s 
 
 A REVELATION 
 
 E 
 
 Y ?
 
 ;7iaj.t,aiiai3ii'ieit,>;.it^iii'^ju.:i 
 
 ^iii2::is«2.'Siia:iiia^ - 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 a
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A REVELATION 
 
 BY 
 
 ? 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SKEFFINGTON & SON, PICCADILLY 
 pubUsbers to "to./lD. "Cbe Queen an^ to Ib.tR.lJ. Ubc prince of "CClalcs 
 
 1897
 
 Ml 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The meeting that evening of the Chicago 
 Historical Society was a great success. The 
 ever interesting — nay, exciting — subject of the 
 authorship of Shakespeare's Plays and Poems 
 had been discussed after the reading of a 
 paper by Mr Geoffrey Courthope. The great 
 Donnelly himself, the ingenious author of T/ie 
 Great Cryptogram, had made out a strong 
 case, founded on premises, the truth of which, 
 if admitted, rendered it unassailable ; but he 
 had been answered in due course by an anti- 
 Baconian. When the motion was put from 
 the chair, twenty-one voted for it and nineteen 
 against, and the fair fame of William Shake- 
 speare would have received the endorsement 
 of the Chicago Historical Society, when the 
 Major arose in his place and explained his 
 
 pQ'r»/>r)Hr
 
 2 Sbaftcspeare 
 
 desire to put on record that, when he gave 
 his vote, he was under the impression it was 
 with the Noes and not, as it had since been 
 explained to him, with the Ayes ; and the 
 question, so far as Chicago and the rest of 
 the world are concerned, still remained un- 
 settled. 
 
 When the meeting broke up, Geoffrey 
 Courthope and a couple of his friends left 
 together, and, at the invitation of the former, 
 finished the evening at his pleasant bachelor 
 mansion in Michigan Avenue. Courthope 
 was unmarried and very rich. He was, more- 
 over, twenty-five years of age and all alone 
 in the world; for his devoted parents had left 
 him the legacies of a sweet nature, a studious 
 mind and many millions of dollars. He still 
 ■retained the first, and his mind he had further 
 stored by learning ; but his fortune might have 
 been seriously affected if it had not been so large, 
 for he had a hobby, and hobbies are expensive. 
 His was Shakespeare ; and Geoffrey's mind was 
 fully receptive to the beautiful, and keenly 
 sensitive to the philosophy and humanity of 
 the Poet and Playwright. 
 
 During his Harvard College course he had
 
 SbaF^espeare 3 
 
 fallen in love with him to the adoration point, 
 and in his more matured years he had studied 
 and analysed him as few students of Shakespeare 
 had done. One form of his passion took shape 
 in the desire to possess early editions and 
 literary memorials of the Poet and his contem- 
 poraries, and a goodly library was the result. 
 If a relic of the poet could be obtained, no sum 
 was too large for Geoffrey to give for it — and 
 such relics, remotely or nearly associated with 
 the beloved object, accumulated in Geoffrey's 
 possession, until a museum of more or less 
 veracious memorials had been formed. He 
 had made two pilgrimages to Stratford, and 
 would have brought back to Chicago the house 
 in which Shakespeare was born, and the Hath- 
 away cottage at Shottery, if his money could 
 have bought them. 
 
 He was indeed an enthusiast, and would have 
 remained true to his idol but that the critical 
 faculty in him raised doubts in his mind re- 
 garding the true authorship of the Poems and 
 Plays. He directed his mind to analysis. He 
 read all the works of all the authors, critics, 
 commentators and cavillers on the subject. 
 New renderings of obscure passages and Words
 
 4 Sbaftespeare 
 
 were familiar to him. He sought for mean- 
 ings apart from manifest and plain renderings. 
 He had many theories and was unsatisfied. 
 
 Let us go back to the three friends at 
 Geoffrey's house. 
 
 ' The Shakespeare mystery remains as im- 
 penetrable as ever,' said Harber. 
 
 ' Why imagine a mystery at all ? ' was the 
 reply. ' Surely it is enough that his works come 
 to us with his name attached as the author, 
 and why dispute the statement ? There is 
 no mystery whatever, my dear fellow. Depend 
 on it, Shakespeare wrote them, and there's an 
 end of it.' 
 
 ' Apart from what Donnelly told us to- 
 night,' said the third, ' I am firmly convinced 
 that no other than Francis Bacon could have 
 been the author. It is simply by the exhaus- 
 tive process that I have arrived at this ; for 
 no other author or writer of the Elizabethan 
 age was capable of it.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Geoffrey, ' in comparing the 
 well-known works of Bacon with those so-called 
 of Shakespeare, no resemblance is found ; in 
 fact, the style of Bacon is indicative of the 
 man solid, judicial and penetrating, without
 
 Sbaftespearc 5 
 
 fancy or wit, and certainly free from the play- 
 fulness of the other author, whoever he may 
 have been. Bacon is a philosopher of another 
 stamp, and the difference between him and 
 the other as demonstrated in their works is 
 so great — so divergent — as to incline one to 
 think that Bacon never wrote a line of true 
 poetry in his life.' 
 
 ' We heard to-night,' his friend replied, 
 ' ample argument to convince us that the man 
 Shakespeare personated the true author. In 
 these days of progress we want something more 
 than tradition as an aid to truth ; and in the 
 meagre remains of the Burgess of Stratford, 
 who was silent for fourteen years, there is 
 nothing whatever to indicate him as the Poet 
 of the Human Race, and as the greatest literary 
 character the world has ever known.' 
 
 And so, with argument of a like kind, they 
 discussed the matter far into the night ; and 
 when Geoffrey slept, after the departure of his 
 friends, he dreamed of searching for the truth 
 amid obstacles which baffled and difficulties 
 which retarded — a knight-errantry on a literary 
 field of battle — a quest for the Holy Grail, of 
 a kind suitable to the needs of the nineteenth
 
 6 Sbal^espeare 
 
 century and found it not. Curiously inter- 
 mingled with the thread of his dream was 
 always a fair face, which smilingly seemed to 
 encourage him in his labour and to beam on 
 him with those looks of love, seen by him in 
 his daily life, perhaps, but to which before this 
 he had never responded. 
 
 Geoffrey rose the next morning to the 
 routine of work he had, with singular method, 
 defined for himself. In his library, surrounded 
 by his books, he wrote for several hours, always 
 on the same subject — his beloved Shakespeare 
 — debating on old theories, starting new ones, 
 following elusive hypotheses and conjectures 
 to find himself lost in mazes and intricacies 
 which landed him where he had started from. 
 But frequently his dream occurred to him, and 
 the face of the sweet girl therein. What did it 
 mean ? Was it of the peerless Miranda, the 
 lively Silvia, the youthful Juliet, or of another 
 of Shakespeare's heroines.^ He could not say. 
 At times he thought he had seen it before ; or 
 was it in the spirit, perhaps, a reminiscence of 
 the past, a being perchance beyond the pale 
 of this life, or an anticipation of the future.'' 
 It was puzzling, yet pleasing ; and while the
 
 Sbaf?espeare 7 
 
 face would persist in recurring to his mind's 
 eye to the point of disturbance of his mental 
 calm, he regretted it not, for he fancied that in 
 this experience there might be some telepathic 
 indication of an early meeting with its owner. 
 
 In his intimate knowledge of his beloved 
 author he had given such attributes to his 
 heroines as their sweet and euphonious names 
 had suggested to him ; and those who have 
 pondered over those names will understand 
 the full and perfect meanings conveyed by 
 such musical words as Portia the stately, Jessica 
 the yielding, Beatrice the sparkling and quick- 
 witted, the aristocratic Olivia, the love-laden 
 Viola ; and who is not in love with Rosalind, 
 not only for her beauty and charm, but also 
 for her sweet name ? 
 
 Geoffrey had sought and obtained from the 
 brush of an artist of European reputation 
 delineations of such beautiful women, but how 
 far short of Geoffrey's ideals he alone knew. 
 
 And his library was a veritable storehouse of 
 Shakesperian lore ; not only all the editions 
 of the master published in more modern 
 times, but, with some rare and valuable folios 
 ot the seventeenth century, there were volumes
 
 8 Sbaftespeare 
 
 yielding up the sources, perhaps, of Shakespeare's 
 inspiration, such as the Essays of Montaigne, 
 Camden's Remains^ Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 
 Holinshed's Chronicle, Sydney's Arcadia, Chaucer 
 and Plutarch. In addition, were to be found 
 every Life and every controversial work of 
 modern days on the absorbing subject of the 
 authorship itself. It was veritably a Shake- 
 spearian Library, and its studious owner was 
 never happier than when, within the seclusion 
 of its walls, he was far apart from the outer 
 world of busy Chicago.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Chicago was indeed busy, for the World's 
 Fair had just been inaugurated, and the 
 splendid show, imperfect but yet beautiful, 
 was advancing, with the summer season, to its 
 maturity of form and colour. Already thou- 
 sands of visitors had arrived from the Home 
 Country and from afar. Geoffrey, as a pro- 
 minent and rich citizen, had not declined to 
 take a part in the inception and development 
 of some of its features, and his ideas and 
 suggestions had been adopted in those instances 
 where his known good taste and regard for 
 aesthetical beauty were sought to be employed. 
 He thus was frequently called upon to visit 
 the park in his semi-official capacity, and 
 while fulfilling the pleasant task of assist- 
 ing in the realisation of the dream of the 
 architect, the artist and the musician, he had 
 
 9
 
 lo Sbafiespeare 
 
 many opportunities of observing people, and 
 of forming conclusions regarding them. His 
 vivid imagination had full play among the 
 varied types of humanity attracted to the 
 World's Fair. He was not surprised to 
 learn that his guesses at truth were correct 
 among the commonplace crowd, but here and 
 there he was startled to find the ability he 
 possessed, or believed he possessed, to discover 
 the unmistakably good or the unquestionably 
 evil in man, irrespective of race or nationality. 
 It was a bright day in June, and the build- 
 ings and thoroughfares of the Exhibition 
 grounds were crowded with visitors. A vary- 
 ing succession of sightseers of many nationalities 
 passed in and out, to and fro, and the hum 
 of men filled the air. Suddenly an unusual 
 agitation seized the crowd, and the cry of 
 Fire ! was followed by a movement, undecided 
 at first, but soon directed towards the scene 
 of the conflagration — one of the large, beautiful, 
 but fragile, structures which adorned the park. 
 It had been on fire but for ten minutes — the 
 brigade of firemen were fighting the flames, and 
 tons of water were being pumped on to the 
 building. There were doors of exit ; and the
 
 Sbaftespeare n 
 
 people within had been pressing, panic-stricken, 
 through them until the passages were blocked 
 by the shrieking crowd. It looked like an 
 impending great calamity, whereby hundreds 
 would be sacrificed. At this critical time 
 Geoffrey arrived on the scene, and discovered 
 that, if more means of outlet were not at once 
 made, there would indeed be a direful 
 tragedy. 
 
 Remembering that the building was less 
 solid than it looked, he headed a party of men 
 who, at his instigation, and with the axes they 
 carried, attacked its wooden sides, and soon 
 made a breach through which poured the ex- 
 cited crowd of men, women and children- 
 Geoffrey was standing on a ledge above the 
 people shouting directions to them, while the 
 approaching fire in the rear seemed to render 
 their escape more unlikely. While the 
 struggling mass was pressing forward — a 
 veritable sauve qui pent — the weaker trampled 
 on by the stronger, and men forgetting 
 their manhood in the struggle. Geoffrey could 
 see on the edge of the crowd a party of three 
 — a woman and two men supporting her. A 
 flash of reminiscence lit up his brain. The
 
 12 
 
 Sbal?espearc 
 
 woman — who was she? And amid the lurid 
 smoke, with a background of flame, he saw the 
 face of the lady of his dream. Could it be 
 possible ? Nay, more, there was something like 
 a recognition in the momentary glance as their 
 eyes met. What could it mean ? Just then 
 Geoffrey detected a movement in the crowd 
 which enabled him to render assistance to the 
 girl and her friends, and in less time than it 
 takes to tell it, they found themselves in the 
 open air and in safety. 
 
 With a thrill of joy Geoffrey drew them 
 away through the working firemen, the cordon 
 of police and the outside crowd. 
 
 Naturally modest, and with the fine sense of 
 not wishing to force his company on them, he 
 would have retired, and yet felt reluctant to 
 leave the side of the girl, whose face filled him 
 with a strange and novel feeling of association 
 and sympathy. He raised his hat, and with the 
 commonplace remark, ' I trust you are all right 
 now,' was about to depart, when the elder of 
 the two men exclaimed, ' Thanks to God and 
 to you, my daughter and I have been saved 
 from an awful death ; ' and the younger one 
 joined in with, 'And I also owe a deep debt of
 
 Sbal?espeare 13 
 
 gratitude to one whose name I would ask, that 
 I may know who my rescuer is.' 
 
 Whatever sense of embarrassment he had 
 felt was thus dispelled, and Geoffrey glanced 
 towards the girl whose soft look of gratitude 
 and something like invitation, if one might 
 use so strong a word, encouraged him to answer, 
 ' I am Geoffrey Courthope, and am only too 
 glad to have been in the park to-day to have 
 assisted in helping you all out of a very un- 
 pleasant fix. And now, sir,' said Geoffrey, 
 ' Let us exchange confidences, and tell me 
 who you are.' 
 
 ' My name is Layton,' the other replied, 
 * and this, Mr Courthope, is my daughter Doris, 
 who, if she is silent, feels, 1 know, very grateful 
 to her gallant rescuer. We are from Melbourne. 
 This gentleman, who also owes his life to you, 
 will, I feel sure, join us in thanking you.' 
 
 ' I am grateful to you,' the other replied. 
 ' I am Sir Henry Richmond, and I hail from 
 London, where, if Mr Courthope ever finds 
 himself I shall do my best to improve the 
 friendship which has commenced in this un- 
 looked for way.' 
 
 And thus were brought together by the
 
 14 Sbaftespeare 
 
 decree of fate, or In obedience to the law which 
 had been set going from the beginning of 
 things, these four persons, whose after lives 
 were intertwined and commingled for the end 
 and purpose of elucidating a great mystery and 
 for the enlightenment and profit of mankind.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 James Layton (as Geoffrey afterwards learnt) 
 was a merchant who had made a fortune in the 
 Australian trade, and was wise enough to know 
 when he had enough of wealth. So he had left 
 his great business and his successful specula- 
 tions, and while yet in middle age deemed it a 
 healthier, and certainly, to a man of his tastes 
 and affections, a more ennobling pursuit, to 
 travel with his only child, with the intention of 
 eventually making a home in England. He 
 was a widower ; his much-loved wife had been 
 taken from him after a few short years of 
 cherished companionship, leaving to his care 
 their daughter, the sole remaining object of 
 her father's great love — and Doris was al- 
 together worthy of her parent's affection. She 
 had grown into womanhood, as beautiful in 
 
 mind as in person. Of a sweet and tender 
 
 15
 
 i6 Sbaftcspeare 
 
 nature, her father's love had shielded her from 
 every care ; and now, at the age of nineteen, she 
 was a bright and lovable woman, of a happy 
 disposition, yet with a trace of seriousness in 
 her face which fitly became its dark and dreamy 
 beauty. She was tall and, by strangers, might 
 have been considered cold, but not so by those 
 who had the privilege of her friendship, who 
 knew something of the depths of her nature — 
 of the warmth of her affection, and of her 
 bright intelligence and sound common sense. 
 She had been well and healthily educated ; her 
 thoughts were innocent, and her day dreams 
 were maidenly, with a hint of something akin 
 to poetry and romance in them. Those who 
 looked into her dark eyes could see, if they had 
 the power to read the truth, the sweet and 
 candid soul imprisoned and waiting for its 
 deliverer — a Sir Galahad, or, perhaps, a Sir 
 Lancelot (who could tell ?) — who would release 
 it and impart to it the knowledge which as 
 yet it had not acquired. As for Sir Henry 
 Richmond, his history may soon be told. A 
 young Englishman of large estate, who had 
 inherited his baronetcy, his good physique 
 and his intellectual capacity from his father.
 
 Sbaftespeare 17 
 
 He had been educated in the usual way 
 of Englishmen. From Eton he passed to 
 Cambridge, and took, a good degree there. 
 His predilections were mathematical, and his 
 pastimes were of the athletic order. He was 
 in the first Cricket Eleven, and was not un- 
 distinguished on the river. He was called 
 from College to witness the death-bed scene 
 of his father. He fell naturally into the 
 routine of the life of an English country 
 gentleman. 
 
 The head of his family, he lived at his 
 country seat, presided over by his mother 
 with some amount of state, and certainly 
 with dignity. He rode and shot well, but 
 apart from the exercise afforded by the one, 
 and the obligations which the other pursuit 
 required of him, he was not particularly de- 
 voted to horses or to the slaughter of birds. 
 He was of studious habits, and was more 
 often to be found in the splendid library of 
 Fleckton Hall, among its books, than in the 
 park, among its noble beeches. Poetic and 
 sentimental in tastes, the river, which ran for 
 miles through his estate, claimed more of his 
 
 attention, for he loved the mild excitement of 
 
 B
 
 1 8 Sbalf^espeare 
 
 trout fishing (the contemplative man's delight), 
 and the quietude of natural objects fed his 
 mind with sympathetic and sweet sugges- 
 tions. 
 
 This poetic nature had a tinge of melancholy 
 in it, and a leaning to mysticism, with a desire 
 to pierce the veil of the unknown — to pry 
 into the mystery of life and of the future of 
 the race — not so much by scientific treatment 
 as from the side of sentiment and feeling. The 
 elucidation of occult meanings, and the observa- 
 tion of phenomena appearing on the border- 
 land of being, occupied his mind. He 
 recognised the reign of unalterable law, 
 while he was a devout believer in the 
 special guardianship and love of the Omniscient 
 Lawgiver. 
 
 Henry Richmond, in the course of his 
 omnivorous and desultory reading, had studied 
 the works of Shakespeare with enthusiasm, 
 and found in them not only the delight which 
 arises from contemplating the beautiful, but 
 much of hidden meaning which appealed to 
 the mystic side of his nature. As ' adventures 
 come to the adventurous,' so proofs of his 
 peculiar aspect of things readily came to his
 
 Sbaf^espeare 19 
 
 hand in his search for them in the pages of 
 the Poet of the Human Race ; and he revered 
 Shakespeare as a prophet with a message to 
 man to be revealed at the time appointed.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The Laytons had only intended to remain in 
 Chicago for a few days on their way through 
 from San Francisco to Europe — for they had 
 chosen the longer route from Melbourne, by 
 way of Japan and the sea voyage across the 
 Pacific, in order to take the World's Fair on 
 their way ; but the meeting, under such excit- 
 ing circumstances, with Geoffrey Courthope 
 brought about a much longer stay. That 
 young gentleman, with true American hospi- 
 tality, insisted on doing the honours of the 
 city, and would, if he could have had his 
 way, have put them all up at his beautiful 
 house. As it was he had to be content with 
 the company of Sir Henry, in whom he soon 
 found a kindred spirit. The two men had 
 
 similar tastes, and had each travelled much 
 
 20
 
 Sba??e5peare 21 
 
 about the world. Sir Henry was then mak- 
 ing his way to Guatemala and the Central 
 American region, his curiosity excited by the 
 description given him of the ruined monu- 
 ments of a forgotten race buried in the thick 
 forests of the interior. His desire was to 
 translate the hidden secrets and ancient 
 mysteries which might be contained in the 
 wondrously carved stones of the ancient 
 temples and monuments. Geoffrey, bent upon 
 the solution of a more modern, but equally 
 puzzling, problem, felt a strong sympathy for 
 his new friend. Many evenings, before bed- 
 time and after it, the two men interchanged 
 ideas until it appeared probable that Geoffrey, 
 fascinated by Richmond's account of the pos- 
 sibilities contained in the Central American 
 forests, would accompany him there. Never- 
 theless, there were two influences at work, 
 slowly at first, but with added strength as 
 the days went by, which not only effectu- 
 ally checked such desire on Geoffrey's part, 
 but stopped altogether Richmond's intended 
 journey to Guatemala and caused him to 
 turn towards the opposite direction. 
 
 Geoffrey's conversation on the Shakespeare
 
 2 2 Sbaftespeare 
 
 problem had highly interested Richmond. 
 New views on the subject of the true author, 
 confirmed by his own intimate knowledge of 
 his works, somewhat undermined his faith in 
 William Shakespeare and whetted his appetite 
 for more information on the special subject 
 which, up to now, had not excited much of 
 his attention, while Geoffrey felt that the 
 more he saw of the delightful Doris Layton 
 the more his inclinations induced him to 
 court her society ; and what more agreeable 
 way of doing so than by accompanying her 
 and her father to England, with the osten- 
 sible object of another visit to Stratford-on- 
 Avon to search further for such materials 
 or evidence as he might find — a clue to which 
 he believed he had obtained. Sir Henry's 
 growing interest in the new subject, and his 
 belief that he could render valuable aid to 
 his friend, decided him to prolong his stay 
 in Chicago, and, finally, to give up his 
 original intention and to accompany him to 
 England. 
 
 Geoffrey had taken upon himself the disposal 
 of the time of his new friends while they were 
 in the city. He planned and carried out many
 
 Sbaftespeare 23 
 
 agreeable excursions and visits. But outside 
 the World's Fair there was little to be seen ; 
 so as the weather was pleasant, and their own 
 company decidedly the most agreeable, they 
 left the crowded city, first travelling westward 
 over the Illinois prairie lands to Rock Island 
 on the Mississippi, and embarking on one 
 of the high-pressure steamboats, peculiar to 
 western rivers, for a trip to St Louis and back. 
 On their return to Chicago they went up the 
 lake in Geoffrey's steam yacht as far as 
 Mackinaw, at its northern extremity, and as 
 the summer was now advanced, this water 
 journey was also a success. 
 
 The hospitality of the American, and his 
 desire to be of service to his friends, were 
 profi^ered in such a pleasant and delicate 
 manner as to preclude the possibility of 
 refusal. Remonstrance only produced from 
 Geoffrey the assertion ' That he would not 
 at all object to being taken about in the same 
 way when he visited them in England, and 
 that it was natural he should seek to make 
 their stay in the States as agreeable as possible.' 
 The result was that they accepted the situation 
 and enjoyed themselves fully, mentally assuring
 
 24 Sbakespeare 
 
 themselves of the impossibility of sufficiently 
 reciprocating the young American's atten- 
 tions. 
 
 As the acquaintance of Doris and Geoffrey 
 ripened, they became mutually attracted to 
 each other. She expanded under his atten- 
 tions, which were offered with delicacy and 
 refinement, were so unmarked as to be quite 
 unnoticeable by others, but in her secret soul 
 she felt (yet was innocent of the cause) a 
 growing sense of pleasure arise, which might 
 hereafter blossom into love. 
 
 It would almost seem that Geoffrey possessed 
 a special perception which enabled him to 
 anticipate her desires, and she also found 
 within herself an ability to divine his thoughts. 
 They were, in fact, mentally en rapport from 
 the very first, and probably their minds acted 
 and re-acted upon each other when they 
 were apart, as well as when they were near. 
 This power, call it by the scientific name 
 of psychology, or the more modern term 
 telepathy, probably accounted for the vague 
 and mysterious sense of a previous know- 
 ledge of each other, which had taken the 
 shape, in Geoffrey's case, of the dream-face
 
 Sbaftespeare 25 
 
 he beheld the night previous to the fire, and 
 in her recognition of Geoffrey, on the same 
 occasion, as of one whom she also had seen 
 before.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The graceful Winona^ steaming swiftly north- 
 ward through the early morning haze, parting 
 the waters of Michigan with her sharp prow, 
 was a sight to gladden the eye of a yachtsman. 
 Of about 150 tons burthen, with raking masts 
 and funnel, overhanging counter and faultless 
 lines, she was acknowledged to be the hand- 
 somest and swiftest boat on the great lakes. 
 As the sun rose higher, its rays lighted up the 
 scene, showing the only land in sight, the green 
 shores of Wisconsin on the left, with here 
 and there a town or village, the tin-covered 
 roofs of the houses glinting in the sun. On 
 the blue waters of the lake, and through the 
 golden haze, were seen floating the picturesque 
 sailing boats waiting for the wind, and now 
 
 and then the noisy and ugly propellers of 
 
 26
 
 Sbaftespeare 27 
 
 cargo steamers churning their way to their 
 destinations. 
 
 The first to appear on the saloon deck was 
 Geoffrey, who glanced around, first towards the 
 shore, to make out the position of the Winona, 
 and then at his ship, with pardonable pride. 
 Soon a quiet smile of content appeared on his 
 handsome face, and a softened look was in his 
 eyes. He felt happy — very happy. He pos- 
 sessed health, youth and wealth, and his dark- 
 eyed Doris was near him, to whom as yet he 
 had made no further declaration of his feelings 
 than by signs which might have touched lightly, 
 as a zephyr touches, the sensitive soul of the 
 maiden. 
 
 Henry Richmond joined his friend, and they 
 paced up and down, drawing in the fresh morn- 
 ing air with enjoyment. 
 
 ' Tell me something,' said Richmond, ' about 
 our port of destination, this Mackinaw — a name, 
 by-the-bye, of no means pleasant sound — Indian, 
 I suppose. You Americans have retained some 
 very sweet survivals, such as Erie, Ontario, 
 Illinois, Wisconsin, Winona and so forth; but 
 Chicago, Milwaukee, Oshkosh, Osaukie, Paw- 
 tucket, Mackinaw, are indefensible. Who was
 
 28 Sbaftespeave 
 
 poor Tucket ? And was his poverty a reason 
 that he should be remembered ? ' 
 
 ' At least,' said the other, ' such names are 
 infinitely better than the names that might have 
 been Jacksonville, Tompkinsville or Red-dog, 
 and hundreds of others neither beautiful nor 
 useful. Probably these ugly names may have 
 their effect upon the people who reside in such 
 afflicted places; and if, by chance, a child born in 
 one of them were to develop into a genius it 
 would be an unpleasant fact for his biographer 
 to admit that the subject of his memoir was 
 born in the town of Red-dog.' 
 
 ' Probably,' said Richmond, ' the influence of 
 names on individuals has not yet received due 
 attention. To me, names convey indications of 
 character as well as personality. Richard gives 
 me the idea of a weak man, fair and small ; 
 Robert is strong, dark and robust; and who 
 can tell but that a name given to a child may 
 influence his career ? Or, it may be, that cause 
 and effect are reversed, and in obedience to 
 some unknown law the name has been given 
 to the child because the after man could be 
 none other than strong or weak, dark or 
 fair. Consider feminine names : the stately.
 
 Sbaf?espeare 29 
 
 dark and languorous Eleanor; the lively, fair 
 Beatrice — and her name reminds me how aptly 
 the names of Shakespeare's heroines fit their 
 characters and personalities. The genius of 
 the Poet applies here as well as elsewhere, for 
 he could not have done otherwise than appro- 
 priate beautiful names to his beautiful women. 
 Do you know the name of Lady Macbeth ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Geoffrey. 
 
 'You won't find it in the play. It was 
 Gruoch, a distinctly harsh name, though suit- 
 able to a murderess. But Shakespeare has made 
 her sufficiently abhorrent without introducing 
 the further painful fact of her unlovable name.' 
 
 ' But how about the exceptions ? I have 
 known a Lily five feet eleven high, one hun- 
 dred and sixty pounds in weight, and with a 
 Roman nose ; a Juno — her father is a pork 
 packer in my native city — who is thin to 
 transparency, very much under the middle 
 height, and possesses an absolutely expression- 
 less face. The cook of the Winona is one of 
 the numerous Washingtons.' 
 
 ' I treat your exceptions in the usual way ; 
 besides, Washington suggests one of the cook's 
 employments.'
 
 30 Sbal^espeare 
 
 ' Or, in other words,' said Geoffrey, ' all 
 Washingtons should develop into statesmen or 
 cooks.' 
 
 By this time Mr Lay ton had ascended from 
 his stateroom and joined the others. He re- 
 marked, — 
 
 ' I don't know how it may affect your ex- 
 tremely learned arguments, but I once knew 
 a romantic couple, a Mr and Mrs Rose — his 
 horticultural name may have been one of the 
 reasons why she married him — whose first 
 children, twin girls, the parents in the excess 
 of their romanticism named Wild and Briar. 
 When the boys came they also had appropriate 
 names. One, I remember, was Marshal Niel. 
 The neighbours suggested Dog for the fifth 
 boy, but the name was not appreciated. How- 
 ever, I am only concerned with the fortunes of 
 the elder of the twins. When she grew into 
 womanhood and beauty everyone said, " What a 
 delightfully suitable name," and Wild Rose was 
 sought in marriage by young Mr Astor — no 
 relation to the millionaire, for he was a clerk in 
 a dry goods store at thirty shillings a week. 
 Still everyone said, " How delightfully suitable. 
 Wild Astor, you know." Then Mr Bull, the
 
 Sbaftespeare 31 
 
 rich contractor, came along and married her, 
 with a result which I leave you to guess — 
 whether or not her new name influenced her 
 disposition I cannot say, but Mrs Wild Bull 
 has, I hear, displayed a violent temper ever 
 since her marriage.' 
 
 Whatever other stories Layton, Richmond 
 and Geoffrey might have had ready for the 
 occasion were stayed by the announcement of 
 breakfast, and the three adjourned to the saloon, 
 to find Doris already there with her morning 
 greeting — affectionate for her father, frankly 
 friendly for Sir Henry, and friendly, with some 
 amount of shyness, for Geoffrey. She presided 
 at the breakfast table by right, and soon the 
 conversation was resumed in the half-serious, 
 half-humorous style as before. 
 
 ' We have been discussing a very serious 
 question on deck,' said Layton to his daughter, 
 ' and probably you can assist us. Richmond 
 maintains that names influence character, and 
 Courthope says that character influences names. 
 You may dissent, Courthope, and perhaps I 
 have not got it right, but you will admit 
 you disagreed with Sir Henry. They each 
 gave some fine proofs ; I only told them a tale.'
 
 32 Sbaftespeare 
 
 ' Before Miss Layton gives us the benefit of 
 her opinion,' said Sir Henry, ' it is only fair 
 to let her know something more about the 
 matter,' and he went over it briefly for her 
 benefit ; but he got much mixed and, somehow, 
 found himself ardently advocating the other 
 side of the question. 
 
 Geoflrey ventured to interpose, and was 
 promptly sat on by Richmond and Layton, until 
 the meeting was called to order by Doris, who 
 said, ' This important subject seems to have been 
 misunderstood altogether. The point has been 
 missed of the meaning as well as the sound in 
 names. A name may be pretty to the ear, 
 while its meaning may be unbeautiful, or a 
 sweet - meaning name may be ugly in sound, 
 therefore, if you will kindly re-argue the case 
 with this in view, whatever attention I can 
 spare from my breakfast I will give to it.' 
 
 ' O wise young judge, how I do honour 
 thee ! ' murmured Geoffrey. 
 
 This new view of the case broke up the 
 discussion, and other subjects were introduced. 
 An adjournment took place to the deck where, 
 under an awning, they ranged themselves in 
 chairs and lounges. Geoffrey pointed out the
 
 SbaMespeare 33 
 
 various objects familiar to him. The high- 
 banked passenger steamers passed. Flags were 
 dipped and whistles blown in salute to the 
 graceful Winona. The weather was delightful, 
 and nothing marred the pleasure of the journey. 
 As their time was their own, they called in 
 at more than one port on the Wisconsin shore, 
 or, what was more delightful, steamed at half- 
 speed through the starlit night and made a 
 veritable summer voyage of it. 
 
 The close relationship which the circum- 
 scribed limits of a yacht induced between the 
 voyagers developed an increased warmth of 
 friendship and esteem. Layton exhibited a 
 heartiness and humour which added much to 
 the good spirits of the party, and his tales 
 of adventure and success in the Colonies 
 were always welcome. He regarded the two 
 younger men with equal interest and affection. 
 As a man of worldly knowledge, he fully 
 understood the possibilities included in their 
 association with his daughter ; but he felt that 
 one day she would surely fulfil her mission as 
 a woman, and if either of his two friends, who, 
 to his mind, were equally meritorious, should 
 be lucky enough to become his son-in-law, his
 
 34 Sbaftespeare 
 
 Doris would indeed be happy. When such 
 thoughts came to him, he remembered his own 
 brief happiness, and he felt that she who had 
 made those few years so full of peace and love 
 would approve of his conduct. 
 
 As yet he saw in Doris no sign of pref- 
 erence for either ; but there was one of the 
 party who, with a perception rendered more 
 sensitive by an incipient desire of his own, 
 felt, rather than saw, signs of the growing 
 sympathy between Doris and Geoffrey. It was 
 Sir Henry, who, with a fine sense of honour, 
 repressed any growing sentiment he possessed 
 in favour of the friend to whom he owed 
 his life. His bearing was that of a Preux 
 Chevalier in thought as in deed.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Approaching the higher latitude of the head 
 of the lake, the Winona neared the Michigan 
 shore, which is of a more rugged character 
 than the western side, and steamed slowly up 
 the coast towards the Straits. Our party 
 were as usual assembled on deck, in lazy 
 enjoyment of the fine weather — the men 
 smoking, Doris reading a book and occasion- 
 ally joining in the conversation. She had 
 selected Shakespeare from the yacht's library. 
 She found it to be annotated in writing, 
 which she suspected was that of Geoffrey 
 Courthope ; and he was not loth to admit 
 the fact. She was a ready and appreciative 
 listener, and her clear and receptive mind 
 absorbed and understood his explanations. 
 
 He told her of his admiration for the 
 
 35
 
 36 Sbaftespeare 
 
 works, and the interest he took in the eluci- 
 dation of their authorship problem, and soon 
 attracted the attention of the others, who 
 joined in to form an intellectual symposium 
 in which serious controversy was tempered 
 with jokes. No theory was too absurd. 
 Attack and defence changed sides. The really 
 profound knowledge of the subject possessed 
 by Richmond and Courthope was admirable. 
 Parallelisms were discussed, and an attempt 
 was made to prove logically that Shakespeare 
 never existed, but that, if he did, he, and 
 not Bacon, must have written the Novum 
 Organum. 'The Great Cryptogram was cited ; 
 and Layton undertook to give, by the same 
 method, a history of the voyage of the Winona 
 from the Play of Hamlet^ and so the ball 
 was kept rolling. 
 
 Doris was as usual regarded as the judicial 
 authority, and her mind was much exercised 
 by what she heard. Beneath the surface of 
 the subject there appeared a vein of significant 
 circumstance which aroused her curiosity. The 
 treatment of the matter was new to her, and 
 savoured of irreverence. With a desire for 
 information, she ventured to say, —
 
 Sbaftespeare 37 
 
 ' It would indeed be desirable to clear the 
 character of Shakespeare from the charge of 
 literary fraud, and prove the falsity of such 
 attacks. Shakespeare and his poetry are 
 so associated that it is painful to me, as 
 it must be to thousands, to be disillusionised, 
 or even to have the slightest doubt cast on 
 his fame.' 
 
 ' If ever the true author be discovered,' 
 said Geoffrey, ' it will be but the transference 
 of your admiration, Miss Layton, to a more 
 worthy object.' 
 
 'And when such discovery is made, if 
 it ever will be,' said Sir Henry, ' the irrita- 
 tion of the mind, caused by suspicion, will 
 pass away, and we shall be free to venerate 
 the author with a full and complete assurance 
 that our worship is given at the true shrine.' 
 
 ' I don't share your views,' said Layton. 
 ' I am satisfied to have my Shakespeare with- 
 out being curious about the author. It's a 
 matter of indifference to me who wrote 
 Shakespeare — whether it was he, Francis 
 Bacon, or anyone else. I think It was 
 Charles Lamb who said, " The Plays of 
 Shakespeare were not written by Shakespeare,
 
 38 Sbaf^espeare 
 
 but by another man of the same name." It 
 is all the same to me.' 
 
 'But you must admit, papa, you would 
 not encourage a fraud.' 
 
 ' Ah ! now you've got me. You have 
 awakened my slumbering sense of justice ; and 
 if your Shakespeare turns out to be the 
 wrong Shakespeare, I will have him prose- 
 cuted according to law.' 
 
 ' Or public opinion,' said Richmond. 
 
 ' Fiat justitia, etc,' said Geoffrey. 
 
 ' What a noble quest it would be,' said 
 Doris, ' to find out the truth ! ' 
 
 ' We will do it,' chorussed the men. 
 
 ' How ? ' said Doris. 
 
 ' That remains to be hereafter decided,' 
 remarked the chorus. 
 
 'Dinner is ready,' said the chief steward; 
 and they went down to the saloon.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The Winona was safely moored alongside the 
 wharf at Mackinaw Island that evening. 
 
 It was carried unanimously by our friends 
 that they should go ashore and inspect the 
 place there and then, especially as the starshine 
 was unusually bright. The village presented few 
 attractions. The noble Red Indian was repre- 
 sented by a few dilapidated and degenerate 
 specimens, who offered for sale beaded mocca- 
 sins and other useless articles as their own 
 work ; but they were probably turned out and 
 distributed from some factory in the States 
 at a much cheaper rate of production than 
 would have been possible by the Indian Squaw. 
 Such are the benefits of centralisation. They 
 went through the principal street and back 
 
 again. 
 
 39
 
 40 _ Sbaftespeare 
 
 ' Mackinaw is deficient in beauty,' said 
 Layton. 
 
 'Except when the Winona is here,' replied 
 Richmond. 
 
 Leaving the village, they ascended the hill 
 at the back. The path led to the Fort, about 
 two hundred feet above the lake. Once upon 
 a time Mackinaw was in the wilderness, beyond 
 the limits of civilisation, and a frontier fortifica- 
 tion had been built for defence against the 
 Indians. On the delimitation of the boundary 
 line between the Dominion of Canada and 
 the United States the Fort of Mackinaw was 
 retained en garde as a defensive work, with a 
 company of United States troops in camp ; but 
 our friends met no one on the road. The 
 evening was calm and still. The bright, 
 beautiful stars above seemed nearer than usual : 
 their light passed through the pure air so 
 brightly that one might have read by it. Fire- 
 flies and glowworms showed brightly their 
 phosphorescent sparks, and, as a contrast, the 
 country away to the south was lighted up by 
 the red-and-yellow flames of a great forest fire. 
 Soon the friends passed the postern gate of he 
 Fort, and were much surprised when the
 
 challenge of the sentry reminded them that they 
 were trespassing. The guard turned out and 
 surrounded the party. The Commandant ap- 
 peared with due military severity at the possi- 
 bility of a Canadian raid ; but this changed to the 
 most polite and amiable manner when he found 
 out who his visitors were. The guard was 
 then turned in again, and the Fort made free 
 to our friends. 
 
 This little episode was the source of much 
 amusement, and an invitation to the Com- 
 mandant to dinner the next day on the Winona 
 having been proffered by Geoffrey, and duly 
 accepted, the party took their leave. 
 
 Doris and Geoffrey this time led the way up 
 the hill. Its steepness hardly suited Layton 
 and his fifty years ; and rather than mar the 
 pleasure of his friends he suggested they should 
 continue their walk and he would sit by the 
 pathside until their return. 
 
 Richmond declared he also was tired, and 
 would remain with Mr Layton ; and it may be 
 said that if the former were not strictly 
 truthful in his remark it was from no selfish 
 cause. So Doris and Geoffrey went on alone. 
 
 The circumstances making up the lives of
 
 42 Sbaftespeare 
 
 men and women are due to external causes, or, 
 as a Dutch philosopher illustrated it, 'We are 
 so many cheeses rolling down a hill.' Some 
 arrive safely at the bottom, some come to an 
 untimely end in the beginning, some in the 
 middle of the descent, others unite, with more 
 or less cohesion, and travel together to the end. 
 The roundness of the cheeses, the gradient 
 of the hill, the obstructions, stones, ruts and 
 roughnesses of the path, are so many influences 
 at work ; and the contact of two cheeses coming 
 together, with a touch and effect, varying from 
 the soft alighting of a butterfly on a flower, 
 to the force and consequence of an earthquake, 
 is a more or less good illustration of one of the 
 most important events in the lives of men 
 and women. It may be observed that cheeses 
 are round — that is, circular, not necessarily 
 spherical — and that cheeses represent the classes, 
 from the lordly Camembert down to the 
 plebeian Gouda ; but they are all going the 
 same road. These conscious cheeses, impelled 
 by environing forces, move, act and have their 
 being. Some are thoughtful, and ask them- 
 selves and each other questions about the 
 journey and their destination ; others philo-
 
 Sbaftcspeare 43 
 
 sophise, and conclude that, although the journey 
 is down hill, there is surely rest at the bottom. 
 There may be those who say, ' We will take a 
 course of our own,' and may vainly think they 
 are directing themselves ; but the result is the 
 same : they break down on the way, or arrive at 
 the end like the others. But the hill of life 
 and the human cheeses, and the law of gravita- 
 tion they obey, are the creation of Immortal 
 Providence. 
 
 Doris of Melbourne and Geoffrey of Chicago 
 walked side by side, with the novel feeling that 
 they were alone. There was an acute sensitivity, 
 or receptive ability, in each which required no 
 word expression. They were silent. The night 
 was beautiful and without sound, except what 
 an acute ear might have detected in the sub- 
 worlds of life. The odours of the pine forest 
 scented the air, and the stars looked down with 
 gleaming eyes. But a few weeks ago they were 
 strangers, and now, through fine filaments, less 
 materialised than thought itself, they spoke 
 their love. By a process of the soul they com- 
 prehended each other. Their footsteps ended — 
 she with downcast looks, he seeking through 
 lids, and eyes beneath, down into her being for
 
 44 Sbaftespeare 
 
 a sign, until the tension was too much to bear, 
 ' Doris, sweet Doris ! ' he murmured ; and she, 
 in a voice like the impression given by a tender, 
 delicate colour, whispered back his name.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The tranquillity and happiness of our friends 
 on board the IVinona were increased by the 
 new relationship of Doris and Geoffrey, Mr 
 Layton, regarding the matter from a parental 
 point of view, made no secret of his pleasure, 
 stipulating for as much of his daughter's love 
 and society as heretofore — at least, for some 
 time to come. Richmond offered his con- 
 gratulations with the warmth of a brother, 
 and with a wee bit of feeling in a corner of 
 his heart that, while the momentous event was 
 the accomplishment of his dearest wish, the 
 ' what might have been ' would have made a 
 great difference in his life. But he suppressed 
 the thought with the loyalty of a chivalrous 
 man. 
 
 After a few days stay at Mackinaw, to take 
 
 45
 
 46 Sbaftespeare 
 
 in coal and supplies, it was decided to run 
 through the Straits into Lake Huron and take 
 a peep at the dominions of Her Majesty, 
 Queen Victoria. So, passing the entrance of the 
 St Marie river, which leads up to Lake Superior, 
 they coasted the great Manitoulin Island, and 
 sought on its tree-fringed shores a spot on 
 which to land. The Winona was stopped 
 opposite the mouth of a creek. The cutter 
 was manned, our friends were rowed to a 
 shelving beach, and a landing was effected. 
 The rugged character of the island, its immense 
 pine forests and its sombre appearance, well 
 becomes the horror in which it was held 
 in olden times by the Indian tribes. They 
 regarded it as the abode of spirits and avoided 
 it. If driven, by stress of weather, to land 
 thereon, they sought to propitiate the Manitou 
 by offerings of articles of clothing, which they 
 hung to the trees. The belief in spiritual 
 existence is the universal primitive religious 
 motive. It may be explained naturally, but 
 it is none the less providential in its origin 
 and development. 
 
 However, the dreary character of the place 
 did not affect the spirits of the party. A
 
 Sbaftespeare 47 
 
 likely spot was selected, and an impromptu 
 picnic was proceeded with. Mr Layton built 
 the fire with sticks found by Geoffrey in the 
 -pine woods, Richmond brought water from the 
 creek, and Doris made the tea. With Shakes- 
 pearian thought intent, some resemblance was 
 discovered to Prospero's Island. They could 
 fit in the surroundings ; and as for themselves, 
 there were Miranda and Prospero. Geoffrey 
 was naturally Ferdinand, by virtue of his new 
 condition as lover of Doris ; but what part was 
 there for poor Henry Richmond ? He was too 
 solid for Ariel, and much too well-built and 
 good-looking for Caliban. While they were 
 merrily discussing the matter, out of the woods 
 came an interruption in the form of a hunter, 
 with his rifle and dogs, who, when he saw the 
 party, made his way towards them. He was 
 attired in serviceable clothes, suitable to the 
 rough work of the forest. His muscular form 
 and sunburnt face and hands denoted endurance 
 and a life in the open air. As he approached, 
 he lifted his cap with well-bred courtesy, and 
 mutual greetings passed. At a glance it could 
 be seen he was English and a gentleman. It 
 is not the custom of the woods to be too
 
 48 Sbal^espcare 
 
 ceremonious, and Geoffrey invited him to join 
 them. 
 
 ' What sport have you had ? ' said Layton, 
 as a natural opening to conversation. 
 
 ' I have shot nothing this morning,' rephed 
 the stranger, ' and am on my road back 
 to camp. From the high land I saw 
 your boat put off, and made my way down 
 to the shore, curious to know the object of 
 your arrival. I have been away from civilisa- 
 tion for so long a time that I could not 
 resist the temptation of coming to you. This 
 is my excuse,' 
 
 ' It is not needed,' said Layton. ' The 
 solitary life of a hunter in this uninviting 
 island needs some change, and we quite 
 understand your feelings.' 
 
 Doris handed a cup of tea to the guest 
 — his plate was filled — and the conversation 
 was taken up by Sir Henry, who had been 
 regarding the stranger with a puzzled ex- 
 pression, when a sudden illumination of 
 memory lighted up his face. He said, — 
 
 ' Your living on this island will make 
 your return to England all the more enjoy- 
 able. The contrast between the shady side
 
 Sbaf^espeare 49 
 
 of Piccadilly and the Manitoulin woods must 
 give you a hankering after the less rugged 
 life of the west end.' 
 
 ' Yes,' was the rejoinder. ' I feel cut off 
 from associations which have their delights ; 
 but the open air and independence are pre- 
 ferable.' 
 
 'Yet,' said Sir Henry, 'a rubber at the 
 Marlborough, or Polo at Hurlingham, are 
 pleasant ; and knocking over the cock 
 pheasants in the coverts at Fleckton, and 
 landing a three-pound trout from the river 
 there, are pleasures not to be despised.' 
 
 ' Richmond, I see you recognise me,' said 
 the stranger ; ' but let my secret remain with 
 you.' 
 
 Richmond for answer grasped his hand, 
 and addressing his friends, said, ' Let me 
 apologise for this demonstration. I have 
 found in this gentleman a friend whom I 
 thought I might never see again. His 
 voluntary exile is caused, as I and his 
 friends know, from a mistaken sense of duty 
 on his own part. I can say no more ; but 
 I feel that the circumstances which have so 
 cruelly told against him will be set right,
 
 50 Sbaftespeare 
 
 and he will return to his proper position in 
 society.' 
 
 'And until they are — ' replied the stranger, 
 ' for I shall not lift a finger or speak a 
 word to alter them — I shall remain here, or 
 in some other place, far from the world 
 which has chosen to condemn me. I also 
 apologise for this painful scene. Believe me, 
 if I had known that Sir Henry Richmond 
 was among you I should not have intruded, 
 although the happiness of meeting him and find- 
 ing that he does not doubt me is great indeed. 
 
 ' I beg,' said Geoffrey, ' you will put your- 
 self at ease. A single word of my intimate 
 friend Richmond is enough. Whatever mis- 
 fortune has overtaken you, I believe you do 
 not deserve it, and I beg you will look 
 upon me as being honoured by your presence 
 to-day. Will you come with us ? My yacht 
 has room for you, and we shall be return- 
 ing at once.' 
 
 ' I am indeed grateful,' was the reply, 
 ' but I cannot, and Sir Henry knows the 
 reason of my inability ; but, believe me, I 
 am very thankful for your generosity and 
 the kindness you all show me.'
 
 Sbat^espeare 5^ 
 
 And when the cutter went off with our 
 friends, and the Winona steamed away, they 
 waved adieu to the solitary figure on shore, 
 and wondered whether they would ever see 
 him again.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 The voyage back to Chicago was pleasant, but 
 uneventful. The Winona re-passed the Straits, 
 coasted the Michigan shore, visiting some of 
 the towns on the way, and crossed over to her 
 port of Chicago. 
 
 It was natural that Doris and Geoffrey found 
 increased delight in each other's society, and 
 the close association of ship-board brought them 
 nearer together ; but they were unselfish enough 
 not to mar the pleasure of the yachting voyage 
 by devoting themselves entirely to their new 
 position as engaged lovers. Mr Layton and 
 Sir Henry Richmond had their full share of 
 attention, and many were the pleasant discus- 
 sions held by the four friends before the voyage 
 ended. The beautiful weather, their high 
 spirits, the happy engagement of Doris and 
 Geoffrey, brought about a condition in the 
 
 52
 
 Sbakespeate 53 
 
 three younger members of the party nearly 
 approaching enthusiasm, while the older, Mr 
 Layton, felt a sober joy at the good 
 fortune that was happening to render his 
 life peaceful and contented. He even 
 became as enthusiastic as the others on the 
 subject of the Shakespeare problem ! The 
 stores of knowledge possessed by Geoffrey and 
 Sir Henry were opened, and Doris imbibed in- 
 formation which she was prompt to receive and 
 utilise. Her love for Geoffrey and her interest 
 in the problem inclined her towards adherence 
 to the inquiry which, in a grand council, was 
 determined on. Their leisure and their wealth 
 would give them opportunity and time — and 
 what could not be done with these, supported 
 by their sincerity and ardour ? But in what 
 direction should they work ? When they 
 arrived in England they would formulate a 
 practical line of discovery. At present all was 
 vague, and they only were aware of their ardent 
 hopes and expectations. 
 
 Said Geoffrey ' Everything associated with 
 Shakespeare — his Plays and Poems — the limited 
 references of his contemporaries, the few concrete 
 memorials left of him, have all been worn thread-
 
 54 Sbaftespeare 
 
 bare by examination, and the hunger for informa- 
 tion has not been appeased. The most search- 
 ing investigation into his life has produced many 
 volumes, but the most meagre results ; and such 
 facts as have been unearthed relating to his 
 father, his children and his occupations, negative 
 the assumption of his claims as the learned 
 creator of the Plays and Poems. Is it possible 
 for the author of Hamlet to have allowed his 
 daughter to go through life ignorant of reading 
 and writing ^ And yet Shakespeare's daughter 
 Judith was in such condition. This fact alone 
 throws discredit upon the inference that William 
 Shakespeare was himself a man of extraordinary 
 learning, or of that great humanity such as the 
 author of the Plays must have been. Indeed, 
 the scholarship of the true author is the chief 
 argument against William Shakespeare's claim. 
 Ben Jonson says, "He had little Latin and less 
 Greek." Yet the Comedy of Errors is in a 
 great measure taken from the Menxchini of 
 Plautus, and there was no English translation 
 as old as his time ; therefore, the writer of the 
 Comedy of Errors was a Latin scholar, which 
 Shakespeare was not. Besides, the author was 
 acquainted with Italian and French, and it is
 
 Sbafiespeare 55 
 
 absurd to suppose that Shakespeare's education 
 included the acquisition of these languages. 
 The evidence of these facts is made abundantly 
 clear by the writers of Shakespeare's life, among 
 whom Halliwell Phillipps stands foremost. 
 His Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare is 
 a wonderful monument of the author's zeal, 
 and contains absolutely everything known of 
 Shakespeare, his family and his works.' 
 
 ' I have read the book,' said Richmond, ' with 
 admiration, and I have also read Donnelly's 
 Great Cryptogram^ which, apart from the 
 mysterious and fantastical cipher narrative in 
 the second volume, is a remarkable and pains- 
 taking argument in favour of Francis Bacon 
 as the true author. I think he goes far to 
 disprove Shakespeare's claim, but not far 
 enough to prove that of Bacon. When it is 
 remembered that the great Chancellor's con- 
 trolling desire was self-advancement at all risks, 
 that he took bribes, that he debased his position 
 as a judge by selling judgments, and was guilty 
 of acts which drew upon him from Pope the 
 unenviable distinction of being the " meanest 
 of mankind," it is, to say the least, extremely 
 improbable that he possessed the nobility of
 
 56 Sbaftespeare 
 
 thought, the purity of sentiment and the genius, 
 which touches the heart while it inspires the 
 soul, possessed by the true author,' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Doris, ' it must have been he 
 — for, by the exhaustive process, if it were not 
 Shakespeare, then who but Bacon could it have 
 been ? There was no one else in the sixteenth 
 century capable. Marlowe, Spenser, Jonson, 
 Raleigh, all lived at the time ; but none of them 
 were capable of such greatness.' 
 
 ' Perhaps, who knows,' remarked Lay ton, 
 ' some unknown author may yet be discovered, 
 who lived in poverty and died unknown, 
 labouring for a pittance, coining from the 
 mint of his brain the golden thoughts which 
 move and thrill the hearts of men for all 
 time.' 
 
 ' The same idea has occurred to me,' replied 
 Geoffrey. ' But, instead of the indigent poet, I 
 can conceive the existence of a man, neither 
 Bacon nor Shakespeare, but of so powerful 
 a brain, of so great an intellect, of such vast 
 learning and experience of the world and man- 
 kind, as to have been head and shoulders above 
 the people of his day — a very demi-god in 
 wisdom and knowledge, who lived within him-
 
 Sbaliespeare 57 
 
 self, indifFerent to the praise or blame of his 
 fellow creatures, having a pride in his intel- 
 lectual powers which rendered him contempt- 
 uous of the whole world — a grand solitary 
 figure, like a single lofty mountain in a flat 
 country — an individuality which stood alone, 
 erect, god-like and unapproachable. A per- 
 sonality of this unique capacity, whose ability 
 to acquire knowledge and impart wisdom was 
 miraculous, permitted himself to give forth 
 his finest thoughts for the happiness of man. 
 His brain yielded creations wiser, nobler, more 
 prophetic, sweeter and more beautiful than those 
 of the ancient authors, philosophers and poets ; 
 but while he was willing that his fellowmen 
 for all time should be made happier and better 
 by his works, his very greatness and nobility 
 elevated him to the lofty position from which 
 he looked down, silent in his pride, and regard- 
 less of fame.' 
 
 ' A dream ! my dear fellow, a dream ! ' said 
 Layton. 
 
 And a dream it remained.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Fleckton Hall is a modern mansion house — 
 the central figure of a large landed estate in 
 the south of England — the patrimony of the 
 Richmond family for many past generations. 
 Fleckton is remarkable for its splendid woods, 
 its spacious park of oaks and elms, and the 
 great house built by the present baronet's father 
 in the Tudor style. It was more Tudor in its 
 modern, but correct, treatment than any existing 
 sixteenth century house. Its red brick and 
 white stone exterior was a distinguishing mark 
 for miles, while it commanded, from its eleva- 
 tion on the side of the South Downs, a glorious 
 view over wood and vale to the distant 
 Channel. Although the manor of Fleckton 
 contained a fairly large acreage, divided into 
 
 farms, with solid houses and buildings, the 
 
 58
 
 SbaP^espeare 59 
 
 property was more of a pleasure domain than 
 a source of income. The Richmonds were 
 in the happy position of being rich without 
 reference to their lands. Marriages with 
 wealthy heiresses, who had brought money into 
 their hands, and more than all, a judicious in- 
 vestment in consols at the critical period 
 before the battle of Waterloo, had been the 
 means of the formation of a fund, the income 
 of which was ample enough to place the family 
 among the richest in England. The gardens of 
 Fleckton were remarkable. Sir Henry's father 
 had been a great lover of trees and plants, and 
 had formed the gardens into divisions of 
 countries, with vegetation appropriate to each. 
 The soil of the several countries had been 
 brought there, from Italy, Egypt, India, Spain, 
 China and other places, so that the trans- 
 planted trees and plants might thrive and 
 feel at home. With appropriate backgrounds 
 and accessories, the pictures thus presented 
 were curious and instructive. Most quaint 
 was the representation of ' the willow pattern 
 plate ' in the Chinese garden, with the temple, 
 the willow trees, the canal and the bridge : all 
 were there, but the little men crossing over.
 
 6o Sbaftespeare 
 
 And similarly one could wander through the other 
 gardens, and visit each country in turn without 
 the inconveniences and expense of travelling. 
 These studied artificialities had their contrast 
 in the Wild Garden of several acres, wherein 
 all kinds of English wild flowers grew, and 
 through which dashed a miniature torrent, with 
 here and there a quiet pool overflowing into 
 a cascade, and falling at last into the trout stream 
 in the vale. The glories of the Winter Garden, 
 covered with half an acre of glass, and filled 
 with palms, fountains and statuary ; the spacious- 
 ness of the Riding School ; the delights of the 
 Dairy — a Gothic Temple, all marble and glazed 
 tiles, within whose cool and shaded depths the cult 
 of cream and the belief in the best of butter 
 were practised, were some of the prominent 
 features of this stately English home, in which 
 were now assembled the chief persons of our 
 story. They had all arrived in England to- 
 gether, and Sir Henry Richmond had invited 
 his three friends to Fleckton on a visit which 
 promised to be of some duration. 
 
 Lady Richmond, Sir Henry's mother, the 
 Chatelaine of Fleckton, until her son should 
 bring home a wife, received him and his guests
 
 Sbat?espeare 6i 
 
 with that warmth they so well deserved, and 
 with that gratitude to, Geoffrey, due to him as 
 the preserver of her son's life. To Doris she 
 extended a motherly affection, inexpressibly 
 touching, and a delightfully sympathetic attach- 
 ment grew up between the two — the older lady 
 interesting herself in the fortunes and the love 
 of the younger, while she, motherless and un- 
 guided up to now by a friend of her own sex, 
 regarded Lady Richmond with respectful and 
 grateful devotion. 
 
 And so the days passed smoothly on into 
 the autumn of the year. The house party was 
 increased as the shooting season came, and the 
 business of pleasure was in full swing. A 
 series of entertainments were given by the Rich- 
 monds, not only in their capacity as leaders of 
 county society, but in honour of Doris, her 
 father and Geoffrey. The beautiful Australian, 
 as the fiancee of the American millionaire, was 
 accepted as a highly interesting and attractive 
 girl, whose engagement to the man who had 
 saved her life was voted a natural sequence of so 
 romantic an episode. She was happy in the 
 love which surrounded her, in the excitement 
 of new associations and new people, and she
 
 62 Sbal^espeare 
 
 could always fly from the crowd with Geofirey 
 to the comparative solitude of the library, or to 
 the gardens or park, where alone they could 
 indulge in those happy conversations which are 
 so delightful to lovers. 
 
 There was no formality in the life at Fleck- 
 ton. Guests could do pretty much as they 
 pleased. Breakfast was on the table till very 
 late in the morning. Lunch was served at 
 hours varying with the moods and occupations 
 of those who required it. The time for after- 
 noon tea was supposed to be at five o'clock ; 
 but the dinner hour was more rigidly observed. 
 All could do as they liked during the day ; and 
 those who were for out-door amusement might 
 say, 'It is a fine day : let us kill something ! ' 
 which meant death to the pheasant, the part- 
 ridge and the rabbit ; and those who preferred 
 milder pleasures in or out of doors were free to 
 indulge in them ; but all were expected to meet 
 at dinner, and invariably it was a pleasant 
 rendezvous. 
 
 Wealth can command a good cook, but it 
 requires a refined discrimination to select worthy 
 guests — those who have the ability to talk well, 
 and those with a capacity of listening well.
 
 Sbaftespcare 63 
 
 There is as much credit to the man or woman 
 who can be ' silent in several languages ' as 
 to those who keep the ball of conversation 
 rolling. Then again, it is often found that 
 clever people are not always good-looking. It 
 is a way Nature has of balancing things. And 
 good-looking people are just as necessary to 
 human happiness as witty ones, especially if you 
 have to sit opposite them for an hour or two 
 at dinner. 
 
 Now Lady Richmond possessed the art of 
 selection of the right people for her house and 
 dinner parties — the clever, the good-looking, 
 the distinguished, and those who should amuse 
 and interest the others who ought to be thus 
 entertained ; but all were incapable of gaucheries 
 or of bad taste. In the Talmud there is among 
 other wise maxims this one : ' Never say in the 
 house of a man whose father has been hanged, 
 " Hang up this fish for me ; " ' and doubtless the 
 Rabbis, when they gave dinner parties, care- 
 fully eliminated from their list of invited guests 
 those whose fathers had been hanged, and those 
 likewise who might be guilty of alluding to 
 such unpleasant circumstance. So at Lady Rich- 
 mond's table one was sure to meet the most
 
 64 Sbaftespeare 
 
 agreeable people. She drew the line in accord- 
 ance with her own taste, and it sometimes was 
 influenced more by her worldly wisdom than 
 by her charity. 
 
 ' Mother,' said Sir Henry one day in her 
 boudoir, when they were discussing the next 
 batch of guests to be invited to Fleckton, ' we 
 never see anything of the Ellerslies. Linda 
 must be out by this time. I remember 
 her two years ago as a very sweet girl. 
 Why not invite her, with her father and 
 mother ? ' 
 
 ' I don't see very well how we can have 
 them here,' replied Lady Richmond, ' after 
 the terrible misfortune that has happened in 
 their family.' 
 
 ' What misfortune do you mean ? What has 
 happened, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Only what you already know,' said she. 
 ' The stigma of their son's misdeeds rests upon 
 all of them, and I have been obliged to erase 
 them from my visiting list.' • 
 
 * But surely you are too severe. The charge 
 has never been proved against Rupert. I among 
 many others never did believe him guilty. 
 Appearances, I know, were against him ; but I
 
 Sbaftespeare 65 
 
 was his intimate friend at school and at 
 college and afterwards also, and I know him 
 to be incapable of dishonourable practices.' 
 
 ' Then, why did he leave the country if he 
 did not feel himself guilty ? ' 
 
 ' He should never have done so if I had been 
 in England at the time. He should have faced 
 the charges and have defied proof He, doubt- 
 less, was overwhelmed with the horror of the 
 accusation, and, sensitive as he is, the very 
 suspicion of such a charge as cheating at cards 
 was enough to prostrate him and render him 
 incapable of defending himself. If I had been 
 by his side it would have been different. I shall 
 run over to the EUerslies to-morrow and tell 
 them so. Moreover, I can give them the latest 
 news of Rupert, for I met him in Canada ; and 
 they will be glad to see me under such cir- 
 cumstances, although it may have appeared to 
 them that both you and I condemn their son 
 for a crime which I feel sure, my dear mother, 
 he never committed.' 
 
 ' Be it so, Henry ; and when the cloud of 
 suspicion has been dispersed I shall be among 
 the first to call on the EUerslies.' 
 
 ' I feel,' said Sir Henry, ' that I have left 
 
 E
 
 66 Sbaftespeare 
 
 poor Rupert's cause too long disregarded. 
 I will at once take the matter up and try to 
 clear his name. After I have seen the Ellers- 
 lies I shall go to town and look into the 
 matter.' 
 
 ' And where did you meet Rupert Ellerslie ? ' 
 inquired Lady Richmond. ' And how was he 
 looking ^ ' 
 
 ' By a remarkable circumstance we met him 
 on an island, called the Great Manitoulin, in 
 Lake Huron. We were cruising in the 
 IVinona — Courthope's yacht — and had landed 
 on the desert shore. We were having after- 
 noon tea, all of us — Geoffrey, Miss Layton 
 and Mr Layton — when a hunter came out of 
 the woods and approached our party, which 
 he was invited to join. He was a handsome, 
 bearded fellow, tall and sunburnt ; but not- 
 withstanding his changed appearance I knew 
 him. He recognised me, of course. There 
 was somewhat of a scene between us, which 
 I had to excuse and explain so far as I might. 
 I begged him to return and face the charge, 
 but he told me he would make no effort to 
 remove the impression. He seemed proud 
 and indifferent, but beneath, no doubt, his
 
 SbaFjespcare 67 
 
 heart was breaking. I will defend him. I will 
 clear him.' 
 
 * Do so, Henry ; and, if you like, I will call 
 on the Ellerslies with you.' 
 
 ' No, mother, not yet. I think it better, 
 at least for the present, that I should work 
 alone.'
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Carrying out his intention, Henry Richmond 
 left Fleckton next day in his dog-cart for the 
 station, and went by rail, about twenty miles, 
 to Southchester, near which place lived the 
 Ellerslie family. 
 
 They were county people of good lineage 
 and substance. Ellerslie Court — an ancient 
 Elizabethan house of great beauty and size — 
 had been their home for many generations. 
 Now and then an Ellerslie was returned to 
 Parliament, or filled the office of sheriff, or 
 was chairman of Quarter Sessions; but their 
 lives were not eventful ; and certainly no stain 
 had ever tarnished the family honour or name 
 until, in this present generation of the Ellerslies, 
 a great blow had fallen upon them. Suddenly 
 
 an accusation had been made against Rupert, 
 
 68
 
 5baf?espeare 69 
 
 the only son of the house, of card cheating 
 at his club. His indignant denial was useless 
 against the evidence of certain cards he produced 
 from his pockets, apparently to his own great 
 astonishment. Irregularities had been noticed 
 in the play, and suspicion had fallen upon a 
 player, whose antecedents, at least at cards, had 
 been somewhat suggestive. He had been more 
 than ordinarily lucky at critical moments, when 
 the stakes were unusually large, and on this 
 occasion there was no doubt in the mind of 
 everyone present (including that of a very 
 distinguished personage who was at the table), 
 that a substitution of cards had been made. 
 The person suspected was invited to empty 
 his pockets, which he promptly did, without 
 the result expected. ' Perhaps,' said someone, 
 ' we had all better do the same,' which was 
 agreed to ; and several useful cards of special 
 value at particular moments in the game they 
 were playing, were produced by Rupert. This 
 unexpected result was astounding. The con- 
 sternation was universal ; but there was no gain- 
 saying facts, and Rupert shrank, horror-stricken 
 at the terrible proof which he was unable to 
 explain, while protesting his innocence. It was
 
 70 Sbaftespeare 
 
 hard to believe him, and opinion was divided 
 regarding his conduct. From a club scandal, 
 the matter became a public one ; and Rupert, 
 unable to disprove his apparent guilt, and proud 
 in the knowledge of his own honour, chose 
 self-exile rather than a further experience of 
 the social injustice of which he was the 
 victim. 
 
 Sir Henry walked out to Ellerslie Court 
 from Southchester station. From the keeper 
 at the lodge entrance he learned that the family 
 were at home. So he proceeded up the avenue of 
 limes to the house. Passing the fish ponds, he 
 cut across the park by a path he remembered as 
 a shorter way, and put up a herd of fallow deer, 
 reclining among the bracken. They moved ofF 
 slowly, as if unused to disturbance, and looked 
 back with mild eyes at the stranger. 
 
 Making her way towards the Court, but in 
 a direction at right angles to Sir Henry, was a 
 lady ; and as they approached each other, he 
 wondered who she was. 
 
 In a minute or two he was near enough to 
 see she was a slim, but graceful girl, dressed in 
 grey cloth, with a cap of the same material 
 half concealing her chestnut hair.
 
 Sbaf^cspeare 71 
 
 Notwithstanding the studious nature of Sir 
 Henry, he had an eye for beauty, and he 
 thought to himself, ' What a lovely girl ! ' 
 
 Just then a tall deerhound, which had been 
 walking by the side of his mistress, looking up 
 to her every now and then, with eyes that 
 showed pride in being her protector, came 
 bounding forward to Sir Henry with a mena- 
 cing growl, which turned into a whine of 
 pleasure when he reached him. 
 
 ' What, Colonel ! good Colonel ! ' said he 
 as he recognised the animal, ' is it you ? and 
 Colonel's mistress too ! ' he continued. ' Linda, 
 Miss Ellerslie, I should hardly have known 
 you ; you have grown out of knowledge. How 
 do you do ? You remember me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ! You are Sir Henry Richmond,' she 
 replied. ' Papa and mamma will be glad to see 
 you ; and yet — ' 
 
 ' Ah, well ! I have brought you all the latest 
 news of Rupert. I have met him abroad ; and 
 I shall be welcome, shall I not ? They will be 
 glad to see me, I am sure.' 
 
 ' Indeed they will. Poor Rupert ! ' said 
 Linda, ' tell me all about him, or wait until 
 I run in and announce the good news.'
 
 72 Sbal?espeare 
 
 Richmond was welcomed by Mr and Mrs 
 Ellerslie, who, borne down by the trouble of 
 their only son's misfortune, but strong in their 
 belief in his truth and honour, were only too 
 anxious to hear of him. 
 
 Sir Henry told them of his finding their son 
 in Canada alive and well ; and he gladdened the 
 parent's hearts by expressing his faith in his 
 friend's innocence and his determination to un- 
 ravel the mystery. This was the first gleam 
 of happiness they had experienced since Rupert's 
 departure, and amid their tears, the mother and 
 daughter looked upon Sir Henry as a messenger 
 of consolation, who might succeed in redeeming 
 the character of Rupert. The father grasped 
 his hand in silence, the mother blessed him, 
 and the lovely Linda regarded him through her 
 earnest blue eyes with an eloquence of admira- 
 tion which could not be mistaken, and which 
 was not lost upon the susceptible heart of Sir 
 Henry. 
 
 To look at Linda was to love her ; and as 
 he appeared to her a knightly hero, the incense 
 of her faith in him increased his ardour to 
 bring to her side a brother freed from the 
 stain of dishonour, not only for Rupert's sake.
 
 SbaF^espeare 73 
 
 but that he might claim a reward from her — a 
 guerdon which seemed to him too great for 
 any task, he might undertake. 
 
 Who could help loving Linda ? sweet as 
 the morning air in June, that lifts the roses 
 and diffuses their fragrance ! Beautiful as a 
 Raphael Madonna, she had grown up within 
 her father's house, unknown to the world, 
 and restrained from society because of the 
 blow which had fallen upon them. Her 
 happy girlhood had developed into a lovely 
 womanhood, whose perfection was unnoticed, 
 even by her parents. A sweet saint of 
 innocence and gladness, touched by present 
 sorrow, and the more lovely for it, no 
 wonder Sir Henry felt that, in the hope of 
 winning her, he was earning his reward for 
 his self-denial in having effaced his dawning 
 love for Doris.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 After partaking of the hospitality of the 
 Ellerslies, Sir Henry left the Court loaded 
 with the gratitude of the family ; and, with 
 promises on his part to return soon and to 
 send them news of his movements, he re- 
 turned to Fleckton to resume his position as 
 host. 
 
 He told his mother all about his visit, 
 omitting a too vivid description of Linda, 
 but simply mentioning that she had grown 
 considerably since he had seen her last. 
 
 There was no reason why Mr Layton, Doris 
 and Geoffrey should not know that the stranger 
 whom they had encountered on the Canadian 
 island was Rupert Ellerslie, the heir of the 
 Court, and the son of Sir Henry's friends ; on 
 the contrary, he felt that the outcome of their 
 
 74
 
 Sbaftespeare 75 
 
 interest in him would be that they would seek 
 his parents and, by their sympathy and friend- 
 liness, lighten the Ellerslie load of sorrow. 
 Lady Richmond felt her heart melt at the 
 account of Henry's visit to the Ellerslies, and 
 was now as enthusiastic and warm in their 
 favour as she had been reserved and cold 
 before. She proposed to take the earliest 
 opportunity of running over to the Court and 
 of taking Doris with her. The way was paved 
 by a letter from Sir Henry to Mr Ellerslie, 
 asking what day would be convenient. A 
 satisfactory reply was returned. Then com- 
 menced a series of visits on the part of Lady 
 Richmond and Doris, accompanied afterwards 
 by the three men, but the Ellerslies excused 
 themselves from leaving their home. 
 
 An association of a very friendly kind grew 
 up between the families of Fleckton and the 
 Court, and more especially delightful was the 
 affection between the two girls — the travelled 
 and intellectual Doris, and Linda, the half- 
 opened flower. The former very soon dis- 
 covered the feeling that lay at the heart of 
 Linda, the innocent adoration she had for 
 Henry and her belief in him as a champion,
 
 76 Sbaf^espeare 
 
 who was to restore to her the lost brother. 
 Doris noticed also, with a feminine instinct, the 
 direction of Sir Henry's regard; she, therefore, 
 clung closer to Linda with the love and watch- 
 fulness of an elder sister, while, in her gratitude 
 and friendship, she lost no opportunity of en- 
 couraging the suit of Sir Henry. 
 
 As time went by. Sir Henry paid frequent 
 visits to town to investigate the matter in which 
 Rupert was concerned, to make the necessary 
 inquiries, and to formulate a plan of discovery 
 of the true facts relating to the card-cheatino- 
 case. He was not very successful. Rupert 
 and his supposed misdeed had been almost 
 forgotten. Two years had elapsed ; and it is a 
 sufficiently long time in London society for a 
 scandal to be forgotten, or, at least, to cease to 
 remain of sufficient importance to be the subject 
 of conversation. Besides, many other scandals 
 had happened in the meantime, and only a 
 vague recollection of the details of Rupert's 
 case could be gleaned from Sir Henry's club 
 friends, although, when his name was mentioned, 
 they perfectly recollected its general features. 
 They were, nevertheless, one and all, glad to 
 hear that Sir Henry had met him abroad, and
 
 Sbaliespcare 77 
 
 that he was in good health ; and the most dis- 
 tinguished personage of the club, with that 
 kindliness of feeling and remembrance of in- 
 dividuals specially remarkable in him and his 
 race, was so good as to make a particular 
 inquiry about him, and to express to Sir 
 Henry, as a confidential communication, his 
 belief in Rupert's innocence, an assurance which 
 was extremely gratifying and encouraging to 
 listen to. 
 
 Many days passed, and nothing was done. 
 The club was the same as usual. Men came 
 and went, afternoon whist was played by the 
 same coterie, high points and heavy betting 
 were customary, games of chance were not 
 interdicted by the rules, and gambling for big 
 sums was not unusual. By inspecting the club 
 registers Sir Henry found out the names of the 
 members who were present on the evening so 
 fatal to Rupert. He had conversed with most 
 of them, at least with those whom he regarded 
 as his friends, but gleaned only the fact that the 
 suspected man had proved himself innocent and 
 Rupert had shown himself guilty ; further than 
 that he could not get. And how about the 
 former ? Was .he still a member of the club ?
 
 78 Sbafiespeare 
 
 No; he had taken his name off the books soon 
 after the Ellerslie affair. He had been too 
 lucky when large stakes were in question. He 
 lost, it is true, sometimes, and complained much 
 of his bad luck; but it was remarked that his 
 ill-fortune occurred mostly when moderate play 
 was taking place. Who was he.'' Sir Henry 
 was told his name: one that was associated with 
 the country's history. The bearer was of a 
 noble house, whose members had done great 
 things in their day. He was a younger son, 
 and of comparatively small means. Member- 
 ship of this particular club was accorded to the 
 possessor of various qualifications: first, birth 
 and wealth, then birth, and lastly, riches alone; 
 but the riches must have been acquired in some 
 irreproachable way. And one had to be very 
 rich indeed, and willing to play five-pound points 
 and fifties on the ' rub,' to be eligible. 
 
 Sir Henry made many inquiries as to the 
 whereabouts of the man he sought, but none 
 of his friends could give him any information. 
 He had been met in Piccadilly and elsewhere 
 occasionally, well-dressed, but having a dissi- 
 pated appearance. No one knew to what club 
 he now belonged, or his address, and as the
 
 Sbatiespeare 79 
 
 London Directory afforded no clue, Sir Henry, 
 at length, sought the aid of a detective, who 
 brought merely the negative information, that 
 his whereabouts were unknown to the servants 
 at the town house of his family. 
 
 Sir Henry made occasional flying visits to 
 town, but each time returned no nearer to the 
 object he had in view.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 What, it may be asked, had all this time 
 become of the great Shakespearian problem ? 
 Was the quest forgotten? Were our friends 
 so occupied by their pleasures, their loves and 
 their employments, that they no longer re- 
 membered their resolve to search for the truth ? 
 No; they were as keen as ever, and amid the 
 easy life at Fleckton, they frequently met to- 
 gether in the library and exchanged their 
 views. 
 
 On the occasion of one of these discussions 
 it was remarked by Mr Layton, ' We seem to 
 have arrived in England with the intention of 
 prosecuting a search. We set before our eyes an 
 object to attain, an end to be gained; but, in- 
 stead of working for our end, we have been, in 
 
 this delightful house of Sir Henry, enjoying our- 
 
 80
 
 Sbaftespeare 8i 
 
 selves and taking our ease, and have advanced 
 no further towards a practicable result. We 
 have talked a great deal, but have done nothing. 
 We might have remained in America for all the 
 good we have done. Has any member of this 
 highly intellectual, but unpractical, Shakespearian 
 Society anything to suggest for the good of 
 mankind in general, or this dilettanti body in 
 particular ^ ' 
 
 ' It seems to me,' replied Sir Henry, ' that 
 some move should be made. We have thrashed 
 the matter out verbally and have decided most 
 unanimously that something shall be done ; but 
 what ? ' 
 
 Said Doris, ' Did we not intend, as part of 
 our programme, to visit Stratford and examine 
 for ourselves the memorials of Shakespeare ^ ' 
 
 ' And that reminds me,' said Mr Layton, 
 ' that you and I have never been to Stratford. 
 It would be a good idea to take a trip there 
 under Geoffrey's guidance.' 
 
 ' In my mind,' said Geoffrey, ' it has always 
 been a part of our programme to look up 
 Stratford. I have a project which I have never 
 yet hinted at, and which I cannot properly 
 explain to you unless we are on the spot.'
 
 82 Sbaliespeare 
 
 ' What is it, Geoffrey ? ' said Doris. 
 
 'It is certainly a bold scheme ; but from 
 the very first I have considered it the only 
 practical and satisfactory one,' replied he. ' I 
 would prefer to withhold an explanation until 
 I have given it more thought, and have 
 had another opportunity of making certain 
 measurements and calculations necessary for 
 its successful development.' 
 
 ' You think you will find something new 
 in the house in which Shakespeare was born ? ' 
 asked Sir Henry. 
 
 ' Or below it,' remarked Layton. ' There's 
 a mysterious cellar. You want to get per- 
 mission to dig below its floor for a secret 
 vault or concealed receptacle, in which you 
 may find manuscripts and other satisfactory 
 matters ? ' 
 
 ' Why not try New Place, where he lived ^ ' 
 said Sir Henry. ' You are more likely to find 
 something by digging there. I am not at all 
 sure that the owner may not have had a secret 
 chamber in his house below the foundation, 
 where he, for purposes of his own, concealed 
 all his papers, especially those that related to 
 the secret history of the plays he did «(?/ write.'
 
 SbaJ?espeare 83 
 
 'Very likely,' drily replied GeofFrey ; 'but you 
 are on a wrong scent, my friends, although I 
 cannot say your observations are not sagacious.' 
 "You are getting warm," as the children say 
 at hide-and-seek ; ' but I am not prepared at 
 present to say more. Wait till we are at 
 Stratford, and then, if the circumstances be 
 favourable, I will take you all into my 
 confidence.' 
 
 At the first favourable opportunity ; there- 
 fore, they left Fleckton for Stratford-on- 
 Avon.
 
 V 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV -N 
 
 Arrived at the town, so celebrated as* the 
 place where William Shakespeare was born, 
 where he lived for so many years, and where 
 he died, our party put up at an hotel and made 
 it t;heir headquarters, from which they visited 
 all places of interest in and around Stratford. 
 They proposed to remain for several days, 
 during which they diligently and patiently ex- 
 amined all the well-kq^own buildings and objects 
 of interest consecra^ted to the memory of the 
 great dramatisf. 
 
 As regards the house in which' Shakespeare 
 was born,^ HalHwell Phillipps observes, ' It must 
 have bgert erected in the nrst half of the six- 
 teenth century, but the alterations that it has 
 since undergone have effaced much of its 
 
 original character. Inhabited at various periods 
 
 84 ^
 
 Sbaftespeare 85 
 
 by tradesmen of different occupations, it could 
 not possibly have endured without having been 
 subjected to numerous repairs and modifications. 
 The general form and arrangement of the tene- 
 ment that was purchased in 1556 may yet, 
 however, be distinctly traced, and many of the 
 old timbers, as well as pieces of the ancient 
 rough stone work still remain. There are also 
 portions of the chimneys, the fireplace sur- 
 roundings and the stone basement floor, that 
 have been untouched, but most, if not all, of 
 the lighter wood-work belongs to a more 
 recent period. It may be confidently asserted 
 that there is only one ,room in the entire 
 building which has not been greatly changed 
 since, the days of the Poet's boyhood. This 
 - is the antique cellar under the sitting-room, 
 from which it is approacl^ed by a diminutive 
 flight of steps. It is 'a ^ very small apartment, 
 measuring only nine by ten feet.' 
 
 You may be sure thaf our friends paid 
 particular attention to this sole surviving 
 remnant of the sixteenth-century dwelling, and 
 that they also visited and examined the remains 
 of New Place with considerable interest and 
 attention. Here, doubtless, were underground 
 
 ^
 
 86 Sbaftespeare 
 
 apartments and cellars necessary to a mansion 
 of considerable importance ; but, if they existed, 
 they have not been found. ' Perhaps,' as it 
 was suggested by Sir Henry, ' the truth may 
 be preserved in New Place, and while the 
 entire superstructure above ground has dis- 
 appeared, with no record left regarding the 
 reason for its demolition, there may be deep 
 down, and purposely difficult of discovery, 
 a secret chamber or muniment room whose 
 treasures will hereafter see the light of day.' 
 
 ' But this is only surmise,' said Layton. 
 ' You have no facts to go upon.' 
 
 ' It is only by theorising,' replied Sir Henry, 
 ' that deductions are made. Besides, Phillipps 
 admits that " there was at least one cellar in 
 the Poet's day." The " at least " suggests the 
 existence of more than one, and infers that 
 a search may lead to the discovery of other 
 underground apartments. None other than 
 an examination of the superficial ground has 
 been made, and I am surprised that, since the 
 property has been vested in the Corporation 
 of Stratford, a careful exploration of the ground 
 below the surface, to a depth of at least twenty 
 feet, has not been undertaken in the hope of
 
 Sbaftespeare 87 
 
 making a discovery which may reveal a secret 
 room in which Shakespeare, who lived on the 
 site for years, may have deposited his 
 records.' 
 
 ' Well, there may be something in your 
 theory ; but what does Geoffrey say ? ' re- 
 marked Layton. 
 
 ' I do not oppose any search in any new 
 direction,' replied he. ' When the well- 
 trodden path has led to a cul-de-sac, then 
 we must make a way of our own — a road 
 for ourselves — a short cut to the goal, not 
 unattended by danger, and perhaps, also, by 
 glory in the accomplishment of victory.' 
 
 ' What do you mean, Geoffrey ^. ' inquired 
 Doris. ' I am sure you have some idea in 
 your mind which you only hint at, and 
 seem reluctant to impart. Do tell us all 
 about it.' 
 
 ' Not now, darling ; but when we return 
 to the hotel (this conversation was held at 
 New Place) I will let you all know of my 
 project, which, I may mention, I have been 
 considering for some time ; but it is of so 
 startling a character, that I fear you may 
 not support me.'
 
 88 Sbaftespeare 
 
 ' That remains to be seen,' said Sir Henry. 
 ' You excite my curiosity, and my apprehension 
 too ; but, rest assured, the bond which links me 
 to you is strong enough to require that I shall 
 follow and assist you, whatever the danger.' 
 
 ' I shall reserve my decision,' said the more 
 cautious Layton, ' until I hear from Geoffrey 
 what his project amounts to.' 
 
 As for Doris, she looked at Geoffrey 
 with eyes that eloquently spoke of faith 
 and love.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 That evening, after dinner, Mr Layton, his 
 
 daughter and Sir Henry prepared themselves 
 
 to listen to Geoffrey's explanation of his great 
 
 project to solve the Shakespearian mystery ; and 
 
 he addressed them as follows : — 
 
 ' You all know, my friends, that the interest 
 
 you take in this matter has been shared by 
 
 me ; or, to put it, I hope not too egotistically, 
 
 the enthusiasm you exhibit has been caused 
 
 by my initiative. The application I have been 
 
 enabled to bring to the subject has developed 
 
 a passion for the truth, in which you have 
 
 participated, and my studies in the vast field 
 
 of Shakespearian literature have increased my 
 
 desire to elucidate a problem which that 
 
 literature has classed among the great mysteries 
 
 of the world. My own convictions have led 
 
 89
 
 90 Sbaftespeare 
 
 me on the ambitious road to solve the problem, 
 if possible, and I do not feel that any risk 
 would be too great, or any sacrifice too severe, 
 to attain my object. What I am about to 
 propose to you will probably cause a shock 
 to your moral perceptions, and may strike 
 you as a bold and hazardous enterprise. I 
 shall not be surprised at either result ; and I 
 foresee that it will require plenty of courage and 
 energy to succeed. In regard to the moral 
 aspect of the question, the sincerity of an act 
 and the honesty of the actor should have some 
 effect, and the equation of time some influence. 
 I do not go so far as to say, " Do evil that 
 good may come," — although, by the way, it 
 would be impossible and cruel to do other- 
 wise in certain cases — but I say that there 
 are circumstances which justify the commission 
 of acts where a minor amount of, what some 
 may denominate as wrong, shall be committed 
 that " the right be done." 
 
 ' The lesser evil must be committed to attain 
 the greater good. There are great questions, 
 which conscience only can answer — acts, the 
 commission of which the law of the land 
 would punish, but which to the conscience of
 
 Sba?iespeare 9' 
 
 the person committing them are right. History 
 is full of such cases. Then again, if the 
 common good is to be obtained, how much 
 worthier is it to overcome obstacles with a 
 courage equal to the purity of the motives 
 impelling such action. The greater the risk, 
 the greater the honour. I believe that, in 
 what I am about to lay before you, I shall 
 have your support, and I hope you agree 
 with me that, in this instance, the end justifies 
 the means. 
 
 ' It is a matter of common knowledge that 
 all that is discoverable has been discovered ; in 
 fact, nothing remains for further investiga- 
 tion : that is, the field of inquiry is limited, 
 and the most minute and intense scrutiny 
 has failed to yield further light on the 
 subject. The materials have been worn 
 threadbare, and nothing certain has been 
 proved. It seems almost that the intention 
 of the creator of the work has been to leave 
 the question a doubtful, uncertain and in- 
 solvable puzzle for all time, or until it shall 
 please him to reveal himself by the help of 
 someone, possessed of courage and sagacity, 
 who shall enter the portal of the arcanum to
 
 92 Sbaliespeare 
 
 find the reward which his daring and defiance 
 of prejudice deserve. 
 
 ' In a word, my project means the examina- 
 tion of the grave of Shakespeare, with the 
 object of searching for evidence to identify 
 the true author of the Plays. 
 
 ' There are many reasons why I am resolved 
 on this. First and foremost, the grave is the 
 the only authenticated place of Shakespearian 
 associations which remains unsearched. It 
 has not been touched, because the time has 
 not yet arrived for an investigation. Prejudice 
 has preserved the grave ; but no one objects 
 when the tomb of a Pharaoh is rifled, and the 
 British, or some other. Museum receives the 
 mummy with scientific joy. Time, as I said 
 before, makes all the difference. I do not 
 propose to go as far as this ; for, if there be 
 a body, or the remains of one, even in the 
 condition of dust, I would treat it with in- 
 finite respect. My object is not sacrilegious, 
 but a scientific desire to settle a vexed 
 question. 
 
 ' Another cause for the postponement of this 
 search has undoubtedly been the "terrible 
 curse " put upon him who should undertake
 
 Sbaftespeare 93 
 
 it. You remember the doggerel lines, which 
 convey but the one design, that during the 
 last two hundred and seventy years, or there- 
 abouts, have served their purpose. 
 
 ' " Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbeare 
 To digge the dust enclosed here ; 
 Bleste be the man that spares thes stones. 
 And curst be he that moves my bones." 
 
 ' What do these commonplace rhymes mean ? 
 They have been explained to signify Shake- 
 speare's repugnance to have his bones trans- 
 ferred to the charnel house near the church. 
 This is an explanation as weak as it is absurd. 
 Would the noble-minded Shakespeare, as re- 
 vealed in his works, care a straw what became 
 of his bones ? Do they signify the expression 
 of the wish of a vulgar-minded man to get 
 his bones back on the day of resurrection ? 
 or were they an injunction to the world 
 at large to refrain from searching his 
 grave, so that the secret it contained should 
 not be revealed until the fitting time had 
 arrived ? 
 
 ' I think it reasonable to conjecture that the 
 grave contains something more than bones 
 and dust. In addit'-^n to the real meaning
 
 94 Sbal^espeare 
 
 of the lines on the sepulchre, there is also 
 the fact that the grave was made at the 
 unusual and unnecessary depth of seventeen 
 feet below the surface. Thus to the moral 
 injunction was conjoined the physical diffi- 
 culty of reaching the grave. 
 
 ' There is an evident .intention to hide some- 
 thing until a period of time shall have elapsed, 
 perhaps until the danger of publishing the 
 name of the true author shall have passed away, 
 or (for some occult reason in the author's 
 mind) until the curiosity, the controversial 
 spirit and the energy of men shall have been 
 aroused to take action. Perhaps the mystery 
 has been due to vanity or pride, or may be 
 the author is laughing at us, and has clothed a 
 most unworthy lay figure with his own splendid 
 garments in derision of our stupidity. 
 
 ' You will probably ask, If during this long 
 period any documentary evidence were placed 
 in the grave, has it not disappeared by decay, 
 and is it not now so much dust ^ I have 
 thought of that, and it is probable that some 
 means were adopted to preserve it, such as 
 enclosing it in a metal box, or air-tight case. 
 The individual who took such pains to conceal
 
 Sbaftespeare 95 
 
 his identity would be equally careful to preserve 
 its verification. 
 
 ' Has any attempt ever been made to reach 
 the grave, either by accident or design ? 
 Halliwell Phillipps mentions: "The nearest 
 approach to an excavation into the grave of 
 Shakespeare was made in the summer of the 
 year 1796 in digging a vault in the immediate 
 locality, when an opening appeared, which was 
 presumed to indicate the commencement of 
 the site of the bard's remains. The most 
 scrupulous care, however, was taken not to 
 disturb the neighbouring earth in the slightest 
 degree, a clerk having been placed there 
 until the brickwork of the adjoining vault was 
 completed, to prevent anyone from making 
 an examination. No relics whatever were 
 visible through the small opening that thus 
 presented itself ; and as the Poet was buried in 
 the ground, not in a vault, the chancel earth, 
 moreover, formerly absorbing a large degree of 
 moisture, the great probability is that dust 
 alone remains." Further on he writes : " It 
 is not many years since a phalanx of trouble- 
 tombs, lanterns and spades in hand, assembled 
 in the chancel at dead of night, intent on dis-
 
 96 Sbaftespeare 
 
 obeying the solemn injunction that the bones 
 of Shakespeare were not to be disturbed. But 
 the supplicatory lines prevailed. There were 
 some among the number who, at the last 
 moment, refused to incur the warning con- 
 demnation, and so the design was happily 
 abandoned." 
 
 ' No ! the time had not arrived : they were 
 nearly a hundred years too soon. The world was 
 neither prepared nor ready for the revelation. 
 
 ' There have been various phases of the 
 Shakespeare cult. First, in the end of the 
 sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth 
 centuries, the production of the Plays, either on 
 the stage or in book form, with the Poems, 
 drew admiration from the small minority of 
 the educated classes, to be followed by more or 
 less earnest study and appreciation in the years 
 which ensued. Then occurred a period of 
 stagnation or indifference, to be succeeded by 
 an awakening to the beauty and power of the 
 works as education became more general, until 
 the controversial period arrived, when the 
 problem of the true authorship was presented 
 for solution, and conscientious minds could no 
 longer rest contented with the suspicious and
 
 Sbaftespeare 97 
 
 doubtful claim of William Shakespeare, the 
 ignorant butcher of Stratford. His greatest 
 supporters, his most faithful biographers, have 
 been obliged to admit that a man so uneducated 
 as he was must have written the works by an 
 effort of intuitive genius ; or, in other words, 
 he was the medium for a miracle, his writ- 
 ing a departure from the usual and natural 
 process of imparting wisdom from acquired 
 knowledge. 
 
 ' It could only have been by a miracle that 
 he raised, without a foundation, that glorious 
 superstructure, the materials of which are 
 found in the histories and plays of many 
 nations, the stories and legends of Greek 
 and Latin authors, and the romances of the 
 Middle Ages, while he had not read any 
 of them. 
 
 ' Whether or not the time has arrived for 
 determining the matter remains to be seen. It 
 may be that this advanced age is ripe for the 
 discovery. It may be that we are the selected 
 discoverers. At anyrate, there does not seem 
 to be another unexplored source of information 
 than the grave, and to that I propose we direct 
 our immediate attention. 
 
 G
 
 98 Sbaftespearc 
 
 ' I have not been idle in this matter, and, 
 while here, I have made a careful examination 
 of the locality. 
 
 ' In the early mornings, while you have all 
 been sleeping, I frequently visited the spot 
 and made several careful measurements with- 
 out being observed, and I declare the project 
 feasible under certain conditions. With the 
 means and time at our disposal, the diffi- 
 culties and they are not few — may be over- 
 come. It is for you to say whether you 
 will aid in overcoming those difficulties, 
 physical in one sense, and certainly moral 
 in another.' 
 
 There was silence for some time after the 
 termination of Geoffrey's fervent appeal. The 
 suggestion was so astounding, so bold, and 
 so disregardful of custom and conventionality, 
 that each waited for the other to answer him, 
 until at last, Doris, with eyes full of en- 
 thusiasm said, placing her hand affection- 
 ately on his shoulder, ' Where thou goest, I 
 will go ! ' 
 
 'Bravely said,' exclaimed Mr Lay ton ; 'and 
 where you two go, I suppose I must go, so as 
 at least to give you my counsel and advice,
 
 Sbaftespeare 99 
 
 should any unusual peril threaten. But what 
 says our friend Richmond ? ' 
 
 ' I am entirely with you,' he replied. ' I 
 will sink or swim with you. We are all in the 
 same boat ; and whether we arrive safely in 
 port, or sink by the way, I will not desert 
 the ship.'
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The die was cast. They had embarked on 
 an enterprise which was certainly perilous, 
 and of which they could not forsee the end. 
 Full of ardour, yet cautious to avoid suspicion, 
 they moved with deliberation, and discussed 
 many methods of procedure. Should they 
 effect their purpose by the power of money ? 
 Every man has his price. A bribe sufficiently 
 large might be useful, and they might eifect in 
 a night that which otherwise would take weeks 
 to obtain. But whom should they bribe ? The 
 parish grave-digger, or the parish priest ? 
 This idea was dismissed. It would not do 
 to take anyone into their confidence. Finally 
 Geoffrey's plan was decided to be the most 
 feasible, and it was this. 
 
 If it were possible to purchase a piece of 
 land, not too far from the church, and drive 
 a tunnel from it in the direction of the chancel, 
 
 ICX)
 
 Sbaftespeare loi 
 
 so as to reach the grave, the object of their 
 enterprise would be accomplished ; but, was 
 it possible? Was the land to be obtained, 
 and in the right spot? and if so, how could 
 suspicion of their intentions be avoided? 
 Could the tunnel be made by the three men ? 
 What was to be done with the earth they were 
 to remove from the excavation ? and by what 
 means could they cover up their work after it 
 was done ? 
 
 The- first thing to do was to find the avail- 
 able spot for their operations. 
 
 Geoffrey had already provided himself with 
 the largest sized Ordnance Map of Stratford, 
 and he marked on it several positions suitable to 
 the scheme. He made inquiries, but found that 
 nothing was for sale. He and Doris indulged 
 in the pleasurable excitement of house hunting ; 
 and although they were easy to please, they 
 discovered none for sale to suit their purpose. 
 
 But the power of money will tell. There 
 was a house, with a garden of perhaps a quarter 
 of an acre in extent, which seemed to Geoffrey 
 to be admirably suited. It was within the 
 radius of their intended operations. It was 
 detached, and although inconvenient as a
 
 102 Sbal^espeare 
 
 residence, It admitted of additions being made 
 of more rooms and further accommodation. 
 Above all, the area of the property was sufficient 
 for future possibilities. All this he ascertained 
 by calling on the owner, to whom he disclosed 
 his desire to buy. He made no secret of his 
 forthcoming marriage to the lady who accom- 
 panied him, and of his intention to purchase 
 for her a residence at Stratford, as near as may 
 be to where her beloved Shakespeare was laid 
 to rest. As he was rich, he was prepared 
 to pay a high price to gratify her whim. The 
 bait took. Geoffrey became the buyer of the 
 property at double its value. The owner 
 regarding Geoffrey as a more than usually 
 eccentric American, whose admiration of the 
 Poet, shared by all his countrymen, was 
 accentuated by his desire to please the lady 
 he was about to marry. 
 
 Thus the first practical step was taken. 
 
 When possession was given them, arrange- 
 ments were made with a local architect to make 
 designs for the improvement of the house to 
 render it a suitable residence for the four 
 people who intended to reside there. On the 
 plea of lighting the house electrically, a large
 
 Sbaftespeare 103 
 
 wooden shed was put up in the garden, 
 ostensibly as an engine and dynamo house, 
 but with the intention of using it to cover 
 the tunnelling operations, and to conceal the 
 earth they proposed to extract. 
 
 It was necessary for Geoffrey to make 
 frequent journeys to London and other places 
 to purchase the tools and other requisites, such 
 as the boring machinery, which was conveyed 
 to the premises in separate pieces, and the 
 motor ; an oil engine, which as it was to drive 
 the dynamo for lighting the house, excited no 
 suspicion. Matters were thus pretty well 
 advanced, and Mr Layton, with his daughter, 
 had returned to Fleckton, leaving Geoffrey and 
 Sir Henry in charge, when the latter received 
 a telegram from Chamberlain, the London 
 detective, as follows : — 
 
 ' Have found our man. Come at once.' 
 
 Loth though he was to leave his friends, 
 Sir Henry decided to run up to London, 
 especially as Geoffrey insisted upon it, and 
 pursue the investigation, the success of which 
 meant so much for his happiness.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Arrived in town, he met the detective by- 
 appointment, and learnt from that intelligent 
 person that he was on the track of the sus- 
 pected object of their search. 
 
 * You must know, Sir Henry,' said he, ' that, 
 having very few facts to work on, I have had 
 to invent theories and follow them up. The 
 ordinary channels of inquiry yielded no results. 
 I became very friendly with the servants in 
 the family town house, and made more than 
 one journey to the places in the country to 
 obtain a clue, but with barren results. I only 
 found that my man had been cast off by his 
 relatives as a reprobate, and that his address 
 was unknown. This suggested that, if alive, 
 he must have assumed another name and 
 another appearance. He might have left the 
 
 country for a more congenial Continental 
 
 104
 
 Sbakespeare 105 
 
 gambling haunt, where his talent for manipu- 
 lating cards would provide him a living as 
 a chevalier d'industrie. Then I considered it 
 would be better to exhaust the inquiry in 
 London before attempting a search abroad. 
 I believed, from the character I had heard of 
 him, he would resort to no honest work, and 
 I visited most of the shady places in town 
 where gambling was carried on. I sauntered 
 into billiard rooms, I attended race meetings, 
 and I was introduced into many second and 
 third class clubs — some of which have honoured 
 me by membership. I made many acquaintances, 
 and more than once I thought I had spotted 
 some one like the man I was after ; but he 
 would not fit in with my theory of him. 
 Either his age was in error — for Burke's 
 Peerage had given me that — or he had not 
 the unmistakable air of broken-down swelldom 
 which is so hard to shake off ; or he was 
 not sufficiently skilful in his card playing ; 
 for I flatter myself I know pretty well every 
 dodge and trick to which a cardsharper resorts. 
 ' I had pictured him in my mind as a dissi- 
 pated-looking man, pale and thin, with the 
 long fingers of a trickster of cards, with some
 
 io6 Sba??espeare 
 
 remnant of good breeding left in him : but 
 you will see for yourself how much I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 ' I will take you to a club to-night where 
 you will meet with a man of quite the opposite 
 appearance — hale, bluff and countrified, with 
 a demeanour of honesty about him, except in 
 his eyes, which he cannot disguise. Yet I have 
 reason to believe him to be our man, simply 
 because I have found him out in being the 
 most accomplished manipulator of cards I ever 
 saw. His style is absolutely perfect. His 
 methods are mostly original and unexpected ; 
 but he is wasting his talent where he is at 
 present — although he may have some object 
 in view — perhaps waiting for a grand coup, 
 after which he will clear out. 
 
 'We will give him the opportunity if you 
 like. My plan is this : Although you were 
 members of the same club, yet you have never 
 met each other, because he was elected while 
 you were on your travels, and when you 
 returned he had left the club. Therefore he 
 will have no fear you will recognise him. He 
 knows of you, there is no doubt, and is aware 
 of the fact of your wealth. It is more than
 
 Sbafjespeare 107 
 
 likely he will regard you as a possible pigeon 
 to be plucked. I will take you to the club 
 and introduce you to the card table. By-the- 
 bye, what games of cards do you know ? ' 
 
 ' Since my college days,' replied Sir Henry, 
 * I have played but little. I know something 
 of whist and piquet.' 
 
 ' Your knowledge is of no use for the present 
 purpose. Do you know baccarat or ecarte ? ' 
 
 ' A little of the latter and nothing of the 
 former.' 
 
 ' Well, we must improve your knowledge of 
 ecarte, for that is the game that will give us 
 our opportunity with him. It is not necessary 
 for you to be a master of the game ; in fact, 
 a little knowledge in this instance will be the 
 useful thing ; you will be the easier victim. 
 I will arrange you shall play with him. You 
 will find yourself a winner in the beginning. 
 The stakes will be increased. He will most 
 likely let you win a few hundreds. The 
 lookers on will be betting — backing you or 
 your opponent — for you must remember they 
 do not know his real character or your motives. 
 Presently you will find that a run of luck in 
 his favour will set in and you will begin to lose.
 
 io8 Sbaftcspeare 
 
 You must keep your head, if you can, so as 
 not to awake his suspicions. Do not refuse to 
 increase the stakes, and this is what will 
 happen.' So saying, Chamberlain produced 
 from his pocket a pack of cards, and pro- 
 ceeded to play several games of ecarte with 
 Sir Henry, explaining, as he went on, the nice 
 points of the game, and showing him not only 
 the commonplace cardsharper's trick of pro- 
 ducing the useful and necessary king, but also 
 the more artistic methods of the dealer in 
 placing any cards he chooses into his own and 
 his opponent's hands. 
 
 Chamberlain further explained : ' The man we 
 hope to meet to-night is doubtless prepared for 
 any emergency. I have no doubt he has a store 
 of kings and other cards about him of the 
 same pattern as those in use at the club, with 
 mechanical means of producing them at will ; 
 and I intend, at the critical moment, when you 
 have lost a few thousands — on paper, for no 
 money or cheques need pass — to accuse our 
 man of cheating. There will be a row. He, 
 of course, will be highly indignant. He may 
 show fight ; but before he will have time for 
 any active defence I will get hold of him, and
 
 Sbaftcspeare 109 
 
 as I know exactly where he keeps his con- 
 cealed cards and apparatus, there will be no 
 difficulty in dragging them forth as proofs of 
 my accusation. Even the members of the 
 Pandemonium Club will be astonished — for, to 
 give them their due, they draw the line at 
 card cheating, especially when it is found out. 
 We shall have them all with us, and then — ' 
 
 ' And then,' said Sir Henry, ' it appears to 
 me, we shall have exposed a cheat ; but that 
 is all. I fail to see the connection between him 
 and the man who caused the ruin of my friend 
 Rupert Ellerslie.' 
 
 ' I see it is necessary for me to tell you 
 everything,' replied Chamberlain, ' and I think 
 you will find I have absolute proof they are the 
 same. When I first discovered him, and was led 
 to make further investigation because of his 
 ability as a cardsharper, I had him shadowed 
 and carefully watched. It was not long before 
 the knowledge of his living-place was obtained 
 — a room in a mean street on the south side 
 of the Thames — and it was not long before, 
 under an ordinary pretext, I made an examina- 
 tion of his apartment, in the owner's absence. 
 I took the liberty of picking the lock of a small
 
 no 
 
 Sbaf^espeare 
 
 writing-case on his dressing table, and found 
 therein letters from his noble father and other 
 members of his family; and, to do them justice, 
 they have worked hard to reclaim him before 
 casting him off. Some notes and memoranda 
 in his own handwriting, which I had no diffi- 
 culty in comparing and identifying with his 
 writing at the Pandemonium Club, a signet 
 ring with the family crest, and, in fact, evi- 
 dence enough in the writing-case, and in 
 the room itself, to satisfy the most doubting 
 mind.' 
 
 ' This is indeed good news,' said the de- 
 lighted Sir Henry. ' I congratulate myself 
 upon having asked your assistance. And how 
 about the future.^ V/hat do you propose to 
 
 dor 
 
 ' Well,' replied Chamberlain, ' having un- 
 masked our man, and having proved to our- 
 selves and to others his true character, we will 
 then follow him up, and I shall be surprised if 
 you and I together do not obtain a confession 
 from him. He will be very much down on his 
 luck, and broken in spirit. This class of man 
 might be induced to speak the truth for a 
 consideration, and a visit to him may yield
 
 Sbaftespeare 
 
 III 
 
 good and, perhaps, unexpected results. But the 
 time has come for you to dine and dress. I 
 will call for you at ten o'clock. Remember, 
 please, that I am Mr Fortescue ; but there is 
 no necessity for you to disguise your name or 
 appearance.'
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 At ten o'clock Chamberlain presented himself 
 at Sir Henry's hotel, and sent up his card as 
 Mr Fortescue. He was not only faultlessly 
 attired in evening dress, but had taken other 
 means of sinking the detective into the man 
 about town. 
 
 When they drove away together in a 
 hansom Sir Henry complimented him upon 
 his transformation. 
 
 The Pandemonium Club, to those who 
 know it, is, so far as regards locality and 
 class, just on the borders of Clubland. It 
 is a proprietary establishment of mushroom 
 growth, which imitates the Pall Mall article 
 in many ways ; but, like most establishments 
 of the same kind, is an unlicensed tavern, if 
 anything. Membership is not so difficult to 
 
 112
 
 Sba??espeare 113 
 
 secure as in the Athenasum, but then to be 
 blackballed there is no disgrace, whereas, to 
 be served in the same manner at the Pande- 
 monium is a stigma indeed. One must be 
 an out and out bad character to be ineligible 
 for the Pandemonium. The features of the 
 club are bad wines, pretentious and expensive 
 food, billiards and baccarat, poker and ecarte. 
 Among the members are more betting men than 
 bishops, and the odds about any event, racing 
 and otherwise, can be obtained at any hour 
 of the day and night — especially the night. 
 The club keeps its doors open while any two 
 of its members remain playing cards — for fines 
 after one o'clock are the chief source of in- 
 come to the proprietor. 
 
 Sir Henry and Fortescue soon found them- 
 selves in the smoking-room, which was the 
 rendezvous of members before gambling com- 
 menced. They smoked their cigars and 
 drank their whiskies, and looked about them. 
 Fortescue informed Sir Henry that their man 
 had not yet arrived. ' He calls himself 
 James Salter ; and, if he comes into the room 
 to-night, I wonder if you will recognise him 
 from my description. I think it will be well 
 
 H
 
 114 Sbaftespeare 
 
 we should get into conversation with some of 
 those who are present. I will, when the 
 occasion arrives, introduce you to one or 
 two, so as to pave the way for him when he 
 comes.' 
 
 A break in the conversation permitted 
 Fortescue to interject a remark which led, 
 naturally, to the mentioning of his friend's 
 name, and it was observable, by the deference 
 paid him, that the club felt itself honoured 
 by the presence of Sir Henry Richmond — a 
 man of title and wealth — two distinctions 
 unusual in members of, and visitors to, the 
 Pandemonium. The utmost friendliness was 
 shown him, and conversation was at its height 
 when James Salter entered. 
 
 Sir Henry gave Fortescue an expressive 
 look, which was answered by a slight move- 
 ment of the detective's eyelid, and soon after 
 Salter joined the circle and supplied his quota 
 to the intelligent, if not intellectual, general 
 remarks. 
 
 When half-an-hour had thus passed some 
 one suggested an adjournment to the card 
 room upstairs, and a move was made 
 there.
 
 SbaT:e5peare 115 
 
 Sir Henry and Fortescue were soon seated 
 at a whist table with two others, who ex- 
 pressed themselves afterwards that ' The baronet 
 was a very agreeable fellow, but that he could 
 not play whist a little bit,' which was per- 
 fectly true, for his knowledge of whist was 
 derived from the few games he had played 
 in his college days. Several brilliant displays 
 of wrong play evinced his originality. He 
 showed himself to be quite a learned doctor 
 in the ethics of the ' play of the involuntary 
 card,' until his partner nearly had a fit in 
 restraining himself from swearing. Then, 
 when the rubber ended, the table broke up, and 
 the poker room was visited, where a party of 
 five were enjoying a pleasant gamble of two 
 pounds limit. 
 
 Salter, who had followed Sir Henry from the 
 whist room, where he had been an observer of 
 his play, sat down by his side, stood drinks to 
 those about him, and made himself generally 
 agreeable. 
 
 But why prolong a description of the double 
 plot which was in progress } When the two 
 chief actors were only too desirous of bringing 
 about its success, the result was assured, and it
 
 ii6 Sbal^espeare 
 
 happened pretty well on the same lines as the 
 detective had predicted. 
 
 At about one o'clock in the morning all the 
 members then in the club had assembled round 
 the card table at which Sir Henry and Salter 
 were playing ecarte, attracted there by the high 
 play. All other amusements had been given up. 
 The poker tables were deserted, the billiard 
 room gave up its contents, and everyone was 
 more or less excited at looking on at a game 
 where hundreds of pounds might be won or 
 lost at the turn of a card. 
 
 The stakes had been doubled more than once. 
 Sir Henry was a loser of some thousands. The 
 lookers-on were breathless with excitement. 
 Then the moment arrived when Chamberlain 
 concluded it was time to act. He suddenly 
 seized Salter's hand and, with a wrench, turned 
 it up and disclosed a king in its palm. Salter 
 jumped up. Chamberlain made a dash at his 
 chest, tore up his waistcoat, and before Salter 
 could do or say anything in self-defence, the 
 detective dragged forth a curious contrivance 
 of springs and wires, with a holdfast to which 
 was attached several cards. He had not done 
 with him, for as Salter, with a howl of rage,
 
 Sbaf^espeare 117 
 
 drove his fist into the detective's face — a blow 
 which the latter neatly avoided — Chamberlain 
 tripped him up so that he fell, and before he 
 had time to rise he found himself pinioned with 
 the left arm of his assailant, while more cards 
 were being produced from his pockets. 
 
 Then he was allowed to get up from the 
 ground. He glared around him. He saw no 
 sympathy in the faces of the excited crowd. 
 This was no time for defence. What could he 
 say or do ? He had been caught in the act, 
 and the game was up. He slunk towards the 
 door, the members making way for him. He 
 made a rush for the stairs. Amid shouts of 
 derision and resentment he gained the street, 
 and disappeared for ever from the Pande- 
 monium Club.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 On the day following the episode at the club 
 Sir Henry and Chamberlain met to decide upon 
 the next step. They came to the conclusion to 
 strike at once. So the detective proposed to 
 his companion to provide himself with a couple 
 of thousand pounds in bank notes for possible 
 emergencies, and then they took a cab and drove 
 across the river to Salter's lodgings. 
 
 The cab was discharged at the corner of the 
 street, and they walked to the house and rang the 
 bell. The door was opened by a slatternly woman 
 who, on their inquiring for Mr Salter, and 
 saying they were friends of his, directed them 
 to the second floor front, at the door of which 
 they knocked and then walked in. 
 
 Salter was lying on his bed half dressed, with 
 
 a pipe in his mouth. 
 
 ii8
 
 Sbaftespearc 119 
 
 He sprang up on seeing his visitors, and, 
 with a look of fear and surprise on his face, said, 
 ' What the devil do you want ? ' 
 
 ' A few minutes' talk with you, Mr Salter,' 
 replied Chamberlain. 
 
 ' And what if I refuse to have anything to 
 do with you ? ' 
 
 ' Then you will have to listen whether you 
 like it or not,' said Chamberlain, as he walked 
 to the door, locked it, and put the key in his 
 pocket. 
 
 'Sir Henry Richmond and I,' he continued, 
 ' are here to make amends of a certain kind 
 for the unpleasant scene of last night, and to 
 purchase of you some information.' 
 
 ' Oh ! you have come to apologise.' 
 
 ' No ! not to apologise,' said Sir Henry, 
 ' hardly that ; but as our little game of cards 
 was the cause of the inevitable disaster to your 
 present prospects, I am anxious to make you 
 a substantial recompense.' 
 
 ' That's very good of you,' said Salter ; ' but 
 this generosity means something more. Out 
 with it.' 
 
 ' It does mean something more ; and, with 
 your permission, we will sit down.'
 
 120 Sbaftespeare 
 
 ' By all means,' sneered Salter. ' I am sorry 
 I can offer you no refreshment.' 
 
 ' Thanks, it is not necessary ; but if you 
 will give me your attention I think it will be 
 sufficient.' 
 
 ' Go ahead,' replied Salter. 
 
 ' Well then,' said Sir Henry, ' I will com- 
 mence by asking a question. Would you be 
 surprised to hear that our little game of ecarte 
 was got up especially for your benefit ? ' 
 
 ' What the devil do you mean ^ A 
 plant ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' remarked Chamberlain, 'a plant, and 
 an entirely successful one. I arranged it.' 
 
 ' You ! ' said the enraged Salter. ' Damn you ! 
 Fortescue ; what for ? Of all the fellows at 
 the Pandemonium I never thought you were 
 on the cross.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it will clear matters a little if I 
 tell you my name is not Fortescue.' 
 
 ' There's nothing new in that : there are 
 several Howards, Montagues and Cecils at the 
 club.' 
 
 ' Yes ; ' replied Chamberlain, ' I am not the 
 only one there who has assumed a name with an 
 object. My name is Chamberlain, and I am a
 
 Sbaftespeare 
 
 121 
 
 detective. But perhaps Sir Henry had better 
 go on now.' 
 
 With a glance at the locked door and the 
 window, the hunted man, ashy pale from rage 
 and fear, retired to his seat on the bed. He 
 ground his teeth with rage, opened and closed 
 his fists and growled, 'You have trapped me 
 I can't help listening to you. Go on.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Sir Henry, ' I frankly tell you it 
 was necessary to unmask you to succeed in the 
 object I have in view. For I know you. I 
 know who you are, and that Salter is not your 
 true name. You have assumed it instead of 
 your family one.' 
 
 ' I deny it,' shouted Salter. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said Chamberlain, quietly, as he 
 tapped with his stick the writing-case on the 
 dressing table, ' this box contains some informa- 
 tion on the subject. Go on, Sir Henry.' 
 
 ' Devil ! ' hissed the cowed Salter as he sank 
 on his seat. 
 
 ' About four years ago you were a member 
 of a West End club, to which also belonged a 
 friend of mine, Rupert Ellerslie, and at the 
 baccarat table one night, when he and you were 
 present, an accusation of card cheating was
 
 122 
 
 Sbaftespcare 
 
 made, and he, though innocent, had to suffer for 
 the wrongdoing of someone else. I want to 
 prove his innocence. Can you assist me ^ ' 
 
 ' I know nothing about it,' sullenly replied 
 Salter. 
 
 ' Come, come, my friend,' said Chamberlain ; 
 ' you surely remember it .? ' 
 
 ' I know nothing about it, I tell you.' 
 
 ' Will anything make you remember it ? 
 Say, for example, a liberal present in ready 
 money. How much ? ' 
 
 ' To remember it ? ' said Salter, with a gleam 
 of cunning in his eye. ' A thousand ! ' 
 
 ' We are getting on nicely,' said Chamberlain ; 
 and how much to clear Mr Ellerslie ? ' 
 
 ' Ten thousand.' 
 
 ' No business to be done to-day, I see,' said 
 Chamberlain. ' You estimate the value of 
 your services at too high a figure. Besides, I 
 ought to tell you that we only want your 
 assistance to complete the transaction. With 
 Sir Henry's and my evidence of the disclosure 
 of last night, and this little packet of documents, 
 which you recognise as having been abstracted 
 from the writing-case on the dressing table, we 
 have a fairly strong case, which, doubtless, you
 
 Sbaftespeare 123 
 
 will consider a negative one. I admit it ; and 
 as I always, or nearly always, play with my 
 cards on the table — Do not wince Salter. I 
 did not mean to hurt your feelings. Sir Henry 
 is willing to pay for your help. What do you 
 think of a couple of thou. ? Think of the 
 possibilities such a sum discloses for you- in 
 South Africa or Australia. With your talent, 
 you can soon turn it into the ten thousand 
 you jokingly mentioned.' 
 ' Make it five.' 
 
 * I regret I am unable to advise Sir Henry to 
 make it more than two. Besides, that is the 
 exact sum he has with him. It is after bank- 
 ing hours ; and if it were not, we do not care 
 to leave you to get more.' 
 
 ' What do you want me to do ? ' 
 ' To write a confession of the truth.' 
 And then Sir Henry went over his pocket- 
 book, from which he took the bank notes and 
 laid them on the table. Salter moved from off 
 the bed to the dressing table, opened the writ- 
 ing-case, extracted a sheet of paper, pen and 
 ink, walked back to the table, laid the sheet by 
 the side of the notes and wrote some lines, 
 which he signed in his true name. He handed
 
 124 Sbaftcspeate 
 
 the document to Sir Henry, who read it, and 
 passed it on to the detective, who remarked, 
 ' Yes, that will do.' Both he and Sir Henry 
 attached their names as witnesses. The bank 
 notes were given to Salter, with the papers 
 belonging to him, and with a quiet ' good after- 
 noon ' all round, the two took their departure.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Sir Henry permitted but little time to elapse 
 before he had effectually cleared the character 
 of Rupert from the stigma cast upon it. The 
 committee of his club were glad to reinstate 
 him. The production of the confession, signed 
 by the true delinquent and witnessed by Rich- 
 mond and Chamberlain, was at once accepted 
 as ample vindication of EUerslie's innocence. 
 There was a unanimous feeling that immediate 
 steps should be taken to bring him back 
 from his self-imposed exile. The most dis- 
 tinguished personage in the club graciously 
 volunteered to write him an autograph letter, 
 expressing his particular opinion of him, con- 
 gratulating him upon the complete exoneration 
 of his character and inviting him to return. 
 
 Sir Henry received the letter to be forwarded 
 to Ellerslie, together with special permission to 
 
 125
 
 126 Sbaf?espeare 
 
 show it previously to Rupert's father, mother, 
 sister and friends, and as it contained a particu- 
 lar paragraph indicating the writer's opinion 
 that he was never one of those who believed 
 in Rupert's guilt, it was an unusually valuable 
 and reassuring testimonial. Sir Henry sent a 
 telegram to the family at Ellerslie Court 
 announcing the joyful news, and followed it 
 up with letters to them and to his friends at 
 Stratford. He then found the names of the 
 best known firm of lawyers in Toronto, and 
 telegraphed them to spare no time, effort or 
 money in communicating with Rupert at the 
 Great Manitoulin Island, or wherever he might 
 be, and to tell him the good news. As the 
 search was an easy one — for Rupert was found 
 without much difficulty under such carte blanche 
 instructions — Sir Henry's cup of joy was filled 
 to the brim. A telegram was received, both by 
 him and the Ellerslies, telling them of Rupert's 
 intention to return at once, and Sir Henry 
 timed his visit to Ellerslie Court (to which he 
 had been earnestly invited) so as to be present 
 at the moment of Rupert's happy arrival at 
 the home of his delighted parents. Words 
 cannot describe the meeting — the joy of
 
 Sbaftespcare 127 
 
 the Ellerslies and their thankfulness to Sir 
 Henry. 
 
 What more fitting occasion could there be 
 for Sir Henry to declare his love to Linda? 
 None, surely ; and accordingly one morning he 
 told the gentle maiden of his love, and shyly 
 but consciously she permitted her heart to 
 speak her responsive feelings. 
 
 This happy result was regarded by Mr and 
 Mrs Ellerslie and Rupert as a fitting and most 
 delightful sequence to Sir Henry's achievement, 
 for which, indeed, they felt unending gratitude ; 
 and how could they better prove it than by 
 welcoming him into their family as a beloved 
 member of it. 
 
 No one was more pleased than Lady Rich- 
 mond to hear of her son's choice. Sir Henry 
 took Linda over to Fleckton, accompanied by 
 her mother, father and Rupert, and universal 
 joy reigned. 
 
 All this time our friends at Stratford were 
 constantly engaged in the great enterprise. 
 Geoffrey, who had been left in charge, had, 
 assisted by Mr Layton and Doris, furnished 
 the reconstructed cottage. The shed had been 
 built in the garden and fitted with the engine
 
 128 SbaFiespeare 
 
 to drive the dynamo for the electric light, and 
 for the more important purpose of working 
 the boring machinery. The trio moved into 
 the cottage, and a letter was despatched to Sir 
 Henry informing him they only waited for his 
 arrival to begin the work, and he, loth as he 
 was to leave his lady love, responded loyally, 
 and soon arrived on the scene of action.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 DIARY OF GEOFFREY 
 
 I HAVE put in the form of a diary the events 
 which follow our acquisition of the cottage and 
 garden. 
 
 Our establishment comprises an elderly 
 female as cook and two maids, chosen for 
 their sedate, not to say stupid, appearance, 
 presided over by my bright and beautiful 
 Doris ; but as appearances are deceitful, our 
 obtuse-looking servants are warned, as an 
 additional precaution, not to enter or even 
 to go near the shed in the garden, which, 
 whether we are in or out of it, is always kept 
 locked. Besides, I think my short lecture to 
 them on the dangers of electricity in general, 
 and of our installation in particular, with the
 
 I30 Sbaftespearc 
 
 additional terror of the oil engine, will effectu- 
 ally extinguish any curiosity they may feel to 
 make a surreptitious visit to the place where 
 our secret operations will be carried on. 
 
 The shed is a spacious building, lighted only 
 from the glazed roof, and with no windows 
 at the sides. A small lean-to at one end contains 
 the electric accumulators. Inside the shed is 
 an oil engine of sufficient power to drive the 
 dynamo, as well as to supply the necessary 
 energy to drive boring tools, and to work a 
 hoist and other machinery, all of which I 
 purchased in London, Birmingham and else- 
 where, and have had brought here at various 
 times and in separate pieces. My knowledge 
 of mechanics has enabled me, with the assistance 
 of Mr Layton, to put everything in place after 
 the engine and dynamo had been set up by 
 workmen from London. We have also a pump, 
 worked by the engine, if it be found necessary 
 to extract water from the pit, which we intend 
 to sink at least eighteen and a half feet down, 
 and from nearly the bottom of which we intend 
 to drive an adit passage towards the chancel of 
 the church. This adit is to be on a slightly 
 upward incline, so that we shall have a dry path
 
 Sbaftespeare 131 
 
 to work on. The object of our search 
 is supposed to be seventeen feet below the 
 surface ; but whether the bottom or the top 
 of the grave is that distance down is im- 
 possible to say, or whether, indeed, the state 
 ment is altogether incorrect or not remains 
 to be seen. I have carefully taken the 
 compass bearings, and have measured on the 
 ordnance map the exact distance. Our 
 tunnel will be driven through comparatively 
 easy soil ; but if we meet with obstacles, we 
 must perforce overcome them — for we have 
 time, energy and the means to do so. 
 We propose to light the tunnel electrically, 
 and to fit it with bell communication to 
 the house, so that warning may be given 
 us of danger from intrusive visitors. Our 
 plans are to work only a few hours every 
 day, not only to render our labour easier, 
 but by frequently showing ourselves out 
 walking, riding and driving, to avert any 
 suspicion. Everything necessary has, I believe, 
 been provided. The shed, our workshop, 
 is, to my mind, as complete for our purpose 
 as forethought can make it. The easy- 
 running engine and dynamo, the lathe and
 
 132 SbaMespeare 
 
 the rest of the machinery and tools, give a 
 serious aspect to the scene. They remind 
 me of the arduous labour we have taken 
 upon ourselves and the responsibilities of the 
 undertaking, and it is without any misgiving 
 or self-reproach that I wonder what its 
 termination will be. 
 
 November ist, 1894. — Henry Richmond 
 arrived and received, with great satisfaction, 
 our congratulations on his happy engage- 
 ment to Linda Ellerslie. The sympathetic 
 tie which unites us gains strength by his 
 new happiness, in which we all partake. No 
 one was more sincere in her good wishes 
 than my dear Doris, who had already ex- 
 pressed to me her expectations and hopes 
 that the loves of Linda and Henry might 
 be fittingly realised. 
 
 In the afternoon I showed him over the 
 workshop, of which he expressed his great 
 admiration. The only doubt he seemed to 
 have was that the labour of shaft sinking 
 and tunnel driving would be too much for 
 the three of us, and that we might require 
 help. I replied that what we wanted in 
 strength we could make up by taking time,
 
 SbaF^espeare 133 
 
 and that I saw no necessity for admitting 
 anyone to our secrets. He suggested that, 
 if extra aid were absolutely necessary, his 
 future brother-in-law, Rupert, an athletic 
 young fellow and thoroughly devoted to 
 him, might be called in. 
 
 November 3^. — We started work. A ring, 
 four feet six inches in diameter, was marked on 
 the ground at a spot we selected as a good 
 position for the shaft, and my dear Doris 
 was invited to take the first spadeful of 
 earth from the surface we broke up for 
 the purpose. We had donned our work- 
 ing clothes, and made very respectable 
 navvies. Richmond and I, with pickaxe 
 and shovel, made fair progress, while Mr 
 Lay ton helped in removing the earth to 
 the large unoccupied space in the shed 
 reserved for the purpose. I had calculated 
 that if it were insufficient we could form 
 new flower beds out in the garden with 
 the surplus without suspicion. We worked 
 for two hours, and then broke off. 
 
 During the next six days we worked for 
 two or three hours each day. 
 
 November loth. — We rigged up our
 
 13+ Sbaftcspeare 
 
 derrick and connected it to the engine ; for 
 we had got down deep enough to require 
 mechanical aid in lifting the baskets of 
 earth from the shaft, and by means of an 
 inclined plane and a tipping arrangement 
 the soil was more easily conveyed away. 
 
 November nth. — This day arrived Lady 
 Richmond, Mr and Mrs Ellerslie, Linda 
 and Rupert. This visit had become abso- 
 lutely necessary ; for, in spite of daily letters 
 to and fro between Henry and Linda, he 
 had so longed to see his sweetheart that I 
 feared he might break loose and rush off 
 to the Court to her. So Mr Layton and 
 I, in secret council, decided to recommend 
 that they should be asked to come to us 
 for a few days. They put up at the 
 hotel. We gave ourselves a holiday, which 
 was devoted to our friends. Mr Layton 
 waited upon Lady Richmond. We engaged 
 couples found ourselves sufficiently interested, 
 and the only one out in the cold was the 
 stalwart Rupert, whose muscular appearance 
 we viewed with admiration, not altogether 
 disconnected with its utility in a certain 
 laborious work we had in hand. He be-
 
 Sbaftespcare 135 
 
 haved very well, and together with Mr EUers- 
 lie, took great interest in all the Shakespearian 
 objects in and about the town, and evinced 
 no curiosity, whatever he may have felt, in 
 the secluding of ourselves in Stratford. 
 Remembering that the day might come 
 when we should be obliged to ask for 
 Rupert's aid, I thought that it would perhaps 
 be wise to give him a present hint of our 
 purpose ; but, on second thoughts, I considered 
 it better to refrain. The dangerous quest in 
 which we are engaged, with many doubts of 
 what the future has in store, requires extreme 
 caution in imparting our secret, and in bind- 
 ing the conscience of anyone who may not 
 possess sufficient enthusiasm to make the 
 process easy. 
 
 November \\th. — Our friends have gone, and 
 Richmond is himself again. We resume work 
 with increased activity, and make considerable 
 progress with our shaft sinking. We expected 
 to find trouble from water, and are prepared 
 with the necessary pumping apparatus, but are 
 agreeably surprised at the dryness of the soil 
 as we descend. This is to be accounted for 
 by the absence of rain during the season, and
 
 136 Sbaftespeare 
 
 the natural porosity of the ground we are 
 working in, 
 
 November i^th to the 10th. — The sinking 
 proceeded without other incident than the 
 breaking down of the hoist on the last day, 
 which necessitated a visit to Birmingham to 
 purchase new pulleys and ropes. 
 
 November i^th. — While at work down be- 
 low, the danger signal, sounding twice, denoted 
 visitors to the cottage. I ascended the ladder. 
 We resumed our every-day clothes and sauntered 
 into the house. We had visitors indeed. A 
 carriage - load of distinguished county people 
 and friends of the Richmonds were in our small 
 drawing-room. They had heard of Lady Rich- 
 mond's visit to Stratford, and of Sir Henry 
 living there. They had called, probably out of 
 curiosity, and certainly for social reasons, and 
 we had some difficulty in explaining away our 
 selection of Stratford as a home. The air was 
 full of danger; but our visitors, much to our 
 relief, were too polite to press us further, and 
 they left with the impression that we were 
 afflicted with an American form of Shake- 
 spearian lunacy. 
 
 Hitherto we had not been troubled with
 
 Sbaftespeare 137 
 
 visitors. The parson had called, as a matter of 
 duty to the newcomers into his parish. When 
 he left, we compared notes and found we had 
 each been thinking of the same thing — what his 
 feelings would be if he knew the object of our 
 choice of Stratford as an abiding-place ? Out- 
 wardly calm, but inwardly quaking with terror, 
 we had passed that mauvais quart d'heure^ and 
 sincerely hoped he would never repeat his 
 visit. 
 
 November 30//Z. — By this date we had 
 finished the shaft, the base of which 
 we enlarged considerably, so as to admit 
 of the simple machinery for driving the 
 tunnel, which we placed in position without 
 delay. 
 
 December '}^d. — Began tunnelling, and made 
 fair progress through the soft earth. As the 
 work proceeded we retained the roof with suit- 
 able lengths of board, and upheld it with props. 
 We lighted the gallery with incandescent lamps 
 from the dynamo above, and, as a piece of 
 engineering work, we could not but feel 
 satisfied with our labours. 
 
 With an occasional breakdown and stoppage 
 for repairs the following days were passed.
 
 138 Sbaftcspeare 
 
 We met with stones and portions of ancient 
 tree roots, which required to be extricated by 
 hard manual labour, and their removal and 
 hoisting to the surface were not accomplished 
 easily. Any moisture that percolated through 
 the tunnel flowed to the well we had made 
 at the bottom of the shaft, and was pumped 
 up to the surface through a pipe to a trough 
 into the garden, and our gallery was quite 
 dry. 
 
 As the work progressed I could not but 
 feel an increased anxiety regarding the ultimate 
 result. The responsibility of the undertaking, 
 shared in, it is true, by my dear friends with 
 an unexampled cheerfulness and devotion, seemed 
 to me to be entirely my own ; for was not I 
 the prime mover in this extraordinary enter- 
 prise ? Was it not I who had fired their 
 imagination and made them parties to a scheme, 
 the morality of which and its success were at 
 least doubtful.'' And I say now that, were it 
 not for the encouragement and support of my 
 darling Doris, who in her love for me had 
 identified herself with all my thoughts and 
 read my inmost soul, I might have failed in 
 my purpose.
 
 5ba?;espcare 139 
 
 Whatever my two companions thought — and 
 probably they had the same misgivings as my- 
 self — they did not impart them either to each 
 other or to me. It was, therefore, a joyful 
 moment to us all when I announced one day 
 that, according to my calculations, we were 
 nearing the end of our labours, and that 
 within a few hours we should, if no untoward 
 accident happened, strike the grave. We 
 retired to rest that night full of suppressed 
 excitement at the prospect of the revelation 
 which the next day might yield.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 In the morning, after breakfast, we went to work, 
 having arranged with my enthusiastic Doris 
 that we would send to the cottage a signal 
 from the shed to tell her when she should 
 come to us. The engine and machinery were 
 set going. Mr Layton was left on the top 
 to look after matters there while Henry and 
 I descended to our underground work. 
 
 According to the compass and my measure- 
 ments on the map we should be in close 
 proximity to the grave ; so we proceeded with 
 our excavation cautiously, and with constant 
 observation for any signs that might indi- 
 cate the spot we were in search of. We thus 
 proceeded until it seemed to me that only 
 a few inches of earth intervened. I was hold- 
 ing a short, iron tool against the surface, 
 
 140
 
 Sbaftespeare 141 
 
 which Henry was in the act of driving in 
 with a hammer. He had delivered a few 
 blows, causing the earth round about the 
 tool to shake. This was indeed an indica- 
 tion of a hollow space beyond, and when 
 suddenly from the other side came a noise — 
 a curious, weird and unexpected metallic 
 sound — we paused and looked at each other. 
 
 ' What is that ? ' Henry whispered. We 
 were rivetted to the spot. The most abject 
 terror seized us, and we rushed, as best we 
 could, down the gallery and up the ladder to 
 the surface, where we surprised Mr Layton 
 with our chattering teeth and pale faces. 
 It took us some time to recover ourselves 
 and explain, and here the common sense of 
 our friend Layton assisted us. 
 
 ' You cannot,' said he, for a moment believe 
 that the sound you heard had any other than 
 a natural cause. It was sufficiently startling, 
 no doubt, and considering the circumstances, 
 you need not be ashamed of your fright. 
 You had, by the blows on the wall caused it 
 to vibrate, and so displaced something on 
 the other side, which, in falling, made the 
 noise. I will go down with you this time
 
 142 Sbaf^espeare 
 
 and assist.' But this we would not hear of. 
 Henry declared he was better ; and we agreed 
 with Mr Layton that it was no supernatural 
 warning or manifestation, but due to a com- 
 monplace cause. We rested awhile, and then 
 descended once more. 
 
 A description of what followed, when we 
 resumed our labours, reads like a romance, 
 but it is, nevertheless, actually true. 
 
 We succeeded in removing a sufficiently 
 large piece of the intervening earth to en- 
 able us to discover that on the other side 
 was an open space of irregular formation, 
 and by the light of a lamp we saw, with 
 feelings of reverential awe, that it was indeed 
 a grave, within which lay a decayed, moulder- 
 ing coffin. The side and a portion of the 
 top had fallen away, disclosing indication of 
 its tenant. Half in and half out of the 
 coffin lay an object, which seemed to have 
 fallen from its original position. It had 
 rounded sides, and was flat at each end. It 
 puzzled us to think what it might be. 
 There was nothing else in sight ; simply the 
 bones of the dead Shakespeare, which we, 
 in obedience to his wish, took care not to
 
 Sbaftespeare 143 
 
 move, and this cylinder. It was within 
 arm's reach ; so, stretching forth my hand, I 
 with some difficulty grasped it, and brought 
 it out. It was light in weight, and when we 
 rubbed off the incrustation we found that it 
 was made of metal. What could it be ? 
 What did it contain ^ 
 
 Suddenly, with a cry of joy, I said to 
 Henry, ' Herein is the great secret. This 
 cylinder is the depository of the truth. We 
 have succeeded in our search ! ' 
 
 *Then,' replied Henry, grasping my hand, 
 ' we are rewarded indeed. Let us return at 
 once, consult Layton, and decide on the 
 next step. So, carefully bearing the precious 
 cylinder, we got to the surface, and showed 
 our prize to the anxious Mr Layton. 
 
 Then we sent the signal to the cottage, 
 and my darling quickly arrived, full of ex- 
 citement and hope. 
 
 The adventures we had experienced were 
 related, and we concluded that the mysterious 
 sounds we had heard were fully explained 
 by the evident falling of the metal cylinder 
 at the critical moment of our approach. 
 
 We held a hurried council, and there was
 
 144 Sbaftespeare 
 
 no dissentient to the proposal to take action 
 at once, and, by opening the mysterious 
 cylinder disclose its secret contents. 
 
 We examined it with great care. It was 
 of copper, carefully made and hermetically 
 put together. There was no lid or concealed 
 opening. The whole was smooth and with- 
 out joint ; about ten inches long, and three 
 and a half inches in diameter. Were it not 
 light in weight and hollow in sound, it might 
 have been, to all appearances, a solid body. 
 Whatever it was, and whatever it contained, it 
 was surely intended to preserve, to protect, 
 an article of value. But what ^ And how 
 should we open it ? We considered. It must 
 be done carefully. Several suggestions were 
 made. We weighed it in the scales. It was 
 examined over and over again. Was there 
 any spot thinner or weaker than another, 
 which admitted of an easier entrance .? No ; 
 it was the same throughout. How should it 
 be done .'' The lathe ? Yes, the lathe would 
 do it. Fitting it, therefore, carefully in between 
 the pivots, I worked the treadle and applied 
 a cutting tool to one of the ends. In a few 
 minutes the work was done ; and taking away
 
 Sbaftespeare 145 
 
 the cylinder, we gathered around in breath- 
 less excitement to see what it might contain. 
 
 There was something white inside. I said 
 to Doris. ' You shall draw it forth.' 
 
 ' No,' she replied, ' it is more fitting that 
 you, who have led us thus far to success, 
 shall be the first discoverer.' 
 
 Mr Layton and Henry thought so too, but I 
 refused. ' Let Doris do it,' I said. ' She and 
 I are one in thought. She has shared our 
 anxieties, has bravely encouraged and sup- 
 ported us throughout, and she shall crown the 
 discovery.' 
 
 Doris looked at each of us, saw assent in 
 our faces, and without difficulty drew from 
 the cylinder a roll of parchment, which she 
 unwound and handed to me. 
 
 There was writing on it. The whole of one 
 side was filled with it, the other was blank. 
 
 In the half light of the dying day, amid 
 a silence which denoted almost a suspension 
 of the heart's action, such was the concentra- 
 tion of my listeners' attention, I deciphered 
 and read out the secret the document 
 revealed. 
 
 It was written in characters and spelling 
 
 K
 
 146 Sbaftespcare 
 
 of the sixteenth century, in a clear and 
 firm hand, and it read: — 
 
 ' Not for this age nor for any man alive 
 doe I write this. The Courte and the 
 Countrie are alike steeped in Ignorance and 
 Swinish Practices. I scorn them alle. I 
 use Men for mine own purposes. I move 
 them unknown to themselves : some I raise, 
 who in conceit believe themselves their own 
 Arbiters ; some I caste down, catching them 
 in nets they have spread for others ; some 
 I lure with Bribes of golde. To them all 
 I am unknowne, or onlie in disguise. I am 
 alone ; and with potency more than that 
 of Princes and Rulers of the earth it hath 
 pleased me to moulde the mindes of Men 
 with my secret processes, even by Mind com- 
 pelling Mind. The Cause is outside the 
 Grand Circle ; within it Man hath power. 
 I use it when I neede. I make happier the 
 Fewe that understande. Hereafter more shall 
 joye. I smile at Credulitie, that beleeveth 
 whatsoe'er be spoken. Because I have put 
 my Cloake on to William Shakespeare they 
 say it fitteth him well. Had I chosen a
 
 Sbaftespeare 147 
 
 Goat and turned him loose among them, they 
 were not more fooled. I write this (I say) 
 not for these, but for those who shall, when 
 Centuries roll awaie, with wiser Eyes and Mindes 
 more subtle, demande the Truth. In that 
 Daie I shall be with them (for this I saie — Life 
 is continuous, and as its gross Tenement, with 
 all Things of the Earth, disappeareth not, 
 althoughe they change form). A Generation 
 shall live, of whom some shall have gotten 
 knowledge, and with it slowe cominge Wis 
 dom approaching myne owne, who shall in 
 secret, or following Publick Demande, make 
 the discoverie. The secret v/orker shall observe 
 restore and retire. The private Waie is fulle 
 of Danger. The Rightfullenesse of an Acte 
 goeth by numbers. It is my Will that those 
 bold enough to dare the deede in secret 
 concerte make it knowne and worke (as 
 I have done privilie) to the end desired. 
 Nay, more, that for mine owne purpose, and 
 that the silent movinge Hand shall not be 
 fitted to its proper Stock until the fulfil- 
 ment of my designe, I keepe my name un- 
 knowne, but not for alwaie. Wisdom is 
 doled out for rewarde to great labour, and
 
 148 Sbahespeare 
 
 fewe there be with merite sufficient to re- 
 ceive and use it ; but be Contente, accepte 
 with Thankfulnes and knowe that when it 
 pleaseth the Master Minde further to illume 
 the Intellectes of Men (as that Daie shall 
 come surelie but slowlie) then the Curtaine 
 shall be drawne and the dark backward of 
 Human Historic be plainly scene with that 
 which shall happen in the Future Daies,' 
 
 When I had finished no one spoke. The 
 evening shadows had increased, and it almost 
 seemed there had come to us with the 
 document from the grave a spiritual presence 
 to impress us. Doris came closer to my 
 side ; Henry and Mr Layton were looking 
 particularly uncomfortable, when the common 
 sense of the latter came to our rescue. He 
 stepped nimbly to the switch board and 
 turned on the electric light. The effect 
 was wonderful. We all plucked up courage 
 and resumed our normal cheerfulness. 
 
 It was time to return to the cottage, and 
 we carried our prize with us. 
 
 After resting and partaking of a good 
 dinner, the parchment roll was again spread
 
 Sbaftcspeare 149 
 
 out and read and re-read. The words 
 brought to our minds the majestic being 
 who had written them. His spiritual entity 
 might be vibrating in our midst at that 
 moment, watching us and influencing our 
 thoughts. Who was he ? We searched the 
 scroll again and again for internal evidence 
 of his identity, but without success ; neither 
 was there figure in history which answered 
 to his personality. His indomitable indiffer- 
 ence to the appreciation or the recognition 
 of his fellow creatures had closed the door 
 to inquiry. His was the policy of silence 
 and to do great deeds, with no desire for 
 fame. There was one thing clear — his con- 
 temptuous reference to William Shakespeare, 
 and his sneer at the people who believed 
 him to be the author of the works written 
 by another. And who can doubt that the 
 great unknown who wrote the parchment 
 scroll claims the authorship for himself? 
 Because I have put my ' cloake on William 
 Shakespeare they think it fits him well.' 
 These words are explicit ; and if we have not 
 included in our discovery the name of the 
 true author, we have at least found that
 
 ISO Sbaftespeare 
 
 Shakespeare was not he. Shakespeare was but 
 the medium through whom worked another, 
 greater than he and all men besides. Shake- 
 speare has been sufficiently honoured by 
 the selection of himself by this mental demi- 
 god as the vehicle, and has thus derived 
 a surreptitious celebrity too long a time 
 for the patience of man to tolerate. 
 
 At least we moderns have for some time 
 not thought the ' cloake fits him well.' 
 
 Have my companions and I been chosen 
 by the same great master to work out the 
 solution of the problem ? Are we but in- 
 struments directed by him to the end we 
 have reached? It looks like it ; and when 
 I remember what has passed, how that every 
 circumstance of our meeting, and every 
 event of our lives while together, have been 
 conducive to a predestined and ultimate object, 
 I am more than ever convinced there has been 
 and is guidance and method in the process. 
 I perceive, also, that in addition to our satisfac- 
 tion as successful discoverers, there has been 
 intermingled with the search from first to last 
 so much happiness to ourselves and to those 
 near and dear to us, that I must conclude
 
 there has been purpose and intention mani- 
 fested throughout. We all see this, and our 
 joy and gratitude are great indeed. 
 
 At least, we can show our obligation by 
 attending implicitly to the directions of the 
 great unknown Author by restoring the 
 parchment scroll to the grave, and by this 
 act of restitution show our obedience to 
 his will. Dare we, in all humility, place 
 with it in the copper cylinder a record of 
 our own, an announcement of our discovery 
 or not ? It is decided not to do so, but, 
 while imitating the great master, although for 
 an opposite reason, in remaining unknown 
 and unidentified, we shall yet carry out his 
 directions and, with fictitious names, publish 
 to the world an account of our discovery, 
 with every event of our lives during the 
 progress of our search set forth to show 
 their connection with it, the shaping of the 
 end, and our own great happiness.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 The next morning we made a careful transcript 
 of the document, and Henry, who had some 
 knowledge of photography, borrowed a camera 
 and took several negatives of it and the cylinder. 
 I went into the town and found a tinman's shop, 
 the proprietor of which sold me the materials 
 and tools for soldering metal, giving me a 
 few lessons into the bargain. I returned to 
 the cottage, and we adjourned to the work- 
 shop. We took a last look at the scroll, 
 wondering to ourselves when it would see 
 the light again ; then we rolled it up, and 
 Doris, at my request, placed it into the cylinder, 
 to which I soldered the top, making at least an 
 air-tight job of it, if it were not quite so neat 
 
 as it might have been; but this was my first 
 
 152
 
 SbaFiespeare 153 
 
 attempt in that line — probably I shall never be 
 required to undertake another. 
 
 Henry and I then descended the shaft. The 
 light was turned on, and we walked up the 
 gallery. Everything was as when we had left 
 it the day before. I passed my hand through 
 the orifice and deposited the cylinder by the 
 side of what remained of the bones of Shake- 
 speare for the next comer, whoever he might 
 be. We took a last lingering look at the 
 scene. I felt triumphant at our success, and 
 thankful that it had been accomplished with- 
 out accident. If we could not give to the 
 world the name of the great author, his pur- 
 pose had thus far been carried out by us, and 
 we would persevere to the end he indicates. 
 The glorious crown, which for so long a time 
 had been worn by the Usurper, should be appor- 
 tioned by our aid to its rightful possessor, that 
 all men might know the truth, and believe, if 
 they chose to do so. 
 
 With this resolve we closed the orifice and 
 commenced the labour of refilling that end of 
 the gallery with earth, a work by no means an 
 easy one to perform, remembering that as the 
 tunnel was on an incline the task was an
 
 154 Sbaftespeare 
 
 arduous one to bring the earth uphill. No 
 doubt this encumbrance gave rise to the pro- 
 posal to leave it in its then state, first removing 
 the supporting boards from the ceiling and sides 
 and the props and beams which we had inserted. 
 Time would do the rest and it would fall in. 
 
 Day after day we worked at refilling the 
 shaft, in which, or in the tunnel, we left the 
 boring machinery and excavating tools, our 
 shovels, pickaxes, baskets, and other articles 
 for which we now had no use and which 
 would be troublesome to dispose of. 
 
 At last we had finished our labour. The 
 surface was restored to its former condition, 
 the floor of the shed was put back, and every 
 trace of our mining work was obliterated or 
 removed. We decided to retain the property 
 in our own possession for ever, so as to avoid 
 the possibility of another owner or tenant find- 
 ing traces of our designs. It was left in charge 
 of a respectable widow and her daughter as care- 
 takers, whose duties, encouraged by a liberal 
 weekly stipend, included the keeping of the 
 cottage and its contents in perfect order. 
 
 Thus, having succeeded in the quest, we 
 departed from Stratford-on-Avon, to which
 
 SbaF?espeare 155 
 
 we may return some day, perhaps when it 
 has lost its celebrity, not because it is the 
 birthplace of Shakespeare, but when he shall 
 no longer be regarded as the Author of 
 Shakespeare's Plays. 
 
 THE END 
 
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