
 eaten sofa. It was a warm evening and she needed no 
 covering. It seemed only a few moments after she fell 
 asleep that she was suddenly awakened by the sound of 
 violent knocking or pounding that apparently came from 
 somewhere in the basement. She listened for a few seconds, 
 alarmed, her old heart doing a corresponding pounding of 
 its own. Haworth hadn’t worked down there for months, 
 and it seemed incredible that he would suddenly go at it 
 again at such an hour, and with the terrible thing, whatever 
 it was, that seemed to be pressing on his mind. 
 
 But Mrs. Temple was game, if ever a woman was. It 
 was hardly two ticks after the pounding began before she 
 was feeling her way down the basement stairs. 
 
 It was Haworth at work, and not in his shop, but some 
 distance beyond it. She could see him by the light of the 
 lamp he’d placed near. He had a lot of weather-beaten 
 boards or planks that had apparently been dragged in 
 through one of the basement windows. She couldn’t think 
 where he’d got them, unless it was from the old barn at 
 the rear of the house. Out of these he was building a par- 
 tition, so far as the old woman could make out, and he was 
 evidently in a fever of haste about it, knocking and clawing 
 out old nails, sawing boards in lengths, and then nailing 
 them to upright timbers or studding set in a way so they 
 would wall off a small-sized room. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 137 
 
 Even Haworth’s furious activity which she now beheld, 
 seemed better to her than having him sit rigid, staring at 
 nothing, with some hidden anguish eating his heart out; and | 
 she thought best not to disturb him. So, after watching 
 him a few moments she turned away and went back up 
 the stairs, and as soon as she'd got herself quieted a little, 
 lay down again on the old lounge. But not to sleep. She 
 didn’t expect that. How could she while hearing this dearly 
 beloved young man in his frenzied fit of work, to which he 
 was driven by some desperation the cause of which she 
 could not guess? 
 
 It was still going on when the morning sunlight struck in 
 through one of the windows, and did not cease until she 
 went down to him with coffee and toast on a tray. He 
 stopped when she spoke, and stood an instant looking at her. 
 Then he thanked her, but really he didn’t want anything. 
 This behavior she considered much nearer to what was nor- 
 mal with him than the way he’d acted at supper the night 
 before—eating everything without a word. Indeed, Mrs. 
 Temple was so much encouraged by his refusal to take any- 
 thing, that she went further and insisted. He must take it 
 now while it was hot, and she set the tray on the plank he 
 was just then sawing. On this the young fellow came to 
 terms and drank the coffee and ate the toast—very hur- 
 riedly to be sure, and with eyes roving about the structure 
 he was engaged upon; but he “got it down,” as Mrs. Tem- 
 ple said to herself, “and that’s the main thing!’ 
 
 In three or four minutes he was working again, and with 
 the same feverish haste—the same madness to have it fin- 
 ished. 
 
138 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 It was late the previous night that the thing had occurred 
 to him. He’d been sitting where Mrs. Temple last saw him, 
 all hope gone, crushed, stunned, overcome. All at once, 
 without warning, he found himself standing erect and with 
 a plan or conception in his mind which promised, on its first 
 occurring to him, to be something which would certainly 
 turn defeat into victory. The central idea of the thing, with 
 its most extraordinary possibilities for profit, came to him 
 as a whole, and from that he began rapidly to develop it. 
 For nearly an hour he stood there intensely occupied with 
 this, feeling positive that he had something which would 
 enable him to save the life of the one so dear to him. To- 
 ward the end of that time the vital necessity for secrecy 
 began to dawn on him and then to rise rapidly into tremen- 
 dous importance, until he suddenly came to the realization 
 that it was at the basis of everything—that without it the 
 invention would be valueless—so much junk. He decided 
 at once to build a room in the basement where the device 
 could be constructed without the slightest danger that knowl- 
 edge of its purpose or mechanism would leak out. Bars 
 and padlocks. Timbers from the old barn back of the house. 
 Almost before he knew what he was doing he found himself 
 out there with hammer and chisel and cross-cut saw. He 
 took the lamp that Mrs. Temple had left lighted on the table, 
 and drove at the business frantically. Time—time—time! 
 The doctors said delay might turn the scales against her. 
 
 In a couple of hours he had enough timber ripped off and 
 dragged to the basement to begin on, and at it he went, 
 startling Mrs. Temple—of whose presence in the house he 
 was unaware—out of a sound sleep. 
 
 Working with the same desperate drive all the next day 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 139 
 
 and well into the succeeding night, he had the small room 
 entirely planked up by two in the morning, the partitions 
 build up solid to the floor joists of the room above. 
 
 He was at it again the morning following, and Mrs. Tem- 
 ple knew from the muffling of the sound, as she heard it in 
 the kitchen, that he had now closed himself into the new 
 room and was working inside. 
 
 There isn’t a doubt in the world that Charles Michael 
 Haworth would have starved himself to death at this time 
 but for Mrs. Temple. Without a word of remonstrance or 
 fault-finding she simply took things as they came and hus- 
 tled about to do what she could. Sometimes she was able 
 to induce a grocer or market man to give a little more credit. 
 Failing that, she’d go home to her lodgings (a small room 
 in a tenement building of forbidding aspect) and pull a 
 battered old trunk from under the bed. After looking about 
 to satisfy herself that no spectators were present, she'd 
 reach in under the clothing which partly filled it, and bring 
 up a cigar box, from which the old woman would surrep- 
 titiously and with a snatching motion, take out a dollar or 
 two, quite in the manner of one engaged in a robbery of 
 some kind. Very well she knew that this little hoard had 
 been put by for a rainy day, and nearly always she’d mum- 
 ble to herself, “Well if this ain’t one, what is it I’d like to 
 ‘know!’ as she pilfered it. The money was quickly ex- 
 changed for groceries. 
 
 She brought his food to him in the basement, putting the 
 dishes on an upturned barrel near the little room where he 
 was working. Then she’d call to him that it was there and 
 at once hurry away upstairs again. He wouldn’t open the 
 door while she was in the basement. For sleep he took 
 
140 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 what little he got like a Chinese laundryman, dropping down 
 where he was when exhausted and resuming his hectic labor 
 the instant consciousness returned. 
 
 There was only one outside interruption during the time 
 Haworth was driving to finish the apparatus or device he 
 was working on, and that a brief one. Two young men 
 came to the house one morning, and so impressed old Mrs. 
 Temple (who answered the bell) with the importance of 
 their errand—assuring her that instead of being after money 
 they wanted to pay Mr. Haworth some—that she went 
 down and talked to him through the partition about it. It 
 resulted in his finally putting on his coat and going up to 
 see what they wanted. He found them on the front portico. 
 Although Mrs. Temple had asked them in, they seemed, for 
 some reason, to prefer waiting outside. 
 
 Certainly the one who did the talking did it well. He 
 was a reporter from one of the Boston papers and had in 
 view a story for the Sunday supplement. This recluse 
 inventor had become quite a subject of remark in his near 
 neighborhood, and something of general interest might be 
 got out of it. Realizing from what he’d heard that Haworth 
 would be a ticklish proposition to handle, he said nothing 
 about the real object of his visit, but pretended instead that 
 he wanted to buy one of his inventions. His talk was so 
 earnest, so glib, so voluble, that Haworth was led into an- 
 swering quite a lot of questions about his life, habits of 
 work, etc., before he realized what he was doing, and alto- 
 gether failed to notice that during this time the other chap 
 (who was a photographer) was dodging about in different 
 places, carrying a peculiar box-like affair in his hands. It 
 was this latter that brought an abrupt end to the interview, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD — | 141 
 
 for Haworth’s ear, trained to a hair on mechanical sounds, 
 suddenly caught the click of a camera, and turning on the 
 instant, he got a fleeting glimpse of the thing focused on 
 him before the young man had time to drop it down. After 
 a second’s pause he turned on his heel and went into the 
 house, closing the door firmly, though not violently, behind 
 him. The reporter chap was disappointed, as he had it laid 
 out to see the inside and look over the inventions after they 
 had the photographs taken. But with the pictures they had 
 there was enough stuff to go on with, and he could do a bit 
 of imaginary work for the interior. 
 
 Three weeks—even working under forced draft as he did 
 —was quick time in which to finish what Haworth had 
 undertaken. He had one thing in his favor, though, which 
 counted for not a little: the parts he had to get out were 
 large and simple—heavy wooden shafts and levers, smooth- 
 running pulleys with cords and weights, a great heavy pen- 
 dulum with escapement device—parts like that, and all on 
 a scale involving no complicated adjustments. Whatever 
 lathe-work was necessary he managed on the small lathe— 
 it was only the large one that had been sold. He had to rig 
 it for foot power, but that was a comparatively simple mat- 
 ter. 
 
 On an evening which was near to the end of this period of 
 drastic toil, Haworth sent Mrs. Temple on an errand so that 
 he could test his mechanism out. He found that with some 
 minor changes and readjustments that took him, notwith- 
 standing the furious drive he put into it, a day and a half 
 longer, the device operated with certainty and precision. 
 Mad to complete it as he was, he realized that it must be © 
 unerring in its performance. The slightest thing amiss or 
 
142 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 out of adjustment would not only have spelled disaster, but 
 pronounced it. 
 
 It was late one afternoon when Haworth was finally 
 able to say to himself that the mechanism was complete and 
 its operation satisfactory. As early the next morning as 
 he thought likely people would have arrived in their offices 
 or places of business, he started out to find some one who 
 would purchase the rights for the handling and exploitation 
 of his novel mechanical conception; and before evening of 
 that same day he had come home stunned and stricken with 
 the realization that all his work had been of no avail. For 
 it had never occurred to the young inventor that the abso- 
 lute secrecy upon which the value of his device depended, 
 could at the same time prove an insurmountable obstacle 
 in the way of disposing of it. Not until he went out and 
 tried to make a sale did this unfortunate situation reveal 
 itself. Then, and at once, he made the terrifying discov- 
 ery that he couldn’t possibly describe his mechanism and 
 its tremendous monetary possibilities until he was perfectly 
 certain that he was doing so to the man who would buy it; 
 for there could be no possibility of anyone taking hold of 
 it and agreeing to pay the large sum of money that he 
 (Haworth) must have, as well as assuming the heavy ex- 
 pense of manufacture and general promoting, unless given 
 a full description of the invention and its operation, to- 
 gether with his plans connected with its exploitation. If ever 
 there was a vicious circle on earth, this was one—and not 
 much distance to go in circumnavigating it. 
 
 The truth came to him with a shock; indeed, he got the 
 shock before his conscious mind was aware of the truth. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 143 
 
 He had gone to a man he used occasionally to meet at the 
 mansion while old Mr. Cripps was alive. This gentleman 
 and Mr. Cripps seemed quite friendly, and the latter once. 
 mentioned that Mr. Hollister (the gentleman’s name) had 
 just made a big pile of money on some patent he owned. | 
 Haworth hadn’t seen him since those days. His office was 
 in a large building on Beacon Street a little way up from 
 Tremont, and Haworth was there before ten in the morning. 
 It was his first attempt to sell. 
 
 Mr. Hollister received him graciously—an elderly gentle- 
 man with a sharp Yankee face, though kindly at that. While 
 he was quite disturbed by Haworth’s appearance—his ex- 
 treme emaciation and ghastly pale face with the feverish fire 
 burning in his eyes—he showed no sign of it, and after mak- 
 ing him sit down by his desk and remarking on the num- 
 ber of years since they’d met, asked if there was anything 
 he could do for him. 
 
 Haworth began at once to explain that he’d just perfected 
 a mechanical novelty regarding which he would like to in- 
 terest him. He had built, in the basement of the house, a 
 full-sized working model—in fact, the machine itselfi—for 
 in the exploitation, or you might say output, of the thing, lay 
 the large money-making possibilities. He was going on 
 glibly enough with this sort of talk—for he was feverishly 
 excited and spoke rapidly—when he suddenly and unex- 
 pectedly came up against the insurmountable obstacle. At 
 the time he did not know what it was;—he was only aware 
 that something had stopped him dead. There was a silence 
 for a full minute. Then, his mind a sickening blank, he 
 began to stammer out a few disconnected words, after which 
 he was silent again and sat staring. 
 
144 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Mr. Hollister, who’d been more than eager to hear what 
 Haworth had in the way of an invention, supposed the young 
 man had been taken suddenly ill (he certainly looked it) and 
 hastened to get him a drink. But it was all over. The 
 young fellow couldn’t go on. And finally, in a blind sort of 
 way, he got up from his chair and walked dizzily out of the 
 office. 
 
 The elder man followed to the elevator, quite solicitous ; 
 asking if there wasn’t something he could do, and making 
 efforts to learn what the trouble was. But Haworth shook 
 his head weakly, the elevator door clanged, and he dropped 
 silently out_of sight. 
 
 As he came out at the street entrance of the building he 
 moved along the wall a short distance and stood there, his 
 eyes strained wide open. The blow was so sudden and 
 smashing that he was dazed, not realizing what had struck 
 him. He’d been there for hardly more than a minute when 
 the traffic policeman from the Tremont corner came hur- 
 trying along. A lady had reported that something was the 
 matter with a man leaning against a building a little way 
 up Beacon. The moment he saw Haworth he ran across 
 the street to him and asked what was wrong. 
 
 The young man shook his head a little, but was unable to 
 speak. 
 
 “Live here in Boston?” the officer inquired. 
 
 “Out—Roxbury.” 
 
 “What’s the street?” 
 
 “Torrington.” 
 
 “Some ways. I'll send a taxi.” 
 
 “No, please don’t!” Haworth was suddenly emphatic. “I 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD “146 
 
 can get home all right!’ Saying which, he turned and walked 
 ursteadily up the street. | 
 
 He found himself awhile later, without knowing how he 
 got there, seated on the bench in the Public Garden where 
 he and Edith had been—ages ago—ages ago. He was try- 
 ing to remember what he’d said to Mr. Hollister, with the 
 vague idea of finding out what it was that had stopped him 
 in the midst of the interview. 
 
 It’s an odd thing, isn’t it, what the human mind’ll do to 
 you! While he was talking in the office there, running as 
 smooth as you like, the brakes suddenly went on, the wheels 
 creaked, and he came to a dead stop, and all without the 
 slightest volition on his part. Now, as he sat there near 
 the pond and the shouting children, he slowly came to a 
 realization of the reason why a certain safety device installed 
 ‘somewhere in his mental machinery, had automatically 
 brought him to a standstill. It would be impossible to ex- 
 plain the device and its operation to anyone without ruin- 
 ing every chance it had. That is, unless the people he ex- 
 plained it to took st—and how could he be sure they would? 
 
 Suddenly, after a length of time of which he had no idea, 
 he got to his feet. There was hope yet! A ray of hope! 
 
 He would think up some sort of similar affair—a propo- 
 sition involving the same sort of risks yet in reality nothing 
 like it.. This he would describe to a man he was trying to 
 interest in the thing, speaking of it casually, not as anything 
 of his own, but as an odd thing he’d heard of—a man he 
 knew had\gone into it, and so on. From the remarks and 
 behavior of a person to whom he described this similar 
 proposition, it was Haworth’s idea that he could gain a 
 
146 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 pretty clear indication as to whether the man would go into 
 such a thing himself if he got the opportunity ; and when he 
 found one who would, he could safely let him know exactly 
 what it was. | 
 
 There was no time to waste. He walked rapidly away, 
 trying mightily to conceive of some scheme that would give 
 hazards corresponding to his own, yet bearing no dangerous 
 similarity to it. 
 
 Among the few men with whom he had had business 
 dealings, he selected the manager of a machine shop—one 
 Mat Williams—as being the most likely to be attracted. By 
 the time he got to Williams’s place he had something roughly 
 thought out to test him with, and as soon as he could get 
 him aside he began telling about a friend of his who had 
 gone into a most unusual enterprise—which enterprise he 
 described at length. Williams was naturally astonished that 
 Haworth should come there to tell him an absurd and ap- 
 parently pointless anecdote, and when the young man began 
 demanding avidly what he thought of it, Williams decided 
 that the fellow had gone completely off his nut. He was 
 sorry, but the only course seemed to be to get rid of him as 
 soon as possible, which he did, smoothing things over with 
 pleasant talk and a hurried handshake. 
 
 Haworth was cut up a bit, though he had no idea how 
 bad it really was. But as he tried one after another with 
 his singular method of diagnosing their speculative propen- 
 sities, and found that every one of them, instead of talking 
 business, tried to get away from him as soon as he possibly 
 could, his hope began to ebb. 
 
 From one to another he went, despairingly yet without 
 thought of surrender, coming to expect their glances of sur- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 147 
 
 prise, followed sometimes by alarm, and again by something 
 akin to pity. He accepted these various expressions as they 
 came, entirely unable to account for them, realizing only 
 _ that one after another of those he approached on the sub- 
 ject appeared to have a strange antipathy to hearing any- 
 thing about the hypothetical cases he hit on to try them 
 with, and hurried away from him at the first available op- 
 portunity. 
 
 It was impossible that the night, when it came, should 
 be anything but a distressing one for Haworth. Though 
 approaching people about his machine had come, in this 
 short space of time, to be about as enjoyable as so many 
 executions for murder, the poor fellow would rather have 
 gone on with it than lie helpless while his mind grappled 
 with his monstrous predicament. 
 
 After a time, when the torture of the thing passed the 
 point of endurance, he would stagger blindly to his feet and 
 stride about at a tremendous pace, having no realization of 
 where he was. This happened several times during the night. 
 
 The morning saw him out again with his white, emaciated 
 face and threadbare clothing, going mechanically from one 
 place to another in his vain search for some one he could 
 rely on as a purchaser—a most doubtful enterprise at the 
 best, but put in the perfectly hopeless class by his eccentric 
 management of it, together with his disturbing appearance 
 and behavior. 
 
 He hunted up several speculators who had once been 
 friendly with old Mr. Cripps, and quite frequently, in those 
 days, guests at the house; he went to Mr. Trescott and even 
 to the manager of the bank with which he had had some 
 
148 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 modest dealings in time gone by. But there wasn’t one of 
 those he approached with his misguided efforts to test them 
 out, who was not quite convinced, after listening to him a 
 moment, that the poor fellow was mildly insane. Mr. Tres- 
 cott was quite saddened by it, yet hardly surprised. 
 
 The day following was Sunday, and after a hideous night 
 of despair he had fallen into a sort of stupor that lasted 
 until the middle of the afternoon. When he finally roused 
 himself from it (he had been sitting in a chair since the night 
 before) the realization of his dreadful dilemma came upon 
 him with appalling intensity, and he went to pacing about the 
 house in a manner that filled Mrs. Temple with a new alarm. 
 There was a frantic desperation about it that terrified the old 
 woman, and it was some time before she got her courage 
 up to speak to him. She finally succeeded in waylaying him 
 in the narrow back hall, but he strode past without appear- 
 ing to see her, crowding her against the side wall as he did 
 so, but of course without any idea of what he was doing. 
 
 She recovered herself as soon as she could and made an- 
 other effort to get his attention, this time calling out to him 
 that he mustn’t go on that way—he’d kill himself! But it 
 seemed impossible to make him hear. 
 
 For more than an hour she listened to his tramping about, 
 sometimes on the floor above, sometimes in the large en- 
 trance hall or other rooms on the ground floor, but never 
 in the basement. 
 
 Suddenly, when it was getting on toward four o'clock, 
 there was a dull, muffled noise apparently coming from one 
 of the rooms above, as of something falling heavily on the 
 floor, and with it the sound of tramping ceased. Though 
 she felt her legs weakening under her, she toiled up the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 149 
 
 main stairway. Looking down the upper hall, she could 
 see from the light striking through it into the corridor that 
 the door of the room Mrs. Findlay had occupied was open - 
 -—something unusual, for he’d always kept it closed and 
 ~ locked. 
 
 She hurried, limping, down the hall and went to the door. 
 
 Haworth was lying face down on the floor, his head rest- 
 ing on his arms. 
 
 Mrs. Temple hastened to him, possessed only of the ter- 
 rifying thought that he was dead, and sank down on the 
 floor at his side. ... No! He was breathing! Gently 
 shaking him by the shoulder, she called his name. 
 
 At first there was no response, but after a little he spoke 
 in a voice that was half a whisper, and without raising his 
 head asked her please to go away—he didn’t want to be 
 disturbed. Would she please go? 
 
 The old woman struggled to her feet and brought a pil- 
 low from another room, feeling he wouldn’t like her to 
 disturb the pillows in this one. Kneeling on the floor beside 
 him, she gently raised his head and put the pillow under it. 
 Then, with all the haste she was able to make, she set out for 
 a drug store, half a mile away on Center Street. 
 
 On reaching the place she had to wait a moment before 
 she could recover breath enough to ask the clerk if he could 
 tell her where she could find a good doctor for Mr. Haworth. 
 ~. . Yes, Over at the Cripps mansion. .... Yes indeed, it 
 was very serious and some one ought to see him. 
 
 The clerk had, that very morning, been reading a full- 
 page write-up in one of the Sunday supplements, in which 
 the house on Torrington Road and its singular occupant 
 had been fully described and illustrated. For this reason 
 
150 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 he was instantly interested, and volunteered himself to tele- 
 phone to Doctor Crimmin’s office. If the doctor wasn’t in 
 he’d leave word for him to go out there as soon as he came. 
 
 Mrs. Temple thanked him and hurried away. When she 
 got to her lodgings she carefully closed the door, pulled out 
 the old trunk, reached down under the clothing in it, and 
 brought up the cigar box, from which she took three silver 
 quarters, muttering to herself as she seized them: “Rainy 
 day! I should think so! It’s one o’ them cloudbursts !” 
 
 With these coins gripped in her withered hands, she 
 went to the nearest grocery store and bought four eggs, a 
 loaf of bread, ten cents’ worth of tea, and a small glass jar 
 of milk, and then made all possible haste back to the man- 
 sion. 
 
 I never could find out—for certainly Haworth had no 
 idea, and what other witnesses were there?—how long it 
 was after Mrs. Temple left him face down on the floor of 
 his room, that he became aware of the sounding of the 
 front-door “buzzer.” Few in his distracted state of mind 
 would have noticed it, nor would he had not his years of 
 mechanical training made him ultrasensitive to such sounds. 
 Sensitive also to the condition of such mechanisms and in- 
 struments, as shown by his never failing to keep the electric 
 bell system of the house in perfect working order, no mat- 
 ter what dilapidations befell elsewhere. 
 
 Again the buzzer sounded on the floor below, echoing 
 through the bare half-furnished rooms. Haworth found 
 himself vaguely realizing that Mrs. Temple wasn’t in the 
 house or she’d have answered the first ring. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 151 
 
 Slowly he got to his feet, descended the stairs, and cross- 
 ing the great hall to the front door, opened it. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost——who had that morning read a Sunday 
 supplement write-up with headings about the “Hermit In- 
 ventor of West Roxbury,” and had come out there (instead 
 of taking an afternoon express for New York as he had 
 planned) to see if possibly some one of the devices the “Her- 
 mit Inventor” had on hand might not come in nicely for his 
 partner’s (Mr. Harker’s) activities—had hardly a doubt 
 that it was the inventor himself standing before him in the 
 doorway. And although, owing to the overshadowing elms 
 and the roof and pillars of the portico above and behind 
 him, he found it difficult to see with any distinctness, he got 
 an instant impression, from a certain paleness of face that 
 was almost luminous and a peculiarity in the young fellow’s 
 attitude or manner, that something was wrong with him. 
 
 The two stood silent a moment, for something made the 
 commonplace salutation Pentecost had in mind seem quite © 
 inappropriate, and it was the young man who finally spoke. 
 
 “What is it?” .he asked in a hollow voice, slightly trem- 
 ulous. 
 
 “T beg your pardon,” Pentecost hastened to say. “I called 
 to see Mr. Haworth.” 
 
 “What about?” still with a quivering note of near-tragedy. 
 
 “Are you Mr. Haworth?” 
 
 “Yes but I don’t want to see anybody. Please go 
 away.” And he was turning back into the house. 
 
 “One moment! It’s business—entirely business—I’m sure 
 you'll be interested.” 
 
 “T don’t think so,” came the hollow voice out of the gloomy 
 
152 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 half light, and it was evident the young man was about to 
 close the door. 
 
 “Mr. Haworth!’’ Pentecost spoke sharply. ‘“Can’t you 
 listen half a minute? It concerns us both—and I can’t very 
 well talk about it here.”’ 
 
 Haworth stared at him an instant and then, opening the 
 door a little wider, made a slight motion of invitation. 
 
 Pentecost stepped in with a muttered, ‘‘You’re very kind,” 
 and glanced quickly about the vast entrance hall in which 
 he found himself—an enormous place two stories in height 
 and with a great stairway at the further end rising to a land- 
 ing and from that branching to each side. The place was 
 seemingly quite destitute of furniture or floor covering, and 
 he found himself wondering how the young man had man- 
 aged to make no sound when he crossed it to open the door. 
 He would look at his feet later, when there was more light; 
 it was very dim in the hall. 
 
 Closing the massive front door, Haworth moved to the 
 large double doorway on the left—on the left as you enter the 
 house, I mean—and stood waiting for his caller to enter be- 
 fore him. Pentecost did so and found himself in a large and 
 lofty room with high paneled wainscoting of some dark 
 wood, and a white marble mantel on the side opposite as he 
 came in. There were two large windows in that wall—one 
 on either side of the fireplace, though not near it; and an- 
 other in the wall at his left which faced off toward Torring- 
 ton Road. At the further end of the room—which was 
 quite a distance, as it was an exceedingly long one—were 
 two doors, one of which (a swing door held partly open by 
 a chair shoved against it) revealed a butler’s pantry beyond. 
 This large apartment was evidently the dining room—or 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 153 
 
 once had been. The wainscoting, heavily built and with 
 deeply set panels, was fully six feet high and extended en- 
 tirely around it. | 
 
 Though somewhat shadowed, this room was lighter than 
 the great hall, and he saw mechanical blue-prints and draw- 
 ings laid out on a cheap kitchen table near the middle of it, 
 with small tools and implements scattered about. Books 
 and papers were piled and balanced here and there. The 
 floor was covered with what had once been a handsome 
 carpet—now worn and threadbare. The windows, he noticed, 
 had cheap roller shades to them—but judging from the 
 cornices and rich but faded lambrequins above—had once 
 evidently had the heavy draperies of an earlier fashion. 
 
 Pentecost was an instantaneous observer, requiring no 
 time exposure, so that there had hardly been a pause when he 
 turned to speak to Haworth. But Haworth wasn’t there. 
 He had followed into the room after Pentecost, but had 
 slipped to one side and was now wandering back and forth 
 along the wall toward the further end. He appeared to 
 have forgotten the other’s presence, and his eyes shifted 
 about, giving him the look of one tortured by some harrow- 
 ing, thought or memory. In a few moments his restless 
 glance accidentally fell on Pentecost and he came to a sudden 
 stop and stood staring at him. 
 
 “Oh—you!” he muttered, half to himself. 
 
 “Quite right,” said Pentecost. 
 
 “Well, what is it?’ the young man asked, moving toward 
 him. 
 
 “Perhaps I ought not to have intruded like this.” 
 
 “As you have,’ came back the hollow voice out of the 
 gloom, “why don’t you tell me what you want?” 
 
154 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “It’s a matter of some importance to us and I thought it 
 might be to you. I represent a firm Great God! what’s 
 the matter?” 
 
 For as Haworth approached him out of the shadows at 
 the far end of the room and the light from the front window 
 fell on his face, Pentecost saw it distinctly for the first 
 time, and the eyes that looked out at him from the drawn 
 and almost distorted features might have been those of a 
 drowning man. 
 
 “Matter?” the young man repeated. 
 
 “Why—yes. Are you—are you feeling all right Mr. 
 Haworth?” 
 
 “You said you came about something important.” 
 
 “Yes—I did—but perhaps you i 
 
 “Tf it’s money I owe you take anything you want and go 
 away—that’s all—go away!’’ Saying which, Haworth turned 
 and started walking restlessly about the room as he was 
 doing before. 
 
 “Not at all—not at all! There’s nothing like that! It’s 
 just the other way—I’m going to put a few dollars in your 
 pocket if you’ve got anything I can use.” 
 
 Haworth, half-way down the room, swung round with a 
 look of such fearful and desperate avidity that Pentecost 
 saw at once it was a case of money. The young fellow was 
 in some dire extremity—some feverish need that mere des- 
 titution, even to the point of starvation, wouldn’t explain. 
 Couldn’t be a more favorable situation for business. Easy 
 to drive him to the wall and get one of his inventions for a 
 block of stock—in other words, for nothing. 
 
 “I represent a firm of promoters—New York—Harker & 
 Pentecost.” He took a card from his pocketbook. ‘“We’re 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 155 
 
 always looking for novelty—something different from any- 
 thing that’s been on the market before.” 
 
 Mr. Pentecost paused, but the young man said nothing, 
 and he went on: “It came to us a short time ago that you 
 had some extraordinary inventions here and if iy 
 
 “There’s nothing you’d want,’ Haworth interrupted. 
 
 “But perhaps—if you’d allow me to see what ms 
 
 “There’s no use in that! They come—hundreds of them 
 —just want me to let them see. Then they’re sorry, but 
 there’s nothing of practical use. That’s it—always nothing 
 practical—always—always!’’ He moved away. 
 
 “It’s nothing to me whether the thing’s practical or not!” 
 
 Haworth stopped and stood looking at him. 
 
 “I’m not looking for carpet sweepers,” Pentecost went on, 
 “or fireless cookers or any of those things that people are 
 tired of reading advertisements about. The thing I’m after 
 is novelty—something absolutely new and unheard of— 
 something impressive in its operation so we can exploit it 
 and give ita chance. Now it struck me from what I heard, 
 that your work would perhaps be just the kind " 
 
 He was halted in the midst of his talk by the way Haworth 
 was staring at him. It wouldn’t have surprised him to get 
 an indication on the fellow’s face that he’d just thought of 
 one of his devices that would be what was wanted. But 
 that wasn’t it. For soon he saw that the young inventor was 
 studying him—figuring out what sort of a character he really 
 was. ‘Those strange and troubled eyes were fixed on him 
 with an intense scrutiny that penetrated below the surface. 
 
 To divert this rather too close attention to himself, Pente- 
 cost spoke with more emphasis than before. 
 
 “T see you've thought of something, Mr. Haworth.” 
 
156 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 There was no verbal response to this, but a barely percep- 
 tible motion of his head while still gazing intently at Pen- 
 tecost, might be taken to mean that he had. 
 
 “Anything near what we’re looking for, do you think?” 
 
 “T don’t know.” 
 
 “T hope it’s something unusual,” Pentecost said, cheer- 
 fully ; “some novelty that’ll make ’em talk.” 
 
 “Tt will do that.” 
 
 “What made you say just now that you hadn’t anything 
 I’d want?” 
 
 “This is something else.” 
 
 Pentecost-was inclined to think the fellow had illusions. 
 Anyone could see there was something wrong with him. 
 
 “Well, bring it along,” he suggested. “Let’s have a look 
 att. 
 
 The answer was a slight negative head-shake. 
 
 “Too heavy ?” 
 
 “Tt’s built in.” 
 
 “Where ?” 
 
 “Under here—in the basement.” 
 
 “IT see. Something to operate in a home. What does it 
 do?” 
 
 “I want you to come down.” 
 
 “Certainly, Mr. Haworth. Lead the way.” 
 
 Notwithstanding that Pentecost felt convinced that the 
 young man had signals set for some sort of brain storm and 
 that he himself knew a thing or two about basements in 
 relation to crime, the notion of not going down there when 
 the distracted inventor suggested the idea, didn’t come within 
 miles of occurring to him. He had a hunch there was some- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 157 
 
 thing here for him—something extraordinary, too—and he 
 was going after it. 
 
 Haworth moved nearer. “Mr. What did you say 
 your is 
 
 “Pentecost.” 
 
 “Mr. Pentecost, I’ve decided to tell you everything.” 
 
 “The best thing you could do Mr. Haworth.” 
 
 “T find you’re the person I’ve been looking for.” ! 
 
 “You're very kind to say so. Shall we go down and have 
 a look at it?” 
 
 From Haworth’s last remark, Pentecost feared that after 
 all he was hopeless. 
 
 “Till get the key.” 
 
 “Secret, eh?” 
 
 7 Ves.” 
 
 “No patent?” 
 
 Haworth shook his head. 
 
 “What about the people you’ve shown it to?” 
 
 “There are none.” | 
 
 “And you haven’t told anybody?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 That sounded better. The chap had some sort of sense, 
 anyway. But not the sense to patent it. That was too bad. 
 
 “The key’s upstairs.” And he started toward the en- 
 trance hall. 
 
 “Could we switch on a light here, Mr. Haworth? It’s a 
 trifle overcast.” 
 
 “Tl tell Mrs. Temple to light a lamp,” the young man 
 answered from the door, and he hurried out. 
 
 So they’d cut off his current, Pentecost reflected—for he’d 
 
158 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 noticed electric fixtures about. Although hardly late enough 
 for twilight, there was much the same thing in this vast and 
 gloomy room with its dark walls and tree-shaded and vine- 
 overgrown windows. Pentecost wanted to see what—if 
 anything—was going on here. Something made him feel 
 that whatever it was might be turned to his advantage. | 
 
 Soon after Haworth left the room, Pentecost saw in the 
 dimness the frail figure of a woman coming toward the table 
 from the further end. Mrs. Temple, probably—the one 
 he’d spoken of. He saw from her unsteady gait and bent 
 figure that she was old and somewhat decrepit, and the mo- 
 mentary clicking of the lamp chimney against the glass shade 
 as she took it off told of her trembling hands. 
 
 The old woman had reached home with her modest 
 packages of food only a few moments before, and was 
 greatly relieved as she passed down the flagged footpath to 
 the kitchen, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Haworth through a 
 side window of the living room; for it was evidence that he 
 had recovered sufficiently to come downstairs. An instant 
 later she saw that he wasn’t alone. A strange man—at least 
 a stranger to her—was standing near the table and appeared 
 to be watching the young fellow intently as he moved about. 
 Then it came to her that he must be the doctor. Who else 
 could it be? He certainly had the look of one with his close 
 trimmed beard—and watching Mr. Haworth like that. 
 
 After getting the lamp shade and chimney off, Mrs. 
 Temple groped about and found a match somewhere; but 
 instead of striking it she straightened up—so far as she 
 could—and after a glance at the door spoke in a low voice. 
 
 “You're the doctor, ain’t ye?” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 159 
 
 “No, madam,’ Pentecost answered. 
 _ Mrs. Temple stared blankly at him, seeming for some rea- 
 son to be astonished. “You ain’t?” she finally said. | 
 
 “Certainly not. Are you feeling ill, madam?’ 
 
 “Me?” looking at him in a surprised sort of way. “No!” 
 
 After an instant she again bent over the lamp and lighted 
 it, regulating the flame by the little brass disk at the side. 
 Pentecost saw her thin, withered old hands trembling under 
 the light. 
 
 “Perhaps it’s Mr. Haworth who isn’t well?” he ventured. 
 
 The old woman looked at him. ‘You ain’t blind, be ye?” 
 she asked. 
 
 “Not exactly, madam,” with a trace of asmile. “I saw he 
 wasn’t looking quite right fi 
 
 “It’s a great sight more’n not lookin’ right!” Then she 
 turned to him suddenly. “What ’re you doin’ here?” she de- 
 
 manded sharply, yet keeping her voice subdued. 
 
 “TI came on business.” 
 
 “Well ef it’s money you’re after you can talk to me. He 
 ain’t in no condition to be pestered ; you ain’t got much jedg- 
 ment about ye ef ye can’t see that.” 
 
 “But my dear madam, I assure you | 
 
 “Sh!” She was fussing with the lamp as Haworth came 
 in. 
 
 “‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, seeing her bending over 
 it. ““Won’t it work?” 
 
 “Ves,” she said, stooping and looking under the shade. 
 “T guess it’s liable to go now.” 
 
 “T want to take it downstairs, Mrs. Temple This 
 way, Mr. Pentecost.” The latter followed him across the 
 
 bP] 
 
160 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 great bare hall, to a door under the branching stairway on 
 the left, and through this to a back hall at the further end of 
 which the basement stairway descended. 
 
 Mrs. Temple stood motionless at the table where they’d left 
 her. Strange as it may seem when you realize the briefness 
 of the time, this decrepit old woman, bent and knotted with 
 rheumatism, her hands tremulous with the palsy of age, 
 had conceived a deep and implacable distrust of the man 
 she had just heard addressed as Mr. Pentecost. She didn’t 
 reason about it or ask herself why—that wasn’t her method. 
 She simply accepted it and was determined to do what she 
 could. : 
 
 Ever since Haworth had built the small room in the base- 
 ment some weeks before, he’d been working feverishly day 
 and night on what she supposed to be one of his inventions, 
 seeming so desperately bent on completing the thing, and 
 for the last day or two plunged in such dreadful despair, 
 that the poor woman was beside herself with anxiety. She’d 
 often seen him through times of such absorption in his 
 work that he would have starved if she hadn’t kept after 
 him with food, but there’d never been anything so terrible 
 as this and she couldn’t find out what was the matter. 
 
 And now had come this sinister-looking creature (though 
 to save her life she couldn’t have said what was sinister 
 about him) enveloped, it seemed to her, in an atmosphere of 
 cunning and intrigue so dense that she could feel it, and 
 Mr. Haworth had taken him down into the basement— 
 most likely to that secret room he’d been working in so des- 
 perately—where the fellow was undoubtedly arranging some 
 
 infamous plan or deviltry involving him. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 161 
 
 Haworth, as soon as the door of the roughly planked 
 room was closed on them, had stripped away the sheet that 
 covered his mechanism from view and had begun to describe | 
 to Pentecost what it was intended to do. He was in the 
 midst of this when Pentecost suddenly stopped him with a 
 quick motion of his hand. | 
 
 The lamp with its green shade stood on the top board of 
 a step-ladder, throwing a weird light on the two men facing 
 each other in silence. 
 
 Haworth, recovering from his surprise (for he hadn’t 
 heard anything) started to speak, but Pentecost shook his 
 head emphatically, and after a moment’s pause whispered: 
 “I hear someone!” 
 
 There was another pause. “You think somebody’s lis- 
 tening ?’ Haworth asked in a subdued voice. 
 
 “What I think cuts no figure. This is where we take no 
 chances!” And Pentecost suddenly threw open the door. 
 
 The light struck on old Mrs. Temple as she was going 
 in through the door of Haworth’s workshop nearly oppo- 
 site. She’d caught a word or two about some one listening 
 and noted the sudden lowering of their voices just in time 
 to turn back and get into the shop. 
 
 “Oh, Mrs. Temple!” Pentecost called in the most ordinary 
 tone. “I’m on the hunt for a drink of water. Maybe you'd 
 get me some, if it isn’t too much trouble?’ 
 
 _ The old woman reappeared at the door with a bunch of 
 chips and shavings in her hands. “It ain’t no trouble,” she 
 
 mumbled without the faintest trace of embarrassment, and 
 limped along to the stairway. Pentecost watched her labor 
 up the stairs, then turned to Haworth standing in the door 
 of the planked-up room. 
 
162 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “That old dame of yours is right on the mark,” he said 
 in an undertone. “Came out of there with a bunch of shav- 
 ings.” 
 
 “Yes—my shop. She gets them for the stove.” 
 
 “So I inferred,” said Pentecost. His admiration was be- 
 cause she’d managed it so deftly and said nothing about it. 
 An amateur would have mentioned the stove. Just as well 
 to keep an eye on that old lady. 
 
 She soon came back with the water. Pentecost took it 
 from her. “Awful sorry to trouble you,” he said, “—and 
 all those stairs to climb.” He took a sip of water. “You 
 won’t need anything more down here perhaps?” 
 
 “Anything more?” she repeated in a puzzled way. 
 
 “Kindlings, for instance?” 
 
 “Not if the fire goes, I won't.” 
 
 “I’m trusting, then, that it’ll do that.” 
 
 They stood looking at each other for an instant. Then 
 the old woman turned and went hobbling off into the shad- 
 ows of the basement and could be dimly seen toiling up the 
 stairs. 
 
 A moment before she disappeared Pentecost said to Ha- 
 worth, speaking distinctly but not raising his voice, “It’s a 
 remarkable invention, Mr. Haworth—one that, handled 
 properly, would make money; and I’d like to talk business 
 with you.” Then, setting down the glass of water, he asked 
 if he could have something out of his workshop. 
 
 “Of course,” Haworth said, hardly understanding. ‘What 
 is it?” 
 
 “A piece of board five or six feet long—a light one about 
 the size of a lath.” 
 
 They found a piece of narrow half-inch stuff, and Pente- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 163 
 
 cost stood it against the wall, slanting across the path of any- 
 one walking through the passageway in the darkness. He 
 _ balanced it so that a touch would send it clattering down. __ 
 
 “Mrs. Temple wouldn’t listen, if that’s what you think,” 
 Haworth said as they went back to the room. 
 
 “Of course not,” agreed Pentecost as he carefully closed 
 the door. “Go ahead with it,” he whispered, ‘“‘but keep the 
 soft pedal on. Basement’s safe enough, but there’s a room 
 above.” 
 
 “Yes, but Mrs. Temple would never 
 
 “Tt know—I know. She’s all right. Hell of a pity you 
 don’t know what talent you’ve got in the house! Go on 
 now. What the devil zs all this?” 
 
 And thereafter had anyone been at the rear end of the room 
 on the left (which was the one above) or even in the base- 
 ment itself, only the faint droning tones of conversation 
 could have been heard, with occasional clanking and grind- 
 ing sounds suggesting the revolution of geared wheels. No 
 words could have been distinguished and the fact that to- 
 ward the end of the interview, after Pentecost’s voice had 
 been going on in a subdued but earnest murmur for quite a 
 time, it was suddenly stopped, as though something had shut 
 him off in the midst of a sentence, and that then, for several 
 minutes following, there was absolute silence, could only 
 have mystified without in the least enlightening anyone in 
 a position to overhear. 
 
 In reality there was no mystery whatever, and the whole 
 discussion between the two in that basement room was sim- 
 ple and straightforward. It was only that while Mr. Pen- 
 tecost was in the very act of telling Mr. Haworth that 
 there were various reasons why it was impossible for his 
 
 33 
 
164 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 firm to take on this remarkable idea of his for exploitation, 
 there suddenly came to him—flashing through his mind in 
 the characteristic way he hit on such things—a most in- 
 genious scheme or operation that could be worked in con- 
 nection with this device of Haworth’s—and in fact with noth- - 
 ing else; a scheme that appealed to him by reason of its 
 extraordinary possibilities for shrewd maneuvering and 
 complicated trickery and strategy, and because it was danger- 
 ous, cold-blooded, and terrible. 
 
 It came crashing in on him in the very midst of his declin- 
 ing to have anything to do with the Haworth invention— 
 even while he was advising Haworth himself to let it alone 
 —and naturally brought him to a stop that was near to 
 being a jolt. The rest of his sentence remained unspoken. 
 He sat motionless, his mind flooded with his new idea, a 
 blank to everything else. And when Haworth, who had 
 taken his refusal as final, at last muttered something about 
 going upstairs, he rose from the wooden box on which he 
 was sitting and followed. | 
 
 Haworth, in the room above, set the lamp down and 
 stood staring into vacancy. 
 
 Pentecost hunched himself up in a chair where he sat 
 with his dark half-closed eyes fastened on the young inven- 
 tor. He was figuring on what the chap would be likely to 
 do under certain circumstances—the most effective method 
 of taking care of him should he prove an obstacle—the safe- 
 guards he could use. 
 
 He was as certain that he’d purchase the rights for 
 handling and exploiting the Haworth machine—but doing 
 so in his own way—as he was that he saw the young fellow 
 there before him. It was a chance he’d been looking for 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 165 
 
 ever since he left Chicago. He’d pay anything necessary. 
 But of course he knew how to- manage so that the said 
 “necessary” would be an insignificant figure. | 
 
 Haworth began to walk up and down the room. Pente- 
 cost watched him for a while. 
 
 “What seems to be the matter?” he finally asked. 
 
 The young man stopped in his tracks and looked at him. 
 
 “T thought you said you wouldn’t take it.” 
 
 “I’m not the only man on earth.” 
 
 “It’s the time—the time!” 
 
 Pentecost regarded him from under his drooping eyelids. 
 
 “You're looking for a bunch of money?” he asked. 
 
 “Yes—oh yes!’ And Haworth turned and began to 
 move about. 
 
 “Look here,” Pentecost called out to him after a while. 
 “Just to satisfy my curiosity, put an index to it!” 
 
 “Index?” Haworth stopped and faced him. 
 
 “What amount?” 
 
 “T don’t know. A lot—thousands—I must have thou- 
 sands.” 
 
 “How many?” 
 
 “All I can get—twenty. No, wait! More! Thirty— 
 forty Hi 
 
 “The fool that would give you that isn’t born yet.” 
 
 “How do you know? Wait! I’ve thought of something! 
 I'll go to the moving-picture men. They'll take an interest 
 —they’re bound to—the pictures are part of it—and they 
 pay great prices—they pay thousands!” 
 
 Moving-picture men! And the distracted young fellow 
 was capable of doing it. Might get something out of them, 
 too, if he happened to strike a crooked concern. 
 
166 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “T don’t suppose you could wait a few days,’ Pentecost 
 mumbled in an uninterested sort of way. ‘“‘There’s a bare 
 chance I’ve thought of—though I doubt if it’s as good as the 
 pictures at that.” (Of course he couldn’t appear to block 
 the picture game. The price would go up on him—or would 
 if the chap knew anything.) 
 
 “For yourself?’ Haworth asked, eagerly; for he’d got it 
 firmly fixed in his mind that this man was the one choice on 
 earth for the carrying out of his idea. 
 
 Pentecost shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I’ve got 
 a partner. I’ve known him to take a fling at something on 
 his own account—if he took a fancy to it.” 
 
 “Where is he?” 
 
 “Pittsburgh—on business. He might be able to get here 
 by Friday.” 
 
 “Five days!” 
 
 “Good man for you, too. Just his line. Done this sort of 
 thing before.” 
 
 “But you don’t know he’d we it! I can’t wait five days 
 and then have him say no! I'l try the pictures. There 
 was a man here last week—wanted to take me working at 
 the lathe—said he’d read about me in a paper. I know 
 where he is. Ill find him to-night!’ 
 
 There could be no doubt that the fellow would do as he 
 said. He hadn’t the faintest idea in his system of what a 
 “bluff” was. And the fear of losing this rare chance for 
 ingenious chicanery drove Pentecost into the execution of 
 what is popularly referred to as a “climb down.” Although 
 able to camouflage this performance so that it did not appear 
 in that unpleasant light, he had, before leaving the old Cripps 
 mansion that evening, virtually guaranteed that his firm 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 167 
 
 would take over the entire exploiting rights in the Haworth 
 mechanism, and had agreed to pay for the same in cash, upon 
 _the signing of the contract, an amount which should be “sat- — 
 isfactory” to the young inventor. As to this payment he 
 _ asked for a delay of fourteen days so that he could sound 
 the market, the idea of the thing being so utterly unique 
 that it was impossible at this time to estimate the exact figure 
 they could pay. And as he needed every moment of the 
 fourteen days option—as you might call it, and this being 
 Sunday and so late anyway that nothing could be accom- 
 plished, he asked that the time allowed begin on the follow- 
 ing day—Monday—at noon, bringing its expiration on Mon- 
 day the 30th of August at the same hour. 
 
 With talk like this—which, as you see, bound him to noth- 
 ing—in combination with the young man’s earnest desire 
 that he should be the one to undertake the exploitation, 
 Haworth was persuaded into this fourteen days delay, be- 
 ing made confident of receiving a large amount of money 
 at the end of that time. Pentecost said he would bring 
 Harker there to draw up the contract, on his return from 
 Pittsburgh, and then this promoter of hazardous and ex- 
 traordinary villainies rose to take his leave, slipping a bunch 
 of bills on the table as he did so, with the explanation that 
 what he’d got—though not in legal form—was really a four- 
 teen-day option, and as option money he was leaving a cou- 
 ple of hundred. There was nothing of kindliness or rescue 
 work involved in this; Pentecost had sized up Haworth well 
 enough to know that acceptance of money would make him 
 feel in honor bound to wait the fourteen days—bound firmer, 
 indeed, than if he’d signed documents. A wary move, cer- 
 tain to prevent the young fellow, in a possible fit of despera- 
 
168 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME — 
 
 tion, from taking his astonishing idea to a motion-picture 
 concern. ) 
 
 The delay he’d asked for was absolutely necessary to 
 Pentecost for the carrying through of the complicated 
 campaign mapped out in his mind. Advance planting of a 
 most unusual character and covering a great extent of terri- 
 tory was required. In addition there was the matter of 
 Haworth himself—the chances—the safeguards—for he was 
 a risk beyond computation. He had insisted on the payment 
 being made to him in cash at the expiration of the fourteen 
 days—if the firm decided to purchase the rights. It looked 
 like a big bunch of money dropped in his lap and no anchor 
 to it—an impossible situation. Of course the fellow would 
 have to be taken care of. The way to do it was the problem. 
 But Pentecost very well knew he’d have a solution—and an 
 adroit one—before morning. 
 
 He boarded the midnight train for New York fifteen min- 
 utes before leaving time, and at once went to work on his 
 intricate scheme. 
 
PART VI 
 HEN Stephen W. Harker of Harker & Pentecost re- 
 turned from Pittsburgh, where he’d been “planting” 
 for a nice little Gasoline Substitute Swindle (stock selling, of 
 course—that was his department) and had sat in for an hour 
 with Pentecost, getting the details of the extraordinary Ha- 
 worth device and the elaborate scheme his partner had evolved 
 for its exploitation, he vehemently refused to have anything 
 to do with it. Not for by George and all hell was he going 
 to put his head in a noose like that when he had a nice safe 
 little business that was raking it in as fast as he wanted it. 
 
 “You got me going once when you had the firm into that 
 damned Folsam affair—you know the one—came out his 
 wite had hit him with something in his tea. You'd got a grip 
 some way so you could hold it back an’ play it. I dipped in 
 with you an’ no complaint at the time. But now I'll tell 
 you that was too close for me and this time you’re going to 
 jump plumb into the middle of the shake-off! You must be 
 dippy! They'll get you sure! Anyways, you can count me 
 good an’ out.” 
 
 Pentecost sat toadlike, silent, regarding Harker with bulg- 
 ing, half-closed eyes. 
 
 “Now hook to this,’ Harker went on; “if the turn is 
 against you and they’re fixing you for the clamps, I back 
 your play to ooze out of anything. But I get loose teeth if I 
 ‘mix in with those little sports that look like raspberry tarts 
 to you. Now this Haworth layout—it looks to me like a 
 
 169 
 
170 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 frolic with the undertaker ; but if you like it for yourself, go 
 to it!” 
 
 “T’ve gone to it,’ Pentecost murmured in a careless sort of 
 way; “and I play it under the firm name.” 
 
 “But my God—wait! That gets me in!” 
 
 “Why, so it does!” 
 
 “What are you doing, dragging me into a play whether I 
 want it or not?” 
 
 “Can that!” Pentecost flashed sudden fire for an instant. 
 “Do you think I planned this damned firm to keep you under 
 glass?” 
 
 There was a short pause and Pentecost’s blaze-out sub- 
 sided. | 
 
 After a while Harker spoke in another tone, now petulant 
 and pleading. “You going to jam me up against that layout 
 an’ nothing to say?” 
 
 “You can make your get-away now.” 
 
 “Jump the firm?” 
 
 “Why not? In that case, jump while the jumping’s 
 good.” 
 
 Harker, on that, said no more. He'd go a long way be- 
 fore dropping the partnership. It wasn’t alone losing the 
 tidy and “classy” business as it was now run through Pente- 
 cost’s putting it on a straight-play basis, but even more than 
 that he appreciated the association with this marvelous oper- 
 ator. It gave him the feeling of trailing along with a giant, 
 a super-sharp, a past master of crookedness. He gave the 
 matter of the Haworth enterprise deep thought, and by noon 
 of the following day had decided to play in on it, saying to 
 himself that he’d bar worrying by putting his trust in Pen- 
 tecost. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 171 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day that Mr. Harker de- 
 clared himself in on the West Roxbury undertaking, both 
 _ members of the firm embarked on a steamer of the Metro- 
 politan Line for Boston. The boat was the North Land and 
 this line was the “‘all-the-way-by-water” route, the steamers 
 after traversing Long Island and Block Island Sounds and 
 Buzzards Bay, passing through the Cape Cod Canal into 
 Barnstable Bay, and thence through Cape Cod and Massa- 
 chusetts Bay into Boston Harbor. 
 
 It was the fourth day after Pentecost’s visit to the Cripps 
 mansion and the firm was proceeding to Boston as agreed, in 
 order to discuss with Haworth various points of the con- 
 tract—the amount to be paid down, the delivery of the ma- 
 chine, and other matters connected with the sale—so that the 
 papers could be drawn up ready for signature on the day the 
 option expired. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost had already accomplished a great deal, hav- 
 ing got in reports from his men (if it was ordinary business 
 you’d call them correspondents) in all the large cities, and 
 also having come to the determination to carry on the thing 
 himself in such of those towns as he finally selected, instead 
 of selling to the central agency or bureau handling this class 
 of material,—a bureau which he found to be run by “pikers,” 
 mortally afraid to pay big money for big chances. In addi- 
 tion to this, it was safer not to trust them in so ticklish a 
 business. So he had it all laid out, and his own men were 
 already where he wanted them or on the way. He’d sent a 
 couple of his choicest “‘trusties” over to Boston the day be- 
 fore. Of course the main work was going to be there. 
 
 The taking of a steamer instead of going by rail, and also 
 the selection of this particular line, were both essential to 
 
172 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Mr. Pentecost’s scheme; and the same thing made it impera- 
 tive that, following their interview with Haworth, they re- 
 turn to New York by the same boat on which they went over. 
 So important was this latter, indeed, that had they been 
 unable to secure return accommodations on the North Land, 
 Pentecost would have postponed the trip until both the going 
 and returning could have been accomplished on the same 
 steamer—he did not care which of the two running on this 
 route it was. | 
 
 Awhile after the North Land left—they must have been 
 about running out into the Sound at Hell Gate—Mr. Pente- 
 cost went to the purser’s window to make inquiries about the 
 tickets for the return trip (he had left the matter to be ad- 
 justed when he came on board, merely having been informed 
 by telephone that the reservations had been made), and after 
 finishing with the business remarked jovially to Mr. Lawson 
 (the purser) that that was a damn good picture of a locomo- 
 tive he had on the wall there behind him. It represented, 
 lithographed in color, a giant locomotive hauling a night 
 express on the New York Central, and so realistically com- 
 ing toward you that your first impulse was to make one 
 grand hurdle for your life. The purser, pleased at the 
 appreciation, for he had a fad on locomotives (a fact which 
 Pentecost had obtained from the comprehensive report on 
 the steamer and its officers turned in by one of his men), 
 said it was a pretty good one, but he thought the one they 
 got out the year before beat it. 
 
 The conversation resulted in Mr. Pentecost’s being invited 
 into the office, and when business at the window permitted 
 the purser showed him other views of locomotives. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 173 
 
 Pentecost didn’t stay long. He knew enough not to drive 
 an entering wedge too far. 
 
 By evening they had a slight acquaintance with several of . 
 the officers, and Pentecost had made a most favorable impres- 
 sion on the head waiter as well—this latter through the 
 poignant influence of an extraordinary tip; and along toward 
 nine-thirty or ten o’clock the purser, with whom he was 
 chatting over cigars, introduced him to Captain Snow, who 
 happened along just then, and the three talked about the 
 canal. 
 
 Pentecost made many intelligent inquiries on the subject 
 and Harker came along and listened in with great interest. 
 So that the total result of the voyage was most satisfactory 
 from Pentecost’s point of view. With no hint of pushing 
 or forcing themselves they had a fairly good traveler’s ac- 
 quaintance with the captain, the purser, and several minor 
 officers of the North Land, as well as the head waiter and 
 one or two of the deck hands of whom they’d asked ques- 
 tions. Also the chief engineer, to whom they’d been turned 
 over on expressing a wish to have a look at the “power 
 plant,’ as they called it. Pentecost had made this engine 
 room) move in order to bring it in casually that they were 
 especially interested in machinery—almost their business, 
 you might say. Indeed, that they were even then on their 
 way to Boston to negotiate for the purchase of the rights in a 
 most ingenious mechanical contrivance, though they weren’t 
 positive of being able to get it. Held at so high a figure. 
 But an extraordinary thing in its way. | 
 
 The North Land backed into her berth at India Wharf, 
 Boston, shortly after 8 o’clock the next morning, and Messrs. 
 
174 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Harker & Pentecost were driven to the hotel they were in 
 the habit of patronizing when there (except at such times 
 as they preferred to have their presence in that town un- 
 observed), and went to the room which had been reserved 
 by wire. Alfred Harker, son of the senior partner, who'd 
 come over on the train that left New York at midnight 
 (there’s an “Owl” in each direction you know), had been 
 waiting for them there since about half-past six in the 
 morning. 
 
 After breakfasting together and going over a few matters, 
 the three came down into the hotel office and sat there 
 smoking and chatting. One of the house managers came 
 along. An assistant manager, I believe he was. His name 
 was Tate. 
 
 He greeted Pentecost and Harker by name, and Alfred 
 (who hadn’t been there before) was introduced. 
 
 “Boston on business?” Mr. Tate inquired, pleasantly. 
 
 “That’s it,” said Pentecost; “rather an odd business, too.” 
 
 “Not so much the business that’s odd,” put in Harker, 
 “but what it brings us up against. Maybe you can give us 
 a pointer or two. We're trying to buy a mechanical device 
 —invention, you know—from the queerest duck you ever 
 saw, out Roxbury way.” 
 
 “Queer, eh?” 
 
 “Just bordering on the lunatic fringe,’ Pentecost took it 
 up, “but a crackerjack on mechanics. Got a lot of strange de- 
 vices in his shop out there; most of ’em no earthly use but 
 marvels of ingenuity, nearly every one. Went out there to 
 see ‘em a few days ago—Sunday it was. In fact, it was a 
 Sunday paper put me on to it. Full-page write-up about 
 the chap—pictures of him and all that.” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 175 
 
 “Oh yes,” Tate put in. “I saw it—I mean the heading— 
 that’s all I read. Something about a hermit, wasn’t it?” 
 
 “That’s right.” 
 
 “Has some ingenious things, you say?” 
 
 “Remarkable! No idea I’d find anything we wanted when 
 I saw the tumble-down place; but, if you’ll believe it, he had 
 one of the most novel inventions I ever laid eyes on; in fact, 
 just the kind of thing we’re after. Exploiting’s our busi- 
 ness, you know. I got an option on it and we’re over here 
 to get the thing if we can.” 
 
 “What’s the man’s name—I forget?” 
 
 “Haworth—Charles Michael Haworth, if you want it all. 
 I suppose you can’t tell us anything about him?” 
 
 But aside from having caught a glimpse of that heading 
 Mr. Tate had never heard of the man. He assured them, 
 though, that he was going to make inquiries, and if he got 
 hoid of anything he’d certainly let them know. They 
 thanked him, and not long after that the three went out and 
 took a carefully selected taxi for West Roxbury. 
 
 I don’t want you to get the idea that there were any loose 
 ends about what these super-sharps were doing—not for one 
 half of one per cent. They figured the play to a hair. In 
 this case they had Tate cribbed for a witness. 
 
 Although the day set for the visit of Harker, Pentecost, 
 and Alfred to the mansion on Torrington Road was not 
 one of Mrs. Temple’s days in according to custom, but was 
 branded by the calendar as a Friday (which was one of her 
 days out) the old woman was there just the same. Since 
 the appearance of Mr. Pentecost at the house nearly a week 
 before she had been obsessed by the feeling that he was 
 
176 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 working up some treacherous plot against the trusting young 
 fellow in her charge, and she was determined to be on hand 
 to keep a watch on the vicious brute if he came to the house 
 again—as she had no doubt whatever that he would. 
 
 But Haworth had taken note of this tendency of Mrs. 
 Temple’s to be present irrespective of her days in and finding 
 her there on this particular morning he had sent the old 
 woman on an errand which would keep her away for some 
 time. So when the party arrived at the house it was he who 
 opened the door. : 
 
 Mr. Pentecost greeted him and introduced his partner, Mr. 
 Harker, and Mr. Alfred Harker, after which Haworth ush- 
 ered them into the room on the left. It was all peculiarly 
 quiet and subdued. Few words were spoken, and those that 
 were, in lowered voices. Pentecost took notice of Haworth’s 
 improved appearance—his quiet, steady voice and the absence 
 of the tortured look and the “drowning-man”’ stare. 
 
 After the four were seated there was a brief pause. They 
 seemed weighed down by some sort of oppressive restraint 
 that could almost be described as funereal. 
 
 It was Harker senior who finally began the conversation, 
 endeavoring, with an allusion to Boston’s climate, to estab- 
 lish a commonplace atmosphere—though one hardly more 
 cheerful; and Harker junior hastened to his assistance with 
 a reference to his surprise at so rural a section being in the 
 heart of the town. He supposed Roxbury—or was it Ja- 
 maica Plain ?—might be so considered. 
 
 Pentecost turned them to business, remarking that there 
 wasn’t any time to throw away, and that the first thing was 
 to go down and inspect the machine under consideration, so 
 that the Harkers could get a clear understanding of it. Be- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 177 
 
 fore they did this, however, he would appreciate information 
 as to the whereabouts of the talented old lady he had seen 
 ‘there on his previous visit. Haworth explained that Mrs. 
 Temple had been dispatched on an errand to East Boston and 
 would have to wait there about three hours before the foun- 
 dry people could get her the article he’d ordered. Pentecost 
 inquired how much time the journey to East Boston and 
 return would normally require. Haworth thought, with the 
 walk necessary when she got there, it might roughly be put 
 at two hours. 
 
 “How long ago did she leave?” Pentecost inquired. 
 
 “About twenty minutes.” 
 
 “An hour and forty minutes left,’ and he glanced at his 
 watch. : 
 
 “Four hours and forty minutes, if she waits there three,” 
 corrected Alfred. 
 
 “As you say—if she waits there three,” was Pentecost’s 
 muttered rejoinder. 
 
 The four men spent over an hour in the planked-up room, 
 various sounds of clanking machinery and low-toned conver- 
 sation issuing therefrom. When they finally completed their 
 investigations and were coming out, Mr. Pentecost expressed 
 the wish to see others of Mr. Haworth’s inventions; so the 
 young man, after lighting Mr. Harker and Alfred to the 
 stairway, took him to the large room where he kept his 
 working models. In this way Pentecost got the opportunity 
 of speaking with Haworth alone. 
 
 There were a number of matters relative to the peutniaa 
 tion of the invention in the.planked-up room that he wished 
 to arrange with the young man personally. Nothing in all 
 this was a secret from Harker, who understood that it would 
 
178 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 be better for Pentecost to arrange matters with Haworth 
 personally, afterward turning over the results, as you might 
 say, to his partner. 
 
 In the course of this interview in the model room Pente- 
 cost spoke earnestly for some time. Haworth’s rejoinders. 
 were short and quiet, but it was perfectly evident that what 
 he said, he meant. 
 
 After several matters had been gone over, Pentecost turned 
 his attention to the inventions he had come in there to see, 
 for his wish to look them over wasn’t altogether a blind. 
 Eventually he came upon one that suited the purpose he had 
 in view. It showed great ingenuity, and it was not patented 
 —two most desirable points. 
 
 When the two men came upstairs they found Mr. Harker 
 and Alfred seated at the table in the room on the left, work- 
 ing on the rough draft of the proposed agreement. A sound 
 and businesslike contract with Haworth was of the utmost 
 importance to the firm. 
 
 They’d been discussing the matter for some time when 
 Pentecost stopped them with a quick motion of his hand and 
 sat listening. After a moment he glanced at his watch. 
 The time was nineteen minutes after twelve. 
 
 “Gave us four minutes longer than I figured,” he muttered 
 in an undertone. 
 
 “Mrs. Temple?” from Alfred in a whisper. 
 
 Haworth, amazed, incredulous, started up to investigate, 
 but Pentecost indicated that he’d like to attend to it himself. 
 Tiptoeing to the swing door of the butler’s pantry at the 
 farther end of the room, he stood close to it, listening for a 
 second, then suddenly pushed it open and went out, the door 
 closing itself after him. Sounds like the moving of furniture 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 179 
 
 came from the kitchen, and Pentecost soon reéntered as 
 though nothing unusual had taken place. Instead, though, 
 of sitting where he’d been before, he pushed a chair close | 
 to the door into the big entrance hall, which door he opened 
 a few inches, and sat in such a position that he could com- 
 mand a view of the main stairway at the farther end of the 
 hall. 
 
 “Shall I go on?” Alfred inquired after a moment. 
 
 “Why not?” said Pentecost. 
 
 Alfred read the draft of the contract, and when he came 
 to the blank left for the amount that Haworth was to get 
 when the agreement was signed, he stopped and looked at 
 Pentecost. The latter said that Mr. Haworth had consented 
 to allow the matter to stand over till the day of signing— 
 nine days from then. However, he would say before wit- 
 nesses that it would be a figure satisfactory to Mr. Haworth 
 after considering certain facts which he, Pentecost, would 
 then be in a position to give him. “He’s willing,’ and Pen- 
 tecost said it appreciatively, “to allow us that much more 
 time to feel out the market,” 
 
 He then went on to tell them that, as a result of a discus- 
 sion they’d just had in the basement, Mr. Haworth had 
 agreed to another matter to be included in the contract, It 
 was to the effect that, in case the negotiations for the pur- 
 chase of the invention were successful, Mr. Haworth would 
 sign for a term of five years, to work exclusively for the 
 firm of Harker & Pentecost, on such inventive undertakings 
 as they should designate, receiving as compensation a salary 
 of six thousand a year. 
 
 Harker was struck with astonishment at this, but in an 
 instant realized the importance of the stipulation to the 
 
180 : THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 firm. Alfred, too, was surprised—though he showed no sign 
 of it. Neither need have troubled to hide his feelings, as 
 Haworth cared nothing about them one way or another. 
 
 Alfred was beginning to put away the papers in his docu- 
 ment case, when Pentecost spoke of wishing to suggest a 
 method for safeguarding the secrecy of this unpatented 
 mechanism when they had occasion to refer to it in any 
 way, orally or in writing. His idea was that they allude to 
 it as “The Machine,” and in case some allusion to the mech- 
 anism was necessary, they should use for that purpose, as 
 a blind, some other of Mr. Haworth’s inventions, preferably 
 an apparatus on which a patent had been allowed. “Letters 
 may fall into the hands of outsiders,’ Mr. Pentecost ex- 
 plained. “Telegrams and telephonic communications are of 
 necessity known to various persons, and personal conversa- 
 tions are quite liable to be overheard. By using the name 
 and description of some other device these dangers may be 
 eliminated and we will understand what is meant.” He hap- 
 pened to come upon one of Mr. Haworth’s earlier inventions 
 that would very well answer the purpose—a combination gas 
 and compressed-air engine, really a most ingenious thing. 
 They could speak of this as “The Machine” or as “The Gas 
 and Air Engine,” and allude to its construction when neces- 
 sary. He was very desirous of having this blind used in the 
 contract—for contracts frequently have to be made public 
 and this would make everything safe. 
 
 This ended the discussion of the contract. But Pentecost, 
 turning to Haworth, said there was an important matter that 
 he rather hated to speak of, but with an extra-hazardous 
 operation like this it was vital. 
 
 “What is it?” Haworth asked, slightly apprentuee 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 181 
 
 “I’m going to ask you to give that admirable old lady of 
 yours a vacation.” | 
 
 Pentecost was taking care to turn away from the slightly 
 open door to the hall while speaking. “You must see, Mr. 
 Haworth,” he went on in a lowered voice, “that it won’t do 
 to have her about for the next ten days. The machine,—by 
 that I mean the one we’re taking—is going to be exposed at 
 the time of its “delivery’—perhaps before. She knows it’s 
 in that room down there; you can’t touch her with any decoy. 
 She may not understand machinery, but she’d give it away 
 to others who did.” 
 
 Haworth was silent fora moment. A great ache gripped 
 his throat, and he finally spoke in a voice that he couldn’t 
 quite control: “You don’t know how—how true she’s been— 
 how kind! Why she—she’d do anything for me!” 
 
 “Yes, my friend, and there’s where she’d play particular 
 hell with us! That old dame’s no fool. And the trouble is, 
 she’s got the idea there’s something going on here and she’s 
 all set to protect you from it.” 
 
 “Yes, yes—she’d do that!” Haworth murmured, huskily. 
 
 “Not would—is now!” 
 
 The young man looked at him suddenly. 
 
 Pentecost nodded. “In the butler’s pantry there a few 
 minutes ago,” he went on; “slid back into the kitchen as I 
 was going to the door. When I got out there she was hustling 
 up the back stairway. I shut the door at the bottom of the 
 stairs and balanced a table against it. You'll hear it fall if 
 she tries to push the door open. Only way she can get down 
 is by the main stairway out here. Don’t think she’d care to 
 try a window.” 
 
 Haworth was so amazed he couldn’t speak. 
 
182 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “You must see what this means to our end of it,’’ Pente- 
 cost went on. “We've got to put up big money in advance 
 and incur enormous expenses before there’s any return, and 
 here’s this old lady in a position to wreck the whole damned 
 layout if she can get her nose into it—and that’s what she’s 
 working for.” | 
 
 ““What—what do you want me to do?” 
 
 “Keep her out of the house until the machine’s delivered.” 
 
 The young man was silent, staring uneasily before him. 
 In a moment or two Pentecost resumed: “I admire that old 
 lady and I’ve got things laid out for her later where she'll 
 come in delightfully. But for eleven days she'll have to 
 disappear—or we must. It’s one or the other, Mr. Haworth. 
 We can’t risk money on a chance like that.” 
 
 Haworth nodded. “T’ll attend to it!’ he said, hoarsely. 
 
 “Right. And there’s only one thing more to speak of— 
 the butler.” 
 
 “Butler ” Haworth repeated, surprised. 
 
 “The old lady’s going. You ought to have some one here 
 to attend to you. Also, we’d like a man in the house to look 
 out for our interests. Whynotcombinethetwo? A butler—a 
 general servant—who'll take care of you, and on our side see 
 that no one tampers with the lock of that small room in the 
 basement, and a few little things like that.” 
 
 “Will you send some one?” 
 
 “Not quite that, Mr. Haworth. I know just the man for 
 the job, but I’d like you to get him yourself and leave us out 
 of it.” 
 
 “But I—I don’tknow. I never had any experience in as 
 
 “Perfectly easy to manage. This young butler I speak of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 183 
 
 is booked with a first-class employment agency on Forty- 
 fifth Street.” 
 
 “New York?’ 
 
 “Yes, West Forty-fifth. You can write them to send him 
 over. Fellow’s name is Dreek—James Dreek—and if he 
 isn’t out on a job they'll put him on the next train.” (Pente- 
 cost very well knew “James Dreek” wasn’t out on any job, 
 though not from the employment agency, with which con- 
 cern he’d been more than careful never to have any dealings 
 whatever.) “Dreek can manage the whole place for you— 
 see that our side of it is protected at the same time.” He got 
 out a pocketbook and took a card from it. “Here we are; 
 this is the agency.” 
 
 “But IT—— What shall to say to this—this agency?” 
 
 “Here, I’ll do it for you and you can sign it. Got a ma- 
 chine here? Typewriter?” 
 
 Haworth shook his head: 
 
 “Oh well, wait. Sign your name at the bottom of a blank 
 sheet and I'll type a letter in above it when I get back to 
 the hotel.” 
 
 For some reason Haworth trusted this man implicitly, and 
 after writing his name at the bottom of a blank sheet, held 
 it out to him. But Pentecost didn’t take it. 
 
 “Haven't you got a large envelope or something I can put 
 it in?’ he asked. “Just to keep it clean till I get to the 
 hotel ?” . 
 
 “Tm afraid not,’ said Haworth, looking about on the 
 table. 
 
 “Couldn’t you slip it into that large flat book there?” 
 
 “Why no! that’s my Oh!” He seemed to recollect 
 something and opened the book, which was an illustrated 
 
184 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 catalogue of machinists’ tools, and placed the sheet of paper 
 on which he’d written, between the leaves. 
 
 “Shove an envelope with it, there’s a good fellow. The 
 kind you use for letters.” 
 
 Haworth did this and passed the book to Pentecost, who 
 thus got the stationery he wanted without touching it himself 
 or having anyone else touch it after it left Haworth’s hands. 
 
 Pentecost said, as he and the two Harkers were preparing 
 to go: “Keep it from the old lady that Dreek comes here on 
 our recommendation.” 
 
 “T will,’ said Haworth. 
 
 “We’re coming back in ten days—expiration of option 
 you know—and can take delivery at that time if the ma- 
 chine’s ready by then.” 
 
 “Tt’s ready now.” 
 
 Pentecost looked at him with a peculiar glint in his droop- 
 lidded eyes. 
 
 “Then you plan to make delivery on that date?” he asked. 
 
 “My God, yes! if I’ve got to wait that long!” 
 
 Pentecost regarded the young man absently for an instant, 
 then, with the Harkers, turned away, and the three went 
 down the steps to the waiting taxi. 
 
 The firm, with Alfred, had a late luncheon at the hotel, 
 and then Pentecost left the others and walked a few blocks— 
 or what would have been a few blocks in a rectangular city— 
 to one of the largest dealers in “rebuilt” typewriting ma- 
 chines. He asked to see some of the less expensive models, 
 and the salesman brought several, placing them on a table 
 along the side of the wall of the showroom. As it was a 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 185 
 
 busy hour, he left Pentecost to try the lot at his leisure, and 
 went to the customers who were waiting to be served. 
 
 Pentecost sat down and began trying the machines in'a 
 manner indicating to anyone who noticed that he was some- 
 what of a novice. But though he was awkward and slow, it 
 didn’t take him long to discover which of the three instru- 
 ments displayed the most irregularities in its output; and 
 thereupon he quietly gave it a few extra characteristics, 
 slightly bending a couple of the type bars and filing away 
 a part of two or three of the printing faces with the nail 
 blade of his pocket knife. After a sharp glance about the 
 place to assure himself that he wasn’t under observation, he 
 took the signed sheet of paper and envelope from the large 
 thin book in which Haworth had placed them, handling these 
 things with small pieces of blotting paper folded once and 
 slipped over the edges, so that for the second time that day 
 he avoided contact with them. 
 
 The sheet of paper was thus inserted in the machine he 
 had selected (and doctored), and he proceeded to type a let- 
 ter on it in the space above Haworth’s signature. His inex- 
 perience with the typewriting business was still in evidence, 
 for he was constantly stopping to erase or print over, or 
 forgetting to shift for the next line. 
 
 There’s only time to give you an example, here and there, 
 of this man’s extraordinary methods of constructing his de- 
 fenses. He worked far deeper than along the line of the 
 obvious, for his highest satisfaction was to put up barriers 
 against what had never been thought of by police depart- 
 
 ments, but which he conceived as possible. 
 
 After finishing the letter, addressing the envelope, sealing 
 it and affixing a postage stamp by the same blotting-paper 
 
186 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 method of handling (the moistening of stamp and envelope 
 being his only ‘“‘touchdowns’—but no system of tongue- 
 prints has as yet been devised), he bought the machine he 
 had been using for nineteen dollars, and took it with him. 
 The sealed letter he had slipped into a larger envelope, again 
 making use of the blotting-paper hold. 
 
 Walking to the corner of Court and Sudbury Streets, 
 which wasn’t far, he stopped and, taking out his handker- 
 chief, mopped at his left eye, as if he’d got a cinder in it. 
 At once a man who had been following came and stood at 
 the corner near, but without giving any sign of recognition. 
 It was a busy corner, so that a man more or less stopping 
 there wouldn’t attract attention. Even at that early stage a 
 “trusty” was on the job in case anyone was putting a shadow 
 on him. 
 
 The signal was “all clear,” and Pentecost turned west and 
 strolled up beyond the State House to Bullfinch Place. His 
 man, following, joined him in this quiet neighborhood. 
 
 Pentecost put the large envelope in his hands. 
 
 “Letter inside, stamped and addressed. Get it into the 
 nearest letter box to the house and before eight to-night,” he 
 said, speaking rapidly. “And keep your hands off it. Rip 
 open the outside envelope, and let the one inside slide into 
 the box. Here’s a typewriter in this package; take it out and 
 polish it up. Clean all the marks off it. Wrap it up again 
 without touching it. Do you get that? If you put one finger 
 on it after you polish it off it’s you for the chair. The ma- 
 chine’s for Haworth. Take it to him yourself. Tell him I 
 thought he might like to learn to use it. You stand by and 
 get him to try it—tell him you’ve got to change it if not sat- 
 isfactory. I want his hands on it.” 
 
ete eeereneeeeesehrnanoneinchneeenitnannpenee eee 
 ON TORRINGTON ROAD 187 
 
 “T get you!” 
 And the two sauntered carelessly away in different direc- 
 tions. 
 
 When the firm of Harker & Pentecost, together with the 
 son of the senior partner, boarded the North Land late that 
 afternoon for the return trip to New York, they greeted 
 their steamer acquaintances of the previous night pleasantly, 
 though in a manner indicating that they’d had a rather stren- 
 uous day of it. Mr. Pentecost alluded to his intention of 
 turning in early. Alfred was introduced to the purser and 
 one or two others as occasion arose, and the three were about 
 for a while, chatting with one and another of the officers. 
 
 Beside the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there 
 were two men on board the North Land who were closely 
 associated with the firm, although giving no evidence thereof. 
 Their business on this trip was to make close observation of 
 certain points and circumstances connected with the steamer 
 and its crew, particularly in the passage through the canal 
 and the docking of the boat on reaching New York the fol- 
 lowing morning; which business was faithfully attended to, 
 as was also the matter of their making the reservation of 
 the two cabins they were occupying on this voyage for the 
 trip out of Boston ten days later, so that the firm should 
 have no appearance whatever in that transaction, these rooms 
 being 202 and 204 on the hurricane deck—the name of which 
 tends to foster the idea that it was high up among the clouds, 
 _whereas there were two decks above it, the promenade and 
 the boat. | 
 
 The firm members made not the slightest effort to push 
 
188 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 themselves ; they were seen here and there; and after an early 
 dinner together, Pentecost, passing the pilot house, greeted 
 Captain Snow, and the two exchanged a few words 
 through the open window. He very soon left, saying he was 
 going to bed, but hoped to be on board a week later, as he 
 had further business in Boston about then. 
 
 Instead, however, of turning in, he slipped down to the 
 fantail, a small deck at the stern just below the promenade. 
 Passengers seldom went there—and, indeed, weren't allowed 
 on that deck while the steamer was docking or leaving, for 
 the crew worked from there, and it was cumbered with 
 hawsers and chains, capstans, bitts, and other machinery for 
 handling the ship. When she was under way, however, the 
 chains across the passage were taken down. One of his men 
 was on the fantail when Pentecost got there, but no sign of 
 recognition passed between them. The other man was in the 
 forward part of the boat, moving unobtrusively about to see 
 where officers and crew were stationed as the steamer nego- 
 tiated the canal, which she was about to do. Both men on 
 the fantail made the closest observations possible as she slid 
 quietly through, the passage occupying something like thirty- 
 five minutes, for they had her down to less than half speed. 
 It was dusky twilight when the North Land entered the 
 canal, and quite dark as she emerged at the other end. And 
 when she did emerge and swung out into the shimmering and 
 light-dotted open of Buzzards Bay, Pentecost went at once 
 to his cabin, slipping forward by the outside starboard pas- 
 sage, to the door of the saloon lobby, and from there up the 
 stairway to the promenade deck, thus keeping it nicely in 
 the shade as to what part of the ship he’d come from. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 189 
 
 The week that followed was one of hard work for Mr. 
 Pentecost, arranging for the execution of his extraordinary 
 plan of campaign—assembling the parts, as you might say, 
 arranging for “the market’? in most of the large cities, in- 
 structing his men, and all the while perfecting his defensive 
 system to cover any possible contingency. 
 
 For Haworth, after he had finished with the very painful 
 task of asking old Mrs. Temple to remain away from the 
 house until the machine he’d sold was crated and taken away, 
 the waiting wasn’t so hard as it had been, for now he was 
 uplifted by the realization that at last he’d be able to come 
 to the rescue of the one who was dearer to him than his life. 
 
 Early one evening, soon after the Harker & Pentecost visit 
 I’ve just been telling you about, he went to see her. He'd 
 been keeping away for weeks—months, it seemed to him—in 
 order to spare her the trying ordeal with Augustus—his 
 drunken and bestial abuse, his threats of violence, that were 
 sure to follow his visits. But now he wanted her to have 
 the comfort of knowing that help was coming—that it would 
 be here in a few days. And it was something he wanted to 
 say to her in person—say with his mouth and lips and eyes 
 and heart and entire being—not convey in the form of a 
 letter, a cold series of words which in themselves meant 
 next to nothing. Making as sure as possible of a time when 
 Findlay wasn’t there or likely to be, he went to the little 
 cottage. 
 
 It was a precious visit for them both, though her cough 
 and emaciation and strange pallor with the feverish scarlet 
 flush made his heart stop beating when he first saw her. But 
 it was from that—from the terrible thing it meant—that he 
 
190 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 could now be the one to save her. And he told her about the 
 invention he was going to sell for a great deal of money, 
 and how after that everything would be done for her—every- 
 thing—the most wonderful medical care and the most bene- 
 ficial place in the world. He was magnificently happy in tell- 
 ing her this, and she was quietly elated with him, rejoicing to 
 the utmost of her small strength. But before her happiness 
 could be completed she had to ask if he would be with her, 
 and be made confident that he would. He assured her that 
 it was so, that though he might not be able to go with her 
 when she went, because of the business he would have to 
 finish up, he would come as soon as he could possibly do it— 
 the very minute he could get away. 
 
 The steamer North Land upon which the Messrs. Harker 
 & Pentecost had already made two trips—one over and one 
 back—made fast to the India wharf in Boston on the tenth 
 morning after their former visit to Haworth, which brought 
 it to the 30th day of August—the expiration date of the op- 
 tion. The voyage had been quiet and uneventful, the partners 
 not pushing themselves in the least, though enjoying brief 
 chats with some of the officers and having cigars with Cap- 
 tain Snow and one or two others in his cabin after dinner. 
 
 When they were asked how it was coming out about the 
 invention they were trying to get hold of—the one they’d 
 referred to on the last trip over—Mr. Pentecost gave them 
 some further particulars about young Haworth and his ex- 
 traordinary genius; and as there seemed to be quite a little 
 interest in the matter, he briefly described what it was they 
 were trying to get hold of—a combination gas and com- 
 pressed-air engine. He spoke, too, of an idea they had of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 191 
 
 trying to get the young inventor on a contract to work 
 under their direction for five years. 
 
 Alfred was waiting for them at the hotel (the one at 
 which they stopped before), having, as he had on the former 
 visit, come over by a night train. A heavy mail awaited the 
 firm at the office, with several telegrams from various places 
 and two or three large envelopes registered, all of which had 
 been attended to by Miss Dugas, their office stenographer, 
 who had notified the “correspondents” (as you might call 
 them) in various cities to send letters and telegrams to Bos- 
 ton as per instructions; and because you know the letters and 
 telegrams so sent were bogus, the trick being one among 
 many items in Pentecost’s establishment of their “open 
 work’’ presence in town, it needn’t lead you to imagine that 
 a single envelope of the lot contained only blank paper. Each 
 one had in it an apparently important business communica- 
 tion relating to one of the three or four legitimate promotions 
 that the firm operated as decoys; and if traced to its source 
 a man or woman would be found who was trying to buy 
 stock in one of their straight companies, or wanting an 
 agency, or with an invention to sell, or that sort of thing. 
 _ Pentecost left two or three of the best of these letters lying 
 about the room for the chambermaid to turn in at the hotel 
 office when he left. Also, he went to the hotel telegraph 
 _ desk and asked for a repeat on one of his wires. 
 
 After breakfast in the restaurant the three men retired to 
 their room and went into a low-voiced conference for per- 
 haps half an hour. 
 
 Then Pentecost went down to the hotel desk, there making 
 inquiry as to a reliable trucking concern that could handle a 
 heavy piece of machinery he wanted hauled from West 
 
192 THE ASTOUNDING CRIM 
 
 Roxbury to one of the freight stations for Jersey City. Pro- 
 ceeding by taxi to one that the information clerk looked up 
 for him, he arranged for one of their heavy trucks and a 
 moving apparatus and plenty of men to call for the machine 
 on the following day, giving them an order on Haworth and 
 full shipping instructions. Having done this, he rejoined the 
 Harkers. 
 
 And about twenty minutes before eleven the three came 
 out of the hotel and, entering a large car which had been 
 waiting for them, were driven away. No slipping out on 
 the quiet. All open and aboveboard. 
 
 Harker rang the bell at the mansion, and James Dreek 
 opened the door. He was an ideal servant in both appearance 
 and behavior. When Harker inquired if Mr. Haworth was 
 at home, Dreek asked what names he should give, and upon 
 being told—with the further information that they’d come by 
 appointment—he begged pardon and showed them in at once, 
 saying Mr. Haworth was expecting them. , 
 
 The great entrance hall showed a marked change since 
 their visit of ten days before. Several worn chairs stood 
 about and a long table was pushed up against the north wall 
 —doubtless stuff that wouldn’t sell and had been stored in 
 other rooms or the attic. But the most noticeable thing in 
 the place was a huge edifice in the form of a crate, measur- 
 ing something like five feet in height. Between the slats and 
 timbers of this enormous cage could be seen machinery of 
 heavy build, and such parts as were discernible plainly indi- 
 cated to a person of sufficient mechanical enlightenment that 
 it was an engine of some kind. 
 
 Pentecost walked over to the great slatted box and glanced 
 at what was visible within, then followed the two others of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 193 
 
 his party, who had gone into the room on the left,—the door 
 - of which James Dreek was holding open for him. 
 
 Haworth was shaking hands with Harker and Alfred as 
 he entered, and he did the same with Pentecost as he ap- 
 proached ; and as the latter asked him how he was feeling, the 
 faint smile that meant so much lighted his face for an instant 
 as he answered in a low voice, “Rather worn out waiting, 
 Mr. Pentecost.” 
 
 “We had to take all the time the option allowed us, Mr. 
 Haworth, but we’re here within the limit and can go on when- 
 ever you say the word.” 
 
 “Consider the word said,’ was Haworth’s quiet answer. 
 
 Upon which Mr. Harker took the papers from a document 
 case and tossed them on the table. 
 
 The contract, though not long, took some little time to go 
 through, for Harker was at pains to explain each point; and 
 you could see that Haworth was growing restless and was 
 eager to come to the clause dealing with the amount of 
 money which the firm was to pay him. 
 ~ When Harker—it was toward the end—read out that the 
 amount to be paid to the party of the first part upon the sign- 
 ing of this contract was the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, 
 and was going on with slight acceleration of speed to the next 
 clause, Haworth said, very quietly: “Wait a minute, please. 
 That’s a mistake.” 
 
 “Mistake? How so?” from Harker—simulating surprise. 
 
 “You said fifteen thousand. It should be forty-five.” 
 
 What might be called a telling pause followed, the idea 
 being that the partners were struck dumb with astonishment. 
 
 “Forty-five what?’ Harker finally managed to inquire. 
 
 “Thousand,” Haworth answered in his gentle voice. 
 
194 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ‘Where in God’s name did you get the notion that we are 
 going to give you such a figure as that? Why you're crazy! 
 We never agreed to any such ridiculous price—never in this 
 world!” 
 
 “Excuse me. Your partner”—indicating Pentecost—“said — 
 the amount would be one that was satisfactory to me. That’s . 
 the one that is. I’ve found I need it.” 
 
 “Mr. Haworth’—Harker spoke with quiet and pleading 
 earnestness—“‘let’s be reasonable about this. The amount 
 you name is far beyond what we’re able to pay. We couldn’t 
 touch it. If that’s the figure you’re going to insist on, it’s 
 only a dirty waste of time for us to go on talking. We're 
 through—and the whole thing stops right here!” 
 
 “No—it doesn’t stop! JI know the idea’s good—you 
 wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t—and if you can’t give me as 
 much as that, I can find someone who will!” 
 
 The two super-sharps of the firm, born gamblers both, 
 were entirely aware that Haworth meant precisely what he 
 said, no thought of bluffing having a place in his system. 
 They argued about it for some little time—which is to say, 
 Harker did, for Haworth said nothing, merely shaking his 
 head a little now and then in refusal of some offer or sug- 
 gestion; and when Harker, driven to his last play, stated 
 that all the money they’d brought with them was twenty-five 
 thousand, the young man merely asked him how long it 
 would take to get the rest. 
 
 “Then you won’t accept this twenty-five?’ Harker’s tone 
 had now a definite finality in it, carrying the idea that he was 
 giving Haworth his last chance. But the young man shook 
 his head again. 
 
 It was here that Pentecost, who hadn’t joined in the dis- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 195 
 
 cussion, came forward. He said he had one proposal to 
 make. It was quite true the firm had brought only twenty- 
 five thousand, but he himself had in his possession the sum 
 of ten thousand, which he’d intended using in the liquidation 
 of a stock transaction. But he was so anxious to have the 
 deal go through that he would add this ten thousand to the 
 firm’s twenty-five, and they would then be able to offer Mr. 
 Haworth thirty-five thousand in cash, and in addition to that 
 would agree to pay him or whomsoever he might designate 
 as his agent, an amount equal to one-fifth of whatever profit 
 they were able to make on the handling of the enterprise. 
 
 I’m giving you this little episode in some detail because it 
 was certainly odd to see such a simple, almost childlike per- 
 son as Charles Michael Haworth putting it all over a brace 
 of about the most consummate swindlers that ever adorned 
 the criminal contingent, and doing it without an idea that he 
 was making any play at all. 
 
 As to this new proposition of accepting one-fifth share of 
 the profits in place of ten thousand of the cash price which 
 he had fixed upon, he considered it a few moments and then 
 turned to Pentecost. 
 
 “Will you attend to this yourself?” he asked. 
 
 “Yes—I will.” 
 
 The young man sat looking steadily at Mr. Pentecost for 
 some little time, his calm penetrating gaze seeming to search 
 for something. Then he turned away and indicated that he 
 would agree to the arrangement proposed. 
 
 Harker had been fuming to himself over his partner’s 
 enormous offer, but Pentecost, with a peculiar twist of his 
 hand as he looked at his wrist watch, put it across to him 
 
196 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 that the game was so fixed they couldn’t lose. Harker’s 
 experience with this same signal in former operations led 
 him to infer that it didn’t matter what they paid, as they’d 
 get it back. He took out his fountain pen and wrote into the 
 contract the thirty-five thousand and the one-fifth share of 
 profits. 
 
 After both parties to the agreement had duly written their 
 names, James Dreek was called in to sign as one witness, 
 with Alfred Harker as the other, thus making the thing 
 complete and duly executed. It was in duplicate—one copy 
 for Haworth, the other for the firm. 
 
 After the signing, with only a wait until Dreek had left 
 the room, Mr. Harker, with some difficulty, got out the bunch 
 of money from the document case and passed it over to 
 Alfred. At the same time Pentecost approached the table, 
 and saying, “There’s mine,” tossed a roll of bills on it. This 
 payment in cash had been insisted on by Haworth from the 
 very beginning. 
 
 Alfred counted out the thirty-five thousand, which was in 
 century notes, on the table. The separate piles of a thousand 
 each were deftly stacked in one, and this was pushed non- 
 chalantly across the table to Haworth. He fussed with it 
 rather helplessly a moment. 
 
 “Like to have ’em riffled again with the brakes on?” 
 Alfred was an expert bill shifter and had snapped ’em off 
 like the flutter of a humming bird’s wings. 
 
 “Yes, please.” Haworth watched intently while the light- 
 fingered youth dealt each bill off the pack so slowly and 
 carefully that it could be seen and noted as it fell on the pile 
 before him. 
 
 When the recount was finished, Haworth muttered a 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 197 
 
 “thank you,” and signed the receipt which Harker, mumbling 
 
 something about its being “a cash transaction, you know,” 
 pushed over to him. 
 
 At that moment, Pentecost, turning from the money count, 
 caught sight of James Dreek going through the swing door 
 into the butler’s pantry at the farther end of the room. 
 
 “How the hell did he get here?” Pentecost demanded in a 
 sharp, rasping whisper the instant the door swung to. 
 
 “Who?” Haworth asked with a glance about. 
 
 “That young butler of yours. He had his lamps on that 
 stack of yellows on the table.” P 
 
 “You got him in yourself,” Haworth answered, “to sign 
 as a witness.” . 
 
 “He went out again!’ (Still in the guttural whisper.) 
 “We waited for that before we slid the boodle out on the 
 table.” 3 
 
 “You said he was all right, didn’t you?” 
 
 “All the same, you want to be a little careful with that 
 bunch of money!’ And he moved noiselessly to the door 
 which had closed after Dreek’s exit, and listened with his 
 ear close against it. 
 
 Appearing to be no more than half satisfied, he returned 
 to the others and for an hour they discussed various points 
 such as Haworth’s wishes regarding future payments, the 
 taking of the machine the next day by the trucking firm, and 
 the actual time of what was referred to by them as “delivery 
 of the goods.” These things settled, Pentecost expressed 
 the wish to take a look around the basement. Haworth went 
 with him to the place where the planked-up room had been. 
 Not only was it no longer there, but no evidence existed of 
 its having been there. The timbers and flooring above the 
 
198 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 place where it had been built in showed no nail marks or 
 abrasions of any kind and were grimy and darkened by age. 
 
 Having examined the place and its vicinity with the ut- 
 most care, using for this the small electric torch he always 
 carried, Pentecost led the way into what had been the ma-— 
 chine shop, and closed the door. There he went over several 
 important matters which he preferred to discuss with Ha- 
 worth alone. They conversed earnestly for a while, and 
 then left the basement together by the door opening to stone 
 steps leading up to the grounds at the rear of the house. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost made a surreptitious examination of this 
 door and the route by which they reached it, while Haworth 
 was setting the lamp on the cellar stairs, after extinguishing 
 it. The two then went out to the old barn not far in the 
 rear, and looked about there for a while. After that they 
 went toward the house again. 
 
 Haworth had been carrying the big bunch of money in his 
 clothes all this while, part in one pocket and part in another, 
 and Pentecost, appearing to notice this for the first time, 
 begged him to go in and put it somewhere where it would be 
 safe. He said he’d walk about a bit for the air and would be 
 with him in a few minutes. So Haworth left him and 
 went in. 
 
 Pentecost now gave the house (outside) and its surround- 
 ings his full attention, especially as to the windows of the 
 room on the left with their vine-covered shutters, and the 
 character of the ground and shrubbery beneath them. It 
 took him but a few moments to get all the information he 
 needed as to the walls and foundation and roof overhang, 
 together with other details that might come in, and lastly he 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 199 
 
 took a look at the great elm trees in front and the “lay” of 
 _ the ground in the rear. cade 
 
 He reéntered the house by the basement door through 
 which he and Haworth had come out, and James Dreek was 
 waiting for him in a corner of the cellar. 
 
 “Old woman?” Pentecost asked in a whisper. 
 
 “Outside,’ was the answer. “Watches all day from a dis- 
 tance. Nights in the bushes close under the side windows.” 
 
 “We can use her!’ And he gave Dreek whispered direc- 
 tions, after which he rejoined the others in the room on the 
 left. 
 
 Harker and Alfred were ready to go—indeed eager to, for 
 it hadn’t been an easy quarter of an hour for them. They 
 rose rather suddenly when Pentecost came in, and the three 
 moved toward the door murmuring the ordinary phrases of 
 leave-taking. 
 
 Haworth had taken the bulky bunches of money out of 
 his pockets and put them together on the table, and as Pente- 
 cost and the two Harkers saw him last he was standing there 
 with one hand resting on them. He made no move to go with 
 them to the door. 
 
 Besides the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there 
 were on board the steamer North Land when she left the 
 India wharf that same afternoon, a number of persons who 
 were more or less concerned in the business of the firm, yet, 
 as you need hardly be told, giving no indication that such 
 was the case. Not only were cabins 202 and 204 on the hur- 
 ricane deck occupied by Pentecost’s men as before, but 200, 
 201, 203, and 205 were also held, though only two of these 
 were occupied. Thus, if you should happen to examine 
 
200 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 a chart of the boat, you would see that the firm commanded 
 both port and starboard approaches to the fantail. 
 
 And also as on the return voyage eight days before, the 
 partners appeared to be pretty well fagged out, although 
 it didn’t prevent their being about for a while and chatting 
 pleasantly with their steamer acquaintances, letting it be 
 known (but not until inquiry was made) that they’d suc- 
 ceeded in purchasing the rights to the extraordinary device 
 ef which they’d spoken, and what was more, had got a con- 
 tract with the young inventor himself giving them his serv- 
 ices for five years. 
 
 Again they had an early dinner together in the restaurant 
 and sat on the boat deck for a while, smoking cigars. Along 
 toward half-past seven or a quarter to eight they sauntered 
 forward, pausing at the large windows of the pilot house and 
 greeting the captain. He asked them to come in and have 
 a look at the canal—which the steamer was even then slow- 
 ing down to enter. They accepted the invitation, and sat 
 watching the shores on each side until it grew so dark— 
 for the night was overcast—that only faint and blurred out- 
 lines could be distinguished. 
 
 Some ten or twelve minutes before they reached the west- 
 ern end of the canal, Pentecost rose lazily, made an effort to 
 conceal a yawn, and bade the captain good night. He was 
 rather done up with the day in Boston, he said, and really 
 couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Having thus ex- 
 cused himself, he went below, leaving Harker there to see 
 the ship come out into the Bay, which he claimed to be 
 desirous of doing. 
 
 Shortly after this the steamer slid silently by the village of 
 Buzzards Bay, its many lights twinkling about a mile to the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 201 
 
 north, for it wasn’t situated directly on the canal; and a little 
 later passed out into the open waters of the Bay itself; and 
 on that, in obedience to the “full speed ahead” ring from 
 the wheel-house, broke into her normal stride again, heading 
 out toward Block Island Sound. 
 
 About this time, when the North Land had been clear of 
 the canal for something like eight or ten minutes, Mr. Hark- 
 er’s attention appeared to be suddenly arrested by something 
 below on the forward deck. 
 
 “Well, doesn’t that beat the———” He broke off and stood 
 staring down. 
 
 “Anything wrong ?” 
 
 “Not exactly wrong—only he was telling us just now he 
 was so completely done up he’d got to go to bed!” 
 
 “Your partner, you mean?” 
 
 “Yes, Pentecost! And now he’s gone into conference with 
 a young lady! Over there on the left. See?’ 
 
 Harker was pointing to a man near the port rail, whose 
 back was turned to them and who was in animated conver- 
 sation with a person who, in the dim light, appeared to be an 
 
 attractive young lady. 
 Captain Snow laughed a little. 
 
 “So he has,” he said. “Well, it’s never too late for that!” 
 
 “There’s truth in what you say,’ Harker admitted, and 
 thereupon changed the subject. “New Bedford light we see 
 over there?’ he asked. 
 
 “No. That’s Bird Island. Five points starboard.” 
 
 “What’s that one you’re aiming for?” 
 
 “Dead ahead you mean?” 
 
 hes.’ 
 
202 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “That’s a fairway buoy—Buzzards Bay Buoy they call it. 
 We change the course there for Nigger Ledge.” 
 
 Most likely you picked it up when I mentioned that it was 
 only the back of the gentleman on the forward deck that 
 could be seen from the pilot house, and naturally it was the 
 said back that resembled Mr. Harker’s partner; and that 
 was all that did. The man wasn’t Pentecost at all, for the 
 good and sufficient reason that that gentleman had jumped 
 off the steamer fifteen minutes before. It was one of his 
 gang of “trusties,’ brought along for the purpose, with 
 about the same build as himself, entirely similar hat and 
 clothing, and well matched hair and back of head, so far 
 as could be seen. The young woman with him was Miss 
 Mary Finch Dugas, their office stenographer, who was occa- 
 sionally sent out on an operation where the utmost precau- 
 tion was necessary. 
 
 A short time before the North Land, gliding noiselessly 
 at about fifty-five turns (less than half speed) through the 
 still waters of the canal, reached the vicinity of Buzzards 
 Bay village, (which is at the farther end of it as you go from 
 Boston) Mr. Pentecost had left the pilot house in the manner 
 described to you a moment ago, gone below to the hurricane 
 deck, and hurried aft on the starboard outside passageway 
 until he reached the fantail deck at the stern. Alfred was 
 waiting for him there in the dark. He had fixed a knotted 
 rope so that it hung over the stern rail nearly to the water, 
 the upper end made fast to a stanchion. 
 
 The two waited silently in the gloom until they could hear 
 the raucous clanging of the warning bell on the drawbridge, 
 which commenced its clatter when the great draw swung up 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 203 
 
 into the air, and kept it going until it was down in place again. 
 This was the Bourne highway bridge and in a couple of 
 minutes the steamer was passing through. A moment after 
 that, while the bell was still ringing and the passengers on 
 the decks above watching the draw slowly descend, Pente- 
 cost, who had hold of the rope, clambered over the rail and 
 lowered himself to the level of the main deck, which was 
 the next one below. This deck was closed in at the stern, 
 but he got a foothold on the ribbon piece and from there 
 let himself down into the water without the least noise. 
 It was so quiet, with the steamer slipping along at scarcely 
 more than steerage way, that a splash might have attracted 
 attention if the bell on the draw should stop ringing. The 
 overhang of the counter made him safe from the propellers, 
 and the water kicked up by them amounted to very little. 
 ‘He was whirled around two or three times, but it didn’t 
 even duck him. A few strokes brought him to shore. But 
 he didn’t come up on the banks till the North Land was 
 going through the draw of the railroad bridge, a little further 
 on, for there were lights along the shore of the canal, and 
 he wasn’t taking any chances. 
 
 Coming up on the low flat that bordered the waterway at 
 this place, he quickly found the marks of an old road through 
 it, and followed this with the aid of his flash light which he 
 quickly undid from its waterproof wrappings. He hardly 
 needed it though, as of course he’d been over every inch of 
 the ground. Coming to the embankment of the bridge ap- 
 proach, he still kept to the cart tracks which turned along 
 the side of the embankment and then climbed it, bringing 
 him out on the Bourne Road at a point nearly opposite the 
 Soldier’s Monument. 
 
204. / THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Pentecost stood there a moment, dripping with water, and 
 looking sharply down the road. It was hardly thirty seconds 
 before a large closed car hove in sight, coming rapidly up the 
 slope toward the bridge. A white handkerchief fluttered for 
 aninstant from the right-hand rear window (behind thedriver), 
 and instantly Pentecost ran out in the road and, waving his 
 own handkerchief, signaled the car to stop. As soon as the 
 car came to a standstill Pentecost called out to the driver, 
 begging pardon for delaying him, etc., but stating that he was 
 in a desperate hurry to get to Boston and asking if he could 
 tell him where there was a garage. The chauffeur told him 
 there was One on the right as he went toward the village— 
 some distance up the road. 
 
 At this point the man in the car, who’d been listening to 
 the talk and also regarding Pentecost with what appeared to 
 be astonishment (the road was well lighted here), opened 
 the door and asked if there’d been an accident. 
 
 “Not at all,” said Pentecost; “that is, I did take a tumble 
 into the water. But that’s of no consequence. My trouble 
 is to get to Boston in the shortest possible time—life and 
 death matter—I’ll try the garage up the road—and thank you 
 very much.” 
 
 “Why see here!” called out the stranger as he climbed out 
 of the car. “You take this machine—just came down in it 
 from Boston—my place in Bourne—across the bridge— 
 walk it in six minutes! ... You'll take him back won’t 
 you?” addressing the man at the wheel. And then to Pente- 
 cost as he passed close to him and put something in his hand 
 while he continued speaking, “It’s a hired car you know— 
 he’s got to go back anyway !” 
 
 The matter was quickly arranged, and the driver stimu- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 205 
 
 lated toward doing his best in the way of speed by the 
 promise of a quite enormous bonus if he made it inside of 
 eighty minutes. 
 
 You may as well know (perhaps you’ve already guessed 
 it) that this was one of Pentecost’s men who hired the car in 
 Boston and came down in it to Buzzards Bay, waiting in 
 the village on some pretext until the North Land reached 
 the railroad bridge over the canal, and then starting for the 
 highway bridge where Pentecost was to stop him. It was 
 a crumpled wad of paper he’d put into Pentecost’s hand, with 
 the number 2026 written on it—the same being the number 
 of the chauffeur’s operating license. 
 
 The chauffeur, on the other hand, was a stranger. This 
 for reasons that'll come in later. I can say this now,—that 
 he earned the bonus offered for speed; they were negotiating 
 the streets of Jamaica Plain in a trifle under the seventy-five 
 minutes. Pentecost stopped him at the corner of Centre 
 and Greenough Streets, and after settling the bill and the 
 bonus, turned east and walked rapidly up Greenough. As 
 soon, however, as the sound of the car assured him that 
 it was at a safe distance, he retraced his steps and kept 
 on to the west or southwest, eventually coming to a little-used 
 lane well beyond Torrington Road, from which, by crossing 
 a long-abandoned vegetable garden, he could approach the 
 _ Cripps mansion from the rear. | 
 
 And now, just so you can keep the run of things as they 
 
 come along, I’m going back a few days in order to show you 
 how it happened that old Mrs. Temple was concealed in the 
 bushes under one of the windows of the room on the left, 
 at the very moment that Hugo Pentecost, after his plunge 
 
206 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 from the steamer into the Cape Cod Canal and the rapid 
 drive in an automobile to the Roxbury district of Boston, was 
 cautiously making his way toward the rear of the mansion. 
 
 The old woman had been greatly relieved to notice a strik- 
 ing improvement in Mr. Haworth’s condition almost immedi- 
 ately after the first visit of Mr. Pentecost to the house, 
 although she feared it was due to trickery by which the 
 scoundrel (which she was sure he was) would in some way 
 do him injury. The doctor she’d left word for at the drug 
 store called the same evening and said there was nothing 
 seriously wrong with him, and did no more than prescribe a 
 tonic, nourishing food, and a complete rest. 
 
 As the days passed and nothing transpired, Mrs. Temple 
 felt less and less uneasiness, and it was nearly a week before 
 things began to happen that revived her anxiety. They be- 
 gan on the morning of the fifth day after the Pentecost 
 visit, and the first of them was the sending of her by Mr. 
 | Haworth on a most unusual errand—one that took her to 
 some sort of foundry place in East Boston. And he told her 
 if they didn’t have the kind of pulley wheel described in his 
 letter, she must wait until they could get it for her. 
 
 Her smoldering suspicions instantly burst into flame, yet 
 she couldn’t refuse to go. 
 
 It was a long journey and her imaginings of what might 
 befall Mr. Haworth while she was away came near to 
 making her turn back without doing the errand at all. She 
 finally reached the office of the foundry and delivered the 
 letter, but when they told her that they hadn’t the pulley 
 wheel there but would send to the warehouse for it, she 
 answered without an instant’s hesitation that she couldn’t 
 wait, but would come another time. The men in the office 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 207 
 
 called her attention to the fact that Mr. Haworth had said 
 in the letter that she would wait for the pulley. 
 
 “Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to!” she muttered hurriedly as she 
 disappeared through the door. 
 
 Arriving home something like an hour later, Mrs. Temple 
 approached the mansion from the rear. She had worked her- 
 self into a frenzy of fear that Mr. Haworth was in danger, 
 and she wanted to investigate without being seen. Finding 
 herself at last in one of the rear passages of the house, she 
 stood listening. Low voices could be heard from somewhere 
 in the front. 
 
 With the utmost caution she made her way across the 
 kitchen and through the butler’s pantry to the swing door 
 opening into the room on the left. But the conversation 
 within suddenly ceased and she began a hasty retreat. Hear- 
 ing the door she’d just left swing open again (it had a very 
 decided creak) she made for the servants’ stairway—which 
 opened off the kitchen. 
 
 There was a door at the bottom of these stairs which Mrs. 
 Temple hastily closed after her as she fled, and when she 
 paused at the top she heard the thud of heavy objects being 
 shoved against it and realized that she was trapped; for the 
 only other way down was the main stairway to the entrance 
 hall, which was in plain sight if anyone took the trouble to 
 look. And she very well knew that some one would take 
 that trouble. She’d heard his voice in the room on the left 
 in the brief second she was at the swing door. 
 
 So she’d have to stay there until the gang of criminals 
 and thugs, as she classified the men in the front room with 
 Haworth, was gone. She brought a chair to the top of the 
 main stairway and sat there, ready at the first alarming sound 
 
208 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to rush down and fight like a wildcat, or run for the police, 
 or do anything to rescue and protect the one to whom she 
 was so desperately devoted. But no cry of distress reached 
 her—only the low murmur of subdued voices. 
 
 It was early afternoon (she’d been waiting somewhere 
 near two hours) when she saw the men come out into the 
 entrance hall below her. There were three of them—the 
 Pentecost creature with two confederates. Of course they 
 were confederates. What else could they be? 
 
 Haworth came out with them. She heard the taxi the men 
 had waiting for them drive away, and she saw Mr. Haworth 
 return to the room on the left. At this she crept noiselessly 
 down the main stairway and back through the rear hall. But 
 she’d hardly more than reached the kitchen when Haworth 
 came in through the butler’s pantry and stopped at the door. 
 
 “Oh, you came back ?” he said. 
 
 “I hope ye ain’t a-goin’ ter take it hard, Mr. Haworth,” the 
 old woman begged, “‘but I couldn’t no more wait there an’ 
 you left here alone with them thugs or card sharps or what- 
 ever they be, than I could fly! I knew they’d be comin’ the 
 minute ye sent me away like that an’ told me to wait—an’ — 
 how could I, Mr. Haworth—how could I stay settin’ there 
 in that factory place, not knowin’ what might be happenin’ 
 to yer” 
 
 “No matter, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “Yes, Mr. Haworth, that was all; an’ I was worryin’ the 
 life clean out o’ me. Terrible warn’t no name fur it! I 
 couldn’t tell ye!’ 
 
 “You did it for me, Mrs. Temple, and you’ve always been 
 doing things for me. Please don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 
 
 The old woman’s trembling hand made two or three fum- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 209 
 
 bles for her apron before she realized that she wasn’t wearing 
 one, and a tear or two ran unmolested down her withered 
 cheek. 
 
 “And—I—l’ve got to ask you,” he went on, hesitatingly 
 (and then came another of the frightful things that were to 
 alarm her on this fearsome day )—“I’ve got to ask you to do 
 something more for me, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 She looked up, staring at him with apprehension in her 
 tear-wet eyes. And he went on to tell her how it seemed 
 best that she should stay away from the house for a few 
 days—just until one of his inventions was crated and out of 
 the way—something very important that had to be kept se- 
 cret, as there was no patent—so just a few days 
 
 “Mr. Haworth,” she interrupted, “do please listen to me! 
 Ye mustn’t have no more to do with them creatures. They 
 ain’t right, Mr. Haworth; they’re crooked an’ treach’rous, 
 every one o’ ’em—awful men! That Pentecost, he wouldn’t 
 stop at nothin’—nothin’ in the world! Don’t let ’em in here 
 again—don’t do it, Mr. Haworth! I beg ye won’t do it!” 
 
 “But I must, Mrs. Temple. They’ve bought one of my 
 machines.” 
 
 The old woman was struck silent for an instant. 
 
 “Be they goin’ to pay ye money for it?” 
 
 SX CSu 
 
 “You mean money right down?” 
 
 “Yes,—it’s got to be that way.” 
 
 A pause. Then: “Mr. Haworth, there’s some trick! Ef 
 _ them jailbirds pay you money down they’ll rob it away from 
 ye! They’re a-goin’ to git you some way—they wouldn’t 
 be here if they wasn’t. I’ve seen spellbinders like them be— 
 yes, an’ had to do with ’em too! Don’t turn me away now. 
 
210 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Wait till after I’ve got ’em out an’ then I’li go! Not now— 
 not now, Mr. Haworth. You ain’t no person to cope with 
 such as them.” 
 
 The young man stood looking at Mrs. Temple’s face, un- 
 able to speak. Suddenly he turned away and uttering a 
 You must go!” he turned and 
 
 broken “I can’t—I can’t 
 fled from the room. 
 
 For the following few days Mrs. Temple’s anxiety con- 
 cerning the unknown danger she considered Haworth to be in 
 overshadowed the lacerated feelings that naturally followed 
 the poor soul’s expulsion from the house. No particle of 
 blame could attach to him, for was he not under the malign 
 influence of a gang of criminals and in no way responsible 
 for what he did? This she felt, and her heart harbored no 
 bitterness—though it had been cruelly hurt. She must find 
 out in some way what villainy these human sharks were 
 planning, though for the present nothing was possible but 
 to keep close watch on the house. 
 
 The very next night after her dismissal by Mr. Haworth 
 she saw a young man who hadn't been there before, emerge 
 from the darkness into the faint light that fell from a front 
 window across the portico (she was watching from behind 
 bushes quite near), and after ringing the bell, pass in at the 
 front door. The roller shades—cheap affairs that the sec- 
 ond hand dealer had agreed to put in in place of the old 
 velvet curtains he was taking away—hadn’t been pulled down 
 since she left, so she could see in. The stranger was being 
 shown about by Mr. Haworth, who had evidently expected 
 him, and seemed to be given charge of things as though he 
 was a servant. That was it! The scoundrels had got Mr. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 211 
 
 Haworth to send her away and take a man in her place. So 
 now they had a confederate right there in the house with 
 him! 
 
 The old woman, desperate in her helplessness, made up 
 her mind to get assistance. She’d go to the police in the 
 morning and they’d arrest this man. Wasn’t it their busi- 
 ness to protect people? If not, what was their business, 
 she'd like to know! 
 
 Early the next morning she hurried to the Jamaica Plain 
 district, and as soon as she saw a patrolman, plunged into an 
 excited account of the situation. But the old woman’s story 
 seemed to border on the grotesque. From what he could 
 gather the officer figured that she’d lost her job and they’d 
 got a butler to take her place, with the result that the poor 
 creature had gone dotty about it, thinking the man was some 
 sort of a crook. He couldn’t find that she had any grounds 
 for such a suspicion, but to quiet her he took down the 
 address and said he’d keep an eye on the place. Mrs. Temple 
 became almost hysterical, begging him not to stop with just 
 keepin’ an eye on it, but to come over an’ arrest the man,—to 
 please do somethin’ for mercy’s sake—if he didn’t there’d be 
 some terrible thing happenin’ to some one. But the patrol- 
 man told her he couldn’t make an arrest until some crime or 
 misdemeanor had been committed. She finally realized that 
 it was useless to waste further time with him and hurried 
 back to keep watch again from the outside, and do what she 
 could alone. That’s what she did from then on. 
 
 During the day she hung about at some distance, keeping 
 herself well out of sight, but always at places where she 
 could see who entered the mansion and who left it. When 
 darkness set in she stole to some overgrown shrubbery close 
 
242 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to the house on the south side, and was able to see what was 
 happening within, if the lights were on. 
 
 For a week the old woman remained on watch until late at 
 night and returned to her vigil early in the morning, bringing 
 with her in a paper bag what little food she needed. During 
 this time she saw Mr. Haworth leave the place a number of 
 times, which was a little unusual, but he doubtless had busi- 
 ness in town or elsewhere; also men having the appearance of 
 being mechanics drove up in a car one day and were in the 
 house until nearly five o’clock ; and she discovered, on reach- 
 ing her nearer station in the evening, that a heavy piece of 
 machinery was standing crated in the great entrance hall, pre- 
 sumably having been brought up from the basement. The 
 butler fellow appeared to be taking care of Mr. Haworth ina 
 surprisingly competent manner. What a relief, she thought, 
 if the machine in the hall should be taken away and the 
 crooked gang that bought it never show up again! 
 
 But this growing hopefulness on the part of Mrs. Temple 
 served only to make the shock more violent when, on the 
 morning of the tenth day after their former visit, the very 
 bunch of swindlers she dreaded drove up to the mansion and 
 were admitted to the house. She had known it would 
 happen! $68 
 
 During the whole day, from the time they came, the old 
 woman hardly took her eyes off the mansion, not even for 
 long enough to open the little package of bread and cheese 
 She’d brought. After they entered, nothing more could be 
 seen of them until early in the afternoon, when Mr. Haworth 
 appeared with Mr. Pentecost, walking around from the back 
 and going across to the old barn in the rear. After that she 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 213 
 
 saw Mr. Pentecost alone, making an examination of the 
 windows, the grounds, even the old elm trees near the house. 
 He finally disappeared into the mansion at one of the rear 
 doors, and a short time after that the three came out at the 
 front portico and drove away in the big car which had been 
 waiting since their arrival in the morning. 
 
 The moment it was dark enough for her to approach the 
 house she made haste to her place among the tangled shrub- 
 bery close under the side windows. The room on the left 
 was absolutely dark, but by listening intently she could hear 
 voices in a further room, and it was an unspeakable relief 
 when she recognized Mr. Haworth’s among them. He 
 seemed to be giving directions to the young accomplice (there 
 wasn’t a doubt in her mind as to his being one) that the gang 
 of scoundrels had got into the house as a butler. 
 
 She’d been there but a short time, close under one of the 
 side windows of the room on the left, when the sound of 
 carefully lightened footsteps reached her ears. Soon the 
 forms of two men could be made out in the darkness coming 
 along the flagged path from the rear and passing quite near 
 her as they went toward the front of the house. They ap- 
 peared to be carrying some heavy object and went around 
 the corner with it to the front. 
 
 Mrs. Temple crawled cautiously through the high weeds 
 and bushes to a place where she could see them again and 
 more distinctly, for the light was on in the big entrance 
 hall, and struck through the two narrow windows—one at 
 each side of the door—across the front portico. This with 
 its columns reflected enough light to enable her to make out 
 what they were doing. 
 
 They had put a ladder (which must have been what they 
 
214 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 were carrying) against the vine-covered wall at one side of 
 the front window of the room on the left, up which one of 
 them had climbed, and were working at something which 
 seemed to be under the thick growth of creeper, carefully 
 disentangling the vines, unwinding, drawing out, and secur- 
 ing them at one side, never cutting or breaking. The leaves 
 in particular they appeared to be handling with the utmost 
 care, and it wasn’t until they had slowly and with all possible 
 precaution pulled one of the window shutters out of the 
 tangled mass that had covered it as it stood opened back 
 against the wall, that she suddenly realized what it all meant. 
 
 They were closing the blinds! Closing them! Such a 
 thing hadn’t been done in all the years she’d been there! It 
 could mean but one thing—something was going to happen in 
 the house that no one must see! She was horrified, aghast, 
 unable to move. | 
 
 It took the men a long time to free both shutters and tie 
 the vines back so they’d be supported. But finally she saw 
 they were coming down and gathering up some cords and 
 tools from the ground. It would be the side windows next— 
 the blinds there were open and overgrown in the same way 
 as the front one—and she’d be directly in their path as they 
 came around the corner. So she crawled out from among the 
 bushes and hobbled away a little distance in the darkness. 
 Her rheumatism was bad from her being out on the damp 
 ground so much. 
 
 But the men didn’t stop at the side windows. Instead 
 they went back to the rear of the house, passing along the 
 flagged path by which they came, carrying the ladder and 
 what tools they’d brought with them. | 
 
 Shivering with dread, Mrs. Temple stood trying to think 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD PAN 
 
 how she could get word to Mr. Haworth—how warn him 
 —put him on his guard? Though after his telling her that 
 she must not, she didn’t dare to go in, yet she would dare if 
 there was no other way. 
 
 Before the poor old soul could decide what to do she heard 
 the front door of the house close heavily and saw someone 
 coming down the steps. As he turned at the bottom, the 
 illumination from the hall windows fell upon him, and she 
 saw it was Haworth. 
 
 At once she determined to speak to him—to warn him of 
 his danger—to beg him to let her come into the house again 
 so she could see that no harm came to him. She said to her- 
 self that if he’d do that, she’d sleep in front of his door at 
 night—indeed, never let him out of her sight if she could 
 help it. : 
 
 All this came to her while she was hurrying with all her 
 strength to overtake the young man as he went toward the 
 gate; but he was walking fast, and, crippled by rheumatism 
 as she was, she couldn’t come up with him. She called as 
 loud as she dared—which was in a very subdued voice in- 
 deed, as it wouldn’t do for that butler scoundrel to know 
 _ that she was warning him. 
 
 But Haworth either didn’t hear or wouldn’t stop; and 
 finally, about halfway down the drive, the old woman gave 
 it up. 
 
 Then she decided to wait in the drive until his return; she 
 could speak to him there without disobeying his orders. 
 
 A little time after Charles Haworth disappeared in the 
 darkness, leaving poor old Mrs. Temple standing in the 
 driveway not far from the gate, he and Edith were together 
 
216 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 in the small living room of the Findlay cottage on Cherry 
 Street. That afternoon about half-past four, a stranger had 
 called on Mrs. Findlay—a mild-looking middle-aged man— 
 and had told her that Mr. Haworth would be there that 
 evening between seven and eight. 
 
 Edith had hesitated, whereupon the stranger muttered in a 
 low voice, “Mr. Findlay won’t be home till quite late.” 
 
 “How—how do you know ?” she asked. 
 
 “Some one’ll be taking him to supper, an’ they’re liable to 
 be engaged in conversation for some little time.” 
 
 Before she could make any reply the man was gone. 
 
 And now Haworth was there—with her. 
 
 For a long time they scarcely spoke. A few endearing 
 words whispered as they clung together—that was all. 
 
 Finally he lowered her hands from his lips, though still 
 holding them. “Darling one—you know it already—that I’ve 
 come with good news—don’t you?” 
 
 He could feel her head making little nods against his 
 breast and heard a muffled “Yes” from down there. 
 
 “It happened—what I told you I was trying to do. Those 
 people took the machine—bought it you know—and to-day 
 they paid the money—and there'll be other payments coming 
 in later. So now all the trouble is over—there won’t be any 
 more at all!’ 
 
 She suddenly looked up in his face, but he gently drew her 
 head down again, so then she couldn’t see his face any more 
 but lay there resting, and hearing his voice saying how mar- 
 velous it was that this sale had come just in time—for it was 
 in time. The doctors said it would be all right and a certain 
 cure if she could get away at once. And now she could! 
 They hadn’t definitely decided where she was to go, but 
 
ON! TORRINGTON’ ROAD | oO) us, 
 
 would invavday or'two. It would be the most ‘beneficial 
 place in the world for her—they’d make sure of that. And 
 they’d send the best nurse they could find to: take care of her 
 on the journey and when she got there.. And very: soon— 
 very soon—she’d.be entirely cured and strong and well again. 
 
 When he stopped speaking she twisted around a little so 
 that she could see his face, . | 
 
 “What is it?”.she whispered. Gee aN was levaderle 
 beating with a vague alarm that she couldn’t understand. 
 
 He looked down and;met her anxious gaze... . 
 “But don’t you-see, dear—it’s going to be so wonderful! 
 We'll, have enough for everything—more than enough. 
 Plenty to take care of you and plenty for me to go on with 7 
 anything I want to do. I brought a little over for you to 
 get along on just for. now—see, that package on the chair 
 there—where my hat is. Don’t mind what’s in it; remember 
 there’s a lot more—thousands. They paid all that down, you 
 see, and I’m to have so much a year to work for them—that 
 is, after we've got you all right. That’s the first thing. I 
 couldn’t do anything,—any work at all, if I—if I was afraid 
 about, you. And you know what you have to do for your 
 part, don’t you, dear ‘one? Wherever the doctors say, you 
 must go, and whatever they tell you to do you ‘ll ek won't 
 you! rt 
 
 ‘Edith didn’t ‘answer: “She was lying’ quite mace 
 against him. “Hé looked down at her. | 
 * “But—but’ you ——”’ she began in’ a faint voice, and 
 stopped, Hedhtatihe. lazaeeog A vy TOR Onl 
 Ves? he encouraged her tenderly. iter | 
 ~"“T mean you”. (Quite a pause.) “Aren’t you ee 
 too—if I—if I have to go a long way off?” i 
 
218 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Yes dear—as soon as I can! But to make this sale 
 I had to agree to oversee the setting up of the machine—and 
 the regulating and all that. It’s bound to take a little time— 
 it’s bound to, dear—and it won’t do for you to wait—oh no!” 
 
 “But—don’t you think you can come soon?” . 
 
 “Oh I do!” 
 
 “You see, I”—she clung against him—‘“I wouldn’t care 
 
 much about getting well if you weren’t there.” 
 
 “My dear!” 
 
 She seemed satisfied and nestled down. After a time she 
 spoke again, a little mournfully. “I hoped we could do what 
 we always thought we would as soon as you sold something. 
 You know what we—what we planned.” 
 
 “Yes, I know.” 
 
 “Will there—will there be enough for that, too?” 
 
 “More than enough.” 
 
 “But I suppose this other’—with a little sighing breath— 
 “T suppose it must come first.” 
 
 “Tt must, my precious one.” 
 
 “Yes, I know.” 
 
 She had referred to their plan of having her get a divorce 
 as soon as there was money enough to do it. 
 
 After this they sat together, silent mostly. 
 
 Suddenly Haworth realized he ought to go. He knew 
 some arrangement had been made for detaining Findlay, but 
 had kept no track of the time. Now a strong feeling that 
 the hour was late took possession of him. For Edith’s peace 
 of mind the fellow mustn’t find him there. But he couldn’t 
 leave without going upstairs to little Mildred, asleep in her 
 crib. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 219 
 
 As they approached the door of the bedroom he stopped 
 and caught Edith to him, holding her close in his arms. | 
 
 “My dear,” he whispered, and her lips, as she looked up 
 in his face, moved in a soundless “Yes.” 
 
 After a moment they went on; but in that moment her 
 heart began throbbing again with the same vague alarm she 
 had felt before. 
 
 Haworth had stopped when just within the door of the 
 room and stood there for a little, looking across at the sleep- 
 ing child; then he suddenly turned away and hurried down 
 the stairs into the room below. Edith, following, felt her 
 hands caught, with a sort of desperation, in his, and heard 
 his whispered, “Good night . . . good night, my dear!” 
 
 He released her hands and was turning to leave her, when 
 the front door, opening and closing again with a violent bang, 
 shook the flimsy little house, and instantly thereafter Augus- 
 tus Findlay plunged into the room. He was out of breath 
 from running, and frenzied with precisely the right mixture 
 of vindictive jealousy and vicious alcohol to produce perfect 
 ignition. 
 
 “TI thought so!’ he shouted between his gasps for wind. 
 “By God! I just got on to it they were trying to hold me 
 back!” He glared across at Haworth. “What the hell you 
 doing here in the house with my wife?’ He was pulling 
 something like a glove on his right hand as he spoke. 
 
 “T’m calling on Mrs. Findlay,” Haworth answered, quietly, 
 _and turned toward Edith as if to say a final word. 
 
 “Calling, were you?” Augustus was striding toward 
 him. “Well if you’re calling Pve got to show my hand— 
 an’ here it is you 
 
 !” Saying which he 
 
220 _ THE ASTOUNDING! CRIME 
 
 struck Haworth’ a ‘savage blow in the face withthe brass 
 knuckles he’d been putting on his hand.: NED | 
 
 Edith, uttering a subdued: cry, tried to run in, hetiwedt the 
 two, but Haworth put out his hand and:held her back..He 
 was standing quite unconcerned, though the blood.was ‘run- 
 ning down the left; side of his face.from.an bie cut just 
 under the eye. 
 
 Turning to, Edith as though nothing out of rie way ae 
 occurred, Haworth raised her hand to. his lips, looked deeply 
 into her eyes, and huskily, murmuring, “Good-bye,” ; walked 
 out of the room and out of the house. without so much as.a 
 glance at F indlay. ay 
 
 For an instant the two left there, stood silent ; then Augus- 
 tus recovering himself made for the stairs, up which he 
 rushed with stumbling feet. When he came pounding down 
 again a moment later he found Edith blocking the way. 
 “You shan’t go! hi she called out, breathlessly. “You shan’t 
 go with that!” ' 
 
 “What?” he demanded, stopping before her. 
 
 “You've got it there under your coat!” 
 
 “What if I have?” (Trying to pass her.) 
 
 “You shan’t take it with you! ' No—no—no! 
 holding to his arm and trying to reach the gun. - 
 
 He shoved her violently aside and strode toward the door. 
 “You think I’m going to stop for you, you — No, 
 by God! an’ you’ll damned ‘well get it yourself when’ I come 
 back!” And he was gone before she had time'to recover her- 
 self. {82.0 : 
 
 }?? 
 
 She was 
 
 Augustus knew the streets Haworth would be likely to take 
 to get home,iand started after him-on a run+-an unsteady 
 
ON | TORRINGTON: ROAD: | | ge 
 
 one; owing tothe load of, hoc he was carrying, but ie got 
 over the ground. He had the gun’ gripped in his hand and 
 was muttering threats and foul names as he plunged along. 
 
 But: Haworth, realizing that his appearance would attract 
 attention—for, though he continually’ wiped his face, it went 
 on bleeding—turned off the most direct route through ‘the 
 well-lighted’ business’ district of Egleston Square and’ Ja- 
 maica Plain, into some of the quiet streets to the south. Even 
 at that he had to pass through one of the’ lesser business 
 neighborhoods where there were shops with vented AL 
 and people about on the sidewalks. me 
 
 “It was just along here that Findlay, not finding Haworth 
 on the route he’d expected him to take and turning off into 
 side streets running parallel thereto, came up with him, 
 | Shouting threats and menacing him with his revolver, he 
 strode along unsteadily by his side, attracting the attention 
 of everybody within hearing. Quite a few who happened to 
 be close at hand ran into shops or behind trees. Haworth’s 
 bleeding face added to the general alarm. 
 
 _ The young man suddenly turned on Findlay with a low- 
 voiced warning. } 
 
 “Keep away, from me or you'll get ‘nto trouble! !’’ he said, 
 and instantly turned and walked as before. 
 
 “Trouble!” Augustus,screamed. “You talk to me about 
 trouble do. you, you ~ What in hell d’ye sup- 
 pose sow re. going to get? I’ve been waiting for this chance 
 for a year, by God! for more’n a year, by God! an’ now we'll 
 see where. you get off, you , And on he 
 went, letting out the foulest language he could lay his tongue 
 to, with, Haworth. paying no further attention to him; and 
 
222 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the two disappeared down a poorly lighted road which took 
 them in the direction of Franklin Park. 
 
 After this extraordinary and rather terrifying scene had 
 shifted itself well past the little area of shops and light, sev- 
 eral of those who had witnessed it came out from their places 
 of refuge and a hurried consultation was held, the result of 
 which was a telephonic report of the affair to police station 
 13 in Jamaica Plain, and assurance from that quarter that a 
 couple of men would be sent over. 
 
 One man who'd been a spectator, had sufficient curiosity to 
 follow Haworth and Augustus at a safe distance, and was 
 joined later by another who saw them pass a couple of 
 blocks further on. 
 
 Haworth, dogged by the foul-mouthed nephew of old 
 Michael Cripps, turned in at the mansion gate and went up 
 the dark and weed-grown drive to the house. They mounted 
 the steps of the front portico together, but when Augustus 
 madeas if to follow him in, Haworth suddenly turned on him. 
 “You can’t come in here,” he said. 
 
 “We'll see whether I can or not!’ Findlay shouted, and 
 began to fight his way past. 
 
 “Very well, we will.” Saying which in his quiet way 
 Haworth gripped Augustus by the collar and gave him a 
 shove that sent him back across the portico nearly to the 
 steps, and then turned and entered the house. Findlay 
 rushed back toward the door, which, as he reached it, was 
 slammed violently in his face and bolted inside. With an 
 outburst of the most malignant profanity he sprang against 
 it like a maniac, making frantic efforts to get it open, pound- 
 ing and shouting and screaming threats until exhausted and 
 out of breath. After panting and fuming there for a while 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 223 
 
 the crazy idea took hold of him that he might get in at a 
 window—or at least get a look in, which was all he wanted. 
 One look—that was all! And he stumbled and felt his way 
 along the east wall until he found himself under the large 
 front window of the room on the left. The shutters were 
 closed, but at the bottom of one of them, which was about 
 on the level of his eyes as he stood on the ground, there were 
 two or three broken slats, and with the frenzied fit of rage 
 still shaking him like an ague he peered avidly in. 
 
 Although Mrs. Temple had waited nearly two hours in the 
 darkness about halfway down the drive, hoping to intercept 
 Mr. Haworth on his return, she wasn’t there—as you’ve 
 already gathered—when he finally did come. She’d been 
 sitting for a long time in the grass at the side of the drive, 
 her poor old heart beating the very life out of her with 
 anxiety, when she suddenly became aware that a peculiar 
 mechanical sound was coming from the direction of the man- 
 sion. She’d heard it before while Mr. Haworth had been 
 working in the basement. He must have got home by some 
 other way than the drive, and she’d missed him. 
 
 Limping back to the house, she got into the shrubbery near 
 the side windows and tried to see into the room on the left, 
 but it was still in darkness. She tried the other windows 
 on that side with the same result. The entrance hall 
 seemed to be the only place in the house where there was a 
 light. The sounds in the house had now ceased. All was 
 quiet. 
 
 Then she heard a strident voice down the Torrington 
 Road. Faint it was at first, but gradually growing louder 
 as the man doing the shouting approached. Quarreling with 
 
a4 THE ASTOUNDING ‘CRIME 
 
 some one he seemed to be! Oaths were screamed out, and'a 
 great quantity of blackguardly language along with them. 
 .-As the abusive and threatening clamor became more dis- 
 tinct Mrs. Temple realized that the parties concerned » were 
 turning’ in’at the gate and coming up the drive. OM 
 ‘Intensely alarmed, she moved through the shrubbery to the 
 front corner ofthe house; where she'could get a view eit the 
 dimly lighted portico: | : 15 10 OW 
 It was only a moment before bee ety closely hounded by 
 Augustus, appeared out of the darkness of the drive, and the 
 old woman caught the metallic glint-of something that Find- 
 lay had in his:‘hand. ‘Without an‘instant’s hesitation she hob- 
 bled toward him; if she’could have got there she’d have torn 
 the gun away from him or°been’ shot in the attempt. But 
 before she’d gone halfway the two‘ had! mounted the ‘steps; 
 anda second later’ Augustus’ was een ne back, vane the 
 door slammed in ‘his’ face.’ | ashi i 
 Owing to Findlay’s outcries and his flerce senie against 
 the door; Mrs.Temple could at first: hear nothing’ else, ‘but 
 when his hammering and shouting subsided’a little she began 
 to notice again those strange noises from within: ' Upon’ this 
 she hurried: back along the side of the house, stillavoiding the 
 footpath and keeping in the bushes. ‘Determined now to get 
 in, even though against’ Mr. Haworth’s wishes, she made for 
 the kitchen door, but couldn’t open it; and another rear door 
 giving into the back hall was also locked:' Then*she remem- 
 bered the basemententrance at the bottom of'the stone steps. 
 She found the door there fastened, as she’d expected, ‘but 
 there was a sécret way to slide:the bolt back by reaching in 
 through an-apertute in the side and finding’ a'cord'to pullio > 
 The cord: was there; but: she couldn’t make.it work: It was 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD’! | 225 
 
 tied in some vie and? after desperate attempts she ras to 
 give it up. © SHEER | tgttl 
 She was Nihedie terrified, ole teat station pea isis 
 get into the house with his knife or pistol'and: do: Mr. Ha- 
 worth some fearful injury. In addition to this danger some- 
 thing alarming was going on inside: She'could hear hurried 
 footsteps and’ what seemed to her strange menacing sounds. 
 She started back toward the front’ of the house, hobbling 
 atid ‘stumbling through the shrubbery, thinking she’ might 
 find somebody’ down i in' Torrington Road who'd come to: her 
 assistance. “9. Pree EET fO0 EW 
 But as’she came toward the side windows of the room’ on 
 the ‘left, she was amazed to see that, instead: of’ the darkness 
 that had prevailed, an unusually brilliant light was shining 
 out in ‘narrow ‘beams’ below the roller shades. At both win- 
 dows these shades had now been pulled down, but as is quite 
 commonly the ease, they weren’t quite long enough to reach 
 the’ bottom of the windows. She hurried’ to:the one nearest 
 to ne front of the house and looked in through ths narrow 
 slit. : 
 At once she saw: Mr. Etdmbvttb seated by the hivire eabtes 
 reading’ a*booky» She watched him ‘intently as he ‘sat there 
 occasionally turning! the pages. _He seemed entirely. at ease 
 and untroubled: There was nothing about him that gave the 
 idea of anything being’ wrong or out-of the: way. Itamazed 
 her that he could recover entire equanimity so soon‘after the 
 frightful time he’d been having with Augustus ‘Findlay. | 
 .As’she watched him he: began to feelin his pockets in the 
 absent-minded way she knew'so well, bringing out his’ pipe 
 and tobacco’ pouch; then ‘he stopped ‘reading and began to 
 
226 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 fill the pipe. It looked so safe and commonplace after her 
 frightful imaginings and premonitions, that she hesitated 
 about calling out to him, as she’d fully intended to do. 
 
 Now he rose and got a box of matches from the mantel, 
 returning with it to the table. She had a momentary im- 
 pulse to speak to him through the glass, but his singularly 
 calm and reassuring behavior made her hesitate. Could it 
 be that she was mistaken after all? 
 
 Quite suddenly something peculiar startled her—a moving 
 shadow on the floor it seemed to be, and she realized that the 
 whole room-couldn’t be seen from where she was: the back 
 part, where the doors to the breakfast room and the butler’s 
 pantry were, was out of sight. This was behind Haworth as 
 he stood at the table lighting his pipe, and a wave of horror 
 swept over her as she started for the window farther back 
 which would give her a view of it. 
 
 The aperture below the shade at this window was very 
 narrow, but she twisted round, and looking sideways was 
 able to see through into the room. 
 
 At last! The frightful thing had come! Standing there 
 behind Mr. Haworth and aiming a terrible black thing 
 straight at his head, a man, his face hidden by a cloth or 
 bandage, his clothes clinging to him as though soaking wet. 
 . . . She didn’t stop to see any more, but screamed out a 
 frantic warning, at the same time starting back for the other 
 window where she could see Haworth. 
 
 As she turned she saw dimly by the light sifting out under 
 the shades, that a man carrying a stepladder was hurrying 
 down the walk toward the front of the house, and she called 
 to him as she ran, but didn’t stop to see whether he heard 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 227 
 
 or not. In an instant she was back at the other window and 
 looking in. Haworth was standing close to the table, half 
 leaning on it and holding a lighted match to his pipe, emitting 
 quick puffs of smoke as he drew on it. She shrieked out his 
 name and beat on the glass with her hands. But she’d no 
 more than begun this when two shots rang out—one close 
 aiter the other and with reports so deafening that they 
 seemed to shake the house. 
 
 The old woman was unable to move, frozen, paralyzed, 
 seeing Haworth spin round as he was hit, and after a weak 
 attempt to hold to the table for support, sink to the floor. 
 Almost at the same time her own trembling legs gave way 
 and she sank down, lying half on the ground and half 
 against the low-growing bushes beneath the window. But 
 only for the briefest moment was she there, for she’d hardly 
 more than gone down when she was struggling to her feet 
 again. And as she did so she saw by the light still shining 
 through under the roller shade, that the man who'd been run- 
 ning along the path must have stopped and dropped the lad- 
 der, for he was picking it up; and as she stumbled blindly 
 through the bushes toward the rear of the house he started 
 running toward the front, dragging the ladder after him 
 along the walk. 
 
 The doors of the kitchen and back hall were still locked, 
 but she found that some one had opened the basement en- 
 trance and she got in there. 
 
 Two policemen arriving shortly after—smashing a side 
 window to get in, as there wasn’t time to fumble with the 
 doors—found the old woman on the floor holding Haworth’s 
 limp body in her arms, his head fallen back against her 
 breast. 
 
228 THE: ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 » The patrolmen who smashed their way into the house some 
 twenty-six minutes after the firing of the shots, were sent 
 from Station’13. The desk sergeant got the phone call from 
 citizens in Jamaica Plain; describing the terrifying ‘progress 
 through that district of the two quarreling men with revolv- 
 ers—blood streaming down the face of one) of them. ~He 
 sent a'man:from the station, and also the patrolman’ on the 
 nearest beat as soon as his call came ‘in. » These two had no 
 difficulty in picking up the trail of consternation left along 
 the route that Haworth: and Findlay had taken... But when 
 they’d followediit a short distance beyond Jamaica Plain the 
 two citizens whose curiosity had led them into trailing ‘the 
 quarreling men in order to see what happened, came sprint- 
 ing down the road in a‘ frantic effort to get away;: for 
 they’d been close to the mansion when the shooting took place 
 and knew that if someone was shot ad eabiit might west on 
 them.’ | a { : / : 
 The patrolmen: took these men for the ones iets were 
 after and grabbed them. But in a minute they saw there ‘was 
 something else to it; and after a bit of time wasted in sharp 
 questioning they got at the truth and made a run for the 
 Cripps’ mansion, bringing the two ‘citizens along’ with them 
 Material witnesses at least, and a good chance they'd’ hada 
 hand: in it—whatever it was. After smashing one of the 
 kitchen windows these two citizen chaps were shoved in first 
 and stood back against the wall with orders not to move: 
 Then the officers, working with their electric torches (for all 
 the lights were now off) ran through the butler’s pantry, 
 guided by the pungent smell of gunpowder, and‘ an instant 
 later found what they were looking for. 
 
 A quick glance at Haworth was all they needed. One tock 
 
ON TORRINGTON 'ROAD | 229 
 
 charge; the other ran for the nearest patrol box and reported 
 to his station. The station notified headquarters, and down 
 came a départment automobile with the chief: inspector’ and 
 three plain-clothes men and after that the medical examiner 
 (called*coroner in’ most places)‘ and'two more’ uniformed 
 men. (They need a few uniforms in‘a case like this’ so peo- 
 ple won’t think it’s a hold-up.) 
 
 The medical examiner came in his-own car, bringing his 
 stenographer and a surveyor with him, as was his custom: » I 
 don’t think it’s the usual thing to:run\a surveyor in, outside 
 of Boston. Of course there were’ photographers and all 
 that, and it’ wasn’t’ any time at all before iliac 
 were swarming about. 
 
 Mrs. ‘Temple'hardly noticed sinitifan apeopee that i 
 lights went suddenly on—until she found herself being urged 
 back’ by one’ of the ‘policemen—he was: gentle enough: with 
 the old woman—toward the swing door of the butler’s pan- 
 try.’ James Dreek was standing just within the door, looking 
 pale and frightened, with a sort of wild-eyed blankness: on 
 his’ faces\'‘The officer told: them they'd have to:go back into 
 the kitchen, and Dreek disappeared''in that direction, but 
 Mrs. Temple tried to resist, looking back to: where men were 
 bending over Haworth—the surveyor making measurements 
 of positions and distances, working by compass ; the medical 
 examiner cutting away parts of his clothing. She'made an 
 effort to push’ past the policeman and get back to the body, 
 but he prevented her, speaking with rough kindness: “Now, 
 - now, ma’am, you won’t be allowed over there!’’) But as he 
 looked)at the old woman ‘he saw it wasn’t an ordinary case. 
 
 2 “One'o’ the family; ma’am?’’ he asked in a low voice. 
 aves. Let meiby!) | 
 
230 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “You can’t do anything, lady—he’s past help.” 
 
 “T can be there with ’im, can’t 1?” 
 
 “Not now, ma’am—but if you’re one o’ the family they'll 
 let you in afterwards.” 
 
 She said no more, but went where he directed. There were 
 a number of persons waiting in the kitchen—all exits from 
 which were guarded—but she didn’t notice them, nor had she 
 any idea of what was going on—that the detectives were 
 searching every part of the house and going over the grounds 
 outside with electric torches; that a couple of plain-clothes 
 men were out after the man who’d followed Haworth 
 through the streets, threatening him with a revolver; that 
 the people waiting there in the room with her were being 
 taken into another room one by one, to be questioned. 
 
 Some time later she found herself in the great entrance 
 hall, standing before a man at an improvised desk of rough 
 boarding. ‘There were police about and a plain-clothes man 
 was writing things on sheets of paper. Two or three others 
 not in uniform were standing near, apparently uninterested, 
 but in reality watching her like cats. The old woman 
 glanced at the various people in the room, hardly aware that 
 they were real. It might just as well have been a dream. 
 After a time she thought she heard some one speaking to her. 
 
 “What?” she asked, looking about vaguely. 
 
 An officer came to her and explained that she must answer 
 the questions. 
 
 “What questions?” she inquired. 
 
 It appeared there was curiosity as to her name, age, and 
 occupation. She gave the information in a low mumbling 
 voice, speaking absently. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD ye 
 
 That out of the way, the inspector, noticing that she was 
 inattentive, began with sharp emphasis: 
 
 “Mrs. Temple, you knew the deceased, did you not?” 
 
 The old woman turned to him, startled, and stood looking 
 at him a moment. Then she looked away, glancing rather 
 vaguely about the room. She was beginning to realize where 
 she was and what was going on. 
 
 “Well, are we going to hear anything from you this 
 evening ?” 
 
 ““Are you the perlice?” she asked with a sharpness of her 
 own. 
 
 “You're here to answer questions—not to ask them.” 
 
 “T’d like to know if you’re the perlice, that’s all!” 
 
 “This is a police investigation, if that’s what you mean. 
 We're taking testimony throwing light on the crime just 
 committed here. You may be able to help us.” 
 
 “No ” Mrs. Temple shook her old gray head. “I 
 won't be able to help ye none.” 
 
 “You mean you don’t know anything about it?” 
 
 “TI mean what I told ye—that I won’t be able to help ye 
 none.” 
 
 “You don’t seem to realize your position, madam. We can 
 compel you to answer questions here. But you ought to be 
 willing to give us any information you can without that, so 
 we can find the guilty man and bring him to the punishment 
 he deserves.” 
 
 “What good’ll punishment do, I’d like to know? What’s 
 the good o’ that to—to the poor dear man lyin’ there—shot 
 down like a dog he was—doin’ no harm to no one—juss 
 standin’ there lightin’ his pipe—and shot down like a dog!” 
 She was unable to go on for a moment; but having caught 
 
ae | THE ‘ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 what she said about Haworth lighting his pipe, the inspector 
 waited for her. He would give her plenty of time and nurse 
 her along, for it looked very much as p nOReD aes been a 
 ‘witness to the actual shooting: 
 
 ‘A nice lot of folks you be,” the old woman finally went on 
 in’ a’ broken voice but with deep indignation back of “it. 
 “What was ye doin’ before, I’d like to know, asettin’ around 
 offices an’ paradin’ tip and ‘down the streets! ‘When I went 
 an’ warned ye more’n a week ago that we was in danger 
 over here, I was told there’ warn’t nothin’ you could’ do— 
 not till somebody done somethin’. Well, now some one’s done 
 somethin’ an’ ye come hurryin’ around askin’ us all! about it! 
 But ye needn’t take no trouble: askin’ me. I’ve ‘told ‘ye all 
 I’ve got to tell. “I told itto one of yer perlice a-strollin’ 
 up'an’ down Ceritre Street 1 ina nice aa with brass awit 
 tons on it!” O3 1 YEO 2 O27 0G 
 
 The inspector made no'attempt to interrupt or cut short 
 Mrs. Temple’s somewhat fervent remarks, and ‘when’ she’d 
 quite finished ‘he spoke to her in a carefully softened tone. 
 
 “You're certainly right, Mrs. Temple,” he said, “as to its 
 being too late to do anything now for the—the unfortunate 
 victim in this case. His murder was, ‘as you indicate, ‘a most 
 cold-blooded ‘crime. Every’ additional particular that’ is 
 ‘brought out adds'to its cruelty and brutality. And was ‘it 
 really a fact, as I think you intimated, that the poor fellow 
 was lighting his pipe as the shots were fired?” He looked 
 sympathetically and inquiringly at the old: woman: © 
 
 But’ Mrs. ‘Temple’s' mouth was shut and there were’ no 
 signs visible that she had any intention of opening it. 
 
 “Rot in jail’ before she’d talk if°she didn’t want to,’ was 
 the’ inspector’s unspoken’ comment. Well, they’d* have: to 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 233 
 
 make her want to, that was all. So she was excused, almost 
 with apologies, and allowed to go where she pleased. But 
 wherever that was a detective would be on the job and not 
 lose track of her for an instant. 
 
 All available information was in, but the plain-clothes men 
 were still working through the house and grounds. No 
 weapon of any kind had yet been found, and no bullet marks 
 discovered in the room. The theory regarding the latter was 
 that the bullets (it was taken for granted they’d been fired 
 through the front window) struck against the masonry of 
 the fireplace or chimney and left no noticeable mark. In 
 that case, however, they should have been found where they 
 dropped—and the search for them was still going on. 
 
 Notwithstanding there were any number of witnesses to 
 the following of Haworth home by an infuriated man using 
 the most abusive language and threatening him with a re- 
 volver, no one could be found who had any idea who this 
 person was. Nor had anyone seen him make an attack on 
 Haworth that would result in the cut and bruise which had 
 been found on his face. The two Jamaica Plains citizens 
 who'd followed the quarreling couple to the house gave as 
 good a description of him as could be expected. But their 
 statement that the instant before the shots were fired he was 
 peering in through the large window at the left of the en- 
 trance portico and had his revolver gripped in his hand, was 
 - positive and unshaken. Also that he stayed there a few sec- 
 -onds after the firing,—though they could not make out what 
 
 he was doing,—and then turned suddenly and dashed madly 
 down the drive into Torrington Road. Everything pointed to 
 this person as the man they wanted, and the inspector had 
 
234 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 detectives out after him when the taking of testimony had 
 hardly begun. 
 
 The report of the medical inspector with the “survey” at- 
 tached, showing all distances, positions, heights, measure- ~ 
 ments of everything in the room, as well as all particulars 
 relating to the body of the murdered man, had been turned 
 in. Out of this technical mass of information a few facts 
 adapted to the limited intelligence of the layman could be 
 extracted. Charles Haworth’s tragic death resulted from 
 whichever of the two gunshot wounds found upon him was 
 inflicted first.- Either would have caused it instantly. The 
 shots were discharged from a distance of from fifteen to 
 twenty feet. No chance therefore existed of the wounds 
 being self-inflicted. The distance of the weapon or weapons 
 at the instant of discharge, the locality of the wounds and 
 the course of the projectiles through the body, made such a 
 feat impossible. Both missiles had come from behind the 
 victim, one entering at the back of the head and drilling the 
 brain, the other striking near the middle of the spine and 
 passing through the heart. There were no burns or powder 
 marks on the clothing nor on the head or body, where the 
 projectiles went in. 
 
 The upward course of the bullets demonstrated two things 
 —and you can see from both of them how nicely the services 
 of a surveyor came in: first, Haworth must have been stand- 
 ing when he was shot, for otherwise the assailant couldn’t 
 have got low enough down to fire at the angle shown; second, 
 even with Haworth standing, the weapon must have been 
 held well down to give the bullets their upward course; but 
 as accurate aim (which had evidently been taken) would 
 have been difficult if not impossible while holding the gun 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 235 
 
 down within two or three inches of the floor, the probability 
 was that the assailant had been standing outside of one of 
 the windows and had fired into the room from near the 
 bottom of it. | 
 
 The detectives had a fresh filled pipe—the tobacco on top 
 hardly more than singed; a book fallen open on its face, 
 crumpling the leaves; a box of matches; one partly burned 
 match—all from the floor close to the body. The exact posi- 
 tion of each article was given in the survey. 
 
 Haworth had evidently been reading and had stopped to fill 
 and light his pipe as the first of the two bullets made an end 
 of him. No evidence of a struggle with anyone—none that 
 he had an idea of what was about to happen. 
 
 Two persons concerned in this tragic affair got away from 
 the mansion and its vicinity before the arrival of the police— 
 Hugo Pentecost from within, slipping out quietly through 
 the basement entrance, proceeding through the rear of the 
 property and coming into town by way of Brookline,—thus 
 avoiding Torrington Road and Roxbury altogether; and Au- 
 gustus Findlay from the front, rushing blindly down the 
 drive like.a wild man pursued by seven devils. | 
 
 After one fearful moment when he’d stood, stunned and 
 paralyzed, looking through the broken slats near the bottom 
 of the shutters of the front window—the booze suddenly 
 swept from his system—the crashing reports of the shots 
 ringing in his ears and Haworth lying there in a crumpled 
 _heap on the floor, Findlay was suddenly recalled to himself 
 by feeling the weight of something dragging down his right 
 arm; and raising it into a bar of light coming through the 
 chinks in the shutter, he saw his revolver gripped in his hand, 
 
236 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 his forefinger still hooked to the trigger. He knew—hazily, 
 but he knew it—that he’d been following Haworth and 
 threatening him with the gun. . . . And so at last he’d done 
 it! Ina drunken frenzy he’d killed a man! Murder—mur- — 
 der—that was it! The crime they hang people for or sizzle 
 the life out of them, strapped in an electric chair! They'd 
 have jim for that if he stayed there. Flight was his only 
 chance, yet he couldn’t move. He saw the lights suddenly go 
 off in the house—somebody already there! A moment later 
 he heard a loud voice within calling out something, yet still 
 his feet were weighted with lead. Then came the sound of 
 quick footsteps from around the southeast corner. Some one 
 was coming down the path at the side of the house and drag- 
 ging some heavy wooden thing—he heard it grating along 
 the stone flagging. Wheeling about with a desperate jerk, he 
 fled madly down the drive. 
 
 Findlay had been running only a few minutes (he was out 
 on the Torrington Road by this time) when he suddenly 
 thought of his gun. It mustn’t be found on him! Looking 
 frantically about, he saw a thick clump of shrubbery on one 
 of the front lawns and quite near the road. No one would 
 look for it there! But as he stopped to pitch the weapon over 
 the fence he discovered that he was being followed! He 
 mustn’t be seen throwing the thing away—that alone would 
 convict him! There was nothing to do but run with the gun 
 in his hand. Perhaps he could see a hole or drain where he 
 could drop it without a noticeable motion as he ran. 
 
 Somewhere about the time the homicide squad arrived at 
 the Cripps mansion an individual whose clothing set him 
 down as a laboring man and who was evidently carrying a 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 237 
 
 load of something with more than one-half of one per cent 
 alcoholic content, walked a trifle unsteadily into the South 
 Station by the Atlantic Avenue entrance, looked blankly 
 about, and then stopped a man who was hurrying past and 
 asked where there was a telephone. On having the booths 
 pointed out to him, he mumbled a thick “mush obliged” and 
 made his way to them, getting into No. 19 and occupying it 
 for some little time. Then he reappeared in the concourse, 
 and after further inquiries of various persons, found the 
 gate for the 11:35 p.m. train for New York (“Advanced” 
 time). With much fumbling in his pockets and boozy mut- 
 terings as a running. accompaniment thereto, he produced a 
 ticket, and after passing in at the gate tried to give it up to 
 the Pullman and train conductors seated at a table just 
 inside; they, however, refusing to take it—as only Pullman 
 passengers gave their tickets there—he went on toward the 
 train, and eventually climbed aboard one of the day coaches. 
 
 Walking bravely down the aisle, finding not a little assist- 
 ance from the friendly arms and backs of the seats on each 
 side, he half fell into an unoccupied seat—the next to the last 
 at the extreme forward end. It might have been observed 
 (but it wasn’t) that this seat gave a person the advantage of 
 having all the lights of the car at his back, leaving his face in 
 comparative obscurity. 
 
 Not long after the train passed the Back Bay station this 
 man was half asleep, his head bobbing about; and the con- 
 ductor took'his ticket from the band of his cap where he had 
 stuck it, and passed on without getting a view of his face. 
 
 On arrival at the Grand Central a few minutes before six 
 in the morning (a few minutes before five, standard) he was 
 left snoozing in his seat after the rest of the passengers had 
 
238 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 filed out. A moment or two later the head end trainman, run- 
 ning through the coaches to see that all was clear, stopped 
 and shook him, not altogether gently, into consciousness, yell- _ 
 ing as he did so, “All out—all out—Grand Central! ... 
 You get out here!” 
 
 The drowsy chap, coming to himself and doubtless being 
 considerably hazy, conceived that he was being attacked, and 
 hit out in all directions. The result was a scuffle of wrestling 
 and pulling, all the more eagerly entered into by the train- 
 man because of having had a lot of trouble during the night 
 trying to keep the fellow’s muddy boots off the seat in front 
 of him, throwing them off by main force a number of times. 
 The present struggle ended in the enraged passenger falling 
 in the aisle and being dragged out by his feet to the station 
 platform. 
 
 On this same morning the steamer North Land, from the 
 stern of which Mr. Pentecost had rather skillfully disem- 
 barked a few hours after she left Boston, came down the 
 Sound and through Hell Gate, emerging into the East River 
 at about eight o’clock, daylight-saving time. Half an hour 
 later she was rounding the Battery into the North River, and 
 not long after that was backing into her berth alongside 
 Pier 18. 
 
 By this time most of the passengers were massed in the 
 saloon lobby of the hurricane deck, their small luggage in 
 their hands, ready to go ashore through the starboard door 
 of that lobby as soon as the steamer was made fast and the 
 gangplank run out from the wharf. Nearly every officer and 
 steward and deckhand was on duty on the starboard side, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 239 
 
 which was the landing side in this instance, as the steamer 
 slowly backed in alongside her wharf. 
 
 A small rowboat had been lying close up under the string- 
 pieces at the shore end of the pier. There were three men 
 in it, apparently of the deckhand order, and they had mops 
 and pails in the bottom of the boat and across the seats. 
 They had rowed in there some time before the arrival of 
 the steamer, coming along the south side of the slip among 
 the barges and scows of the New York Central Railroad 
 Company which, at this time, occupied the pier on that side 
 as a freight terminal. 
 
 As the North Land came slowly gliding in stern first, the 
 men in the rowboat pulled out into the middle of the slip and 
 waited there. A moment after she was made fast and the 
 crew on the fantail had gone forward, a man in the uniform. 
 of a ship’s officer stepped out of the passageway near the 
 stern on the port side (the passengers were to disembark on 
 the starboard) and motioned to the men in the rowboat, upon 
 which they pulled up close under the guard and began to 
 make an examination of the hull near the water line. Soon 
 after this they had mops out and appeared to be swabbing off 
 something on the ship’s side, the officer overlooking the job 
 from the rail above them. A moment later there were two 
 others watching them, not in the ship’s uniform, one from 
 some distance forward on the port outside passageway, and 
 the other from near the stern end of it where it opens into 
 the fantail., These men each had a movie camera focussed 
 on the party in the rowboat, and when one of the swabbers 
 was trying to get at a place that was too high to reach and 
 the officer dropped him a rope ladder, the two men kept their 
 cameras trained on him as he clambered up and stepped over 
 
240 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the rail into the passage, and still followed him as he was 
 reaching down the ship’s side with his mop in one hand while 
 clinging to the rail with the other. 
 
 This man—the deckhand or swabber who had come aboard 
 by the rope ladder—got somehow mixed with one or two 
 others of his kind who came out into the passage, but eventu- 
 ally he could be seen climbing down the ladder again and into 
 the boat ; and very soon after that the three rowed lazily away 
 with their buckets and mops. The officer hauled the rope 
 ladder aboard and disappeared through the “emergency exit” 
 into the ship’s cabin, and the men with the cameras were 
 already gone, one walking forward along the port passage- 
 way, and the one who had been near the stern passing round 
 to the starboard side by way of the fantail. Everything was 
 smoothly and rapidly done, the whole thing occupying 
 scarcely four minutes from the time the rowboat came up 
 to the ship’s side. 
 
 It’s hardly necessary to tell you that after this little per- 
 formance was over, the man who climbed the rope ladder 
 with his mop was still on board the steamer, and that the man 
 with the same mop who went down the ladder into the row- 
 boat was another person altogether. Nor is it of the least 
 importance to mention names, for you gentlemen can hardly 
 fail to be aware that it was Mr. Pentecost who thus came 
 aboard and that it was one of his “trusties’—made up and 
 dressed to appear in every way like him—who slid down into 
 the rowboat; so that it might be seen, if anyone kept account 
 of such things, that the number of men in it when it was 
 rowed away from the steamer was not less than when it came 
 up under the stern. And, as you can readily imagine—if 
 you have not already done so—the entire scene was played, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 241 
 
 as one might say, for outside consumption only—that is, for 
 whoever might be about in boats or barges or on the railway 
 pier opposite. No one connected with the steamer could 
 have any knowledge of it; a passenger approaching from 
 either direction on one of the passages would have been 
 begged, by whichever camera man blocked the way, to wait 
 just a moment until the picture was taken; an officer or sea- 
 man would receive quite the same request, but with the added 
 explanation that their film concern had obtained permission 
 from the Eastern Steamship Lines, Inc., to photograph a 
 bunch of seamen (which is to say, actors posing as such) 
 swabbing blood off the steamer’s side. 
 
 No one would have recognized Pentecost in the confusion, 
 even had he been seen; and it was perfectly true that such 
 permission had been asked and granted. Indeed, the com- 
 pany had loaned an officer’s uniform to help it along. There 
 seemed to have been a little misunderstanding as to dates, 
 but that was a small matter. Back of it all, if it ever got 
 to it, they'd have found a company and a scenario, and a 
 couple of thousand feet of film already taken. 
 
 The passengers, herded in the saloon lobby of the hurri- 
 cane deck, which was the one they were to disembark from, 
 were growing impatient. Those nearest the open door on 
 the starboard side had noticed a couple of men on the dock 
 in conversation with a policeman, and the moment the gang- 
 _ plank was run out the latter had given a signal of some kind 
 and the ship’s officers held everybody back. The two men 
 came aboard at once and went with the Purser into his office, 
 where they scanned the passenger list. A little later the 
 Captain came to the door and the Purser asked him to step 
 
242 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 in a moment. Shortly after that the Steward and head waiter 
 were sent for. Then (the whole affair had hardly taken 
 five minutes) the two men went ashore with the Purser, and 
 at once the ship’s officers who were blocking the way stood 
 aside, the two ticket-takers from the New York office took 
 their places, and the passengers began to leave the steamer. 
 
 Near the foot of the gangplank in the vast dock building 
 was a corner partition where the passengers coming ashore 
 made a turn to the right. Back in this corner, which com- 
 manded a view of the people filing past the two ticket takers 
 and down the gangplank, stood the Purser with the two men 
 who had been looking over the passenger list in his office. 
 
 It was toward the end of the stream of disembarking pas- 
 sengers that Mr. Pentecost and the two Harkers, father and 
 son, came into view at the top of the gangway, with one of 
 the stewards carrying their luggage. As they came ashore 
 and were approaching the right-hand turn, the Purser stepped 
 out and shook hands with them, trusting they’d had a restful 
 night after their strenuous day in Boston, and wishing them 
 good luck with their new invention. All was in the most 
 jovial manner, and the three passed on toward the street. 
 But before they’d got there one of the stewards came run- 
 ning after them and said that if they had time the Purser 
 would like to see them for just a minute. “Why, certainly,” 
 Pentecost said. “Tell him we'll be right along!” 
 
 Harker was alarmed and started to say something under 
 his breath, but Pentecost growled in a half whisper, without 
 looking at him, “Can’t you see everything they do stamps it!” 
 
 Alfred went on toward the street to get a taxi, and the 
 two partners turned back. 
 
 The Purser was still on the dock near the gangplank, but 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 243 
 
 the two men who’d been with him were gone—at least, not in 
 sight. But don’t imagine that fooled Pentecost any. 
 
 “Didn’t mean to trouble you,” Mr. Lawson called out as 
 the two came near. 
 
 “No trouble,” said Pentecost. 
 
 “Not at all,” added Harker. ‘‘What’s going?” 
 
 “Why, I’ve just heard something that might concern you 
 gentlemen in a business way. Man came aboard a minute 
 ago and was telling about a hell of a murder last night over 
 in Boston.” 
 
 “Murder, eh?” said Harker, with the interest such news 
 might naturally inspire—but no more. 
 
 “What makes you think we’d be concerned?’ Pentecost 
 inquired. 
 
 “Hardly a chance you are—only he said it was out in West 
 Roxbury, and I remembered you told us your man a 
 
 “What was the name—did he say?’ Pentecost asked 
 quickly and with awakening anxiety—just the right amount 
 you know—not the merest trifle overdone. 
 
 “Why no, I don’t think he did.” 
 
 Pentecost glanced at Harker and Harker at him. 
 
 “A lot of things might happen in West Roxbury,” he said, 
 turning back to the Purser. 
 
 “Sure they might,” assented that official ; “but he saidit was 
 an inventor chap living out there alone.” 
 
 “Inventor!” exclaimed Pentecost. “Living out By 
 George! And all that,money we ” He broke off, and 
 suddenly turning to go was heard to say, “I’ve got to make 
 a run for a train!” 
 
 Harker emitted a ‘““My God!” and followed his partner up 
 the dock. But Pentecost stopped suddenly a few yards away, 
 
244 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 where he could still be seen and heard by the Purser (or any- 
 one concealed in the vicinity), and pulling out a N. Y., N. H.- 
 & H. Railroad folder, began looking for express trains to 
 Boston. 
 
 “That’s right,” Harker said, coming up to him. “We'll 
 get the first train out!” | 
 
 The Purser was approaching them. 
 
 “You stay here,” said Pentecost. “There’s a lot of busi- 
 ness at the office. I can wire if I want you. Here”—looking 
 at the folder—‘‘‘New York to Boston’—I ought to get the 
 nine o'clock.” 
 
 “No—’ (from Harker) “half past nine now!” 
 
 “That’s Daylight—railroad’s on Standard.” 
 
 “So it is—train’s ten our time—just make it!” 
 
 Pentecost seized the Purser’s hand. “Thank you very 
 much, Mr. Lawson. You’ve done us a great favor.” And 
 as he was turning to go: “We paid that man something like 
 thirty thousand yesterday. A yegg’s run up on him—that’s 
 what it is!” He hurried out to the street and jumped into 
 the taxi that Alfred was holding, pushed a five-dollar bill 
 into the driver’s hand with “Grand Central—make time!” 
 and shouting out a few parting directions to Harker as the 
 taxi started with a great jerk (the driver was earning his 
 money) he was whirled away into the traffic. 
 
 The man who was following Augustus Findlay as he fled 
 wildly away from the Cripps mansion a few seconds after the 
 sound of the two revolver shots split the air, wasn’t by any 
 means putting a shadow on him, but was running him close, 
 never less than thirty yards behind, and a flash on him from 
 his pocket torch whenever it was safe to throw a light. His 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 245 
 
 name was Graham and he knew his business. He kept so 
 near that Findlay didn’t get a chance to pitch his gun any- 
 where, and what’s more, I doubt if he could have done it if 
 he’d got the chance, for the minute he realized he was being 
 followed and the light flashed on him every few seconds, he 
 was virtually on the scrap heap—which is to say, out of his 
 head with terror. 
 
 It was in a quiet block of Collamore Street over near the 
 railroad tracks that Graham ran up on him and bumped 
 him against the iron post or column of a street light. This 
 nearly knocked Findlay over, but Graham got him by the 
 throat and shut off his wind before he had a chance to fall, 
 and in his wild struggles to loosen Graham’s grip so he could 
 get air, and Graham doing some extra thrashing about trying 
 to hold him, it gave the idea there was the liveliest kind of a 
 fight on; and a man in his shirt sleeves, who'd been sitting 
 smoking a pipe at a second-story window nearly above, com- 
 menced to yell at them to quit. 
 
 From that minute you could see that Graham was trying to 
 get Findlay’s revolver away from him, twisting his arm, 
 trying to bite his fingers loose, and all the while shouting out, 
 “You damn dirty sneak, gimme that gun! Gimme the gun, 
 I say! It’s the gun I want!” and things like that. And 
 Augustus, who was terrified, thinking they were after the 
 thing to prove murder on him, clung to it with the tenacity 
 of an octopus. 
 
 The man at the second-story window, whose name it later 
 appeared was Rathbun, finding yelling to the two scrappers 
 was no good, came downstairs and out at the street door of 
 the tenement building; but seeing—or, to be more accurate, 
 hearing what it was they were fighting for, hesitated in the 
 
246 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 doorway, as he had an aversion to being shot up. In this 
 instant of Rathbun’s hesitation Graham gave Augustus a 
 smash in the face that made him loosen his hold, and then 
 snatching the revolver out of his hands turned and raced up 
 Collamore Street, carrying it by the muzzle; and Rathbun 
 noticed, as the man swung into a street light, that the hand 
 he was holding it with had a glove on it. 
 
 After Graham got safely away, Rathbun went out to Find- 
 lay, who was lying in the road, and tried to find out what 
 it was all about and whether he was hurt. But he couldn’t 
 get anything out of the fellow. 
 
 After a few moments Findlay got to his feet unsteadily, 
 stared blankly at Rathbun for a second or two, then wheeled 
 around and went limping down the street toward the rail- 
 road. <A sorry-looking object he was, battered and torn and 
 plastered with mud. But his mental condition was sorrier. 
 _ Maudlin and devastating fright possessed him. He’d done a 
 murder—murder—murder! Shot a man, killed a man, and 
 they were hunting for him—they’d get him! Drunkenness 
 no defense. He’d looked that up before, when he really 
 thought of doing it! This time he didn’t think. And he’d 
 done it! 
 
 He stopped. If he went home they’d get him there. But if 
 he tried to get away it would be the same as a confession of 
 guilt. If he went home he could deny everything—insist that 
 he didn’t know what they were talking about—that he hadn’t 
 left the house all that evening. Edith must back him up. 
 That is, if anyone came for him. But after all, why should 
 they? No one could possibly have seen him at the Haworth 
 place. It was dark as pitch. And the shutters were closed, 
 so no light shone on him. Yet who could the man have been 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 247 
 
 who got his revolver? Just a plain hold-up, that’s what it 
 was. Yet he thought he’d heard him following from way ~ 
 back near Torrington Road. But if he was a detective he’d 
 have arrested him. And, anyway, a detective couldn’t have 
 got on the job thirty seconds after Haworth was k ; 
 Great God! He couldn’t say it even to himself. 
 
 With his mind seething, he stumbled up the two steps to 
 his front door and stopped there with his hand on the knob 
 and a quick glance up the street, thinking he heard some one 
 following. He turned with a sudden terror and tried to open 
 the door, but it was locked. He shook it and pounded on it, 
 and the instant he heard Edith turn the key in the lock he 
 burst in, closed the door frantically after him, and stood 
 pushing against it as if trying to keep some one out. 
 
 Edith stood quiet, watching his feverish terror. When he 
 finally ceased his violent pushing against the door she spoke. 
 “Tell me,” she said. | 
 
 “Tell you what? Whad’ ye mean? I ain’t got anything 
 to tell!’ 
 
 “You have.” 
 
 “T have not! I been in a fight, that’s all. A hell of a dirty 
 footpad jumped on me—just over the other side of the rail- 
 road—but he didn’t get any money—he only took my gun!” 
 
 “Your revolver ?” 
 
 “Can’t you hear what I say?” 
 
 “What had you been doing with it?” 
 
 “What had I just had it along. How could I be do- 
 ing anything when he took it away from me!” The man 
 was almost sobbing. “You ain’t got any right to talk to me 
 like that! You’d ought to help me—that’s what you’d ought 
 todo! I’m going to bed and you tell ’em I was here all this 
 
248 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 evening! You can do that much for me, I should think. I 
 was here reading a book, that book over there on the stand— 
 that’s all you got to say. What’s the harm o’ that? Just tell 
 ?em I was here reading that book P” 
 
 Edith shook her head. 
 
 Then followed begging and crying and protesting on his 
 part, but with no response on hers. She didn’t speak again. 
 
 After Augustus had gone whining upstairs and locked 
 himself in his bedroom, Edith opened the front door and 
 looked out into the dismal night. She was hesitating. If it 
 hadn’t been for leaving little Mildred alone in the house with 
 the crazed brute (who had often threatened to kill the child) 
 she’d have hurried through the dark streets to Torrington 
 Road. She knew from her husband’s behavior that some- 
 thing fearful had happened, yet without an idea of how 
 terrible it was. 
 
 Finally she sat on a chair in the small living room and 
 waited. There was nothing else to do. 
 
 It was early morning when they came—still dark. Edith 
 heard their feet on the wooden steps and then the heavy 
 knock on the front door. 
 
 Two men stood there, dressed in ordinary clothes. And 
 she could see a uniformed policeman moving back at the side 
 of the house. It was the patrolman on the beat who'd been 
 phoned from headquarters to keep an eye on the place till the 
 Inspectors got there. Now they’d come and were sending 
 him to cover the rear. 
 
 The men at the door were roughly polite. They were 
 sorry to disturb her, but was Mr. Findlay at home? 
 
 MES. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 249 
 
 “We'd like to see him.” 
 
 “He’s in his room upstairs. Ill tell him you’re here.” 
 
 But as she turned to go the man who’d been speaking 
 called after her: 
 
 “Tf it’s all the same to you we'll go—— Which room 
 is it?” 
 
 “The back one—farthest from the stairs.” 
 
 “Thank you ma’am.” 
 
 The men ran up, and she heard their loud knocking on 
 the door and gruff orders to Findlay to open it. 
 
 Then came the crash of splintering wood (the door was a 
 flimsy affair) and their heavy tread as they rushed into the 
 room. A moment later there were more distant voices, and 
 the men came hurrying down again. 
 
 “They got him outside, ma’am,” one of them said. “Sorry 
 to make you all this trouble.” And the two passed out at the 
 front door. Edith called: 
 
 “Oh, wait! I want to y 
 
 One of the men turned in the doorway. 
 
 “TI want you to—I want you to tell me ifi—if———__ Oh, 
 what is it?” 
 
 “Some trouble in West Roxbury, ma’am. You can find 
 out from headquarters.” 
 
 As the man passed into the street she could hear Augus- 
 tus’s voice through the open door. He was whining and 
 crying that\he didn’t know anything about it—he was here at 
 home all the evening reading a book—that was what he was 
 doing—he never once left the house—ask his wife if they 
 didn’t believe it—she was right there—just ask her; in the 
 midst of which came a rough caution from one of the inspec- 
 tors that he’d better keep his mouth shut—he could tell all 
 
250 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 that to the chief. A moment later came the clatter of a car 
 driven up from somewhere, the slamming of its door, and 
 the sound of its rapid departure up the street. 
 
 A number of things were happening along here that I’m 
 not going to try to describe to you. My supposition is that | 
 I’m able to get away with plain facts so they’ll be understood, 
 which is all I aim at. But when it comes to telling you about 
 Edith Findlay through all this affair—her going over to the 
 mansion as soon as she could get a neighbor to take care of 
 little Mildred, and staying there with all that was left of poor 
 Haworth as long as they’d let her; and later her being at 
 the funeral; and after that sitting stunned and dry-eyed in 
 her little parlor at home while she slowly came to the realiza- 
 tion of what it meant—that the one person who was all there 
 was in the world for her had gone forever, and that somehow 
 it was through her that the terrible thing had come about— 
 I’m out of it altogether. I can only briefly refer to it as 
 Ive just been doing. 
 
 Yet with all these fearful things coming down on her, the 
 poor child—frail and delicate and already in the grip of the 
 demon of disease—had it in her to stand up to it, quiet and 
 brave. I made a mistake, though, when I said all these fear- 
 ful things coming down on her, for she knew only one. 
 Others had no place in her mind. They didn’t even occur 
 to her. 
 
 And with old Mrs. Temple it was much the same, though 
 in a different way. Back of all the police investigations, and 
 questionings of witnesses, and photographing, and ransacking 
 the mansion and grounds surrounding it, and the sensational 
 newspaper write-ups, and arrests, and talk, and confusion, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 251 
 
 was this cruel blow for each of them—the loss of the one 
 who was dear to them. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost left the train at Back Bay Station on arrival 
 in Boston, thus saving about five minutes. And he saved 
 some three minutes more by not having to explain to the 
 taxi man where Torrington Road could be found, the morn- 
 ing and early afternoon papers having thoroughly attended 
 to that. 
 
 It was a few minutes after four o’clock (Advanced time) 
 when his machine came tearing up the drive—that is, tearing 
 up the lower part of it, for it was stopped by a patrolman 
 some distance from the house. Two policemen and a plain- 
 clothes man were on watch there. Pentecost hurriedly ex- 
 plained who he was, and that his firm had paid a large 
 amount of money the day before for one of the murdered 
 man’s inventions—which was still in the house, he supposed. 
 They'd left it crated in the front hall. 
 
 The detective made no reply to that, but instead informed 
 Mr. Pentecost that the Chief would like to see him at head- 
 quarters. 
 
 “Yes, but wait a minute!” remonstrated Pentecost. “TI 
 want to find out if that machine i 
 
 “You can talk it over with the Inspector when you get 
 there.” 
 
 “Talk it over! But my God, man—it’s our property!’ 
 
 “The Inspector’ll attend to that. You don’t need to 
 worry.” 
 
 “Was there a truck out here after it?” 
 
 “There sure was, but the truck didn’t get it. How do we 
 know but it might have something to do with the case?” 
 
252 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Have you got the idea that anybody’s going to shoot up 
 a man for a three-ton machine he couldn’t get out of the 
 house ?” 
 
 “Ask the Inspector that.” 
 
 Pentecost was allowed to go in and satisfy himself that his 
 property was still in the house and had not been tampered 
 with. After a moment of breathing easier (not overdone you 
 know) upon finding that this was the case, he apparently 
 began to call to mind that a terrible crime had been com- 
 mitted and finally asked if he could see the poor chap who’d 
 been shot. But the body’d been taken to the morgue some 
 hours before. 
 
 Half an hour later the detective and Mr. Pentecost ar- 
 rived at Pemberton Square and the Inspector didn’t keep 
 them waiting long. Besides the latter there were two plain- 
 clothes men in the room—one at a table ready to make notes, 
 the other standing back near the window. ‘The Inspector, 
 seated at his desk, greeted Pentecost pleasantly ; and after an 
 informal question or two regarding his business and the 
 methods of running it, came down to the matter in hand. 
 
 “Understand your firm’s been having some dealings with 
 the man they shot out in Roxbury—or rather Jamaica Plain 
 —last night.” 
 
 “Why yes, we just bought an invention of his—that is, 
 rights to exploit and so forth—and paid the money down for 
 it. It was only yesterday, and the machine’s still out there in 
 the house. One of your men in charge advised me to speak 
 to you about it, and I certainly hope you’ll be so good as to 
 
 a) 
 
 arrange it so we can 
 “All in good time Mr. Pentecost. First I’d like to have 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 253 
 
 you tell me what you know about the affair or the people 
 concerned in it.” 
 
 “Yes, certainly, certainly—er Pentecost appeared 
 to be slightly flurried by having the subject shifted so sud- 
 denly away from what was apparently uppermost in his 
 mind. (It might be just as well to remember I said “ap- 
 peared to be’’ and “apparently.’’) 
 
 “Your firm specializes in novelties of a mechanical nature, 
 you say—organizes companies and that sort of thing?” 
 
 “Yes—yes, we—that’s our business.” 
 
 “What are some of the inventions you’ve handled ?” 
 
 “Well, there’s quite a number. The latest thing we took 
 over was the Crudex Oil Burning Device. We're also be- 
 hind the Polaris Refrigerating Machine, the Acme Vacuum 
 Cleaner and other successful things. Of course we hit on a 
 loser now and then, but our average stands up well.”’ (Pen- 
 tecost had naturally given out the straight deals that the firm 
 had undertaken—sometimes at considerable expense—for 
 precisely this sort of emergency.) 
 
 “That being your business, I take it you were attracted to 
 Haworth’s inventions.” 
 
 “Yes—I was.—That is, to one of them.” 
 
 “How did you happen to hear of them?” 
 
 “From reading a Sunday supplement write-up when I 
 was over here a couple of weeks ago—or thereabout.” And 
 _ Pentecost went on to give an account of how he went out 
 there to see what sort of mechanical novelties the inventor 
 had, and to describe his visit to the ancient mansion— 
 the young man alone there with an old charwoman—the 
 finding of a device that greatly interested him—the bringing 
 of his partner over from New York to see it—and their ulti- 
 
254 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 mate purchase of the rights in the machine and the payment 
 of quite a large sum of money down. 
 
 “Did you see much of the old woman you speak of —the 
 one who came in to cook for him and so on?” 
 
 “Not a great deal, but I had to admire her.” 
 
 “Why? What did you admire?” 
 
 “The game way she kept at it trying to protect Mr. Ha- 
 worth from us,—for she got the idea we were trying to rob 
 him or something like that. She bothered us some listening 
 around, but it was no great matter, so I let it go.—Though 
 now I think of it I did drive her away once.” 
 
 ‘“‘What was the reason for that?” 
 
 “The machine we were negotiating for depended on a se- 
 cret process, as you might say. That is, he managed his 
 combustion to compress air direct without the use of inter- 
 vening machinery. Something they’d hardly allow a patent 
 on. That’s why I’m so nervous about it. I hope nobody 
 takes it out of that crate.” 
 
 “Was the old woman trying to see it ?” 
 
 “Trying to see anything she could. We'd find her every- 
 where. I don’t suppose she’d have understood the thing 
 even if she’d got a good look at it, but I always like to play 
 safe when there’s no patent. So we finally asked Haworth 
 to keep her out of the house till we got the machine away.” 
 
 After questioning Pentecost on other points, the business 
 transaction between Haworth and the firm was taken up,—the 
 fourteen-day option, the payment of the thirty-five thousand 
 dollars, the arrangement made with him for coming on to 
 New York and setting up and adjusting the machine, and 
 his agreement to work under their direction for five years. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 255 
 
 “It was a cash transaction I understand—this payment 
 of thirty-five thousand ?” 
 
 “Yes—he insisted on having it that way.” 
 
 “Do you know his reasons for that?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “You actually paid him that amount—in bills?” 
 
 “Yes. That is to say, he received it from the firm. Alfred 
 Harker, our secretary, was the one who handed it to him.” 
 
 “But you saw—yourself—that that amount was paid over 
 to him?” 
 
 “Yes, I did. I watched Harker counting it out for him.” 
 
 “Into his hands?” 
 
 “Well, no, it was rather too bulky for that. He counted it 
 - out on the table.” 
 
 “And Haworth took it ?” 
 
 POSES 
 
 “What did he do with it—put it in his pocket?” 
 
 “T’m not sure, but I should say not. It was rather too 
 large for an ordinary pocket.” 
 
 “Mr. Pentecost, where, exactly, was that bunch of bills 
 when you last saw it?” 
 
 “My recollection isn’t clear enough to admit of a positive 
 statement. I have the impression that Haworth held it in 
 his hands a short time and then put it down on the table and 
 stood there with one hand resting on it.” 
 
 “What happened then?” 
 
 “Soon after the money was paid we left the house.” 
 
 “Did he bring it to the door with him when he went to see 
 you out?” 
 
 “He didn’t come to the door—we left him standing at the 
 table.” 
 
256 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “He said good night to you there ?”’ 
 
 “Yes. And it was then that he was standing—as I remem- 
 ber it—with one hand resting on the stack of bills.’ 
 
 “You referred to an agreement you made with him for 
 working under your direction. Was he entirely willing to 
 agree to this or did you have to urge it to some extent?” 
 
 “We had some discussion, but he finally saw it was to his 
 advantage, and signed the contract willingly.” 
 
 “Have you that contract with you?” 
 
 _ “My partner took charge of it. I can wire him and he'll 
 get it in the mail to-night.” 
 
 “Kindly do that.” 
 
 The next inquiries were as to the machine the firm had 
 bought, and Pentecost described it as well as he could and 
 offered to have the blueprints sent over from New York— 
 an offer which was accepted. He was unable, when asked, 
 to give any information concerning Augustus Findlay as he’d 
 never seen him nor even heard his name mentioned, nor 
 could he tell the Inspector anything about the butler, Dreek, 
 as he’d only seen him once or twice in the performance of 
 his duties and once when he was called in to sign as a wit- 
 ness... . Yes, he should say it was quite possible this but- 
 ler, Dreek, had seen the bunch of money. .. . No, he had 
 no idea how it happened that Mr. Haworth had sent to a 
 New York agency for a butler. 
 
 Shortly after that he was excused, the Inspector intimating 
 that he’d like to have another chat with him in the near fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Pentecost said of course—anything he could do, and 
 added that if the Inspector wanted to see Mr. Harker and 
 his son Alfred—the two who were with him at the Haworth 
 
\ 
 
 ON TORRINGTON ROAD 257 
 
 place—he could get them over that night; but he was told 
 that such a thing was hardly necessary, as their testimony 
 could be taken in New York if it came to that. 
 
 “You got over here in quick time, Mr. Pentecost,” the In- 
 spector was moved to say as the interview was coming to a 
 close. “We have to thank you for that.” 
 
 “It was my business that was worrying me—not yours,” 
 Pentecost returned. “And now that you speak of it,” he 
 went on, beginning to show eagerness again, “I was advised 
 to consult you as to how I could get that machine out of the 
 house. We've got a good-sized stack of money invested in 
 it and I’d like to get it into a safe place.” 
 
 “Tt’s perfectly safe where it is, Mr. Pentecost. We've 
 got to hold it till we can see what bearing—if any—it has on 
 the case. Good afternoon.” 
 
 A plain-clothes man opened the door for him and Mr. Pen- 
 tecost passed out. When the man turned back into the 
 room the Inspector spoke quickly in an undertone: “Run 
 out after him, Charlie, and keep him in sight till I get some- 
 one on the job. Keep your distance—don’t let him get wise 
 to it.” 
 
 The detective addressed as Charlie disappeared through 
 the door. 
 
 The Inspector sat thinking a moment and then got to his 
 feet and began pacing the room—a habit of his when hunt- 
 ing for the answer to something. He suddenly stopped and 
 spoke to the plain-clothes man at the table who'd been taking 
 down the conversation with Pentecost. 
 
 “What did you think of that, Alec?’ 
 
 “Sounded nice an’ slick to me.” 
 
258 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Ever see him before?” 
 
 “Not as I remember.” 
 
 “Got an idea I have. Can’t place it. Going to put Loderer 
 and Trench on him.” 
 
 “Cinch on Findlay, ain’t it?” 
 
 “What you might call that, but there’s one or two curious 
 things about it—money gone—thirty-five thousand in bills— 
 we can’t get that on Findlay.” 
 
 “Nor on this man, either, that I can see. You can’t crack 
 an alibi like that, with the Purser an’ all talking to ’im on 
 the voyage. And on top of it he comes ashore from the 
 steamer in New York this morning.” » 
 
 The inspector muttered, “Yes, I know,” absently, and was 
 silent a moment, thinking. Finally he said with a slightly 
 explosive effect: 
 
 “God! I hope Bellinger gets the man that phoned in here 
 Jast night!” 
 
 “You mean about this Pentecost not being on board?” 
 
 “‘Yes—and advising us to have the boat watched in New 
 York.” 
 
 “Nothing on it yet?” 
 
 “Nothing to the good. We got the booth he phoned from 
 and we picked up a man who saw a chap go into that booth 
 about that time, but he couldn’t give a description except 
 that he looked like a day laborer of some kind—so we don’t 
 Jand anywhere.” 
 
 “What booth was it?” 
 
 “Nineteen South Station.” 
 
PART VII 
 
 OU can readily understand that the daily papers, both 
 
 morning and evening, were going strong on this mur- 
 
 der, giving the public all the sensational stuff they could 
 
 rake out of the gory mess. Even wild rumor was sufficiently 
 
 tamed to occupy a place of honor on first pages, no least item 
 
 of the appalling affair being too inconsequent to be written 
 up until it fairly bristled with significance. 
 
 Even at that, very little attention was given to a press dis- 
 patch from Montreal which appeared in the Boston papers on 
 the second morning after the shooting. Only a fewlines it 
 amounted to, and tacked on at the end of one of the columns 
 devoted to the murder. 
 
 This dispatch stated as rather a striking coincidence, that 
 one of the Montreal papers of the day before—that is, of the 
 morning following the West Roxbury shooting—had printed 
 in a local news column a short paragraph to the effect that at 
 a spirit séance in a private house on Sackville Street the night 
 before—which was the evening of the murder, a call had 
 come from the spirit of some one (a man it seemed to be) 
 whose name, owing to his extreme agitation, couldn’t be ob- 
 - tained, but who was so insistent on speaking that the control 
 brought him in. 
 
 The medium, who was in trance, suddenly taken by this 
 spirit, began crying out: “Stop them! Stop them! Can't 
 somebody stop them? Oh, it’s terrible—terrible! They’re 
 
 259 
 
260 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 going right on—there’s no help for it! Oh—can’t somebody 
 telegraph?” 
 Then there was a pause, and some of the sitters began 
 asking this spirit what the trouble was, and where he wanted 
 them to telegraph, and what his name was, and things like 
 that. But there was no answer, and for several minutes 
 nothing more came through. Then suddenly there was 
 something like a shout for help repeated several times and 
 followed by wild exclamations about killing some one. 
 “Down in the States—down in the States! Roxbury—down 
 in the States! They’re killing a man in Roxbury—killing a 
 man. No one can stop it now! There’s a gun aimed at him 
 Oh, 
 They’ve shot him! . . . Now they’ve shot him again! ... 
 
 —don’t you understand—aiming a gun—aiming a 
 
 He’s sinking—sinking down—down. .. Now he’s on the 
 floor—all in a heap! ... Now he’s dead! ... Dead! 
 t emjeread oi. 1). he words) seemed to’ trail) On inate 
 
 distance toward the end, and nothing more was heard from 
 the perturbed visitor. 
 
 The Montreal paper carrying the account of this went on 
 to say that its information was obtained from a well-known 
 person who had attended the sitting. And one of the Bos- 
 ton papers, commenting on it briefly, as one of those odd co- 
 incidences which come along and surprise us every now and 
 then, added: “This will be less astounding, however, when 
 we reflect that a medium in Canada or anywhere else can 
 confidently assert, at any hour of the day or night, that a 
 murder is being committed in one of the large cities of the 
 United States, and not be far out of the way in time or 
 place.” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 261 
 
 The evidence tending to establish the guilt of Augustus 
 Findlay in the case of the shooting to death of Charles Mi- 
 chael Haworth was so overwhelming from the point of view 
 of newspaper readers, that it threatened to make the case 
 uninteresting—a threat, however, which was soon swept into 
 the discard. For a few days, though, it looked unpromising 
 in the extreme to those who revel in newspaper sewerage. 
 The facts were so plain and Findlay’s guilt so evident that 
 no room was left for enthralling suspicions as to others— 
 for gossip and scandal, for the laying bare of nauseous de- 
 tails concerning the habits and lives of loathsome people, and 
 all those choice morsels of offal that newspaper addicts go 
 after so ravenously. 
 
 It was simply that this Findlay man, the murderer, had 
 always been threatening to put a bullet into the Haworth 
 man, the murdered, and had finally done so, being worked 
 up to a sufficient frenzy in his half-drunken condition, by 
 finding the said Haworth calling upon his—Findlay’s—wife. 
 He had thereupon followed him home, flourishing a revolver 
 in his face most of the way and shouting the most murder- 
 ous threats and maledictions, and finally had shot him from 
 outside the Cripps mansion on Torrington Road (where Ha- 
 worth lived) getting it there through one of the front win- 
 dows. Then he had run home and tried to make his wife 
 uphold him in his statement that he hadn’t left the house all 
 
 the evening. \ lf that wasn’t enough to land him in the chair, 
 what was? 
 
 To the authorities, however, it wasn’t quite so easy navi- 
 gation. No one had seen Findlay do the deed; no revolver 
 had been found; no bullet marks in the room had yet been 
 discovered. It was true that everything pointed to him as 
 
262 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the murderer, but pointing wasn’t enough. It answers very 
 nicely for the general public, but doesn’t go with a Grand 
 Jury. ) 
 
 And there was that obstinate old woman who undoubt- 
 edly had intimate knowledge of the entire episode from A 
 to Z—knowing the persons involved, the motives behind the 
 murderous deed, and every circumstance leading up to it; 
 —for hadn’t she run out and warned a patrolman in Jamaica 
 Plain nearly a week before the event? Fully aware of this 
 and more, yet keeping her mouth as securely closed as if 
 officially padlocked. More important still if it was a fact— 
 and a word or two she’d dropped just after the shooting 
 made it look that way—she’d been an eyewitness of the mur- 
 der. Yet so far nothing could be got out of her on the 
 subject. 
 
 But no mistake was made about Amelia Temple. It was 
 seen from the first that the only chance was in giving it to 
 her easy and waiting patiently for results. No pressure. On 
 a sign of that she’d have cheerfully gone to prison for life 
 or permitted herself to be hung by the neck until dead, before 
 she’d have let out a word. So they kept careful watch on 
 her without interfering in any way with her freedom or 
 giving her the least idea they were doing it. 
 
 And the Inspector and she enjoyed a couple of pleasant 
 conversations during this time, in which, “as a matter of 
 form” he gave her the opportunity to enlighten them as to 
 one or two little things, but said himself she was perfectly 
 justified in declining to do so if she still felt that she must— 
 indeed, he wasn’t sure but he’d do the same in her place. 
 And the patrolman who'd failed to respond to her request 
 for help had (under instructions, of course) made her-a most 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 263 
 
 abject apology, to which her only response was, ‘“That does 
 a lot o’ good now, don’t it ?”’ | 
 
 While proceedings in this quarter were at a standstill (for 
 they wanted to give the old woman time), those in other and 
 unexpected directions were not. Some rather unusual phe- 
 nomena relating to the case were beginning to attract at- 
 tention. Although the first of these—the communication 
 that came through a Montreal medium—had hardly caused 
 a ripple, a manifestation on similar lines now broke out in 
 Boston itself, and people began to sit up and take notice. 
 
 The séance in which this occurred was taking place in a 
 small hall or conference room, where a committee appointed 
 by some sort of psychical research society was investigating 
 the spirit manifestations claimed to be produced by a cer- 
 tain medium. It was a lady in this case—using the term 
 merely as indicative of sex (though for all I know it could 
 be applied in a broader sense as well)—and she was trying 
 to cope with the various tests to which this committee was 
 subjecting her at a series of meetings held for that purpose, 
 hoping to win a prize that had been offered; but sure, in any 
 event, of valuable publicity. 
 
 As you see, I am fairly well uninformed as to the interior 
 workings of this particular brand of religious endeavor—if 
 it may be referred to as such. Nevertheless, I am fully 
 aware of the phenomena that touched on the Haworth case, 
 and can report them to you with a close approach to accu- 
 racy, leaving you to draw your own conclusions as to their 
 origin. 
 
 It was certainly a great surprise to everyone interested in 
 the affair—with the possible exception of the firm of Har- 
 
264 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ker & Pentecost, neither member of which was ever sur- 
 prised at anything—that an attempt at interference should 
 come from such a quarter. For a time it was treated as an 
 absurdity not worth serious attention. But that was only for 
 a time. 
 
 It seems that mediums, being forbidden, in these enlight- 
 ened days, to give public séances for which admission fees 
 are charged, are obliged to employ other methods of at- 
 tracting and doing business. The most common is to appear 
 before the congregations in the great Spiritist temples—or 
 whatever name they may go by—where meetings are held 
 at stated intervals in all the large cities and many of the 
 smaller ones. At these gatherings a limited number of “in- 
 spirational speakers” and “test mediums” are allowed a cer- 
 tain time each in which to bring the spirits of the departed 
 into communication with friends or relatives present, and 
 sometimes with people who cannot be found in the assembly. 
 
 The more striking and convincing the feats these inspira- 
 tional individuals perform, the greater will be their renown 
 and ultimate pecuniary reward. For upon the impression 
 made at these meetings (where no admission fee is charged) 
 largely depends the amount and the value of the private 
 business they can do thereafter. It has been known that 
 one extraordinary “demonstration” in the way of spirit 
 communication or materialization, has come near to making 
 the fortune of the artist (using the term with entire respect) 
 who brought it about. The field is of vast extent. The 
 highest aim is the convincing and consequent conversion of 
 persons of wealth who are undergoing the pangs of recent 
 bereavement; for the successful medium deals in that for 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 265 
 
 which almost anything will be paid—if the believing client 
 has the price. 
 
 While these appearances at the great Spiritist assemblies 
 are the most used of the publicity methods for commercial 
 mediums, a greatly superior one has recently been developed 
 for the few who are fortunate enough to be able to asso- 
 ciate themselves with it. It is one of the innumerable out- 
 comes—all more or less revolting—of what a few nations 
 egotistically refer to as “the World War.” 
 
 Owing to this absurd and ghastly occurrence, hundreds of 
 thousands—perhaps millions—of families were suddenly 
 plunged into the most heartrending grief known ‘to man. 
 Those who were beyond words dear to them had been 
 snatched away and violently put to death, and the ones so 
 taken were in the very part of life where death seems most 
 impossible, most unbelievable, and consequently most terrible. 
 
 Resulting from this, the interest in that creed which as- 
 sures people that their lost ones are yet here with them in 
 spirit form, trying to speak to them and often succeeding 
 (through the mediumship of others), even on occasion ap- 
 pearing before them in person (again through the interpo- 
 sition of others), was suddenly and tremendously increased. 
 One result was an enormous enlargement in the number of 
 believers, among which were included some with a high 
 order of mental equipment—something in which this “faith” 
 had been painfully deficient before. A result of the un- 
 precedented interest which this accession to the ranks of 
 Spiritists inspired, was a stimulation of the efforts made 
 by the less credulous to learn whether or not there existed 
 grounds for confidence in the amazing claims set forth. So- 
 cieties and associations and investigating committees were 
 
266 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 organized for this purpose in various parts of the country, 
 rewards were offered and the claims and accomplishments 
 of various mediums were subjected to investigation. As a 
 by-product of these activities, and one, it must be admitted, 
 wholly unlooked for by those undertaking this enthusiastic 
 search for truth, the most effective machinery yet devised 
 for the manufacture of publicity for mediums was put in 
 operation. 
 
 The prize of a few thousand dollars offered by the or- 
 ganizations behind the investigating committees, was as 
 nothing to the enormously increased business for the medium 
 which was sure to follow the newspaper accounts of the 
 proceedings, no matter which way they went or what de- 
 cision was arrived at. Free newspaper publicity, and in 
 the news columns—that was the real prize. 
 
 It happened that an investigation of this kind was going 
 on in Boston at the time of the tragic occurrence on Tor- 
 rington Road. The medium who was undergoing tests was 
 a Mrs. Belden—Henrietta E, Belden was the entire name I 
 believe—and she had heretofore revealed her unusual gifts 
 only in private—that is to say, in her own home out in 
 Quincy. But accounts of the extraordinary things that took 
 place when she went into trance, came to the notice of mem- 
 bers of a research society, and after a bit of wirepulling 
 that was kept in the dark (as it certainly should have been) 
 the lady was invited to submit to a series of test sittings, and, 
 I need hardly say, accepted. 
 
 The first test séance had already been held and with some 
 success—enough to get half-column reports of it on inside 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 267 
 
 pages of most of the next day’s papers. But this was only a 
 beginning. 
 
 On the evening of the day after the murder in Torrington 
 Road, the second sitting was scheduled to take place—which 
 it did. Most of the newspaper reports of this meeting spoke 
 of it as being unsatisfactory in the extreme, though one or 
 two contended that it would be only fair to the medium to 
 suspend judgment until the next one, as there appeared to 
 be some unexplained obstacle in her way, and she should be 
 given a chance to overcome it. 
 
 It seems that after Mrs. Belden had gone into trance, in- 
 stead of being, as on the first occasion, immediately controlled 
 by energetic spirits who spoke volubly (through her) and 
 caused sounds of knockings and chilly draughts and inex- 
 plicable moving of furniture, she was suddenly plunged 
 by some mysterious influence, into the most overpowering 
 grief, begging piteously that some one would help her. On 
 questioning by members of the committee, it developed that 
 they were speaking to the spirit of a woman named Cynthia. 
 That is to say, the medium herself had disappeared into 
 trance, and the spirit of this Cynthia woman was speaking 
 _ through Mrs. Belden’s terrestrial machinery. 
 
 _“Cynthia—I’m Cynthia!” the medium kept calling out in 
 a voice entirely different from her own, and with tears run- 
 ning down her cheeks. ‘“‘Yes—Cynthia! Oh, won’t some- 
 body help me! Though you don’t know me, for God’s sake 
 help me! iIsn’t there somebody here who can do some- 
 thing?” And the medium sobbed and moaned and rocked 
 back and forth, and her very face was changed. All the 
 questions that were put to her by the members of the com- 
 mittee seemed to get them no further. The Cynthia spirit 
 
268 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 was apparently crazed with grief or anxiety, and held her 
 place for nearly an hour, begging for help, yet leaving those 
 present without information as to what the trouble was, fur- 
 ther than the little that could be gathered from her incoherent 
 cries of: ‘Oh—they’ve made a terrible mistake! Don’t 
 you see—a terrible, frightful mistake!” 
 
 “Mistake about what, madam?” would come in a sharp 
 incisive voice from an investigator. 
 
 “About him—about him. He’s my son—my son—my son! 
 Don’t you understand ?—and he’s in such trouble—oh, such 
 trouble! It’s all wrong—all wrong! Can’t somebody go 
 and tell them it’s all a mistake! Oh, please somebody tell 
 them!” And thus it went on, the grief-stricken spirit of 
 Cynthia hysterically begging for assistance and imploring 
 them to tell somebody that something wasn’t so, yet seem- 
 ingly unable to furnish information as to what persons she 
 wished to have told, or to let them know who she was herself. 
 And although, after some little time of this, the members of 
 the committee urgently requested Cynthia’s spirit to leave 
 the medium so that the spirits of others who were better able 
 to communicate might take her place, she couldn’t be per- 
 suaded to do so. 
 
 Even Mrs. Belden’s assistant or director—or whatever it 
 is those people are called—joined in the efforts to persuade 
 Cynthia to release the medium, calling out several times 
 to the usual spirit control: ‘Doctor Coulter, can’t you relieve 
 this situation? Tell us what this Cynthia woman wants or 
 take her away.” 
 
 But nothing availed and the investigation was finally ad- 
 journed until the evening after the next. 
 
 When Mrs. Belden came out of the trance and began to 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 269 
 
 take notice of things, she discovered, from the behavior of 
 those members of the committee who had waited, that all 
 was not well. Her director whispered a few hurried words 
 to her, and she could be heard exclaiming, “Cynthia? Why 
 -—-why, what does it mean? I don’t know anybody named 
 Cynthia—I never heard of such a person!” She appeared 
 greatly disturbed, evidently fearing her chances of winning 
 the prize which had been offered for a successful test were 
 gone, or at least greatly reduced in size. 
 
 The condition in which she was left after being under the 
 control of this sorrowful spirit for more than an hour, was 
 surely bad enough without the added anxiety as to the failure 
 of the test. One or two of the gentlemen shook hands with 
 her and said she mustn’t take it so much to heart, as the 
 next meeting would undoubtedly be a fine one and more 
 than make up for any shortcomings in this. But it was evi- 
 dent that Mrs. Belden was disappointed and chagrined. 
 
 The next sitting was approached with feelings bordering 
 on trepidation of one sort or another by nearly everyone con- 
 cerned. And when Mrs. Belden had finally succeeded— 
 with more difficulty than usual—in getting herself into 
 trance condition, and almost immediately thereafter the tear- 
 ful voice of Cynthia was heard, the depression among the 
 investigators became acute. 
 
 But there was a surprise awaiting them, for not only was 
 this spirit calmer and more reasonable than she had been 
 two nights before, but she spoke in a way that aroused a 
 sudden and peculiar interest. 
 
 The Haworth case—barely three days old and still on the 
 front pages—was the subject of conversation everywhere. 
 
270 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 So that when the members of the committee became aware 
 —as they did from the first few words spoken—that it was 
 the spirit of Cynthia Findlay addressing them,—the mother 
 of the man arrested for the Haworth murder, and as to 
 whose guilt there wasn’t a remnant of doubt in the public 
 mind—the deepest interest was aroused. Her voice was still 
 sad and occasionally tremulous with emotion, but there was 
 no more sobbing and hysteria. She begged most piteously 
 that somebody there would tell the Judge or the Jury or the 
 police or some one, that her son was innocent. It was all a 
 dreadful mistake. He Oh no! Oh, believe her, no!— 
 he wasn’t the one who did it! All the things that looked so 
 terribly incriminating could be accounted for some other 
 way. Every one of them could be explained!—Every one! 
 —Every one! 
 
 She went on like that for quite a time, becoming more and 
 more affected until she could hardly speak. But on this 
 occasion her repetitions—even her paroxysms of emotion 
 —were no longer wearisome to those present. 
 
 As soon as it became necessary for her to pause for breath 
 —for while it’s more than unlikely that a spirit needs any, 
 the same could hardly be said of a medium—a flood of in- 
 cisive questioning poured in, which ran something like this: 
 
 ProFessor ExLsertson (a psychologist): “Mrs. Findlay, 
 if you know your son did not commit the crime he’s charged 
 with, you must also know who did.” 
 
 Mr. BuatcuHrorp (an attorney): “Certainly. Your 
 knowledge implies that you are in a position where you 
 have an insight of the case. This insight should enable you 
 to give us the name of the guilty one.” 
 
 Tue Spirit: “Oh, don’t ask me! I can’t—I can’t!’ 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD hy 
 
 Doctor WriNGaATE (a physician): “Who prevents you? 
 Who stops you when so much depends on it? Let us know 
 who this person—this spirit—is.” 
 
 Tue Spirit: “There’s no ‘who.’ Nothing can be said— 
 no words—no—no—no words!” 
 
 Mr. Hatstep (a prestidigitator): “Do you mean, Mrs. 
 Findlay, that there is no person or being or entity of any 
 description who forbids you or stands in the way of your 
 telling us this?” 
 
 THe Spirit: “No such thing as that! I am held by an 
 influence from all that is, of which I myself am an in- 
 finitesimal part.” 
 
 Mr. Biatcurorp: ‘Then why does not this prohibitive 
 influence prevent you from informing us as to your son? 
 You experience no difficulty in declaring his innocence. Is 
 it a law that operates either way according to its fancy ?” 
 
 Tue Spirit: “My own influence, though infinitesimal as 
 a rule, becomes of more consequence than all others when 
 it concerns my son, and the balance is turned. For him 
 I can speak across to you and beg you to save him.” 
 
 Mr. BratcHuForp: “Then surely for him you can reveal 
 the facts that will accomplish that result.” 
 
 Tue Spirit: “Perhaps I can—oh, perhaps—perhaps! 
 But it can’t be now! If it can be—I’ll come again!’’ The 
 voice trailed away in a despairing moan and the spirit of 
 Cynthia was gone. 
 
 Mrs. Belden came out of the trance rather suddenly, rub- 
 bing her eyes and glancing questioningly at her director and 
 the members of the committee. As before, she seemed 
 greatly exhausted by the use to which the spirit of Cynthia 
 had put her, and found herself in a cold perspiration. 
 
272 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 While no real test had yet been furnished by Mrs. Belden, 
 a majority of the committee had a feeling that the next visit 
 of the spirit of Cynthia would supply one, while a pessi- 
 mistic minority openly stated that there wouldn’t be any 
 next visit,—that the questioning they had given her would 
 keep her occupied in other spheres, and that it was an ex- 
 ceedingly good way to be rid of her. 
 
 Mediumistic episodes such as this wouldn’t get a thing 
 from the papers under ordinary circumstances.’ But these 
 investigations the psychical research people put over, excited 
 enough public interest to be taken up by the Associated 
 Press and run all over the country. And this alleged appear- 
 ance of the grief-stricken spirit of the mother of Augustus 
 Findlay, the man who was under arrest for the murder of 
 Charles Haworth, was featured*in all the morning editions 
 from Maine to California and Montreal to New Orleans. 
 
 On the day following the publication of these reports, quite 
 a pack of editors got after it as a specimen of the gullibility 
 of the human race in general and the people who took part 
 in such “goings-on” in particular. You can see how the 
 free advertising piles up for them in cases like this. Even 
 the high and mighty editors push it along! 
 
 Of course there was nothing in it for the police—not 
 even enough to laugh at—and no attention was paid to the 
 matter. It wasn’t even recognized as having occurred. 
 
 Mr. Forbes, the Defense Attorney, read the accounts of 
 the séance with a grimace. While entirely willing to catch 
 at a straw in this case, he failed to see anything in the alleged 
 appearance of the spirit of his client’s mother that could be 
 dignified by such an appellation. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 273 
 
 But in the evening of the day following there happened © 
 something that every one of these persons did pay attention 
 to, not to speak of millions of newspaper readers besides. 
 
 It seems that a well-known medium named Dillingworth 
 was having his chance at one of the meetings of a Spiritist 
 convention that was in progress at Lilly Dale, a village not 
 far from Chautauqua, in the westernmost county of New 
 York State, where gatherings of this nature occur at intervals 
 (no admission charged). Mr. Dillingworth was calling out 
 names and descriptions of spirit forms that appeared to 
 him, and asking if anyone in the audience recognized them 
 as departed relatives or friends. Some one, of course, nearly 
 always did, and thereupon would follow affectionate mes- 
 sages and disjointed conversations between the living and 
 the dead, carried on from the dead side through the me- 
 diumship of Mr. Dillingworth. 
 
 This sort of thing went on for something like half the 
 medium’s allotted time, when suddenly he seemed to be 
 strangely affected, and unable for a moment to proceed. He 
 soon recovered, however, and half apologizing, told the as- 
 sembly that some one had come who had a peculiar sort of 
 influence—an oldish man, it was, who kept saying that he 
 didn’t know anyone there but couldn’t get control in other 
 places, and very much wanted a message sent to some one. 
 
 “Yes, a—a—damnably important message,’ went on the 
 medium abstractedly, as though trying to listen to something 
 in the distance. “But I can’t seem to get his name... .. 
 Oh—says he doesn’t care to give it. . . . But we can hardly 
 send a message unless we know who it’s from!” (Trying to 
 hear.) “How do you spell it? C—r—i—p—p—Crippen? 
 . . . Oh, Cripps. His name is Cripps—quite an old gentle- 
 
274 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 man—rather portly—medium  height—gray-blue eyes— 
 smooth face—grizzled gray hair—bushy dark eyebrows. 
 Anyone here know such a person? Wait a minute! . 
 Yes yes, Mr. Cripps, I know you told me no one knew you, 
 but I’m so used to asking the question What? oan 
 He’s using the most frightful language! . . .. All right—all 
 right—there’s no need of getting huffy about it! Give us the 
 message. . . . He says it’s to the police somewhere—I can’t 
 get the place. Yes, go on, Mr. Cripps . . . R-o-x-b-u-r— 
 Oh, Roxbury! ... Man shot there, he says—murdered. 
 . . . Boston police? Why not the police where the man was 
 shot? . . . Oh I see—a part of Boston. I didn’t know that. 
 .... Yes, I guess you’re right, Mr. Cripps! . . . He says 
 my geography isn’t worth a God-forsaken damn! . . . Very 
 well, the Boston police. Now what’s the message?. . 
 Let me get that straight! We’re to send word that both 
 times—is that right ?—both times their detectives examined 
 the inside of the rain-water conductor on the south side of 
 the front portico they didn’t reach high enough up. Is that 
 all, Mr. Cripps? . . . But you haven’t mentioned what it is 
 they’re reaching for. ... What? ... Oh, T see! . .. He 
 says they'll know damned well—and don’t you forget it! 
 . .. All right, Mr. Cripps. That’s pretty strong language, 
 but we'll try not to forget it..... What’s that? Yes, 
 we'll tell them. . . . He says they’d better be careful how 
 they handle it if the finger marks on the butt are any use 
 to them. . . . But can’t you tell us, Mr. Cripps, whether the 
 —What?... Who’s this speaking? . . . Oh, some one 
 else! Just a minute.” Then, glancing toward the audience 
 and in a lower voice: “Will somebody remember that mes- 
 sage? I don’t know what it’s all about, but if it’s going to 
 
 a oe 
 
X 
 
 ON TORRINGTON ROAD 275 
 
 help the Boston police any, God knows they ought to 
 have it!” 
 
 A roar of laughter, together with some vigorous hissing, 
 followed this last remark, which could hardly excite sur- 
 prise when one reflected on the derision and contempt which 
 had been aroused by the peculiar behavior of the organization 
 referred to not a great while before. 
 
 Though the medium, Mr. Dillingworth, didn’t know what 
 it was all about, the bunch of reporters sitting at a table 
 down in front of him, did. In forty-five minutes the Asso- 
 ciated Press had the whole thing, and before midnight news- 
 paper men were dashing madly out to Jamaica Plain, having 
 obtained permission to look over the ground. 
 
 The outcome of all this was that along about 1:30 in the 
 morning half a dozen chaps from the papers were gathered 
 round the rain-water conductor on the front of the Cripps 
 mansion, pushing wires and small rods up from the lower 
 end. But nothing was found—which wasn’t so very sur- 
 prising when you take into consideration that headquarters 
 had received a rush dispatch fully an hour before the papers 
 got it, giving the spirit message from old Mr. Cripps in full. 
 No one in the Department had any confidence in it—unadul- 
 terated rot, all these spirit stunts. Still, when it was wired 
 over on a “rush” from Lilly Dale and signed “H. Thompson, 
 Sergeant State Police,’ what was the good of taking 
 chances? So the Inspector hustled a couple of plain-clothes 
 men out to the mansion with orders to take another look 
 up the water pipe. | 
 
 It was ten minutes after the detectives arrived at the man- 
 sion that they pulled Augustus Findlay’s revolver down out 
 of the large zinc water conductor up which it had been shoved 
 
276 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 to a height of several feet, and wedged in with a branch 
 from a shrub to hold it there. They got a grip on it with 
 hooks and wires so that nobody’s hands came in contact with 
 it. Two chambers of the gun were empty. 
 
 As the Boston papers had no knowledge of this, the dis- 
 patch from Lilly Dale was used inconspicuously in most of 
 them, followed by the brief statement that reporters had 
 been out and searched, but that nothing was found in the 
 locality mentioned. Papers elsewhere gave it more promi- 
 nence, as it_was too late to hit them with the news that the 
 search made by the reporters had been in vain. 
 
 This new evidence—Findlay’s revolver found hidden near 
 the place where the crime was committed, with two of the 
 chambers empty and his fingerprints showing up nicely on 
 the handle—was of the utmost value, though they’d most. 
 likely have got an indictment without it. But while it made 
 the action of the Grand Jury a certainty, and would be 
 damning evidence when it came to trial, it must be confessed 
 that the views of the Chief Inspector and of the Assistant 
 District Attorney who was to prosecute, were a trifle unset- 
 tled by the source of the information which had led to its dis- 
 covery. It was certainly not an agreeable position to be 
 placed in, and every effort must be made to keep the matter 
 quiet. Luckily the presentation of the evidence before the 
 Grand Jury would be behind closed doors, and by the time 
 it had come up at the trial people would probably have for- 
 gotten what it was all about. 
 
 On the following day Assistant District Attorney McVeigh 
 went before the Grand Jury and the indictment of Augustus 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 277 
 
 Cripps Findlay for the murder of Charles Michael Haworth 
 was handed down without delay. 
 
 The date which had been set for Mrs. Henrietta E. Bel- 
 den’s final séance before the researching committee, fell on 
 the third day after the indictment of Findlay. Many persons 
 not connected in any way with this committee made strenuous 
 efforts to gain admission, but without success. Representa- 
 tives of the press were present, but the public had been 
 excluded from the beginning. 
 
 So when, upon the assembling of the committee on that 
 evening, it was discovered that a meek-looking person who 
 was not a member, nor a reporter from any of the papers, 
 was seated near the door, inquiries were at once made, and 
 the whispered reply of the chairman was that the stranger 
 was from the office of the Chief of Police. For what pur- 
 pose he had been sent, he (the chairman) had not been in- 
 formed. So far as he was aware, they hadn’t been violating 
 any police regulations. 
 
 As on the two preceding occasions, the spirit of Cynthia 
 took immediate possession of the medium, but she appeared 
 to be laboring under an excitement so intense that it was 
 with difficulty she could articulate, and more than half an 
 _ hour went by before anything came through that could be 
 understood. | 
 
 This incoherency and delay did not, however, have the 
 discouraging effect which it had on a former occasion, for 
 everyone there was intent to hear, held so by the feeling 
 that she had something important to tell if only she could 
 get it across. She would start on something—it seemed to 
 be some number she was trying to give them—and then 
 
278 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 break off with: “I will—I will—I wit!” repeated again 
 and again. 
 
 The committee members were doing what they could to 
 help her along, and when one of them asked, “Is some one 
 preventing you from telling us?” the vehement answer came 
 back: ‘“Yes—yes! Such forces against me!—I can hardly 
 speak! Don’t go away—don’t go away!” And then all was 
 confusion again, in the midst of which she tried repeatedly 
 to tell the number. Finally, after many interruptions, she 
 got it out—four hundred ninety-one, four hundred ninety- 
 one, and went on repeating it, but still apparently unable to 
 explain its present significance. But after a long struggle to 
 overcome the obstacle, whatever it was, something seemed 
 suddenly to release the spirit of Cynthia from what had the 
 effect of a strangle hold, and she almost screamed out: “West 
 side of the street! West! West! Four hundred ninety- 
 one!” 
 
 As soon as she stopped repeating this long enough for any- 
 one to speak, every effort was made to get from her the 
 name of the street she was talking about. She was asked 
 what part of the town—what buildings were on it—the first 
 letter of its name—everything the committee members could 
 think of that might be a clue. 
 
 The forces holding her back began to weaken from the 
 time she managed to shriek out about the west side of the 
 street, and the whole thing came through rather suddenly a 
 few minutes later. 
 
 “Don’t forget—don’t forget—four hundred ninety-one 
 Collamore Street—four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
 Street—west side—west side—man smoking a pipe—west 
 side of Collamore Street—he saw them take it away from 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 279 
 
 him. Oh, get him—somebody go and get him—he saw it 
 all!” 
 
 Even while this was being repeated (as it was a number 
 of times) there was the beginning of a quiet and unob- 
 trusive movement by some of the newspaper men toward 
 the door. But they found the meek and inoffensive person 
 from the office of the chief of police standing before it and 
 pulling his coat back the merest trifle so that the edge of his 
 badge could be seen. 
 
 “Sorry but you'll have to wait a minute, gentlemen,” he 
 said in an undertone, and before the reporters recovered 
 from their astonishment he slipped through the door. The 
 indignant journalists started to follow him, but they found 
 a bulky patrolman just outside who declined to let them pass. 
 The only reply to their furious questions was, “Orders.” 
 
 It was a great surprise to James Rathbun, who lived with 
 his family on the second floor of 491 Collamore Street, Rox- 
 bury district, and was employed in a ladies’ boot and shoe 
 factory near the railroad, to be roused from bed when he’d 
 scarcely more than gone to it, and questioned by a couple 
 of men who appeared to be ordinary citizens, but were ac- 
 companied by the patrolman on that beat. 
 
 No, he didn’t know anything at all about the murder over 
 to Torrington Road, excepting what he’d seen in the papers. 
 . . . Sure he’d read about it. . . . No, he didn’t know any- 
 one concerned in it and hadn’t seen any of them so far as he 
 was aware of. They must have got the wrong place, hadn’t 
 they? .. . He couldn’t say as he remembered of anything 
 special happening around there on the night of the murder. 
 . .. No, he hadn’t noticed anyone taking anything away 
 
280 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 from anybody that night—unless they—unless Why 
 hold on now! There was a kind of a fight down in the 
 street, now he came to think of it, and he’d gone down and 
 tried to stop it, but it was about as good as over when he 
 got there. But now they were speaking about taking away 
 something from somebody, maybe that was what they meant. 
 . .. No, not money or a watch, it wasn’t, but the other 
 feller’s gun. . . . No, he hadn’t any idea at all who they 
 was. ... Sure, he’d go to the Inspector’s office if they 
 wanted him to, but there wasn’t much of anything to it so 
 far as he could see. 
 
 The Inspector, it seems, was at the Charles Street jail, and 
 Mr. Rathbun was taken there and questioned in one of the 
 rooms. His testimony, as brought out, was straight and 
 simple. He had come home rather late that night—about 
 half-past ten or so he should say—and was smoking a pipe 
 at his window facing the street. All of a sudden he heard a 
 lot of scuffling and cursing outside, and looking out saw 
 two men down there near one of the street lamps wrestling 
 around and jabbing each other. There was something shin- 
 ing that they both had hold of, and once when it got out into 
 
 the light he could see one man was holding on to it by the 
 nozzle and trying to get it away from the other. That one 
 had gloves on. .... No, the other chap didn’t have none. 
 He (Rathbun) yelled out to ’°em from the window, but they 
 was at it like two dogs holding to a stick, so he went down- 
 stairs to the street door and opened it, and just at that 
 minute the man that had the gloves on give the other fellow 
 a paste in the face that made him loosen his grip for a second 
 so he could snatch the gun away from him and run up the 
 _ street with it... . Yes, he was sure it was the one with 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 281 
 
 the gloves on that got the gun. ... How did he know? 
 Well, for one thing he went out and spoke to the other chap 
 and he didn’t have none on. . . . No, there wasn’t any talk 
 
 between them, for the chap didn’t say anything, but in a 
 minute or so turned suddenly and beat it down the street 
 toward the railroad tracks... .. Know him? Did the In- 
 spector mean the one he went out and spoke to? Sure he’d 
 know him if he ever saw him again! 
 
 “Why, there he is now!” Rathbun exclaimed with gen- 
 uine surprise, as he pointed at a man among about a dozen 
 prisoners who were filing into the room. It was Augustus 
 Findlay. The Inspector had given a signal a moment be- 
 fore. 
 
 The digging up of James Rathbun of 491 Collamore 
 Street on a tip from the disembodied spirit of Cynthia Cripps 
 Findlay shook things up a bit in the Police Department. Of 
 course everyone connected with said Department was en- 
 tirely aware that the spirit game was simply cheap poppy- 
 cock and that the two rather surprising messages bearing 
 on the Haworth case were merely instances of odd coinci- 
 dence. Great God! There were eleven thousand mediums 
 in the United States, and these giving out ten communica- | 
 tions a day (a conservative estimate) made the output from 
 the spirits forty million one hundred and fifty thousand 
 messages a year; it would be a damned pity if one or two of 
 them couldn’t strike it right once in a while! As for the 
 alleged Cripps message from Lilly Dale, they had it pretty 
 _ well covered up—at least for the present. The papers, to 
 be sure, had printed it, but they had also mentioned the 
 fact that nothing could be found in the place indicated. 
 
282 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 But holding back this Collamore Street message with its 
 extraordinary results was another matter. It must be done 
 though, if possible. The precaution of ordering the detention 
 of everybody in the hall where the séance was held, in case 
 some “spirit” got a message through that might cause trouble, 
 was certainly well taken, and neither the reporters nor any 
 others who’d been present during Mrs. Belden’s trance were 
 permitted to leave the building until Mr. Rathbun had been 
 returned to his dwelling place and, with his wife (who’d 
 come to the window the night of the fight on hearing the 
 shouting) Sworn to keep the matter entirely to themselves, 
 and the fact strongly impressed upon them that it would be 
 a highly dangerous thing for them, to let out a word of it. 
 
 A search was quickly made for others in the tenements 
 near who might have been witnesses to the revolver fight, 
 but none were found. All this had transpired in not much 
 above an hour, and the Rathbuns, as requested, locked their 
 door and went to bed. 
 
 Some twenty minutes thereafter No. 491 Collamore Street 
 was seething with baffled newspaper men. They pounded on 
 the door and rang the bell of the tenement on the second 
 floor, until Mr. Rathbun, apparently roused from deep slum- 
 ber, opened it to find out what all the racket was about. 
 
 The reporters surged about him, calling out questions, de- 
 manding statements, jotting down descriptions of him, and 
 making such a riotous clamor, notwithstanding his assur- 
 ances that he didn’t know anything about it, that he finally 
 (to all appearances) lost his temper, and shoving those 
 nearest to him back on to the landing, slammed the door in 
 their faces and turned the key in the lock. 
 
 By this time there was quite a gathering in the street below, 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 283 
 
 and when the newspaper boys began to surge down the 
 stairs with the idea of trying to get in through a rear en- 
 trance, there was considerable excitement; for the crowd 
 hadn’t the least idea what it was all about and looked for 
 the capture of a desperate burglar or something equally 
 diverting. In the midst of all this, word was suddenly 
 passed from somewhere that some one had found a man 
 up the street a ways, who'd seen the whole thing, and in 
 ten seconds No. 491 was left as quiet as a church. 
 
 The rumor of the man who knew it all turned out to be 
 based on fact. A solid, reliable-looking chap he was, and 
 the reporters had him penned. He seemed reluctant to say 
 anything at first, but finally admitted that he was walking 
 through Collamore Street that night and came right on it. 
 Must have been half-past ten or eleven, he thought. Two 
 men fighting for a revolver—that’s all it was. He backed 
 into a doorway on the other side, about opposite 491, and 
 took it all in. The reporters got everything down to the 
 minutest details, and you can imagine what the papers looked 
 like next morning. Not Boston alone, but everywhere. 
 Headlines you could read a block away. Here was the real 
 _ thing, and the newspaper chaps know one of those when 
 they see it. 
 
 The authorities laid the leakage to the Rathbuns, but of 
 course couldn’t hold them for anything. When they came 
 to figure up the effect of the revolver episode on the case, it 
 didn’t alter matters to any extent. While it had the look 
 of some kind of framing of Findlay, it was at the same time 
 _ shown by this very episode that he had his revolver in his 
 hands after the shooting and was chasing himself home with 
 it at the time it was taken from him. The only real loss sus- 
 
284 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 tained by the prosecution was the necessary abandonment 
 of the contention that Findlay’s revolver had been con- 
 cealed by himself after the shooting, for, as it now ap- 
 peared, somebody else had shoved it up in the water conduc- 
 tor. But without this, the evidence against the man was am- 
 ply sufficient. His violent threats—his frenzy at being 
 shoved back out of the house by Haworth with the door 
 slammed in his face—his position at the front window with 
 his gun in his hand at the instant of the shooting—his mad 
 flight from the grounds of the Cripps mansion, carrying (as 
 it now appeared) his weapon with him—his incriminating 
 behavior at the time of his arrest next morning in attempting 
 to escape and then, when caught, endeavoring to get his wife 
 to support him in his statement that he hadn’t left the house 
 the evening before—all this, taken together with other evi- 
 dence which had since been collected, meant nothing but swift 
 conviction. 
 
 But while the Chief Inspector and the District Attorney 
 entertained no doubts as to the case against Findlay so far 
 as the actual firing of the shots that killed his victim was 
 concerned, this extraordinary seizure of the revolver in the 
 public street and its concealment near the place where the 
 murder had been committed, were a plain indication that 
 others were involved in the crime, and now that it was accom- 
 plished, were using every effort to frame it on him alone. 
 It was a strong hand that was working in the dark against 
 Findlay, and Mrs. Belden, the spirit medium, had shown 
 that she knew a great deal about it. She’d been held, after 
 the release of the others, at the room where the séance took — 
 place, notwithstanding the indignant protests of the com- 
 mittee; and orders were later given to bring her to head- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 285 
 
 quarters. They’d soon make her tell where she got her in- 
 formation—a key, most likely, to the whole thing. 
 
 They’d have liked very well to get Mr. Dillingworth, too 
 —the Lilly Dale medium whose control, alleged to be old 
 Mr. Cripps, told where the gun was concealed. But that 
 would be difficult. And then again a man wasn’t so easy 
 to handle in a case like this. They could frighten a woman. 
 She’d lose her head and tell them everything. 
 
 _ Mrs. Belden was brought in by a couple of detectives. It 
 was somewhere about three in the morning. Notwithstand- 
 ing what she’d been through and her virtual arrest coming 
 on top of it—for that’s what it was made to appear—she 
 showed no signs of disturbance; indeed one would have 
 thought she hardly noticed what was going on. She had, or 
 assumed, a detached air, giving the impression that her mind 
 was occupied with other and more important things than 
 those in the immediate vicinity. A pleasant but vacant smile 
 had been arranged on her countenance before her thoughts 
 wandered abroad, as a friendly signal to those who might 
 notice it fluttering there. 
 
 She was brought before the Inspector. Several plain- 
 clothes men stood about, watching her like hungry wolves. | 
 Uniformed police were stationed at each door and a very 
 large-sized one sat near the Inspector. She was to be im- 
 pressed with the importance of what was about to occur. 
 
 _ A detective brought her a chair. 
 
 All went smoothly enough as to preliminary questions— 
 name, address, occupation, etc.—although she replied ab- 
 sently, and several times had to be recalled to herself and the 
 question repeated before they could get a response. After 
 
286 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 this was over and an effective pause had followed, a police 
 stenographer (plain clothes) rose, and read in a loud and 
 impressive voice a report of what Mrs, Belden had said and 
 done during the séance of the evening just passed, while 
 under the alleged control of some one deceased. 
 
 The moment this man announced what the report was 
 about, that he intended to read, Mrs. Belden’s manner un- 
 derwent a drastic change. Her detachment disappeared, 
 and evidences of the most eager interest took its place. She 
 listened with rapt attention to every word that had come 
 through from Cynthia, and when the reading was finished 
 breathed a sigh of the deepest satisfaction. 
 
 “Mrs. Belden, you have heard the report of what was 
 given out and said and uttered by you at the meeting held 
 in the Board Room at Charnley’s this evening?” 
 
 “What sir?’ she asked with a startled turn, aroused from 
 her thoughts of the séance. 
 
 “T say” (in a louder voice) “you have heard what has just 
 been read—the report of what you gave out at a Spiritualistic 
 meeting this past evening?” 
 
 “Oh yes——yes indeed! How nice of you to put it all 
 down!” 
 
 “And do you acknowledge it to be a true and correct 
 statement of your words on that occasion?” 
 
 “Mercy! I’m sure I don’t know!” 
 
 “You don’t know?” 
 
 “Why no,” (shaking her head). “How could I when I 
 was in trance?” : 
 
 “In what?” 
 
 Trance.” 
 
 “What in God’s name is that?” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 287 
 
 “JI really couldn’t tell. Why don’t you ask some of 
 the committee? That’s what they’re trying to find out. I’m 
 sure they’d be glad to i 
 
 “One moment! Just one moment, madam!” spoke up a 
 large man in uniform who was standing near the inspector. 
 He wore a face and jowl something like Von Hindenburg 
 and his voice was as the bellowing of a bull. “We’re here 
 to ask you, Mrs. Belden! You are the person who uttered 
 those words and we propose to hold you responsible!” 
 
 “What the hell’s the committee got to do with it, any- 
 way?” growled one of the detectives, whose natural gifts for 
 vicious snarling had made him of value in a business like 
 this. “It was you who said it—now you answer for it— 
 see P’’ 
 
 Mrs. Belden blinked from one to another of them in 
 cheerful bewilderment. Her pleasant and comfortable smile 
 still occupied her face, though for a moment a trifle inse- 
 curely. 
 
 “Now then,” went on the Inspector, “we'd like very much 
 to hear from you, Mrs. Belden!” 
 
 When he spoke she turned to him as though to a pleasing 
 conversation with some new-found friend. 
 
 “Be so good as to answer the question.” 
 
 “The question ?” 
 
 “Yes, the question !”’ 
 
 “Oh, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what 
 it was!” 
 
 “Don’t remember! Don’t remember! Well, Ill be 
 damned!” (From the snarling one.) 
 
 “Perfectly plain and simple, madam,” continued the In- 
 spector, “Is this report which has just been read to you a 
 
288 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 true and correct statement of the words spoken by you at 
 the séance or meeting this evening just passed?” 
 
 “Oh dear me—but you see, I—I don’t know.” 
 
 “You know what you said, don’t you?” 
 
 “No sir.” 
 
 “What’s the reason you don’t?” (Von Hindenburg speak- 
 ing.) “Give us the reason! Don’t try to put over any of 
 that trance cackle on us! Don’t you know what you say to 
 people?” 
 
 “Oh, no!” (shaking her head). “Not when I’m in— 
 not when it’s like that.” 
 
 “Mrs. Belden, aren’t you perfectly well aware that you 
 told those present in the room to go to a certain street and 
 number and get a man who was living there, for a wit- 
 ness ?””’ 
 
 i Wes'sin if 
 
 “A——h!”” (A snarling roar.) “At last you’re beginning 
 to remember, are you?” | 
 
 “No sir, I don’t remember.” 
 
 “You don’t!” 
 
 “No sir.” 
 
 “Then how do you know it?” 
 
 “T heard that man over there read it.” 
 
 “And did you remember then—when you heard him read 
 it—that you’d said it?” 
 
 “Why, I’m sorry, but I didn’t really remember having 
 done so. I hope you—I hope you won’t mind.” 
 
 “Whether you remember or not, Mrs. Belden, the fact 
 that you did actually tell them this, remains!” 
 
 “Oh yes indeed, that remains of course!’ She wanted to 
 oblige these shouting and excited men in any way she could. 
 
 in 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 289 
 
 “Now then! You fully believe this to be the case—that 
 you told them to go to the address on Collamore Street, and 
 find a man who was smoking a pipe there, and bring him in 
 for a witness?” | 
 
 “Oh yes, I do believe it, really!’ 
 
 “Ah—you do! Well that’s something!” 
 
 “Why, I don’t see why that man” (looking at him) “should 
 want to tell a lie about it, do you? I’m sure he looks hon- 
 est !” 
 
 “Never mind how he looks. You acknowledge in our 
 presence that you said those words, or words to that effect 
 —you admit that you did give that street and number. Now 
 what we want to know is, where you got that information?” 
 
 “Yes!” (From the snarling hyena man.) ‘Who told 
 you? Where did you find it out? J say, where did you find 
 wt out?” 
 
 “Find what out?” 
 
 “That a man living at four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
 Street saw something that made him a valuable witness. 
 Where did you find that out?” 
 
 “Oh, but you don’t understand at all—I didn’t find it out!’ 
 
 “You knew tt, didn’t you?” | 
 
 “Oh no, I really had no idea of it at all!” 
 
 “Here! Here!” from the Hindenburg man. 
 
 “My God woman” (from the hyena man) “you said it— 
 you acknowledged it—we’ve got half a dozen witnesses 
 who'll swear to that!” 
 
 “Oh yes! Well, doesn’t that satisfy you?” 
 
 “Tt does not! You're going to tell us where you got that 
 tip! It came from somewhere—that somewhere is what 
 
290 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME | 
 
 we'll get out of you—and don’t you make any mistake about 
 that!” 
 
 Mrs. Belden, unable to comprehend, smiled vaguely at 
 them as if hoping to soothe and quiet them thereby. 
 
 “Answer me this: How could you tell them all that about 
 Collamore Street if you didn’t know it yourself?” . 
 
 “T don’t know, but if you'll ask one of the committee 
 men ‘ 
 
 “Be quiet!” “That’s enough of that!” “Committee be 
 damned!’ And general protests from the men in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Belden subsided pleasantly. Her smile flickered a lit- 
 tle but refused to go out. 
 
 “I’m not here to ask committee men,” the Inspector went 
 on. ‘I’m here to ask you!” 
 
 “That’s very nice of you, I’m sure!” (A little doubt- 
 fully.) 
 
 - “And what’s more, you’re going to tell me! You're going 
 to tell me where you got your information about that wit- 
 ness in Collamore Street before you leave this place!” 
 
 “Oh, I hope I can—if you feel so about it!” 
 
 “Go on with it then! How came you to know anything 
 about that witness at four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
 Street? How was that? Explain yourself!” 
 
 “Why I thought I told you that I didn’t know anything 
 about him! What funny questions you ask me!’ 
 
 “But you acknowledge that you told them about hin—you 
 acknowledge that! Don’t you acknowledge that?” 
 
 “Oh yes indeed—I acknowledge that!” 
 
 “Well if you told them about him you must know about 
 him! You can’t tell a thing unless you know it, can you?” 
 “Well, you see, when I’m in trance Ms 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 291 
 
 (A burst of yells and imprecations from the men in the 
 room.) “Don’t give us any more of that!’ the Inspector 
 went on as soon as it was quiet. “Just get the idea out of 
 your head that you can put that kind of birdseed over on 
 us! From now on no more trances and rappings and slates 
 and the whole bag of tricks! We know these games—every 
 one of ’em, an’ they don’t go here! They don’t go here, 
 Mrs. Belden! Now you tell me straight, where did you get 
 that information about the witness on Collamore Street?” 
 
 “T didn’t get it at all.” 
 
 “You mean you told them all that—told them just where 
 to find a man—the very street—the very number—the very 
 apartment—the very pipe he smoked—and didn’t know any 
 of those things yourself?” 
 
 “Oh yes—it’s so strange, isn’t it! When I’m in a——” 
 
 “None o’ that now!’ (From the Inspector, speaking 
 above a general murmur of protest from the police and de- 
 tectives. ) 
 
 Mrs. Belden smilingly held her peace. 
 
 The Inspector, McCurran, paused a moment in order to 
 increase the impressiveness of his next question. 
 
 “Mrs. Belden,” he began, in a lower voice and with over- 
 powering solemnity, “do you realize the position in which 
 you are placing yourself by your refusal to answer this 
 question ?” 
 
 “Why, I’m afraid you don’t like it at all!” 
 
 “Not Jske it, madam! I can assure you that it’s a great 
 deal worse for you than Not LIKING IT! We are compelled 
 to conclude that for some reason known only to yourself 
 you are SHIELDING the person or persons WHO ARE GUILTY 
 OF THIS FIENDISH CRIME!” 
 
292 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Dear me! Why, who do yon think it is?” 
 
 “You apparently have no idea what such a thing may mean 
 to you!” 
 
 “No sir.’ (She was so interested that she was leaving 
 her smile alone to get along the best it could without her.) 
 “T’m almost sure I haven’t!” 
 
 “A person who shields one guilty of murder is an ACCEs- 
 SORY AFTER THE FACT!” 
 
 “Mercy! Am I—am I one of those ?” 
 
 “Tt certainly begins to look like it, madam!” 
 
 “Why how perfectly dreadful!” 
 
 “Now before you’re arrested and tried on that charge 
 we'll give you one more chance to clear yourself! You 
 understand—one more chance and that’s the last!” 
 
 “Well that’s—I’m sure you’re very kind! Is it something 
 you want me to do?” 
 
 “That’s what it is, madam, and your only chance is to po 
 17 Now! Tell us where you got your information about the 
 witness on Collamore Street!” 
 
 “But how can I when I didn’t get it anywhere? It was 
 whoever was in control that had it. That man there who 
 read it said Cynthia was the name.” 
 
 “Well then, where did Cynthia get it?” 
 
 “Oh, well,” (the smile spreading) “I’d like to know that 
 myself !” 
 
 And so it went on hour after hour, Mrs. Belden cheerful 
 and unmoved, her questioners more and more wearied ; bored 
 beyond words by her dense and unshakable simplicity and 
 maddened by her invulnerable smile; until finally they had 
 to give it up and tell her to go home. Smiling pleasantly, 
 she thanked them and said she’d enjoyed it very much. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 293 
 
 Though it seemed that some mysterious person or persons 
 —dead or alive—were framing Augustus Findlay, the Grand 
 Jury had indicted him for murder, and the evidence against 
 him was seemingly overwhelming. 
 
 As for Findlay himself, his state of mind was pitiable. He 
 had no doubt whatever that he had fired the shots that killed 
 Charles Haworth, and Mr. Forbes (of Houston, Forbes & 
 McAllister), the Defense Attorney, had all he could do to 
 keep the frightened wretch from confessing in the hope of 
 having mercy shown him. A prospect of life imprisonment 
 gave him no uneasiness; what appalled him was the thought 
 of death. And it certainly looked black for him as the day 
 set for his trial drew near. 
 
 Then late one night the Associated Press took a hand—or 
 rather let us say extended a hand—from the wind-swept 
 reaches of Chicago. Mr. Harcourt Sidney was a well- 
 established materializing medium doing business in that 
 city. Through his efforts and ministrations some remarkable 
 spirit phenomena had taken place, and he had a choice and 
 well-to-do clientele—the well-to-do feature being by far the 
 more important one to him. This man Sidney was not only 
 clever in the line of materialization, but he was a trumpet 
 medium as well, and many of his other-world communicants 
 appeared to find this an assistance in getting through. 
 
 In the practice of his profession, as Mr. Sidney conducted 
 it, there would be specially arranged private meetings at the 
 houses of those belonging to the circle; and Mr. Sidney, 
 securely tied into a plain kitchen chair with stout ropes, and 
 his thumbs and fingers wound with easily breakable thread, — 
 would bring—or let us say persuade to come—from the spirit 
 world, many friends or relatives of those present, so that 
 
204 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 they seemed to be actually there in the darkened room, able 
 to converse freely in their own voices, and often with other 
 characteristics of their earthly existence easily distinguish- 
 able. 
 
 These sittings or séances were entirely private, and I don’t 
 have to tell you that no admission fee was charged. But if 
 any of those who attended felt that their enjoyment had 
 been of quite unusual dimensions either in the way of wit- 
 nessing absorbingly interesting phenomena or in having de- 
 parted friends or relatives actually speak to them, sometimes 
 even allowing shadowy glimpses of themselves like faint half- 
 luminous clouds to be seen shimmering about in the dark- 
 ness, they were at liberty to send to Mr. Sidney any little 
 token of esteem that they felt like offering. 
 
 Quiet and select little spiritistic gatherings like this were 
 started all over the country, when the extraordinary revival 
 of interest in such things came along carrying some very 
 big names at the top of it. And I want to tell you that 
 there’s millions of dollars coming to the people owning these 
 names if a commission on the business they brought in for 
 the mediums could be collected. 
 
 At these private sittings, with Mr. Sidney in the chair, 
 so to speak, not only the friends and relatives of those pres- 
 ent, but also quite a number of distant acquaintances, or even 
 just fellow townspeople, would occasionally drop in; a few 
 came at nearly every meeting for a bit of a chat. It was 
 almost as if they enjoyed talking things over with their 
 mundane fellow citizens—and for all I knéw they did. 
 
 One of these few who made an occasional spirit call, was 
 a man well known not only to everyone in that circle, but to 
 nearly everybody in the United States as well; he had been 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 295 
 
 a renowned—you might almost say world-famous—detec- ' 
 tive, a great part of whose life had been spent in Chicago. 
 A most entertaining talker he was, and seemed to enjoy the 
 opportunity of conversing with those he had left on earth 
 when he passed over, as the saying is. 
 
 At one of these private séances on an evening along about 
 the time I’ve just been speaking of, they’d been having visits 
 from various dead ones (dead in an earthly sense I mean) 
 for upwards of an hour, when the medium announced the 
 approach of this well-known man, and in a moment the 
 trumpet was seized in a strong grasp and a visit with him of 
 more than usual interest followed. Some one in the circle 
 alluded to the Haworth case in Boston, which had become, 
 by this time, owing to the unusual occurrences connected 
 with it, quite the talk wherever you went. 
 
 Then a man on the other side of the circle asked Mr. P. 
 (which is what we'll call this spirit) if he’d be willing to say 
 anything about that singular affair. “Certainly singular,” he 
 said, talking through the trumpet, which made his voice loud 
 and clear; “an’ I notice that several people on this side have 
 got excited about it.” 
 
 “But can’t you give us anything about the case yourself?” 
 was the next question. And I'll tell you beforehand that his 
 answer was in the morning edition of every newspaper in 
 the country, as well as Canada. It was about like this as I 
 got it from the papers. 
 
 “Well now,” Mr. P. objected at first, “I can’t say I like 
 talking about that. What would I do, butting in?” 
 
 But many in the circle now began begging him to give 
 them just a hint of what his opinion was—what he said to 
 be treated as strictly confidential. 
 
296 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Well,” he finally said, “if you'll just consider it a pri- 
 
 vate matter between ourselves an’ leave my name out of 
 it, ll say this: While I have every respect for those Boston 
 boys, they’ve got it doped out wrong. I didn’t see the thing 
 done, but as soon as I heard about it I went over there an’ 
 took a look around. The trouble is they’ve got it set in 
 their minds the shots were fired from outside. Everything 
 was fixed to look that way, but, heavenly Jerusalem! that’s 
 what’s the matter with it—it was fired! They’d ought to take 
 a look at those front window blinds no matter if the vines 
 are growing over ’em. You can do a great deal with vines 
 if you give your mind to it. Also they'll find a bullet struck 
 one o’ the elms out in front. If they want it they can get 
 it about fifteen feet up. The feller was firing high, whoever 
 he was.” 
 
 That was all Mr. P. would say on the subject, except that 
 you couldn’t expect any sort of good work in these days 
 with a pack of yelping newspaper hounds worrying the life 
 out of you and giving away anything they could get hold 
 of so the man you were after could act accordingly. After 
 a few anecdotes about how they kept things quiet in his © 
 day, on the principle that when your man was working in | 
 the dark against you you ought to be let alone to do the 
 same by him, he said good night and was gone. Instantly 
 the meeting broke up, and everybody was buzzing about. 
 Two or three jumped into a car and made for the Loop 
 District to talk it over with a couple of managing editors 
 they knew, and the conclusion quickly reached was to 
 transmit the message to the Boston police and also let the 
 Associated Press have it—this without making use of Mr. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 207 
 
 P.’s name. The result was that it went out to the press as 
 a Mediumistic Message from a Celebrated Detective. 
 
 It’s hardly necessary to state that the reporters at head- 
 quarters wanted to know this and that, and what you might 
 call a press rush was made for Torrington Road. But the 
 police were already making an investigation, and the news- 
 paper men were kept out of the grounds until it was fin- 
 ished. 
 
 The outside blinds to the front window of the room 
 on the left—which were flat against the wall on each 
 side—had the appearance of having been undisturbed for 
 years. Tangled Virginia creeper grew so densely over them 
 that they could hardly be found. Yet when it came to the 
 work of clearing these vines away it was discovered that 
 hardly any effort was required. The blinds had evidently 
 been opened as wide as possible and the vines hung over 
 them. 
 
 When brought to view, these shutters told their gruesome 
 tale. Two smashing bullet holes far up near the top where 
 no one standing on the ground outside could have reached,— 
 one splintering a slat of the left-hand shutter, the other cut- 
 ting a fairly clean hole through the frame of the one on the 
 right, and both giving unmistakable evidence of having come 
 through from the inside (of course when the shutters were 
 closed) submitted their silent evidence. 
 
 The murderer, whoever he was, had evidently failed to 
 think of the blinds until it was too late, and they were 
 shattered by the bullets that had killed Charles Haworth. 
 Then, with no time to otherwise dispose of them, the mass of 
 vines had been torn away from the wall on each side until 
 
298 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the shutters could be opened back against it, and the vines 
 then pulled over them. All this was a trick to make it 
 appear that the shots were fired from outside the front win- 
 dow—or at any rate to avoid anything that conflicted with 
 that idea. Again that mysterious framing for the conviction 
 
 of Findlay. 
 -. In either event the shattered window blinds and one of 
 the bullets found embedded in the trunk of an elm tree a 
 few feet away, plainly indicated that Findlay could not have 
 fired the shots, even though he may have thought he did, 
 
 Added to this was the significant fact that the detectives 
 had been unable to find any trace of a bullet on the walls at 
 the inner end of the room, where they should have been if 
 fired from outside the front window. The District Attorney 
 was obliged to enter a nolle prosse, and that was the end 
 of it. 
 
 Augustus Findlay was a free man. 
 
 His Attorney, Mr. Archibald Forbes, was waiting for him 
 in the corridor, and with a muttered “Come along, quick!” 
 hurried him out to a taxi. The windows of this vehicle were 
 covered with newspapers pasted to the inside, and a man with 
 a heavy and obtrusive jaw was seated within. 
 
 When the door was opened and Augustus saw this man, he 
 hesitated, but Mr. Forbes shoved him aboard and got in 
 after him. The instant the door closed, the taxi dashed down 
 the street. The three men were shaken and tumbled about 
 as they rattled on at what, to Findlay, appeared to be break- 
 neck speed. The papers pasted to the windows prevented 
 his seeing where they were going. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD — 299 
 
 It was something like half an hour before the machine 
 stopped. 
 
 “Be careful!’ warned Mr. Forbes in a hoarse whisper. 
 “We get out here and you’ve got to keep between us! If 
 they find out we’ve got you away, they’ll nab you!” 
 
 “What is it—what are you i 
 
 “Sh!” warned the lawyer, impressively. 
 
 The two men ran across the walk, Augustus between 
 them, and as they did so the door of the house before which 
 the taxi had stopped was opened from the inside, and they 
 
 dashed madly up the steps and plunged in, the door being 
 instantly closed after them. 
 
 It was a vacant house and without furniture of any kind. 
 Findlay was taken to a dark room in the basement where 
 coal had been kept. It contained bins and piles of rubbish 
 which coyld be sat upon in an extremity. 
 
 “You going to do something to me?” Findlay managed 
 finally to stammer out. 
 
 “Shut your mouth!” from the man with the jaw. 
 ~ “Now listen to me,’ began Mr. Forbes in a low voice. 
 “T got you off by a fluke, but they’ll be on to it in an hour 
 _ortwo. Mr. Sugden here’s a Department detective and he'll 
 get you by the police to-night and put you on a train. Also 
 he’s got a wad of money for you—subscribed by friends. 
 Now I’m done with you! I said I’d get you off and by God! 
 I’ve done it! But if they ever get you again you're finished 
 —remember that!” Having said which Mr. Forbes went up 
 stairs and left the house. 
 
 _ Augustus stood silent. After a time he roused himself 
 and glanced about. His eyes fell on Mr. Sugden and a 
 pathetic look came into them. 
 
300 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Say,” (his voice trembling) ‘“‘you look like a decent 
 sport—that might help a feller out.” 
 
 “What the hell do ye want? Ain’t I get’n’ ye by the 
 cops ?” 
 
 “Yes—yes—but I You see, it’s this way. I’m feel- 
 ing pretty sick—an’ if you could manage to get me a drink 
 
 33 
 
 somewheres 
 
 “Listen here, Topsy!’ Sugden spoke unfeelingly. “You're 
 going to Canada—didn’t you know that? Canada, you fish 
 bait, where you can swim in it!” 
 
 Shortly after this the detective left, reappearing again 
 about nine o’clock with a few things that Findlay had left 
 at the Charles Street jail, and in addition a heavy winter 
 overcoat which he made the frightened wretch put on. 
 Somewhere about a quarter to eleven o’clock they cautiously 
 left the house, got into a taxi that was waiting, and were 
 driven to the Trinity Place Station of the Boston and Al- 
 bany. Sugden took Augustus down to the platform for the 
 westbound trains, and arriving there, shoved him to one 
 side where they were in the shadow. 
 
 “Listen here,” he growled in a low voice with warning in 
 it. “You're goin’ to take the night train for St. Louis, due 
 here in about one minute. But ye don’t stay on that train— 
 get me? There'll be a bull waitin’ fur ye at the Union 
 Station out there if ye do. You're goin’ to side-step at 
 Albany—see? It’ll be five in the morning. Keep to the 
 shadows an’ slouch on to the Montreal train at seven. Ye 
 change at Rouses Point, an’ that helps throw ’em off. When 
 ye hit Montreal, lay low! Get a bunk at some joint. Mon- 
 key with that mug 0’ yours. Raise a crop o’ hay on it; an’ 
 
 1»? 
 
 whatever ye do, don’t be seen with a paper from the States 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 201 
 
 in yer han’s or they'll cop you. After about two weeks 
 climb on a steamer for England. You'll find a fake pass- 
 port in with the railroad ticket in that pocket” (touching 
 Findlay’s overcoat on the right breast). “‘There’s another 
 name on it. You ain’t Findlay any more. There’s a wad 
 o’ money sewed in the linin’. Lose yerself over there. An’ 
 if yer life is worth anything to ye don’t cross back to this 
 side again. There'll be a big reward out for ye an’ there’s 
 sharp guys here that makes a hell of a livin’ keepin’ tabs 
 on boobs like you. I’m one of ’em. An’ if ever ye do take a 
 fancy to come back I hope I'll be the guy that puts the nip- 
 pers on ye. There’s yer train!” (With an ugly jerk of 
 his head toward it). “Now on with ye, an’ I’ll keep back any 
 cops that’s followin’.” 
 
 Augustus hurried into the coach, and Sugden stood close 
 to the steps until the train moved on—which was in a few 
 seconds, as the stop at Trinity Place is brief in the extreme. 
 
 Of course you'll realize that all this elaborate framing 
 was for the purpose of getting Findlay permanently out of 
 the Western Hemisphere. After the nolle prosse there was 
 nothing in the world they could hold him for. Who it was 
 that had got Mr. Forbes and Mr. Sugden to carry out this 
 scheme did not at the time, appear. 
 
 Following at once on the collapse of the case against Au- 
 gustus and his discharge from custody, came the arrest of 
 James Dreek, the butler, and the holding of him for the 
 murder. 
 
 In his avid eagerness for every detail that can be found 
 (or manufactured) in murder cases, the newspaper addict 
 skips with perfect ease from one suspect to another, often 
 
302 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 seemingly glad of the change. In this instance, however, 
 the very unusual interest had been aroused, not so much by 
 the hunt for the person or persons guilty of the crime 
 (though that feature was rapidly becoming absorbing) as 
 by the extraordinary manner in which the evidence in the 
 case was being brought to light. Everybody knew of that 
 celebrated detective in Chicago not long deceased, and his 
 brief and characteristic comments on the Haworth case 
 through the mediumistic services of Mr. Harcourt Sidney, 
 and his calling attention to the shattered window blind and 
 the bullet in the tree, made not only a sensation, but a strange 
 and alluring one. 
 
 From the first intimation that somebody was framing Au- 
 gustus Findlay—which flashed upon them when Mr. Rath- 
 bun told of the fight for the revolver under his window in 
 Collamore Street—the detectives had fastened their eyes 
 on Dreek. There were already a few things that didn’t look 
 well for the young butler. They’d found a loaded revolver 
 under a lot of soiled linen on the floor of a cupboard in the 
 butler’s pantry. One or two letters they got out of his trunk 
 had an ugly look. Worst of all was the finding of his foot- 
 prints on each side of the front windows of the room on the 
 left, these imprints overlapping those of Augustus Findlay 
 —thus showing that he’d been there after Findlay had run 
 away. These Dreek footprints had not meant so much 
 before, as Findlay was known to have been at the window 
 when the shots were fired, and therefore Dreek arrived 
 afterward. But now that it was proved that the firing was 
 from within the house, it involved Dreek in several ways, 
 two of them being serious. Not only was he the only one 
 in the house with Haworth, according to all the evidence 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 303 
 
 (excepting his own), and therefore apparently the only one 
 who could have fired from the inside, but the footmarks 
 showed unmistakably that he was the one who went round 
 after the murder and opened the shutters back against the 
 wall, replacing the vines over them in such a way that they 
 would give the appearance of not having been disturbed at 
 all. He was now, on account of this, definitely in the posi- 
 tion of trying to throw the guilt on an innocent man. This 
 was corroborated by a number of small items—the marks of 
 a house stepladder outside under each shutter, the finding of 
 a house stepladder in the back entry which fitted into these 
 marks, and the fingerprint people reporting that Dreek had 
 been the last one who had handled it. He had insisted most 
 _ emphatically in his earlier testimony that he had gone out 
 of the rear door several minutes before the shooting and 
 wasn’t in the house when it occurred. But there was noth- 
 ing to show that this was the case. On the contrary there 
 was every reason to suppose that he had not left the house 
 with the stepladder until after the shots were fired. 
 
 Of course he was in for a fearful ordeal. I’m not 
 going to describe it to you, but only give you my word that 
 they third-degreed Jamie Dreek good and plenty. 
 
 Precisely in the midst of these painful proceedings the 
 Associated Press again took a hand in the game—or to put 
 it more accurately, played a hand that had been dealt to it. 
 
 It was the day following the second night of Dreek’s 
 torment. The police had kept him awake for twenty-nine 
 hours with their shouted questions and punching-up process 
 and rough handling. The job was nearly done. He was 
 “ripe” (put that in quotes) to sign anything or confess any- 
 
304 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 thing. And then came the noon editions with big front page 
 headlines on top of A. P. dispatches from San Francisco. 
 
 It seems a well-known medium out there by the name of 
 Waverley Bentick was doing his turn—or whatever’s the 
 right name for it—at one of the specially high-class Spirit- 
 istic assemblies, held in a large hall commonly alluded to 
 as their “church,” and situated some considerable way out 
 Golden Gate Avenue. Mr. Bentick was passing out messages 
 to people in the auditorium, when, as he was in the midst of 
 a communication for a woman sitting in the second row, he 
 suddenly stopped and called out, ‘“Wait a moment, please, and 
 let this lady finish!—Just a moment, I say!—You mustn’t 
 break in like that!’ 
 
 There was a pause. Then the medium resumed in an al- 
 tered tone, speaking to the assemblage: “I’m sorry, but a 
 man has pushed in, in spite of everything my control can 
 do!—Tall—heavily built—grizzled gray hair—pointed beard 
 —looks as if he might be a doctor. . . . No—says he isn’t 
 one. Only keep us a moment—been trying to get through 
 in Boston—too many in the way. It’s about some murder 
 case over there—the Howard case, is that it? ... No—that 
 isn’t it! He doesn’t speak very distinctly..... What? 
 .... All right, go on... . H-a-w-o-r-t-h. Oh, the Ha- 
 worth case! Yes, we’ve heard of that! I should think so!” 
 
 Instantly there was intense interest shown—people cran- 
 ing forward to listen, and calls of, “Go on—go on!” For 
 the extraordinary developments in the case had by this time 
 made it known everywhere,—especially among those of the 
 Spirit Sect—if that-is a proper way to refer to them. 
 
 “He says he wants to speak of something now—while 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 305 
 
 they’re third-degreeing a man—as it may apply to him. 
 Something about money—yes—some money—large amount 
 —paid to victim a few hours before he was shot. Thirty- 
 five thousand dollars. . . . Is that right? . . . Yes—thirty- 
 five thousand. Police haven’t been able to trace it... . If 
 they want thirty-four thousand five hundred of it—old barn 
 —old barn .. . Yes, we understand—old barn. What about 
 it? ... He says follow butler’s footprints. . . . northwest 
 corner in foundation wall under sill timber. . . . Take out 
 loose stone. . . . That’s all. . . . Good-by.” 
 
 In this case the Boston police got a rush wire from San 
 Francisco that gave them nearly a forty-five minutes’ start. 
 Inside of twenty after it came in, a Department automobile 
 was speeding through Centre Street, Jamaica Plain, and four 
 minutes later was turning in at the old Cripps gate from 
 Torrington Road. | 
 
 Perhaps you'll have noticed that the attitude of the au- 
 thorities toward messages from the other world had under- 
 gone something of a change. Even if the Inspector and 
 others still entertained the notion that these communications 
 were founded on trickery of some kind, they were obliged 
 to admit that it was trickery with a hell of a kick to it, and 
 that made all the difference in the world. 
 
 It wasn’t exactly child’s play—nor even adult’s recreation 
 —to trace out James Dreek’s footmarks between the flag 
 paving at the rear of the house and the old barn farther 
 back. But the old weed-grown drive up which he’d gone was 
 fairly soft, and they finally succeeded, arriving at the north- 
 west corner of the barn and finding the loose stone in the 
 foundation wall just under the sill timber. The thirty-four 
 thousand five hundred was in the cavity behind it. 
 
306 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 This happened in the small hours. Close to four o’clock 
 in the morning it was—on account of the three-hour differ- 
 ence in time. The papers got it for their afternoon editions. 
 But the police treated it as an old story. “Oh yes, we got 
 the money some time ago!” “Yes, pretty good guess from 
 San Francisco, but a bit late!’ “Of course it’s a bad thing 
 for Dreek!” That was about the gist of answers to the 
 frantic inquiries from the reporters at headquarters. 
 
 That same morning about eleven o'clock James Dreek was 
 _ nearing the point of breakdown that the police were working 
 him for. The gang that took him on at noon (they worked 
 in shifts) had it in for him. Even then the pitiable wretch 
 was trying to answer as best he could, but he found it diffi- 
 cult to remember anything at all or even to understand what 
 his persecutors were talking about. Furthermore, his voice 
 was nearly gone, and his tongue so swollen and dry that he 
 couldn’t speak with any sort of distinctness. 
 
 “Ye say ye ran out o’ the house before the murder was 
 committed—that’s what ye say, is it? Answer! What’s 
 the matter with ye! Answer the question! Answer the 
 question !”” 
 
 Dreek tried to say “Yes,” but could hardly more than 
 move his lips. It must have been the eight hundred and 
 sixty-eighth time they’d asked him that. 
 
 “Now go on an’ tell us why ye run out? Why? Why? 
 What was it started ye out? Was ye sick? Whad did ye 
 tun out for? ... Punch ’im up Lucas! . . . Whad did ye 
 run out for? Whad did ye run out for?” 
 
 “I—I thought ” His dry mouth and swollen tongue 
 made it almost impossible to form words. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 307 
 
 “Go on—go on—go on! Whad did ye think?” 
 
 “Something terrible—going—happen !’ 
 
 “Goin to happen! How in hell’s name could you know 
 something was goin’ to happen unless you was goin’ to 
 MAKE it happen! It did happen, by God, an’ it was you 
 made it happen—an’ then ye ran out o’ the house so’s you 
 could. FRAME SOMEBODY ELSE FoR IT!” 
 
 “No! No!” (With much difficulty and shaking his head.) 
 
 “What was it, then? What was it? What made ye run 
 out °” 
 
 “Nos—noises!” His tongue seemed to get in his way. 
 
 “What kind o’ noises? ... Punch ’im up Lucas!... 
 What noises ?” 
 
 “Noises—cellar—lights out—scared—tran for police.” 
 
 “Oh—police! Ye ran fur the police!’ 
 
 Dreek nodded, and his bloodshot eyes rolled heavily from 
 one to another of his burly questioners. 
 
 “Did ye have to take a ladder with ye to find ’em?” 
 
 *“Laddle—laddle—ladder °” 
 
 “Don’t try any funny business with us—we know what ye 
 did! Now what about that ladder, eh? WHAT ABOUT IT?” 
 
 “Oh—ladder—yes! Misser Ha’orth ass me open blin’s— 
 front winnow. So I—I—I was ” He broke off as his 
 head fell forward in sleep. | 
 
 “Punch him up Lucas! Keep ’im on the job, can’t ye! 
 . . . Listen here, Dreek—that ladder was to open the blinds, 
 ye say. Now what did ye want ’em open for—tell me that! 
 TELL ME THAT!” 
 
 “Yes ” (with a great effort to keep awake). “Always 
 Misser Ha’orth like blin’s open—always!’’ 
 
308 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Then what the hell was they shut for? What was they 
 sHuT for? ... Punch ‘im up Lucas—put a dig in’im!... 
 Now answer the question! WHAT WAS THEY SHUT FOR?” 
 
 Dreek struggled to remember, but finally shook his head. 
 
 “Now I will ask ye something. What about that money? 
 Ye wouldn’t answer lass night, but now we got it on ye! 
 You saw that money! What?’ - 
 
 “T—I 
 
 “You saw it, I say! You saw that big pile o’ bills they had 
 out on the table? Why don't ye answer? I'll tell you why— 
 YE’RE AFRAID TO TELL!’ 
 
 “No” (shaking his head) “not afraid! I saw—yes.” 
 
 “What was ye do’n’ sneakin’ round spyin’ on ’em like that 
 when they had money in sight? Why didn’t ye stay in the 
 kitchen where ye belong ?” 
 
 “I—I don’ know Oh—now—yes! They rang—they 
 ass me—sign paper—witness !”” | 
 
 “A fine witness you was, all right, all right!” 
 
 Every detective in the room roared with laughter. The — 
 man who'd been questioning turned suddenly on Dreek. 
 “When did ye crib Ae iat ?” he demanded. 
 
 “When did I 
 
 “You got it! Don’t ye s’pose we know you got it? Now 
 when? When? D’ye hear? WHEN DID YE CRIB THAT 
 MONEY?” ! 
 
 The muscles of Dreek’s throat went through the spasmodic 
 motions of swallowing. 
 
 33 
 
 “T—promised not to 
 “Not to what? Whad did ye promise—eh ?” 
 “Not to—say—anything 
 “Who did ye promise that to?” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 309 
 
 “Miss’r Ha’orth.”’ 
 
 “How did that happen ?” 
 
 “He handed—money—me.” 
 
 “Oh, handed it to ye, did he? Made a little present o’ 
 thirty-five thousand to ye, I s’pose!”’ 
 
 Dreek tried to speak but couldn’t manage it. 
 
 “Whad did ye do with it?” 
 
 Again Dreek couldn’t get the words out—it would take so 
 many to explain it. 
 
 “T'll tell ye what ye did with it—ye put ét in the barn be- 
 hind a loose stone! D’ye deny that?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “Oh, ye don’t deny it! Ye did it! Ye stole that money 
 from Charles Haworth an’ then, by God! ye hid it in the wall 
 o’ that barn! D’ye confess you hid it there?” 
 
 “He ass me pu’ there—safe place!” 
 
 “So! Now ye got it out! Now, by God, we got yer story 
 an’ a pretty one it is! What ye’ve told us is jus’ the same 
 as a confession ye shot the man yerself! Yes, by God! ye 
 jus’ as good as said it! Now, the way it stan’s, yer one 
 chance is to spit out the truth in plain words! The truth is © 
 ye shot Haworth yerselfi—ye hid the money yerself—an’ ye 
 went out an’ opened the shutters yerself so people ’u’d think 
 a man outside done the shootin’! Put that in plain words 
 an’ sign it an’ ye got some chance! Ye got a chance o’ mercy 
 from the court if ye confess ye did that! W’at about it— 
 en?’ 
 
 The “No” Dreek tried to say couldn’t be forced through 
 his parched mouth, so he shook his head. | 
 
 “The story ye’ve told’ll put ye in the chair—give ye the 
 
310 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 grand burn—see ?—shock the guts out o’ ye! YE HEAR wt 
 I say?” 
 
 Dreek made no attempt to answer. 
 
 “They'll find ye guilty in ten minutes! That story ye told 
 is the end o’ ye! THAT’S YOUR FINISH, BY GOD!”’ 
 
 Another persecutor started in on him—an enormous man 
 with a rumbling, bellowing voice: ‘‘Didn’t you open those 
 shutters, Dreek? Didn’t you open ’em back against the wall 
 and put the vines over em? Didn’t you take that ladder out 
 there and do that thing? Aren’t you the one who did it? 
 Answer that! AREN’T YOU THE ONE?” | 
 
 “Yes ” Dreek got out in a whisper and nodded his 
 head a little. 
 
 “That convicts you! That convicts you!” 
 
 “You’re fur the chair!” another detective joined in. 
 “You’re fur the chair! You’re done fur now, by God!” 
 
 “That’s the end o’ you!” “You're in for the dead house!” 
 
 They’d all come up with a rush and were standing close 
 about him. Painfully he turned his eyes from one to another 
 as they spoke, all joining in with violent exclamations as to 
 his finish. 
 
 “There’s only one thing that’ll save you now!” roared the 
 man with the bellowing voice. “Only one thing to do now if 
 you want mercy: sign a confession an’ they’re bound to treat 
 you fair! youR ONLY CHANCE ON EARTH!” He snapped his 
 fingers and a stenographer (plain-clothes man) entered from 
 the inner office and handed him a typewritten sheet. “Here 
 it is,” he went on. “He’s written it out—just what you told 
 us—just what you told us.” 
 
 “Wha—wha—what I——” (A weak whisper.) 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 311 
 
 “Just that. For Christ’s sake can’t you see we’re trying 
 to get you off the death sentence? It may be prison, but 
 what’s that? A few years an’ then some damn Governor 
 that wants women’s votes pardons you out! Here it is—put 
 your name there. See that line?” 
 
 Dreek was holding a pen clutched awkwardly in his hand, 
 having no idea where it came from. He managed to shake 
 his head a little. 
 
 “Not—not if it says I killed—— ....no—no.... 
 not that—not f 
 
 “Here Lucas And all the detectives in the room 
 turned as if to leave. . “Put the next watch on him. One 
 more night of it'll change his mind!’ 
 
 “No!—Oh no!” Dreek made hoarse and breathless noises, 
 “OQ my God!—not another—not another! O my God!” 
 
 The big detective swung round to him suddenly. 
 
 99 
 
 “Sign here—right under here—see?’’ pushing the paper 
 under his eyes, while another man seized the pen and dipped 
 it in near-by ink. “Sign here—on that line! 11’s THE ONLY 
 THING THAT'LL SAVE you!” | 
 
 Other detectives gathered close round, shouting to him to 
 go on and sign, and yelling threats in his ears of what would 
 happen if he didn’t. 
 
 James Dreek, gasping and mumbling incoherently and with 
 shaking hand, made marks with the pen which were as near 
 his written name as he could manage. 
 
 The late editions that afternoon had a wealth of display 
 headlines (the Department had seen to it that the Associated 
 Press got the news at the earliest possible moment) which 
 ran—in slightly varying forms to—this effect: 
 
12 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 FULL CONFESSION IN THE HAWORTH CASE 
 JAMES DREEK THE ASSASSIN 
 
 THEFT THE MOTIVE 
 STOLEN MONEY RECOVERED BY POLICE 
 
 _ BRILLIANT WORK OF DETECTIVES 
 At last the Department had things coming its way—for 
 which reason much relief was felt. 
 
 As James Dreek had made a confession and signed it, the 
 tide of public interest and curiosity began to ebb. There 
 was no longer a mystery. The young butler had done the 
 deed. Robbery was the motive. He had got hold of that 
 thirty-five thousand dollars and hidden it. Some spirit in 
 California had told the police where to look for it. This in 
 itself was of course an odd occurrence, but the riddle of 
 guessing who the guilty man was and why he did the appall- 
 ing deed no longer existed. This being so, the bulk of the 
 inhabitants of Boston and its environs began looking eagerly 
 in their daily papers for the next killing. As to the sensa- 
 tion-guzzlers in other cities, they no longer had their atten- 
 tion diverted from their enthralling local atrocities. The 
 amazing behavior of the spirits remained as something to be 
 spoken of when the subject of ghosts and haunted houses 
 came up. | 
 
 As the date set for the Dreek trial approached, it appeared 
 to those who kept in touch with spiritistic affairs, that ex- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 313 
 
 treme restlessness regarding the Haworth case was prevalent 
 in higher spheres—if what came through via various medi- 
 ums could be taken as a truthful indication. 
 _ A wire from Providence, Rhode Island, stated that a pri- 
 vate séance in that town had been considerably upset by the 
 insistent demands of a disembodied soul claiming to be that 
 of the father of young Dreek, that something be done—and 
 done damned quick—to rescue his son, who was absolutely 
 innocent, from the clutches of the blackguards and bullies 
 who posed in Boston as police, but who were simply low-lived 
 thugs and dirty bums. The press despatch giving an account 
 of the affair went on to say that the language proceeding 
 from his apparition had grown so violent that two elderly 
 ladies felt obliged to quit the room where the séance was 
 being held, although it must be conceded that they were later 
 seen to be listening just outside the door. It was really 
 quite thrilling while it lasted, this flow of expert profanity, 
 and a few knowing ones were aware that this spirit used 
 expressions and dialect prevalent among a certain class of 
 crooks practising in what is known as “The Gay Nineties.” 
 
 The Press paid little attention to the Providence message © 
 and the police none whatever, owing to the fact that nothing 
 was included in it which substantiated its claims that Dreek 
 was innocent. This communication, though, was followed by 
 a disembodied statement—if I may put it that way—which 
 reached the earth via a New Orleans trance medium, to the 
 effect that the fools in Boston had third-degreed an innocent 
 man to his death, adding that no surprise could be felt by 
 those who remembered how the police had recently treated 
 the entire populace of that unfortunate town. 
 
 _ Dubuque, Iowa, sent in something of the same bind, and 
 
314 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 others began to crop up from places quite remote. All of 
 which went far toward creating the impression that the next 
 world was considerably dissatisfied with the proceedings of 
 this one in the matter of the murder on Torrington Road, 
 and that the inhabitants thereof were not averse to letting 
 their feelings relating thereto become generally known. 
 
 The members of the private circle in Chicago (recently al- 
 luded to, and since then greatly increased in numbers) wished 
 beyond anything else that Mr. P., the famous detective not 
 long deceased, would return and let them have his views upon 
 matters as they now stood in the Roxbury case. But it was 
 their third meeting after the one at which he had advised the 
 examination of the window shutters and the extraction of 
 bullets from trees, before he dropped in again; and when he 
 did come he gave the impression of trying his utmost to 
 avoid the subject. Finally, upon being asked point-blank if 
 he wouldn’t please let them know just his personal opinion 
 as to the guilt or innocence of James Dreek, the reply came 
 back through the trumpet that he thought it would be just 
 as well to go easy on that young man. Those were his final 
 words. When another question was put to him it was found 
 that he had quietly slipped away; not even those very near 
 heard the trumpet fall when he released it. 
 
 In Boston there was displayed rather more of this spirit 
 restlessness than elsewhere, for a considerable number of 
 mediums about the city and its suburbs were getting com- 
 munications from their controls protesting Dreek’s inno- 
 cence and begging that something be done about it. 
 
 More than any of the others were Mrs. Belden’s sittings 
 (she was giving “private circles” now with great success) 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 318 
 
 pervaded by this sort of thing, and it was the spirit of the 
 hysterical Cynthia which created most of the disturbance. 
 She took possession of the medium at every opportunity and 
 was more often than not incoherent from excitement—or 
 whatever it may be that appears so often to afflict the souls 
 of people who have successfully emancipated themselves 
 from the thralldom of their bodies. 
 
 At several of Mrs. Belden’s séances (which were always 
 held in private houses), Cynthia had occupied much of the 
 time and without result—although owing to the great inter- 
 est in the spiritistic features of this case, none of the persons 
 present made objections to the delay. On the contrary, they 
 all waited with eager interest, hoping that this spirit, which 
 was the one through whom the revelation as to Mr. Rathbun 
 and the fight for the revolver had come, would eventually 
 disclose something else of equally startling importance. 
 
 At these appearances of Cynthia—or more correctly at 
 these times when she got the floor, as you might say—she 
 occupied much of the time in mourning over the plight of 
 poor Dreek and begging people to help in his rescue. Then, 
 toward the end, the sitters could make out that she was des- 
 perately anxious to see somebody—a woman, it appeared, 
 but so far she’d been unable to get the name across. “Bring 
 her here! Oh, bring her! She’s the only one—the only 
 one who knows! The only one! The only one!’ And 
 so on. 
 
 On that, some one would ask the spirit for the name of the 
 person she wanted so much, and always the answer came 
 back from Cynthia: “Oh, I don’t know it! Not now—not 
 now! It’s gone! I knew it before, but they’ve taken it away 
 from me! Don’t you know who I mean? Oh, you must 
 
316 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 know! Can’t somebody tell?’ And that sort of thing, trail- 
 ing off into moans and inarticulate sounds of pity. And 
 soon after that she would vacate the medium. 
 
 Dreek’s trial had been going on four days before Cynthia’s 
 spirit was able to overcome whatever influence was holding 
 her back—much as it had been on a former occasion—and 
 ‘then the whole thing poured out on them like a flood re- 
 leased. 
 
 Mrs. Amelia Temple was the woman she wanted. Mrs. 
 Temple could save him. Couldn’t they bring her at once? 
 Oh, quickly! She wanted to talk to her! When reminded by 
 one of the circle that the old woman had, from the beginning, 
 refused to say anything, she said: “No matter—bring her— 
 bring her—bring her! Don’t waste time!’ And went on 
 that way till she came near to hysterical shrieks. But even 
 while she was carrying on like that people had gone out to 
 try and find the old woman. 
 
 It was late in the evening—something after eleven—when 
 Mrs. Temple was brought to the house. There had been no 
 difficulty in persuading her to come. It appeared that she 
 had once had an experience. Quite far back in her life she 
 had lost her mother, the only one dear to her at that time, 
 and her loneliness and yearning had drawn her to spiritist 
 gatherings where, she had heard, departed ones are able to 
 come back and speak to those they have left behind. To her 
 unspeakable joy she found that this was so, and became, 
 forthwith, an intense devotee. But after about two ecstati- 
 cally happy months of it her faith was rudely shaken, for, at 
 a séance where materializations were being accomplished, she 
 suddenly saw something that looked to her like evidence of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 317 
 
 fraud. At the next of these séances she became satisfied that 
 there was fraud. It was a cruel blow to her. Many times 
 she wished she hadn’t found out. From that time she never 
 attended another séance or spiritist meeting of any kind. 
 
 That was long ago. And now, after reading the newspa- 
 per accounts of the developments in the tragic affair which 
 so deeply concerned her (she read everything about it that 
 she could find), the extraordinary spirit communications that 
 had been received in connection with it, all but convinced her 
 that, if there had been fraud in that long-ago experience of 
 hers, it must have been only because of an untrustworthy 
 medium and did not in any way affect the system or belief 
 itself. One had only to see what marvels it was responsible 
 for in this case, to be made certain that the spirits of the dead 
 are here with us and doing what they can for our welfare. 
 
 And so, upon being told that the spirit of Cynthia Cripps 
 Findlay (she very well knew who was meant by that) was 
 begging, through the mediumship of Mrs. Henrietta Belden, 
 that she come and let her speak to her, she dressed imme- 
 diately—for she’d gone to bed—and went with the two 
 women who’d come from the séance to fetch her. 
 
 The spirit of Cynthia began to talk the moment Mrs. ‘Tem- 
 ple entered the dimly lighted room, and continued while she 
 was being silently conducted to a chair near the medium. 
 
 _“Oh, you’re here! Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. 
 Temple! Oh, I do thank you! And you will help us—you 
 will! You couldn’t refuse—you’re so tender-hearted to any- 
 one in distress! And some one is in distress! Oh, some 
 one is—terribly! It’s the poor Dreek boy, the butler who 
 was with Mr. Haworth, and he’s being tried for murder at 
 _ this very moment—and perfectly innocent as you know—as 
 
318 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 you know so well, Mrs. Temple. Why, the poor fellow never 
 raised a finger to hurt anyone or steal anything—but there’s 
 no way to save him unless you will tell them what you saw— 
 just what you saw—that’s all we ask! It’s for his mother, 
 his poor old mother, ill in New York! And, oh, listen to 
 me—your mother is here—she’s here with me because she 
 wants so much to help us, but she can’t speak to you herself— 
 she’s one of those who can’t get through. She tried it long 
 ago, as you may remember. So she asks me to tell you 
 that she’s sure you'll help us save this innocent boy—for her 
 sake if nothing else. And oh, will you please wait a moment, 
 Mrs. Temple?” 
 
 A short pause. Perfect stillness in the room. Then the 
 spirit of Cynthia spoke again. 
 
 “Your mother—I was speaking to her—oh, you can’t have 
 any conception of how dear she is—she’s just waiting till 
 you come—and she wants me to say that she loves you as 
 always—it will never change—it couldn’t change—oh, 4 
 couldn’t Mrs. Temple! And she’s been with you almost all 
 the time—just staying near—that’s all she could do. And 
 she’s so happy that you’re still keeping the old bonnet she 
 used to wear—she sees it there in your trunk whenever she’s 
 with you in the room—and she knows you'll think of this 
 poor young man’s mother the same as she does, and what a 
 terrible thing it would be for her if her son—who never did 
 it—was found guilty of such a fearful, awful crime. It 
 isn’t death (as you call it) that matters, but such a death! 
 Oh, Mrs. Temple, think what it would mean to his poor 
 mother, and for her sake and for your own mother’s sake, 
 tell them what you saw—just tell them—oh—tell them !— 
 Oh! ...” The voice of Cynthia, uttered through the ex- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 319 
 
 pert mediumship of Mrs. Belden, trailed rapidly away to 
 nothing and the spirit was gone. 
 
 Mr. Forbes (for the defense) was unable to bring in Mrs. 
 Temple’s testimony as a surprise. Though the séance was a 
 strictly private one and held in a private residence and with 
 no reporters admitted, the Inspector had insisted on having a 
 representative at any “spirit circle” in which Mrs. Belden 
 officiated; and although the representative in this case—a 
 plain-clothes man—had seen to it that there were no listeners 
 behind doors or otherwise concealed, and had afterward in- 
 structed the medium and all those present not to give away 
 anything that had been said or done, and furthermore had 
 had every one of them shadowed by detectives both in the 
 house and after they left it, the papers next morning had full 
 accounts of the appeal of the disembodied spirit of Cynthia 
 to the still-embodied spirit of Mrs. Temple, and the court 
 room was packed with ar eager multitude, rabidly craving 
 excitement. 
 
 ‘When her name was called, the crowd, as one person, held 
 its breath, and strained its eyes to see and its ears to hear. 
 
 The old woman was given a chair in the witness box, and 
 the usual form of preliminary questioning gone through. 
 After that, she was led by Mr. Forbes to describe how she'd 
 been at one of the side windows of the room where the mur- 
 der was done, a short time before it took place, and was try- 
 ing to see in, but owing to its being pitch dark inside, she was 
 unable to make out anything, though she heard strange and 
 alarming noises; how she then hurried to the rear of the 
 house and tried to get in there, but every door—even the 
 basement—was locked, and she had to give it up; and how, 
 
320 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 more alarmed than ever about Mr. Haworth, she then started, 
 as fast as she was able to go, toward the front of the house 
 again. 
 
 “When you were hastening in this way toward the front, 
 Mrs. Temple, did you pass near the window where ve 
 been trying to look in?” 
 
 “Yes sir; the path warn’t more’n a few yards from the 
 side winders, but it was mos’ly growed up with bushes an’ 
 things in between.” 
 
 “Could a person among the bushes at one of the windows, 
 see anyone passing along that path?” 
 
 “Ef there was any light, they could.” 
 
 “What was your object in hurrying toward the front of 
 the house again?” ’ 
 
 “T wanted to git down to the road.” 
 
 “What did you intend to do there?” 
 
 “TI was goin’ to find some one to help me—ef I could.” 
 
 “You mean the police?” 
 
 “Mercy no! They ain’t no earthly use!” 
 
 “I object!” shouted the District Attorney, springing to his 
 reer: 
 
 “Just answer the question, madam.” (From the Court.) 
 
 “And I ask Your Honor that the remark of the witness 
 be stricken from the record.” 
 
 This request was granted, and Mr. Forbes went on. 
 
 “Where did you expect to find help, Mrs. Temple?” 
 
 “Tf I didn’t find nobody in the road, I was goin’ to try the | 
 house on the fur side a ways up. There was some men 
 there.” She put a very slight accent on the word “men.” 
 
 “And did you go down to the road ?” : 
 
 “No sir. I was stopped sudden-like by a bright light 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 321 
 
 flashin’ up inside the room as I was goin’ by. It was so 
 bright it lit up the chinks o’ the winders, an’ thinkin’ I could 
 see then if anyone was there an’ what they was doin’, I 
 pushed through the bushes an’ went up clost to one of ’em.” 
 
 “Which one did you go to?” 
 
 “Why, the first one I come to I seen the roller shade‘was 
 pulled down, so I went on to the next.” 
 
 “That would be the one nearest the front of the house?” 
 
 “Yes sir, that was the one.” 
 
 “And did you find that you could see anything inside?” 
 
 “T found the shade was down there, too, but it warn’t 
 pulled quite to the bottom so’s it left a narrer crack.” 
 
 “And could you see into the room through this narrow 
 aperture below the curtain?” 
 
 “Not at first I couldn’t—the light dazzled me some—but 
 in a minute I got used to it an’ then I could.” 
 
 “Tell the Court what you saw, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “Mr. Haworth—it was him I seen first. He was settin’ 
 by the table, readin’ a book. After a minute or two he felt 
 in his pocket an’ got his pipe out an’ filled it an’ was huntin’ 
 around fur a match.” 
 
 “Was there anyone else in the room?” 
 
 “Not as I could see from the winder I was at. But just 
 as he was lookin’ fur the match I commenced to think mebbe 
 there might be somebody behind him in the back part o’ the 
 room, so I hurried through the bushes to the other winder— 
 the one further back. I knew the shade was down, but I 
 thought mebbe there was a crack at the bottom same as the 
 other, an’ I found there was—on’y not so much, but by twistin’ 
 around I could get a look through to the back part o’ the 
 room, an’ there was a man standin’ there, back against the 
 
222 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 door o’ the butler’s pantry, an’ he had a black thing in his 
 hand that he was pointin’ at Mr. Haworth from behind.” 
 
 A moment of tense stillness followed on this, as Mrs. Tem- 
 ple stopped speaking. JI don’t suppose there was one person 
 among the spectators in that packed court room who hadn't 
 stopped breathing. 
 
 After letting the pause have its full effect, Mr. Forbes 
 spoke with all the solemnity he could command. 
 
 “Mrs. Temple,” he said, “was the man you saw standing 
 behind Mr. Haworth and aiming a black object at him, the 
 accused you now see on trial in this court—James Dreek ?”’ 
 
 The old woman shook her head. “No sir, it warn’t him,” 
 she said. 
 
 “Are you sure of that?’ 
 
 “Yes sir.” 
 
 “What makes you certain that it was not the accused?” 
 
 “For one thing, he warn’t built no ways like him—he was 
 heavy-set an’ solid. This man” (pointing at Dreek) “ain’t 
 that way.” 
 
 “You say his different size and build, for one thing. Was 
 there something else that made you still more positive that 
 this was not the man?” 
 
 wes: sir,” 
 
 “Kindly describe it.” 
 
 “I was just turnin’ away from the winder to get to the 
 other one an’ warn Mr. Haworth, when I seen this man 
 you're tryin’ 4! 
 
 “James Dreek?” interjected Mr. Forbes, to prevent any 
 mistake as to the person she meant. 
 
 “Yes sir, James Dreek—I seen him come hurryin’ along 
 the walk carryin’ a ladder.” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 323 
 
 “Which way was he going?” 
 
 “Toward the front o’ the house.” 
 
 “What did you do then?” 
 
 “I kep’ on as fast as I could to the other winder—the one 
 near where Mr. Haworth was—so’s I could call out an’ warn 
 him. As soon as I got there I begun screamin’ out his name 
 an’ beatin’ on the winder glass, but I hadn’t no more’n started 
 doin’ that when there was a terrible loud crash of a gun goin’ 
 off, an’ right after it another, an’ Mr. Haworth turnin’ round 
 an’ tryin’ to ketch a holt o’ the table; but he couldn’t do it, 
 an’ there he was sinkin’ down on the floor—sinkin’ down 
 there right before my eyes!” 
 
 It was some time before the old woman could go on, but 
 the Court waited. Finally Mr. Forbes, seeing that she was 
 getting control of herself, went on with the examination. 
 
 “Tell us what you did then, Mrs. Temple.” 
 
 “I—I kinder sunk down there under the winder—as if all 
 my stren’th was took away. But in a minute I was able to 
 git up again, an’ the first thing I see was this Dreek man on 
 the path there where I’d seen ’im afore.” 
 
 “What was he doing?” 
 
 “Fle’d stopped where he was an’ let the ladder fall on the 
 ground. But just as I looked at him he picked it up again 
 an’ set off runnin’.” 
 
 _ “Tn which direction did he run?” 
 
 “The same as ’e was goin’ afore—toward the front o’ the 
 house.” 
 
 “And what did you then do, Mrs. Temple?” 
 
 “T run as fast as I could toward the back—the kitchen.” 
 
 “What was your idea in going there again ?” 
 
 “Why I—I wanted to get to ’im as quick as I could.” 
 
324 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “To Mr. Haworth?” 
 
 The old woman nodded, unable, for a moment, to speak. 
 
 “What made you think you could get in? You'd tried ita 
 few moments before, hadn’t you?” 
 
 “Ves sir, but this Dreek man had come out sense then, an’ 
 I didn’t think he was liable to ’uv locked the door, carryin’ 
 the ladder like he was.” 
 
 “Had he locked the door?” 
 
 “No sift, he hadn’t.” 
 
 “Which door was it?” 
 
 “The basement.” 
 
 “So you got in?” 
 
 “Yes sir.” 
 
 Mr. Forbes indicated that he was through with the witness, 
 and the district attorney took her, his manner conveying the 
 impression that he considered her testimony as almost too 
 flimsy to waste time over. He soon learned, however, that 
 it wasn’t such an easy matter to punch holes init. As asam- 
 ple, without going into it as a whole :— 
 
 “T believe you made the statement, Mrs. Temple, as other 
 witnesses have done, that the night when all this occurred 
 - was a dark one. Did you so testify?” 
 
 “Yes ‘sir.” 
 
 “Was there a moon?” 
 
 “T didn’t see none.” 
 
 “But you admit the night was unusually dark?” 
 
 “Tt was dark—I ain’t got no idea how unusual it was.” 
 
 “Very well—that’s all I want to know—it was dark. Now 
 Mrs. Temple, on this very dark night—the blackness being 
 almost impenetrable, as has been shown by the testimony of 
 others, although you yourself, for some reason, don’t seem 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD O28 
 
 inclined to admit it—in this dense and inky blackness you 
 claim to have recognized the accused going by on a path at 
 some distance from you. How do you explain that?” 
 
 - “T s’pose you warn’t int’rested when I was speakin’ about 
 them roller shades to the two side winders not reachin’ down 
 to the bottom so’st it left a crack where the light could git 
 through.” . 
 
 “You mean to say enough light could pass through a little 
 slit like that to enable you to recognize a person on a pitch- 
 dark night twenty feet away?” 
 
 Exes sit,” | 
 
 “Do you expect me to believe that?” 
 
 “No sir.” 
 
 “Oh! You don’t expect me to believe it!” 
 
 “T ain’t botherin’ one way or the other about what you 
 believe. I’ve got enough to think of besides that!’ 
 
 ‘Well then, let’s get a little light on what you believe, Mrs. 
 Temple! We have information that you attended a séance 
 last night, a private séance given by a medium named Henri- 
 etta E. Belden, and that you are here giving evidence in this 
 court because disembodied spirits—in other words people 
 who have passed away—requested you to do so. Do you 
 deny that this is the fact?” 
 
 “No sir, I don’t deny it.” 
 
 “Then am I to understand that you are a believer in the 
 supernatural—that spirits are about us, speaking to us 
 through mediums, and that these dead people can be relied 
 on to give assistance and advice in a case like this? Do you 
 believe that, madam ?” 
 
 “Well I ain’t certain sure of it, but I’m tendin’ that way, 
 
326 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 seein’ how much more the dead ones seem to know about 
 this case than you folks that’s still walkin’ around.” 
 
 A roar of laughter swept over the crowded room, broken 
 by the court crier’s loud rapping for silence. It might have 
 been observed that the Court itself bowed its head over as 
 if making notes, so that its face was hidden for a moment, 
 
 And so it went on, every effort to undermine Mrs. Tem- 
 ple’s credibility as a witness serving the more firmly to es- 
 tablish it. She could not be confused nor rushed nor intimi- 
 dated, though all three of these methods were attempted. 
 Over and above this it was very soon discovered that she 
 had no idea of going further with her testimony than giving 
 what related to the innocence of James Dreek. As to that, 
 however, her evidence was clear, straightforward, and un- 
 shakable. 
 
 The confession signed by Dreek when he was out of his 
 mind from the torture of sleeplessness and constant bullying 
 had been riddled by the Defense, and cut no figure at all, so 
 that when the case went to the Jury a verdict of “Not guilty” 
 was returned within fifteen minutes and Jamie Dreek caught 
 the next train home to his old mother, whose devastating 
 anxiety about him had brought her to within a stone’s throw 
 of the grave. 
 
 You mustn’t get the idea that the Dreek trial came to an 
 end in the brief time my way of telling about it would seem 
 to indicate. I said just now, that when the case went to the 
 Jury there was a verdict in fifteen minutes; but that when 
 took quite some days. In fact there was a most peculiar 
 delay directly following Mrs. Temple’s testimony. 
 
 You’d naturally think that when the entire bottom had 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD gi | 
 
 dropped out of the thing they’d have got the Jury out on it 
 as quick as they could. But they didn’t, for the State was 
 holding it up in every possible way—recalling witnesses with- 
 out reason—wrangling over this and that, and playing for 
 time whenever a chance came up. The Defense was brief 
 enough, and the Judge occupied only ‘a few minutes in 
 charging, but the prosecution managed to string it along for 
 four days, and of course the wise ones began to make re- 
 marks about the District Attorney having something up his 
 sleeve. The singular part of it is that for once “‘the wise 
 ones” were right. 
 
 On the fifth morning following Mrs. Temple’s appearance 
 on the witness stand, the not-guilty verdict was brought in, 
 and that same afternoon Hugo Pentecost was arrested for 
 the murder. 
 
 It came to pass at headquarters. Pentecost had been sent 
 for by Chief Inspector McCurran to give further informa- 
 tion, and had been answering such questions as he could— 
 which is to say, as he could with safety. There were others 
 in the room—a couple of detectives (plain-clothes men), two 
 or three policemen in uniform, and a stenographer (plain- 
 clothes). 
 
 “By the way,” the Inspector asked, carelessly, after a num- 
 ber of commonplace questions had been answered, “did you 
 ever happen to wear a pair of boots that were very much too 
 large for you?” 
 
 “Why yes,” (after just enough surprise to go with-so odd 
 a question) ; “I suppose I have—at one time or another.” 
 
 “Ah—you have! ... But your recollection doesn’t ex- 
 tend, I presume, to your having worn such boots recently ?” 
 
 “Pardon me,” Pentecost returned, “but is this flattering 
 
328 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 curiosity as to my wearing apparel merely personal, or are 
 you still seeking information in the case of Haworth?” 
 
 The Inspector’s eyes glittered into Pentecost’s for a second 
 or two. When he spoke it was pointedly and with delib- 
 eration. “I’m still seeking information in the case of Ha- 
 worth.” ; 3 
 
 “That being so,” Pentecost responded in a soft, pleasant 
 voice, “you'll excuse me for going no further in the direction 
 indicated.” 
 
 The Inspector drew his mouth into a mechanical grin. 
 
 “I’m inclined to think, Pentecost, that you'll find yourself 
 going some distance further in that direction.” 
 
 “It’s inspiring to meet a real optimist, Mr. McCurran— 
 there are so few.” 
 
 “Where were you between ten and eleven on the night 
 Charles Haworth was shot to death?” 
 
 Mr. Pentecost appeared to be quite unaware that a ques- 
 tion had been asked. 
 
 “We've got to hold you Pentecost.” The Inspector made 
 a slight motion, and one of the patrolmen stepped forward 
 and stood at Pentecost’s side. 
 
 “Want anything from the hotel—toilet articles—clothing— 
 that sort of thing?” 
 
 “Many thanks—they’re outside in a grip.” 
 
 “Ah!” the Inspector said, after an instant’s pause of sur- 
 prise. “You looked for it, did you?” 
 
 “Great God!—what would I look for with a couple of 
 your teasers running circles around me since the day I first 
 came in here!” 
 
 “Noticed it, did you?” 
 
 ‘The Inspector pulled his lips back into what you might 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 329 
 
 take for a grin. ‘““But don’t go trying to pass that across,” 
 he added, ‘as the reason you brought your grip. There’s a 
 better one than that.” 
 
 “Sure there is,” said Pentecost. 
 
 “You know damned well the game’s up and we've got it 
 on you.” 
 
 “T know damned well you think you have.” 
 
 “Ah! And would you care to tell the reason I think so?” 
 
 PARP OCETAIIN Ya 55s fogged sv etl eens Pittsburgh.” 
 
 There was what you might call an instantaneous pause. 
 The mention of the name of the smoke-draped city apparently 
 struck fire somewhere inside of Mr. McCurran. 
 
 “What do you know about Pittsburgh?” he demanded in 
 a lowered voice with anger not entirely excluded from it. 
 
 “Sorry to upset you,” murmured Pentecost. 
 
 “What do you know about Pittsburgh?” the Inspector re- 
 peated. 
 
 “Much the same as you,” answered Pentecost. 
 
 “Where were you between ten and eleven on the night that 
 Charles Michael Haworth was shot?” 
 
 There was no answer, and almost at once the Inspector 
 went on, his voice more menacing: “If you’re not the guilty 
 man, tell me your reason for trying to put over that fake 
 alibi on us—yes, an’ a damned foolish fake at that, when we 
 had you cold in Roxbury the same night? .. . So? Noth- 
 ing to say about thai, eh?” 
 
 There was a moment of silence, during which the Inspec- 
 tor managed to subdue any evidences of the fury which the 
 “name of the western Pennsylvania city had aroused. Soon 
 he resumed in a voice cold and hard: “We find it to be a 
 rule that a man who is unjustly charged with crime is more 
 
330 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 than anxious to answer questions and explain his true po- 
 sition. I observe that you have no such desire.” 
 
 “Accept my congratulations, Inspector, on having at last 
 discovered the missing exception to your rule.” 
 
 “Then you have no explanation to make of that manu- 
 factured alibi?” 
 
 “None—until the necessity arises.” 
 
 “Am I-to understand that it hasn’t yet arisen?” 
 
 “Such an understanding would be according to fact.” 
 
 “In that case we may be able to assist it to do so.” And 
 the Inspector rose and walked away to another part of the 
 room, motioning, as he did so, to have Pentecost taken away. 
 
 The patrolman got the usual safety grip on Pentecost’s 
 twisted coat sleeves near the wrists, and took him out at a 
 side door, one of the plain-clothes men slipping out after 
 him, and shortly thereafter he was safely within the portals 
 of the Charles Street jail. 
 
 Inspector McCurran stood at a window revolving a few 
 things in his mind—and their revolution failed to please 
 him. This was not from any doubt of their case against 
 Pentecost, for anyone could see they had the murder buckled 
 to him in every conceivable way—including one that hadn’t 
 been put down by the Inspector as conceivable up to this 
 time. But back of the whole thing was some cursed mystery 
 —every now and then they turned up evidence of it. Could 
 there be, after all, anything in the spirit business? Seemed 
 absurd, but, by God! they had some pretty good names to 
 it!—Not in this country—but look at those big ducks in 
 England who were pushing the game! 
 
 And there was the man himselfi—Pentecost—something 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 331 
 
 about him that made one feel a shiver of apprehension. You’d 
 put him down as slippery in some peculiar, slimy sort of way, 
 that would make any grip you could get on him not worth 
 a tinker’s dam. 
 
 The Inspector’s mind came round to Pentecost’s careless 
 reference to the city of Pittsburgh. It had nearly lost him 
 his self-control—an unusual happening with Matt McCur- 
 ran. For this simple geographical allusion meant that the 
 knowledge of certain spiritistic phenomena which had oc- 
 curred in that town a few nights before, and which the 
 authorities supposed to be successfully suppressed, was now 
 —or soon would be—public property. If this man Pentecost 
 had knowledge of these occurrences, others had as well, and 
 without doubt the papers would get hold of it and there’d be 
 the very devil to pay. 
 
 And you may as well know at once that the papers of the 
 following day did get hold of it, and there was the devil to 
 pay—and he was paid, too! Throughout the length, breadth, 
 and thickness of the country, and including as well our friend 
 and near relation across the St. Lawrence, the press dis- 
 patches did the Boston Police Department proud in one place, 
 and then, without knowing it, jabbed a knife through it in 
 another. 
 
 In every paper the first thing striking the reader’s eye was 
 a sensational write-up of the arrest of Hugo Pentecost as 
 the murderer, in the strange and mysterious Haworth case, 
 and the astonishing detective work accomplished by the Po- 
 lice Department in tracing the (alleged) guilty man by a 
 pair of old boots left in a cabin of a Metropolitan Line 
 steamer, and in puncturing one of the most ingenious fake 
 alibis on record. The dispatches went on to say that Mr. 
 
332 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Henry Harker and his son Alfred, of the firm of Harker & 
 Pentecost, had both waived extradition and were on their 
 way to Boston with detectives, and upon arrival would be 
 held as accomplices. The stenographer of the firm, Miss 
 Dugas, who was wanted as a witness, and who might also 
 be implicated in the crime, was voluntarily accompanying the 
 Harkers. 
 
 The foregoing, written up fully and triumphantly, was 
 agreeable reading for those connected with the Department; 
 but in the same editions, and nearly always in an adjoining 
 column, was an A. P. dispatch from Pittsburgh which simply 
 tore the insides out of the first one. 
 
 It was headed, in every case, with these disastrous lines— 
 or something similar—and in type that came out and smashed 
 a reader right between the eyes :— 
 
 SPIRITS SPEAK AGAIN IN HAWORTH CASE 
 
 ADVISE MICROSCOPE IN PENTECOST ALIBI 
 ASTOUNDING CLUES GIVEN 
 OPERATOR’S LICENSE 2026 
 
 BOOTS LEFT ON “NORTH LAND” 
 
 Then it got down to plain reading matter, and described 
 a message that had come through at a séance held in Alle- 
 gheny—now a section of Pittsburgh and popularly referred 
 to as the North Side—five days before, and instantly tele- 
 phoned to the Boston chief of police, but which, for reasons 
 Stated below, had only now been given to the press. The 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 333 
 (TEC Ti TREE TS ER a age AS ECO TE ESMOND Ce OO ON ch 
 
 spirit who got “control” of the medium. conducting this séance 
 declined to give his name—in fact allowed that he had too 
 many, his life while on earth having been not precisely what 
 it should have been. He merely saw a chance to get even with 
 a cocky screw who'd once—before he (the spirit speaking) 
 had crossed to the higher realms—put the low-down play 
 on him good and plenty; and the only thing he asked was 
 that some one present at the sitting would send word to the 
 Boston police to go after a big pair of boots that was left in 
 a cabin of the steamer North Land on arrival in New York 
 the next morning after the murder} also he’d suggest that 
 they put a microscope on a few other little items of that 
 beautiful alibi. For instance, it wouldn’t do a damn bit of 
 harm to dig up Operator’s License 2026. ‘Tell the bulls,” he 
 gave out in conclusion, “to take it from me they’ll pull some- 
 thing out of the fire if they go after it!” And with that he 
 was gone. 
 
 The A. P. dispatch on this Pittsburgh occurrence closed 
 with a paragraph in brackets explaining the five days’ delay 
 in getting the news. It stated that the spirit message had 
 been telephoned to the Boston police even while the séance 
 was still in progress with the medium under other controls. 
 The Boston Department, for diplomatic reasons, had with- 
 held the news of this message from the Pemberton Street 
 reporters and had also asked the Pittsburgh police to hush 
 the matter up until the clues (if there was anything to it) 
 could be worked out and a clean-up of the guilty parties 
 made before they got warning. Pittsburgh headquarters 
 found that only eleven persons had been present at the 
 séance, and got them all, together with the medium and her 
 assistant or director, before they left the place. These peo- 
 
334 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ple, appreciating the importance of keeping it quiet in order 
 to bring the criminals to justice, agreed to say nothing of 
 the affair, and for five days no leakage occurred. Then from 
 somewhere (it could not be traced to any of those concerned 
 in the séance) a full account of the whole proceeding had 
 suddenly reached the Associated Press, and of course could 
 no longer be withheld from the public. 
 
 “The account of this amazing occurrence in Pittsburgh,” 
 as one of the Boston papers put it in a bracketed “‘Ed.” note 
 following the A. P. dispatch, ‘‘which is quite in keeping with 
 former developments in the Haworth case, can now be pub- 
 lished without disturbing the activities of the police, the 
 ‘clean-up’ referred to having been successfully accomplished, 
 as may be.noted elsewhere in this issue.” 
 
 This Allegheny episode might not have been so bad served 
 up by itself, but coming immediately under or on parallels 
 with the triumphant write-up of the Department’s detective 
 work, showed that the whole thing was done on a tip from 
 the spirit world. You mustn’t understand me as saying— 
 or even intimating—that there wasn’t any good work done 
 by the police detectives. The trouble was that when they 
 got anywhere they were stood on their heads and everything 
 they’d worked up dumped into the discard by one of those 
 ghostly manifestations or whatever they might be. 
 
 Anyway, it isn’t an account of marvelous detective work 
 I’m trying to give you, but something which, as I look at 
 it, is vastly more unusual. The papers will give you stuff 
 about “sleuths’”—as they call ’em—every day in the week, 
 including Sundays; and if you want to go into the field of 
 fiction you'll find there’s one born there every minute. But 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 335 
 
 so far as my experience goes, this was the first time people in 
 the next world ever took a hand in the game. 
 
 The public interest in the Pentecost trial came near to being 
 the record for this class of diversion. You’d have thought 
 the feeling against him would have been so bitter that they’d 
 have had to fight off the lynchers. But it’s just as well to go 
 easy on predicting how the public is going to behave. Some- 
 thing about the man—it wasn’t beauty or youth or romance— 
 more like hypnotism, perhaps—in conjunction with his in- 
 genious methods of work so far as they had been made 
 known, and also his silence under fire (My God! how the 
 public adores a man who keeps his mouth shut!) got the 
 people with him, notwithstanding the brutal murder that 
 they could now so plainly see was his doing. Much of the 
 sympathy may have resulted from the hopelessness of his 
 case, for they certainly had it all over him. He hadn’t said 
 a word since his arrest, excepting to state mildly—and even 
 then, only when he was asked about it—that he wasn’t guilty. 
 And he sat in the cage quiet and unassuming, never once 
 dropping to the “cheerful act” nor the “bravado act” nor 
 any act whatever, but only sitting there quietly and hearing 
 witness after witness testify to things that were like so many 
 nails in his coffin. 
 
 He saw his marvelously laid-out defensive system crumble 
 and melt away before his eyes; his carefully constructed 
 alibi split into a thousand pieces. | 
 
 They had the chauffeur (Operator’s License 2026) who 
 took him—dripping with water—at about nine o’clock on 
 the night of the murder, from a place near the Soldier’s 
 Monument just north of the Bourne Highway Bridge over 
 
336 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 the Cape Cod Canal, and who left him, shortly before half- 
 past ten, at the corner of Centre and Greenough Streets, 
 Jamaica Plain. Even the fact of his having walked in a 
 direction away from Torrington Road when he left the car 
 told against him. Of course he did—that’s precisely what a 
 man with criminal intent would do. , 
 
 The Captain, Purser, and other officers of the North Land 
 
 were called and testified against him—at least negatively— 
 although they had, up to this time, been the most important 
 -bulwarks of the alibi;—Captain Snow now recalling the 
 fact that he hadn’t seen the face of the man on the forward 
 deck whom he took to be Mr. Pentecost, after his ship passed 
 out of the canal, but only his back; and the other officers 
 realizing, when they came to think of it, that they hadn’t 
 seen him on board after the steamer emerged into Buzzards 
 Bay—that is, until he was disembarking at New York the 
 following morning. 
 
 The conductor of the midnight express to New York, and 
 the head end trainman who’d had such difficulty in arous- 
 ing him from apparent sleep in the morning and getting 
 him off at the Grand Central, were put on the stand and told 
 of his being on their train the night of the murder; men 
 from the New York Central’s railroad pier next south of the 
 North Land’s berth, testified to having seen the rowboat come 
 up under the steamer’s stern as she docked in New York the 
 morning after the shooting, and put a man aboard her by a 
 rope ladder; a man and his wife from Buzzards Bay village, 
 who'd been waiting on the highway bridge over the canal for 
 the “draw” to close at the time the North Land passed 
 through, on the night of the crime, testified to seeing a man in 
 the semidarkness come up from the low flats at the west of 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 337 
 
 the bridge approach, and climb into a car near the Soldier’s 
 Monument, though they couldn’t swear, owing to the dark- 
 ness, to its being the accused; these things, and scores of 
 others not less important, put Pentecost in the position of hav- 
 ing faked an alibi by boarding the steamer in Boston, going 
 overboard from her during her passage through the canal, 
 returning thence to Roxbury by hired automobile, proceeding 
 to the rear of the Cripps mansion a few minutes before the 
 shots were fired, and within half an hour after the murder, 
 staggering, disguised as a drunken laborer, into the North 
 Station, and there taking the 11:50 express for New York, 
 finally getting aboard the steamer again from a rowboat the 
 moment she tied up to her dock. 
 
 Although no witness to his actually entering the house or 
 to his being in it at the time the deed was done, could be 
 found, there was surely sufficient evidence to convict him 
 without it. At the same time the District Attorney would 
 have given a great deal to be able to cover those points. 
 
 Pentecost’s senior counsel, Harvey Brookfield, had little to 
 offer in rebuttal, but he was a crack shot when the witnesses 
 were turned over to him, and many of them were raked raw 
 by the cross fire. His request that the head end trainman 
 explain his remembering, for such a long time, what kind of 
 boots a stranger on his train had worn, brought the reply: 
 “Because every time I went through the car I had to shove 
 em off the seat in front of him—they was muddy an’ I 
 didn’t want him fouling up the seat.” 
 
 “Very thoughtful of you, too! But you testified a few : 
 minutes ago, that this man whose boots you noticed, was 
 seated at the extreme forward end of the car. Didn’t you 
 say that?” \ 
 
338 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Why, I said—I—I ——” 
 
 “Certainly you did! I can have the stenographer read 
 it to you if you’ve forgotten—Now I ask you to explain to 
 the Court and the Jury how this man—if he was, as you 
 _ stated that he was, sitting at the extreme forward end of 
 the car, could put his feet on the seat in front of him? How 
 could there be a seat in front of him if he was in the very 
 first seat?) Now just tell us that—in your own language.” 
 
 “Well, he—he was up there at that end—it might ’a’ been 
 one seat more or less from the end—I didn’t notice. He 
 was if 
 
 “Ah—you didn’t notice!” broke in Brookfield, springing 
 on him like a cat. “That explains it! You didn’t notice! You 
 told us that he was at the extreme end, but you didn’t no- 
 tice. Now you tell us about his boots—perhaps you didn’t 
 notice in that case, either! A man’s life may depend on it 
 —hbut you didn’t notice! You’ve rendered your testimony 
 before this court ridiculous by making a man put his feet on a 
 seat that wasn’t there!’ And so on. But while this sort 
 of thing might tear a witness to pieces, it couldn’t, to any 
 extent, weaken the prosecution’s case. 
 
 In discussing the situation with Mr. Pentecost at the 
 Charles Street jail after one of the worst days in court, Mr. 
 Brookfield declared that there was nothing for it but to fall 
 back on insanity as a plea. But Pentecost wouldn’t hear 
 of it. 
 
 “What’s the idea, then? I don’t need to tell you they’re 
 piling it up on us pretty thick.” 
 
 “They haven’t got me in the house yet. Keep jabbing 
 on that till you draw blood.” 
 
 “It won’t acquit you!” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 339 
 
 “No matter—go to it.” 
 
 And Brookfield went to it. 
 
 It may surprise you to hear of an Attorney taking orders 
 as to the conduct of a case from his client—especially when 
 said client was so evidently a criminal of the most desperate 
 character. But the explanation is simple in the extreme. 
 Pentecost owned Brookfield through having bought and paid 
 for him, and was virtually conducting the case himself. 
 
 While the Pentecost trial, owing to its extraordinary de- 
 velopments, had held the interest of the country at large and 
 kept the eastern section of Massachusetts in something like 
 a ferment of astonishment and curiosity, it was toward the 
 latter part of it that things really began to happen. 
 
 When the testimony was all in and Mr. Brookfield was 
 about to go on with his summing up, a message was brought 
 into the court room and handed to the District Attorney. 
 After a glance at it he was instantly on his feet, asking to 
 be allowed to bring in another witness whose presence in 
 court had hitherto been impossible, and whose testimony was 
 of the utmost importance in its bearing on the case. 
 
 Brookfield, of course, objected, but was overruled, and an 
 old woman, bent and rheumatic, was brought into the court 
 room and assisted between the rows of spectators, past the 
 jurors, and into the witness box. As she turned and faced 
 the onlookers, and it was seen that Mrs. Temple had con- 
 sented to take the stand for the prosecution, a composite 
 sound of gasps, subdued exclamations, and quick whisper- 
 ings issued from the audience. Many had seen her when 
 she testified in the trial of James Dreek, and there was 
 hardly one who hadn’t read in the newspapers that the 
 
340 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 old woman knew everything about the murder—had, in- 
 deed, actually witnessed it—yet couldn’t be persuaded to 
 say a word excepting to testify to as much as would clear 
 the young butler of guilt. That was for the Defense in the 
 case of James Dreek—now the Prosecution in the case of 
 Pentecost, had her! f 
 
 After the first surprise, all eyes shifted across to the pris- 
 oner’s cage to see what effect this fearful menace—for 
 that’s what it was—had on Hugo Pentecost. But so far as 
 could be seen it hadn’t any. The man was sitting precisely 
 as before, expressionless, waiting. ; 
 
 While Mrs. Temple was being sworn and the formal 
 questioning gone through, a Court Messenger entered, and 
 threading his way between the tables, handed a written com- 
 munication to Chief Inspector McCurran, who was seated at 
 the Attorneys’ table, and who arose at once and left the 
 court room, followed by the messenger. Few noticed this, 
 for the attention of the spectators appeared to be divided 
 between the old woman on the witness stand and the accused 
 in the prisoners’ cage, whose death sentence—or what 
 amounted to that—the former was surely about to pro- 
 nounce. 
 
 When the preliminaries were finished, District Attorney 
 McVeigh in—for him—an incredibly soft voice and gentle 
 manner, led the old woman to describe Mr. Pentecost’s be- 
 havior while on his several visits to the Cripps mansion 
 before the commission of the crime,—her suspicions regard- 
 ing his intentions; the attempts she made to warn Mr. Ha- 
 worth of the danger of dealing with such a man; and follow- 
 ing that, her exclusion from the house—and thereafter her 
 efforts to keep watch from the outside. From this she was 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 341 
 
 tactfully brought to the events of that last evening,—the clos- 
 ing of the blinds to the front window; the coming home of 
 Mr. Haworth followed by Augustus Findlay; her attempts 
 to see in at the side windows but the darkness within pre- 
 venting; her unsuccessful efforts to enter the house at the 
 rear, and then the sudden brilliant light in the room so that 
 she was able to look in through the narrow slits below the 
 roller shades; her seeing Mr. Haworth reading at the table 
 and then filling and lighting his pipe; her hurrying to the 
 other window and seeing a man at the back of the room 
 whose face was covered (except for the eyes) with a cloth 
 or bandage and whose clothing was wet and draggled, point- 
 ing some dark object at Mr. Haworth from behind; her 
 turning to run back to the window which was nearer to Mr. 
 Haworth so that she could warn him, and as she did so 
 seeing James Dreek going along the path with a ladder; 
 her attempt to call out to Mr. Haworth; then the shots and 
 his collapse to the floor, and she herself so overcome that 
 she sank down beside the window; her recovering and trying 
 again to get into the house at the rear, and finally succeeding 
 in doing so. 
 
 “How did you get in, Mrs. Temple?” the District Attor- 
 ney asked. 
 
 “Through the basement door.” 
 
 “But wasn’t that door locked when you tried it before?” 
 
 “Yes—but it warn’t locked this time.” 
 
 “How long do you suppose this was after you heard the 
 shots and saw Mr. Haworth sink to the floor?” 
 
 “Tt must.a’ been some few minutes, fur I wasn’t able to 
 git up very quick from where I’d sunk down.” 
 
 “And when you got into the house what did you do?” 
 
342 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME | 
 
 “T hurried to him as quick as I could.” 
 
 “Do you mean Mr. Haworth?” 
 
 There was a pause before she spoke. “Yes,” she said ina 
 lower voice, with eyes seeking the floor. “You might ’a’ 
 known that, I should think.” 
 
 “IT did know it Mrs. Temple, but it’s important to have 
 others know it too. Now tell me this—if you can: did it 
 take you long to get to him—after you succeeded in entering 
 the house I mean? The time is important. Very likely you 
 were detained by the house being dark?” 
 
 “No, I was used to it.” 
 
 “Tt was very dark, was it?” | 
 
 “There warn’t no light at all—somebody must ’a’ shut 
 it off while I was hurryin’ back to get in. But I got to the 
 stairs easy enough and up into the kitchen; an’ then groped 
 along through the butler’s pantry an’ opened the door of the 
 front room where—where he was.” 
 
 “T see. And when you opened that door, Mrs. Temple, 
 could you see anything in the room?” 
 
 “Yes, I could.” 
 
 “But I understood you to say that the house was entirely 
 dark?” 
 
 “Tt was. But when I pushed open the swingin’ door o’ that 
 room there was a faint light shinin’ on Mr. Haworth’s face 
 as he lay there on the floor, an’ I could see from its not 
 stayin’ still that somebody must be holdin’ it. Then I could 
 make out the figger of a man—the one that had the light in 
 his hand—an’ he was bendin’ over lookin’ at the body, an’ 
 he hadn’t taken no notice o’ my comin’ in. At first I didn’t 
 know anything at all, but the minute I come to my senses 
 I started to run an’ git a holt of him; but just then the light 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 343 
 
 he had in his hand must ’a’ slipped some way so’st the beam 
 of it struck right across his face, an’ he didn’t have no cloth © 
 tied around it that time, so I could see who it was.” 
 
 The quiet in. the room was intense. Every person there 
 might have been a wax figure. 
 
 “Mrs. Temple, who was that man?” 
 
 “It was him there—the one you're tryin’.” 
 
 “Can you give the Court his name?” 
 
 “The one he went by was Pentecost.” 
 
 “Was there light enough to see him distinctly ?” 
 
 “There was plenty for me.” 
 
 “Did you have any other means of identification?” 
 
 “What sir?” | 
 
 “Was there anything else you’d know him by—hair, 
 clothes, shoes, hands, teeth—anything at all?’ 
 * “Oh!—Well, you see the second after the light struck 
 across his face it went out an’ I couldn’t see nothin’ at all. 
 But I heered his voice plain enough if that’s any good to ye.” 
 
 “Tt certainly is, Mrs. Temple. What was he saying?” 
 
 “He was shoutin’ out not to touch anythin’—that every- 
 thin’ had got to be left like it was in the name o’ the law, 
 or somethin’ like that.” 
 
 “And the voice you heard shouting those things—did you 
 recognize it?” 
 
 mes. sir.” 
 
 “Whose voice was it?” 
 
 “His—that man there.”’ (With a motion toward Pente- 
 cost. ) 
 
 “Do you mean the accused—in the prisoners’ cage?” 
 
 “That’s who I mean.” 
 
 “Had you heard his voice before?” 
 
344 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Yes—I had.” 
 
 “When ?” 
 
 “He’d spoke to me a number o’ times, an’ then I heered 
 him a-talkin’ to Mr. Haworth quite frequent.” 
 
 “What did you do then, Mrs. Temple?” 
 
 “T run toward where I’d seen him an’ felt all around there 
 —but he’d gone. An’ then—I—I don’t know. . . . I must 
 ’a’ sunk down there where—where he was.” 
 
 “You mean Mr. Haworth?” | 
 
 She nodded her head a little, as it slowly bowed down, 
 hiding her face from view. 
 
 Mr. McVeigh waited a moment so that the Jury might 
 get the full effect of the old woman’s grief, and then in- 
 dicated to Mr. Brookfield that he could take the witness. 
 
 But it so happened that Mr. Brookfield had caught a signal 
 from Pentecost, as previously arranged. 
 
 “TI don’t care to examine, Your Honor,” he said. 
 
 Shortly after this, Mr. Brookfield was seen to be address- 
 ing the Court, but in so low a tone that few were able to hear 
 him. For this reason a sensation was created when the 
 prison guards took Pentecost from the cage and conducted 
 him to the witness stand. 
 
 After the preliminaries there was a pause—whether in- 
 tentionally so or not, a most dramatic one. Brookfield on his 
 feet ready to question, yet stopping silent before the accused. 
 Pentecost standing motionless as marble in the witness box— 
 the court officer at his side. Reporters at the press table, 
 pencils poised, eyes fixed on Pentecost’s face, ready to catch 
 and record his slightest change of expression. Every man 
 on the Jury regarding him with strained attention. The 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 345 
 
 Judge himself unusually interested. Stillness of death in the 
 court room. 
 
 Brookfield began in a low voice, speaking slowly and dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 “Mr. Pentecost, you have heard the testimony given before 
 this Court by Mrs. Amelia Temple?” ; 
 
 mY eS. 
 
 “Have you anything to say regarding it?” 
 
 “Yes.” (A pause.) “It’s the truth.” 
 
 “All of it?” 
 
 “All that concerns me.” 
 
 “What can you say as to the rest of the testimony sub- 
 mitted before this Court?” 
 
 “The same.” 
 
 “By that do you mean that all of it is true as to fact?” 
 
 “T do.” 
 
 “Now as to this testimony that has been given here, and 
 which you have stated is the truth—can you say that the 
 inferences which would naturally be drawn from it are the 
 correct ones?” | 
 
 “T cannot.” 
 
 “Why ?” 
 
 “Because they make it appear that I have committed a 
 murder.” 
 
 “How does it happen, if they are statements of fact, that 
 they are misleading as to such a conclusion ?” 
 
 “They describe only a part of my movements and beha- 
 vior, omitting what would lead to the correct conclusion.” 
 
 “Do you claim that these omissions were purposely made?” 
 
 Mr. Pentecost shook his head slightly. 
 
346 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “The witnesses,” he said in a low voice, “were doubtless 
 unaware of them.” 3 
 
 “Will you—if it pleases the Court—make a brief state- 
 ment outlining these omitted facts.” 
 
 Mr. Pentecost waited a moment, and then, as the Court 
 made no objection thereto, began to speak in a subdued voice, 
 faintly suggestive of hopelessness. 
 
 “T have no witnesses,” he said, “except those who have 
 testified against me. But there are circumstances bearing on 
 my actions which none of these witnesses could have known; 
 and while their consideration by this Court is most vital to 
 me, I have only my unsupported word to offer, and feel that 
 such consideration will almost certainly be denied me. So I 
 will refer to these things as briefly as possible and with little 
 hope. Let me speak first of my getting off the steamer at 
 Buzzards Bay, as that seems the most misleading thing 
 against me. It is true I did this, but not for the purpose 
 of committing the crime with which I am charged. Such 
 an inference, indeed, is quite the reverse of the correct one, 
 for I came back to Boston that night hoping to save Mr. 
 Haworth from some calamity that I feared was about to 
 overtake him—and which, in fact, did so before I could pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 “My association with the young man during the time I 
 was negotiating the purchase of one of his inventions, had 
 awakened in me a most unusual interest. His quiet and 
 almost childlike sincerity, his trustfulness and simplicity, ap- 
 pealed to me in a way that I cannot describe. I am alone, 
 with no family of—of any kind, and the experience of sud- 
 denly being deeply interested in a person was something 
 new to me. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 347 
 
 “The last day of the negotiations—which was at the end 
 of a fourteen day option he’d given us—everything was con- 
 cluded and we paid over to Mr. Haworth a large sum of 
 money. It was in bills—for he’d asked to have it that way. 
 As we were making this payment it suddenly occurred to 
 me that this trustful and helpless young fellow might get 
 into trouble with it, for in these days there are crackerjacks 
 looking for money who can smell it in a house, just passing 
 by in the street. It was a lonely place where he lived and 
 didn’t look good to me, so I cautioned him about it. But 
 he smiled at me—one of his rare smiles that seemed to sink 
 right into you—and said he knew a safe place for it; and 
 anyway he’d have it there only till the next day. 
 
 “The three of us—my partner, his son, and myself—took 
 the steamer for New York that same afternoon, and I tried 
 to get my anxiety about the young man off my mind. But 
 instead of going off it mcreased, and by the time we were well 
 out in the Bay it was like one of these premonitions you 
 read about. I did everything to rid myself of this feeling— 
 talked with the officers, ordered dinner, walked in the wind 
 on the top deck—but it was no use, and by seven o'clock 
 I realized that something had to be done. 
 
 “The steamer was due at the canal in about an hour, and 
 I remembered they had to slow down to half speed or less 
 for the passage through. So I got young Harker to make 
 inquiries in a sort of casual way, as if it was only from 
 curiosity on his part, as to whether they’d stop at some place 
 along the canal if a person wanted to get off. If they said 
 no, I told him to throw out feelers to see if money would 
 do it. But there was no use—the thing was impossible. 
 
 “By this time I was in a—a most trying nervous con- 
 
348 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 dition. Suddenly I realized that, without even thinking about 
 it, I’d made up my mind to jump off the steamer while she 
 was in the canal and in some way get back to Roxbury. I 
 did this as the boat was passing the village of Buzzards 
 Bay. It was quite dark at the time, and I waited till the 
 steamer had passed through the Bourne Highway Bridge, as 
 I knew the passengers would be watching the great draw 
 come down into place, and even if the lights along the canal 
 hit me, no one would be looking. 
 
 “After I got out of the swirl a few strokes brought me 
 to shore. It was a sort of low flat along there, and I got 
 across it and up on to the road embankment that is the north 
 approach to the bridge. There wasn’t any garage in sight 
 and in a sort of desperation I stopped a car coming up to- 
 ward the bridge and asked where the nearest one was. The 
 man inside asked me what was wrong, for I was soaking 
 wet, and I told him it was a matter of life and death for 
 me to get to Boston. He said he’d just come down from 
 there and was only a quarter of a mile from his destination, 
 so I could take the car he had (it was a hired one) if the 
 chauffeur wanted to do it, and he’d go on foot the rest of 
 the way. I suppose my dripping clothes made an impres- 
 sion. I fixed the chauffeur all right with a couple of water- 
 soaked ten-dollar bills, telling him I’d double it if he did 
 the trip under eighty minutes. And I want to say that 
 everything this man has testified to is the truth, for he 
 couldn’t possibly have known who I was, how I got to Buz- © 
 zards Bay, or where I was going in Boston. I’d be sorry 
 indeed to get this innocent man into trouble. 
 
 “My reason for leaving the car at some distance from the 
 house on Torrington Road was not because I planned to 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 249 
 
 ‘commit a murder—as the Prosecution would have it trans- 
 lated, but only that I wanted to approach the place with the 
 utmost caution. Robbers or safe smashers would have their 
 lookouts posted, and it was up to me to get at the inside 
 operators before they had warning. 
 
 “I crawled in at the gate and worked along behind shrub- 
 bery. But I hadn’t got halfway to the house when | made. 
 ‘out the dim forms of two men moving about. This was a. 
 tremendous relief, for I took them for the lookouts, and 
 their being there showed I was in time: if the job was done. 
 they'd be gone. So I slid in among the bushes and crawled 
 around to the rear of the house. ! 
 
 “The two doors at the back were locked, but I happened 
 to think of the basement door, and on trying, found it was 
 open. i 
 “Luckily for me, my pocket flashlight still worked, and 
 with it I was able to run through the dark basement and 
 up the stairs, across the kitchen (which was also dark) and 
 through the butler’s pantry. I bunted open the swing door 
 and ran into the long room where we'd been sitting that 
 same afternoon, but for a moment couldn’t see anything at 
 all, there was such a strong light on. It dazzled me, and I 
 ‘suppose I must have stood with my electric torch pointing 
 toward Mr.’ Haworth, as the last witness testified. I really 
 have no idea which way it was pointing as I stood there 
 blinded by the glare and trying to see. Ina moment I made 
 out Mr. Haworth standing near the table in the middle of 
 the room lighting his pipe, and instantly started toward 
 him, calling out his name. But just as I did so two gunshots 
 blazed out from somewhere quite near—though I couldn’t say 
 exactly where—and the poor fellow went down. I got to 
 
350 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 him just as the lights went out, but as my pocket light was » 
 still on I was able to see him, and I found he was dead. 
 
 “While I was there on the floor by his side I heard a sound 
 from the butler’s pantry, and instantly got to my feet. My 
 light was still on, but I switched it off after some little dif- 
 ficulty with it, and shouting out that nobody must touch 
 anything—for I had the feeling there were people about and 
 I knew the police would want everything left as it was—I 
 hurried out of the house by the way I’d come in. As I got 
 out into the air it began to dawn on me what trouble I’d be 
 in if anyone saw me there and they couldn’t find the man 
 who’d committed the crime. My only safety lay in getting 
 out of Boston without being recognized, for if my presence 
 there was known it would lead to their finding out that I’d 
 jumped off the steamer, and that would put me in a terrible 
 position—always supposing they couldn’t find the guilty 
 man. 
 
 “TI got around into Boston by way of Brookline, and in a 
 poorly lighted side street I ran across a tough-looking bum 
 wearing old and grimy clothing and carrying a considerable 
 load of alcohol. I struck a bargain with him, and we ex- 
 changed clothes in an unlighted alley among factories closed 
 for the night. He understood in a bleary way, that I’d 
 fallen in the water and wanted a dry outfit, which, of course, 
 was the truth—so far as it went. 
 
 “While I was hurriedly disguising myself in this way it 
 suddenly came to me that my absence, when the passengers 
 disembarked from the steamer North Land in New York, 
 could hardly fail to be noticed. They’d have to file between 
 the two ticket takers at the gangway, and pass down the 
 gangplank under the watchful eyes of the ship’s officers— 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 251 
 
 several of whom I’d come to know quite well. Harker and 
 his son, leaving the steamer without me, would be more than 
 likely to cause comment. 
 
 “Tt was then that I happened to think of the night ex- 
 presses, which hadn’t left Boston yet and were due in New 
 York two hours or more before the arrival time of the 
 steamer. Why couldn’t I go back on one of them and man- 
 age, without being seen, to slip aboard the North Land from 
 a rowboat the minute she docked? If I was seen doing this 
 it would look bad, but no worse than if I wasn’t on the 
 steamer at all. This way I had a chance—and as the testi- 
 mony given here has shown, I took it. 
 
 “T appreciate the forbearance of the Court in permitting 
 this extended recital—made, I confess, in the face of a real- 
 ization that it cannot save me. But perhaps some time, long 
 after this crowning error in the rather extended series of 
 police blunders has been committed, the fact that it was an 
 error may come to light—and v 
 
 No more could be heard, for Mr. McVeigh was on his 
 feet shouting objections. “I object, Your Honor, and I ask 
 that the reference made by the accused to the police of this 
 city be stricken from the record and the Jury instructed to 
 disregard it!” 
 
 _ The Judge spoke in a voice that seemed especially low, 
 coming after the District Attorney’s vociferous demands. 
 
 “That may be stricken out,” he said. 
 
 “Will the Court permit me to apologize?’ Pentecost asked 
 almost in a whisper and with evident contrition. 
 
 “What’s the sense of that?” snapped McVeigh. ‘It’s off 
 the record—that’s all I want!” 
 
 But a man face to.face with a death sentence is usually 
 
irae AMEN MC eS a 
 352 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 MMOS es Ua bhadeiianid ve) 
 
 permitted some latitude, and the Judge indicated by a slight 
 motion of the head that he could do so. 
 
 “Permit me then, Your Honor, to say that I regret having 
 made use of the expressions I did, and certainly would not 
 have done so had I been aware how sensitive the District 
 Attorney is to the mere mention of the little spiritistic frolics 
 with the Police Department that have recently taken place.” 
 
 Pentecost had finally got in a reference to the mediumistic 
 phenomena which had played so amazing a part in the case— 
 something he had been playing for a chance to do since tak- 
 ing the stand. This man’s statement before the court that was 
 trying him was undoubtedly one of the most adroit pieces of 
 pure and unadulterated chicane that he’d ever attempted— 
 at any rate in that line. To fit an innocent and sympathetic 
 tale like that to the multitude of incriminating facts estab- 
 lished by the testimony against him;—to bring it out with 
 just the pathetic hopelessness, exactly the sincerity and pre- 
 cisely the manner and inflection which would make every 
 point tell and thus inspire confidence and pity, was some- 
 thing near to marvelous. 
 
 He knew well enough that it would do him no good in 
 court, but he knew, too, that it would do him enormous good 
 where he wanted it. The statement made little short of a 
 sensation, and not alone with those who heard it, but with 
 the millions who read it in the newspapers. To most peo- 
 ple, of course, it seemed to explain everything. What if 
 Pentecost couldn’t prove it? Let the Prosecution disprove 
 it—that was the thing! How noble of him to say that the 
 State’s witnesses told the truth—and then show exactly how 
 it was! Etcetera,—etcetera. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 353 
 
 In court, as I’ve indicated, it was another matter. The 
 only thing Mr: Brookfield (for the Defense) could do, was 
 to review the contradictions in which he’d skillfully entan- 
 gled many of the witnesses for the prosecution, and end with 
 an eloquent plea for the credibility of the Pentecost state- 
 ment which agreed with the testimony given before the court 
 at every point, and to challenge anyone, in court or out to 
 find a flaw in it. 
 
 The District Attorney, of course, tore it all to pieces. He 
 had declined to cross-examine the accused “after such a 
 ridiculous and flimsy tale,” and took care of it in his sum- 
 ming up. The fact is—but no one was aware of it at the 
 time—he had a decided disinclination to give the accused any 
 further chances with the Jury. 
 
 “Here, gentlemen,” he said in his final argument, “we 
 have an illustration—even in this extraordinary plan by a 
 master mind in criminality—of the well-known fact that 
 there’ll always be a weak spot somewhere—a little matter 
 perhaps, but large enough to wreck the whole structure. 
 This tale of the accused is based on the claim that the alibi 
 was never planned beforehand, that it was developed on the 
 impulse of the moment, an innocent person suddenly finding 
 at eleven o’clock on the night of the murder that he might 
 be brought under suspicion if it were known he left the 
 steamer—and so he jumped on a train and managed to get 
 back to it in time to come off with the passengers. An in- 
 spiration of the moment! Remember that, gentlemen! And 
 now let us see if it’s the truth that he never thought of it 
 before. Let us consider the behavior of the accused on 
 previous trips, which, you will observe, were always made 
 by the same steamer, although there was another on that 
 
354 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME. 
 
 line, and although there were three other lines of Boston 
 boats—a choice of four steamers every day, not to speak 
 of fifteen or twenty express trains, all bound for the same 
 destination! But on this steamer North Land, which was 
 chosen by the accused as the theatre in which to perform 
 his alibi, we find from the testimony of eleven of its officers 
 and crew, that he was sociable and talkative to the last de- 
 gree, making acquaintance with everybody who might there- 
 after be able to testify that he was on board the vessel on 
 that fatal night. Contrast this with what four witnesses 
 have sworn to regarding the usual behavior of this same 
 individual—that he was naturally silent, taciturn, not easily 
 making acquaintances, not a man given to sociability, re- 
 served, keeping his affairs to himself, never discussing them 
 with outsiders,—and there you have it, gentlemen. He was 
 a different being when on the steamer North Land on those 
 previous trips, when he was planting his alibi; making him- 
 self and his alleged business of buying inventions known to 
 everybody, jollying over cigars with the Captain and the 
 Purser—and now telling us on the stand that he never 
 thought of the alibi until after the murder!” 
 
 From this the District Attorney went back and recapitu- 
 lated every point made by the prosecution during the trial, 
 showing that not one of them had been disproved and that 
 there wasn’t even a tremor in the finger of Justice, now 
 extended, and pointing to the accused, Hugo Pentecost, as 
 the guilty man. 
 
 As McVeigh was nearing the latter part of his closing 
 argument, the Chief Inspector, followed by a messenger, re- 
 turned to the court room and resumed his place at the 
 attorneys’ table. At once he took a sheet of paper and began 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 355 
 
 writing with evident haste. In a moment he bunched some 
 papers he had brought with him and put them in a large 
 envelope with the sheet on which he’d been writing. This 
 packet he handed to the Court Messenger, who delivered it 
 to the Judge. 
 
 Before closing his argument the District Attorney took up 
 the “impertinent reference” made by the accused before this 
 court to a series of blunders which he attributed to the Police 
 Department of Boston, and called the attention of the Jury, 
 and of all who had heard this slanderous implication, to the 
 fact that there never yet was a murder case where doubt 
 existed as to the guilty party, which was without false clues, 
 and mistaken arrests. 
 
 From this he proceeded to a violent denunciation of Hugo 
 Pentecost. “And if this insolent, swaggering fiend in hu- 
 man form” (I got the wording from the newspaper reports) 
 “who coolly, with careful planning and infinite calculation, 
 takes the life of an innocent—a gentle—a defenseless man ;— 
 this cowardly assassin who sends two bullets into his victim 
 from behind, and for no other reason than to get a few 
 thousand dollars away from him;—if he is now looking 
 for another of those ‘spiritistic frolics’ to stand between him 
 and retribution, he will look in vain; for even the so-called 
 spirits—whatever they are—can’t help him now!. It’s in 
 your hands, gentlemen, to see that the strong right arm of 
 the Law is stretched forth and this red-handed assassin is 
 brought to the punishment he so richly deserves.” 
 
 At this point there came to pass one of those curious coin- 
 cidences—a real and bona-fide one, for it couldn’t have been 
 laid out beforehand even by a master-criminal mind, though 
 such a mind may have figured there was an off chance on it. 
 
356 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 For a few moments during the latter part of the District 
 Attorney’s summing-up, the faint but strident calls of an 
 “extra” from far down Washington Street could have been 
 heard in the court room—a babel of boyish voices coming 
 through the open windows. This increased in volume, and 
 as the newsboys came running into Scollay Square and up 
 into Tremont and Court Streets, there was a sudden burst 
 of high-pitched shouting, so that following right on Mr. Mc- 
 Veigh’s climactic outburst, “Even the so-called spirits—what- 
 ever they are—can’t help him now!” came the screams of the 
 newsboys below: “E-x-t-r-e-e! Spirit message !”—“Spirit 
 Message in the Haworth Case!’—“E-x-t-r-e-e !”—“Ha- 
 worth’s Spirit Speaks!’’—‘‘Message from Haworth!’— 
 “E-x-t-r-e-e !” and so on until the shouts grew fainter again 
 as the boys ran down Sudbury and Hanover Streets toward 
 the North Station, and West and South on Beacon and Tre- 
 mont. 
 
 When the attention of the spectators was again directed 
 to the court proceedings, they realized that everything had 
 stopped. A consultation at the Bench was in progress. All 
 the attorneys concerned and the Chief Inspector were there, 
 evidently having been called up by the Judge. 
 
 A peculiar stillness had settled over the place. Charged 
 with electricity it seemed, the tension increasing every mo- 
 ment. Some foolish ones wondered if the newsboys, shout- 
 ing about another spirit message, could have affected the 
 Court. Once—and not such a time ago at that—the calling 
 of such a piece of news on the streets would have excited 
 only derision. None of that now! Even the pooh-poohers 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 357 
 
 had stopped their pooh-poohing. Too many astounding 
 things ! 
 
 A sudden straining to see and hear as the Chief Inspector 
 and the attorneys went back to their places, the Inspector 
 leaving the court room immediately afterward. 
 
 The Judge sat motionless a few moments, apparently in 
 thought. After that he examined again some of the papers 
 that had been submitted. Finally he rose and turned to the 
 Jury and the twelve men composing it came to their feet at 
 the same instant and stood facing him. Then the Judge, in 
 a voice so subdued that it could scarcely be heard in the 
 further parts of the room, thanked them for the time and 
 labor they had contributed to the cause of justice, and pro- 
 ceeded to remind them that the world we live in is a place of 
 considerable uncertainty, and that in Courts of Law the 
 unexpected is a frequent—and sometimes a welcome—vis- 
 itor. 
 
 Everyone could hear him now, which resulted not so much 
 from the raising of his voice a trifle as from the stillness 
 prevailing. “In the case before us, gentlemen,’ he went 
 on, “the arrival of this visitor, the unexpected, must be 
 regarded as most opportune, for it is the means of removing 
 all doubt as to the guilt, or freedom from guilt, of the ac- 
 cused. Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen: Certain facts have 
 just now been called to the attention of myself and counsel, 
 which indicate beyond any question or doubt that this de- 
 fendant is innocent of the crime with which he is charged; 
 and I therefore instruct you to bring in a verdict of Not 
 Guilty.” | 
 
 A moment later the Clerk of the Court was saying: 
 “Hugo Pentecost, look upon the Jury; Jurors, look upon the 
 
358 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 defendant—Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen: in the case of the 
 ,Commonwealth against Hugo Pentecost have you agreed 
 upon a verdict?” 
 
 “We have,” the Foreman answered. 
 
 ‘What say you, Mr. Foreman: is the defendant, Hugo 
 Pentecost, guilty or not guilty?” : 
 
 “Not guilty,’ answered the Foreman. And after the 
 swearing of the Jury in the usual form, Hugo Pentecost was 
 informed that he was hereby discharged and could go “with- 
 out day’ unless held on some other process. 
 
 On the evening before these final proceedings, and at a 
 time approaching the hour of midnight, a private “circle” in 
 West Philadelphia was about to adjourn. Mr. Ernest Ev- 
 erett Blatchford, well known among the spiritists of that re- 
 gion as a talented and highly successful materializationist 
 ‘and trance medium, had brought about during the evening 
 a number of visits from the other side, and in all but two 
 the spirit had become visible to human eyes—in a shadowy 
 way. 
 
 As the director or assistant (I’m not sure what they call 
 those people) turned to switch on the lights, there came 
 strange muffled cries issuing from the darkness in the further 
 part of the room, and a cold musty current of air breathed 
 across the circle of “sitters.” At the same instant a whitish 
 cloud appeared, faintly wavering in the darknenss. It rap- 
 idly grew in size and seemed to be trying to shape itself into 
 something resembling the human form. Vague suggestions 
 of a man’s face began to appear in the misty cloudiness, the 
 features gradually forming themselves, like the fade-in of 
 a picture; and when, as it came to be more and more dis- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 359 
 
 tinct, somebody whispered the name of Charles Haworth, 
 there were several involuntary gasps of astonishment and a 
 breathless “Oh!” or two could be heard. The papers had 
 used his picture so often (taken for that first write-up in a 
 Boston “Magazine Section’) that there was no difficulty 
 about the recognition after the whispered name had started 
 it. (No one ever traced that important whisper to its 
 source. ) 
 
 In a few moments it was seen that the lips of the appa- 
 rition were moving—yet no sound came. The cloudlike 
 human form with a face resembling Haworth’s, was trying 
 to speak. 
 
 A voice from somewhere in the circle—a man’s voice— 
 was heard asking, ‘“Isn’t this Mr. Haworth?” and the head 
 resembling Haworth’s nodded slowly in affirmation. Almost 
 at once some sort of a sound was heard—confused and 
 broken, as though pushed through a barrier that gave way, 
 and after that the spirit began to speak in a low voice 
 and with what seemed like a sort of eager breathlessness. 
 “Machine !—Machine!—Machine!” repeated over and over 
 many times more than that, was what it said, and between 
 two of them a loud whisper came from somewhere in or 
 near the circle, “It’s Haworth’s voice!” and an answering 
 whisper, forceful and penetrating, ““Yes—oh yes!—His own 
 voice!’ So that everybody knew, though they’d never seen 
 the man Haworth nor heard him speak, that it was he now 
 appearing before them. 
 
 For some time the apparition or spirit—if that’s what it 
 was—seemed unable to utter anything more than this repe- 
 tition of the word “Machine,” and the director and some 
 
360 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 others, although they asked encouraging questions, proved 
 unable to get anything further. 
 
 But again some sort of obstruction was seemingly over- 
 come, for after many unsuccessful attempts, the voice sud- 
 denly broke out with: “In the wall!—In the wall!—In the 
 wall!—Why don’t they look? It’s there! The Machine! 
 
 Find it !—-Find it!—Make the court wait !—That man—that | 
 
 man—nothing—nothing—nothing to do with it—nothing— 
 nothing! Nobody can hear me in Boston—lI can just reach 
 this one—but not for long! Tell them the wall—inside the 
 wall—that same room—further end—the machine—papers 
 on the pendulum!—the pendulum !—Papers !—Oh I’m 
 going !—” (The voice becoming faint and far away) “—I 
 can’t hold out—and I want to speak to someone else— 
 oh, I do—I do ” and nothing more could be heard. 
 
 The voice was growing weaker and the features were dis- 
 solving back into mistiness even while he spoke; and in a 
 moment there was only the whitish floating haze which 
 seemed rapidly drawing itself to a point, at which it wavered 
 for a moment and then flickered out in the blackness. 
 
 No reporters were present at this seance nor were the Phil- 
 adelphia police keeping an eye on mediumistic activities ; and 
 as it was already after two in the morning, no one who’d 
 been there took it upon himself to communicate with any- 
 
 body as to what had come through. It was consequently 
 
 nearly eleven o’clock the following morning before news of | 
 it reached the Boston newspaper offices; and an effort made 
 later to find out who sent the news met with no success. 
 Whoever it was completely ignored the police. Not a word 
 of this astounding communication from the alleged spirit 
 of Charles Haworth was wired or telephoned to them. Their 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 361 
 
 first intimation that anything of interest had taken place in 
 West Philadelphia came from the newspaper ‘‘extras” on 
 the streets. 
 
 The Department—as it had in another and similar instance 
 —got particulars without giving it away that this was the 
 first they’d heard of it. And so important did the matter 
 seem that the Inspector was called out of the court room. 
 And so important did it seem to the Inspector that he pro- 
 ceeded with the utmost speed and a bunch of detectives to 
 the Cripps mansion. Reporters were kept outside the line 
 that had been established. 
 
 Within twenty minutes after the Inspector’s arrival with 
 his gang, the rear end of the wall of the room on the left 
 was what you might call a near ruin, and a most extraor- 
 dinary mechanical arrangement that had been constructed 
 within it was exposed to view. 
 
 The first, and it might be said the most striking, thing 
 they had come upon as they were ripping the lath and plaster 
 away and prying off the heavy paneling, was a 44 Colt 
 revolver bolted to the studding (the upright timbers within 
 the wall) just behind one of the panels of the wainscot, and 
 down within eighteen inches of the floor. It was bolted so 
 securely as to be absolutely immovable, and was aimed 
 straight out into the room. The husky plain-clothes man who 
 smashed away the panel in front of it was seen to spring 
 suddenly to one side. 
 
 “Careful now!” the Inspector shouted, as he came run- 
 ning. “Keep away from that!’ he yelled to the other men 
 who were coming over to see. And they were ordered well 
 to one side while the two working there reached over and 
 
362 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 ripped away the panels above and on each side of the one 
 that had concealed the gun. 
 
 It took but a few minutes to expose the whole thing: 
 a simple but ingenious device built in there for firing two 
 revolvers at nearly the same instant—discharging them about 
 twelve minutes from the time the mechanism was set in 
 motion. The second gun, a matter of six inches below the 
 other, was behind the same panel, but hadn’t been noticed at 
 first as it was so close to the floor—just clearing the panel 
 frame at the bottom. 
 
 They found that this panel—the one concealing the guns 
 —had been made to slide up and down, the guides holding 
 it on the inside so there was no evidence of them in sight; 
 when pushed up, the muzzles of the revolvers were exposed ; 
 when dropped down into place, they were hidden. And so 
 carefully had this sliding panel been handled that no scratch 
 or abrasion could be found on its surface, nor did it differ 
 in any way, so far as appearances went, from the other 
 panels in the wainscoting; neither did it display the slightest 
 evidence of being movable—which, indeed, it was not, after 
 the discharge of the revolvers; for on dropping down into 
 place it automatically locked itself by the swinging across 
 the top of it, of a block of wood on a pivot—all within the 
 wall, of course. To get it open again it was necessary to 
 push this block away from the énside. 
 
 Both guns were immovably aimed to throw bullets directly 
 across the middle of the room and out through the upper 
 part of the window at the front; and as they were set so 
 low down, the course of the bullets would be upward. A 
 man of a certain height standing at a certain spot near the 
 center of the room would get the bullet from the upper 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 363 
 
 revolver through the head and from the lower one through 
 the heart—if he could stand there long enough after the shot 
 from the first one—hardly more, probably, than half a sec- 
 ond. 
 
 The mechanism which—twelve minutes from its starting— 
 fired the revolvers, and at the same time released the mov- 
 able panel and allowed it to slide down into place and au- 
 tomatically to lock itself there, was an escapement device 
 with a pendulum swinging to seconds. About halfway of the 
 fifteenth revolution of the escape-wheel (a very large one 
 carrying fifty teeth or jump-cogs) the powerful springs that 
 connected with the two rods—one to the trigger of each re- 
 volver—were released, which discharged the guns nearly, 
 but not quite, simultaneously, and on the next jump of the 
 escape-wheel a lever pulled back the catch that held the 
 sliding panel up, allowing it to drop down and close the 
 opening. It locked itself there automatically as I’ve ex- 
 plained. 
 
 There were many minor arrangements to safeguard and 
 insure the perfect operation of the device, such as the weight- 
 ing (on the inside) of the sliding panel; the carrying of the 
 rope that unwound from a drum on the main shaft, up 
 through a pulley at the top, so the heavy weight attached to 
 it would have room to descend in that space—for of course it 
 couldn’t go below the floor; the setting of the two revolvers 
 at the place where the wall of the breakfast room joined this 
 rear wall of the room on the left, so that, as they were too 
 long for the normal wall thickness, their butts might project 
 back into the transverse wall. 
 
 The whole device had been built in through a large aper- 
 ture from the basement below, and on completion of the 
 
364 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 job this opening was closed up with the very same old grimy 
 boarding, and even fastened in place with the same ancient 
 and rusted nails driven into their original holes, that had 
 been taken out of them. Even the rust on the nail heads 
 where the hammer would strike them was undisturbed ; safe- 
 guarded probably by the use of a cushion of leather or blot- 
 ting paper. | 
 
 It was evident that the machine couldn’t have been set 
 going on its final performance, from the basement, for by 
 no possibility could the opening down there have been closed 
 with all the care required, within the twelve minutes be- 
 tween the starting and the automatic discharge of the guns. 
 Undoubtedly the sliding panel was opened from below and 
 held open (that is, up) by its catch, and the block above 
 adjusted to swing in when it next slid down; and after that, 
 at whatever time it was desired to start the pendulum on its 
 last gruesome swing, it would only be necessary to reach 
 in through the open panel in the room on the left, and give 
 it a shove. That was all. There would be twelve minutes 
 left for reading awhile and then lighting a pipe. 
 
 Of course all these small details weren’t figured out by the 
 police until afterward. The Inspector was there to learn what 
 there was, if anything, to the latest alleged spirit message, 
 and they found it Of such vital import, too, that it required 
 instant action. No time to be wasted on conjectures as to 
 the method of starting. There it was The Machine! 
 And secured to its great pendulum which, you might say, 
 ticked Charles Haworth to his death, was the envelope of 
 papers. 
 
 Quick investigation followed; the Inspector raced back to 
 town; the newly discovered evidence was brought to the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD i 265 
 
 Judge’s attention; his conference with the attorneys and the 
 Inspector followed, and after that came the Court’s instruc- 
 tions to the Jury and the Jury’s verdict in accordance there- 
 with. 
 
 The large envelope which they found lashed securely to 
 the great pendulum contained three instruments or docu- 
 ments—the Last Will and Testament of Charles Michael 
 Haworth; a Statement made by Charles Michael Haworth; 
 and an Insurance Policy on the life of Charles Michael 
 Haworth. The Statement had been sworn to before a No- 
 tary Public (of course without his learning anything of its 
 purport) three days before Haworth’s death, and was to the 
 effect that he intended within a week to take his own life 
 and to do it by means of a mechanical contrivance which 
 he, and he alone, had devised and built for that purpose; 
 that no one but himself was in any way connected with, or 
 responsible for, this determination on his part, or involved 
 in its carrying out, for he had built the device with the ut- 
 most secrecy, locking himself into a room in the basement 
 of the house while at work on it, and allowing no one to 
 come near. His housekeeper, Mrs. Amelia Temple, had, 
 he stated, been aware of his labor in this room night and 
 day for nearly two weeks, though she could have had no 
 knowledge of the character of the work he was doing; and 
 the butler, James Dreek, could not have been aware that 
 anything of the kind existed, as he arrived after the com- 
 pletion of the machine and its sealing up inside the wall. 
 
 He then went on to speak of the property he was leaving, 
 mentioning the eighteen-thousand-dollar Insurance Policy 
 and the thirty-five thousand dollars which was to be paid 
 
366 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 him by the firm of Harker & Pentecost of New York, for 
 one of his inventions which the said firm had purchased— 
 “a combination gas and compressed-air engine.” Following 
 that was only a brief paragraph to the effect that a little 
 something might be realized from the sale of a few pieces 
 of machinery that were still in his possession—but nothing 
 worth writing down. 
 
 The statement ended with that, but he had written a few 
 lines on the margin three days after it had been signed and 
 sworn to. -““This is to say,’ he wrote in a hand without sign 
 of tremor (and it must have been only a few hours before 
 he reached in and set swinging that pendulum of death), 
 “that the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost have now paid what 
 was due me from them ($35,000) which amount (less the 
 sum of $500 that I have taken from it for a certain present 
 requirement), as it is in bills, and as Mr. Pentecost has cau- 
 tioned me that there is danger of robbery, I have had James 
 Dreek conceal in the stone foundation at the northeast cor- 
 ner of the barn in the rear of this house.” And to this 
 marginal memorandum he signed his initials. 
 
 The will was simple and brief. After payment of debts, 
 only two bequests. “To my faithful and beloved friend 
 Amelia Temple” was left the sum of five thousand dollars— 
 and the statement followed that all the money in the world 
 could not wipe out the debt he owed her. The rest of his 
 property went to Edith Carrington Findlay. 
 
 By this time you are likely to be aware that Mr. Hugo 
 Pentecost of the firm of Harker & Pentecost, Promoters, had 
 something to do with the unusual happenings in what might 
 be a trifle incorrectly spoken of as the Haworth Homicide 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 367 
 
 Case. I’m inclined to doubt, though, whether you quite 
 appreciate the extent of his work. To say that he was 
 behind every move in the whole affair comes near to putting 
 it mildly. 
 
 When, on his first visit to the mansion, he went down into 
 the basement with Charles Haworth and got an idea of what 
 the desperate and half-crazed young man proposed to do, 
 and the instrument with which he intended to accomplish 
 it, even he, a person never known to be disturbed by danger, 
 horror, or dilemma of any description, was near to the ex- 
 perience of amazement. This, though, didn’t prevent him 
 from jumping in at once and making an earnest effort to 
 dissuade the young inventor from carrying out his gruesome 
 enterprise. The realization that Haworth couldn’t be per- 
 suaded out of it—indeed, that he was in a mad frenzy to 
 carry it through if only for the insurance money—struck 
 Pentecost at about the same time that there flashed into his 
 mind a most extraordinary “operation” that could be carried 
 on in connection with it. A born adventurer and intrepid 
 explorer in the shady mazes of criminality, keen for danger 
 in unusual forms, to be baffled by unusual and skillfully 
 contrived defenses, with, of course, the chances of a good 
 haul to make it financially interesting, he was hardly the man 
 to throw down an unbelievably attractive proposition when he 
 had it in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Harker added his own protests the first time he was 
 at the house on Torrington Road. He watched his oppor- 
 tunity and got Haworth aside—for he didn’t want his part- 
 ner to know what he was up to—and did his best to induce 
 the young fellow to abandon the grisly idea that seemed to 
 have taken possession of him. 
 
€ 
 
 368 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 In the ordinary run of things, the only course left to the. 
 firm was to turn a person having such unlawful designs on 
 himself, over to the police. But this happened not to be in 
 the ordinary run of things. It was distinctly extraordinary. 
 Furthermore the firm alluded to wasn’t in the business of 
 turning unlawfully behaving citizens over to the police. 
 Quite and much otherwise. And the reason for this was 
 because it was composed of two conscienceless crime ex- 
 perts, one of them—the controlling member—a consum- 
 mate operator in strategic chicanery if there ever was one on 
 the earth. 
 
 Neither of the methods that Haworth had in mind for 
 profiting by the tragic act to which he was apparently driven 
 by some desperate need, had met the approval of Mr. Pen- 
 tecost. One was based on a life-insurance policy which the 
 young inventor had recently taken out, having, by inquiry, 
 found a company which was supposed to pay in such cases; 
 the other depended on the sale of a motion picture which 
 should be taken of the actual occurrence—showing not only 
 the operation of the machine, but, as well, depicting its 
 frightful consequence. But this master crook had declared 
 himself willing to give both these things a fair try-out and 
 with every advantage he was able to command, if the young 
 man would consent, in return, to have his own (Pentecost’s ) 
 extraordinary scheme go into operation. He would play 
 Haworth’s ideas to the limit, even though it involved the 
 taking of the picture himself—for he wasn’t going to let any 
 of his men in for a job like that. The ghastly situation 
 might send any one of them up in the air. 
 
 Mr. Pentecost’s scheme, which had struck him like a blow 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 369 
 
 while Haworth was explaining the working of the Machine, 
 concerned and depended upon the alleged spirits of the 
 dead, as known through and represented by persons who 
 called themselves mediums; and it took him into a field he’d 
 long desired to negotiate—one where the hunting, he hap- 
 pened to know, was exceedingly good. Furthermore, his as- 
 tounding method of handling the mediumistic output 
 involved, was beyond anything dreamed of before. 
 
 You are doubtless acquainted with the fact that informa- 
 tion concerning the lives and the families of more or less 
 prominent people who have made the crossing to the other 
 side—or who, for various undesirable reasons, are expected 
 soon to make it—is dealt in by a number of bureaus or 
 clearing houses for that class of goods. High prices are 
 paid by their customers (the mediums) for information of 
 value, and if the bureaus haven’t anything in stock as to the 
 life and characteristics of a person called for, they have 
 facilities for getting it without delay. 
 
 But this thing of Pentecost’s, although of a decidedly 
 Spiritistic nature, was by no means a matter of information 
 about dead people; on the contrary, it involved the sale to 
 mediums of information which dead people could get across 
 —through them—about the living, and under the most un- 
 usual circumstances. That’s where the great mercantile 
 possibilities came in, the operation of his scheme giving these 
 spirit communications such astonishing advertising value to 
 mediums who passed them through, that they’d pay almost 
 any price to get them—if they had it. In addition to this 
 price down (on delivery as you might say) he'd take—in 
 each case and for a limited time—a slice of the increased 
 business which was sure to follow. 
 
370 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 It would have been entirely possible to sell out his “spirit 
 information” in a lump to one of the bureaus, but by han- 
 dling it personally he could take advantage of the immense 
 increase in advertising value as the Haworth case attracted 
 more and more attention. 
 
 To give these “messages” or “communications” an enor- 
 mously high market value was the object of the entire op- 
 eration. What such value means to professional mediums 
 is realized by very few outside of spiritist circles. I’m re- 
 ferring, of course, to those who practise the methods alluded 
 to. It has been said that there are others in the spirit game 
 who go perfectly straight and have a great time believing 
 every word they say; but if such is the case I oe t know 
 where they live. 
 
 A regular—or professional—medium will sometimes make 
 a small fortune on one skillful (and lucky) performance. 
 To attract wealthy clients, preferably those who have been 
 hypnotized by the loss of those who are dear to them— 
 that’s the top of the game. And it’s the unusual—the ex- 
 traordinary—manifestations that do it. Taking this into con- 
 sideration, you will understand why the Pentecost messages, 
 before he got through with them, had run up into the twenty 
 and thirty thousands each. From asking three thousand in 
 Montreal, and six of Mrs. Belden in Boston, the price went 
 up by jumps of five thousand. This, together with the rake- 
 off on increased business for two years from every medium 
 in the game, put Harker & Pentecost nicely to the good— 
 even though quite vast expenses, including the Haworth 
 money, had to come out of it. 
 
 Using his gang of picked sharps (his correspondents you 
 might call them in the big cities) Pentecost could cull out the 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 371 
 
 mediums who had the money, and make his cash sales with- 
 out difficulty; this same gang also made prompt payment of 
 percentages as near a certainty as such things ever come. 
 Extraordinary experiences in misfortune would overtake 
 anyone in any town or in any part of the country who tried 
 to hold back on him. And they knew it. It was made strik- 
 ingly evident to them by the “agents” who, under instruc- 
 tions, engineered the sales and delivered the “‘spirit’’ messages 
 at the precise time required. 
 
 As to the vital matter of secrecy, no leakage could possibly 
 occur, for the very simple reason that there was nothing 
 to leak. Not a medium in the lot had the faintest idea where 
 “the goods” came from nor what was the manner of their 
 origination. Even had one of them known, it would hardly 
 have been cause for alarm; this owing to the fact that the 
 basic principle in their guild is the keeping of things dark. 
 
 Now you have the key to the whole affair. With it—if 
 you haven’t been picking the locks as we went along—you 
 gentlemen can let yourselves in on what the man was play- 
 ing for at any stage of the game; and how it came to pass 
 that everybody concerned—public, police, witnesses for the 
 prosecution, reporters, editors, spiritists, jurors, lawyers, 
 even the District Attorney himself, and the Chief Inspector 
 with his choice assortment of plain-clothes men, were danc- 
 ing for Hugo Pentecost according as he pulled the strings. 
 What was it if not that? Anyway, you have the facts—call 
 it what you like. And don’t imagine, when I speak of this 
 man’s scheme, that this consummate operator had a set and 
 rigid plan to be followed whether or no. On the contrary, 
 his arrangements were elastic to an extreme degree. If 
 you'll notice how it went, he played each part of the thing 
 
372 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 as far as it would safely go, and then pulled it back to the 
 
 line with a voice from the tomb, as you might say. Where 
 one of several things might happen he had substitute plays 
 for each, every one carried back to the safety point in what- 
 ever direction it went. Had old Mrs. Temple persisted 
 in her refusal to testify, notwithstanding the appealing spirit 
 messages he’d carefully planted, he was ready to work in 
 another witness to the murder, to Dreek’s being outside the 
 house at the time, and to his own presence in the room aiming 
 the terrible black object (which was, of course, the movie 
 camera) at Haworth as the poor fellow stood lighting his 
 pipe. If the head end trainman hadn’t remembered getting 
 him off the day coach at the Grand Central Terminal in New 
 York, and had failed to recognize the boots he had shoved 
 off the seat so many times, there was a waiter at the lunch 
 counter of the restaurant on the lower level who would 
 answer all purposes, owing to his (Pentecost’s) unusual be- 
 havior while getting a cup of coffee at that place. 
 
 The extreme importance of wrecking the alibi at the time 
 required, caused him to deal it two simultaneous smashes, 
 either one of which would have done the trick—barring acci- 
 dent. The boots might not have been kept in the Lost Prop- 
 erty Department of the Eastern Steamship Lines, Inc. On 
 the bare chance of their having been thrown away, Opera- 
 tor’s License 2026 would bring the chauffeur into the case; 
 up to then he could have had no idea that his fare to 
 Boston on that fateful night was Hugo Pentecost. If 
 Augustus Findlay had failed to take his revolver with him 
 as he plunged madly away from the house, the fight in Col- 
 lamore Street almost directly under Mr. Rathbun’s window 
 would have gone on just the same; the only readjustment 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 373 
 
 being that Pentecost’s man would have picked up the gun 
 wherever Findlay dropped it—whether at the mansion or on 
 the road—and brought it along, making it appear in the 
 struggle that he got it away from the terrified boob; so there 
 it would be, finger marks and all, ready to shove up in the 
 water conductor. And if you imagine that it was any kind 
 of an accident when Mr. Pentecost tipped up his pocket 
 flashlight and gave the old woman a glimpse of his face as 
 she came toward him in the pitch-dark room just after the 
 Machine had done its deadly work; or that the roller shades 
 being not quite down was a matter of chance; or a hundred 
 and one things like that, call it off and take a new start. 
 
 I saw it troubled both you gentlemen when that carefully 
 constructed alibi began to crumble. The first thing that 
 occurred to you must have been an inquiry as to why all the 
 trouble and ingenuity expended on planting it, if an old pair 
 of boots or an operator’s license was going to throw it down. 
 But your second thought was undoubtedly quite different, for 
 unless I’m mistaken, you soon realized that not only was 
 that fake alibi one of the most effective advertising nuts for 
 the spirits to crack, but vastly more important than that, it 
 was the veritable backbone that was to hold up the entire 
 Pentecost operation. Without it they’d have picked him up 
 that same night or early the next morning, and the mediums 
 ——with the possible exception of Mr. Ernest Everett Blatch- 
 ford of West Philadelphia—wouldn’t have had any play 
 at all. 
 
 If you’re financially minded, it might seem unbelievable 
 that two such seasoned sharps as Harker and Pentecost 
 would let a thirty-five-thousand bundle of bills go out of their 
 hands with the chance against them that the Machine might 
 
374 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 not function or that Haworth wouldn’t stand up to the grisly 
 game he’d set himself to play. It wouldn’t be at all surprising 
 if the young fellow, when he got right up against it, were 
 to go mad; indeed, both partners had a notion he was half 
 there already. But do you notice that this money never did 
 go out of their hands—that, as the crucial time approached, 
 Pentecost had Dreek outside the house where he could in- 
 stantly seize on it at a signal from inside—and that he himself 
 was inside? 
 
 But neither this nor the taking of the motion picture ac- 
 counted so much for Pentecost’s presence in the room at the 
 crucial moment as the absolute necessity of his being seen 
 there by a competent witness in order to make the case 
 against him have the look of being incontestable. His trial 
 for murder was the final play, and he’d begun laying lines 
 for it at his very first interview with the Inspector, adroitly 
 behaving, on that occasion, in a manner calculated to awaken 
 the suspicion that he’d been connected in some way with the 
 crime, even though the alibi—at that time unshaken and to 
 all appearances unshakable—blocked any idea of his having 
 committed it himself. 
 
 I won’t go any further with small details as to Pentecost’s 
 methods of operation. But I’ll ask you to take it from me 
 that from the time he staggered—to all appearances a semi- 
 intoxicated coal heaver or something like that—into telephone 
 booth 19 at the South Station in Boston, just before 
 boarding the night train for New York, and calling up Pem- 
 berton Square (that is to say, headquarters) told the official 
 in charge that a man named Pentecost who was supposed 
 to have embarked for New York that afternoon on the 
 Steamer North Land had been seen near the Haworth house 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 375 
 
 just before the murder that evening, and suggested that it 
 might be a good idea to have the New York police verify this 
 on arrival of the steamer there (thus, as you'll see, making 
 his alibi official in a certain sense by bringing in the New 
 York detectives as witnesses to it), to the moment of his 
 having himself put on the witness stand and reciting his 
 fake statement before the court, his hand never for one in- 
 stant left the throttle. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, he found time, during that stress- 
 ful period, without personally appearing in the matter or 
 indeed ever meeting her, to have everything possible attended 
 to for Edith Findlay. All things tending to her comfort 
 and well-being were arranged for: a nurse brought from 
 the hospital to take care of her and manage everything about 
 the house; Augustus Findlay permanently eliminated by 
 having such a fright thrown into him that the entire continent 
 of North America was thenceforth relieved of his weight 
 upon it, with South America standing a good chance of equal 
 immunity; and finally (it was some weeks before the Pen- 
 tecost trial came on) her departure, with little Mildred and 
 two nurses, to one of the most highly recommended places in 
 the Austrian Alps. 
 
 At once after his acquittal Mr. Pentecost did his best—as 
 he’d promised Haworth he would—with the $18,000 life in- 
 surance and the more than gruesome “movie’’—which he had 
 himself taken. The former he succeeded in collecting after a 
 campaign of sharp practice devoted to it; the latter—as he’d 
 figured from the start—stood no chance with censors and 
 the inter-state people. He got a few thousand for it from 
 the “bootleggers” of padlocked films who smuggle them 
 
376 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 across state lines and put them in the “private show’ pro- 
 grams. These things, with the $51,000, and odd which was 
 Haworth’s share on his percentage of profits on the game, 
 more than doubled the total of deposits to the credit of Edith 
 Findlay in the bank which had been designated to take care 
 of her property. While no mention of this percentage was 
 made in the contract between Haworth and the firm, it was 
 one of those things that Pentecost would have paid though 
 it reduced him to penury. 
 
 When you say—as you’re more or less liable to if I give 
 you the chance—thaf this man was a surprising combination 
 of characteristics, you will have spoken the truth. Not quite 
 so surprising, though, when you come to reflect that every 
 man is that—more or less—if he has any characteristics 
 worth considering. 
 
 And while we’re speaking of it, it’s just as well for you 
 to know that the man was taking all this care of Edith Find- 
 lay’s interests—as well as of Edith Findlay herself, solely 
 and entirely because of Haworth. Something about the fel- 
 low had appealed to him in a peculiar way. 
 
 As the matter stood there was no possibility of Edith’s 
 ever knowing that the money coming to her—aside from the 
 insurance—was other than the amounts realized from the 
 sale of one of Haworth’s mechanical inventions. This was 
 shown by Haworth’s contract with the firm and by the re- 
 ceipt he gave for the cash payment, as well as implied in his 
 statement and will. The tragic truth of the matter, which 
 might have affected her disastrously both mentally and phys- 
 ically, as well as undoubtedly preventing her from touching 
 a penny of the inheritance, was safely locked up with the 
 firm of Harker & Pentecost. 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 377 
 
 ‘ For several months all went well. According to the doc- 
 tors there, Edith’s condition was improving. Then a cable 
 that was rather disquieting. A slight turn for the worse. 
 Probably only temporary. Must expect ups and downs. 
 
 This talk about temporary ups and downs was nothing 
 to Pentecost. He found, after some drastic searching, a 
 high-up specialist who would go over. He felt that an 
 American patient ought to have an American doctor. What- 
 ever you say, races are different and need different treat- 
 ment, 
 
 He met the doctor at the steamer on his return and they 
 had a talk in the latter’s cabin while the baggage was coming 
 off. The gist of the physician’s report was that while Mrs. 
 Findlay was in a much better condition as far as the disease 
 itself was concerned, and ought to go right on improving, 
 her present mental activity was holding her back. This had 
 not been the case heretofore, as the shock of the affair had, 
 in a certain sense, stunned her. For several months she 
 seemed hazy about it all, but-recently things were becoming 
 clearer to her, which was unfortunate. Everything was 
 being done to divert her mind, but it was an obstinate case— 
 she didn’t want it diverted. 
 
 “What does she want?” Pentecost inquired. 
 
 “Well—it amounts to this: She’s made up her mind to 
 die and so far there’s no shaking her determination.” 
 
 “T wish I had her here,” said Pentecost. 
 
 Two weeks after that a cable reached him signed by Edith 
 Findlay herself, begging him to come over as soon as he pos- 
 sibly could—utmost importance that she see him before the 
 end, which was near. 
 
 He was on the next steamer going out. 
 
378 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 Mr. Pentecost was sitting by the side of her bed. The 
 nurse had told her his name before he came in, but for quite 
 a time she couldn’t remember who he was or why he was 
 there. Perceiving this, the nurse came in from the adjoining 
 room and explained that it was the gentleman who'd been 
 so kind in attending to everything for her, and that he’d come 
 all the way from New York because she’d asked to see him. 
 
 “Oh, you—you came from America!” Her voice was 
 faint and far away. 
 
 He said -“‘Yes” softly. 
 
 The nurse had retired again to the next room. 
 
 “Did ” Edith glanced about searching for some one 
 —then her eyes came back to him. “Did he come with you?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “TIsn’t that strange!” She spoke Hardiy above a whisper. 
 “Oh, it is so strange! But he’s coming! He’s coming just 
 as soon as he sets up the machine and regulates it—that was 
 in the contract you know!” 
 
 “Yes Mrs. Findlay, but it'll take quite a while yet.” 
 
 “Oh, will it? It seems so long! I can’t understand yi 
 they keep him so long!” 
 
 “You mustn’t worry yourself about it.” 
 
 “Oh no—no, I mustn’t! But it does seem as if they’d be 
 through by this time!’ She lay quiet for a little—her eyes 
 closed. Then suddenly turning her head on the pillow she 
 looked at him again. 
 
 “How long did it take to get here?” she asked. 
 
 “Ten days, but I didn’t get a very fast steamer.” 
 
 “Yes, I see. Maybe he took a slow one. But I’m ex- 
 pecting him very soon now—very soon.” 
 
 She went on for a little, asking questions about the deten- 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 379 
 
 tion of the one she expected—the length of time it would 
 take to regulate the machine he’d sold—whether a fast 
 steamer would be leaving when it was finished, and other 
 fancies like that, to all of which Pentecost replied briefly and 
 in a low voice. He was waiting his chance. 
 
 She’d been lying back against the pillows, but rather sud- 
 denly in the midst of her questioning she stopped and sat up 
 erect in the bed, staring at him. “Oh ” she finally 
 breathed. “I thought you—I didn’t know——— Are you 
 Mr. Pentecost ?”’ | 
 
 “Yes, Mrs. Findlay.” 
 
 “They—they said so, but I didn’t seem to ne 
 glanced about, thinking; then her eyes were fixed on him 
 again. “You were so good to come,” she whispered pain- 
 fully. 
 
 He saw that the merciless memories were coming back to 
 her. 
 
 “You—you can be such a help to me—if you will—such a 
 help! It’s something that ” She broke off, and raising 
 her head a little from the pillow, glanced at the door into 
 the nurse’s room. ‘Would you shut it, please?” 
 
 Pentecost carefully closed the door—then returned to his 
 chair by her side. 
 
 “I want to ask you to do something for me, Mr. Pente- 
 cost—because—you see—they think I’m going to get well— 
 but it isn’t so—no,” (shaking her head a little on the pillow) 
 “it isn’t so.” 
 
 Pentecost sat looking at her with a peculiar glint in his 
 prominent eyes, but said nothing. 
 
 “T tell you,” she went on after a momentary pause, “be- 
 cause you—you’re the only one I can trust.” 
 
380 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Where did you get that idea?” 
 
 “He told me. It was in a letter he left. He said you 
 were his friend, the only friend he had except the old 
 woman who took care of him, and that I must trust you in 
 everything.” : 
 
 “In view of this, Mrs. Findlay, tell me in what way I can 
 be of service?” 
 
 “Mr. Pentecost, what will become of my little Mildred?” 
 
 “It strikes me” (in a suddenly sharp, penetrating voice) 
 “you’re the one to answer that.” 
 
 She looked at him in amazement. 
 
 “I?” she finally asked in a faint voice. 
 
 “Who else?’ he inquired. “Aren’t you the one who’s pro- 
 posing to abandon her?” 
 
 “Abandon !” (With a slight gasp.) “Why —— 
 How You don’t mean i 
 
 “Well what would you call it?” | 
 
 “No—no—no! Oh, wait! Let me tell you!” (With all 
 her earnestness she could hardly do more than whisper.) 
 “Oh, I couldn’t stay—I don’t want to!” She shook her head 
 a little on the pillow. ‘“He’s gone—gone! The thought of 
 it is killing me. I want to go. I want to be where he is!” 
 
 “How do you know where he is?” Pentecost’s voice cut 
 in like a knife. 
 
 She stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 “My religion tells me that, Mr. Pentecost,”’ she whispered, 
 reverently. | 
 
 “And does this religion of yours omit to tell you where 
 your daughtef is?” 
 
 “Oh yes—yes !—that’s why 1 wanted to see you. That’s 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 381 
 
 9? 
 
 why I——” She broke off and glanced distressfully about 
 the room. 
 
 “You seem to have made up your mind to leave her,” Pen- 
 tecost observed. 
 
 Edith was silent. 
 
 “Aren’t the living of some consequence,’ he went on, “or 
 is it only the dead we have to consider ?”’ 
 
 “No no—that’s wrong! I hadn’t forgotten her! Oh, how 
 can you think such a thing, when it was about her that I 
 wanted to see you—just about her—nothing else!” 
 
 “What can J do?’ 
 
 “T hope—I hope you'll consent to take her—to take care 
 of her! I don’t know who else to ask—and he told me to 
 trust in you—about everything. If I can only know she'll be 
 with you I shall die happy!” 
 
 Pentecost suddenly turned and blazed out upon her—some- 
 thing as he used to do in the Chicago days when he leaped, 
 tigerlike, on a victim in the witness stand. 
 
 “What is it to me whether you die happy or not! What- 
 ever I can do in this affair I’m doing on account of someone 
 else—not for you Mrs. Findlay! You cut no figure with 
 me—why in God’s name should you? I’ve never laid eyes 
 on you before—and now I come to see you it looks to me like 
 a cursed low-down play you’re making, that while I’m doing 
 my best to carry out everything he wanted, you’re lying here 
 doing your best to block his game! That’s just what you’re 
 doing, Mrs. Findlay,—pitching the fulfillment of his most 
 vital wish into the discard!” 
 
 “Why I Why you She couldn’t go on. 
 
 “Look, then—look at this! The one thing in the world he 
 wanted money for—the reason he was mad and crazy and 
 
 39 
 
382 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 demented to sell his machine and get it, was so he could send 
 you here and do everything on earth to save your life! He 
 lived for that—nothing else—it was the one thought that 
 possessed him! He made a will to make it certain that—if 
 anything happened to him—the money would be used for 
 that and nothing else. And after all this—which you know 
 as well as I do, I come over here and find you deliberately 
 throwing away all he worked for and hoped for and—for 
 all I know—prayed for. Of course if you’re bound to go 
 against it I'll do what I can about the child—though God 
 knows the little one needs you. It all rests with you, Mrs. 
 Findlay. The head medical sharp that came over, tells me 
 it isn’t the disease that’s killing you—it’s yourself. He says 
 you've made up your mind to die—you’re determined to do 
 it—and that play’s certainly going to take the trick if you sit 
 in the game long enough. It’s up to you to quit that if you 
 want to do the right thing by the dead and by the living.” 
 
 Pentecost rose and took her thin little hand in his. “T’Il 
 say good-by, Mrs. Findlay,” he said in an altered tone. 
 “They'll keep me informed” (motioning toward the nurse’s 
 room) “of which way the cards fall, and I’ll act accordingly.” 
 
 As he reached the door he thought he heard her call to 
 him faintly, and went back to see if it was so. She was look- 
 ing up at him as he stood by the bed, and tried to speak— 
 but only her lips moved. He bent nearer to catch what she 
 said. 
 
 “Tl try,” she whispered. 
 
 He took her hand again. 
 
 “There’s some sense to that Mrs. Findlay,” he said; and 
 after looking down into her eyes a moment he laid her hand 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 383 
 
 back on the coverlet where he’d found it, and quietly left 
 the room. 
 
 It was still early enough to get the afternoon train out— 
 which he did. 
 
 A few days short of a month after Mr. Pentecost’s brief 
 visit to the Austrian Alps, he walked, one wintry afternoon, 
 into the office of the firm, having come direct from a trans- 
 Atlantic steamer—just docked. Wasting no more time on 
 salutations than he usually did—which was precisely none at 
 all, he quickly got Harker into the small inner office—some- 
 times referred to by the staff as the dissecting room—and 
 after pushing him into a chair and drawing one for himself 
 close to it, began talking to him in tones that were subdued 
 to the limit. 
 
 - “We’re moving the office to London,” he said, “—and in- 
 side of twenty-one days. I’ve got something I want to put 
 on over there. I'll need most of the office force—especially 
 Finch Dugas—and I’m taking eleven of the boys.” (By 
 which he meant his “trusties.”’) 
 
 “What's the matter,” Harker inquired; “can’t you play 
 it with the natives?’ 
 
 “You're dippy! Hasn’t the Yard got their numbers?” 
 
 “Sure—the Yard’s got everything. And take it from me 
 if you’re going up against that layout you’ve got to watch 
 your step and then some!” 
 
 “Now, Roxy—you’ve hit on the one thing that’s doing the 
 pull on me. As I was over on that side I thought I’d come 
 home by way of London and take a look around. While I 
 was doing it a little something crossed my mind that looked 
 to me as if it might interest em. That being so, we play it.” 
 
284 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 “Don’t say we. Maybe you'll play it, I don’t know; but 
 if this London scheme you’re pulling off is one of your 
 favorite flirtations with the undertaker, I declare myself out 
 of it here and now. I can get myself nicely hung in the 
 U. S. A. without going abroad for it—and I’d just as soon 
 patronize home industries.” 
 
 “Not a killing to it I give you my word,” Pentecost assured 
 him. ‘We play a corpse for two or three moves, but it’s 
 handed to us—no chance of a line across—they’ll have the 
 guy that did it. Now every one of us comes in from differ- 
 ent places—I go round and get across from Stockholm—you 
 and Dugas make it from Rio—plenty of time as you don’t 
 play in till near the finish. Kennedy makes it from Hol- 
 land—” and he went on laying out the “game” with Harker 
 to the uttermost detail. 
 
 Three days later Pentecost (but not as Pentecost) em- 
 barked on a Swedish-American Line steamer. Harker was 
 at the dock getting final instructions (of course he was going 
 in on it as Pentecost knew he would), and there was a vast 
 lot of things to do in a limited time. 
 
 The two stood talking on the pier, hidden by piled-up. 
 
 crates and boxes, yet only a short distance from the gang- 
 plank so that Pentecost could go on board at the last moment. 
 When they had about finished up matters connected with the 
 London “operation,” Harker happened to think of something. 
 
 “Oh—by the way,” he said; “how was that lady you went 
 over to see?” ; 
 
 “Not so well,” Pentecost muttered in a way that suggested 
 aversion to talking about it. 
 
 But Harker, not affected by this, cheerfully pursued the 
 subject. 
 
 / 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 385 
 
 “Going to die?” he asked. 
 
 “Had it all fixed to.” (Speaking very shortly.) 
 
 “Who? Who do you mean had it fixed?” 
 
 “She did.” 
 
 “Oh—lI see—she wanted to.” 
 
 “Yes, and her wanting was doing it. The doctors were 
 hunting some way to shake her up, and left it to me. So I 
 went in and gave her a jolt or two that might change her 
 mind.” 
 
 “What did you say?” 
 
 “Anything I could grab off the line.” 
 
 “Then she’s going to get well, is she” 
 _ “How the hell do I know?” 
 
 Pentecost had put an end to the subject with that, but — 
 after a silence of some little time, he went on,—and Harker 
 took notice of a most unusual softness in his voice. 
 
 “D’you know what I’d do, Hark, if I had it to do again— 
 that is, if I knew what it was that was eating him?” 
 
 Harker—surprised at his tone—kept his eyes on him for 
 the answer. 
 
 “T’d ’a’ framed that Findlay soak for a twenty-year jack 
 in a nice cool cell, and then staked those two out in the moun- 
 tains—or wherever it was she had to go.” 
 
 “T thought you did know.” 
 
 “Not till too late. It was in a letter he left for me with 
 Jamie Dreek.” 
 
 The two stood looking at one another. 
 
 “Well,” said Harker after a brief silence; feytint s the 
 good of post mortems ?” 
 
 Pentecost nodded. ‘“‘What’s the good?” he arenes 
 
386 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
 
 A moment later he was hurrying on board, and with that 
 came the end of this “Pentecost Episode.” 
 
 I take the lberty of adding a brief state- 
 
 io ment, 
 THiMcG 
 
 Dudley sat smoking heavily and abstractedly after Mr. 
 Barnes had finished a few business details with me, and after 
 shaking hands with both of us, had gone. I was to take a 
 night express for New York, as my time was up. We'd just 
 got it in on the ten-day limit. | 
 
 I saw that Duds had something on his mind—puffing away 
 at his pipe and staring down at the floor—so, as there was 
 plenty of time before my train I let him alone. He looked 
 up at me after a wink, in the manner of rousing himself. 
 
 “D’you know who that was that just went out?” he asked. 
 
 “What ?-—Oh !—Why Barnes of course!” 
 
 “No.” He shook his head. “Not Barnes of course, but 
 some one else of course. I’ve been keeping a few tabs on 
 the man that’s been telling us all this stuff, and there’s four 
 things—with a possibility of five—that no one on earth could 
 know but Hugo Pentecost.” 
 
 “Good Lord! ... Why... then you think ——” 
 
 “That’s it—I think—But I’m going to make sure. He’s 
 in town yet. I'll drop you a line tomorrow.” 
 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 387 
 
 The “line” reached me a couple of days later. 
 
 “It was Pentecost,’ was the statement it began with. And 
 went on: “That is, I mean it was the man that was—he’s 
 something else now. He’s in business abroad, and taking a 
 steamer from here. His agent (or ‘trusty’ if you like) is 
 going to get the manuscript from you when you write it out. 
 Take my advice and put in all this at the end of the thing. 
 It needs some sort of a finish, and this might do. If he 
 doesn’t like it he can cut it out when he gets the proof—and 
 you can bet he’ll get it. 
 
 “Couldn’t make him tell the sort of an enterprise he’s on 
 over there—says maybe he will sometime. 
 
 “Tt seems the girl—Edith Findlay—is making a slow re- 
 covery. I asked him how the book would affect her if she 
 got hold of it, and he said it wouldn’t do her any harm by 
 then. ‘And by God!’ he went on, ‘it’s just as well for her 
 to know—now she’s able to stand it—that such a man as 
 Charles Michael Haworth went happily and eagerly to his 
 death, so that she might live. You'd think she might run 
 through her life on that, and ask for nothing more. But 
 probably not.’ ” 
 
 THE END 
 
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 “The author has lived among the great folk of the world, and has 
 written in a way to give the reader a glimpse not only of herself and 
 her illustrious husband but of their times. This we believe is the ideal 
 autobiographical method and that pursued by autobiographers who 
 have lived. Mrs. de Koven is a charming raconteur.”—Musical Leader. 
 
 MY LIFE AND TIMES 
 By JEROME K. JEROME 
 
 Of this fascinating story of the life of the famous author of ‘‘The 
 Passing of the Third Floor Back” and ‘‘ Three Men in a Boat” Richard 
 Le Gallienne says: ‘‘This very companionable book of memories will 
 the more endear him to his many friends. It is full of humanity, good 
 sense and good fun, and it is admirably written with the ease of a born 
 causeur.”” 
 
 PORTRAITS AND PORTENTS 
 By A. G. GARDINER 
 
 The distinguished author of ‘‘War Lords” and ‘Priests, Prophets 
 and Kings”’ here presents a striking series of pictures of contemporary 
 celebrities. The editor for nearly twenty years of the London Daily 
 News, A. G. Gardiner has had unusual opportunities for intimate 
 contacts with leaders of opinion and action, not only in England, but 
 all over the world. 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS 
 Publishers Since 1817 New York 
 
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