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LAIRD 4 LEE, CHICAGO, U. S. A.yifc=:THE LAST STROKE
BY
LAWRENCE L. LYNCH
(E. Murdoch VanDeventer)
Author of "Under Fate's Wheels "High Stakes," «The Unseen
Hand" "The Lost Witness," "Shadowed by Three," "Out of a
Labyrinth" "A Slender Clue" "A Mountain Mystery"
HThe Diamond Coterie " "Dangerous Ground
"The Romance of a Bomb Thrower
** Madeline Payne" "The Woman
Who Dared," "The Dan-
ger Line" Etc.
ILLUSTRATED
CHICAGO
LA1KD & LEE, PUBL1SHKKSiterefl According to Act of Congress in the Year *896 b?
WM. H. LEE
It the Office of the Librarian of Cotigresi
Washington, D* CTHE
Modern Webster
PRONOUNCING AND DEFINING
Dictionary of the English Language
ILLUSTRATED
60,000 DEFINITIONS
AN ENTIRELY
NEW
BOOK
MODERN]
WEBSTER!
Dictionary
ENGLISH {/WAGE
IUU5TRATCD
FILLS
A LONG-FELT
WANT
Printed direct from Brand New Type. Actual size, 5£x4 inches. 16mo.
In a small compass "A Treasure Stands Revealed."
Has a Thoroughness and Clearness All Its Own
432 PAGES
AT LAST
A Dictionary Has Been Produced
That Answers Every Possible Demand
The Definitions are clear as crystal.
The Method of Pronunciation is simple and true.
The Illustrations are new and strong.
nDirCC Limp CIoth- N0T lndexed ....... 25 CENTS
I Klvto • Stiff Silk Cloth, indexed....... 50 CENTS
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For sale everywhere, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by
LAIRD 4 LEE, 263-265 Wabash Aye.. CHICAGO. U.S.A.TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. Something Wrong 9
II. Found - 18
III. Nemesis ------ 32
IV. Ferrars - - - - - - 41
V. In Consultation ----- 53
VI. "Which" ------ 64
VII. Renunciation ..... 74
VIII. Trickery......87
IX. A Letter.....- 96
X. This Helps Me - 111
XI. Details ......119
XII. "Ferriss-Grant".....126
XIII. The Lake County Herald - 138
XIV. A Ghost......146
XV. Rebellion 162
XVI. "Out of Reach" 171
XVII. Ruth Glidden.....183
XVIII. Sudden Flittings .... 192
XIX. Through the Mail ... - 202
XX. A Woman's Heart - - - 214
XXI. "Quarrelsome Harry" .... 326
XXII. In Number Nine - - 243
XXIII. Two Interviews ----- 253
XXIV. Mrs. Gaston Latham - 264
XXV. The Last Stroke - 272
680295THE LAST STROKE.
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING WRONG.
It was a May morning in Glenville. Pretty, pictur-
esque Glenville, low lying by the lake shore, with the
waters of the lake surging to meet it, or coyly receeding
from it, on the one side, and the green-clad hills rising
gradually and gently on the other, ending in a belt of
treses at the very horizon's edge.
| There is little movement in the quiet streets of the
town at half past eight o'clock in the morning, save for
thie youngsters who, walking, running, leaping, saunter-
ing or waiting idly, one for another, are, or should be,
on | their way to the school house which stands upon the
very southernmost outskirts of the town, and a little way
up fthe hilly slope, at a reasonably safe remove from the
willlow-fringed lake shore.
T^he Glenville school house was one of the earliest pub-
lic buildings erected in the village, and it had been
"1c ited" in what was confidently expected to be the
cei. er of the place. But the new and late-coming impe-
tus^ which had changed the hamlet of half a hundred
dwellings to one of twenty times that number, and made
of it a quiet and not too fashionable little summer resort,
1 te)10 THE LAST STROKE )
had carried the business of the place northward, and itjk
residences still farther north, thus leaving this seat c|f
learning aloof from, and quite above the newer town, iiji
isolated and lofty dignity, surrounded by trees; in th<e
"outskirts, in fact, of a second belt of wood, which girdlejd
the lake shore, even as the further and loftier fringe cj)f
timber outlined the hilltops at the edge of the easterjn
horizon and far away. j
^es call 'er the 'cademy?" suggested Elias Robbir.ts,
one of the builders of the school house, and an early set-
tler of Glenville. "What's to hinder?" f
"Nothing" declared John Rote, the village orac;le.
"Twill sound first rate." j
They were standing outside the building, just conh-
pleted and resplendent in two coats of yellow paint, arid
they were just from the labor of putting in, " hangin] "
the new bell. /
All of masculine Glenville was present, and the ot^ier
sex was not without representation. ;
"Suits me down ter the ground!" commented a third
citizen; and no doubt it wculd have suited the majority,
but when Parson Ryder was consulted, he smiled genially
and shook his head. ^
"It won't do, I'm afraid, Elias," he said. "We're < ly
a village as yet, you see, and we can't even dub it ^he
High School, except from a geographical point of vi'£w.
However, we are bound to grow, and our titles will cjome
with the growth."
The growth, after a time, began; but it was only a s*um-THE LAST STROKE
11
tner growth; and the school house was still a village
school house with its master and one under, or primary,
teacher; and to-day there was a frisking group of the
sipaller youngsters rushing about the school yard, while
the first bell rang out, and half a dozen of the older pupils
clustered about the girlish under-teacher, full of ques-
tions and wonder; for Johnny Robbins, whose turn it
Wc^s to ring the bell this week, after watching the clock,
an;d the path up the hill, alternately, until the time for the
first bell had come, and was actually twenty seconds
past, had reluctantly but firmly seized the rope and began
to pull.
u 'Taint 110 use, Miss Grant; I'll have to do it. He tol<5
me- not to wait for nothing never, when 'twas half past
eight, and so"—cling, clang, cling—"I'm bound"—cling
—"ter do it!" Clang "yo see," cling, "even if he aint
hefre—" Clang, clang, clang.
The boy pulled lustily at the rope for about half as long
as usual, and then he stopped.
" You don't s'pose that clock c'ud be wrong, do yo\
Miss Grant? Mr. Brierly's never been later'n quarter
past, before."
Miss Grant turned her wistful and somewhat anxious
eye;* toward the eastern horizon and rested a hand upon
the shoulder of a tall girl at her side.
"He may be ill, Johnny," she said, reluctantly, "or his
watch may be wrong. He's sure to come in time for
morning song service. Come, Meta, let us go in and
look at those fractions."12
THE LAST STROKE
Five—ten—fifteen minutes passed and the two headjs
bent still over book and slate. Twenty minutes, anfd
Johnny's head appeared at the door, half a dozen othe(rs
behind it.
"Has he come, Johnny?" (
"No'm; sha'nt I go an' see—" j
But Miss Grant arose, stopping him with a gesture.
"He would laugh at us, Johnny." Then, with another
k at the anxious faces, "wait until nine o'clock, \ at
iw St." j
Johnny and his followers went sullenly back to the
porch and Meta's lip began to quiver. •
"Somethin's happened to him, Miss Grant," she whim-
pered; "I know somethin' has happened!" >
"Nonsense," said Miss Grant. But she went to jthe
window and called to a little girl at play upon the gre£n.
"Nellie Fry! Come here, dear." '
Nellie Fry, an a, b, c student, came running in, jher
yellow locks flying straight out behind her.
What is it, Miss Grant?"
"Nellie, did you see Mr. Brierly at breakfast?'
"Yes'm!"
"And—quite well?"
"Why—I guess so. He talked just like he does
always, and asked the blessin'. He—he ate a lot, tc o—
for him. I 'member ma speakin' of it." \
"You remember, Nellie." .
Miss Grant kissed the child and walked to her cfesk,
bending over her roll call, and seeming busy over it ttntilTHE LAST STROKE
13
the clock upon the opposite wall struck the hour of nine,
a^nd Johnny's face appeared at the door, simultaneously,
w^ith the last stroke.
j"Sh'll I ring, Miss Grant?"
["Yes" The girl spoke with sudden decision. "Ring
tfye bell, and then go at once to Mrs. Fry's house and ask
if-anything has happened to detain Mr. Brierly. Don't
lorter, Johnny."
There was an unwonted flush now upon the girl's
usually pale cheeks, and sudden energy in her step and
voice.
The school building contained but two rooms, beside
the^ large hall, and the cloak rooms upon either side; and
as the scholars trooped in, taking their respective places
with more than their usual readiness, but with unusual
bujstle and exchange of whispers and inquiring looks, the
sleinder girl went once more to the entrance and looked
up land down the path from the village.
Jfhere was no one in sight, and she turned and put her
hanjd upon the swaying bell rope.
"Stop it, Johnny! There's surely something wrong!
Go, now, and ask after Mr. Brierly. He must be ill!"
"He'd 'a sent word, sure," said the boy with conviction,
as vjie snatched his hat from its nail. But Miss Grant
only waved him away and entered the south room, where
the/ elder pupils were now, for the most part, assembled.
'*Girls and boys," she said, the color still burning in
her cheeks, "something has delayed Mr. Brierly. I hope
it #ill be for a short time only. In the meantime, until14
^ THE LAST STROKE
we know—know what to expect, you will, of course, keep,
your places and take up your studies. I am sure I caja
trust you to be as quiet and studious as if your teacher
was here; and while we wait, and I begin my lessons,; I
shall set no monitor over you. I am sure you will njbt
need one." I
The pupils of Charles Brierly were ruled by gentleneis
and love, and they were loyal to so mild a ruler. W^th
1ow whispers, and words of acquiescence, they took Up
their books, and Miss Grant went back to her more rest-
less small people, leaving the connecting door between
the north and south rooms open.
Mrs. Fry's cottage was in the heart of the village, and
upon the hillside, but Johnny stayed for nothing, running
hither, hat in hand, and returning panting, and with a
troubled face.
"Miss Grant," he panted, bursting into her presence
with scant ceremony, "he aint there! Mrs. Fry sayd he
came to school before eight o'clock. He went out wjhile
she was combin' Nellie's hair, an' she aint seen fiim
since!"
Hilda Grant walked slowly down from her little plat-
form and advanced, with a waving movement, until j she
stood in the doorway between the two rooms. The c<£fior
had all faded from her face, and she put a hand against
the door pane as if to steady herself, and seemed to con-
trol or compose herself with an effort. )
"*k>ys—children—have anv of you seen Mr, Bmrbf
tfiis morning ?' jTHE LAST STROKE
15
(For a moment there was utter silence in the school
room. Then, slowly, and with a sheepish shuffling
movement, a stolid-faced boy made his way out from one
of tlie side seats in Miss Grant's room, and came toward
her ^without speaking. He was meanly dressed in gar-
ments ill-matched and worse fitting; his arms were abnor-
mally long, his shoulders rounded and stooping, and his
eyes were at once dull and furtive. He was the largest
pupil, and the dullest, in Miss Grant's charge, and as he
came toward her, still silent but with his mouth half open,
some, of the little ones tittered audibly.
"Silence!" said the teacher, sternly. "Peter, come
herel" Her tone grew suddenly gentle. "Have you
seem Mr. Brierly this morning?"
"A_Th hum!" The boy stopped short and hung his head.
"That's good news, Peter. Tell me where you saw
him."
"Down there," nodding toward the lake.
"At the—lake?"
" pep!"
"|Iow long ago, Peter?"
4?Fore school—hour, maybe."
"/How far away, Peter?"
"jBig ways. Most by Injun Hill."
"lAh! and what was he doing?"
'/Set on ground—lookin'."
"Miss Grant!" broke in the boy Johnny. "He was
gfcit*' to shoot at a mark; I guess he's got a new target
cfowP there, an' him an' some of the boys shoots there,16
THE LAST ai'KOKB
you know.—Gracious!" his eyes suddenly widetifa^g,
"Dy'u s'pose he's got hurt, anyway?"
Miss Grant turned quickly toward the simpleton.
"Peter, you are sure it was this morning that you staw
Mr. Brierly?"
"Uh hum."
"And, was he alone?"
"Uh hum."
"Who else did you see down there, Peter?"
The boy lifted his arm, shielding his eyes with it as if
expecting a blow.
"I bet some one's tried ter hit him!" commented
Johnny. j
"Hush, Johnny! Peter, what is it? Did some cjme
frighten you?" *
The boy wagged his head.
"Who was it?" i
"N—Nothin'—" Peter began to whimper. j
"You must answer me, Peter; was anyone else by j the
lake? Whom else did you see?" j
"A—a—ghost!" blubbered the boy, and this wasj all
she could gain from him. '
And now the children began to whisper, and some of
the elder to suggest possibilities. > >
"Maybe he's met a tramp." >
"P'r'aps he's sprained his ankle!"
"PYaps he's failed into the lake, teacher," piped a s;x-
y*ar-old.fHE LAST STROKE
IT
"Poh!" retorted a small boy. "He kin swim like—»
anything."
"Children, be silent!" A look of annoyance had sud-
denly relaxed the strained, set look of the under teacher's
white face as she recalled, at the moment, how she had
heard Mr. Samuel Doran—president of the board of
school directors—ask Mr. Brierly to drop in at his office
that morning to look at some specimen school books.
That was the evening before, and, doubtless, he was there
now.
Miss Grant bit her lip, vexed at her folly and fright.
But after a moment's reflection she turned again to
Johnny Robbins, saying:
"Johnny, will you go back as far as Mr% Doran's
house? Go to the office door, and if Mr. Brierly is there,
as I think he will be, ask him if he would like me to hear
his classes until he is at liberty."
Again the ready messenger caught up his flapping
straw hat, while a little flutter of relief ran through the
school, and Miss Grant went back to her desk, the look
of vexation still upon her face.
Five minutes' brisk trotting brought the boy to Mr.
Doran's door, which was much nearer than the Fry
homestead, and less than five minutes found him again at
the school house door,
"Miss Grant," he cried, excitedly, "he wa'n't there,
nor haint been; an' Mr. Doran's startin' right out, with
two or three other men, to hunt him. He says there's
somtethin' wrong about it."CHAPTER II.
FOUND.
"I suppose it's all right," said Samuel Doran, as he
walked toward the school house, followed by three or
four of the villagers, "called" because of their nearness,
rather than"chosen;""but Brierly's certainly the last man
to let any ordinary matter keep him from his post.
We'll hear what Miss Grant has to say."
Miss Grant met the group at the gate, and when she
had told them all she had to tell, ending with the testi-
mony of the boy Peter, and the suggestion concerning
the target-shooting.
"Sho!" broke in one of the men, as she was about to
express her personal opinion and her fears, "that's the
top an' bottom of the hull business! Brierly's regularly
took with ashootin' at a mark. I've been out with him
two or three evening of late. He's just got int'rusted, and
forgot ter look at his watch. We'll find him safe enough
som'e'res along the bank; let's cut across the woods."
"He must have heard the bell," objected Mr. Doran,
"but, of course, if Peter Kramer saw him down there,
that's our way. Don't be anxious, Miss Grant; prob-
ably Hopkins is right."
The road which they followed for some distance ran a
lit)THE LAST STROKE
19
somewhat devious course through the wood, which one
entered very soon after leaving the school house. It ran
along the hillside, near its base, but still somewhat above
the stretch of ground, fully a hundred yards in width,
between it and the lake shore.
Above the road, to eastward, the wopded growth
climbed the gentle upward slope, growing, as it seemed,
more and more dense and shadowy as it mounted. But
between the road and the river the trees grew less
densely, with numerous sunny openings, but with much
undergrowth, here and there, of hazel and sumach, wild
vines, and along the border of the lake the low over-
hanging scrub willow,
For more than a four*h of a mile the four men followed
the road, walking in couples, and not far apart, and con-
tenting themselves v an occasional "hallo^ Brierly,"
and with peering interne openings through which they
could see the lake shore as they passed along.
A little further on, however, a bit of rising ground cut
off all sight of the lake for a short distance. It was an
oblong mound, so shapely, so evenly proportioned that
it had become known as the Indian Mound, and was
believed to have been the work of the aboriginese, a pre-
historic fortification, or burial place.
As they came opposite this mound, the man Hopkins
stopped, saying:
"Hadn't a couple of us fellers better go round the
mound on t'other side? Course, if he's on the bank, an*
all right, he'd ort to hear us—but—"20 THE LAST STROKE
"Yes," broke in the leader, who had been silent and
very grave for some moments. "Go that way, Hopkins,
and we'll keep to the road and meet you at the further
end of the mound.''
They separated silently, and for some moments Mr.
Doran and his companions walked on, still silent, then—
"We ought to have brought that simpleton along/'
Doran said, as if meditating. "The Kramers live only a
quarter of a mile beyond the mound, and it must have
been near here—Stop!"
He drew his companions back from the track, as a
pony's head appeared around a curve of the road; and
then, as a black Shetland and low phaeton came in sight,
he stepped forward again, and took off his hat.
He was squarely in the middle of the road, and the
lady in the little phaeton pulled up her pony and met his
gaze with a look of mute inquiry. She wras a small, fair
woman, with pale, regular features and large blue eyes.
She was dressed in mourning, and, beyond a doubt, was
not a native of Glenville.
"Excuse my haste, ma'am," said Doran, coming to the
side of the phaeton. "I'm James Doran, owner of the
stable where this horse belongs, and we are out in search
of our schoolmaster. Have you seen a tall, young nan
along this road anywhere?"
The lady was silent a moment, then—"Was he a Wir
young man?" she asked, slowly.
"Yes, tall and fair."
The lady gathered up her reins.THE LAST STROKE
ft
"I passed such a person," she said, "when I drove out
of town shortly after breakfast. He was going south, as
I was. It must have been somewhere not far from this
place."
"And—did you see his face?"
"No; the pony was fresh then, and I was intent upon
him."
She lifted the reins, and then turned as if to speak again
when the man who had been a silent witness of the little
dialogue came a step nearer.
"I s'pose you hav'n't heard any noise—a pistol shot—
nor anythin' like that, have ye, ma'am?"
"Mercy! No, indeed! Why, what has happened?"
Before either could answer, there came a shout from
the direction of the lake shore.
"Doran, come—quick!"
They were directly opposite the mound, at its central
or highest point, and, turning swiftly, James Doran saw
the man Hopkins at the top of it, waving his arms frant-
ically.
"Is he found?" called Doran, moving toward him.
"Yes. He's hurt!"
With the words Hopkins disappeared behind the knoll,
but Doran was near enough to see that the man's face
was scared and pale. He turned and called sharply to
the lady, who had taken up her whip and was driving on.
"Madam, stop! There's a man hurt. Wait there a
moment; we may need your horse." The last words
were uttered as he ran up the mound, his companionsTHE LAST STROKE
close at his heels. And the lady checked the willing
pony once more with a look half reluctant, wholly
troubled.
"What a position,1" she said to herself, impatiently.
"These villagers are not diffident, upon my word."
A few moments only had passed when approaching
footsteps and the sound of quick panting breaths caused
her to turn her head, and she saw James Doran running
swiftly toward her, pale faced, and too full of anxiety to
be observant of the courtesies.
"You must let me drive back to town with you,
madam," he panted, springing into the little vehicle with
a force that tried its springs and wrought havoc with the
voluminous folds of the lady's gown. "We must have
the doctor, and—the coroner, too, I fear—at once!"
He put out his hand for the reins, but she anticipated
the movement and struck the pony a sharp and sudden
blow that sent him galloping townward at the top of his
speed, the reins still in her two small, perfectly-gloved
hands.
For a few moments no word was spoken; then, without
turning her eyes from the road, she asked:
"What is it?"
"Death I'm afraid!"
"What! Not suicide?"
"Never. An accident, of course."
"How horrible!" The small hands tightened their
grasp upon the reins, and no other word was spoken until
they were passing the school house, when she asked,THE LAST STROKE
23
"Who was it?"
"Charles Brierly, our head teacher, and a good man."
Miss Grant was standing at one of the front windows
and she leaned anxiously out as the little trap darted past.
"We can't stop/' said Doran, as much to himself as to
his companion. "I must have the pony, ma'am. Where
can I leave you?"
"Anywhere here. Is there anything—any message I
can deliver? I am a stranger, but I understand the need
of haste. Ought not those pupils to be sent home?"
He put his hand upon the reins. "Stop him," he said,
"You are quick to think, madam. Will you take a mes-
sage to the school house—to Miss Grant?"
"Surely."
They had passed the school house and as the pony
stopped, Doran sprang out and offered his hand, which
she scarcely touched in alighting.
"What shall I say?" she asked as she sprang down.
"See Miss Grant. Tell her privately that Mr. Brierly
has met with an accident, and that the children must be
sent home quietly and at once. At once, mind."
"I understand." She turned away with a quick, ner-
vous movement, but he stopped her.
"One moment. Your name, please? Your evidence
may be wanted."
"By whom?"
"By the coroner; to corroborate our story."
"I see. I am Mrs. Jamieson; at the Glenville House."24
THE LAST STROKE
She turned from him with the last word, and walked
swiftly back toward the school house.
Hilda Grant was still at the window. She had made
no attempt to listen to recitations, or even to call the roll;
and she hastened out, at sight of the slight black robed
figure entering the school yard, her big grey eyes full of
the question her lips refused to frame.
They met at the foot of the steps, and Mrs. Jamieson
spoke at once, as if in reply to the wordless inquiry in
the other's face.
"I am Mrs. Jamieson," she said, speaking low, mindful
of the curious faces peering out from two windows, on
either side of the open door. "I was stopped by Mr.—"
"Mr. Doran?"
"Yes. He wished me to tell you that the teacher, Mr.
"Brierly?"
"Yes; that he has met with an accident; and that you
had better close the school, and send the children
home quietly, and at once."
"Oh!" Suddenly the woman's small figure swayed;
she threw out a hand as if for support, and, before \ he half-
dazed girl before her could reach her, she sank weakly
upon the lowest step. "Oh!" she sighed again. "I did not
realize—I—I believe I am frightened!" And then, as
Miss Grant bent over her, she added weakly: "Don't
mind me. I—I'll rest here a moment. Send away your
pupils; I only need rest."
When the wondering children had passed out from theTHE EAST STROKE
school rooms, and were scattering, in slov-nfovirtg,
eagerly-talking groups, Hilda Grant stood for a moment
beside her desk, rigid, and with all the anguish of her
soul revealed, in this instant of solitude, upon her face.
"He is dead!" she murmured. "I know it, I feel it}
He is dead." Her voice, even to herself, sounded hard
and strange. She lifted a cold hand to her eyes, but
there were no tears there; and then suddenly, she remem-
bered her guest.
A moment later, Mrs. Jamieson, walking weakly up
the steps, met her coming from the school room with a
glass of water in her hand, which she proffered silently.
The stranger drank it eagerly. "Thank you," she said.
It is what I need. May I come inside for a little ?"
Hilda led the way in silence, and, when her visitor was
seated, came and sat down opposite her. "Will you tell
me what you can?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Willingly. Only it is so little. I have been for some
time a guest at the Glenville House, seeking to recover,"
here in your pure air and country quiet, from the effects
of sorrow and a long illness. I have driven about these
hills and along the lake shore almost daily."
"I have seen you," said Hilda, "as you drove past more
than once."
"And did you see me this morning?"
"No."
"Still I passed this spot at eight o'clock; I think, per-
naps, earlier. My physician has cautioned me against
long drives and this morning I did not go quite so far as26
THE LAST STROKE
usual, because on yesterday I went too far. I had
turned my pony toward home just beyond that pretty
mill where the little streams join the lake, and was driv-
ing slowly homeward when this Mr. Doran—is not that
right? — this Mr. Doran stopped me to ask if I had
seen a man, a tall, fair man—"
"And had you?"
"I told him yes, and in a moment someone appeared at
the top of the Indian Mound, and called out that the man
was found."
"How—tell me how?"
Mrs. Jamieson drew back a little and looked into the
girl's face with strange intentness.
"I—J fear he was a friend of yours," she said in a
strangely hesitating manner, her eyes swiftly scanning
the pale face.
"You fear! Why do you fear? Tell me. You say he
is injured. Tell me all—the worst!"
. Still the small, erect, black-clad figure drew back, a
look of sudden understanding and apprehension dawning
in her face. She moved her lips, but no sound came
from them.
"Tell me!" cried the girl again. "In mercy—Oh,
don't you understand?"
"Yes, I understand now." The lady drew weakly
back in the seat and seemed to be compelling her own
eyes and lips to steadiness.
"Listen! We must be calm—both of us. I—I am not
strong; I dare not give way. Yes, yes; this is all I canTHE LAST STROKE
27
tell you. The man, Mr. Doran, asked me to wait in the
road with the pony. He came back soon, and said that
we must find the doctor and the coroner at once; there
had been an accident, and the man—the one for whom
they searched—was dead, he feared."
She sprang suddenly to her feet.
"You must not faint. If you do, I—I cannot help you;
I am not strong enough."
"I shall not faint," replied Hilda Grant, in a hard
strange voice, and she, too, arose quickly, and went with
straight swift steps through the open door between the
two rooms and out of sight.
Mrs. Jamieson stood looking after her for a moment,
as if in doubt and wonder; then she put up an unsteady
hand and drew down the gauze veil folded back from her
close-fitting mourning bonnet.
"How strange!" she whispered. "She turns from me
as if—and yet I had to tell her! Ugh! I cannot stay
here alone. I shall break down, too, and I must not. I
must not. Here, and alone!"
A moment she stood irresolute, then walking slowly
she went out of the school room, down the stone steps,
and through the gate, townward, slowly at first, and then
her pace increasing, and a look of apprehension growing
inx her eyes.
"Oh," she murmured as she hurried on, "what a hor-
rible morning!" And then she started hysterically as the
shriek of the incoming fast mail train struck her ears.
"Oh, how nervous this has made me," she murmured,THE LAST STROKE
and drew a sigh of relief as she paused unsteadily at the
door of her hotel.
For fully fifteen minutes after Hilda Grand had
reached the empty solitude of her own school room she
stood crouched against the near wall, her hands clinched
and hanging straight at her side, her eyes fixed on space.
Then, with eyes still tearless, but with dry sobs breaking
from her throat, she tottered to her seat, before the desk,
and let her face fall forward upon her arms, moaning
from time to time like some hurt animal, and so heedless
of all about her that she did not hear a light step in the
hall without, nor the approach of the man who paused
in the doorway to gaze at her in troubled surprise.
He was a tall and slender young fellow, with a hand-
some face, an eye clear, frank and keen, and a mouth
which, but for the moustache which shadowed it, might
have been pronounced too strong for beauty.
A moment he stood looking with growing pity upon
the grieving woman, and then he turned and silently tip-
toed across the room and to the outer door. Standing
there he seemed to ponder, and then, softly stepping back
to the vacant platform, he seated himself in the teacher's
chair and idly opened the first of the volumes scattered
over the desk, smiling as he read the name, Charles
Brierly, written across the fly-leaf.
"Poor old Charley," he said to himself as he closed the
book. "I wonder how he enjoys his pedagogic venture,
the absurd fellow/' and then by some strange instinct he
lifted his eyes to the clock on the opposite wall, and theTHE LAST STROKE
strangeness of the situation seemed to strike him with
sudden force and brought him to his feet.
What did it mean? This silent school room! These
empty desks and scattered books! Where were the
pupils? the teacher? And why was that brown-tressed
head with its hidden face bowed down in that other room,
in an agony of sorrow?
Half a dozen quick strides brought him again to the
door of communication, and this time his strong, firm
footsteps were heard, and the bowed head lifted itself
wearily, and the eyes of the two met, each questioning the
other.
"I beg your pardon," spoke a rich strong voice. "May
I ask where I shall find Mr. Brierly?"
Slowly, as if fascinated, the girl came toward him, a
look almost of terror in her face.
"Who are you?" she faltered.
"I am Robert Brierly. I had hoped to find my brother
here at his post. Will you tell me—"
But the sudden cry from her lips checked him, and the
pent-up tears burst forth as Hilda Grant, her heart wrung
with pity, flung herself down upon the low platform, and
sitting there with her face bent upon her sleeves, sobbed
out her own sorrow in her heart-break of sympathy for
the grief that must soon overwhelm him and strike the
happy light from his face.
Sobs choked her utterance, and the young man stood
near her uncertain, anxious, and troubled, until from the
direction of the town the sound of flying wheels smote30
THE LAST STROKE
their ears, and Hilda sprang to her feet with a sharp cry.
"I must tell you ; you must bear it as well as I. Hark!
they are going to him; you must go, too!" She turned
toward the window, swayed heavily, and was caught in
his arms.
It was a brief swoon, but when she opened her eyes,
and looked about her, the sound of the flying wheels was
dying away in the distance, southward.
He had found the pail of pure spring water, and applied
some of it to her hands and temples with the quickness
and ease of a woman, and he now held a glass to her lips.
She drank feverishly, put a hand before her eyes,
raised herself with an effort and seemed to struggle
mutely for self-control. Then she turned toward him.
"I am Hilda Grant," she said brokenly.
"My brother's friend! My sister that is to be!"
"No, no; not now. Something has happened. You
should have gone with those men—with the doctor.
They are going to bring him back."
"Miss Grant, sister!" His hands had closed firmly
upon her wrists, and his voice was firm. "You must tell
me the worst, quick. Don't seek to spare me; think of
him! What is it ?"
"He—he went from home early, with his pistol, they
say, to shoot at a target. He is dead!"
"Dead! Charley dead! Quick! Where is he? I
must see, I must. Oh! there must be some horrible mis-
take."
He sprang toward the door, but she was before him.THE LAST STROKE
31]
"Go this way. Here is his wheel. Take it. Go south
—the lake shore—the Indian Mound/'
A moment later a young man with pallid face, set
mouth and tragic eyes was flying toward the Indian
Mound upon a swift wheel, and in the school room, prone
upon the floor a girl lay in a death-like swoon.CHAPTER lit
NEMESIS.
"Mr. Brierly, are you strong enough to bear a second
shock? I must confer with you before—before we
remove the body."
It was Doctor Barnes who thus addressed Robert
Brierly, who, after the first sight of the outstretched fig-
ure upon the lake shore, and the first shock of horror and
anguish, had turned away from the group hovering about
the doctor, as he knelt beside the dead, to face his grief
alone.
Doctor Barnes, besides being a skilled physician, pos-
sessed three other qualities necessary to a successful car-
eer in medicine—he was prompt to act, practical and
humane.
Robert Brierly was leaning against a tall tree, his back
toward that group by the water's edge, and his face pressed
against the tree's rugged trunk. He lifted his head as
the doctor spoke, and turned a white, set face toward him.
The look in his dark eyes was assurance sufficient that
he was ready to listen and still able to manfully endure
another blow.
The two men moved a few steps away, and then the
doctor said:
(32)
v VTHE LAST STROKE
"I must be brief. You know, do you not, the theory,
that of these men, as to the cause of this calamity?"
"It was an accident, of course."
"They make it that, or suicide."
"Never! Impossible! My brother was a God-fearing,
man, a happy man."
"Still, there is a bullet-hole just where self-inflicted
wounds are oftenest made."
Brierly groaned aloud. "Still," he persisted, "I will
never believe it."
"You need not." Doctor Barnes sank his voice to a
yet lower pitch. "Mr. Brierly, there is a second bullet-
wound in the back!"
"The back! And that means—"
"It means murder, without a doubt. No huntsman
could so mistake his mark in this open woodland, along
the lake. Besides, hunting is not allowed so near the
village. Wait," as the young man was about to speak,
"we have no time to discuss motives now, or the possible
assassin. What I wish to know is, do you want this fact
known now—at once?"
"I—I fear I don't understand. Would you have my
brother's name—"
"Stop, man! Knowing that these men have already
jumped at a theory, the thought occurred to me that the
work of the officers might be made easier if we let the
theory of accident stand."
£fe broke off, looking keenly at the other. He was a34
THE LAST STROKE
good judge of faces, and in that of Robert Brierly he had
not been deceived.
The young man's form grew suddenly erect and tense,
his eye keen and resolute.
"You are right!" he said, with sudden energy, as he
caught at the other's hand. "They must not be enlight-
ened yet."
"Then, the sooner we are back where we can guard
this secret, the safer it will be. Come. This is hard for
you°, Mr. Brierly, I know, and I could say much. But
words, no matter how sincerely sympathetic, cannot
lighten such a blow as this. I admire your strength,
your fortitude, under such a shock. Will you let me add
that any service I can render as physician, as man or
as friend is yours for the asking?"
The doctor hesitated a moment, then held out his hand,
and the four watchers beside the body exchanged quick
glances of surprise upon seeing the two men grasp hands,
silently and with solemn faces, and then turn, still silently,
back to the place where the body lay.
"Don't touch that pistol, Doran," the doctor spoke, in
his capacity of coroner.
"Certainly not, Doc. I wanted to feel, if I could,
whether those side chambers had been discharged or
not. You see," he added, rising to his feet, "when we
saw this, we knew what we had to do, and it has been
'hands off.' We've only used our eyes so far forth."
"And that I wish to do now with more calmness," saidTHE LAST STROKE 35
Robert Brierly, coming close to the body and kneeling
beside it.
It lay less than six feet from the very water's edge, the
body of a tall, slender young man, with a delicate, high-
bred face that had been fair when living, and was now
marble-white, save for the blood-stains upon the right
temple, where the bullet had entered. The hair, of that
soft blonde color, seen oftenest upon the heads of chil-
dren, and rarely upon adults, was thick and fine, and long
enough to frame the handsome face in close half rings
'hat no barber's skill could ever subdue or make straight.
The hands were long, slender, and soft as a woman's; the
'eet small and arched, and the form beneath the loose out-
lines of the blue flannel fatigue suit in which it was clad,
while slender and full of grace, was well built and not
lacking in muscle.
It lay as it had fallen, upon its side, and with one arm
thrown out and one limb, the left, drawn up. Not far
from the outstretched right arm and hand lay the pistol,
a six-shooter, which the brother at once recognized, with
two of the six chambers empty, a fact which Mr. Doran
had just discovered, and was now holding in reserve.
The doctor, upon his discovery of the second bullet-
wound, had at once flung his own handkerchief over the
prostrate head, and called for the carriage robe from his
own phaeton, which, fortunately for the wind and legs of
the black pony, had stood ready at his office door, and
wasnnow in waiting, the horse tethered to a tree at the
edge of the wood not far-away.36
THE LAST STROKE
This lap robe Robert Brierly reverently drew away as
he knelt beside the still form, and thus, for some moments
remained, turning his gaze from right to left, from the
great tree which grew close at the motionless feet, and
between the group and the water's edge, its branches
spreading out above them and forming a canopy over the
body to a dead stump some distance away, where a small
target leaned, its rings of white and black and red show-
ing how often a steady hand had sent the ball, close and
closer, until the bull's eye was pierced at last.
No word was uttered as he knelt there, and before he
arose he placed a hand upon the dead man's shoulder
with an impulsive caressing motion, and bending down,
kissed the cold temple just above the crimson death-
mark. Then, slowly, reverently, he drew the covering
once more over the body and arose.
"That was a vow/' he said to the doctor, who stood
close beside him. "Where is—ah!" He turned toward
the group of men who, when he knelt, had withdrawn to
a respectful distance.
"Which of you suggested that he had fallen—tripped?"
Doran came forward and silently pointed to the foot of
the tree, where, trailing across the grass, and past the
dead man's feet, was a tendril of wild ivy entangled and
broken.
"Oh!" exclaimed Brierly. "You saw that, too?"
"It was the first thing I did see," said the other, com-
ing to his side, "when I looked about me. It's a very
clear case, Mr. Brierly. Target-shooting has been quiteTHE LAST STROKE
8f?
a pastime here lately. And see! There couldn't be a
better place to stand and shoot at that target, than right
against that tree, braced against it. It's the right distance
and all. He must have stood there, and when he hit the
bull's eye, he made a quick forward step, caught his foot
in that vine and tripped. A man will naturally throw out
his arm in falling so, especially the right one, and in
doing that, somehow as he lunged forward, it happened."
"Yes," murmured Brierly, "it is a very simple theory.
It—it might have happened so."
"There wasn't any other way it could happen," mut-
tered one of Doran's companions. And at that moment
the wheels of an approaching vehicle were heard, and all
turned to look toward the long black hearse, divested of
its plumes, and with two or three thick blankets upon its
velvet floor.
It was the doctor who superintended the lifting of the
body, keeping the head covered, and when the hearse
drove slowly away with its pathetic burden, he turned to
Doran.
"I'll drive Mr. Brierly back to town, Doran," he said,
"if you don't mind taking his wheel in charge;" and
scarcely waiting for Doran's willing assent, he took Rich-
ard Brierly's arm and led him toward his phaeton.
The young man had picked up his brother's hat, as
they lifted the body from the ground, and he now carried
it in his hand, laying it gently upon his knees as he took
his seat.
When the doctor had taken his place and picked up the38
THE LAST STROKE
reins he leaned out and looked about him. Two or three
horsemen were riding into the wood toward them, and a
carriage had halted at the side of the road, while a group
of school boys, headed by Johnny, the bell ringer, were
hurrying down the slope toward the water's edge.
"They're beginning to gather," the physician said
grimly. "Well, it's human nature, and your brother had
a host of friends, Mr. Brierly."
Robert Brierly set his lips and averted his face for a
moment.
"Doran," called the doctor. "Come here, will you/'
Doran, who had begun to push the shining wheel up
the slope, placed it carefully against a tree and came
toward them. The doctor meanwhile turning to Brierly.
"Mr. Brierly, you are a stranger here. Will you let
me arrange for you?"
The other nodded, and then said huskily: "But it
hurts to take him to an undertaker's!"
"He shall not be taken there," and the doctor turned to
Doran now standing at the wheel.
"Mr. Doran, will you take my keys and ride ahead as
fast as possible? Tell the undertaker, as you pass, to
drive to my house. Then go on and open it. We will
put the body in the private office. Do not remonstrate,
Mr. Brierly. It is only what I would wish another to do
for me, and mine, in a like affliction." And this was the
rule by which this man lived his life, and because of
which death had no terrors.
"I am a bachelor, you must know," the doctor said, asTHE LAST STROKE
39
they drove slowly in the wake of the hearse. "And I
have made my home and established my office in a
cosy cottage near the village proper. It will save you the
ordeal of strange eyes, and many questions, perhaps, if
you will be my guest, for a day or two, at least."
Robert Brierly turned and looked this friend in need
full in the face for a moment; then he lifted his hand to
brush a sudden moisture from his eye.
"I accept all your kindness," he said, huskily, "for I
see that you are as sincere as you are kind."
When the body of Charles Brierly had been carried in,
and placed as it must remain until the inquest was at an
end, and when the crowd of sorrowing, anxious and curi-
ous people had dispersed, the doctor, who was mas-
terful at need, making Doran his lieutenant, arranged for
the securing of a jury; and, after giving some quiet
instructions, sent him away, saying:
"Tell the people it is not yet determined how or when
we shall hold the inquiry. Miss Grant, who must be a
witness, will hardly be able to appear at once, I fear,"
for, after looking to his guest's bodily comfort, the doc-
tor had left him to be alone with his grief for a little
while, and had paid a flying visit to Hilda Grant, who
lived nearly three blocks away.
When at length the little house was quiet, and when
the doctor and his heavy-hearted companions had made
a pretense of partaking of luncheon, the former, having
sljut and locked the door upon the elderly African who40
THE LAST STROKE
served him, drew his chair close to that of his guest and
said:
"Are you willing to take counsel with me, Mr. Brierly?
And are you quite fit and ready to talk about what is most
important?"
"I am most anxious for your advice, and for informa-
tion."
'Then, let us lose no time; there is much to be done."
"Doctor," Robert Brierly bent toward the other and
placed a hand upon his knee. "There are emergencies
which bring men together and reveal them, each to each,
in a flash, as it were. I cannot feel that you know me
really, but I know you, and would trust you with my
dearest possession, or my most dangerous secret. You
will be frank with me, I know, if you speak at all; and I
want you to tell me something."
"What is it?"
"You have told me how, in your opinion, my poot
brother really met his death. Will you put yourself in
my place, and tell me how you would act in this horrible
emergency? What is the first thing you would do?"
The doctor's answer came after a moment's grave
thought.
"I am, I think, a Christian," he said, gravely, "but I
think—bah! I know that I would make my life's work
to find out the truth about that murder, for that it was
a murder I solemnlv believe."CHAPTER IV.
FERRARS.
Rouert "Brierly caught his breath.
"And your reason," he gasped, "for you have a reason
other than the mere fact of the bullet-wound in the neck."
"I have seen just such deeds in the wild west and I
know how they are done. But this is also professional
knowledge. Besides, man, call reason to your aid! Oh,
I expect too much. The hurt is too fresh, you can only
feel now, but the man shot by accident, be it by his own
hand or that of another, is not shot twice."
"Good heavens, no!"
"But when one who creeps upon his victim, unawares,
shoots him from behind, and, as he falls, fearing the work
is not completed, shoots again, the victim, as you must
see, receives the wound further to the front as the body
falls forward and partially turns in falling. Do you see?
Do you comprehend?"
"Yes." Brierly shuddered.
"Brierly, this talk is hurting you cruelly. Let us drop
details, or postpone them?"
"Not the essential ones. I must bear what I must.
Go on, doctor. I quite agree with you. It looks like a
(41)42
THE LAST STROKE
murder, and we must—I must know the truth—must-
find the one who did the deed. Doctor, advise me."
"About—"
"How 10 begin, no time should be lost."
"That means a good detective, as soon as possible.
Do you chance to know any of these gentry?"
"I—. No, indeed! I suppose a telegram to the chief
of police—"
"Allow me," broke in Doctor Barnes. "May I make
a suggestion?"
"Anything. I seem unable to think."
"And, no wonder! I know the right man for you if
he is in Chicago. You see, I was in hospital practice
for several years, and have also had my share of prison
experience. While thus employed I met a man named
Ferrars, an Englishman, who for some years has spent
the greater part of his time in this country, in Chicago,
in fact. There's a mystery and a romance attached to the
man, or his history. He's not connected with any of the
city offices, but he is one of three retired detectives—
retired, that is, from regular work—who work together
at need when they feel a case to be worth their efforts.
I think a case like this will be certain to attract Ferrars."
"And he is your choice of the three?"
The doctor smiled. "The others are married," he said,
"and not so ready to go far afield as is Ferrars."
"You think him skillful?"
"None better."
"Then, clo you know his address?"THE LAST STROKE
43
Brierly got up and began to walk about, his eyes
beginning to glow with the excitement so long sup-
pressed. "Because we can't get him here too soon."
"I agree with you. And now one thing more. To
give him every advantage he should not be known, and
the inquest should not begin until he is here."
"Can that be managed?"
"I think so."
Brierly was now nervously eager. He seemed to have
shaken off the stupor which at first had seemed to seize
upon and hold him, and his questions and suggestions
came thick and fast. It ended, of course, in his putting
himself into the doctor's hands, and accepting his plans
and suggestions entirely. And very soon, Doctor
Barnes, having given his factotum distinct instructions as
regarded visitors, and inquiries, had set off, his medicine
case carried ostentatiously in his hand, not for the tele-
graph office, but for the cottage, close by, where Hilda
Grant found a home.
It was a small, neatly-kept cottage, and Mrs. Marcy,
a gentle, kindly widow, and the young teacher were its
only occupants.
The widow met him at the door, her face anxious, her
voice the merest whisper.
"Doctor, tell me; do you think she will really be ill?"
"Why no, Mrs. Marcy; at least not for long. It has
been a shock, of course; a great shock. But she—"
"Ah, doctor, she is heart-broken. I—I think I surely
may tell you. It will help you to understand. Theyii THE LAST STROKE
were engaged, and for a little while, such a pitiful little
while it seems now, they have been so happy."
The doctor was silent a moment, his eyes turned away.
"And now," went on the good woman, "she will be
lonelier than ever. You know she was very lonely here
at first. She has no relatives nearer than a cousin any-
where in the world, to her knowledge. And he has
never been to see her. He lives in Chicago, too, not so
far away."
"Yes, surely he ought to visit her now, really. Just
ask her if I may come up, Mrs. Marcy. I—I'm glad
you told me of this. Thank you. It will help me."
Ten minutes later Doctor Barnes was hastening
toward the telegraph office, where he sent away this sin-
gular and wordy message:
"Frank Ferrars, No.....Street, Chicago—
"Your cousin, Miss Hilda Grant, is ill, and in trouble.
It is a case in which you are needed as much as I.
Come, if possible, by first evening train.
"WALTER BARNES."
"That will fetch him," he mused, as he hastened home-
ward. "Ferrars never breaks a promise, though I little
expected to have to remind him of it within the year."
"Well," began Brierly, when he entered his own door.
''Have you seen her? Was she willing?"
"Willing and anxious. She is a brave and sensibleTHE LAST STROKE
45
little woman. She will do her part, and she has never
for one moment believed in the theory of an accident."
"And she will receive me?"
"This evening. She insists that we hold our council
there, in her presence. At first I objected, on account
of her weakness, but she is right in her belief that we
should be most secure there, and Ferrars should not be
seen abroad to-night. We will have to take Mrs. Marcy
into our confidence, in part at least, but she can be
trusted. We will all be observed, more or less, for a
few days. But, of course, I shall put Ferrars up for the
night. That will be the thing to do after he has spent a
short evening with his cousin."
Brierly once more began his restless pacing to and fro,
turning presently to compare his watch with the doctor's
Dutch clock.
"It will be the longest three hours I ever passed," he
said, and a great sigh broke from his lips.
But, before the first hour had passed, a boy from the
telegraph office handed in a blue envelope, and the doc-
tor hastily broke the seal and read—
"Be with you at 6:20.
"FERRARS."
When the first suburban train for the evening halted,
puffing, at the village station, Doctor Barnes waiting
upon the platform, saw a man of medium height and
square English build, step down from the smoking car
and look indifferently about him.16
THE LAST STROKE
There was the usual throng of gaping and curious vil-
lagers, and some of them heard the stranger say, as he
advanced toward the doctor, who waited with his small
medicine case in his hand—
"Pardon me; is this doctor—doctor Barnes?" And
when the doctor nodded he asked quickly, "How is she?"
"Still unnerved and weak. We have had a terrible
shock, for all of us."
When the two men had left the crowd of curious
loungers behind them the doctor said—
"It is awfully good of you, Ferrars, to come so
promptly at my call. Of course, I could not explain over
the wires. But, you understand."
"I understand that you needed me, and as I'm good for
very little, save in one capacity, I, of course, supposed
there was a case for me. The evening paper, however,
gave me—or so I fancy—a hint of the business. Is it
the young schoolmaster?"
The doctor started. It seemed impossible that the
news had already found its way into print.
"Someone has made haste," he said, scornfully.
"Someone always does in these cases, and the Journal
has a 'special correspondent' in every town and village
in the country almost. It was only a few lines." He
glanced askance at his companion as he spoke. "And it
was reported an accident or suicide."
"It was a murder I"
"I thought so."
"You—why?"THE LAST STROKE
47
" 'The victim was found,' so says the paper, 'face down-
ward, or nearly so/ 'Fallen forward/ those were the
words. Was that the case?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you ever see or hear of a suicide who had
fallen directly forward and face downward, supposing
him to have shot himself?"
"No, no."
"On the other hand, have you ever noted that a man
taken unawares, shot from the side, or rear, falls for-
ward? If shot standing, that is. It is only when he
receives a face charge that he falls backward."
"I had not thought of that, and yet it looks simple and
rational enough," and then, while they walked down the
quiet street running parallel with Main, and upon which
Mrs. Marcy's cottage stood, the doctor told the story of
the morning, briefly but clearly, adding, at the end, "In
telling this much, I am telling you actually all that I
know."
"All—concerning Miss Grant, too?"
"Everything."
The doctor did not lift his eyes from the path before
them, and again the detective shot a side glance from the
corner of his eye, and the shadow of a smile crossed his
face.
"How does it happen that this brother is here so—I
was about to say—opportunely?"
"He told me that he came by appointment, but on anTHE LAST STROKE
earlier train than he had at first intended to take, to pass
Sunday with his brother."
"Now see," mused Ferrars, "what little things, done or
left undone, shape or shorten our lives! If he had tele-
graphed to his brother announcing his earlier arrival,
there would have been no target practice, but a walk to
the station instead."
The doctor sighed and for a few moments walked on
in silence. Then, as they neared the cottage he almost
stopped short and turned toward the detective.
"I'm afraid you will think me a sad bungler, Ferrars.
I should have told you at once that Robert Brierly awaits
us at Mrs. Marcy's cottage."
"Robert Brierly? Is that his name? I wonder if he
can be the Robert Brierly who has helped to make one
of our morning papers so bright and breezy. A rising
young journalist, in fact. But it's probably another of
the name."
" I don't know. He has not spoken of himself. Will
it suit you to meet him at once?" .
"We don't often get the chance to begin as would best
suit us, we hunters of our kind. I would have preferred
to go first to the scene of the death, but I suppose the
ground has been trampled over and over, and, besides., I
don't want to advertise myself until I am better informed
at least. Go on, we will let our meeting come as it will."
But things seldom went on as they would for long,
when Frank Ferrars was seeking his way toward a truth
or fact. They found Mrs. Marcy at the door, and sheTHE LAST STROKE
49
at once led them to the upper room which looked out
upon the side and rear of the little lawn, and was
screened from inlookers, as well as from the sun's rays,
by tall cherry trees at the side, and thick and clinging
morning glory vines at the back.
"You'll be quite safe from intrusion here," she mur
mured and left them, as she had received them at th
door.
If Doctor Barnes had feared for his patient's strength,
and dreaded the effect upon her of the coming interview,
he was soon convinced that he had misjudged the cour-
age and will power of this slight, soft-eyed, low-
voiced and unassertive young woman. She was very
pale, and her eyes looked out from their dark circles like
wells of grief. But no tears fell from them, and the low
pathetic voice did not falter when she said, after the
formal presentation, and before either of the others had
spoken.
"I have asked to be present at this interview, Mr. Far-
rars, and am told that it rests with you whether I am
admitted to your confidences. Charles Brierly is my
betrothed, and I would to God I had yielded to his wish
and married him a week ago. Then no one could have
shut me out from ought that concerns him, living or
dead. In the sight of heaven he is my husband, for we
promised each other eternal faithfulness with our hands
clasped above his mother's Bible."
Francis Ferrars was a singular mixture of sternness
and gentleness, of quick decision at need and of patientTHE LAST STROKE
considerateness, and he now took one of the cold little
hands between his own, and gently but firmly led her to
the cosy chair from which she had arisen.
"You have proven your right to be here, and no one
will dispute it. We may need your active help soon, as
much as we need and desire your counsel and your closer
knowledge of the dead man now."
In moments of intense feeling conventionalities fah
away from us and strong soul speaks to strong soul.
While they awaited the coming of the doctor and Francis
Ferrars, Hilda Grant and Robert Brierly had been unable
to break through the constraint which seemed to each to
be the mental attitude of the other, and then, too, both
were engrossed with the same thought, the coming of the
detective, and the possibilities this suggested, for under-
lying the grievous sorrow of both brother and sweetheart
lay the thought, the silent appeal for justice as inherent
in our poor human nature as is humanity itself.
But Hilda's sudden claim, her prayer for recognition
struck down the barrier of strangeness and the selfishv
ness of sorrow, than which sometimes nothing can be
more exclusive, in the mind and heart of Robert Brierly,
and lie came swiftly to her side, as she sank back, pallid
and panting, upon her cushions.
"Miss Grant, my sister; no other claim is so strong a*
yours. It was to meet you, to know you, that I set out
for this place to-day. In my poor brother's last letter-^
you shall read it soon—he said, 'I am going to give you
something precious, Rob; a sister. It is to meet her thaiTHE LAST STROKE
51
I have asked you to come just now.' I claim that sister,
and need her now if never before. Don't look upon me
as a stranger, but as Charlies brother, and yours." He
placed his hand over hers as it rested weakly upon the
arm of her chair, and as it turned and the chill little
fingers closed upon his own, he held it for a moment and
then, releasing it gently, drew a seat beside her and
turned toward the detective.
"Mr. Ferrars, your friend has assured me that I may
hope for your aid. Is that so?"
"When I have heard all that you can tell me, I will
answer," replied Ferrars. "If I see a hope or chance of
unravelling what now looks like a mystery—should it be
proved a mystery—I will give you my promise, and my
services."
He had seated himself almost opposite Hilda Grant,
and while he quietly studied her face, he addressed the
doctor.
"Tell me," he said, "all you know and have been told
by others, and be sure you omit not the least detail."
Beginning with the appearance of Mr. Doran at his
office door, with the panting and perspiring black pony,
the doctor detailed their drive and his first sight of the
victim, reviewing his examination of the body in detail.,
while the detective listened attentively and somewhat to
the surprise of the others, without interruption, until the
narrator had reached the point when, accompanied by
Brierly, he had followed the hearse, with its pitiful
burden, back to the village. Then Ferrars interposed.US
THE LAST STROKE
"A moment, please," taking from an inner pocket a
broad, flat letter case and selecting from it a printed card,
which, with a pencil, he held out to the doctor.
"Be so good," he said, "as to sketch upon the blank
back of this, the spot where you found the dead man, the
mound in full, with the road indicated, above and beyond
it. I remember you used to be skillful at sketching
things."CHAPTER V.
IN CONSULTATION.
When the doctor had completed his hasty sketch, he
returned the card upon which it was made, to the detec-
tive and silently awaited his comment.
"It is very helpful," said Ferrars. "It would seem,
then, that just opposite the mound the lake makes an
inward curve?"
"Yes."
"And that the center of the mound corresponds to the
central or nearest point of the curve?"
The doctor nodded assent.
"Now am I right in thinking that anything occurring
at this central point would be unseen from the road?"
"Quite right. The mound rises higher than the road,
and its length shuts off the view at either end, that and
the line of the road, which curves away from the lake at
the north end, and runs in an almost straight direction
for some distance at the other."
"I see." And again for a moment Ferrars consulted
the sketch. "Then—"
"Did you measure the distance between the target and
the spo* where the body was found?"
(53)54
THE LAST STROKE
"No. It was the usual distance for practice, I should
think."
"It was rather a long range," interposed Brierly. "I
am something of a shot myself and I noticed that."
Again the detective pondered over the sketch.
"By this time I dare say," he said presently, "there
will be any number of curious people in the wood and
about that spot."
"I doubt it," replied Doctor Barnes. "I thought of
that, and spoke to Doran. Mr. Brierly was so well liked
by all that it only needed a word to keep the men and
boys from doing anything that might hinder a thorough
investigation. Two men are upon the road just below
the school house to turn back the thoughtless curious
ones. It was Doran's foresight," added the honest phy-
sician. "I suppose you will wish to explore the wood
near the mound."
Ferrars laid aside the sketch. "As the coroner," he
said, "you can help me. Of course, you can have no
doubt as to the nature of the shooting. There could be
no mistake."
"None. The shot at the back could not have been
self-inflicted."
"Then if you can rely upon your constables and this
man Doran, let them make a quiet inquiry up and down
the wood road in search of any one who may have driven
over it between the hours of—"
"Eight and ten o'clock," said Hilda Grant. "He,"
meaning her late friend, "left his boarding place at eightTHE LAST STROKE
55
o'clock, or near it, and he was found shortly before ten."
Her speech was low and hesitating, but it did not
falter.
"Thank you," said the detective, and turned again to
the doctor.
"Next," said he, "if you can find a trusty man, who
will find out for us if any boat or boats have been seen
about the lake shore during those hours, it will be
another step in the right direction. And now, you have-
told me that you suspect no one; that there is no clue
whatever." He glanced from one to the other. "Still
we are told that very often by those who should know
best, but who were not trained to such searching. To
begin, I must know something, Mr. Brierly, about your
brother and his past. Is he your only brother?"
"Yes. We lost a sister ten years ago, a mere child.
There were no other children."
"And—your parents?"
"Are both dead."
"Ah! Mr. Brierly, give me, if you please, a sketch of
your life and of your brother's, dating, let us say, from
the time of your father's death."
If the request was unexpected or unwelcome to Robert
Brierly he made no sign, but began at once.
"If I do not go into details sufficiently, Mr. Ferrars,"
he said, by way of preamble, "you will, of course, interro-
gate me."
The detective nodded, and Brierly went on.
"My father was an Episcopalian clergyman, and, at the06
THE LAST STROKE
time of his death, we were living in one of the wealthy
suburbs of Chicago, where he had held a charge for ten
years, and where we remained for six years after he gave
up the pulpit. Being in comfortable circumstances, we
found it a most pleasant place of residence. My sister's
death brought us our first sorrow, and it was soon fol-
lowed by the loss of our mother. We continued to live, how-
ever, in the old home until my brother and I were ready
to go to college, and then my father shut up the house
and went abroad with a party of congenial friends. My
father was not a business man, and the man to whom he
had confided the management of his affairs misarranged
them during his absence, to what extent we never fully
knew until after my father's death, when we found our-
selves, after all was settled, with something like fifteen
thousand dollars each, and our educations. My brother
had already begun to prepare for the ministry, and I had
decided early to follow the career of a journalist."
"Are you the elder?" asked the detective.
"Yes." Brierly paused for further comment, but none
came, and he resumed. "It had been the intention of
my father that my brother and I should make the tour of
the two continents when our studies were at an end; that
is, our school days. He had made this same journey,
in his youth, and he had even mapped out routes for us,
and told us of certain strange and little explored places
which we must not miss, such as the rock temples of
Kylas in Central India, and various wonders of Egypt.
It was a favorite project ui Lis. 'It will leave you lessTHE LAST STROKE
87
money, boys/ he used to say, 'but it will give what can
never be taken from you. When a man knows his own
world, he is better fitted for the next.' And so, after
much discussion, we determined to make the journey.
Indeed, to Charley it began to seem a pilgrimage, in
which love, duty and pleasure intermingled."
He paused, and Hilda turned away her face as a long
sighing breath escaped his lips.
"Shortly after our return I took up journalistic work
in serious earnest, and my brother, having been ordained,
was about to accept a charge when he met with an acci-
dent which was followed by a long illness. When he
arose from this, his physicians would not hear of his
assun:\ng the labors of a pastor over a large and active
suburban church, and, as my brother could not bear to be
altogether idle, and the country was thought to be the
place for him, it ended in his coming here, to take charge
of the little school. He was inordinately fond of chil-
dren, and a born instructor, so it seemed to me. He was
pleased with the beauty of the place and the quiet of it,
from the first, and he was not long in finding his greatest
happiness here."
His voice sank, and he turned a face in which gratitude
and sorrow blended, upon the girl who suddenly covered
her own with her trembling hands.
But the detective, with a new look of intentness upon
his face, and without a moment's pause, asked quickly.
"Then you have been m this place before, of course?"
"No, I have not. For rti^ first three months Charley58
THE LAST STROKE
was very willing to come to me, in the city. Then came
a very busy time for me and he came twice, somewhat
reluctantly, I thought. Six months ago I was sent to
New Mexico to do some special work, and returned to
the city on Tuesday last." His voice broke, and he got
up and walked to the window farthest from the group.
While he had been speaking, Ferrars had scribbled
aimlessly and a stroke at a time, as it seemed, upon the
margin of the printed side of the card which bore the
sketch made by Doctor Barnes; and now, while Hilda's
face was again turned away, and the young man at the
window still stood with his back toward all in the room,
he pushed the card from the edge of the table, and shot
a significant glance toward the doctor.
Picking up the card, Doctor Barnes glanced at it care-
lessly, and then replaced it upon the table, having read
these words—
"I wish to speak with her alone. Make it a profes-
sional necessity."
As Brierly turned toward them once more the detec-
tive turned to the young girl. "I would like to hear
something from you, Miss Grant, if you find yourself
equal to it.'
Hilda set her lips in firm lines, and after a moment said
steadily—
"I am quite at yourservice."
"One minute." The doctor arose and addressed him-
self to the detective.
"I feel sure that it will be for Miss Grant that sheTHE LAST STROKE
m
talk with you alone. As her physician, I will caution
her against putting too great a restraint upon herself,
upon her feelings. While you talk with her, Ferrars, Mr.
Brierly and I will go back to my quarters, unless you bid
us come back."
"I do not," interposed the detective. "I will join you
soon, and if need be, you can then return, doctor."
At first it seemed as if Hilda were about to remon-
strate. But she caught the look of intelligence that
flashed from his eyes to hers, and she sat in silence while
Doctor Barnes explained the route to his cottage, and
murmured a low good-bye while Brierly took her hand
and bent over her with a kind adieu.
" I may see you to-morrow/' he whispered. "You
will let me come, sister?" The last word breathed close
to her ear.
Her lips moved soundlessly, but he read her eager con-
sent in her timid return of his hand clasp and the look in
her sad, gray eyes and followed the doctor from the
room.
When Frank Ferrars had closed the door behind the
two men, he wasted no time in useless words, but, seating
himself opposite the girl, and so close that he could
catch, if need be, her faintest whisper, he began, his
own tones low and touched with sympathy—
"Miss Grant," he said, "I already feel assured that you
know how many things must be considered before we
can ever begin such a search as I forsee before me. Of
course it may happen that before the end of the coron-60
THE LAST STROKE
er's inquest some clue or key to the situation may have
developed. But, if I have heard all, or, rather, if there
has not been some important fact or feature overlooked,
we must go behind the scenes for our data, our hints and
possible clues. Do you comprehend me?"
Hilda Grant had drawn herself erect, and was listening
intently with her clear eyes fixed upon his face, and she
seemed with her whole soul to be studying this man,
while, with her ears she took in and comprehended his
every word.
"You mean," she answered slowly, "that there may
be something in himself or some event or fact in his past,
or that of his family, which has brought about this?"
She turned away her face. She could not put the awful
fact into words.
"I knew you would understand me, and it is not to his
past alone that I must look for help, but to others."
"Do you mean mine?" *
"Yes. You do understand!"
There was a look of relief in his eyes. His lips took on
a gentler curve. "I see that you are going to help me."
"If it is in my power, I surely am. Where shall we
begin?"
"Tell me all that you can about Charles Brierly, all that
he has told you about himself. Will it be too hard?"
"No matter." She drew herself more erect. "I think
if you will let me tell my own story briefly, and then fill
it out at need, by interrogation, it \yill be easiest for me/'THE LAST STROKE
ei
"And best for me. Thank you." He leaned back and
rested his hands upon the arms of his chair.
"I am ready to hear you," he said, and withdrew his
full gaze from her face, letting his eyelids fall and sitting
thus with half-closed eyes.
"Of course," she began, "it was only natural, or so it
appeared to me, that we should become friends soon, meet-
ing, as we must, daily, and being so constantly brought
together, as upper and under teachers in this little village
school. He never seemed really strange to me, and we
seemed thrown upon each other for society, for the young
people of the village held aloof, because of our new-
ness, and our position, I suppose, and the people of the
hotels and boarding houses found, naturally, a set, or
sets, by themselves. I grew up in what you might call
a religious atmosphere, and when I knew that he was a
minister of the gospel, I felt at once full confidence in
him and met his friendly advances quite frankly. I think
we understood each other very soon. You perhaps have
not been told that he filled a vacancy, taking the place
of a young man who was called away because of his
mother's illness, and who did not return, giving up the
school at her request. It was in April, a year ago, that
he—Charlie—took up the work, coming back, as I did,
after the summer vacation. It was after that that he
began telling me about himself a little; to speak often of
his brother, who was, to his eyes, a model of young man-
hood and greatly his intellectual superior."62
THE LAST STROKE
She paused a moment, and then with a little proud lift-
ing of her rounded chin, resumed.
"I was not quite willing to agree as to the superiority;
for Charles Brierly was as bright, as talented and prom-
ising a young man, as good and as modest as any I ever
knew or hope to know, and I have met some who rank
high as pastors and orators."
"I can well believe you," he said with his eyes upon
her face, and his voice was sincere and full of sympathy.
"We were not engaged until quite recently. Although
we both, I think, understood ourselves and each other
long before. And now, what more can I say? He has
told me much of his school days, of his student life, and,
of course, of his brother's also. In fact, without mean-
ing it, he has taught me to stand somewhat in awe of
this highly fastidious, faultless and much-beloved
brother, but I have heard of no family quarrel, no enemy,
110 unpleasant episode of any sort. For himself, he
told me, and I believe his lightest word, that he never
cared for any other woman; had never been much in
women's society, in fact, owing to his almost constant
study and travel. Here in the village all were his friends;
his pupils were all his adorers, young and old alike were
his admirers, and he had room in his heart for all. No
hand-in Glenville was ever raised against him, I am sure."
"You think then that it was perhaps an accident, a
mistake?" He was eyeing her keenly irom beneath his
drooping lashes.
"No!" She sprang suddenly to her feet and stoodTHE LAST STROKE
63
ei«ct before him. "No, Mr. Ferrars, I do not! I can-
not. I was never in my life superstitious. I do not
believe it is superstition that compels me to feel that
Charles Brierly was murdered of intent, and by an
enemy, an enemy who has stalked him unawares, for
money perhaps, and who has planned cunningly, and hid
his traces well."CHAPTER VI.
"WHICH?"
"Give me a few moments of your time, doctor, after
your guest has retired for the night."
For more than two hours after his parting with Hilda
Grant, Ferrars had talked, first with Robert Brierly alone,
and then with the doctor as a third party. At the end,
the three had gone together to look upon the face of the
dead, and now, as the doctor nodded over his shoulders
and silently followed, or, rather, guided Brierly from the
room and toward his sleeping apartment, the detective
turned back, and when they were out of hearing, removed
the covering from the still face, and taking a lamp from
the table near, stood looking down upon the dead.
"No," he murmured at last, as he replaced the lamp
and turned back to the side of the bier. "You never
earned such a fate. You must have lived and died a
good man; an honest man, and yet—" He turned
quickly at the sound of the opening door. "Doctor,
come here and tell me how your keen eyes and worldly
intelligence weighed, measured and gauged this man
who lies here with that look, that inscrutable look they
all wear once they have seen the mystery unveiled.
What manner of man did you find him?"
__ (64) %THE LAST STROKE Gb
Doctor Barnes came closer and gazed reverently
down upon the dead face,
"There lies a man who could better afford to face the
mystery suddenly, without warning, than you or I or
any other living man I know. A good man, a true
Christian gentleman I honestly believe, too modest per-
haps to ever claim and hold his true place in this grasp-
ing world. That he should be struck down by the hand
of an assassin is past belief, and yet—" He paused
abruptly and bent down to replace the covering over the
still, handsome face.
"And yet," repeated the detective, "do you really think
that this man was murdered ?"
"Ferrars!" Both men were moving away from the
side of the bier, one on either hand, and, as they came
together at its foot, the speaker put a hand upon the
shoulder of the detective. "To-morrow I hope you will
thoroughly overlook the wood road beyond the school
house, the lake shore, from the village to the knoll or
mound; and the thin strip of wood between, and then
tell me if you think it possible for any one, however
stupid or erratic of aims to shoot by accident a man stand-
ing in that place. There is no spot from which a bullet
could have been fired whence a man could not have
been seen perfectly, that figure by the lake side. The
trees are so scattered, the bushes so low, the vievr up and
down so open. It's impossible!"
"That is your fixed opinion ?"THE LAST STRuKE
"It is. Nothing but actual proof to the contrary
would change it."
When they had passed from the room and the doctor
had softly closed the door, leaving the dead alone in the
silence and the shaded lamp-light, they paused again,
face to face, in the outer office.
"Have you any suggestions as regards the inquest,
Ferrars?,, asked the one.
"I have been thinking about that foolish kd, the one
who saw poor Brierly in the wood. Could you get him
here before the inquiry? We might be able to learn
more in this way. You know the lad, of course ?"
"Of course. There will be very little to be got from
him. But I'll have him here for you."
"Do so. And the lady, the one who drove the pony;
you will call her, I suppose?"
"Certainly."
"That is all, I think. If you can drive me to the spot
very early, before we breakfast even, I would like it.
You need not stop for me. I can find my way back,
prefer to, in fact. You say it is not far?"
"Little more than half a mile from the school house."
"Then—good night, doctor."
Doctor Barnes occupied a six-room cottage with a
mansard, and he had fitted up the room originally meant
to be a sitting room, for his own sleeping apartment. It
was at the front of the main cottage and back of it was
the inner office where the body lay, the outer office being
in a wing built out from this rear room and opening con-THE LAST STROKE
67
veniently outward, in view of the front entrance and very
close to a little side gate. A porch fitted snugly into the
angle made by the former sitting room and this outer
office, and both of these rooms could be entered from this
convenient porch. Robert Brierly occupied the room
opposite that assigned the detective with the width of the
hall between them and the doctor, although Ferrars did
not know this, had camped down in his outer office.
Half an hour after he had parted from the doctor,
Frank Ferrars, as he was called by his nearest and most
familiar friends, opened the door upon the corner porch
and stepped noiselessly out. When he believed that he
had found an unusual case—and he cared for no others—>
he seldom slept until he had thought out some plan of
work, adopted some theory, or evolved a possibility,
or, as he whimsically termed it, a "stepping stone"
toward clearer knowledge.
He had answered the doctor's summons with little
thought of what it might mean, or lead to, and simply
because it was from "Walt." Barnes. Then he had
heard the doctor's brief story, with some surprise and an
inclination to think it might end, after all, in a case of
accidental shooting, or self-inflicted death. But when
he looked into the woeful eyes of lovely Hilda Grant, and
clasped the hand of the dead man's brother, the case took
on a new interest.. Here was no commonplace village
maiden hysterical and forlorn, no youth breathing out
dramatic vows of vengeance upon an unknown foe. At
once his heart went out to them, his sympathy^vas theirs,THE LAST STROKE
and the sympathy of Francis Ferrars was of a very select
nature indeed.
And thus he had looked at the beautiful refined face of
the dead man, a face that told of gentleness, sweetness,
loyalty, all manifest in the calm dignity of death. Not
a strong face, as his brother's face was strong, but manly
with the true Christian manliness, and strong with the
strength of truth. Looking upon this face, all thought
of self-destruction forsook the detective, and he stood,
after that first long gaze, vowed to right this deadly
wrong in the only way left to a mortal.
But how strange that such a man, in such a place,
should be snatched out of life by the hand of an assassin!
He must think over it, and he could think best when
passing slowly along some quiet by-way or street. So
he closed his door softly, and all unconscious that he was
observed from the window of the outer office, he vaulted
across the low fence, striking noiselessly upon the soft
turf on the further side; and, after a moment of hesita-
tion* turned the corner and went down Main street.
Past the shops, the fine new church, the two hotels,
one new and one old. Past the little park and around it
to the street, terraced and tree planted, where the more
pretentious dwellings and several modish new houses,
built for the summer boarder, stood. It was a balmy
night. Every star seemed out, and there was a moon,
bright, but on the wane.
Ferrars walked slowly upon the soft turf, avoiding the
boards and stones of the walks and street crossings.THE LAST STROKE
Now and then he paused to look at some fair garden,
lovely in the moonlight, or up at the stars, and once, at
least, at a window, open to the breezes of night and
revealing that which sent Ferrars homeward presently
with a question on his lips. He paced the length of the
terraced street, and passed by the cottage where Hilda
Grant waked and wept perchance, and as he re-entered
his room silently and shadow-like, he said to himself—
"Is it fate or Providence that prompts us to these rea-
sonless acts? I may be wrong, I may be mistaken, but
I could almost believe that I have found my first clue."
And yet he had heard nothing, and yet all he had seen
was a woman's shadow, reflected fitfully by the waning
moon, as she paced her room to and fro, to and fro, like
some restless or tormented animal, and now and then
lifted her arms aloft in despair? in malediction? in tri-
umph? in entreaty?—which?
In spite of his brief rest, if rest it was, Ferrars was
astir before sunrise; but, even so, he found the doctor
awake before him, and his horse in waiting at the side
gate.
They drove swiftly and were soon within sight of the
Indian Mound.
"Show me first the place where the body was found,"
Ferrars had said to his guide as they set out, and when
the two stood at this spot, which someone had marked
with two small stakes, and the doctor had answered some
brief questions regarding the road through the fringe of
wood, the mound, and the formation of the lake shore70
THE LAST STROKE
further south or away from the town, the detective
announced his wish to be left alone to pursue his work
in his own way.
"Your guest will be astir early if I am not much mis-
taken/' he said. "And you have Miss Grant to look after
and may be wanted for a dozen reasons before I return.
I can easily walk back, and think you will see me at the
breakfast hour which you must on no account delay."
Two hours later and just as the doctor's man had
announced breakfast the detective returned and at once
joined the two in the dining room.
He said nothing of his morning excursion, but the
doctor's quick eye noted his look of gravity, and a cer-
tain preoccupation of manner which Ferrars did not
attempt to hide. Before the meal was ended, doctor
Barnes was convinced that something was puzzling the
detective, and troubling him not a little.
After breakfast, and while Brierly was for the moment
absent from the porch where they had seated themselves
with their cigars, Ferrars asked—
"Where does the lady live who drove Mr. Doran's
black pony yesterday? Is it at an hotel?"
"It is at the Glenville, an aristocratic family hotel on
the terrace. She is a Mrs. Jamieson."
"Do you know her?"
"She sent for me once to prescribe for some small ail-
ment not long ago."
"Has she been summoned ?"
"She will be."THE LAST STROKE
71
"If there was anyone in the woods, or approaching the
mound by the road, from the south, she should have seen
them, or him; even a boat might have been seen through
the trees for some distance southward, could it not ?"
"Yes. For two miles from the town, the lake is visible
from the wood road. Ah! here comes Doran and our
constable."
For half an hour the doctor was busy with Doran, the
constable and a number of other men. who had or wished
to have some small part to play in this second act of the
tragedy, the end of which no one could foresee. Then,
having dispatched them on their various missions, the doc-
tor set out to inquire after the welfare of Hilda Grant; and
Robert Brierly, who could not endure his suspense and
sorrow in complete inaction, asked permission to accom-
pany him, thus leaving the detective, who was quite in
the mood for a little solitude just then, in possession of
the porch, three wicker chairs and his cigar.
But not for long. Before he had smoked and wrinkled
his brows, as was his habit when things were not develop-
ing to his liking, and pondered ten minutes alone, he
heard the click of the front gate, and turned in his chair
to see a lady, petite, graceful and dressed in mourning,
coming toward him with quick, light steps. She was
looking straight at him, as she came, but as he rose at
her approach she stopped short, and standing a few steps
from the porch said crisply—
"Your pardon. I have made a mistake. I am look-
ing for doctor Barnes."72
THE LAST STROKE
"He has gone out for a short time only. Will you be
seated, madam, and wait?"
She advanced a step and stopped irresolute.
"I suppose I must, unless," coming close to the lower
step, "unless you can tell me, sir, what I wish to know."
"If it is a question of medicine, madam, I fear—1"
"It is not," she broke in, her voice dropping to a lower
note. "It is about the—the inquiry or examination" into
the death of the poor young man who—but you know, of
course."
"I have heard. The inquest is held at one o'clock."
"Ah! And do you know if the—the witnesses have
been notified as yet?"
"They are being summoned now. As the doctor's
guest I have but lately heard him sending out the
papers."
"Oh, indeed!" The lady put a tiny foot upon the step
as if to mount, and then withdrew it. "I think, if I may
leave a message with you, sir," she said, "I will not wait."
"Most certainly," he replied.
"I chanced to be driving through the wood yesterday
when the body was discovered near the Indian Mound,
and am told that I shall be wanted as a witness. I do
not understand why."
"Possibly a mere form which is nevertheless essential."
"I had engaged to go out with a yachting party," she
went on, "and before I withdraw from the excursion I
wish to be sure that I shall really be required. My name
is Mrs. Jamieson, and—"THE LAST STROKE
73
"Then I can assure you, Mrs. Jamieson, that )'OU are,
or will be wanted, at least. My friend has sent a sum-
mons to a Mrs. Jamieson of the Glenville House."
"That is myself," the lady said, and turned to go. "Of
course then I must be at hand."
She nodded slightly and went away, going with a less
appearance of haste down the street and so from his
sight.
When she was no longer visible the detective resumed
his seat, and relighted his cigar, making, as he did so, this
very unprofessional comment—
'"I hate to lose sight of a pretty woman, until I am sure
of the color of her eyes."
And yet Francis Ferrars had never been called in any
sense, a "ladies' man."CHAPTER VII.
RENUNCIATION.
Ferrars had predicted that nothing would be gained by
the inquest, and the result proved him a prophet.
Peter Kramer, the poor half-wit who had given the
first clue to the whereabouts of the murdered man, was
found and his confidence won by much coaxing, and
more sweets and shining pennies, the only coin which
Peter would ever recognize as such. But the result was
small. Asked had he seen the teacher, the reply was,
"Yep-" Asked where, "Most by Injun hill." Asked
what doing, "Settin' down."
"Had he heard the pistol fired," asked the doctor.
"Un! Uh! Heard nawthin."
"And whom did you see, Peter, besides the teacher?"
Again the look of affright in the dull eyes, the arm
lifted as in self-protection, and the only word they could
coax from his lips was, "Ghost!" uttered in evident fear
and trembling.
And this was repeated at the inquest. This, and no
more, from Peter.
Mrs. Fry, Charles Brierly's landlady, told how the dead
man had appeared at breakfast, and her testimony did not
accord with the statement of her little daughter.
(74)THE LAST STROKE
75
* "Miss Grant has told me of my little girl's mistake,"
she said. "Mr^ Brierly was down-stairs unusually early
that morning, and he did not look quite as well as usual.
He looked worried,-in fact, and ate little. He was always
a small eater, and I said something about his eating even
less than usual, I can't recall the exact words. Nellie, of
course, did not observe his worried look, as I did, and
quoted me wrong. Mr. Brierly left the house at once
after leaving the table. I did not think of it at first, but
it came to me this morning that as he did not carry any
books with him, he must of course have meant to come
back for them, and—" She paused.
"And, of course/' suggested the coroner, "he must
have had his pistol upon his person when he came down
to breakfast? Is that your meaning?"
"Yes, sir."
The weapon, found near the dead man's hand as it had
doubtless fallen from it, was there in evidence, as it had
been picked up with two of the chambers empty.
That it was not a case of .murder for plunder was
proven, or so they thought, by the fact that the dead
,man's watch was found upon his person; his pockets,
containing a small sum of money, pencils, knives, note
book, a small picture case, closed with a spring, and con-
taining Hilda Grant's picture, and a letter from his
brother.
Hilda Grant's brief testimony did not agree with that
of Mrs. Fry.
She saw her lover, alive, for the last time on the even-76
THE LAST STROKE
ing before his death. "He was in good spirits and if there
was anything troubling him he gave no sign of it. He
was by nature quiet and rather reserved/' she said.
Yes, she knew his habit of sometimes going to the lake
shore beyond the town to practice at target-shooting, but
when he did not appear at his post at nine o'clock she
never thought to send to the lake shore at first, because
he usually returned from his morning exercise before
nine o'clock; and so her first thought had been to send
to Mrs. Fry's.
When the doctor and Robert were about to leave the
scene of the murder, among other instructions given to
Doran had been this:
"Don't say anything in town about Mr. Brierly *s
arrival; you know how curious our people are, and we
would have a lot of our curiosity lovers hovering around
my place to see and hear and ask questions. Just cau-
tion the others, will you?"
Doran held an acknowledged leadership over the men
with whom he consorted, and the group willingly pre-
served silence. Later, when doctor Barnes explained to
Ferrars how he had kept the curious away from his door,
and from Brierly, he thought the detective's gratification
because of this, rather strange, just at first, and in excess
of the cause.
"You couldn't have done a better thing," Ferrars had
declared. "It's more than I had ventured to hope. Keep
Brierly's identity as close as possible until the inquestTHE LAST STROKE
is called, and then hold it back, and do not put him on the
stand until the last."
After Mrs. Fry, the boy Peter and Hilda Grant had
been questioned, Samuel Doran took the witness chair,
telling of his summons from Miss Grant, of the separa-^
tion of the group at the Indian Mound, of his meeting
with Mrs. Jamieson, of the discovery made by his two
companions and of all that followed. And then Mrs.
Jamieson was called.
She had entered the place accompanied by an acquaint-
ance from the Glenville and they had taken, from choice,
as it seemed to them, seats in the rear of the jury, and
somewhat aloof from the place where Hilda Grant, Mrs.
Marcy, and Mrs. Fry sat. Robert Brierly would have
taken his place beside Hilda, but the detective interposed.
"Owing to the precautions of the doctor and Mr.
Doran, the fact of your relationship has not leaked out.
It appears that Mrs. Fry was not informed of your com-
ing until the evening before, or Thursday evening, and
she seems to be a very discreet woman. After the inquest
you will be free to devote yourself to Miss Grant. Until
then, it is my whim, if you like, to keep you incog."
Of course Brierly acquiesced, but more than once he
found himself wondering why this should seem to Ferrars
needful.
Mrs. Jamieson came quietly to the witnesses' chair, and
took her place. There was a little stir as she came for-
ward, for, while she had been for some weeks in Glen-
ville, and had driven much about its pretty country roads78
THE LAST STROKE
and lanes, she had gone, for the most part, more or less
closely veiled in fleecy gauzes of black or white. Afoot
she was seldom seen beyond the grounds about the fam-
ily hotel.
To-day, however, the lady had chosen to wear a Paris-
ian looking gown of dull black silk and a tiny capote of
the same material rested upon her blonde and abundant
hair, while only the filmiest of white illusion veiled, but
did not hide, the pretty face from which the blue eyes
looked out and about her, gravely but with perfect self-
possession.
She told of her morning drive, and while so doing,
Ferrars, sitting a little in the rear of the coroner, slipped
into his palm a small card closely written upon both sides.
Upon one side was written, "Use these as random shots."
And when she spoke of the man whom she had
seen going into the wood near the mound, the doctor
interposed his first question.
"Can you describe the person at all? His drers, his
bearing?"
"Not distinctly," she eplied. "He was going from
me and his fa~-\.of course, I could not see. In fact, as I
have before stated, my pony was fresh, and required my
attention. Besides, there was really no reason why I
should look a second time at the back of a strange person
whom I passed at some little distance. As I seem to
recall the figure now, it was that of a rather tall, fair-
haired man. I can say no more."
"And at what hour was this?"THE LAST STROKE
79
"It must have been nearing eight o'clock, I fancy,
although being out for pleasure I took little notice of the
hour/'
No further interruptions were made until she had fin-
ished the story of the morning's experience, of her meet-
ing with Doran and the others, of the drive to the village,
and of her message to Miss Grant.
"Did you know Miss Grant?"
"Only as I had seen her at church, and upon the street
or in the school yard. We had never met, prior to that
morning/'
"And Charles Brierly? Did you know him?"
"Only by sight. I know few people in Glenville out-
side of my ho—of the Glenville House."
Both the doctor and Ferrars noted the unfinished word
broken off at the first syllable. To the one it was a
riddle; to the other it told something which he might
find useful later on.
"Mrs. Jamieson," resumed the coroner, after consult-
ing the detective's card. "How far did you drive yester-
day before you turned about upon the wood road?"
For a moment the lady seemed to be questioning her
memory. Then she replied.
i "The distance in miles or fractions of miles, I could
not give. I turned the pony about, I remember, at the
place where the road curves toward the lake, at the old
mill, near the opening of the wood."
"Ah, then you could see, of course, for some cUstance
up and down the lake shore?"80
THE LAST STROKE
"i could r
There was a hint of surprise in her coldly courteow
reply.
"And at that point did you see anything, anyone in the
wood, or along the lake?"
"I certainly saw no person. But—yes, I do remember
that there was a boat at the water's edge, not far from the
place where I turned homeward. It was a little beyond
or north of me."
"Did you observe whether there were oars in the
boat?"
"I saw none, I am quite sure," the lady replied, and this
ended her part in the inquiry.
But now there were some youthful, eager and valuable
new witnesses, and their combined testimony amounted
to this:
When the body of their beloved teacher had been
brought home and the first hour of excitement had
passed, three boys, who had been among Charles Brier-
ley's brightest and most mischief loving and adventur-
ous pupils, had set out, a full hour in advance of the
elder exploring party, and had followed the lake shore
and the wood road, one closely skirting the lake shore,
another running through the sparse timber and under-
growth about half way up the shallow slope and the
third trotting down the road beyond; the three keeping
pretty nearly parallel, until the discovery, by the lad
upon the shore, of the boat drawn out of the water, and in
the shade of a tree. This had brought the others downTHE LAST STROKE
81
to the lake and then caused them to go hastily back.
Meeting the party of men, who were not far behind them,
the boys had turned back with them and now there was
a crowd of witnesses to corroborate the story of the boat.
It stood, they all affirmed, in the shade of a spreading
tree, so as that no sun rays had beaten upon it, and its
sides were still damp from recent contact with the water,
while it stood entirely upon the land. Two oars, also
showing signs of contact with the lake, were in the little
boat, blade ends down, and it was evident that its late
occupant had disembarked in haste, for, while the stake
by which the boat had been secured, stood scarcely three
feet away, and the chain and padlock lay over the edge
of the little craft, there had been no effort to secure it,
and the oars had the look of having been hastily shipped
and left thus without further care.
When the matter of the boat had been fully investi-
gated, the coroner and Ferrars conferred together for
some moments, and during these moments Mrs. Jamie-
son and her companion exchanged some whispered
words.
Through some mistake, it would seem, these two had
been given places which, while aloof from the strange
men, and almost in the rear of the jurors, brought them
facing the open door of the inner room, where, in full
view, tne shrouded body of the murdered man lay, an
from the first the eyes of the two seemed held and fascin-
ated by the sight of the long, still figure outlined unuer
the white covering.82
THE LAST STROKE
"Is it possible," whispered the lady witness, "that we
must sit here until the end, face to face with that!" She
was trembling slightly, as she spoke. "It is making me
nervous."
"And no wonder," murmured her friend. "But it must
be almost over. I—I confess to some curiosity. This
is such a new and unusual sensation, to be here, you'
know." i
"Ugh!"
Mrs. Jamieson turned away, for the coroner was speak-
ing.
"There is one point/' he said, "upon which our wit-
nesses differ, and that is the mental condition of the
deceased during the twenty-four hours preceding his
death. Another witness will now speak upon this mat-
ter. Mr. Robert Brierly, the brother of Charles Brierly,
will now testify."
As Robert Brierly came out from the rather secluded
place he had heretofore occupied, at the suggestion of the
detective, all eyes were fixed upon him. There could be
no doubt of his relationship to the deceased. It was the
same face, but darker and stronger; the same tall form,
but broader and more athletic. The eyes of this man were
darker, and more resolute than those of his dead brother;
his hair was browner, too, and where the face of the one
had been full of kindliness and gentle dignity, that of
this other was strong, spirited and resolute. But, beyond
a doubt, these two were brothers.
There was a stir as Brierly made his way forward,THE LAST STROKE
83
paused before the coroner and faced the jury; and then,
as his eyes fell upon the two figures in the rear of that
body he made a sudden step forward.
"Doctor!" he called quickly, "you are needed here! A
lady has fainted!"
For the moment all was forgotten, save the white face
that had fallen back upon her friend's shoulder, and that
seemed even whiter because of the black garments, and
beneath the halo of fair blonde hair.
"It was that," explained the friend, who proved to be a
Mrs. Arthur, pointing toward the shrouded figure in the
inner room. "She has been growing more and more
nervous for some time."
Robert Bri'erly was the first at her side, but, as the
doctor took his place and he drew back a pace, a hand
touched his arm.
"Step aside," whispered Ferrars, "where she cannot
see you." And without comprehending but answering a
look in the detective's eye, he obeyed.
Mrs. Jamieson did not at once recover, and the doctoi-
and Ferrars carried her across the hall and into the room
lately occupied by Brierly. As Mrs. Arthur followed
them, it seemed to her that the detective, whom of course
she did not know as such, was assuming the leadership,
and that half a dozen quick words were spoken by him to
the doctor, across her friend's drooping head.
"She must be removed immediately," said the doctoy
a moment after. "Let some one find a carriage or pha«
eton at once." Then, as Ferrars did not move from hi*34
THE LAST STROKE
place beside the bed where they had placed the uncon-
scious woman, he strode to the chamber door, said a
word or two to Doran, who had followed them as far as
the door, and came back to his place beside the bed.
Before Mrs. Jamieson had opened her eyes a low wag-
onette was at the door, and when the lady became con-
scious and had been raised and given a stimulating
draught, she was lifted again by Ferrars and doctor
Barnes and carried to the waiting vehicle, followed by
Mrs. Arthur.
"Kindly take the place beside the driver, madam,"
directed the doctor. "My friend will go with the lady
and assist her; it will be best. It is possible that she may
faint again/' And so they drove away, Mrs. Arthur
beside Doran, the driver; and Mrs. Jamieson, still pallid
and tremulous, leaning upon the supporting shoulder of
Ferrars, silent and with closed eyes.
As he lifted her from the wagonette, and assisted her
up the steps and within the door, however, the lady
seemed to recover herself with an effort. She had
crossed the threshold supported by Ferrars on the one
side, and leaning upon her friend's arm upon the other,
and at the door of the reception room she turned, saying
faintly:
"Let me rest here first. Before we go up stairs, I
mean." Then, withdrawing her hand from her friend's
arm, she seemed to steady herself, and standing more
erect, turned to Ferrars.
"I must not trouble you longer, now, sir. You haveTHE LAST STROKE
86
been most kind." Her voice faltered, she paused a
moment, and then held out her hand. "I should like very
much to hear the outcome/' she hesitated.
"With your permission/' the detective replied quickly,
"I will call to ask after your welfare, and to inform you
if I can/' He turned to go, but she made a movement
toward him.
"That poor girl," she said, "I pity her so. Do yoti
know her well, sir?" She was quite herself now, but her
voice was still weak and tremulous.
"You have not heard, I see, that she is my cousin."
"No. I would like to call upon her. Will you ask
her if I may?" He nodded and she added quickly:
"And call, if you please, to-morrow."
Robert Brierly told his story almost without interrup-
tion; all that he knew of his brothers life in the village;
of his own, of his coming earlier than he was expected
and of his firm belief that his brother had been made the
victim of foul play. Possibly killed by mistake, because
of some fancied resemblance; for his life, which had been
like an open book to all his friends, held no secrets, no
"episodes," and enemies he never had one. In short
he could throw no light upon the mystery of his brother's
death. Rather, his story made that death seem more
mysterious than at first because of the possibilities that it
rendered at least probable.
But this evidence had its effect upon a somewhat bu-
colic jury. That Charles Brierly had been shot by another
hand than his own, had been very clearly demonstrated,m
THE LAST STROKE
for his brother would have no doubt whatever left upon
this point; while he little knew how much the judicious
whispers and hints uttered in the right places, and with
apparent intent of confidence and secrecy, had to do with
the shaping of the verdict, which was as follows:
"We, the jury, find that the deceased, Charles Brierly,
died from a bullet wound, fired, according to our belief,
by mistake or accident, and at the hands of some person
unknown."
And now came the question of proof.
"It must be cleared up," said Robert Brierly to the
detective. "I am not a rich man, Mr. Ferrars, but all
that I have shall be spent at need to bring the truth to
light. For I never can rest until I have learned it. It is
my duty to my dead brother, father, mother—all."
And late that night, alone in his room he looked out
upon the stars hung low upon the eastern horizon and
murmured—
"Ah, Ruth, Ruth, we were far enough asunder before,
and now—Ah, it was well to have left you your freedom,
for now the gulf is widening; it may soon, it will soon be
impassable." And he sighed heavily, as a strong man
sighs when the tears are very near his eyes and the pain
vlose to his heart.
%CHAPTER VII.
TRICKERY.
As was quite natural the three men, thrown so
strangely and unexpectedly together at the doctor's cot-
tage, sat up late after the inquest, and discussed the
strange death of Charles Brierly, in all its bearings. As
a result of this they slept somewhat late, except the detec-
tive, who let himself out of the house at sunrise, and
lighting a cigar, set off for a short walk up one certain
street, and down another. He walked slowly, and looked
indolently absorbed in his cigar. But it was a very
observant eye that noted, from under the peak of his
English cap, the streets, the houses and the very few
stray people whom he passed. It was not the people,
though, in whom he was chiefly interested. Ferrars was
intently studying the topography of the town, at least of
that portion of it which he was then traversing with such
seeming aimlessness.
From the doctor's cottage he had sauntered north for
several blocks, crossed over, until he reached the upper
or terraced street, and followed it until he had reached the
southern edge of the village and was in sight of the
school house not far beyond. Turning here he crossed
a street or two and was nearing the house where the dead
(87)88
THE LAST STBOKIT
school teacher had lived, wh^n he saw the Iront dooi tA
the house open, and a woman come out and hasten away
in the direction in which he was moving. She hurried
on like one intent upon some absorbing errant, and,
knowing the house as the late home of Charles Brierly,
and the woman as its mistress, Ferrars quickened his
steps that he might keep her in sight, and when she
turned the corner leading directly to the doctor's cottage
he further increased his speed, feeling instinctively that
her errand, whatever its nature, would take her there.
He was not far behind her now, and he saw the doctor
standing alone upon the side porch, saw the woman enter
at the side gate, and the meeting of the two.
Mrs, Fry, with her back toward him, was making
excited gestures, and the face of the doctor, visible above
her head, changed from a look of mild wonder to such
sudden anxiety and amazement that the detective halted
at the gate, hesitating, and was seen at that instant by the
doctor, who beckoned him pn with a look of relief.
"Look here, Ferrars," he began, and then turned to
assure himself that Brierly had not arisen, and was not
observing them from the office window. "Come this way
a few steps/' moving away from the porch and halting
where the shadow of the wing hid them from view from
within the main dwelling. "And now, Mrs. Fry, please
tell Mr. Grant what you had begun to tell me. I want
his opinion on it. He's not a bad lawyer/'
"A good detective'd be the right thing, I think/'
declared the woman. "It's about Mr. Brierly's room, sir.THE EIST'STROKE 89
He had a small'bed room, and another opening out from
it where he used to read and study. You know how
they were, doctor!"
The doctor nodded silently.
"Well, last night, you remember, when you brought
this gentleman and his brother to my place to look at the
rooms. You or he decided not to go up then, but told
me to close the rooms, and he would come to-morrow—
to-day—that would be."
"Yes, yes!" said the doctor, impatiently, "we remember
all that, Mrs. Fry."
"Well, I'd had the rooms locked ever since I heard
that he was dead." Mrs. Fry was growing somewhat
hazy as to her pronouns. "And I had the key in my
pocket. Then, well, after a while I lit the lamp in the sit-
tin' room so's it wouldn't seem so gloomy in the house,
and went out and sat on my side stoop, and after a little
my neighbor on that side, Mrs. Robson, came acrost the
lawn—there aint no fence between, ye know—-and we
talked for some time, and my little girl fell asleep with
her head in my lap."
"Don't be too long with the story," broke in the doc-
tor. "I don't want it to spoil Mr. Brierly's breakfast, for
he needs it badly."
"Yes, sir. Well, just about that time—it must have
been half past eight, I guess—and there was plenty of
folks all along the street, a boy came running across the
lawn and right up to me.
" 'If you please/ he says, touching his hat rim, 'Mr.90
THE LAST STROKE
Brierly, down to the doctor's, forgot to get the key to his
brother's room, and he sent me to get it for him.' I
s'pose I was foolish. I felt hurt, thinkin' he couldn't
trust me with his brother's things, an' so I jest hands out
the key and no questions asked."
A look of sudden alertness shot from the eyes of the
detective, and he arrested the doctor's evident impatience
by a quick shake of the head unperceived by the woman,
who was addressing her narrative to the doctor, as was
natural.
"I s'pose," she went on, "that I shouldn't a' done it,
but I didn't scent anything wrong then. Mrs. Robson
went home in a few minutes, and then I roused my little
girl up and took her in and put her to bed. She was
asleep again a'most as soon as her head touched the
pillow, and the night was so pleasant-like that I threw my
shawl on my shoulders and went out onto the front stoop.
I felt sort o' lonesome in the house all alone."
"Of course," commented Ferrars, seeing the dread of
their criticism or displeasure that was manifest in her'
face as she paused and looked from one to the other.
"One naturally would in your place."
"Yes, I suppose so," she went on, reassured. "Well,
I hadn't been out there two minutes when that same boy
came running up the walk, all out of breath, and says,
sort of panting between wTords, 'Ma'am, the lady that
lives next the engine house by the corner stopped me
just now an' asked me to come back here an' beg you toTHE LAST STROKE
91
come down there quick! Her little boy's got himself
btirnad awful!'"
"Ah! I see!" Ferrars spoke low, as if to himself, and
his face wore the look of one who is beginning to under-
stand a riddle. "You went, of course?"
"Yes, I went."
"Go on with the story, please. Tell it all as you have
begun. Let us have the details," and he again nodded
toward the doctor, who was regarding him with profound
surprise, and put a finger to his lip.
"My sister-in-law lives in the house by the engine
house," Mrs. Fry hurried on, "and knowing how careless
she is about keepin' things in the house against such
times, I ran back into my bed room and got a bottle of
camphor, and a roll of cotton batt. 'Run ahead, boy,' I
says to the boy, 'an' tell her I am coming; I must lock
up my doors and winders.' 'She's in an awful hurry,' he
says, 'cryin' fit to kill. I'll set right down here and watch
your house, mam; I can do no good there.' The boy
spoke so honest and Mary's boy is such a dear little fel-
low, that I jest lost my liead complete, and ran off down
the sidewalk. At the corner I looked back. The boy
was sittin' on the door step, an' I heard him whistlin';
someway it made me feel quite easy. But when I got to
the house and found them all in the sitting room, and
Neddy not hurt at all, but sound asleep on the floor, I was
so took back that I just dropped down 011 a chair and
acted like a wild woman. Instead of rushin' back that
very minute, I sat there and told how I had been tricked,92
THE LAST STROKE
and scolded about that boy, an' vowed I'fi have Mm treil
punished, and so on, until Mary reminded me that I'd
better get back home and see if the house was all right, or
if 'twas only a boy's trick."
"It looked like one, surely," was the detective's easy
comment.
"That's what Mr. Jones said. He's my neighbor. He
was just going home, and we overtook him. Mary told
him about the boy and he laughed and said that some
boys had played that sort of trick last summer, two or
three times, sending people running across the town on
some such fool's errand. He thought maybe 'twas some
boy that I had offended some way; and then I thought
about how crisp I was about givin' the boy Mr. Brierly's
key, and it made me feel sort of easier. But Mr. Jones
went in with us when we got to my house. We looked
all around down stairs and everything was allright. Nel-
lie was fast asleep still, and not a thing had been dis-
turbed. Then we went up stairs, 'just for form's sake,'
Mr. Jones said, and looked in all the bed rooms and even
tried Mr. Brierly's door. Everything seemed right and
so Mr. Jones and Mary went away, and I went to bed.
But someway I couldn't sleep sound. I felt provoked
and angry about that boy, and the more I thought of him,
of lr.s being a stranger and all, the uneasier I got. Then
I began to imagine I heard queer sounds, and creaking
doo'*s, and, right on the heels of all that, came a loud slam
that waked Nellie, and made me skip right out of bed."THE LAST STROKE
m
"A shutter, of course," said the doctor, as she paused
for breath.
"Yes, a shutter, and I knew well that every shutter on
my house was either shut tight or locked open. I look
to that, every night, as soon as it's lamp-lighting time;
them down stairs I shut, them up stairs I open, some-
times. I knew where that slammin' shutter was by the
sound, and it set me to dressing quick. I had opened the
shutters on Mr. Brierly's windows that very afternoon,
thinking the rooms would not seem quite so dreary and
lonesome when his brother came to look through 'em,
and they was locked open, I knew well! All the same, it
was them shutters, or one of 'em, that was clattering
then, and I knew it."
"Were you alone in the house, you and your little
girl?" asked Ferrars.
"All alone, yes, sir; and I took Nellie with me and went
out into the hall—"
"You mean down stairs?"
"Yes, sir. We sleep down stairs. Now, I thought I
had seen that everything was right when Mr. Jones and
Mary was with me, but when we went into that hall—
Doctor—" turning again toward that gentleman, for she
had addressed her later remarks to Ferrars,—"I guess
you may remember a shelf just at the foot of the stairs.
It's right behind the door, when it stands open, and that s
why we hadn't seen it, or I hadn't before. Well, I always
set the lamp for Mr. Brierly's room—his bed room lamp,
that is—on that shelf for him everv morning, as soon as itH
THE LAST STROKE
had been filled for the night's burning; and the morning
he was killed I had put it there as usual, and il
had been there ever since. It was there when Mr,
Brierly and you two gentlemen called, after the inquest/'
A queer little sound escaped the detective's throat
and again he checked the doctor's impatience with that
slight movement of the head.
"I don't call myself brave," the woman went on, "but
I caught Nellie by the hand—I was carrying my bed
room lamp—and ran up the stairs and straight to Mr.
Brierly's door. I don't know what made me do it, but
I stooped down to look through the keyhole, and there
in the door, was the very key I had given to that boy to
take to Mr. Brierly's brother."
"What did you do?" asked the doctor, breathlessly.
"I set down my lamp very softly, told Nellie in a
whisper not to make a noise, and then very carefully tried
the key. It turned in the lock. I didn't dare go in, but
I locked the door, left the key in it, and went down stairs
and out at the front door. I went around the house and
stood under the window of that room. The side window
shutter that I had fastened back was swinging loose. I
went back to the sitting room, locking the front door and
the doors from the hall into the front room and sitting
room, taking out the key of the front door, and leaving
the other keys in the locks, on my side. Then I lit the
big lamp, pulled down the curtains, fixed the side door
so I could open it quick, and set the big dinner bell close
by it. I made Nellie lie down on the lounge with herTHE LAST STROKE
95
clothes on, and there I sat'till morning. Before daylight
I went into the kitchen and moved about very softly to
get myself a cup of coffee, and a bite of breakfast for
Nellie. I had been careful not to let her see how I was
scared and she' went sound asleep right away. As soon
as I thought you would be up I awoke my little girl, and
left her sitting upon the side stoop, while I came here to
you. Mr. Brierly's brother ought to be first to enter
that room, and—if there was anyone there last night—
they're there yet."
"What roojn is that which I ought to enter, Mrs. Fry?"
said a voice behind them, and turning, all together, they
saw Robert Brierly standing at the edge of the porch
where it joined the wall of the doctor's room.
"I was afraid of this," muttered Doctor Barnes. But
the detective seemed in no wise disconcerted. Neither
did he seem inclined to listen, or allow Brierly to listen to
a repetition of Mrs. Fry's story.
"You are here just in time, Mr. Brierly," he said,
briskly. "Mrs. Fry believes that someone has paid a visit
to your brother's room during the night, and as she says,
you are the one who should investigate, and I think it
ought to be done at once, if you feel up to it."
"I'll be with you in a moment," replied Brierly,
promptly, and be went indoors by way of the French
windows which had given him egress.CHAPTER IX.
A LETTER.
As Robert Brierly entered the house, the detective now
taking the lead as a matter of course/turned toward Mrs
Fry.
"I see that you are anxious to get back home,,, he said
to her. "And it is as well that you go back in advance ol
us, for people are beginnings move about. Wait foi us
at the side door." And then, as the woman hastened
away, he turned toward the doctor. "You need not fee!
uneasy because of your guest, Doc.,", he said, with his
rare and fine smile. "There are times when the physical
man is in subjection to the spiritual man, or the wi*l
power within him, if you like that better. Brierly has
already endured a severe mental strain, I grant, but he's
npt at the end of his endurance yet. In fact, if he's the
journalist, and I begin to think so, he knows how to sus-
tain mental strain' long and steadily. You don't fancy he
could be persuaded to wait for meat and drink now, do
you?"
"My soul, man!" exclaimed Doctor Barnes, "how you
do read a man's thoughts! No! Brierly wouldn't stop
for "anything now. Nor you, either, for that matter.
What do you make of this?"
(96)THE LAST STROKE
97
"1 can tell you better in an hour from now, I hope.
Here's Brierly. Now then, gentlemen, try and look as if
this was merely a morning walk. We don't want to
excite the curiosity of the neighbors."
There seemed little need of this caution, for they saw
no one as they crossed to the quiet street in which Mrs.
Fry lived. But Ferrars, who had fallen behind the oth-
ers, had an observant eye upon all within range, as if,
as the doctor afterward declared, he held the very town
itself under suspicion.
Mrs. Fry awaited them at the side door, and unlocked
the one leading to the front hall and stairway at once.
"I hope one of you has got a pistol," she said, ner-
vously, as they approached the stairs.
"There's no one up there, Mrs. Fry," replied Ferrars.
"Never fear." But Mrs. Fry was not so positive. She
closed the sitting room door, all but the merest crack, and
stood ready to clap it entirely shut at the first sound of
attack and defense from the room above.
Meantime Robert Brierly, who had led the way up
stairs, placed a firm hand upon the key, turned it and
softly opened the door. Then, for a moment, all three
stood still at the threshold, gazing within.
It was Francis Ferrars who spoke the first word, with
his hand upon Robert Brierly's shoulder and his voice
little more than a whisper.
"Go inside, Brierly, quickly and quietly." He gave the
shoulder under his hand a quick, light, forward pressure,
and instinctively, as it seemed. Brierly stepped across the98
THE LAST STROKE
threshold with the other two close at his heels, and, the
moment they were inside the room, Ferrars turned and
silently withdrew the key from the outer side, closed the
door cautiously, and relocked it from within.
"We will do well to dispense with Mrs. fry, at least for
the present," he said coolly. "It's plain enough there has
been mischief here. Mr. Brierly, you saw this room last
night, for a moment."
Robert Brierly, who had dropped weakly upon a chair,
stopped him with a movement of the hand.
"Mr. Ferrars," he said, "I realize the importance of a
right beginning here, and if you will undertake this case
—I am not a rich man, you understand—all I have is at
your disposal. I could hardly bear to have my brother's
rooms searched by strange hands in my absence, but will
it not be wise that you should take the lead, and begin as
you deem best?"
"Yes," replied the detective, "but your assistance will
be helpful."
"Mrs. F|*y is coming up stairs," broke in the doctor,
who had been standing near the door.
Ferrars sprang across the room, turned the key, and
put his head out through the smallest possible opening in
the door.
"There's no one here, Mrs. Fry; and nothing missing,
that we have observed, ii was, no doubt, a boyish trick."
He smiled amiably at the somewhat surprised woman.
"When Mr. Brierly has had time to look about a bit he
will of course report to yoiu" And he closed the door inTHE LAST STROKE
99
the good woman's astonished face. "Better make no
confidants until we know what we have to confide/' he
said, turning back to survey the room afresh. "Now let
us have more light here/'
The room in which they were, was dimly lighted, for
the outer blinds of its three windows had been closed, and
all the light afforded them came from the one nearest the
front corner, where half the shutter was swinging loosely
at the will of the morning breeze. This light, however
enabled them to see that the room was in some confusion
or rather, that it was not in the same neat order in which
they had seen it on the previous day.
The writing desk, which later Mrs. Fry declared to have
been closed, was now open, and a portion of the contents
of its usually neatly arranged pigeon holes was scattered
upon the leaf.
"This," said Brierly, as they approached it, "was closed
when I saw it last night.''
fT remember," Ferrars nodded, and sat down in the
revolving chair before the "desk, and without touching
anything ran his eye carefully over the scattered papers
examined the pigeon holes, the locks and even the fine
coating of dust.
Upon a round table near the front window were some
scattered books, mostly of reference, a pile of unruled
manuscript tablets, and a little heap of written sheets.
There was a set of bookshelves above the writing desk,
and a wire rack near it was filled with newspapers and
magazines.100
THE LAST STROKE
When Ferrars had carefully noted the appearance of
the desk and its contents, he swung slowly around in the
swivel chair and gazed all about him without rising. He
had noted the books above him with a thoughtful gaze,
and he now fixed that same speculative glance upon those
upon the table. Then he got up.
"Oblige me by not so much as touching this desk yet,"
he said, and crossed to the table. "Your brother was a
magazinist, Mr. Brierly?', he queried.
"Yes," replied Brierly.
Ferrars turned toward the inner room which the others
had not yet approached.
"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, and then, in an altered
tone, "Here is Mrs. Fry's missing lamp."
His two companions came to the door of the room,
where Ferrars was now looking down at the pillows of
the bed.
"Brierly," asked Ferrars as they paused in the door-
way, "what had your brother with him in the way of
valuables, to your knowledge?"
The young man, who had been looking sharply about
the room like one who seeks something which should be
there, started slightly.
"Why, he had a somewhat odd and valuable watch
which was given him by our father upon our setting out
for Europe. It was like this," and he produced a /ery
beautiful specimen of the watch maker's art, and hdd it
out for inspection. "He also had a ring set with a fine
opal, that was once our mother's, and a locket with herTHE LAST STROKE
monogram. There were also some odd trifles that he
had picked up abroad, saying that they would become
his future wife, no doubt."
"And you think these were stil! in his possession?"
"I do. In writing of Miss Grant not long ago he men-
tioned as a proof of her refinement and womanly delicacy
that she would accept no gifts from him other than books
or flowers."
"I think/' said Ferrars, gravely, "that we had better
have Mrs. Fry in here now, and I want you to do the
talking, Brierly. Doctor, if you will ask her to come up,
I'll post Mr. Brierly, meantime."
The doctor turned the key in the lock and then hesi-
tated. "I dare say I will not be needed here longer?"
"You!" Ferrars turned upon him quickly. "Is there
anything urgent outside?"
"Not especially,so—only—"
"Only you fancy yourself de trop? If you can spare us
the time, we want you right here, doctor. Eh, Mr,
Brierly?"
"By all means."
"Then of course I am at your disposal," and the doc-
tor went out in search of Mrs. Fry.
"I wish there were more men with his combined deli-
cacy and good sense," grumbled Ferrars, and then he
began to explain to Brierly what was wanted from Mrs.
Fry.
When that good woman entered, Ferrars was seated by104
THE LAST STROKE
the furthest window, and Robert Brierly met her at the
door.
"Mrs. Fry," he began, "will you kindly look about you,
without, of course, disturbing or changing things, and
tell us if you see anything that has changed? If you
miss anything, or if anything, in your opinion, has been
tampered with? Look through both rooms carefully,
and then give us your opinion."
Mrs. Fry, who had been expecting just such a sum-
mons and who fully realized the gravity of the occasion,
stood still in her place near the door and looked slowly
about her; then she began to walk about the room. Once
or twice Brierly, prompted by a glance from the detec-
tive, had to warn her against putting a finger upon some
object, but she went about with firmly closed lips until
she had reached the little sleeping room. Then—
"Well, I declare!" she broke out. "If they haven't
even been at the bed!"
Brierly started forward, but Ferrars held up a warning
finger.
"And there's that lamp!" she went on, "with the
chimney all smoked! Somebody's been carrying it
around burning full tilt."
By this time Ferrars was so close beside Brierly that he
could breathe a low word in his ear, from time to time,
unnoted by the woman as she went peering about.
"You are sure the bed has been disturbed?" Brierly
^sked.
^Certain of it!"THE LAST STROKE
i05
"And can you guess why?"
"Well, he always kept his pistol under che bolster."
The men started and looked at each other. "What
an oversight," murmured the doctor.
"Do you mean," went on the inquiry, "that it was there
yesterday morning, when you made the bed?"
"I can't say, sir. The fact is, I was awfully afraid of
the thing, and when I told him I was, he put it clear
tinder the bolster with his own hand, and said it should
stay there, instead of on top, as it used to be at first."
"You don't mean that he left it there during the day?"
"Yes, sir! This one. You see, he had two. The one
he used to practice with—the one they found—was dif-
ferent. This one was bigger and different somehow
ferent. This one was bigger and not like any pistol I
ever saw. He told me 'twas a foreign weapon."
"She is right," said Brierly. "My brother brought a
pair of duelling pistols from Paris. They were elabor-
ately finished. He gave me one of them." He looked
anxiously toward the crushed and displaced pillows.
"Shall we not looSffeh€ $$ted, "and find out if anything is
there? Will you look, Mr. Ferrars? Or did you?"
Ferrars moved forward. "No, I did not look," he said.
"But the weapon is not there; I could almost swear to it.
Come—see, all of you." ::
With a quick light hand he • removed the pillows,
turned back the sheets and lifted the bolster. There was
nothing beneath it, save the impression where the
weapon had laid upon the mattress.106
THE LAST STROKE
The detective turned toward Mrs. Fry. "You are sure
it was here usually ?" he questioned.
"I. have lifted that bolster carefully every day, and have
always seen it," she declared. When I wanted to turn the
mattress he always took away the pistol himself."
Ferrars turned away from the bed, and Briefly
resumed his role of questioner.
"What else do you miss or find disturbed, Mrs. Fry?"
She went back to the outer room after a last slow
glance about the chamber.
"There is the lamp, of course," she began. "That was
taken from the shelf to give them light. Then the writ-
ing desk has been opened, as you see, and the things on
that table have been disturbed, the books shoved about,
and the papers moved. I think," going slowly toward
the article, "that even the waste basket and the paper
holder have been rummaged."
"And, do you miss anything here?"
Mrs. Fry shook her head. "I don't s'pose you've
searched the writing desk yet?" she ventured.
"Not yet. And is that all you observe, Mrs. Fry? The
bed, the lamp, the desk, table, rack and basket?"
She went back to the table and pointed out with
extended forefinger a couple of burned matches, one
upon a corner of the table, one upon the floor almost
beneath it.
"They lit that lamp there!" she said. "And they
brought their own matches. I never use those 'parlor
matches,' as they call 'em!" She bent her head to lookTHE LAST STROKE 107
closer at the polished surface of the table, and then
walked to the open window, where the shutter still swung
in the breeze. "It has been awful dusty since yesterday,
seems to me, for this time of year. That boy's left his
finger prints on this window, as well's on the table there."
"Don't touch them!" It was Ferrars who spoke and sc
sharply that the woman turned suddenly, but not soon
enough to note the swift gesture which directed his
exclamation.
"Of course we may rely upon you to keep the fact that
my brother's rooms have been entered in this manner,
from everyone, for the present. It may be very import-
ant that we do not let it be known beyond the four of us.
You have not seen or spoken with anyone as yet, I think
you said?"
"I haven't, and I wont. I'd do more than that for the
sake of your brother, Mr. Brierly, and you've only to tell
me what I can do."
"I intend to examine my brother's papers now, Mrs.
Fry, before I leave the house, and if we should need you
again we will let you know." And Mrs. Fry withdrew,
puzzled and wondering much, but with her lips tightly set
over the secret she must and would help to preserve.
"She'll keep silent, never fear," said the doctor as the
door closed behind her. "And now, Brierly, I must
remind you that you will need all your strength, and that
I don't like your color this morning. If you must inves-
tigate at once, get it over, for you, even more than Fer-
rars or I, need your morning coffee and steak."100
THE LAST STROKE
"That is true," agreed Ferrars. "Brierly, let me ask
two questions and then oblige me by leaving certain
marks, which I will point out to you, just as you find
them."
"Your questions." Brierly had already seated himself
before his brother's desk.
"I have'an idea that this old oak writing desk was not
selected by our friend, Mrs. Fry. Am I right?"
"It is my brother's desk; bought for its compact and
portable qualities/'
"Good! Now, where did your brother usually keep
these keepsakes and bits of foreign jewelry?"
"In one of these drawers. He kept them in a lacquered
Japanese box."
"Look for them. And, before you begin, oblige me
by not touching that letter file above the desk, nor the
desk top just below it."
The letter file held only a few bits of paper, apparently
notes and memoranda; and upon the flat top of the desk
was a bronze ink well, a pen tray, a thin layer of dust and
nothing more, except a tiny scrap of paper hardly as big
as a thumb nail, which lay directly beneath the letter file.
* Brierly cast a wandering glance over the desk top and file
and set about his task.
There was quite a litter of papers, letters mostly,
together with some loose sheets that contained figures,
dates, or something begun and cast aside. Below some
of the pigeon holes, letters lay as if hastily pulled out,
and from one of these little receptacles three or fourTHE LAST STROKE
109
envelopes protruded, half out, half in—one, a square
white envelope, projecting beyond the others. These,
Brierly pulled forth, and turning them over in his hand
scrutinized their superscriptions. Then, slowly, he took
the square, white wrapper from among the others and
drew out the letter it contained. As he began to scan
the page of closely lined writing he started, frowned,
flushed hotly, and then with a look of fierce anger he
thrust the sheet back into its envelope, and turned toward
the detective.
"Take that!" he said with a curl of the lip. "Unless I
am greatly at fault, it's a document in the case."
Ferrars took the letter from him, and asked, as he
thrust it into the pocket of his loose coat without so much
as glancing at it, "Do you mind my running over the
papers in this rack, Brierly? and looking into the waste
basket ?"
"Do it, by all means," was the reply as Brierly pulled
open the topmost drawer; and then, for some time there
was silence, save for the rustle of paper or the rasping
of a hinge or turning kn<ob.
When Brierly had finished his silent search of the two
drawers, he approached the detective with a small
lacquered box in his hand.
"The watch and the foreign jewels are gone," he said,
holding out the open box. "And what do you think of
this? Here are my mother's keepsakes, wrapped in tissue
paper, and labelled in my brother's hand, 'Mementos.
From my mother.' The thief h?*s spared these."110
THE LAST STROKE
The detective, who was now seated beside the table,
holding a folded newspaper in his hand, took the box,
looked at the tiny packet within, nodded and passed it
silently to the doctor.
"And now," went on Robert Brierly, and there was a
new ring of resolution and menace in his voice. "I turn
the rooms and all they contain, over to you, Mr. Ferrars,
and I await your opinion, when you have read that letter
in your pocket."
Ferrars drew forth the envelope and looked at it for the
first time. It was only a fragment, for a large corner
of its face was missing, the corner, in fact, which should
have borne the postage stamp and the postmaster's seal.
Without a word he held this side toward the two men,
extending it first to one, and then to the other.
"You see!" he said, and then to Brierly. "Was it your
brother's habit to tear his letters open in such a reckless
manner?"
"No. He was almost dainty in all his ways."
"Is there another letter in that desk torn as this is?"
Without a word Brierly took the letter and went back
to the desk, catching the letters from their pigeon holes
by the handful.
"I understand," he said, when he came back to them.
"No, there is not a torn envelope there."
"Then," said the detective, "I think I may venture to
give an opinion even before I look at this letter."CHAPTER X.
THIS HELPS ME).
The three men were now standing grouped about the
table with its scattered books and manuscripts, and Fer-
rars bent toward Robert Brierly, putting a hand upon his
shoulder.
"Brierlyhe said, "sit down; this thing is using up
your strength. I will tell you what I think , of all this,
and then we must lock up this place for a little while just
as it is." And as Brierly obediently dropped into the
chair which the doctor quickly placed beside him, the
detective resumed.
"Since yesterday, half a dozen theories have suggested
themselves to my mind as possible explanations of this
very daring murder, for I am now fully convinced that it
is nothing less; but I make it a rule never to accept,much
less announce a belief until I have established at least a
reasonable series of corroborative circumstances. This I
have not done entirely to my satisfaction, and so we will
not go into the theory of the case, but will see what facts
we have established; and fact number one, to my mind
is this: Your brother, Mr. Brierly, was most certainly
shot down with malice aforethought. He could not have
sifofc , and no one, in that open place, could have
T112
THE LAST STROKE
killed him by accident. He may have been entirely
unaware of it, but he had an enemy; and the deed of yes-
terday was planned, I believe, long ago, and studied care-
fully in every detail."
Robert Brierly flushed and paled. He opened his lips
as if to speak but the detective's eyes were steadfastly
turned away, and he resumed almost at once.
"I blame myself that I did not establish myself here
last night, as I at first thought of doing. But it is too
late for useless regret. And now, about this boy. Have
you, either of you, a thought, a suspicion, as to his
identity ?"
The doctor shook his head.
"You can't suspect one of the pupils, surely?" hazarded
Brierly.
"Be sure that Mrs. Fry knows every pupil in Glen-
ville, by sight, at least; and this lad was a stranger,
remember. It was a clever lad who first secured the key
to these rooms and then decoyed Mrs. Fry half way
across the town perhaps. How long must it have taken
her, Doc, to go and come, in haste?"
"Quite half an hour, I should think."
"Well, we will assure ourselves of that later. Now we
will suppose that this strange boy was acquainted with
these rooms to some extent, and that he was, I fully
believe. When Mrs. Fry is out of sight, and we know,
from her story, that he was careful that she should be
before he left his station upon the front porch—he slips
indoors and evidently knows where to look for a lamp,THE LAST STROKE
113
which he does not light until he is inside this room."
And Ferrars put a finger upon the match remarked upon
by Mrs. Fry. "Now, as Mrs. Fry observed, there has
been quite a film of dust in the air for the past twenty-
four hours, so that, in spite of the good woman's tidy
ways, it has accumulated upon this dark and shining
wood." And he put down his finger and called their
attention to its prints upon the table at his side.
"When we entered this room," he went on, "anc I took
it upon myself to look at that window, with the swinging
blind, under pretense of opening the shutters, I first
noted that the visitor had left us a clue to his identity;
several clues, indeed. Before seeing these, I had thought
that the boy was only an advance guard for some one
else, but I see I was wrong. It was the boy, and a very
keen and clever boy, who entered here alone. See upon
this table, upon the window sills, and upon the desk, the
prints of one, two and sometimes all four, small slendar
fingers."
Ferrars paused a moment, while they examined the
dust prints, faint but yet clear, upon the dark wood, and
making lines of clearer color upon the painted brown of
the window sills.
"And what?" asked Brierly, speaking for the first time
since the detective began his explanation, "What was his
real object?"
"His real object! Ah, I see you have been observant,
and if I am not much mistaken, he has left something;
but the things he took were taken solely to cover up theTHE LAST STROKE
real reason of his coming. Mr. Charles Brierly's pistol,
his watch and the foreign bijouterie were so little wanted
by this remarkable boy that he will no doubt get rid of
them in some way at the first opportunity. All but one
thing."
"And that?" asked Brierly, breathlessly.
Ferrars walked over to the writing desk and signed
them to follow. "Observe that letter file!" he said.
"There is not much upon it, bills for school books, two or
three circulars, and so on, but observe that this file hangs
over the top of the desk so that anything falling from it
would touch just here." He moistened the tip of a fore-
finger, and touching with it a small bit of paper lying
upon the top of the desk, and just below the letter file, he
lifted it deftly, and they all saw beneath it the dust of the
previous day upon the polished surface.
"This," said Ferrars, holding out the bit of paper upon
the palm of his hand, "was torn from something pulled
from this file since Mrs. Fry dusted the furniture here
yesterday morning, after Charles Brierly left the house.
See, as the paper was pulled from the file this bit came
off, because it was attached at the corner, as you see.
It is a fragment from a newspaper. If it had been a
letter the paper would not have parted so readily; it
would merely have torn through."
It was, indeed, a tiny scrap of newspaper, not of the
best quality, and not half an inch from the smoothly-cut
xorner to the ragged edge, where the file had perforated
it.THE LAST STROKE
115
The slip of printed paper from which this was torn,"
said Ferrars, "was the one thing which was taken from
this room because it was wanted! The rest were merely
carried away as a blind."
"But," asked the doctor, "why did he make this search
among the books and papers?"
"To find perhaps this very thing," replied Ferrars.
"But his first and most important errand was this." He
drew forth the letter given into his hands by Robert
Brierly, and held it toward them. "Witness the thing
itself. It bears no post-mark, it never did bear one, and
it is thrust into the most conspicuous place, doubtless,
after some looking about, in search of a better. I do not
know its contents but I guess."
A gesture from Brierly cut short his speech. "Read it,
both of you," he said, with something like a groan.
"And tell me what it means."
Ferrars drew forth the sheet of note paper and slowly
unfolded it. For a moment he scrutinized the page with
a frown, and then began to read—
"Mr. Charles Brierly: I don't know why I should be
drawn into your love affair any further, and I have said
my last word about your friend, Miss G—. One would
think that the proofs you have already had would be
more than enough. She is not the first woman, with a
pretty face and an innocent way, who has fooled and
tricked a man. Why don't you ask her and have it out?
You'll find she can scratch as well as the rest of her sex.
One word more, when you have had it out with her,116
THE LAST STROKE
beware! Especially if she weeps and forgives you.
Remember the 'woman scorned.'
"Don't write me again. I shall not answer any more
questions. And, remember your promise, don't let her
dream that you ever heard of me. I shall feel safer. So
^ood-bye and good luck. Yours, J. B."
Ferrars folded up this strange letter slowly, saying:
"This document has no date and no postoffice address."
He held it in his hand for a moment in silence, looking
at it thoughtfully, then. "I should like to retain this,"
he said, looking at Brierly, "as one of the documents in
the case." And as Brierly silently bowed his assent, he
added: "Have you found an opinion concerning this
letter?"
"I believe it is a shameful trick," declared Robert
Brierly, hotly. "An attempt on the part of some person
or persons to injure Miss Grant, who stands to me as a
sister henceforth. If I am any judge of womankind, she
is as good as she is lovely, and I believe that she mourns
my brother's awful death as only a good, true and loving
woman can. I wish you could and would say the same,
Mr. Ferrars."
"I can say that you have said the only right and manly
thing, in my opinion. You don't want to know what I
think, however, but what can be done? And, first, this
affair must be kept between ourselves. This letter makes
it all the more important. If it has been put here to mis-
lead justice and to make trouble, perfect silence regard-
ing.it will be the most baffling and perplexing course we
can pursue. And it ma^; lead to some further manifesta-THE LAST STROKE
117
tion. The word must go out at once that Mr. Brierly
has desired these rooms closed for the present, with
everything to remain untouched. Meantime I consider
that we have got our hands upon some strong clues, if
we can find the way to develop them aright. Don't ask
me anything more now, gentlemen. I want time to study
over this morning's discoveries, and, Mr. Brierly, it is
time you breakfasted."
At this moment there came a quick tap at the door, and
Mrs. Fry's voice was heard without. At a signal from
Ferrars, Doctor Barnes opened the door.
"Gentlemen," began the little woman in eager explan-
ation, "I don't want to interrupt."
"We are just going," said the doctor, politely.
"Oh, well, I got to thinking, after I went down stairs,
and it came into my mind that I didn't see Miss Grant's
picture on the top of the writing desk up here. Mr. Brierly
had had it three weeks or so, and he showed it to
me himself and says, 'Mrs. Fry, this picture is in its proper
place here in my room. You and Nellie both know and
love Miss Grant and so I may tell you that she is to be
my wife some day, God willing.'" The woman's voice
broke at the last, word, and Robert Brierly made a quick
stride back toward the desk. But Ferrars said, uncon-
cernedly, "Thank you, Mrs. Fry; we shall find it in the
desk, I fancy," and then he explained to her Mr. Brierly's
desire that the rooms remain closed to all curious visitors
until further notice, adding that they would close the out-
side blinds, and be down stairs directly; then shutting' the
* »118
THE LAST STROKE
do®r upon the woman's retreating form, and softly turn-
ing the key in the lock again, Ferrars went to the desk,
and catching back Brierly's extended hand, said, "Wait!"
He came closer to the desk and bent to scan at the top
shelf.
"Look," he said after a moment, "do you see that line,
close to the back, where the dust is not quite so apparent?
The picture has been taken from there." He took hold
of the back and pulled the desk from the wall a few
inches.
"Ah/' he exclaimed, "I thought so!" and dropping
upon one knee he drew out two pieces of card board. "I
thought so," he repeated, as he arose, and there was a
steely gleam in his eyes as he held out to view the two
halves of a fine picture of Hilda Grant, torn across the
middle as if by a firm and vindictive hand. "This helps
me," he said, with a touch of triumph in his voice. "It
helps me more than all the rest."
He made a movement as if to put the picture together
with the letter which he had put down upon the desk-
top, into a capacious inner pocket, and then suddenly
withdrew his hand and bestowed them elsewhere, for,
thrust into that safe side pocket, so convenient and capa-
cious, was a folded newspaper, from which a "clipping"
had been carefully cut, a paper which he had found in the
rack, near the desk, and had secreted, as he thought,
unseen, at his earliest opportunity.CHAPTER XI.
details.
During the day that followed the discoveries in Mrs.
Fry's upper chamber, Mr. Ferrars did a variety of things
that surprised the brother of Charles Brierly; yes, and
the doctor as well, and he said some things that seemed
quite incomprehensible. For the detective was somewhat
given to half uttered soliloquy when he knew himself
among "safe" people, and could therefore afford to relax
his guard. Likewise he failed to say the things which
Brierly, at least, expected, and much desired to hear.
His first movement after the three had breakfasted,
was to ask for the keys of the cottage chambers, for they
had been handed over to Brierly somewhat ostentatiously
in the presence of Mrs. Fry and at the foot of the cottage
stairs, by the doctor.
"I want to spend another half hour in those rooms,*®
he said, "and to so leave them that I shall know at once
if a human foot has so much as crossed the threshold."
This was all the explanation he chose to make then or
upon his return.
Indeed, when he came back he spent all of the remain-
ing time until high noon, smoking alone upon the doc-
tor's neat lawn and along the shady side of the house,
("9)120
THE LAST STROKE
excusing himself and guarding against possible intrusion,
by remarking that he felt the need of a little solitary self-
communion.
At luncheon the question of the burial was discussed,
and afterward Brierly announced his intentions to call
upon Miss Grant, if the doctor thought her able to rceive
him.
"I have told Mrs. Marcy to keep the gossips out,"
Doctor Barnes said gravely, "she's too sensitive, Miss
Grant I mean, to hear unfeeling or curious discussions
of the case. But a friend who is in sympathy—that's
another thing. She'll be better with such company than
alone."
When Brierly had set out, the detective threw away his
after dinner cigar.
"Were you called to see the little lady who was taken
ill here yesterday, after the close of the inquest?" he
asked carelessly. "I forgot to inquire, in my desire to
keep Brierly occupied."
The doctor shook his head. "I fancy she only needed
time to recover from the effect of her gruesome position.
It was a blunder, putting her in plain sight of that
shrouded corpse. Those little blue eyed women are a
masses of nerves and fine sensibilities—often. I don't
see how it came about."
"If you mean the 'blunder' of putting those ladies
where they were, it was I who blundered. I arranged to
place them there,"THE LAST STROKE
121
"You!" the doctor's eyes opened wide in astonishment.
"Then I retract. It was I who have blundered."
"Um—I am not so sure," Ferrars replied slowly and
then the subject as by mutual consent was ignored
between them. Ferrars, who seemed for the time at least
to have done his thinking, wrote several letters at the
doctor's desk, and then prepared to go out.
"I asked permission to call and inquire after Mrs.
Jamieson's health, yesterday," he said to the doctor, "and
as she has not required your services she may be able to
receive me now."
'There is another Esculapius in Glenville," reminded
Doctor Barnes.
"So I have heard; but the lady is a person of good
taste. She would have called you in if anyone." He
bowed and went out with a gleam of humor in his eyes.
"It's sometimes hard to guess what Ferrars means
when he speaks with that queer look and tone," mused
the doctor. "And who would have thought he would
care or think of a formal call like this just now! And
yet, that little woman is pretty enough to attract a man.
I'm sure; and a detective may be as susceptible, I sup-
pose, as another."
Ferrars waited for a few moments in the reception
room of the Glenville House, and was then conducted to
the pretty suite occupied by Mrs. Jamieson. He found
her half reclining in a long, low chair, with her friend,
Mrs. Arthur, still in attendance. She wore a soft, loose
robe of black, with billowy gauze-like ruffles, and floatingm
THE LAST STROKE
ribbons of the same sable hue, relieved only by a knot of
purple wood violets at her throat. Her face was very
pale and her eyes, with their changing lights of grayish
green and glinting blue, looking larger and deeper than
usual because of the dark shadows beneath them, and
the waves of her plentiful fair hair falling low and loose
upon her forehead.
She welcomed her visitor with a faint half smile, and
thanked him again for his kindness of the pre-
vious day. She blamed herself for her want of nerve and
courage. She inquired after Miss Grant and expressed
her sympathy for the bereaved girl, and her desire to
see her again, to know her, and serve her if possible;
she had shown herself so brave, yet so womanly that day
—And then the little lady told of her encounter with Miss
Grant in the unfortunate character of messenger or
bearer of bad news. She was glad there would be no
lack of staunch friends to support the sweet girl in her
time of need and trouble, and she finished by sending a
pretty message to Hilda, and then without further ques-
tion or comment concerning the murder or the progress
of the case,- she let the talk slip into the hands of her
friend and leaned back in her chair like one too weak for
further effort, seeing which Ferrars soon withdrew.
"You will not consider this an example of my usual
hospitality, I trust," Mrs. Jamieson said, as he bent over
her chair to say farewell. "I fear I was not wise in refus-
ing to let them call a physician, but I do dread being in
the hands of a doctor. I shall be pleased to hear howTHE LAST STROKE
123
this sad case progresses, Mr. Grant, and by the by, has
anything new occurred since the inquest? Any new wit-
nesses or discoveries of any sort?"
But Ferrars shook his head and murmuring something
about time being short, and not taxing her good nature
and strength further, he bowed low and went away.
"It's very good of her," he mused, as he went, "to take
such kindly interest in my supposed relative, Miss Grant.
But she certainly showed scant interest in the chief actor
in the drama, my friend Brierly." ^
The candles had just been lighted that evening, and
Ferrars was once more waiting at the doctor's desk, while
Brierly, pale and heavy-eyed, lounged by the long win-
dow near, when Doctor Barnes came in, hat in hand.
"As you felt some interest in Mrs. Jamieson's selection
of a physician this morning," the latter said, "I will
inform you that I have just been summoned to see that
lady, professionally, of course," he added, as if by an
afterthought and smiling slightly.
"Thank you. Mrs. Jamieson has vindicated my belief
in her good judgment," replied Ferrars, and then he
wheeled about in his chair, and put out a detaining hand.
"Don't think I doubt your reserve, doctor," he went
on, "when I ask you to avoid or evade, if needful, any
discussion of this affair of ours. That is, avoid giving
any information, be it ever so trivial." He shot a quick
glance toward Brierly, and met the doctor's eye for one
swift momentary glance.
"My visit will be purely professional, and doubtlessm
THE LAST STROKE
brief," was the reply, as the speaker passed from the
room, and Ferrars smiled, knowing that his friend under-
stood the meaning behind the half jesting words.
A moment later Robert Brierly arose, yawned, and
crossed the room to take up his hat.
"This inaction is horrible," he said, drearily. "I must
get out. I wish I had walked down with Barnes. Won't
you come out with me, Mr. Ferrars?"
The detective dipped his pen in the sand box and arose
quickly. Then when he had found his hat, and had low-
ered the light over the writing table, he put a hand upon
the other's shoulder.
'Til go out with you, of course, Brierly,,, he said, and
there was a world of sympathy, as well as complete
understanding in his tone. "But first, I want to ask you
to show yourself as little as possible upon the streets, for
a few days to come at least, and then only in the company
of the doctor or myself, and not to go out evenings at
all, unless similarly attended. It will be irksome, I know,
but I believe it important, and I must ask this of you, too,
without explanation, for the present at least."
The young man looked at him for a moment, earnestly
and in silence.
"Do you ask this for reasons personal to myself, or
because it seems to you to be for the interest of the
investigation ?" he asked slowly.
Ferrars smiled. "You're as able to take care of your-
self as any man I know, Brierly," he said, with frank con-
viction. "It's for the interest of the case that we—andTHE LAST STROKE
125
especially you—keep ourselves as much aloof as possible
from questions and curiosity. There !s another reason
which I cannot give just yet."
"As you will. X have put myself and my brother's
vindication in your hands, Mr. Ferrars, and I shall do
nothing, be sure, to hinder your progress." As they
passed out Brierly paused under the shadow of the porch.
"May I ask if you have put the same embargo upon Miss
Grant?" he questioned.
"I have, yes. Glenville must know what we wish it to
know, and not a syllable more.,,
"Ah! I like that."
"Why?"
"Because it sounds as if you had really found the end of
your thread here."
"Oh, yes. The beginning is here. Not of. the case,
mind; only of the clues. But heaven only knows where
it may lead us before we find the end."
"What matters," said the brother of Charles Brierly,
with a heavy sigh, "so long as it brings us to the truth!"CHAPTER XII.
41 FERRARS-GRANT."
On the fourth day after Charles Brierly's untimely
death his body was taken to the city and laid beside his
parents in the beautiful cemetery where love and grief
had already prepared for him and his, a place of final rest.
News of the burial had been sent ahead, and a crowd
of friends had assembled at the home of their father's
oldest friend and family lawyer, where the body was
received as that of a son, and the last rites of affection and
respect were performed by the venerable rector who had
seen the brothers grow from boys to men.
Doctor Barnes and Hilda Grant, with Mrs. Marcy as
chaperone, accompanied the sad hearted brother upon
this journey, and they were somewhat surprised when
Ferrars, whom they had thought must go with them in
has character of sole relative to the young lady,
explained that his presence in Glenville just then was
essential to the success of the work he had been called
there to do.
"There are so many little things which I want to learn,"
he said. "In fact, I must know Glenville much better
before I can go far in my search, and during your absence
I can find the time for making many new acquaintancesTHE LAST STROKE
127
and I mean to begin by cultivating your friend Doran,
doctor."
They were gone three days, and when they returned
they were but a party of three. "Poor Charlie Brierly,"
as his friends in the city had already begun to call the
dead, lay in his last, quiet earthly home, and Robert had
remained in the city.
"To settle up his brother's affairs, and put the matter
of his death into the hands of the detectives." At least
this is what Mr. Doran informed one of the loungers who,
seeing the return of the doctor and the two ladies, had
remarked upon Brierly's absence.
"Of course he'll have to come back here," Doran had
further added. "He ain't touched the things in his
brother's rooms yet, they say. But they'll wait, better
than the other business."
"Umph!" the villager sniffed. "He's let three days
slip by without makin' much of a stir. Why on earth
ain't they had one o' them fellers down here long before
this? They ain't seemed to hurry much."
"Well, you see, at first 'twas more than half believed
that the shooting must have been by accident; and then,
this is just between you and me, Jones; didn't you ever
think that even after that jury's verdict, and the doctor's
testimony, they, Doc. and the brother, might have wanted
to make sure, by a sort of private and more thorough
investigation of the wound, eh?"
"By eraekey! Now that you speak of it, I heard Masonlis
THE LAST STROKE
•ay't tfiey was up an' movin' round at the doctor's tnat
live long night! Yes, sir, I reckon you've hit it!"
"My!" mused Samuel Doran as he moved away from
the gossip. "They bite at my yarns like babies on a
teethin' ring. Doc. knows his fellow critters, sure
enough, and my work's laid out for me, I guess."
For Doran, after due consultation, and upon the doc-
tor's voucher, had been taken a little way into the confi-
dence of the three men, and Ferrars began to foresee in
him a reliable helper.
The above brief conversation took place between
Doran and Mr. Jones, professional depot-lounger and
occasional worker at odd jobs, while the doctor was put-
ting Hilda and Mrs. Marcy into a waiting carriage, and
when he had seen it drive away up town, Doran came
forward and addressed him in a tone quite audible to the
bystanders.
"You see, I didn't forget the carriage, Doc. Hope
Miss Grant ain't none the worse for her sad sort of jour-
ney." And then as the two walked away from the plat-
form together, and he saw the doctor's eyes glancing
from side to side, Doran went on. "Looking for Mr.
Grant, Doc? Well, I guess you won't see him; not
before supper-time, anyhow. Fact is, I guess he's sort
of fancy struck on that pretty-faced widow down at the
Glenville House, and he's taken her out behind my greys
this afternoon. I don't know as I blame him any; she is
a dainty little wid."
The doctor stared at him in amazement at his firstTHE LAST STROKE
129
words, and then broke into a hearty laugh over the last.
"Upon my word, Doran, you will be able to write a
new dictionary of abbreviations some day! Doran's
Original! A dainty wid. is very good in its way; only, is
she a 'wid.'?"
'That's what they say at the Glenville. Widow and
rich."
At the next corner Doran halted. "Have to tear
myself away," he said, amiably. "See you later," and the
two men separated.
"Well, old man, how have you fared during the lull in
your business?" asked Doctor Barnes as his man came
to meet him. "You don't look overworked."
"I ain't been, neither, sah. Your Mr. Grant or Fer-
rars, I ain't rightly got his name, I guess, sir, he 'pears
ter like the cooks down to the Glenville better than me.
I ain't had no bother with him since you left, sir, 'cept to
make up his bed."
"I know. He has found some friends there, I fancy,
Jude. Any news or messages?" and the doctor became
at once absorbed in his neglected business.
Ferrars made his appearance at "supper time," as
Doran had described the evening meal, and the two men
had much to discuss. When Jude had placed the last'
dishes, and retired, the detective, who thus far had been
listening to the doctor's account of the journey and the
sad funeral obsequies, looked up and said: "I suppose
you have heard of my wanderings, doctor, and how I
have forsaken poor Jtide? The fact is, I have found130
THE LAST STROKE
plenty of leisure, and Mrs. Jamieson, when one comes to
know her a little, is a very ab—interesting woman. The
sort of woman, in fact, whose society I now and then
enjoy. I have not neglected my duty, however, but
there is absolutely nothing new. And, by the by, I must
see Miss Grant this evening; after that, if you are at lib-
erty, we must have a talk. I have decided upon a change
of plan, of which you must know.'' \
He had left a note for Miss Grant, which advised her
of his intended call as soon as she should have become
rested and refreshed. He was glad to find her so strong
and so composed, and he came at once to the business in
hand.
"Miss Grant," he began, "As I said in my note, I have
something to propose to you which has presented itself
to me as the best course during your absence; and, to
begin, let me ask, have you still full confidence in me, as
a detective, and as a man whom you may trust?"
She lifted her fine, clear eyes to his face and kept them
there while she replied.
"I felt that I could trust you, Mr. Ferrars, when we first
met. There has been no change in that feeling unless it
may be the change to a larger measure of trust and con-,
fidence." I
"Thank you." And now the cool detective flushed like[
a school boy. "I shall try hard to deserve your good
opinion, and it encourages me to broach my singular pro-
posal. I believe it will enable me to get on easier and
with more rapidity if you will permit me to continue forTHE LAST STROKE
1S1
an indefinite time in the role which I did not at first
choose for myself, and I ask you if I may still remain, in
the eyes of Glenville, as now, in the character of your
cousin."
"To remain—in Glenville?"
"When Doctor Barnes sent for me, advising me that I
might arrive in the character of your cousin, it was of
course with tbe idea that this masquerade would be a
brief one, and it was undertaken because the doctor knew
how it would hamper, if not really balk, my attempts to
unravel this mystery if I were known as a detective. I
cannot explain now, but I ask you to believe that, being
here, I am now convinced that in laying aside this char-
acter I should put out of my hands, my best weapon, the
most direct means of following up and ferreting out a
crime which I fully believe will prove to have been—that
is if we succeed in finding out the truth—a crime with a
far-reaching plot behind it, and the cause of which most
of us have not even remotely dreamed of."
"You have said enough. All is in your hands. Be
what you will and must, the better to prove to the world
that Charles Brierly, my husband in the sight of heaven,
died as he lived, an upright gentleman and martyr, and
not the suicide or the victim of a righteous vengeance
that most people would forever declare him if the truth
is not made known."
"Understand," he urged, "that if you consent to this,
you, as well as myself, will have a part to play, and an
active part, perhaps, in the drama we are about to begin.132
THE LAST STROKE
Remember, you will have to keep up the deception for
weeks, possibly months; and to go and come at my
desire."
"Do you mean/' she asked, breathlessly, "that you may
need my help?"
"I do need your help!"
"Oh!" she cried, letting go her splendid self-restraint
for the moment. "You don't know what you are doing
for me! To be active; to do something, instead of sitting
still and eating my heart out in suspense. It will save
me from madness, perhaps. What could a true relative
do for me more than you are doing and will do. You are
my cousin!" And she put out her two hands to him
with a new look of energy and resolve in her face. As he
took the two slim hands in both his own, and looked in
her eyes, suddenly so aroused and purposeful, he saw, for
the first time, the full strength and force of will and
nature behind that fair face and gentle bearing, the
high spirit and courage animating the slender frame.
"Thank you," he said simply as he released her hands.
"I feel that I can, indeed, rely upon you at need. You
have the strength; can you have the patience, as well?
At present I can tell you very little. You will have to
take much upon trust."
"I have anticipated that."
"For example, it is my inflexible rule never to reveal
the name of a suspected person until I have at least par-
tial proof of guilt, enough to warrant an arrest. But you
have a right ta such confidence as l ean give, and so, ifTHE LAST STROKE
133
you have a question to ask, and I think you have, let me
answer it if I can."
"Oh, I thank you." She came a step nearer. "I as\
myself one question, over and over; that there was no
guilty secret in my poor boy's life and death, I know.
Where, then, can be the motive?"
"The motive, Ah! When we know that, we shall be
at the beginning of the end of the matter. Sit down,
Miss Grant, and I will put the case before you as I now
see it."
She sank into the nearest seat without a word.
"As to the manner of the murder," he went on, "this
is my conclusion; Some one, an enemy who hated or
feared him, has informed himself of Mr. Charles
Brierly's habits, and made himself familiar with the
woods along the lake shore. Your friend, I learn, has
practiced target-shooting for some time. Have you
ever thought that he might have had a reason for so
doing?"
"Good heavens! No!"
"Well, that is only a suggestion. But this much is
certain, the deed was premeditated, and carefully
planned. I have satisfied myself that the assassin,
approaching from the south, made almost the circuit of
that long mound, after making sure that no one was near,
in order to reach the point, scarcely twelve feet from the
place where the body was found, from which to fire the
fatal shot."
"My God!"IM THE LAST STROKE
"It was a bold venture, but not so dangerous as might
at first appear. I find that from a point half way to the
top of the mound one might be quite concealed from
anyone down by the lake shore while taking a long look
up and down the road. And, in case of approach, there
is at the south end of the mound a clump of bushes and
young trees, where one could easily remain concealed
while awaiting the victim or the passing of an interloper.
From the town to a point not far south of the knoll or
mound, as your people call it, the ground between the
road and lake has been partially cleared of undergrowth
for the comfort of picnickers and fishing parties, I am
told."
"Yes." She sighed wonderingly. "But beyond that,
a person wishing to be unseen from the lake or road
could easily hide among the brush and trees. I believe
all this was carefully studied, and carried out, and that,
five minutes after the shots were fired, the slayer was on
his way southward to some point where a confederate
waited, with some means of conveying themselves to a
safe distance/'
~"Ah!" she whispered. "The boat?"
"Yes, the boat. It was a part of the plot, and rowed
to that point by the confederate, I believe, for the pur-
pose of misleading justice. Doran, who is an able
helper, learned this morning that a farm hand, who was
driving his stock across the road to drink at the lake,
saw a man in a boat rowing up towards Glenville at half
past seven that morning."THE LAST STROKE
135
"Oh! And can you follow them? Is the trail strong
enough?"
"I think so. And there are other clues. There is
much to be done here in Glenville, first of all. At the
inquest the testimony was purposely left vague and
uncertain at some points."
"And why?"
"Because, somewhere, not far away, there is a person
who is watching developments, and who may leave some
track unsevered, if he can be made to think we are off
the scent. I mean to know my Glenville very well before
I leave it, and some of its people, too. And here you
can help me as soon as you are strong enough."
"I am strong enough now. What more can I do?"
"Xou remember the foolish boy and his fright when
questioned?"
"Of course."
"Well, as his teacher, can you not winTiis confidence
until his fear is overcome? That boy has not told all he
knows."
"He is very dull, I fear. He said he saw a ghost."
"Well, we must know the nature of that ghost, and
why it has closed his lips so effectually. Seriously I
hope much from that lad."
"Then, be sure, I will do my best."
"You see, I am taking you at your word. And there's
one more thing. I have been told that strangers go
oftenest to the Glenville, when in town. Now it
behooves me to know the latest comers, and the new-136
THE LAST STROKE
comers there, and chance having given me opportunity
to break the ice by being polite to Mrs. Jamieson, I have
improved the moments. I don't mean that I am study-
ing the lady for any sinister purpose, but one can see
that she is quite a social leader in the house, and through
her I have already come to know several of the other
inmates. Mrs. Jamieson very much desires to know
you, and if you will allow her to call, as under the cir-
cumstances she desires to do, and if you will return that
call—in short put yourself upon the footing of an
acquaintance—it will really help me greatly."
For a long moment Hilda did not speak, then "I will
do as you wish, of course," she said, but the note of
eager readiness had gone out of her voice. "But I" can-
not even think of that woman without living over again
our first meeting and the awful blow her news dealt me.
Will I ever outlive the hurt of it?"
"It hurt her, too; I am sure of that. She is a keenly
sensitive woman. She went from your school room
really ill, so her friend has told me."
"I can well believe that. She looked ill when she
came to me. And who can wonder?" her tone softening.
"Mrs. Jamieson is certainly kind, and why should we
not be friends? She is a lady, refined and charming.
Don't think me unreasonable, Mr. Ferrars. I shall be
pleased to receive her, of course."
"Thank you. And remember, that for the present
Francis Ferrars becomes Ferris—Ferris Graiit. You'll
not forget your part!"THE LAST STROKE
137
"I will not forget," she answered. And when he was
gone she smiled a sad little womanly smile. "After all,
a detective is but a man; and that petite, soft-spoken,
dainty blonde woman is just the sort to fascinate a big-
h^prted, strong man like Francis Ferrars."CHAPTER XIII.
"THE LAKE COUNTY HERALD."
"Has Doran been here, doctor?"
These were the detective's first words when he entered
the sanctum upon his return from the Marcy cottage,
and before his host could do more than shake his head,
Ferrars dropped into a seat beside him and went on in a
lower tone.
"The fact is, doctor, I've got myself interested in a
thing which, after all, may lead me astray. Do you take
the 'Lake County Herald?' "
"Upon my word!" ejaculated the doctor. "I do; yes.
Want to peruse the sheet?"
"I don't suppose you file them?" went on Ferrars.
"File the 'Herald!' No, I fire them, or Jude does."
"I wish you had not. The fact is I want very much to
get hold of a copy dated November last, the 27th. Do
you recall the bit of paper I took from Charles Brierly's
desktop to demonstrate that something had been hastily
pulled from the letter file by that clever boy of whom
Mrs. Fry could tell so little?"
"Yes; surely." The doctor now began to look seri-
ously interested.
(138)THE LAST STROKE
139
"Well, the stolen paper was a newspaper clipping, cut
from the 'Herald' of November 27th, last."
"Upon my word! But there, I won't ask questions."
"You need not. Did you not observe me looking
over the papers in the rack?"
"Yes."
"Possibly you saw me with a paper in my hand soon
after?"
The doctor stared and shook his head. "I've no eye
for slight-of-hand," he grumbled.
"Decidedly not, for I folded up that paper and thrust
it in a breast pocket before your very eyes. I kept that
tiny bit, too, which I picked up on my forefinger. It
fitted into a column from which a piece had been cut,
and that's how I know that the stolen article came from
that paper. Very simple, after all, you see!"
"For you, yes."
"The fact that the clipping was thought worth steal-
ing, makes me fancy it worth a perusal. I tried for it
here in town, in a quiet way, but failed. Then I appealed
to Doran, and he has written to Lake, to the editor,
.whom he happens to know."
"It would be hard to find hereabouts a man of any
importance whatever whom Sam Doran does not know.
He grew up in Lake County, and has held half the
offices in the county's gift."
"There may be a clue for us in that clipping. I dis-
covered another thing in that room. The dead man
wrote, or began, a letter to his brother. I learned this140
THE LAST STROKE
from a scrap, dated and addressed, which I found in the
waste basket, and I am led to believe the letter was
rewritten, or rather begun anew, and sent, from the fact
that a fresh blotter showed a fragment of Brierly's name,
and the city address. That letter, if mailed, must have
passed him as he came down. Did he mention getting
it?"
Doctor Barnes shook his head.
"He said nothing about such a letter," he replied.
"Does lie know about this—this newspaper business?"
"Not a word. No one knows it but yourself. If it
should prove to be a clue in my hands, it may be better,
it will be better, I am sure, to keep it at present between
us two. I think, however, that I may decide to show
Miss—my cousin—that anonymous letter, and tell her
something about that mysterious boy and his visit to her
lover's rooms." And then Ferrars turned from this
subject to explain to the doctor his present plans. How
he had determined to continue his masquerade, and to
remain for a time in Glenville; and, though Mrs. Jamie-
son's name was not uttered, the doctor found himself
wondering, as had Hilda Grant, if the detective had not
found the place attractive for personal, as well as busi-
ness reasons; and if a detective's heart must needs be of
adamant after all.
Next morning Samuel Doran, who knew the detective
only as "Hilda Grant's cousin and a right good fellow,"
drove ostentatiously to the door to take "Mr. Grant" tor
a drive.THE LAST STROKE
141
"I've had a line from Joe Howlett," he began the
moment they were upon the road. "He was just setting
out for a run out of town but he says he told the boys to
look up that paper and send it along. So, I guess we'll
see it soon, if it's in existence." And Doran chirrupped
to his team and promptly changed the subject. He did
not know why this man beside him so much wished to
obtain a six-months-old copy of a country newspaper,
and he did not trouble himself to worry or wonder.
"It was none of his business," he would have said if ques-
tioned, and Samuel Doran attended to his own business
exclusively and was by so much the more a reliable
helper when, his aid being asked, the business of his
neighbor became his own.
Ferrars was learning to know this man, and he knew
that the time might soon come when Doran would be his
closest confidant and strongest assistant in Glenville.
"We look for Brierly in a day or two," the detective
said, casually, as they bowled along. "He will bring
a professional gentleman with him," and he turned his
head and the eyes of the two met. Ferrars had found
that Doran could extract much meaning from a few
words, at need.
"Something in the detective line, for instance? 'S that
it?"
"That explanation will do for Glenville, Doran."
"Cert. Glenville ought to know it, too. We've been
thinking 'twas about time one of 'em appeared," and
Doran grinned.142
THE LAST STROKE
Ferrars smiled, well satisfied. He knew that the dig-
nified family lawyer and friend, who was coming to Glen-
ville with Robert Brierly by his own desire, would be
promptly accepted as the tardy and eagerly looked for
"sleuth" who would "solve the mystery" at once and
with the utmost ease.
And that is what happened.
The two men arrived a day earlier than they had been
expected, and the moment Robert Brierly found him-
self alone with Ferrars he drew from his pocket a letter,
saying, as he unfolded it with gentle, careful touch:
"This letter, Mr. Ferrars, is the last written me by my
brother. It was in the city, passing me on the way,
before I had arrived here, and I found it, among others,
at the office. I have not spoken of it even to the doc-
tor. Read it, please."
Ferrari took the letter and read.
My Dear Rob.: Since writing you, I have found in
an old newspaper, quite by accident, something which
has almost set my head to spinning. I know what you
will say to that, old boy. It brings up something out of
the past; something of which I may have to tell you and
which should have been told you before. It's the only
thing, concerning myself that is, which you do not know
as well as I, and if I have not confided this to you, it was
because I almost feared to. But then, why try to explain
and excuse on paper when we are to meet, please God,
so soon. Brother mine, what if that flood tide which
comes, they say, to each, once in life, was on its way to
you and to me? Well, it shall not separate us, Rob.;
not by my will. But stop. I shall grow positively orac-THE LASTTSTROKE
143
ular if I keep on, (no one fcvef could understand an
oracle, you know) and so, till we meet, adieu.
BROTHER CHARUB.
When Ferrars had read this strange missive once, he
sat for a moment as if thinking, and then deliberately
re-read it slowly, and with here and there a pause, when
at last he handed it back to Brierly, he asked:
"Do you understand that letter?"
"No more than I do the riddle of the sphinx, Fer-
rars," he leaned forward eagerly as he put a question,
and his eyes were apprehensive, though his voice was
firm. "Do you connect that letter in any way with my
brother's death?"
For a moment the detective was silent, thinking of
the newspaper, and the missing clipping. Then he
replied slowly as if considering between the words.
"Of course it's possible, Mr. Brierly, but as yet I can-
not give an opinion. If you will trust that letter to me
for a few days, however, perhaps I may see more clearly.
It's a surprise, I'll admit. I had fully decided in my
own mind, that howsoever much the murderer may have
premeditated and planned, his victim was wholly una-
ware of an en— of his danger."
"You were about to say, of an ejtiemy!"
"Yes. It is what I have been saying before seeing
that letter." He put out his hand and as Brierly placed
the letter in it he added, "Let us not discuss this further.
Does your friend, Mr. Myers, know of it?"
"Not a word."1M THE LAST STROKE
"Then, for the present, let it rest between us.f>
Two days after this interview, Doran dropped in at
the doctor's office, and before he left had managed to put
a newspaper, folded small, into the hands of the detective,
quite unperceived by the other occupants of the room.
For, while since Brierly's return, accompanied by his
friend, these two had occupied together the rooms at
Mrs. Fry's, the doctor's cottage was still headquarters
for them all, while Ferrars now had solitary possession
of the guest chamber, formerly assigned to Brierly.
Mr. Myers was a shrewd lawyer, as well as a faithful
family friend. He had felt, from the first, that there
was mystery as well as crime behind the death of Charles
Brierly, who had been near and dear to him, as dear as
an own son, for the two families had been almost as one
ever since John Myers and the elder Brierly, who had
been school friends and fellow students, finally entered
together the career of matrimony.
There had been no children in the Myers homestead,
and the two lads soon learned to look upon the Myers
house as their second home, and "Uncle" John Myers
had ranked, in their regard, only second to their well
beloved father. So that when the young men were left
alone, in a broken and desolate home, that other door
opened yet wider, and claimed them by right of affection.
Mr. Myers had been taken to the scene of the murder,
had visited Hilda Grant, and, by his own desire, had
examined the books, papers and manuscripts in Charles
Brierly's rooms, and on the day of Doran's call, a longerTHE LAST STROKE
145
drive than he had yet taken had been arranged. He
was going, accompanied by Brierly and driven by
Doran, to look at the skiff, still unclaimed and waiting
upon the lake shore below the town.
Ferrars, much to Doran's regret, had declined to
accompany them from the first, and when he found him-
self in possession of the coveted newspaper he joined the
others in their desire that Doctor Barnes should take the
fourth seat in the light surrey behind Doran's pet span;
and the day being fine and business by no means press-
ing, that gentleman consented.CHAPTER XIV.
A GHOST.
When Ferrars found himself alone he lost no time in1
locking his chamber door and beginning his study of
ancient news. i
Taking the newly arrived paper from beneath his pil-
low, where he had hastily thrust it, he spread out the
mutilated copy beside it and speedily located the clip-
ping which should explain, or interpret, Charles Brierly's
last letter.
Putting the perforated paper over the other, as the
quickest means to the end, he drew a pencil mark around
the paragraph which appeared in the vacant space, and
then, without pausing to read it, he reversed the two
sheets and repeated the operation.
This done, he took up the marked paper and sat down
to read and digest the secret.
"It won't take long to tell which side of this precious
square of paper contains the thing I wrant, I fancy," he
meditated, as he smoothed out the sheet.
/ The printed paragraph outlined by his pencil was
hardly three inches in length, and he read it through
with a growing look of comprehension upon his face.
"I wonder if that can be it?" he said to himself at the end.
(146)THE LAST STROKE 147
And then he slowly turned the paper and read the
pencil-marked lines upon the other side.
When he had perused the brief lines over, his brow
knit itself into a frown, and he reread them, with his face
still darkened by it. Then he uttered a short laugh, and
laid the paper down across his knee.
"I wonder if the other fellow will know which side was
which!" he muttered. "I'm blest if I do!" He sat for
half an hour, with the paper upon his knee, looking off
into space, and wrinkling his brow in thought. Then
he got up and put the two papers carefully away.
"I'm very thankful that I did not speak of this to
Brierly," he thought as he went out and locked his door
behind him. "It would be only another straw, yes, a
whole weight of them, added to his load of doubt and
trouble."
The two paragraphs read as follows, the first being an
advertisement, with the usual heading, and in solid non-
pareil type:
"Charlie: A. has found you out. He will not give me
your address. Be on guard at all times for there is
danger. All will be forgiven if you will come back; and
F. will help you to avoid A. You are not safe where
you are. The city is better and we cannot feel at ease
knowing the risk you are running. At least stay where
you are. Your brother or some friend ought to know.
For your own sake do not treat this warning as you did
A.'s other threat. He means it. Still at G. street.
" M."
The second paragraph was in the form of a would-be
facetious editorial paragrsph, and mn thus:148
THE LAST STROKE
"Not to have a fortune is sad enough, but to go up
and down in the land a millionaire and never know it, is
wretchedness, indeed. Many are the foreign fortunes
seeking American heirs, if we are to believe the adver-
tising columns; and the heirs seeking fortunes are as the
sands of the sea in number.
''There have been the Frayles, and the Jans, and a
long retinue of lost heirs to waiting estates, and now it
appears that the great Paisley fortune rusts in idleness
and shamelessly accumulates, while the heirs of a certain
Hugo Paisley, an Englishman who was last heard from
in the Canadas many years ago, are much to be desired
now that the home supply of English bred Paisley stock
is run out,"
There was more to this screed below the line which
marked the lower end of the clipping, but it contained
no further reference to the Paisleys; merely dilating in a
would-be humorous manner upon the degenerating influ-
ence of the foreign legacy upon the American citizen.
But the advertisement upon the other side had been»cut
out in full, and exactly at the beginning and end.
It was puzzling and disappointing in the extreme.
Ferrars had really looked upon this cut newspaper as his
strongest card, when he should have found the missing
fragment, and now—! He thought and wondered, and
re-read letter and clipping again and again, but to no
good purpose, and at last he locked away the puzzling
documents and went out to make a morning call upon
Mrs. Jamieson.
That evening he talked, first with Robert Brierly, and
then with the family lawyer, and to both he put the sameTHE LAST STROKE
149
direct questions, "What could they tell him of the early
history of the Brierlys? of Mrs. Brierly's family and
ancestors? Had they any relatives in England or Scot-
land, say? Were there any old family papers in the
possession of either?
Of Robert Brierly he also asked if, to his knowledge,
his brother had had, at any time, a love affair; not seri-
ous, but amusing, perhaps; a student's flirtation, even.
Also, when and for how long, if at all, had the brothers
• been separated since their school days?
And Brierly had replied that he knew very little of his
father's ancestors, beyond the fact that his grandfather
Brierly was a Virginia gentleman, and his father an only
son. The family, so far as he knew, had been Virginians
for three generations, and what more pray could an
American ask? As.for his mother, she had been a Miss
Louise Cotterrell of Baltimore, her father a railway mag-
nate of renown. In her desk, very much as she had left
it, in a closed-up room in the old house, were bundles
of old letters and ancient family papers, so his father had
once told him; he had meant to examine them some
time, but had not yet so done. If Ferrars desired it he
would do this soon.
So far as his dead brother wras concerned, Brierly was
sure there had never been a love affair of even the most
ephemeral sort. In fact, Charles had always been shy of
women, and used to shirk his social duties as much as
possible. Hilda Grant was, without doubt, his first and
only love. As to their separations, there had been sev-150
THE LAST STROKE
eral. To begin, Charlie had been in college a year after
he (Robert) had been graduated, and the following year,
"because the boy had seemed run down and in need of
rest and change," he had spent a few months upon a
ranch in Wyoming, with a college friend. Then the two
had made their European tour, and since, their only long
separations had been when his work, as journalist, had
taken him away from the city, sometimes for weeks, until
Charlie had taken this school, as a relief from his theolog-
ical studies.
From Mr. Myers he could only learn that the father
and mother of Robert and Charles Brierly were of good
families, well known in their respective states, and both,
he believed, "were as distinctly Americans as the war of
the Revolution could make any American citizen of Eng-
lish descent." As to Charlie Brierly, Myers "didn't
believe the boy had ever looked twice at a girl, until he
met with that lovely, sad-eyed sweetheart who, it was
plain, was wearing out her heart in silent grief for him."
Then Ferrars nvent to see his supposed cousin, and^
asked her to review, mentally, her latest talks with her
lover, and to see if she could not recall some mention oi
a discovery, a surprise, a perplexity possibly, which he
wished to lay before liis brother when he should come?
But she shook her head sadly.
"Was he, to her knowledge, in the habit of collecting
odd things from the newspapers ?"
She shook her head. "He did not think very highly
of our daily papers, and seldom if ever read beyond the?THE LAST STROKE
151
news of the day. The scandals and criminal reports, tie
abhorred," she said. -
"And he never alluded in any way to his family history
you say? Think, was there no mention of family facts
or names?"
She looked up after some moments of thought. "I
can only recall one thing which, after all, does not con-
tain information, except as regards the two brothers.
Charlie was speaking of the difference of their tempera-
ments. Robert, he said, was intensely practical, living
in, and enjoying most, the present, and by anticipation,
the future, while he (Charlie) was a dreamer, loving the
past, and idealizing its history. To illustrate, he told
how, as boys, he loved to hear his mother, whom I fancy
he resembled, tell the tales she had heard at her grand-
mother's knee, of the early days, the French convents,
the Indians, the colonists, the quaint living, the speech,
which had for him such charms, while Robert would
only hear of the fighting and would run away from the
ancestral history."
Hilda, grown accustomed to his numerous queries,
and scant explanations, was not surprised at Ferrars'
hurried departure at the end of the catechism, and he
went back to the doctor's cottage with just one faint little
possibility as a reward for all this interviewing. He had
known Mr. Myers in the city, as a successful detective
is apt to know an able lawyer, well by reputation and
personally a little, and he was glad to find in him a friend
to the Brierlys, dead and living.152
THE LAST STROKE
Going back that night he said to himself:
"It's of no use to try to go onjike this; a confidant
will save me a lot of time, and Myers is the man. 1
can't call upon the doctor; he's got his profession, and he
belongs here. Myers can make my business and
Brierly's his at need. Besides, he's a lawyer and won't
be knocked entirely out by my wild theorizing, and he's
the one man who can get access to the ancestral docu-
ments at need."
He found the lawyer still upon the doctor's piazza,
and without the least attempt at explanation invited him
into his own room, where they were still closeted when,
at midnight, Robert Brierly went slowly toward the Fry
cottage, and the doctor, who never got his full quota of
sleep, went yawning off to bed.
Mr. Myers spent five days in Glenville, and then went
back to the city, taking Robert Brierly with him, "for a
purpose," as he said to the doctor and Ferrars. "He can
come back in a day or two if he chooses," the lawyer
added, "but in truth, Robert, unless you're needed here,
which I doubt, you'll be better at work. Mr. 'Ferris-
Grant/ here, will summon you at need."
When they were on board the train, and the lawyer
had exhausted the morning paper, he drew close to his
companion in that confidential attitude travellers fall into
when they do not converse for the entertainment of all
on board, and said:
"Robert, I want to tell you why I so insisted upon your
company back to the city. I want you to rouse yourself,THE LAST STROKE
153
to open your house, and when you first have looked over
your father's and mother's private and business papers I
want you to turn over to me all such as are not too
sacred for other eyes than yours; all letters, journals—if
there are such—all, in fact, that deal in any way with
your family, friends and family history."
Brierly turned to look in his face.
"This is some of Ferrars' planning," he said.
"It is, and it has my hearty endorsement. Don't ask
questions. Frank Ferrars knows what he is about."
"No doubt of it. I only wish I did."
"You'll know at the right time. And if it will be a
comfort to you, I'll admit that, while I am to a certain
degree in his confidence, I know no more what or whom
he suspects than you do, for he won't accuse without
pr<5of of guilt, however much he suspects or believes.
But I know this, Ferrars is convinced that the secret of
your brother's death lies in the past."
"And in whose past?"
"In his own, in that of your family or of Hilda Grant."
At the beginning of the following week Hilda Grant
resumed her duties as school mistress, the place of
Charles Brierly being filled by a young student from the
city.
Mrs. Jamieson, meantime, had called upon Hilda, the
call had been returned, and the two were now upon quite
a friendly and sympathetic footing; it was not long
before the fair, black robed little figure was quite familiar154
THE LAST STROKE
to the children, to whom she gave generous!/ sweets,
pleasant words and smiles.
Sometimes she met Ferrars, who would look in now
and then at the recess or noon hour to keep up his
cousinly character and Hilda Grant's clear eyes saw day
by day, the blue eyes of the pretty widow taking on a new
look and noted that, while she was at all other times full
of easy, charming chat, the approach of "Mr. Grant,"
would close the pretty lips and cause the white eyelids to
quiver and fall.
The understanding between Hilda and the detective
was now almost perfect and one day, Ferrars, having
asked her if she had ever heard Mrs. Jamieson speak
of leaving Glenville, or name her place of residence,
Hilda replied.
"I have heard her express herself as well pleased with
Glenville and I think she is in no haste to go. In truth,
Mr. Ferrars, I am beginning to feel that, in seeing this
lady as a means toward a selfish end, we, or I, have
done wrong. That she is a woman of the world and has
seen much of good society, is evident, but, she has lived, oi
late, a lonely and much secluded life, she tells me,
her late husband having been a somewhat exacting
invalid, for two years before his death; and forgive- me
for my great frankness, I fear that because of your
absorption in this trouble of mine, you have not thought,
or observed, how 'much' your acquaintance is becoming .
to Mrs. Jamieson. One woman can read another as aTHE LAST STROKE
155
man cannot, and, I must not let you serve me at the cost
of another's happiness perhaps."
"Miss Grant, is this a riddle?"
"Mr. Ferrars, no. Must I say plainly, then, that yott
are making yourself quite too interesting to this lady?"
Ferrars turned his face away for a moment. Then he
replied slowly, as if choosing his words with difficulty.
"My friend, I believe time will prove you the mistaken
one. I cannot take this flattering idea of yours to myself
and venture to believe in it, but should it have the small-
est foundation in reality, rest your conscience upon this
candid declaration. The lady cannot feel more interest
in my unworthy self than I in her; from the first moment
almost I have taken an interest in Mrs. Jamieson, such as
I have seldom felt for any woman. Shall we let the sub-
ject rest here? Be sure I shall not let any personal inter-
est conflict with, or supersede, the work I came here to
do."
In later years Hilda remembered these words.
During the next two weeks, the wheels of progress so
far as Ferrars' work was concerned moved slowly and
even rested, or seemed so to do.
To be baffled in a small town, and by a small boy, was
something new and surprising in the experience of detec-
tive Ferrars, but so it was. Work as he would, finesse as
he might, he could find no trace of the boy, "about half
grown, with dark eyes and hair, freckles, a polite way
with him and a cap pulled over his eyes," and this was150 THE LAST STROKE
the best discription Mrs. Fry could give of the strange
lad.
"If Mrs. Fry was not the honest woman she is," said
the doctor, "I should call that boy a myth. How could
he come and go so utterly unseen by all Glenville?',
Samuel Doran, who still believed that "Mr. Grant" was
Mr. Grant, and thought it most natural that he should
turn his attention to the mystery surrounding the murder
of "his cousin's lover," thought otherwise.
"P'shaw!" he objected, "look at the raff of half grown
boys racing up and down these streets from sunset to
pretty late bed time, for kids, and how much different
does one boy look from another, in the dark? Mrs. Fry,
herself, only saw him, out in the twilight."
Ferrars reserved his criticism and opinions for the
time.
Doran had taken upon himself the investigation of the
"boat puzzle," as he called it, for the skiff remained, after
many days, still drawn up, unmoored and unclaimed, by
the lake shore, and at last by dint of much driving up
and down the lake shore road and interviewing of boat
owners, he brought to Ferrars this unsatisfactory solu-
tion.
Two weeks before the murder, the skiff had been
owned by a certain Jerry Small, hunter and fisherman,
by choice, blacksmith by profession. On a certain day,
a man dressed in outing costume, had entered Small's
shop, asked about the boat, and made him such a liberal
offer for it that Jerry had at once closed with him. TheTHE LAST STROKE
m
shop stood upon the outskirts of the town, anu close to
the lake. The man had said that he was coming out
from the city in a few days, for a few weeks in the coun-
try, meaning to secure board, if possible, near the lake
shore. If Mr. Small did not mind, the boat might stay
where it was until his return, the money was paid down
and Small engaged to care for the boat.
One day, after much agitation, Small decided that it
must have been the day of the murder that he missed the
boat; and one of his "kids" told him that "a gentleman
with flannel clothes and whiskers" took away the boat
"right early/' and neither boat nor man had ever
re-appeared.
Then Ferrars tore his hair and fumed at the long
delay only to learn that Jerry Small had left his house,
oft the day after the murder to attend a sick brother and
had returned just two days ago.
"It's of no use," fumed the detective to doctor Barnes,
"I shall put a couple of fellows I know in the Jerry Small
vicinity; it's right in their line of work and probably
they'll find the man and boy together—in Timbuctoo."
"And you will remain in Glenville, eh?" queried the
doctor, grinning openly.
"Yes," with an answering grin, which somehow the
doctor did not quite understand. "I'll stay—for a while
longer."
As they sat at lunch next day a small boy brought
Ferrars a note from the teacher.
"Come to me at once. "H. G99158
THE LAST STROKE
That was all it said and Ferrars lost no time in obeying
the summons.
"You may not see much in my news," Hilda said, as
she closed the door upon intruders. "But I have got
Peter's story out of him at last."
"The foolish boy? Ah, that is something after all, at
least I hope it will prove so. Well?"
"It was slow work, for the boy has been terribly fright-
ened. His story is most absurd."
"No matter, tell it in your own way."
"He says still that he saw a ghost, a live ghost.
That it arose out of the bushes and waved its arms at
him. It was dressed "all in white like big sheets," Peter
said, and its face was black, with white eyes. It spoke
to him, very low and awful," and told him to lie down
and put his face to the ground until it went back into its
grave. If he looked, or even told that he had seen a ghost,
the grave would open and swallow him too. Then it
held up a "shiny big knife" and he tumbled over in sheer
fright. After a long time he began to crawl toward the
road and when he at last looked around and saw no
ghost anywhere, he ran as fast as he could. "I am afraid,"
Hilda added, "that you'll think as I do, that some of the
school boys have played the poor child a trick, or else
that he has imagined it all. It's too absurd to credit.
Still, as you made a point of being told at once of what-
ever I might learn from Peter, I kept my promise. I'm
afraid I've spoiled your luncheon." She finished with a
wan little half smile.THE LAST STROKE
159
The detective's face was very grave and he did not
speak at once.
"Is it possible," she ejaculated, "that you find anything
in the boy's story?"
Ferrars leaned forward and took her hand. "Miss
Grant," he said gravely, "I believe that poor foolish
Peter saw Charles Brierly's murderer."
He got up quickly, "Do you think the boy could be
got to show you where he saw this apparition?"
"I asked him that. He thinks he might dare to go if
he were protected by 'big mans.' "
"Then, arrange to leave your school for a short time,
at, say two o'clock. I shall get Doran and his surrey.
Have the boy ready—"
"Pardon me, I will say nothing to Peter. The surrey
will be enough, he is wild to ride."
"That will be best then. I shall lose no time. I have
a strong reason for wishing to see the precise place
where this ghost appeared."
The sight of the surrey filled poor, foolish Peter with
delight and he rode on in high glee, sitting
between Hilda and Ferrars, whom he had learned to
know, and like, and trust. When they were abreast of
the hill Hilda bent over him.
"Now, Peter, tell me just where you saw that ghost."
Instantly the boy's face blanched and he cowered in
his seat, but Ferrars with gentle firmness interfered.
Peter would show him the place, and then he would
drive away the ghosts. Ghosts were afraid of grown100
Till LAST STROKE
men, he averred. And at last, hesitating much, and full
of fears, Peter was finally persuaded, yielding at last
to Doran's offer to let him sit in front "and drive one of
the horses."
As they reached the lower end of the Indian Mound,
the boy's lips began to quiver and one arm went up
before his face, while he extended the other toward the
thickest of brush wood before described by Ferrars.
"That's where," he whimpered. "It corned up out
there."
"From among the bushes?"
"Ye-us."
"Did it have any feet?"
"Oh-oh! Ony head and arms—ugh!"
"Turn around, Doran," said Ferrars sharply, and then
in a lower tone to Hilda, "I shall go to the city to-night."
When Hilda reached her room, at the close of 4ne
school, she found this fetter awaiting her, "left," Mrs.
Marcy said, " by her cousin":
"Dear Cousin: Even if you had been disengaged, I
could have told you nothing except that what I have
learned to-day impels me to look a little more closely to
the other end of my line. For there is another end.
"Now that I shall have the two men on duty in the
south end of the county, and with the doctor and Doran
alert in G—, not to mention yourself, I can go where I
have felt that I should be for the past week or more.
Will you keep me informed of the slightest detail that in
any way concerns our case? And will you do me one
individual favor? I trust Mrs. J— may not leave this
place until I see you all again, but should she do so, willTHE LAST STROKE
161
you inform me of her intention at once? You see that
I am quite frank. I should deeply regret it, if she went
away before I could see her again. Destroy this.
"Yours hopefully,
"FERRAR&*CHAPTER XV.
REBEUJON.
May had passed, and June roses were in late bloom.
The city was horrid with the warm sun-filtered air after
a summer shower, and Robert Brierly looked pale and
languid as he stepped from an elevator, in one of the
great department houses wherein Ferrars had his bach-
elor quarters, and walked slowly to his door.
Possibly it was the warmth of a very warm June, or
there may have been other causes. At any rate Frank
Ferrars' face wore an almost haggard look in spite of
the welcoming smile with which he held out his hand to
greet his friend, for friends these two had grown to be
during the past weeks. Friends warm and true and
strong, in spite of the fact that the mystery surrounding
the death of Charlie Brierly remained as much of a mys-
tery as on the day when foolish Peter Kramer led the
detective to the scene of his ghostly encounter.
There were dark lines beneath the keen gray eyes,
which, Rob Brierly had declared, "compelled a man's
trust," and the smooth, shaven cheek was almost hectic,
symptoms which, in Ferrars, denoted, among other
things, loss of sleep.
There was a moment of silence, after the men had
(162)THE LAST STROKE
exchanged greetings, and it seemed, almost, that each
was covertly studying the other, and then Brierly tossed
down his straw hat, and pulling a chair directly in front
of that in which the detective lounged, said, abruptly:
"I shouldn't like to quarrel with you, Ferrars, but I've
something on my mind, and I'm here to have it out with
you."
"Oh! Then I am in it?" the detective spoke non-
chalantly, carelessly almost, and as the other seemed
hesitating for a word, he added: "Give us the first round,
old man. I'm apprehensive."
"H—m! You look it. Ferrars, do you know that
for weeks, ever since my return from Glenville, in fact, I
have been under constant surveillance?"
"Constant sur—. Excuse me, it's not polite to repeat;
Brierly, but what do you mean?"
"What I say. It's plain enough, somebody is watch*
ing me, following me day and night."
"Pshaw! You don't mean that, man!"
"But I do. And that is not all," he leaned forward
and fixed his eyes upon those of his vis-a-vis as if watch-
ing for the effect of his words. "I have been slowly dis-
covering that I am being controlled—constrained—in
many ways."
"Upon my word!" Ferrars was leaning back in his
chair with his face a mask, expressing nothing but grave
attention. "Make it plainer, Brierly."
"I will. I'll make it so plain that there will be no
room for misunderstanding. When I first came backm
THE LAST STROKE
from Glenville, I did not go out much, especially even-
ings, but when I did, I began to fancy that I was spied
upon, followed, and, after a time, I became sure of it."
"Stop! When did you observe this first?"
"I think it was on the third night after my return. I
was going down to the Lyceum Club rooms, when some-
thing caused me to glance at a fellow on the other side
of the street. You know my eyes are good!"
"Unusually so."
"Well, I came out in a very short time, alone, and the
same fellow was lounging so close to the entrance that I
recognized him at once."
"A bungler, evidently."
"Perhaps. Well, I met two men whom I know, just
outside, and they dragged me back with them. When
at last I left the place, I started to walk home, and when
I got upon the quieter streets I soon became conscious
of someone keeping so evenly opposite me across the
street, that I began to watch, and, as the fellow glided,
as quickly as possible, under a street lamp, I recognized
the same man."
"And you have seen him since?"
"Himself or another. A disguise is easy at night. I
have been watched, at any rate, and followed, again and
again."
"Ah! And could you imagine his motive?"
"No." A look that was almost of anger crossed
Brierly's face. "But I have wondered if it was the same
as yours, and Myers, when you have contrived to keepTHE LAST STROKE
165
me from going here and there, or doing this or that,
unless accompanied by one or the other of you two."
He bent forward again after this utterance. His eyes
seemed to challenge an answer.
But it did not come. Ferrars only sat with that look
of grave inquiry still upon his face. He knew the man
before him.
"Ferrars," exclaimed Brierly, when he saw that no
answer, no defense, was to be made, "Will you look me
in the face and say that you, and Myers also, have not
connived to keep me under your eyes? to accompany
me when that was practicable, and to prevent my going
when it was not? I can recall several occasions when—"
He stopped short, checked in his utterance by a sud-
den, subtle change in the face of Ferrars, who had not
stirred so much as an eyelid, but who spoke at once
quietly, but with a certain tone of finality, of decision.
"Brierly, do you believe that James Myers is your
friend, in the full meaning of the word?"
"I do! It is not that I doubt, or that—"
"And do you believe," went on Ferrars, putting aside
his protest with a peremptory gesture; "do you believe
that, while thus far I seem to have failed in unravelling
the mystery in which your brother's death seems
enshrouded, I have given it my most faithful study, my
time, thought, effort and labor? That, in short, I have
been true to your interest at all times?"
"I know it. You have been all that and more. You
must hear me, Ferrars. And I beg that you will answerMB THE LAST STROKE
me. Why am I watched, thwarted, cajoled? Why do
you and Myers fear to let me out of your sight? A few
weeks ago you found, or seemed to find, your chief inter-
est in Glenville; you looked for clues, for developments,
there; and yet, you have not visited Glenville since you
left it so suddenly. Even your own personal interest has
not drawn you there for a single day."
"By my 'personal interest' you mean what, Brierly?"
"You know what I mean. Pardon me, and do not
misunderstand me. I could not fail to see that you were
interested in Mrs. Jamieson, and why not?" While
Brierly spoke, the detective arose and began to pace the
floor with lowered eyelids and slow tread. Brierly watch-
ing him, was silent a moment, then he seemed to pull
himself together and to speak with enforced calmness.
"Ferrars, do you know what thought has taken posses-
sion of my brain until I cannot shake it off ?"
"Assuredly not," going on with his promenade. "But
I shall be glad to hear."
"I have begun to fear—yes, to fear—that you have
found some reason for suspecting me, and that your hor-
ribly acute logic has even caused Myers to doubt, too."
"Man!" Ferrars swung about and suddenly faced
him. "Much meditation has surely made you mad.
Now, in heaven's name, so far as may be, let us under-
stand each other. First, you are utterly wrong."
"Ah!"
"Next, you speak of Mrs. Jamieson, and of my 'per-
sonal interest/ I admit, willingly, that I am interestedTHE LAST STROKE
167
in that lady. But my personal feelings and interests
must be subservient for a time to your business/'
"Pardon me/'
"And now, I did leave Glenville to follow you, and see
that you did not spoil my plans by any rashness/'
"You are talking a puzzle!"
"Let me talk it out then, for you have forced my hand.
But for this I should have gone on as before. And I did
not dream that Mr. Myers and I were playing our game
so stupidly, so openly; nor that you, owing to your pres-
ent preoccupation, would prove so astute."
"You have not bungled, be sure of that. You have
been most wonderfully keen and clever, but it was this
very preoccupation, as you call it, my abnormal sensitive-
ness, in fact, which made me study your every word and
set me searching for its hidden meaning; and so I could
not fail to see that you were handling me, hedging me
about, for some purpose."
"Ah! You have said the word, Brierly." Ferrars
resumed his seat opposite the other, and his tone became
once more composed. "We were trying to 'hedge you
about,' to put up a wall between you and the assassin who
killed your brother. Wait! Let me say it all. It is lit-
tle enough. Do you remember telling me of an 'assault'
upon your brother, made by footpads, not long before he
came to Glenville?"
"Yes."
"It was that which gave me my first real clue. It con-
firmed one of the few theories that seem to fit, or cover,168
THE LAST STROKX
the case so lar as known; but it wanted confirmation.
I found nothing in Glenville that was in any way
opposed to this theory, which I was growing to believe
in, but, on the other hand, I found nothing there to
strengthen it. When you left that place, I meant to follow
soon. Meantime I had confided my theory to Mr.
Myers, who promised not to lose sight of you before ]
should arrive/'
"But why? Why?"
"Because I then believed, as I do now, that that attack
upon your brother last summer was the first act in the
tragedy which has robbed you of him. I believed the
plot to be far-reaching. It may be a case of vengeance,
a family feud. The motive is yet to be-discovered, but
I will admit to you that I have had, from the first, a rea-
son to think that the affair has not yet ended; and so, as
soon as I could, I followed you to town. It was well
that I did so. Before I had been your shadow forty-
eight hours, I had proof that you were being otherwise
watched and followed."
"Great heavens! And that is why—" He stopped
short and bowed his head.
"That is why Myers and I have been such officious
friends, why we have advised, remarked, and why I have
tried to trace to his lair the man who has been your very
frequent shadow."
"And you think he is—"
"The assassin himself or his tool.*'
"Good heavens! And you cannot guess his motiesT*THE LAST STROKE
169
"We might guess, of course, half a dozen motives.
What I have hoped to find was something, some fact in
your family history, your father's life, or your mother's,
perhaps, that would fit into one of these guesses or
theories, and make of it a probability."
And then the two went all over the array of possi-
ble reasons and motives, and Brierly again protested his
lack of any knowledge which might serve as the feeblest
Df guides to the truth.
"There's one other thing," said Brierly, at last. "I
want to know if the new man, whom Myers took on soon
After you came to town, is one of your sleuths? He has
annoyed me more than once by his persistent attentions."
Ferrars smiled. "I never supposed you a reader of the
penny dreadful, Brierly,,, he said, "and 'sleuth' is a word
which makes the actual detective smile, and which is not
known to the professional vocabulary. Hicks is my
man; yes. And he has followed you, by day and night,
when you have not had the company of either Myers or
myself."
Robert Brierly threw back his head, and folded his
arms. After a moment of silence he got up and stood
before the detective.
"Ferrars," he said, "I owe you and my absent friend
an abject apology for my unworthy suspicions, my impa-
tience under restraint. And now, I beg of you, let this
end. I am warned, and I do not think myself a rash
man. I believe I can protect myself, and how can I
endure the thought that I must be hedged about by this170 ^ . v; THE LAST STROKE
constant guardianship, which may last indefinitely?
Withdraw Hicks, and give your own valuable time to
better things. Rather than go about knowing myself
so fenced in and guarded, I will lock myself up in the
attic and remain a recluse and invisible. Heavens,
man! am I so stupid or cowardly a man not to be able to
cope with an enemy whom I know to be in ambush a|
my very heels?"CHAPTER XVI.
"OUT OF REACH."
Much as Ferrars regretted Brierly's discovery, he was
not much surprised by it, nor could he avoid, or refuse
an explanation. Robert Brierly was not a child. He
was a strong man, and a brave one; and, Ferrars, put-
ting himself in the other's place, felt at once the force of
his words, the right of his position; and, after a day or
two, he withdrew Hicks from his post. At the same
time he observed with surprise and some misgiving that
the shadow was no longer on duty. With two trusty
and able men, by turns, always on watch within sight
of the Myers place no glimpse of him had been seen for
more than a week.
And then, like a lightning flash from a clear sky, the
blow fell.
It was Sunday evening, and in the aristocratic uptown
street where the Meyers lived there reigned a Sabbath
quiet, for the habitues of the little park beyond
had left it with the fading twilight, and had already
passed on their way townward.
Robert Brierly had been indoors since morning, and
now, shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Myers had walked down
the tree-shaded street, toward the church on the avenue
(171)ITfi
tHE LAST STROKE
three blocks away, he came out upon the broad tront
portico and stood for a moment looking idly up and
down.
There had been concessions on both sides, since that
interview between Brierly and Ferrars in which the
former had demanded an explanation; and the with-
drawal of Hicks had been but one of the results; another
had been a promise, given by Brierly, whereby he
pledged himself not to walk the city streets alone after
dark, but if unaccompanied to take a cab, there being
a stand only two blocks away, in the direction of the
park.
These cabs, when wanted, were to be called by one of
the servants, and to take him from the doof; but on this
Sunday night, as Brierly looked up and down with a
a growing wish to drive about town and have a talk with
Ferrars, he remembered that on Sunday the servants
were allowed to go out; all save one who must remain in
charge, and decided that it would be absurd to stand
there "like a prisoner bound by invisible chains" and wait
for a chance to bring either carriage or policeman. He
|had received on the previous evening letters from Glen-
]ville, from Hilda and doctor Barnes, and his curi-
osity had been aroused by the contents of both. He had
not seen the detective for four days, and he fancied that
he, too, would have had news from the little lakeside
town; more explicit and satisfactory news, doubtless,
than that contained in his own letters.
"How absurd!" He muttered, apropos of his ownTHE LAST STROKE
IT8
thoughts. "No doubt I'll meet a hack before I reach
the corner," and he lighted a cigar and went down the
steps, glancing, from sheer force of habit, for the street
at that moment seemed quite empty, up and 'down, as he
went toward the cab stand.
"I was sure of it," he said again, as he neared the cor-
ner, at the end of the block farthest from his home.
"There they are, both of them."
He was looking ahead, where a cab was coming at a
slow trot toward him, while around the corner, still
nearer, a policeman had just appeared.
As the two men approached each other the officer, who
had been looking toward the approaching cab, turned his
face toward Brierlv, just as he was passing under the
glare of a street lamp, and stopped short.
"Excuse me, sir; this is Mr. Brierly, I believe?"
Brierly nodded.
"Mr. Brierly, may I have a few words with you? I
have been lately put upon this beat, sir; changed from
the next lower one; and there is something you ought,
for your own safety, to know. Will you walk a few
steps with me? I hardly like to stop; I ought to be at
the next corner right now, in fact."
Brierly looked toward the approaching cab. "The
truth is," he said, "I want very much to get that cab down
town; otherwise—''
"Oh, 111 fix that, sir." And the officer took a step out
from the curbstone and, standing under the glare of the
light just above, held up his hand, and whistled shrilly.174
THE LAST STROKE
"Follow us a few steps, Johnny," he said to the driver.
"You are wanted for down town." Then, turning
toward Brierly, "If you'll just step across the street after
me, 111 tell you what you ought to know. It's a short
story." And he crossed the street briskly, and paused
on the opposite side to await the other.
"You see, sir," he began, as Brierly joined him, "we
can walk slow, for a few steps here, where all's quiet."
Brierly paused to look back. The cab was turning at
the corner, and it followed them, at a snail's pace, and
close behind, down the still and shady side-street. "You
see, I've been noticing, for a couple of weeks, or maybe
more, a fellow who just seemed to patrol the street next
below this, almost as faithfully as I did, and for quite a
time I wondere'd why; and thus I began to watch him,
till I found that his promenades always took him round
the corner, and seemed to bring him up right opposite
the house you live in. I guess I ought to step a little
brisker, sir; somebody's coming. The man was not very
tall, and thick set like, and if I hadn't taken notice of him,
at the first, almost, I might not have recognized him,
for he changed his clothes almost every trip; sometimes
dressing common, sometimes quite swell; but I knew
him every time."
"Make it as short as you can, officer; we're almost at
the corner."
"All right, sir." The man glanced back. "Your cab's
here, all right, sir. I was just going to tell you how we
came to arrest the fellow."- -1 — ffill LAST STROKE
•Ah!" Brierly smiled in the dusk. It had puzzled
Ferrars or seemed to, the sudden cessation of the spy's
visits, and now he would be able to enlighten the detec-
tive. "You have him, then? This shall be worth some-
thing to you."
"I don't want a reward for doing a plain duty, sir.
Just walk on ahead for a step; somebody'scoming."
Preoccupied with the story, and without glancing
behind, Brierly did as he was told, and had advanced, not
ten paces from the corner, when there was a swift blow,
a fall and a cry, three pistol shots in swift succession, and
the rattle of wheels; all so close together that the time
could have been counted in seconds.
"Brierly! Are you badly hurt." The revolver fell
from the fingers of the man who had prevented the sec-
ond blow, and put to flight the sham policeman, who
had so deftly contrived his appearance, with the aid of the
cab, between the rounds of the policeman proper, who
now came up panting, his footsteps hastened by the shrill
call of the whistle,in the hands of the new or latest
comer. And then the inmates of the neighboring houses
rushed out, and, for the moment, there was confusion,
consternation and clamor.
"Is he dead?"
"How did it happen?"
"Was it a sandbag?"
"To think of a holdup on this street!"
"There was a carriage, I'm sure."
And then the policeman was flashing his lantern aboutTHE LAST STROKE
among them, as he bade them stand back, and the res-
cuer, who looked like a workman in his Sunday clothes,
looked up, from the place where he knelt, supporting the
nead and shoulders of the unconscious man, and -said:
"Gentlemen, this is Mr. Brierly, Robert Brierly of
1030 C— Avenue; the Myers house, only two blocks
away. He must be taken home at once. Has anyone
a cot? No, he must be carried." For at the name of the
Myers house, a gentleman had proffered his carriage at
once. "And, officer, call up help. If possible, that cab
must be traced. Send to the stand just above and find
out what cabs have left it within the past quarter hour.
Let someone go ahead and bring Doctor Glessner from
just opposite 1030. He's at home."
"How did it happen?" asked Mr. Myers, two hours
later, when the injured man—his wounded head carefully
dressed—lay, still dazed and in a precarious condition
in his darkened room, with a trained nurse in attendance.
Ferrars having seen his friend in his own room, and in
the hands of the doctors, had not waited for their verdict,
but had set off to put in motion his plan for hunting
down the would-be murderer, and he had but now
returned, full of anxiety for the fate of the sufferer.
"How did it happen? After all our precautions, too!"
"It's easy to tell how it happened," replied Ferrars
with some bitterness. "It happened, first, because the
enemy outwitted me, in spite of my cordon of guards;
and, second, because Brierly lost patience and exposed
himself."THE LAST STROKE
179
"But how?"
"I can only give you my theory for that. He was
alone in the house, eh?"
"Yes. We were both out when he went."
"He wanted, doubtless, to go to town. There was
no servant at hand whom he wished to send, so he walked
toward the hack stand, or so I suppose. At the corner
he met a policeman, as he thought, of course, and so, for
a moment did I. They stopped, spoke together, and
the sham policeman hailed an empty cab that was close
at hand; then they crossed the street, the cab following,
and the policeman seemed to be doing the talking, as I
saw when they passed under the light at the corner. I
had suspected some new plot, from the fact that the spy
had so suddenly disappeared, and I had watched your
place, in person, for the past three nights."
"Oh! And that is why we have seen so little of you?"
"In part. Well, I made up my mind, when they
walked away together down that tree-shaded cross-street,
that there was something wrong. I was on the opposite
side, and concluded to close up, seeing that the cab was
getting very near and edging close to their side, against
all rules of the road. I had got half way across, and was
just behind the cab, when I saw Brierly step ahead of
the other, and then came the blow. As I sprang forward
the cabby gave a loud hiss and the scoundrel saw me, and
sprang for the cab with his arm still uplifted for another
blow. I fired twice running, the third time turning long
enough to send another shot at him as he entered the car-180
THE LAST STROKE
riage door. Then he was off. I think he was hit, <* *,«
at least."
"He will be caught, don't you think so? A cab driv-
ing like mad through those quiet streets?"
"No." He will not be caught, I fear."
"But why?"
"Because he will have had a second vehicle, a carriage,
no doubt, not far away, and he will leave the cab, which
will slacken up for a moment for that, and then dash on."
"How can you know that?"
"Because, when I find that I am dealing with a clever
rascal I ask, what would I do in his place? And that is
what I wouid Lave done."
"Well, well'" The lawyer sighed. "Poor Robert."
"If he only had been less impatient!" exclaimed Fer-
rars.
"If we had been wiser, and had not left him! The
boy was in a peculiarly restless mood. Even my wife
had observed that since morning."
"And why'since'morning?"
The lawyer looked at him gravely for a moment. "Did
you ever hear of Ruth Glidden?" he asked.
"The orphan heiress? Of course; through the society
columns of the newspapers."
'•'Ruth Glidden and the Brierly boys grew up as the
best of friends and neighbors. The elders of the two
families were friends equally warm. I believe in my . soul*
that Glidden would gladly have seen his daughter marry
one of the Brierly boys. And if things had runTHE LAST STROKE
181
smooth—but there! Brierly was accounted a rich man,
and he was until less than a year before his death, when
the failure of the F. and S. Railway Company, and the
Northwestern Land concern, within three months of each
other, left him a heavy loser. Even then, if Glidden had
been alive all might have been well. But he died, two
years before Brierly's death, and Ruth went to live with
her purse-proud aunt, her father's sister. The two fam-
ilies had resided for years, side by side, on this avenue."
"And where is Miss Glidden now?" asked Ferrars.
"Here in this city since day before yesterday. She
and her aunt have been abroad for a year, but I believe
that they care for each other, though Robert is so proud,
and that is not all. The brothers have each a few thou-
sand dollars still, and it appears that shortly before his
death, Charlie—he was always a methodical fellow—
instructed his brother, in case of his sudden death, to
make over all of his share to Miss Hilda Grant. Robert
told me of this upon his return with the body, and he
also said that all he possessed should 'go, if needful, to the
clearing up of this murder mystery."
"It may be needful/' sighed Ferrars. "I fear it will
be."
"Then, good-bye to Robert's hopes! With it he
might make a lucky hit; might have a chance. Without
it," he shrugged his shoulders, "what can even so bright
a journalist, as he undoubtedly is, do to win a fortune
quickly. And he won't accept help, even from me, his
father's oldest friend."m
THE LAST STROKE
"No," said Ferrars, gloomily. "Of course not, How
could he? Mr. Myers, I'll be honest and tell you that
I'm afraid we've struck a blank wall. Things look dark
on all hands, just now, for poor Brierly.,,
"What! Do you think the clue, the case, is lost, then?"
"Not lost. Oh, no. Only I fear, out of reach."CHAPTER XVII.
RUTH GLIDDEN.
Francis Ferrars sat in his sanctum, one could scarcely
call it an office, although he received here, now and
again, visitors of many sorts on business bent. For,
since his coming to America, five years before, to find
the heiress of Sir Hillary Massinger, he had read many
another riddle, and now, as at first, he worked indepen-
dently, but with the difference that he now undertook
only such cases as especially attracted him by reason of
their strangeness, or of the worth, or need, of the client.
Two letters lay before him, and as he pondered, frown-
ing from time to time, he would take up one or the other
and re-read a passage, and compress his lips and give
vent to his thoughts in fragmentary sentences. For he
had grown, because of much solitude, to think aloud
when his thoughts grew troublesome, voicing the pros
and cons of a case, and seeming to find this an aid to
clearness of thought.
"It's a most baffling thing," he declared, taking up for
the third time a letter in the strong upright hand of doc-
tor Barnes. "I wonder just what the man meant by pen-
ning this," and once more he ran his eye over this para-
graph which occurred at the end of a long letter:
(183)184 THE LAST STROKE
"Mrs. Jamieson has not forgotten you. She asks after
you now and then, when we meet, and desires to be
remembered to you. She is not looking well, and, I
fancy, finds Glenville duller than at first."
"I'll wager she does not think of me any oftener than
I of her. And she can't know how ardently I long to
stand before her and look into those changeful, blue-
green eyes of hers. What strangely handsome eyes they
are—-And say—Ah! how will those eyes look then, I
wonder?"
Presently he turns the sheet and reads again:
"I think you did well to instruct your two men here to
make use of, and place confidence in, Doran. He's a
host in himself. And what do you think of the tramp
they have traced to the vicinity of that boat on the morn-
ing of the murder? He was seen, it appears, by at least
three."
"Umph!" laying down the letter. "If you were here,
my dear Barnes, I would tell you frankly—I feel just like
being brutally frank with someone—that I have no doubt
that the tramp is a link—there seems to be so many of
them, and all detached—a link—and that he approached
the boat in that tramp disguise, after separating from his
confederate at some more*distant point. Bah! It looks
simple enough. Confederate leaves vehicle—or two
horses, possibly—they could slip off the saddles and hob-
ble them in a thicket, where they would look, to the
passer-by, like a pair of grazing animals, or they might
have used a wagon, travelling thus like two innocentTHE LAST STROKE
185
bucolics. Then, how plain to me, the assassin goes
through the woods, watchfully, like an Indian. The
tramp boatman patrols the shore, to signal to the other
when the victim appears; or, should the assassin on shore
be unable to creep upon his prey, the assassin in the boat
may row boldly near, and, at the signal from the other,
telling him there is a clear coast, fire upon the victim.
If he is sure of his aim, how easy! And if seen by the
victim, well—"Dead men tell no tales."
He muses silently awhile now, puts down the doctor's
letter, and takes up the other.
"This,"' he murmurs, "is tantalizing." And then he
reads from a letter, signed "Hilda G—."
"Mrs. Jamieson begins to complain of the dullness of
this place, in spite of the fact that she has had a visit
from her husband's brother, a Mr. Carl Jamieson. He
did not make a long visit, and I saw but little of him.
He is something of a cripple, a sufferer from rheumatism,
and just back from the hot springs. I met him but once.
He looks and talks like an Englishman, and has a dark
eye that betokens, if I am a judge of eyes, a bad tem-
per. I give you these details knowing that all concern-
ing the little blonde lady is of interest to you."
"Of interest!" he muttered. "I should think so!
Doubly so, now that there's so little else of interest, or—"
He stopped short, and wheeled about in his chair. His
office boy had swung open his door and was saying:
"A lady to see you, sir." And Ferrars arose to con-
front a visitor, a brunette so tall and lissom, 'so glow-186
THE LAST STROKE
ing with the rich hues of health and beauty, so clear of
eye, and direct of gaze, that Ferrars could not at first
find his usually obedient tongue, and then she spoke.
"Mr. Ferrars!" her voice was a low, rich contralto. "I
am Miss Ruth Glidden, and I have come to you to seek
information concerning the awful death of my friend,
Charles Brierly. Pray, let me explain myself at once/'
Ferrars bowed, placed her a chair, and closed the half-
open door.
"The Brierlys and my own people were old friends,
and Robert and Charlie Brierly were my childhood play-
mates. I arrived home, ten days ago, after a year
spent in Europe, and learned, soon, of Charlie's sad fate.
While this shock was still fresh upon me, I heard of
Robert's narrow escape from a like attack. Mr. and
Mrs. Myers are my dear friends. I have spent much of
the past week under their roof, and—" There was a lit-
tle catch of the breath, and then she went bravely on.
"And I have had a long frank talk, first with Mrs.
Myers, and then with her husband. He has told me all
that he could tell. He has assured me that you are
wholly to be trusted and relied upon, and, knowing my
* wishes—my intentions, in fact—Mr. Myers has advised
me to come to you."
"And in what way can I serve you, Miss Glidden?"
"Please, understand me. I have heard the story; that
there are clues, but broken and disconnected ones; that
you know what should be done, but that there is a bar-
rier in the way of the doing. Mr. Ferrars, as a trueTHE LAST STROKE 187
friend of Robert Brierly, I ask you to tell me what that
barrier is? I have a right to know." The rich tints of
olive and rose had faded from her rounded cheek, leav-
ing it pale. But the dark eyes were still steadily intense
in their regard.
As Ferrars was about to reply, after a moment of sil-
ent meditation, the door opened and the boy came in
again, softly and silently, and placed upon the desk a
handful of letters, just arrived; laying a finger upon the
topmost one, and glancing up at his employer, thus signi-
fying that here was his excuse for entering at such a
moment.
The letter was marked "immediate," and the handwrit-
ing was that of James Myers.
With a murmured apology, the detective opened it and
read.
"My Dear Ferrars: During the day you will no doubt
receive a call from Miss Glidden. I cannot dictate your
course, but I write this to say that no friend of Brierly's
has a better right to the truth—all of it—nor a stronger
will and greater power to aid. Of her ability to keep a
secret you can judge when you meet her. Yours.
44JAMES MYERS."
When he had read this letter Ferrars silently proffered
it to his visitor, and in silence she accepted and read it.
"I was strongly inclined to accede to your request,
after, first, asking one question," he said when she gave
the letter back, still without speaking. "And now, hav-
ing read this, I am quite ready to tell you what I can."
"And the question?"183
THE LAST STROKE
"I will ask it, but have no right to insist upon the
answer. Have you any motive, beyond the natural
desire to understand the case, in coming to me?"
She leaned slightly toward him and kept her earnest
eyes steadily upon his face as she replied, "I cannot
believe that you credit me with coming here, on such an
errand, simply because I wish to know. I do wish to
know as much as possible, but let me first tell you,
plainly, my motives and why I have assumed such a right
or privilege. To begin, I am told that Robert Brierly
will not be able to think or act for himself for some time
to pome."
"That, unhappily, is true."
"And how does this affect your position?"
"It is unfortunate for me, of course. The case has
reached a point when I can hardly venture far unauthor-
ized, and yet no moment should be lost. The time has
come when skilled investigations, covering many weeks,
perhaps, as well as long journeys, are necessary. We
need also the constant watchfulness of a number of
clever shadowers,"
"And this requires—it will incur great expense?" she
asked quickly. "Is it not so?"
Ferrars bowed gravely.
"Mr. Ferrars," she began, and there was a sudden sub-
tle change in her voice. "I am going to speak to you as
a woman seldom speaks to a man, for" I trust you, and we
must understand each other. Two years ago, when I
was leaving my old home for my aunt's house, havingTHE LAST STROKE
189
still a half year of study before me, with the year abroad,
already planned, to follow, Robert Brierly came to bid
me good-bye, and this is what he said; I remember every
word: 'Ruth, we have been playmates for ten years, and
dear friends for almost ten years more. Now I am a
man, and poor, and you a budding woman, soon to be
launched into society, and an heiress. I would be a
scoundrel to seek to bind you to any promise now, so I
leave you free to see the world and to know your own
heart. I have not a fortune, but if labor and effort will
bring it about I hope to be able to offer you a fit home
some day, for I love you, and I shall not change. I
want you to be happy, Ruth, more than all else, and so I
say, go out into the world, dear, and if you find in it a
good man whom you love, that is enough. But, remem-
ber this; as long as you remain Ruth Glidden, I shall
hope to win you when I can do so and still feel myself
a man, for I do not fear your wealth, Ruth, only I must
first show myself to possess the ability to win my way, on
your own level.'"
She paused a moment, and bent her face upon her
hand. . Then she resumed, almost in a whisper. "He
would not let me speak. He knew too well that he had
always been very dear to me, and he feared to take
advantage of my inexperience. I loved and honored
him for that, and every day and every hour since that
moment I have looked upon myself as his promised wife
and have been supremely happy in the thought. And
bow—" There was a little pause and a sobbing catch ol190 THE LAST STROKE
the breath—"Have I not the right, Mr. Ferrars, to put
out my hand and help in this work? To say what I
came here to say? My fortune is ample. It is mine
alone. I am of age, and my own mistress. Take me
into your confidence, to the utmost, make me your
banker, and push on the work. Robert Brierly may be
helpless for weeks or months longer. Charlie Brierly
was as a brother to me. No one has a stronger right to
do this thing."
"Miss Glidden, have you thought or been told that—"
"That Robert may die? Yes. But I will never believe
it. And, even so, there is yet more reason why this work
should not be dropped, why no moment should be lost."
She paused again, battling now for self-control; then—
"There is one other thing/' she resumed. Mr. Myers
has told me of the young lady, poor Charlie's fiancee.
Will you tell me her name? He did not speak it, I am
sure, and I want to write to her, to know her."
"That will be a kindly deed, for she, too, is an orphan.
Her name is Hilda Grant."
"Hilda! Hilda Grant! Tell me, how does she look?"
"A brown-haired, gray-eyed, sweet-faced young
woman, with a clear, healthy pallor and a rich color in
her lips alone. The hair is that golden brown verging
upon auburn; she is tall, or seems so, because of her
slight, almost fragile gracefulness."
"Ah! Thank you, thank you. That is my own Hilda
Grant, who was my schoolmate and dearest friend, and
who cut me because she was poor, and buried herself inTHE LAST STROKE
191
some rustic school house. She shall not stay there.
She shall come to me."
"I fancy she will hardly be induced to leave Glenville
now."
"I must see her. She will come up to see Robert,
surely!"
"She is only waiting to know when she may see him."
"Of course. And now, it is agreed, is it not? You
will take me as a silent partner?"
"Since Mr. Myers sanctions it I cannot refuse. Besides
I see you are quite capable of instituting a new search, ii
I did."
"I will not deny it." And they smiled, each in the
other's face.
"Perhaps," he said, now grave again, "when I have
told you all my ideas, theories and plans, you will not be
so ready to risk a small fortune, for, unless I am greatly
in error, you will think what I am about to propose, after
I have reviewed the entire situation, the wildest bit of
far fetched imagining possible, especially as I cannot,
even to you describe, name, or in any manner character-
ize the person, or persons, whom I wish to follow up, for
months it may be, and because the slender threads by
which I connect them with the few facts and clues we
have, would not hold in the eyes of the most visionary
judge and jury in the land."
"It will hold in my eyes. Do you think I have not
informed myself concerning you and your work? Is not
Elias Lord my banker, and Mrs. Bathurst persona grata
in my aunt's home? I am ready to listen, Mr. Ferrars."CHAPTER XVIII.
SUDDEN FUTTINGS.
For two weeks Ruth Glidden stood at the right hand
of Mrs. Myers, and supplemented the trained nurse in
the sick room.
At first she only entered while the patient slept, but
after a few days the stupor began to lessen, and the
flightiness, with which it had alternated, to decrease.
And then one day he knew them, and, by the doctor's
orders, the nurse withdrew and Ruth came to the bed-
side and sat down beside him.
"Robert, dear," she said smiling down upon him.
"You have very nearly let that wretched footpad spoil
the good looks of the only lover I ever had, and to pre-
vent further mischief I am come to take care of you."
She said very little more then, but gradually the patient
found himself being ruled by her nod, and liking the
tyranny; so that when he was told that he was going
away to try what change of air and scene would do for
his maltreated head, he listened to -her while she told him
a tale which seemed to interest her much and through
which the names Ferrars, Myers, Hilda, and the pro-
nouns "they," and "them" often occurred. And then it
came about that, supported to a carriage and transferred
(192)
1 -- tTHE LAST STROKE
then to a swinging cot, he was taken on board a Pull-
man sleeper, and with nurse and attendant was whirled
away southward.
Two days later, James Myers said good-bye to wife
and friends and set sail, on board the good ship Etruria
en route for Europe.
"Yes," he said to an acquaintance whom he met at
the wharf. "I've wanted to make the trip, you know,
for a long time, and now a matter of business, the look-
ing up of certain titles and records, makes the journey
needful, and I can combine pleasure and business." And
then he turned away to say a few last words to Francis
Ferrars before the signal sounded and he must say good-
bye to his anxious wife, to serious-faced Ruth Glidden.
"And now," said the detective to Ruth, "The next flit-
ting will be toward Glenville.
Before the end of that week Mrs. Myers, who stood
staunchly by Ruth, and would not hear of her going
alone, Ruth herself, and a keen-eyed maid—not the one
who had accompanied the young heiress home from
Europe, but another supplied by Mr. Ferrars—all arrived
at Glenville, and took quarters at the Glenville House,
where Hilda Grant soon sought her friend, and promised
herself much comfort in her society.
At first, Miss Glidden did not seem to desire acquaint-
ances, and Mrs. Jamieson complained that she found
herself almost deserted, Hilda was so preoccupied with
her newly-arrived friend. But this was soon changed.
Miss Glidden and her party had at first been placed inm
THE LAST STROKE
quarters which the young lady did not find to her taste.
There must be a pleasanter chamber for her friend* Mrs.
Myers, and a reception room for their joint use, and it
ended in her securing the little parlor suite adjoining that
of Mrs. Jamieson.
For a time even this close proximity did not seem to
break the ice, and while having been introduced by
Hilda, the two ladies were for some days, strangers still.
For reasons which Ferrars might have explained if he
would, Hilda Grant had not visited Robert Brierly while
he lay under the care of doctor and nurse, and now
that they were together, the two girls, having first
exchanged fullest personal confidences, had much to say
about Robert and his dead brother.
At the end of their first confidential talk, Ruth had
said: "Apropos of this, Hilda, my dear, let me remind
you that I have not outgrown my dislike of being quizzed
or questioned by the simply curious, for the sake of curi-
osity. I know what a small town is, and so, I warn you
not to let the dear inhabitants know that I am more than
a friend of your own. To proclaim me a friend of the
Brierlys as well, will be just to expose us both to the
inquisitive, and to set vivid imaginations at work."
Hilda's eyes studied her face a moment. "I think you
will not be troubled. My acquaintances all know that I
do not willingly talk on that terrible subject. Even
Mrs. Jamieson, who saw its fearful beginning and who
is with me often, seldom speaks of it to me."
"The pretty widow? . Mr. Ferrars, pardon me, yourTHE LAST STROKE 1§5
cousin, spoke of her more than once," and Ruth cast a
keen side glance at her friend's face.
"And she speaks of him, now and then."
"As which?"
"As my cousin; for so she believes him to be."
"And you think them mutually interested? I must
really see more of my pretty neighbor."
Miss Glidden and her party had been a week in Glen-
ville when "Mr. Ferriss-Grant" arrived, and spent a few
days in the village, making his home at the doctor's cot-
tage, and passing most of his time with Hilda and her
friends. Mrs. Jamieson had now made better progress
with her fair and stately neighbor, and they might have
been seen strolling toward the school house together, or
driving along the terrace road—for Mrs. Jamieson had
declared that the tragedy of the lake shore had spoiled
the lakeside road fer her—in Doran's pony carriage, and,
sometimes with "Miss Grant's cousin" for charioteer.
One evening the little party sauntered away from the
pretty hotel together to walk to Hilda's home and sit for
an hour upon Mrs. Marcy's broad and shaded piazza,
which Mrs. Jamieson declared so charmingly secluded,
after the chatter and movement, the coming and going
upon that of the Glenville House.
They had been taking tea with Mrs. Myers and Ruth,
Hilda, Mrs. Jamieson, and the sham cousin, who
seemed to rather enjoy his role, if one might judge by
his manner, and they seemed inclined to pass the
remainder of the evening together.196
THE LAST STROKE
They had not been long seated upon the vine-shaded
piazza when Doctor Barnes came up the walk and
dropped down upon the upper step, like one quite at
home. It was now more than two weeks since Robert
Brierly had been carried southward and the people of
Glenville, for the most part, had heard most discouraging
reports from the invalid, most of them given forth by the
doctor, or "Sam" Doran, who, by the way, had been for
the past month entertaining a warmly welcomed and
much quoted "first cousin" from "out west."
The doctor held a letter in his hand, and seeing this,
Miss Grant's cousin asked carelessly:
"Any news of general interest in that blue envelope,
doctor?"
They could not see the doctor's face, but his voice
was very grave when he replied, "I'm sorry to say yes.
Our friend down south is in a very bad way."
"Mr. Brierly?" exclaimed Mrs. Jamieson. "Oh, doc-
tor, tell us the worst." And then she murmured to Ruth,
who sat near her, "Miss Grant's friend, you know, but
of course you do. I have grown as much interested in
his welfare, somehow, as if he were not really a stranger,
whom I never saw but once."
The doctor had left his place, and crossed to the open
window, through which the lamp-light shone upon the
open letter.
"I think I can see to read it," he said, and bent over
the sheet. "The writer says:
"I fear our friend will not see many more Florida suns;THE LAST STROKE
107
will not be here with us long. The change has been
surprisingly rapid, and the heart is now seriously impli-
cated. Do not be surprised if ill news conies at an early
day."
He folded the letter. "Ill news should always be
briefly told/' he said.
When the ladies came in, that night, having parted
from the two gentlemen who had escorted them as far as
the piazza steps, they found Miss Glidden's maid hover-
ing in the passage, near her mistresse's door.
"Miss Glidden, ladies," she began in evident agitation,
"I have been terribly frightened. Someone has been in
your room, and, I fear, in that of this lady also. I sat,
for an hour, on the back piazza with two of the house
maids, and when I came up, only a few steps from this
room, someone slipped out from Mrs. Jamieson's door
and round the corner toward the south hall. I did not
think about it until I had gone into your room to make
all ready for the night, and then I saw the closet door
open, and the things upon your table pulled about as if
someone had hurried much, and had left, when they
found it was not a sleeping room. Then I thought of
the next room, of the person coming out so still and so
sly-"
Miss Glidden pushed past the maid, and opened her
own door. "Look in your room, Mrs. Jamieson," she
said, "and see if you have really been robbed before we
alarm the house. Susan, go with her."
Mrs. Jamieson found that her door was indeed198
THE LAST STROKE
unlocked, and her inner room showed plainly that a
hasty hand had searched, here and there.
"It's lucky that I never leave money where it can be
got at," she said to Ruth, when she had taken in the full
extent of the mischief/' and that I haven't taken my
jewel box from the hotel safe for three days. Even my
purse was in my chatelaine with me. I find absolutely
nothing gone. But my boxes, my frocks, my boots
and wraps, even, have been pulled about. It's very
strange. The thief must have been frightened away
before anything was taken."
"Perhaps," suggested Miss Glidden, the person wanted
clothing, and heard Susan coming down the hall."
It was very strange, but, although they called the
landlord, and told him privately of the invasion, and
though there was a quiet but strict investigation, nothing
came of it, and no one was even suspected.
"It was certainly someone from outside, who slipped
in through some open door in the dark, while everyone
was out upon the piazzas, or in the grounds. These halls
are not lighted until quite dark, sometimes, I find. I am
thankful that you met with no loss, ladies," said mine
host.
Next morning Mrs. Myers declared herself more than
ready to leave Glenville. The thought of being in a
house where an intruder found it so easy to make free
with a lady's wardrobe, was not pleasant, and she hoped
Ruth would not ask her to spend another week in the
town. In she onlp stipulated for a fortnight's visitTHE LAST STROKE 199
vith her friend, Miss Grant, upon which Ruth promised
that they would really go very soon, although she was
enjoying herself.
Three days later a party of the Glenville's guests set
off, after an early breakfast for a long drive, and a day's
fishing, at a spot some miles distant and near the north
end of the lake, at a famous picnic ground. Mrs. Jamie-
son was one of the merry crew, and she urged Ruth
Glidden to join them, as did the others, all; but Ruth
"never fished and detested picnicsbesides, the other
people, she declared, were for the most part utter strang-
ers, and Hilda and "Mr. Grant" were not invited.
When Mrs. Jamieson came back with the rest of the
tired merry-makers she knocked at Ruth's door to
announce her return.
There was no response, and she entered her own
rooms where she found, conspicuously placed, a note.
It was in a strong masculine hand, and she opened it
quickly, looking first at the name at the bottom of the
sheet. It was F. Grant.
She caught her breath, and sat down to read, wonder-
ing still and her heart beating strangely.
"Dear Madam/1 so ran the note. "You will be sur-
prised, I know, to hear of our so sudden departure. Poor
Brierly is dead, and we start to-day by the four o'clock
express, hoping thus to reach the city before the party
from the south arrive there. They started, we learn, on
Tuesday morning. Mrs. Myers and Miss Glidden have
kindly accompanied us, that my cousin may have the
comfort of her friends' companionship, and the protec-200
THE LAST STROKE
tion of the elder lady, whose guest she will be. I« the
haste of departure I am commissioned to say what they
would have gladly said in person. For myself, while I
trust we may meet again, and soon, may I presume to
ask—in the event of your going away from Glenville, for
my cousin has said it was possible—that you will let the
doctor know where we may in future address you? In
the hope of seeing you again, at an early date, I am
"Sincerely and hopefully,
"F. GRANT."
An hour later she sent for Doctor Barnes, who came
promptly.
"Doctor," she began, as soon as he had entered her
room, and closed the door. "I won't try to deceive you.
I have had twinges of neuralgia to-day, and my bottle is
quite empty. But I want, most of all, to hear more
about this sudden flitting. They have left me just a line
of farewell. Of course I know about poor Mr. Brierly.
There's no doubt of his death."
"Not the least in the world, I regret to say."
"It is very sad, but I suppose they were prepared for
the news."
"Yes."
"Now tell me about Miss Grant. Is she not coming
back to her school?"
"I don't quite know. Her cousin, who is a very suc-
cessful man in business, goes abroad soon, and he would
like to have her among her friends. Miss Glidden is
anxious to keep her, for a time at least. I believe she,
Miss Grant, had a few words with Doran. I fancy it will
end in her resignation."THE LAST STROKE
203
"Then how I wish she would come^abroad, if not with
her cousin, then with me. For I shall go soon, I quite
think. In fact there are business matters, of my hus-
band's, money matters that require my presence. I must
write to Miss Grant."
"Then address her at the Loremer House for the pres-
ent. Miss Glidden has a suite of rooms there."
A week later Mrs. Jamieson, accompanied by her
friend, Mrs. Arthur, looked in upon Doctor Barnes.
"I have come to say good-bye, doctor," said the
former. "I leave here in the morning. My brother-in-
law, who is on his way eastward, after a second hurried
western trip, will be in the city to-morrow; I meet him
there, and we sail in three days. Mr. Grant has written
me that the ladies are all out of the city, so I shall not
see them, but he thinks they will all be in London before
the end of summer."
Thus of all the active dramatis personae of our story,
but few were left in Glenville by mid-July.
"And so the pretty widow's gone," said Samuel Doran
to the doctor, the day after this final flitting. "Looks
like Glenville couldn't be a healthy place in July. Even
my 'first cousin from out west' skipped out sort of sud-
den yesterday; couldn't stay another minute."
"You don't look heartbroken," suggested the doctor.
"Oh, I can spare him. Anyhow, I guess 'twas time he
went. Powerful cater, that first cousin of mine." And
Doran grinned from ear to ear.CHAPTER XIX.
THROUGH THE MAIL.
From James Myers, Att'y, to Wendell Haynes, solic-
itor, with offices in Middle Temple Lane, off Fleet street,
which is London's legal heart and brain and life. Fleet
street, with such a history past, present, and to come, as
may never be written in full by all the story-telling pens
combined in this greatest literary center, and working
harmoniously; no, not in the space of a lifetime. Drafted
in the office of the American lawyer, two days before
his setting sail from New York, bound for London;
and it was received, owing to stress of weather, five
days before its writer set foot on British ground; and
read by its recipient with no little surprise.
This is what it contained :
"Wendell Haynes, Esq., Middle Temple Lane, Etc.,
London.
"Dear Sin After four years I find myself in the act of
reminding you of my continued existence, and of your
promise of proffered help, should a day come when you,
on that side, could aid me, oil this, because of what you
chose to consider your debt to me. To proceed; in two
days I set out for England, and it will take me, upon my
arrival, many days, perhaps, to find out what you, with
your knowledge of places and people, and your easy
access to the records, can do in half a day, no doubt. I
feel sure that I can rely upon you to do for me this per-
(202)THE LAST STROKE
203
sonal favor, which is not in the direct line of your busi-
ness routine, perhaps, but is quite within your ability, I
trust and hope; and without taxing too much your time
and energy. And now to business.
"I have reason to think that a certain Paisley estate
over there awaits an heir; and that one Hugo Paisley, or
his heirs, have been advertised for. To know the exact
status of the case, and something about the people with
whom I may have to deal, at once, upon my arrival, will
help me much. And it is to ask for this information at
your hands that I now address you, and, being sure of
your will to aid me, as well as confident of your ability,
I shall trust to hear that which I so much wish to know,
upon my arrival in London, and from you.
"I sail by the Etruria, and shall stop at Brown's.
"Yours sincerely,
"JAS. MYERS."
Wendell Haynes, solicitor, smiled as he read this mis-
sive. He had a most vivid remembrance of his first and
only visit to America, and of his meeting with James
Myers, quite by accident and shortly after his arrival in
Chicago, which city had seemed to the visitor, a more
amazing thing than the howling wilderness which he had
been in daily expectation of seeing, would have appeared
to him.
In his efforts to run down a friend fronf the suburbs,
Myers had consulted a hotel register, and seeing the
name of the English lawyer, written by its owner just
under his eye, he had first looked at the man, and then at
the name, and, upon learning that he was an utter
stranger to the city, and to the ways of its legal fraternity
he had presented his card.204
THE LAST STROKE
Solicitor Haynes had visited America an*! the "states"
to investigate what had appeared to be an effort, on the
part of American agents, to cheat the widow of a cer-
tain English ranch owner out of her just rights and law-
ful income, and the assistance rendered by Mr. Myers
had earned him the lasting and earnestly expressed grat-
itude of his brother attorney, who asked for nothing bet-
ter than an opportunity to repay the favor in kind, and
no time was lost in the doing of it; so that when James
Myers arrived at Brown's, and put his name upon the big
register, the following letter was promptly handed him
across the clerk's desk:
"James Myers, Esq., Brown's Hotel, London.
Dear Sir: Your favor of......was very welcome,
affording me, as it did, some small opportunity to return
a very little of what I owe you for many past courtesies
and most valuable service, and I have lost no time in
looking up the information you desire.
'There is a large estate, that of the Paisleys of Illches-
ter, awaiting the next of kin, who should be, so far as is
known, the descendants of one Hugo Paisley who left
this country nearly eighty years ago and whose heirs,
male or female, are entitled to inherit. There has been
an effort made to hear from these heirs, and, strange to
sav, there has been no reply, nor has any other claimant
appeared of lesser degree. If you will call upon me
upon vour arrival I will give you all details and addresses
so far'as known to me, and shall be very glad if I can be
of vet further use. Yours sincerely,
"W. D. HAYNES."
"You see," said Solicitor Haynes, at the close of an
hour's talk with Lawyer Myers, "thus far all is quiteTHE LAST STROKE
205
clearly traced, and there is no doubt of the rights of the
Hugo Paisley heirs—if such are to be found, and if they
can prove their heirship."
"And the family, here in England, is quite extinct,
then?"
"In the direct male line, yes. There may be cousins,
or more distant relatives, but the father of Hugo Paisley
had four children, the three eldest being boys, the young-
est a girl. This girl married young and died childless.
The elder son married, had one son, who did not live
to become of age, and himself died before he had reached
his forty-second year. Then the second son, Martin,
inherited, and the last of his descendants died not quite
two years ago, a widow and of middle age, I hear."
"And there have been no claimants?"
"None, I am told. The case was advertised, both here
and in the United States, but with no results as yet,
unless—" The solicitor stopped short and looked keenly
at his visitor. "Something," he said, "has surprised, and
I could almost imagine, disappointed you."
"You are quite sure of this?" the other urged, unheed-
ing their last words. "There have been no claimants,
near or remote?"
"Absolutely none." The solicitor looked again, ques-
tioningly, into the face of his vis-a-vis, and then some-
thing like surprise came into his own. "Upon my soul,
Mr. Myers, if I were to express an opinion upon your
state of mind, I should say—yes, upon my word I shouldTHE LAST STROKE
say that you were disappointed, absurd as that would
seem."
"Disappointed—how?"
"Because, by Jove, there have not been any applicants
or claimants for Hugo Paisley's money."
"Well, you wouldn't be far wrong. I am surprised, at
any rate, and I shall have to admit that this fact disar-
ranges my plans, stops my hand, as it were." He got up
and took his hat from the table. "I came here with the
intention of telling you a rather long story, in the hope
of enlisting your interest, perhaps your aid. Now, I find
that I must defer the story, and go at once and cable to
friends at home."
He wasted no more words, but, promising to dine with
his friend later, hurried back to his hotel, where he found
a cablegram awaiting him.
Previous to his departure from New York, Ferrars had
given him a code by which to frame any needful cable
messages, concerning the business of the journey, or the
people whom it concerned. The detective had warned
all of the little group, now so closely bound together by
mutual interest and in the same endeavor, to be con-
stantly on guard against spies.
"Unless I am greatly mistaken," he said, "every effort
will be made to keep in view all who are known to be
connected with the Brierlys and their interests, and the
fact that we are fighting an unknown quantity makes it
the more necessary that we use double caution. We
don't want another 'blow in the dark,' any of us; and,THE LAST STROKE
207
above all, we do not want to be followed across the water,
and shadowed when there."
The wisdom of this was admitted, for, since the attack
upon Robert Brierly, the unseen foe had become a bug-
bear indeed to Hilda and Ruth; and they abetted Fer-
rars in all possible ways, no longer questioning and with
growing confidence in his leadership, in spite of the
seeming absence of results.
The cable message which Mr. Myers read was worded
as follows:
"Jas. Myers, Etc., Etc.
"H. has seen brother, who is watching affairs, unable
to sail at present; letter follows. F."
These were the words, their meaning, according to
the chart, was this:
"Hilda has seen the western tourist. He is watching
us, and we will not attempt to sail until he is off the scent.
Half an hour later this message went speeding back
to New York, and from thence westward:
"To F. Ferrars, Etc., Etc.
"Case all right; way clear; no claimants."
Which meant precisely what it said.
A few days later two letters passed each other in mid-
ocean. The one westward-bound read thus:208
THE LAST STROKE
"My Deai ^errars: It will riot take me long to tell all
tnat I have to tell concerning my mission. As I had
anticipated, Mr. Wendell Haynes was more than ready
to assist, and had the few facts I now give you already
tabulated and awaiting me. Here they are in the order
of your written queries:
"1st. The Paisley fortune is no hoax. There is a fine
country seat, a factory, a town house, and various stocks,
bonds and city investments amounting in all to above a
million in American dollars.
"2d. The English Paisleys are quite extinct, and the
claim to the whole estate can surely be established by our
claimant.
"3d. And this may change all your plans possibly,
and will startle you quite as much as it has me. There
has been no effort made by anyone to claim or get pos-
session of the property, and there is no clue to such a
person if he, she or they exist. This balks us. How
shall I proceed? Was ever a trial so completely hidden?
"Mr. Haynes has placed himself, and his knowledge
and resources—both being extensive—entirely at our dis-
posal. If you still think well of the advertising plan, wire
me. I am idle until I hear from you, and mean to
employ myself doing London, which will render my part
of the enforced waiting very pleasant.
"By the by, I omitted to say that there have been but
two 'notices' published. No unseemly haste, you observe.
Awaiting your reply, I am Yours sincerely,
"JAS. MYERS."
The letter which passed this midway was from Ferrars,
and contained some information.
"Dear Sir and Friend," it began.
"This finds us all in the city, the ladies at the flats, and
myself in the old quarters, with which you have latelyTHE LAST STROKE
209
grown familiar. I fancied that we were quite snugly
placed and could pass our period of waiting your sum-
mons with some care of mind. Your house, which looks
as untenanted and forbidding as possible, has been
viewed, your care-taker, says, by a 'party' who, from the
description, I take to be the man whom we have termed
the 'westerner,' and who was seen for a day or two in
Glenville.
"But I have been rudely aroused from my comfortable
sense of security. Yesterday Miss Grant and Miss Glid-
den were down town, and were driven out of the avenue
by a long political parade. Driving down a cross street
their coachman turned up Clark street, only to find that
another contingent was moving into that street, at the
upper corner of the block. It was moving toward them,
and the man quickly reined his horses close to the curb
to await the passage of the line. Directly opposite the
carriage was the sign, so frequent upon that street, of
three balls, and while Miss Hilda gazed with some idle
curiosity at the, to her, strange sight, a man came out
tucking something into his waistcoat as he stepped down
upon the pavement, glanced about him, and, without
seeming to observe the carriage, or its occupants, walked
quickly away. She had seen him, twice at least, at the
Glenville, and she knew him at once. She ordered the
driver home by a round-about road, but she is certain
that the man was the same whom we thought a spy or
worse. The most disagreeable feature of this is that [
have not yet seen the man, watch as I would, and if he i-
watching us he has the advantage. If the worst com^s 4o
the worst we shall have to spread out and go aboard on
boat, when the time comes, singly and in disguise.
"Evening—
"Since writing the above I have visited the place of the
three gilt balls and have found at last, 'a straight tip.'
"The fellow had just redeemed a watch, pawned three
days ago. It was a very pathetic story that we got out210
THE LAST STROKE
of the warm-hearted pawn broker. The young man was
overjoyed to be able to claim his watch, so soon, for it
was a keepsake given him by his dead father and he
'prized it beyond words/ The watch was a fine foreign
made affair, and on the inside was engraved Charles A.
'Braily' or 'Brierly;' he could not remember exactly. So,
you see, the probability is that we have stumbled upon
the watch stolen from Brierly's room in Glenville, which
the fellow first, pawned, from necessity perhaps, and
then hastened to redeem, having taken the alarm in some
way. He may even have been made aware that a
description of the stolen watch and jewels had been
lodged with the police. But all this is guessing. I am
still confident that we shall find the solution of our prob-
lem on the other side of the Atlantic. Miss Glidden is
still bent upon crossing, and your wife is her willing
abettor. As for the fifth member of our party, he is at
present like wax in our hands. Mind I say our, not
mine alone.
'There is nothing new from Glenville—how could
there be—now? I need not tell you about ourselves;
Mrs. Myers, I know, keeps you well up in our personal
history. And so, good luck to you. From yours in good
hope,
"F. S. FERRARS."
Two days later this letter reached Ferrars.
"Glenville, July .....................
"Ferris Grant, Esq.
"Dear Sir: Yesterday, too late for the mail, I struck
luck, at least I hope you will call it luck. It came
through our 'girl,''that is, the young woman who pre-
sides in my kitchen; she has a chum in the kitchen of the
Glenville, and last evening thev were exchanging con-
fidences upon my back porch. It appears—I'm going toTHE LAST STROKE
211
cut the story short—it appears that the night clerk is a
kodak fiend, and a month or two ago the fellow, after
being guyed about his poor work until he got rattled,
vowed he'd contrive to get a picture of every person who
set foot in that house for the next month to come, and
that they should be the judges, as whether the pictures
were good or not. Now it turns out, that our traveller
from out west was one of the victims of this rash vow,
and when I found it out I lost no time in getting that
picture. The fellow likes to drive my horses, and he
always owes me a pretty good bill. I enclose to you this
masterpiece of art. As you never saw him, to your
knowledge, and as I only had one glimpse, you will be
glad, I dare say, to be told that the Glenville House peo-
ple think it a good likeness.
"There's nothing else in the way of news, and so, good
luck to you, and a good voyage.
"SAMUEI* DORAN."
When Francis Ferrars had looked long at the picture
inclosed in Doran's letter he started, and ejaculated, in
the short, jerky fashion in which he used habitually to
commune with himself, "That face!—I've seen it before
—but where?" And then he suddenly seemed to see
himself approaching the City Hall, and noting, as he
walked on, this same face.
It was the habit of the detective to see all that came
within his range of vision, as he went about, but he
might not have retained a memory so distinct if he h:u'
not, in leaving the very same place, encountered the
man again, his position slightly shifted, but his attitude
as before, that of one who waits, or watches.
: For some moments he looked thoughtfully at the pic-212
THE LAST STROKE
ture, which was that of a dark and bearded man wearing
a double eyeglass, and then he placed it under a strong
magnifier, and looked again.
"Ah!" he finally exclaimed, "I was sure of it! The
man is in disguise!"
He took the picture at once to the ladies' sitting room,
and held it before the eyes of Hilda Grant.
"Do you know it?" he asked.
"That!" She caught it from his hand, and held it
toward the light. "It is the man whom—" She paused,
looking at Ferrars, inquiringly.
"Whom you saw at the pawn shop?"
"Yes. And—"
"And at Glenville?"
"Yes, at the hotel."
"And he was tall, you say, and broad-shouldered?"
"Yes."
"Strong looking, in fact. As. if—" He checked him-
self at sight of the intent look upon Ruth Glidden's face,
and she took the word from his lips.
"As if," she repeated, icily, "he could shoot straight,
or strike a man down in the dark." She arose and took
the picture. "It is a bad face," she said, with decision.
"It is a disguised face," replied Ferrars. "Neverthe-
less, I think I shall know it, even without the beard and
thick, bushy wig. Let me see?" He took a piece of
paper, and a pencil, and placing the photograph before
him, began to sketch in the head, working from the nose,
mouth, eyes and facial outlines outward, and drawing,THE _ LAST STROKE
21.
instead of the thick, pointed beard, a thin-lipped mouth
and smooth chin. Then, when the young ladies had
studied this, he copied in the moustache of the photo-
graph.
"It belongs to the face," he observed, as he worked;
"and probably grew there."
Late that night, as the detective sat alone in his room
with a pile of just completed letters before him, he again
drew the photograph from its envelope and studied it
with wrinkling brow.
"If you are the man," he said, with slow moving lips
that grew into hard, stern lines as he spoke. "If you
are the man I will find you! If you have struck the first
blow, and it's very possible, you also struck the second.
But the work is not yet finished, and, unless my patience
and skill desert me, the last stroke shall be mine."CHAPTER XX.
A WOMAN'S HEART.
The blow dealt Robert Brierly by the sham policeman
had been a severe one, and at first it had been feared
that he would recover, if at all, with his fine intellect
dulled if not altogetner shattered. But the best medical
skill, aided by a fine constitution, and above all, the new
impulse given his lately despondent spirits by the appear-
ance at his bedside of Ruth Glidden, her eyes filled with
love, and pity and resolve, all had combined to bring
about good results and so, one evening, not quite two
months after that blow in the dark, he found himself
sitting in an easy chair, very pale and much emaciated
but, save for this, and his exceeding bodily weakness,
quite himself again. Indeed a more buoyant and hope-
ful self than he had been for many a day, and with good
reason.
At first, and for one week, his mind had been a blank,
then delirium had claimed and swayed him, until one day
the crisis came, and with it a sudden clearing of mind and
brain.
Through it all Ruth had been beside him, and now she
called the doctor aside and spoke with the grave frank-
(214)THE LAST STROKE
215
ness of a woman whose all is at stake, and who knows
there is no time for formalities.
"Doctor, tell me the truth. He will know me now,
and he must not see me unless—unless I tell him I hive
come to stay. Will a shock, such a shock, render ljis
chances more critical? The surprise and—" She turned
away her face. "Doctor, you know!"
Then the good physician, who had nursed her through
her childish ills, and closed her father's eyes in deaths
put a fatherly hand upon her shoulder. "There must be v
absolutely no emotion," he said. "But a happy surprise, ,
just now, if it comes with gentleness, and firmness—that !
tender firmness to which the weak so instinctively turns
—will do him good, not harm. Only, it must be for just
a moment, and he must not speak. My dear, I believe I
can trust you."
He called away the nurse and beckoned Ruth to fol-
low him. Then he went straight to the bedside, where
the sick man lay, so pale and deathlike, beneath his linen
bandages.
"Robert," he said, slowly. "Listen, and do not speak.
I bring you a friend who will not be denied; you know
who it is; you must not attempt to speak, Rob, for your
own sake. If I thought you would not obey me I would
shut her out even now." And with the last word upon
his lips he was gone and Ruth stood in his place.
Involuntarily the wounded man opened his lips, but
she put a soft finger upon them, and shook her head.
She was very pale, but the voice, which was the merest216
THE LAST STROKE
munimur, yet how distinct to his ears, was quite con*
trolled.
"Robert, you are not to speak. I have promised that
foi/ us both. I have been near you since the first, and I
an^i going to stay until—until I can trust you to others.
Apd, Rob., you must get well, for my sake. You must,
drear, or you'll make me wear mourning all my days for
tine only lover I have#ever had. Don't fail me, my dear."
She bent above him, placed her soft, cool hand upon his
>bwn, pressed a kiss upon his brow, and, the next
j moment the doctor stood in her place, and was saying,
j "Don't be uneasy, Rob., old man; that was a real live
dream, which will come back daily, so long as you are
good, and remember, sir, you have two tyrants now."
And so it proved.
When Brierly was at last fit to be removed to that safe
and comfortable haven—not too far from the doctor's
watchful care—which they fictitiously named the South,
Ruth bade him good bye one day, with a tear in her eyet
and a smile upon her lip.
"You will soon be a well man now," she said to him.
"And when that time comes, and the tyrant Ferrars per-
mits it, you will come to me, of course." And with the
rare meaning smile he knew and loved So well, and so
well understood, she left him, to bestow her cheering
presence upon Hilda Grant and Glenville,
And now, on a fine mid-summer night, thinner than
of old, and paler, with a scar across his left temple, and a
languor of body which he was beginning to fifid irksome, THE LASr STROKE \ 217
Because of the revived activity of the lately clots ded and
heavy brain, Brierly sat in a pleasant upper room of a
certain hospitable suburban villa, the only south ht had
known since they bore him away from the Myers home,
and whirled him away from the city on a suburban
train, to stop, within the same hour, and leave him, safely
guarded, in this snug retreat. j
Opposite him sat Ferrars, and the had been taljking
earnestly for the past hour. \
"You see," the detective was saying, "I had founds this
series of tiny clues, and thought all was plain sailing,
until that mysterious boy paid his visit to your brother's
room and left almost as much as he took away. Tvhat
forced me to reconstruct my theory somewhat, and\set
me to wondering just what status Miss Grant held in t\he
game our unknown assassin was playing. For $
will do the young lady, and myself, the justice to sa)^
that I never for a moment doubted her. That fling at\
her gave me, however, a key to the character of the \
unknown/' He was silent a moment, then, "After all,"
he said, "it was you who gave me my first suggestion of
the truth."
"How? when I had no conception of it?"
"By telling of that attack upon your brother the win-
ter before his coming here."
"I do not recall it."
"I suppose not, but in telling me of your brother's
career, before his going to Glenville, you spoke of an
accident which occurred to him; an accident which was218 / THE LAST STROKE
eventua/lly the cause of his going to Glenville. I made
a note, of this, and, later, questioned Mr. Myers. He told
me of/the attack at the mouth of an alley. How two men
assai/led your brother, and only his presence of mind in
shotting as he struck, and striking hard and with skilled
fists', saved him from death at their hands; how he
warjded off, and held, the fellow with the bludgeon, but
wasj cut by the other's knife. I might not have been so
mu^h impressed by these details, perhaps, had I not
learned that your brother was returning from a visit of
charity to the sick, a visit which he had paid regularly
for /some time. Then I thought I saw light upon the
subject."
pYes." Brierly bent toward the detective, a keen light
in/ his eyes. "I have been very dull, Ferrars, but I have
triad time for much thinking of late. I think that, at last,
?i begin to understand."
"And what do you understand?" A slow smile was
j overspreading the detective's face.
"That my brother and I have had a common enemy.
That nothing short of both our lives will satisfy him;
that the attack upon Charley, nearly a year ago, was the
beginning—that, having taken his life, they are now upon
a still hunt for mine—and that, but for you, they would
have completed their work that evening when, chafing,
like the fool I was, under restraint, I set out alone, and
met—"
"A policeman." Ferrars' lips were grave, but his eyes
smiled. "It was a close squeak* Brierly. The fellow veryTHE LAST STROKE
219
nearly brained you. And now," and he drew his chair
closer, and his face at once became grave almost to stern-
ness, "we want to end this game; there is too much risk
in it for you."
"You need not fear for me, Ferrars. From this
moment I go forward, or follow, as you will, blindly; you
have only to command. What must I do?"
"Prepare to go aboard the Lucunia five days from date
in the disguise of what do you imagine?"
"A navvy possibly."
"No. I know the boat's captain, luckily, and I know
that a party of Salvation Army officers are to sail that
day for England. We will go abroad, all of us, in the
salvation uniform and doff it later, if we choose."
"You say all of us?"
"I mean Mrs. Myers, who goes to join her husband
and see London and Paris; Miss Glidden, who goes
because she wills to go and because she believes that
Miss Grant can be best diverted from her sorrow, and
strengthened for her future life, by such a journey Miss
Grant, ergo, and our two selves." He leaned back and
watched his vis-a-vis narrowly from underneath droop-
ing lashes. He was giving his client's docility a severe
test, and he knew it.
As for Robert, he remained so long silent that the
detective, relaxing his gaze, resumed.
"I won't ask you to take too much upon trust, Brierly.
Our present position, briefly told, is this. We are near-
ing the climax, but we cannot force it. One point of the220
THE L*Z'i STROKE
game remains still in the enemy's hands. And the scene
is shifted to England—to London, to be literal. The next
move must be made by the other side. It will be made
over there, and we must be at hand when the card is
played. If all ends as I hope and anticipate, your pres-
ence in London will be imperative, almost. As for the
ladies, Miss Grant's presence may be needed, as a wit-
ness perhaps, and certainly nothing could be better for
her than the companionship of her friend, Miss Ruth,
and the motherly kindness of Mrs. Myers, just now."
Robert Brierly turned his face away, and clinched his
hands in desperation. He was thinking of Ruth, and an
inward battle was raging between strong love and stub-
born pride.
"And now," went on the other, as if all unheeding,
"concerning the disguises. I have told you of the person
seen by our spies at the Glenville House, for a brief
time?"
Brierly bowed assent.
"He, this man was only described to me, but seen by
Miss Grant."
"Oh!" Brierly started.
"Lately, we have received, through the good offices of
Mr. Doran, a picture of this man—it's growing late and
I'll give the details at another time—I have believed this
man to be one of your enemies, quite possibly the one."
"One of them?"
"Yes. And large and muscular enough he is, to have
been your assailant, and—"THE LAST STROKE 223
"And my brother's murderer?"
"In my opinion they are not the same. But we must
not go into this. Someone has kept us—that is, yourself,
Miss Grant and myself, in the character of her cousin—
under constant watch, almost. There must have been
tools, but this man I believe to be the chief, on this side.'*
"Great heavens! How many are there, then?"
"Honestly, I do not yet know. The answer to that is
in Europe. But this man—he has been shadowed
since Miss Grant saw him on Clark street—has already
sailed for England. My man escorted him, after a mod-
est and retiring fashion, to New York, and saw him
embark. I propose that we go east by different routes.
The ladies one way, you and I by another. They will
hardly imagine us all flitting by water, and their spies
will hardly be prepared for a sea voyage, even should
one of us be 'piped' to the wharf. Of one thing I must
warn you; you are not to set foot in London, nor to put
yourself in evidence anywhere as a tourist, until you are
assured that you may walk abroad in safety. To know
you were in England would be to render your opponents
desperate, indeed."
"You have only to command. I am as wax in the
potter's hand henceforth. And now I ask you on the
eve of this long journey why my brother and myself are
thus hunted. How we stand in the way of these enemies
of ours I cannot imagine."
"That I am ready to tell you, since you ask no more.
You stand between your enemies and a fortune."
"Impossible!"222
THE LAST STROKE
"I knew you would say that. But wait." Ferrars rose
abruptly. "I shall not see you again before we leave for
New York,' he said, taking up his hat. "Come with me
across the way, I must say good-bye to the ladies;
they—"
"Do they understand?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Myers and her two charges were pleasantly
bestowed just across the street, in one of the cozey and
tree-encircled cottages of the aristocratic little suburb,
in which the party had found a retreat. And all three
were still upon the broad piazza when the two men
appeared.
No other occupants of the house were visible, and
before long Robert Brierly found that, by accident or
design the detective, Mrs. Myers, and Hilda, had with-
drawn to the further end of the long veranda, and that
Ruth Glidden had crossed to his side, and now stood
before him, leaning lightly against a square pillar, and so
near that he could not well rise without disturbing her
charming pose.
Before he could open his lips she was speaking.
"Robert, don't get up. Please do not. There is some-
thing I must say to you. I have seen the trouble, the
anxiety in your face to-night. I know what Mr. Ferrars
has been saying to you; at least I can guess, and I under-
stand."
"Ruth!"THE LAST STROKL
m
"Don't speak. Let me finish, Rob. If I didn't know
you so thoroughly, if the whole of your big, noble heart
had not been laid bare to me, as never before, during
your illness, I should not dare; would lack the courage
to say what I will say, for your sake, as well as for mine."
She caught her breath sharply and, before he could
command the words he would have spoken, she hurried
on.
"Don't think that I do not know how you look upon
this journey abroad, in my company, and now—" She
paused again. "This is very hard to say, Rob., and I
am not saying it well, but you will not misunderstand
me, I know that; and I can't lose your friendship, Rob.,
dear, and the pleasure your company will be to me, if we
can set out understanding ourselves and each other. You
have let Charlie's death and the money loss this search
may bring you, crush out all hope, and you have been
steeling yourself to give me up; to forget me. But do
you think I will let you do this? I know your pride,
dear. I love you for it. But why must it separate us
utterly? You are not the only man in this world who
must win his way first, and whose wife must wait. I have
waited, and I shall wait, always if need be. But it need
not be. You will be the King Cophetua to my beggar
maid yet. Oh, I know. I am afraid of nothing but your
horrible self doubt, your fear of being—"
"Of being called a fortune hunter, Ruth."
"Well, you shall not be called that sir knight of the
proud, proud crest. Listen! You must be to me them
THE LAST STROKE
Robert of old; not avoiding me, but my friend who
understands me. We are both free, to go abroad, and
with a chaperone, as we are going, would not be
de rigueur otherwise; and this subject is not to be
referred to again, until the quest upon which we are start-
ing—yes, I say we—is at an end. *
"Who knows what may happen between our going
and our home-coming? At the worst, I am still your
friend, and shall never be more to any other man." She
was about to move away, but he sprang up and caught
her hands.
"Ruth! You have given me new life. And you have
shamed me. It is of you I have thought, when I have
tried to tear myself away and leave you free to choose
another."
"Robert, for shame. Shall you 'choose another' then?"
"Never! You know that!"*
"If I did not I should never have spoken as I have
just now."
"But there are so many who might give you every-
thing."
"There is only one who can give me my heart's
desire."
"Ruth, my darling, if I were rich, or if you were poor,
no man should ever win you from me. But the world
must never call Ruth Glidden's husband a fortune
hunter."
"It never shall. Never!"
"And so, you see—"THE LAST STROKE 285
"I see the folly of what I have said. What do we care
for dame Grundy? And why should you and I be foolish
hypocrites, deceiving no one? In my heart of hearts I
have been your promised wife always. I think I have the
little ring with which we were betrothed when we were
ten years old. We will go abroad as lovers, Rob., and it
you cannot offer me a fortune—it must be a very large
one to satisfy me—before we return, I shall give all min?
to the London poor, and you will have to support me
the rest of my days. What folly, Robert, what wicked-
ness, to let mere money matters come between,you and
me!"CHAPTER XXL
QUARRELSOME) HARRY.
The Lucania had been in port forty-eight hours, and
Mrs. Myers and her party had been snugly quartered in
one of London's most charming rural nooks, at Hamp-
ton Court, with Robert Brierly close at hand, before
Ferrars ventured to visit the city.
Mr. Myers had discreetly remained in London, going
from thence to meet his friends at Hampton Court, but
Ferrars, for reasons which he did not explain, went to
the city, as soon as he had assured himself of the comfort
and safety of his party, this assurance including the pro-
vision of a watchful aid, who kept guard whenever Rob-
ert Brierly, himself now well convinced of the need of
caution, ventured abroad.
Leaving Mr. Myers thus to enjoy an evening with his
wife and friends, Ferrars hastened to "the city," where
every stone seemed familiar, and many faces were those
of friends, or foes, well known and well remembered.
To escape recognition his own countenance had been
simply but sufficiently hidden behind a disguise of snowy
hair and rubicund visage, both assumed as soon as he
had parted from the group at Hampton Court, for Fer-
rars realized that the battle was now on, and he had no
(226)THE LAST STROKE
idea of giving the foe the chance possibility of ail
encounter. He was well known at Scotland Yard, as
well as to the chief of the department of police, and it
was to one of these officials that he made his way, for he
had two reasons of his own for hastening on, in advance
of the party.
Not long before leaving the "States," he had received
a dainty notelet. It could not have been called a letter.
It came through the hands of Doctor Barnes, and it was
signed, "Lotilia K. Jamieson."
It is late afternoon when Ferrars reaches Oxford street,
after his interview with several official personages, dur-
ing which he has bestowed upon each a number of type-
written cards, bearing what seems to be a brief descrip-
tive list, and as many photographs, faithful and enlarged
copies of the. "snap shot" furnished him by the hand of
Samuel Doran.
He alights from an omnibus, at the end of Regent
street, and stands, for a moment, looking down Oxford-
street. He is not in haste, for he lets cabs and omnibuses
rattle by Lim, cr stand, waiting for fares, and walks
slowly on and on. A mile and a quarter of shops, that
is Oxford street., but Ferrars foots it sturdily. Past the
Circus, beyond the region of Soho, and he slackens
his pace and consults a tiny memorandum book. Who
ever saw Frank Ferrars produce a letter or card, for
reference, in the streets of i crowded city? Then he
smiles and races on.m
THE LAST STROKE
Bloomsbury. He is walking slowly now, and under
his low-drawn hat his eyes are very alert.
And now he is in that portion of Bloomsbury where,
earlier, very early in the century, the wealthy, and those
of high degree resided. - It is comfortable and middle
class now, and our pedestrian passes a certain pleasant
semi-detached house—not large, but eminently respect-
able—with a stealthy, lingering glance, pausing, before
he has walked quite beyond it, as if to note some object
of fleeting interest. Two or three times, within the hour,
he passes that house, now on this side, now on that; once
on the top of an omnibus, once in a cab, and driving very
slowly, and as close as possible.
It is fairly dusk when he slowly ascends the well
scrubbed steps, with the reluctant air of a man by no
means sure of himself. He carries a small package
beneath his arm, and a card between the fingers of his
left hand, to which he shifts the package as he rings the
bell.
"I beg your pardon, young Miss." It is a sour-faced
damsel of uncertain age who melts perceptibly under this
adjective. "Will you tell me if Mrs.—Mrs.—" He peers
near-sightedly at the card he holds, and slowly pro-
nounces a name.
"No, sir; this is not the place."
"But, doesn't the lady stop here, Miss? It's somcrea
in this here block, and somehow they've forgot the num-
ber, you see. Is there a lady guest maybe, or a boa^de*
belike?"THE LAST STROKE
229
But the maid, quite melted now, shakes her head, and
tells him that beside her mistress, whom she names, and
her mistress' niece, who stops with them, "off and on,"
there are no ladies in the house.
The detective blunders on down the street, and, when
the lamps are lit he passes the house again. The lamps
are lighted in the little dining room now, and through a
window which projects upon the corner, he can see a
table set for two. And now at last he is rewarded, for a
maid enters and places something upon the table; a lady
follows, glances at the table, walks to the window, and
turns, with a quick, imperious gesture, toward the maid;
a little lady, with a fair face, pale, fleecy hair and wearing
a flowing silken gown of some soft violet shade. She
sweeps past the maid and seats herself at the head of the
table, while the young person—it is the same who
attended so lately at the door—comes forward to close
the curtain. Slowly it is drawn together, shutting in the
lights, the table and the violet-clad .figure, but not until
the watcher outside has caught a glimpse of a man, tall
and, yes, handsome, in a dark fierce fashion, who is
entering at the door on the other side of the room.
The watcher passes on. He has seen, once more, the
woman who has, according to his own confession,
aroused in him "a profound interest." And he has also
seen, whom and what? A brother? A lover? A rival,
perhaps? Ferrars hails a passing cab now, and is driven
swiftly towards his room in the Strand, and as he rolls230
THE LAST STROKE
along, this comment, which may mean much or little,
passes his lips.
"So my little lady has doffed her mourning. I won-
der what that may mean?"
"I'm very sorry, Ferrars, but I fear there's a great dis-
appointment in store for you."
"A disappointment! How? And in what respect,
Mr. Myers?"
.Ferrars was seated opposite Mr. Myers in the office
of Wendell Haynes, solicitor, in Middle Temple Lane,
where he had hastened on the morning after his little
adventure in Bloomsbury, and so prompt and eager had
he been that he had encountered the American lawyer
at the very threshold, Mr. Myers having just arrived,
with equal haste and promptness, from Hampton Court.
Solicitor Haynes and the English detective were not
unknown to each other, and when they had exchanged
greetings, the solicitor left the others together in his
inner office. He was, by this time, fully acquainted with
all the facts, so far as they were known to Mr. Meyers,
and he left them with a promise to rejoin them soon,
when they should have compared notes and gone over the
ground already known to the busy solicitor.
There was a look of suppressed eagerness upon the
face of Ferrars, as he seated himself opposite the shrewd
American lawyer. His face, his manner, his very silence
and alertness as he held himself erect npon his chair, a
picture of calm force, long suppressed, Vit now out ofTHE LAST STROKE
mi
leash and ready for anything — anything except inac-
tion; and that, his very attitude seemed to say was past.
Mr. Myers had waited a moment, after they were left
alone together, for Ferrars to speak the first word, but
the latter only sat still and waited, and the lawyer, with
characteristic directness, spoke straight to the point. He
had what he felt to be, bad news to impart, and he did
not delay or play with words in the doing it.
But if he had expected disappointment or any change
to cross that keenly questioning face, he looked in vain.
Ferrars only sat leaning slightly toward him, waited a
moment, and repeated his last words.
"In what manner? How disappointed?" And then,
as the lawyer still hesitated he went on. "You find the
case as it should be, eh ?"
"The case! Oh, yes!"
"Are there any flaws?"
"No," broke in the lawyer.
"Any unexpected delays?"
"No."
"Any new claimants?"
"No, Ferrars. The Hugo Paisley will case is one of
the simplest and clearest of its kind. The last incum-
bent surely must have had a wonderfully clear idea of
how to do the thing he meant to do. Once the claim is
proven, and he makes that work easy, there need be no
delays, no chancery, no holding back for big fees. The
agents in the case are paid according to their expedition,
and have every incentive to haste. With the proofs in232
THE LAST STROKE
hand the heir could step at once into his fortune, a mat-
ter of £200,000."
"An American millionaire, he!" Ferrars smiled.
"That, then, is quite as it should be, especially as the
young lady is here. Well, then, you advertised, accord-
ing to your report?"
"Yes, we advertised. A very craftily worded docu-
ment calculated to arouse the dilatory claimants to
prompt action."
"And, did it not?"
"It did, yes."
"Then, in heaven's name why must I be disappointed
in any way?"
"Because I fear the claimant—we have seen but one—
is not the person you hoped to find."
Ferrars actually smiled. "Describe the person," he
said.
Without speaking, the lawyer held out to him across
the table a visiting card, a lady's card, correct according
to the London mode of the hour, and bearing a name
which Ferrars read aloud with no sign of emotion in his
face.
"Mrs. Gaston Latham." He looked up with the card
still between his fingers. "Is she the solitary heir?"
"No; there are two children; girls of twelve and nine."
"And her proofs?"
"Seem to be perfect, making her the next in line ®f
succession after—"
"After the Brierlys, of course."THE LAST STROKE
Mt. Myers nodded and the detective looked down
again at the address upon the card.
"Lives in the city, I see! Are the children with her
here?"
"Only the younger, I am told. The elder has 'an
infirmity/ and is at present in an institution. It seems.
a great cross to the mother; in fact her anxiety and dis-
tress, because of this child, have made her almost indif-
ferent about this business of the fortune. In short—"
And here the lawyer glanced askance at his vis a vis.
■ "I'm afraid she is not the—the sort of claimant you have
expected to see. And there seems to be no one of the
other sex in the family."
"Well, well!" Ferrars threw himself back in the big
office chair, assuming an easy and almost careless atti-
tude.
"Tell me all about her, Myers. Is she old, or young?
Handsome or not?"
The face of the lawyer was overspread with a cynical
smile. He had expected to see disappointment, constern-
ation, perhaps, in the face of the detective, when he
heard that the English claimant to the Paisley fortune
was a woman lorn and lone. His heart was in the work
they were engaged upon. Robert Brierly's interests
were his own; but, still, this cool, emotionless detective,
whom he liked well, had more than once piqued and puz-
zled him. He believed that Ferrars was quite prepared
to meet with, and hear of, quite another sort of claimant,m
THE LAST STROKE
and he was now looking to see him, at last stirred out of
his provoking calm.
"Mrs. Gaston Latham is not a claimant to whom one
could object, upon the ground of unfitness. She would
make a very handsome and gracious dispenser of the
Paisley thousands."
"Too bad that she will never get them!" And Ferrars
smiled.
"She is a woman of medium height, and rather—well
—plump, and while her hair is snowy white, she does
not look a day over forty. She has the fine, fresh Eng-
lish color, blue eyes, that require the aid of strong eye-
glasses, and a voice that is very high-pitched for an Eng-
lishwoman, and that sounds, I am sorry to say—for she's
really a very intelligent and winning little lady—some-
what affected at times. She dresses in soft grays and
pale lavenders, as you may be interested to know." And
here the lawyer smiled broadly.
"That," commented Ferrars with no cessation of his
own gravely indifferent manner, "for a 'plump' woman,
is a great mistake. A plump person should never assume
light colors." And then the eyes of the two men met,
and over each face there slowly crept a smile that grew
into a laugh.
"Upon my soul, Ferrars," exclaimed the elder, "I
believe you have heard of this Mrs. Latham!"
"Not to make a mystery of it, Mr. Myers, I'll explain
that I have heard of Mrs. Latham. But, I give you myTHE LAST STROKE
word, I did not look to find her the claimant. You have
heard us, some, or all, speak of Mrs. Jamieson!"
The lawyer nodded and a smile of meaning crossed his
face.
"Well, I have lately learned that she might be found
at a certain number in Bloomsbury, and addressed, in
case of her temporary absence, in care of Mrs. Gaston
Latham, an old family friend."
"I see!" The lawyer was silent a moment. Then he
looked the detective frankly in the face. "To be per-
fectly candid with you, Ferrars," he said, "I have thought
that you looked to see a different sort of claimant, more
than one perhaps, and that this lady could not, by an^
possibility, be the expected one. I fancied this would
trouble, perhaps hinder, if not quite balk you."
"Honestly, Myers, I have wondered not a little what
sort of claimant I should meet, and I am neither sur-
prised nor disappointed. I see what is in your mind; you
looked to see the conclusion of the game here and soon,
eh?"
"I admit it."
"And I hoped it. I do hope it. We must strike our
final blow now if ever. We can depend upon Mr.
Haynes."
"Entirely."
"And you have fully enlightened him?"
"To the extent of my own knowledge."
"Then let's call him in, and I will put my cards upon236
THE LAST STROKE
the table. We shall need his help, but I'll explain that
later/'
When the English solicitor had joined them, Ferrars
briefly reviewed the events surrounding and connected
with the death of Charles Brierly, and the attempt upon
Robert's life; and when he was sure that they under-
stood each other, thus far, and that the English lawyer
was deeply interested in the case and had committed
himself to it, he summed up the situation thus.
"You will see, of course, that I might make a bold
stroke and arrest my suspects at once;.or, at least, as
soon as we could lay our hands upon them, but the case
is a complicated one, and having it in my power to make
our quarry commit themselves altogether, I do not
intend to leave them a loophole of escape. I have no1
been entirely open with you; you must take my word
for some things. I have put the Scotland Yard men on
the lookout for our man; I do not know his name, but ]
think they will have no trouble in finding him, by acting
upon my hints. There is much which even I do not
understand, in his connection with the case. I do not
believe him to be the master spirit, and I want to let
'him have his fling over here."
; "Do you mean," broke in the solicitor, "that you do
not intend to arrest him, as soon as found?"
"He must be kept under close espionage, when traced,
but so long as he does not leave London, he must be
left quite free to come and go at will. There is much
that is still hazy, concerning his appearance in Glenville,THE LAST STROKE
237
and I look to him to lead me to another—to the other,
in fact."
"And," urged the solicitor, "do you feel safe in ven-
turing this? May he not shun those places?"
"Listen! The man's name I do not know, but I know
what he is. There are plotting villains in this world, who
might scheme forever and still be often penniless. This
man is a gambler. In Chicago he pawned the watch
stolen from Charles Brierly's room, knowing that there
was risk in so doing, but desperate for the money it
would bring. He won soon after, and aware of dan-
ger ahead, for he had good reason to think himself
followed over there, he at once redeemed his pledge. He
does not dream that we are here, and the finances at
headquarters, I have reason to think, are running low.
To play he must have money, and when he has lost he
will either pledge or sell the remainder of the jewels
stolen from the writing desk. They were of considerable
value, as I have discovered."
"Ah!" Mr. Myers looked up quickly.
"Oh, that's no secret. Hilda Grant saw the jewels, and
knew their value."
"May I ask why you presume that all the stolen jewels
are in this man's possession?" asked the solicitor.
"Because they were stolen, in the first place, not for
plunder's sake, but to mislead; and the party who took
them lost no time, I am sure, in passing them on, and out
of the town. It is hardly likely they would have divided
them."238
THE LAST STROKE
"Then you look upon this man as in truth little more
than a cat's paw?"
"In some respects, yes. He does not take this view,
however, and now I want to hear all about your interview
with this lady, Mrs. Gaston Latham."
"According to your instructions/' said Mr. Myers, "I
remained in the background. Mr. Haynes was the
spokesman."
Ferrars turned toward the solicitor, who began at once.
"There is really very little to tell. Of course I quite
understand that the claimant was to be held off, and the
next interview to take place in your presence."
Ferrars shook his head. "I fear we must change our
plans somewhat. Ine fact is," here he glanced up and
met the eye ot Mr. Haynes, a queer smile lighting his
own, "I have found just now, that I knew a lady who
seems to be a friend of this Mrs. Gaston Latham, and an
inmate of her house in Bloomsbury. Now it might be a
little awkward for me to appear before my—the lady in
question, as the opponent of her friend. In fact, I must
not appear in the matter—not yet, at any rate. And,
upon my word, Mr. Myers, since our friend has taken up
the role of Spokesman-in-chief, you and I will both stand
aside, just at first. May we count upon you?"
"I shall need some coaching, of course,'7 suggested
the solicitor.
"Of course; and that you shall have at once. But first,
when is she to call again?"
"When I give the word."THE LAST STROKE
239
"Give it at once, then; to-morrow at two F. M. Tell
her to come alone. You can arrange for us to hear the
interview, I dare say?"
The solicitor swung about in his big chair. "You see
those two doors?" he asked, quite needlessly pointing at
the two doors, at opposite corners of the inner wall.
"They open upon my private chamber of horrors.
Formerly there was a partition, and two smaller rooms.
The partition has been removed. In the morning I will
have my man move that tall bookcase across the door
at the right. The door, behind it, can then stand open,
and you can hear very well. I will have my desk and the
chairs moved nearer that corner. Will that do?"
"Excellently; only I must see the lady in some way."
"Then, if you will come in some slight disguise, you
can sit at my clerk's desk, over by that window, with
your back to the light. I will dismiss you, and you can
go out to join Mr. Myers, through the left-hand door."
They inspected the inner room, and Ferrars, guaging
the distance with his quick eye, made a suggestion or
two regarding the placing of the desks, and the visitor's
chair, and then they sat down to discuss the part the
solicitor must take in the coming interview.
That evening when Ferrars strolled into his room after
an early dinner, he found a note from a certain police
inspector, in whose charge he had left the hunt, or rather,
the watch for the suspected stranger. The note con-
tained a summons, brief and peremptory, and he hastened
to present himself before Inspector Hirsch.240
THE LAST STROKE
"We have found your man/' were the inspector's first
words, when the detective was left alone with him. "And
it was an easy trick, too, for all your fears to the contrary.
I tell you, Ferrars, when a sport who lives only to gam-
ble and bet on horses, comes back to London after any
long absence, he's sure to go to one of a dozen flush
places I can name, as soon as he can get there. And, if
he's heeled he'll go to them all. Just give him time. I
didn't neglect the houses of mine uncle, but I also sent
a squad around to these other places."
"And you found him?"
"We found him. And that's not all. We have found
a name for him."
"Good! What is it?"
"He goes by the name of Quarrelsome Harry, among
his kind. Harry Levey is the way he writes it."
Ferrars pondered a moment. "M—m—I'm not sur-
prised," he said finally. "I was sure he was that kind.
What's his specialty besides being quarrelsome?"
"Cards, and crooked bookmaking, I fancy. But
Smithson, who seems to have known him of old, says
he's up to most sorts of shady business, when his luck's
down."
And the inspector went on describing the search for
Quarrelsome Harry, who had been "spotted" at a time
when he was in a fair way to prove his right to his sobri-
quet. For he had been losing money all the previous
night, and had sought his room in a dingy house in Soho,
in a very black mood.THE LAST STROKE
Ml
Here, so the shadow had reported, Quarrelsome
Harry had remained until late noonday, emerging then
to lunch at a coffee house, and to take his way, for what
purpose the watcher could only guess, to Houndsditch,
where he seemed quite at home among the Jews in sev-
eral cafes, and "club rooms," where he tarried for a
greater or shorter time, and seemed to be looking for
some one; someone, whom he did not find, it would seem,
for he left the neighborhood, as he came, alone and with a
lowering face.
"Looking for a loan, I'll wager," declared Ferrars.
By to-morrow he'll be visiting my uncle. I'll have to
leave him to your men to-night, I suppose, Hirsch, but
to-morrow I will go on guard, myself."
He made a note of the Soho street and number, where
Harry Levey had lodged, and then he took out his cigar
case and the two men sat down together to talk about
London, and compare notes. For they were old
acquaintances, and could find much to say, one to the
other.
An hour later, when Ferrars arose to go, the inspector
looked at his watch.
"By jove, Frank, you don't mind my calling you that,
eh? It seems like old times, half a dozen years ago. Say,
it's almost the hour for the Swiss to report. He's on duty
now looking after your man; wait till he comes in. Hob-
son must already have gone to relieve him, if he can
find him. Harry was airing himself along the embank-
ment when last heard from."m
THE LAST STROKE
It was nearing ten o'clock, but Ferrars resumed his
seat and his cigar very willingly, and Inspector Hirsch
set out a very pretty decanter of something which he
described, while pouring it into the glasses, as both
light and pleasant."
At half past ten "the Swiss," as rank an Englishman
as ever ignored his h's, came in beaming.
He had left " 'Arry," as he familiarly called the man
he had been set to guard, in a front seat in the gallery of
the Vaudeville theater, in the Strand, and Hobson was
sitting just three seats away and nearest the "halley."
"E's got a sort of green lookin' young duffer with
'im," went on the Swiss, "and they sec::i to be goin' to
'ave a night of it."
Ferrars got up quickly. "Come out with me,
inspector," he said. "I may want you to call off your
man. And, say, let me have one of your badges. It may
come handy."CHAPTER XXII.
IN NUMBER NINE).
As the inspector and Ferrars approached the theater
they were obliged to slacken their pace for, although the
performance must have been well on its way, there was
a crowd about the entrance.
"It's a first night for some new 'stars/ now that I
think of it, and you'll find a lot of the sporting gentry
here whenever a new and pretty face, that has had the
right kind of advertising, is billed. That accounts for
our friend's presence here, of course," said the inspector.
They made slowly, their way toward the entrance, and
as they reached it, and were about to pass within the
brilliantly lighted vestibule, Inspector Hirsch grasped his
companion's arm and pulled him back within the shadow
of a friendly bill board.
"H'sh!" he whispered. "Here's Hobson!" He drew
Ferrars still further out ot the crowd. "He must have
lost his man, or else—hold on, Ferrars; I'll speak to
him." And he glided into the crowd and Ferrars saw
him pause by the side of a flashily dressed young fellow
who seemed utterly absorbed in trying to revive a
smoldering cigar stump. He gave no sign of recogni-
tion, as the inspector paused beside him, and seemed
(243)THE LAST STROKE
engrossed with his cigar and his own thoughts, but
Inspector Hirsch was back in a moment with a grin upon
his face.
"Yo*ju~ man has tired of the Vaudeville," he said, "and
Hobson got close enough behind them—the other chap's
still with him, too,—to hear them planning to go on to
the Savoy for a short time. Harry's evidently doing the
theaters with his 'young duffer,' as the Swiss calls the
fellow, and will probably pluck him, if nothing inter-
venes." He looked hard at Ferrars. "My man won't
lose sight of them. Want to go on to the Savoy?"
"By all means," replied Ferrars, and they set out, not-
ing, as they skirted the crowd, that IIoLson was no
longer visible.
Crossing the street, they hastened their steps, and upon
arriving at the Savoy, took up their station near the
entrance once more. The crowd here was not dense,
and they had not long to wait before two men
approached from the direction of the Vaudeville, walk-
ing slowly, and entered the vestibule of the Savoy.
The taller of the two was broad shouldered, dark and
handsome, after a coarse fashion, while the other was
smaller, with a weak face and uncertain.manner. Both
were in evening dress, and when they entered the theater,
Ferrars and the inspector followed.
"I can stay with you an hour longer," said the latter.
"Then I must go about my own affairs."
Ferrars nodded. He was watching "Quarrelsome
Harry" closely. e.nrl eft t a time, as that personage beganTHE LAST STROKE
to look about as if in search of some expected face, he
procured an opera glass and with its aid, began to sweep
the house.
Then, suddenly, he started, and after a long look at a
certain point in the dress circle, he turned quickly toward
the inspector.
"Do you know anyone in authority here?" he asked.
"I know the head usher over there; or, rather, he
knows me."
"That will do. Just call him, won't you? Introduce
me. Tell him I'm after a crook who is up to mischief
here, and ask him to help me."
After a time this was accomplished, and soon after the
inspector took his leave.
And now came the entre-act, and a number of ladies
left their places and went, some to the cloak room, some
to the foyer. The two men in whom Ferrars was inter-
ested went out among many others, and Ferrars followed.
In the refreshment room they took places at the side, and
the detective, contrary to his usual plan, passed them,
and took a place midway between that occupied by the
two men and a certain table, further down, where a party
of six were seated.
To the waiter, who came to serve him, Ferrars said:
"Send me your chief waiter," and slipped a coin into his
willing hand.
When the chief waiter came, the two exchanged some
whispered sentences, and then, as the man withdrew, our
detective addressed himself to his light repast:. He hadTHE LAST STROKE
been* careful to keep himself unseen, so far as Harry
Levey was concerned; and he had now chosen his seat
behind a pillar, which hid him from view, while he still
could, by moving slightly, look around it.
It was while taking one of his frequent peeps around
this pillar that Ferrars saw "Quarrelsome Harry" tear a
leaf from a small pocketbook and write a few words upon
it, doing this in the most unobtrusive manner possible,
with the bit of paper upon his knee.
Since they had exchanged those few whispered words
together, Ferrars and the head waiter had not lost sight
of each other, and now a slight movement of the brows
brought the man to Ferrars' table.
"Now," whispered the detective, "and be sure you are
not observed."
The man nodded and passed on, seeming to scan, with
equal interest, each table as he passed it. Nevertheless
he saw a note slipped into the hand of a vacant faced
young waiter, and a few words of instruction given.
Then the young man turned away, and began to move
slowly toward the opposite side of the room.
A little beyond Ferrars' table he encountered the head
waiter, present arbiter of his destiny.
"Kit," said this personage, in a low tone, "slip that
note you carry into my hand and wait behind the screen
yonder until I give it back to you. Quick! No non-
sense, man; and mum's the word!"
As between a stranger with a liberal tip, and the aug-
ust commander of the dining-room corps, Kit did notTHE LAST STROKE
249
hesitate, and a moment later the head waiter dropped the
note into Ferrars' palm, with one hand, while he placed
a bottle of wine beside his plate with the other.
Putting the bit of paper between the two leaves of the
menu card, Ferrars boldly read its penciled message.
"Drive to The Cafe Royal. Ask to be shown to No; 9.
I will join you there soon."
A moment later this note was placed, by Kit, beside
the plate t)f the one for whom it was intended. The next,
Ferrars, having tossed off his glass of light wine, arose
and sauntered out of the refreshment room.
But he did not return to the theater. Instead he took a
cab and was driven to the Cafe Royal.
Here again he sought out a person in authority, to
whom he exhibited his star, and a card from Inspector
Hirsch, and was at once shown to No. 8.
"If questions are asked/' he said, as he slipped a
goodly fee into the hand of authority, "remember that
No. 8 is vacant, but is engaged for an hour later."
Left to himself, Ferrars moved a chair close to the
wall between himself and number nine. It was but a
flimsy barrier of wood and he nodded his approval,
turned down the jet of gas, until it was the merest speck,
and sat himself down to wait. But not for long; soon he
heard the next door open, a sweeping rustling sound,
and the scraping of a chair. Then a bright light flashed
up, the door closed, and all was still for a short time.m
THE LAST STROKE
Then, again the door opened, there was a heavy step,
low voices, and Ferrars knew that he might, if he would,
lay his hand upon those whom he had sought so long,
and, for a time, it had seemed, so hopelessly.
"Are we quite alone here, do you suppose?" It was a
man's voice, strong and somewhat gruff. "Let us see."
And he rang the bell. The man who had admitted Fer-
rars, and who had no mind to fall out with the police,
responded, and at once showed conclusively that the
adjoining rooms, Nos. 8 and 10, were quite deserted,
although, he admitted, he had locked'number eight in
order to secure it for a party at midnight; whereupon
wine was ordered and he was at once dismissed.
"Well," began the heavier voice again, "why in the
name of goodness haven't you pushed things more? I
told you, from the first, that all was safe. There will be
no crossing the big pond now. How long do you mean
to dally?"
"We can't dally now," replied the lighter voice.
"Didn't you see the notice in the papers? They are call-
ing for the heirs. I don't understand it, but they tell
me that unless we come forward now, the matter will be
referred to some other court, and then there must be a
long delay. No, I must produce those papers now, and
if there should be any question, any flaw—"
"Pshaw!"
"Or if they should call for further proof of identity,
you know. Suppose someone should be found, at the last
moment, acquainted with her!"THE LAST STROKE
251
"Bosh! How foolish!"
"Or who remembered me!"
"I tell you this is folly! Latham's first wife died so
long ago, and at a Swedish spa. And she never had
many friends. As for relatives, well, we know there are
none now."
"Sometimes I fear the children will remember; that it
will all come back to them, some day."
"I tell you this is simply idotic; the time has come, and
everything is in train. You have all the papers, certifi-
cate of marriage, copy of will, and who is to prove that
the first Mrs. Latham died, and that she was the last of
the Paisley line> on this side, or the other? You were
married abroad, you have all her family papers and her
jewels. Her children call you mother."
"And hate me!"
"Well, that won't cut any figure. Besides, we must
have money. You and I have put our little all into this
scheme. How much longer can we live decently unless
you claim this estate soon? I must have money! Do
you mean to see your brother starve?"
"Hush! You are not my brother, remember that; only
my brother-in-law."
"All right. How lucky that Latham's brother never
came back. Now what did you especially want to say
to-night?"
"This. I must meet those lawyers to-morrow."
"Oh! And I as nearest male kin, must be your escort,
and support you through the trying ordeal."THE LAST STROKE
"Not at an. I am especially requested to come alone.*
"The d—!"
"But they will want corroborative testimony, and I
want to beg of you not to take anything to-morrow, and
not to stay out the rest of the night. Much depends
upon the impression we make. And if we should fail—"
"We can't fail; or you can't. Aren't you next of kin?"
Ferrars got up, and crept noiselessly to the door. He
had heard enough, and he had much to do. A new
Inquiry to open up. He knew that he should find Hob-
son, who had not been dismissed, outside, and near, and
he meant to leave "Quarrelsome Harry" to him once
more.
"Look after him sharp, Hobson," he said, when he had
found the man in the outer room. "And ask the
inspector to have a warrant ready in the morning. We
must arrest him to-morrow. He is to be taken for con-
spiracy and attempted murder. That will do for a begin-
ning." And leaving the pair in No. 9 to their plotting,
and to the watchful care of Hobson, Ferrars hastened
from the place.CHAPTER XXIII.
TWO INTERVIEWS.
And now let us turn the clock back a few hours, that
we may relate how Hilda and Ruth made the well laid
plans of Ferrars of no effect, so far as himself and another
were concerned.
Mr. Myers had left the ladies of his party safe in their
snug quarters at Hampton Court, and went, early, to the
city to meet Ferrars, as has already been related; but if
he expected them to remain in statu quo, on such a day,
and' in easy reach of Bond street, it speaks ill for his
knowledge of women, especially of Ruth Glidden, who
knew her London well, and who—when Mrs. Myers
began to long to see the inside of Howells and James,
and their royal array of painted and other rare china,
and Hilda looked yearningly over the guide books for the
city—took matters into her own hands.
There was no reason why they should not go to town,
especially, so she privately informed Mrs. Meyers, as
Hilda was moping. She could guide them, anywhere
where they might wish to go.
And this is fiow the three ladies came to be seen at
Marshall and Snelgrove's, linen drapers, so-called; at
Redmayne's and Redfern's and at Jay's, for Hilda's soro-954
THE LAST STROKE
bre bedecking. Jay's has been called the "mourning
warehouse" of the world, not because Jay keeps on tap
a perennial and unfailing supply of tears, but because "all
they (feminine) that mourn" may be suitably clad—at
enormous expense, by the way—by Jay and Co.
And here it was that our little party, sweeping into
one of the superb parlors where models display Jay's
somber wares, came face to face with Mrs. Jamieson,
who, seated upon a broad divan, was gazing at a little
blonde, of her own size and coloring, who displayed for
her benefit a flowing tea gown of soft, black silk, lighted
up here and there with touches of gleaming white.
Of course there were greetings and exclamations, and
such converse as may be held in so public a place; and
Ruth, who, somehow, made herself spokesman for the
party, exclaimed that they had "just run over for that lit-
tle outing and because Hilda needed the change. "Oh,
yes; they were well escorted; Mr. Myers was with them,
and also Mr. Grant."
At the name, which was the only one by which she
knew Ferrars, Mrs. Jamieson flushed and paled, and the
smile with which she received this news was slightly
tremulous. And then she told them how she was stop-
ping, for a short time, with a friend in Bloomsbury. Her
husband's business affairs, that had called her so sud-
denly back to England, were now almost settled. And
then she should leave London for a time. She had been
thinking of a place in Surrey; she hoped to be in pos-
session soon, and then, surely they would not return tooTHE LAST STROKE
255
soon for a visit to her, among the Surrey Downs? And 5
where were they stopping?
Upon which Ruth confided the fact that they were not
yet in permanent quarters. They must be settled soon,
however, meantime, etc., etc.,- etc.
They parted soon, and it was only when they were
riding homeward that it occurred to them that Robert
Irierly's name had not been spoken, and that Ferrars,
perhaps, would not be best pleased to know of their
unpremeditated excursion.
As for the little widow, she went back to Bloomsbury
in a state of excitement unusual for her.
To know that "Ferriss Grant" was in London, and
that she might see him soon, set her pulses beating, and
her brain teeming with plans for their meeting. What
had brought him to London just now? What, indeed,
save herself? Unless— and here she paled and her
little hands were clinched till the black gloves burst
across the dainty palms—unless it were Ruth Glidden.
What was Ruth Glidden to the Grants? she asked her-
self futilely, and why were they together? And then, for
ten minutes Mrs. Jamieson wished she had never seen
Ferris Grant.
"I was very well content until then," she assured her-
self. "And my future seemed all arranged; and now—"
She longed to meet him, and yet—
"If he had but waited! or if I had not been so hesitat-
ing! Now I must go on, and he must not know. A
month later and I might have received them all in my256
THE LAST STROKE
sweet Surrey home, have met him with full hands,
and there would have been no need of explanation, while
now!" She struck her hands together, and set her lips
in firm lines. "I must see him, once, and then we need
not meet until all is arranged. If I only knew where to
send a note."
She had been absent since luncheon, and upon her
jarrival at home she found this brief note awaiting her:
"Mrs. Jamieson.
"Dear Madam: Being in London for a short time
only, and with little leisure, I take the liberty of asking if
I may call upon you in the morning at the unfashionable
hour of eleven o'clock? Yours respectfully,
"FERRISS GRANT."
It was late when she reached Bloomsbury, and she
had little time to dress for dinner, and the evening, for
she was going out again, but she replied to this note,
bidding him come, and assuring him of his welcome, at
any hour. Then, reluctantly, and with a look of distaste,
amounting almost to repugnance upon her face, she
began to dress for the evening.
When Ferrars reached his rooms, after leaving the
cafe, his lips were set, and his eyes gleamed dangerously,
for a little time he paced the floor, and then, impelled
by some thought, he looked to see if any letters had
arrived during his absence. Yes, there they were, half
a daze.ti of them. Hte glanced at their superscriptions,
rfiid then opened a little perfumed and black-borderedTHE LAST STROKE
257
envelope. It was Mrs. Jamieson's reply to his note of
the afternoon, and he read it and put it down slowly.
"I shall be prompt/' he said to himself, "t.o keep that
appointment and, I wonder whether its outcome will
make me more or less her friend. If it will alter or mod-
ify my plans; and if, having met this once I shall have
the courage, the hardihood to meet her again; and to say
what I must say, if we meet.,, He put down the little
note and took up the one next in interest.
The handwriting was that of Ruth Glidden, and the
stationery that of a fashionable Picadilly dressmaker.
"Dear Mr. F.," so ran the note.
"I am aware that you did not wish us, any of us, to be
seen of men, in London, until certain things were accom-
plished ; and I take upon myself all the blame of the little
journey we, Mrs. Myers, Hilda and myself, took this
afternoon. We felt quite safe in visiting a few shops 'for
ladies only,' but at the third we met Mrs. Jamieson.
This may,' or may not, be of moment to you. At all
events, I have eased my conscience, and Hilda's, by let-
ting you know. Nothing of any moment was said on
either side, and no auestions were asked.
"Yours penitently,
"RUTH G."
Over this womanlike note Ferrars wrinkled his brows,
and, finally, smiled.
"I had not meant that they should meet until—but
pshaw! What does it matter? Everything seems urging
me on, and shaping my course. So be it! It is time for95$
THE LAST STROKE
the last stroke, and to-morrow, before this hour I skat!
be a free man, or a failure."
Ferrars was prompt in his appearance at the Blooms-
bury cottage, and Mrs. Jamieson had been for a long
half hour awaiting him, alone in the little drawing room.
Her face was somewhat pale, and there was a hint of
agitation in her greeting, and a shade of gravity in his.
She talked of Hilda, and was full of pleasure at their
meeting; and by and by she spoke of Ruth, her beauty,
her grace, and style. Was it true that she was an heir-
ess? And was she not, in some way, related to Miss
Hilda, and himself? Or perhaps to the Brierlys?
It was the first mention of that name by either, and
Ferrars, looking into her eyes, answered.
"She bore the same relation to Robert Brierly that
Hilda bore to Charles. They had been lovers since
childhood."
"How sad, strange and romantic! How pitiful!"
'■The sadness outweighs the romance, and it is strange
that the same hand should have struck at the happiness
of both their friends. I have asked myself," he went on,
musingly, what would be the fate of the destroyer of so
much happiness, if these two girls could be made judge
and jury, with the slayer at their mercy."
"Ugh!" The lady shuddered and turned her face
away. "The thought is unnatural!"
"I don't know; women have been dread enemies before
, now, and are generally good haters. They make great
criminals, too. But I fancy a woman must always betray
herself, at least her sex, in some way."THE LAST STROKE
256
"Mercy!" She crossed the room suddenly to change
the position of a translucent screen through which the
sun had begun to filter. "You are positively grewsome,
Mr. Grant! Let us change the subject. Or, first let me
ask if they have found any trace of the cr— the person?"
"The clues have been very unsatisfactory for the most
part. But the ladies both hope to see justice done yet.
We all hope it, in fact."
"And what is most lacking?"
"From the first, the motive seemed most difficult to
discover. But we won't dwell upon this longer now,
Mrs. Jamieson."
"Ah! And I was just getting up courage to ask you
to tell me what had been done, what progress had been
made; I was so near to being a witness, you know,
and—"
"And of course you are interested, I quite understand
that. If you really care to hear, Mrs. Jamiespn, I will
tell you the whole story when next we meet. It is quite
interesting. I will tell you that and other things/' He
arose and stood before her. "I must not tarry now.
Shall you be at liberty this afternoon?"
"I am so sorry. I am promised to my hostess. She
thinks I live too secluded a life. But I am about to make
a change." She brightened visibly as she told of her
Surrey prospects, and her hope of seeing his party, and
himself, there. And then her smile faded.
"I fear I may not see you again for at least a fortnight.260 THE LAST STROKE
I have promised Mrs. Latham, my hostess, that, I would
go over to Paris with her. She has been very good to
me." She faltered. How long shall you remain in Eng-
land ?" She added.
"How long shall you remain in England?"
"More than a fortnight at least."
"I shall see you again?"
"Mrs. Jamieson, never doubt it." He was drawing on
a glove, as he uttered the words, and across the busy
fingers he looked into her eyes. "It was to see you that
I came to England, and so—•" he bowed low, "till we
meet." He caught up his hat and stick, and before she
could put out a hand had bowed himself from the room,
and she heard his quick receding step across the little
vestibule.
For many moments after, she sat where she had sunk
down at his sudden going, and presently the slow tears
fell upon the hands that supported her bowed fkce.
For years she had been an unhappy woman, living
an unloved, unloving life. Then ambition and hope had
taken hold of her mind, and she had tested herself, and
found, in that small body, the strength to dare much, and
to risk much; and now—how she thrilled at the thought
—wealth, success, and love; all would come to her
together. What else could his words mean? She had
only to be courageous, and firm for a little while. To be
patient for a few more days, and then— She sprang to
her feet and flung her arms aloft. She wanted to shout
for triumph. "Victory!" she said aloud. "Is thereTHE LAST STROKE
261
another woman in all the world who can say that she has
conquered fate, and gained all the good she has worked
and wished for?"
And just then, the maid's voice broke in upon her
dream.
"Madam, the char woman is here for the money. Do
you still wish me to give her the little suit?"
The woman turned as suddenly as if Nemesis had
spoken.
"Yes!" she said, and the voice was husky, and the face
almost terror stricken.
# # * # # %
"Ruth."
Robert Brierly came up the piazza. steps, where Ruth
sat alone and dropped upon the topmost one, at her
feet. "I have just received a note from Ferrars."
Ruth looked up from her bit of needlework. There
was a note of suppressed excitement in his tone, which
she was quick to observe.
"He seems to have changed his mind/' Brierly went
on, "and bids me come up with Myers."
"To-day?" The work fell from her hands.
"Now. In half an hour."
"But Robert, after all his caution!"
"Let me read the note, dear," he said, unfolding the
sheet he had held in his hand. "It is very brief, and
pointed:"
"Dear Brierly: Come up with Myers, and be surem mE LAST 3TROKS
that you are not observed when you enter Haynes* office.
He will know what to do with you. If I have not been
an awful bungler—and I don't think I have this time—
you will stand a free man to-night, able to go up and
down the earth without menace from the assassin's knife,
and will have come into your own, which means a for-
tune.
"FERRARS."
"Ruth," he spoke softly. "Do you know what that
means ?"
"Better than you do, perhaps." She spoke hurriedly,
as if to gain time, and her cheeks were already aflame.
"Your mind was so entirely set upon finding Charlie's
murderer, Rob., that they thought it best not to risk a
new anxiety by telling you too much about the other;
besides, there aould be nothing certain, you know, until
Mr. Myers had investigated. You had a hint of it."
"Oh, to be sure. And I have not been quite blind to
their kindly cunning. Will it be a very great fortune,
Ruthie?" He caught her hand, and held it fast.
"Very!"
"Because if it is, I intend to come back and lay it all
at your feet, formally, abjectly, and with utmost speed."
Ruth wrestled away the imprisoned hand and gave her
chair a backward push.
"Robert Brierly, if you dare to come to me and offer
me a fortune, a hateful old English fortune—that I
despise; if you only ask me to accept you after you are
sure of that money, I won't! I will not! Never!"
"Ruthie!" She sprang up, but he was before her.THE LAST STROKE
"Oh, you can't escape now. I intend to propose to you
this minute. I'll run no risks, after such a threat as that.
Ruth, if you run away, I will shout it after you, and Mrs.
Myers and Hilda are half way down the stairs now.
Quick, Ruth, dear, will you marry me? I sha'n't let you
go until you say yes."
And then, in spite of herself, Ruth's laughter bubbled
over.
"You stupid! As if we hadn't been engaged for years!
At least I have."
Half an hour later when Mr. Myers and Brierly came
out upon the piazza together they found Ruth awaiting
them there, equipped for a journey.
"Why, Ruth," said the lawyer, "are you going to the
city?"
"I am going with you!" the girl replied firmly. "You
need not argue. I mean to go. And Mr. Ferrars will
not object. He will need me/'CHAPTER XXIV.
MRS. GASTON LATHAM
Solicitor Wendell Haynes sat at his desk, at half past
two, seemingly busy, while across the room, at a smaller
desk, sat a second person, with his shoulder toward the
outer door, and a screen partially concealing him.
From the inner room came the low hum of voices. At
the side* of the room where the clerk's desk stood, and
the tall bookcase towered before the concealed door, the
curtains were lowered; but there was a strong light upon
the solicitor's corner, and upon the chair, placed near
his desk, manifestly, for a visitor.
When Ferrars appeared without the disguise he was
expected to wear, the solicitor wondered. But the detec-
tive explained in a few words. He had made certain dis-
coveries which would enable him to end a very unpleas-
ant piece of business at once, he hoped. And his disguise
would only hamper him.
"I must ask you, however, to add something to your
role," he said finally, and at once made plain what more
would be required of the solicitor.
As for Ruth Glidden, she had waited in dignified
silence, and much to the wonder of the politely reserved
(264)THE LAST STROKE
265
solicitor, until Ferrars appeared, and then she went
straight to his side.
"Mr. Ferrars," she said, so low that the others caught
only the soft murmur, "It came to me, almost at the last
moment, that a woman might not be amiss here now if
she comes alone. You can trust me, surely?"
Ferrars gave her a sudden look of gratitude. "Thank
you for showing me my own brutality/' he replied. "I
can trust you, and I do thank you; there could have been
no one else." And Ruth went back to the inner room
smiling a little, as she met her lover's eye.
To guard against all emergencies, the detective had
left with the inspector, a card telling him, and his men,
where a telegram would reach him at different hours
of the day, and at a quarter past two a message arrived,
bearing the signature of the Swiss.
"Q. H. and a lady on the way to meet you now."
So it ran, and having read it, Ferrars asked:
"Is your boy safe, Mr. Haynes? and trusty?"
"Quite. I find him really valuable."
"Then please instruct him to go and bring a brace
of policemen, as soon as he has shown the next arrivals
in." And he held out the telegram by way of explana-
tion, adding, as the solicitor read and returned it, "The
man is coming, too. I can't just see why. But we will
soon know. By the way, that door on the north side,
in the inner room; where does it lead one?"
"Into a side hall, connecting with the other"266
THE LAST STROKE
"I thought so. Then, as soon as they are in, I will
just slip out, myself, and see my man, who won't be far
from your door, you may be sure, once his quarry is
inside. He will be needed, perhaps, to serve the war-
rant, which he carries, ready for an emergency. Hist!"
There was the sound of an opening door, and, as Fer-
rars seated himself, the office boy entered and announced
the two visitors.
The lady, who entered and bowed in stately fashion to
the solicitor, was all in gray, except where, here and
there, a bit of violet protruded. The hair, which was
white, rather than gray, was worn low about the ears,
and rolled back from the center of the forehead, giving
an effect of length to the face. The eyes lo.oked dark,
behind their gold rimmed glasses, and seemed set far
back, in dark hollows. The mouth was slightly sunken,
but the cheeks and chin, though pale, were sound and
smooth, and the brow showed a scarcely perceptible
wrinkle, beneath a veil of gray gauze spotted with black.
She had a plump figure, its fullness accentuated by her
rustling gray silk gown, with its spreading mantle glit-
tering with steel beads, and finished with a thick, out-
standing ruche at the neck. Atop of the high coifed
white hair, sat a dainty Parisian bonnet, all gray beads
and violets, and the small hands were daintily gloved,
in pearl gray.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing my husband's
brother, Mr. Haynes," she said, as she advanced into the
room, "Mr. Harry Latham."THE LAST STROKE-
The tall, dark fellow behind her advanced, and prof-
fered a hand with an air of easy genialty.
"Mrs. Latham," he explained, "fancied I might be of
some use, by way of identification. I hope my presence
is not de trop; if so—"
"You are very welcome, sir. Sit down, pray, and we
will begin our little inquiry. You have brought the
papers, Mrs. Latham?"
Mrs. Latham, who had been looking with something
like disapproval, upon her aristocratic face, toward the
partly visible person behind the screen, turned toward
the speaker, and, as she advanced to lay a packet of
papers, produced from a little bag, upon the desk, the
solicitor called out, as if by her suggestion, "Richards, I
shall not need you, for an hour or more." And before
the lady could turn toward him again, the man at the
desk had vanished through the door just at his back.
Glancing toward this closed door, the lady seated her-
self, and drew the packet toward her. "I suppose we
may begin with these?" she said, untying the packet
with deft fingers, and laying the papers one by one upon
the desk before the solicitor, as she talked. "I think all
the needed proofs are here; my marriage certificate, and
that of my mother as well; other family papers that
may, or may not, be of use—letters relating to family
matters and to the Paisleys of an earlier day—a copy of
the will of Hugo Paisley, the first, letters announcing
the deaths of various members of the family ; also a-copy
of my grandfather's will. I think you will find themm
THE LAST STROKE
quite correct, and conclusive." She stopped, and looked
at him inquiringly. "You will need to examine them,
of course, if only for form's sake?" she asked, somewhat
crisply.
"Possibly, yes. All in good time, madam." The
solicitor took up one of the papers, and glanced at the
first words.
"I would like to ask," now spoke Harry Latham,
"how soon—supposing of course all things are correct,
and Mrs. Latham's claim proved—how soon can she
take personal and complete possession of the property?
I am a busy man, myself, and my time—"
"I fancy you will not be needed after to-day," broke,
in Mr. Haynes, somewhat abruptly. "As to the prop-
erty, once the claim is proven there need not be a day's
delay. The late incumbent was a very far-seeing per-
son." He turned abruptly to Mrs. Latham. "Madam,
may I ask why you were not more prompt in putting
forward your claim to so fine an estate?"
She turned toward him with a slow smile.
"That is a most natural question. I did not at first,
imagine myself a claimant; a certain Hugo Paisley, the
younger, or his heirs, was before me in the line of suc-
cession, and I have waited to see if they would not be
heard from. I had no wish to claim that which might
not have been mine."
"And you are satisfied now that no such heirs exist?
Of course this must be proven."
"Of course, I have been at some pains, and to muchTHE LAST STROKE
expense, to learn if there were such heirs. With the help
of friends we made inquiry in the United States, where
Hugo went y,ears ago. He was never heard of again/'
"And was your search rewarded by definite news?"
"By an accident we learned of a member of the family,
and through him traced all the remaining ones. They
were three, a mother, the great granddaughter of Hugo
Paisley, and two sons. The mother has been dead some
years. They were not a rugged family."
"Consumption," came from the dark man at her
elbow.
"Yes, consumption. The two sons died within a few
months of each other."
"I see. And of course you have the proofs of death?"
"They can readily be proved at need," the lady coldly
answered'
"Then there remains but one more question. Where
you are concerned, supposing your claim to be disputed,
could you prove beyond a doubt that you are the Bessie
Cramer, who was the last descendant in this country of
the Paisleys, your mother having been a Paisley?"
"Of course!"
"And you are then able to furnish proof that there was
no other Mrs. Gaston Latham? That Gaston Latham
married only one wife?"
A loud laugh broke upon this speech, and the man
arose.
"Would the word of Gaston's only brother of any
worth? As a witness to the marriage, the only marriage270
THE LAST STROKE
of his only brother? Fortunately I knew Miss Bessie
Cramer as a slim young girl. I was a boy in round-
abouts then."
Solicitor Haynes arose, and looked gravely down
upon his client, ignoring the man's words, and even his
presence.
"I must tell you, Mrs. Latham, that there has been a
claim set up by the American heirs."
"There are no heirs!" warmly.
"Only yesterday I had a visit from an American gen-
tleman, a Mr. Myers, attorney-at-law. Do you know of
him?"
"I know no Americans, and very little of the country."
"Then you have never crossed the ocean?"
"No, indeed! It's quite enough for me to cross the
channel."
"Mr. Myers has presented a claim." The solicitor's
eyes were narrowing.
"For whom?"
"For—a—I think the name is Brierly; as I was about
to say, having made an appointment with you, I thought
it best that you should meet him." He touched the bell
at his side, as he spoke the last word.
"But," interposed the man, "this is some old claim, or
else a fraud! The Brierlys are dead!" The last words
harshly guttural.
The office boy had entered now, and Mr. Haynes
quietly gave his order.
"See if Mr. Myers is in number seventeen, William."THE LAST STROKE
271
"Mr. Haynes," said Mrs. Latham, with a touch of
haughtiness, "Why should I need to see this man? These
deaths can be proved/'
The solicitor bowed formally. "So much the worse
for Mr. Myers, and his claim," he said. "Of course you
must meet him; there's no other alternative. He is a
gentleman, and he certainly believes in his claim."
"He's not up to date, then," interposed the brother-
in-law somewhat coarsely, and even as he spoke the door
opened and Mr. Myers having taken his way around by
the side hall, entered, hat in hand.CHAPTER XXV.
THE LAST STROKE.
As the solicitor turned toward the newcomer the man
and woman exchanged glances, and while he was still
confident, not to say defiant,'he looked to the unobserv-
ant solicitor with a nervous apprehensive glance, and
leaning toward her would have whispered a word of his
anxiety; but she shook her head, and the next moment
the solicitor was naming them to each other and, as Mr.
Myers paused before the lady, continued with the utmost
directness.
"Mr. Myers, this lady denies the existence of any and
all American heirs. She fears you may have been
deceived. Do you know this man Brierly to be living
at present ?"
"I believe him to be living."
"Mr. Myers," said the lady sweetly, "I am very sorry
to think or say it, but yotj have certainly been grossly
tricked! If you have seen a would-be claimant, you
have seen a fraudulent one. How long, may I ask, since
you left America?"
"I have been in England for some time, and I will
admit, madam, that I do not quite understand this case
in all its details. Still, may it not be possible that you
(272)
<THE LAST STROKE
have been misled? There seems to have been compli-
cations." He checked himself, and appeared to be con-
sidering his next words, then he resumed. "I think I
can help to clear up this misunderstanding. I brought
with me here a young man lately from the United States.
He claims to have seen a Mr. Brierly very recently.
With your permission I will ask him to join us."
The Lathams again exchanged swift glances, and the
man gave his head a quick negative shake. But the
solicitor went promptly to the door. They did not hear
the brief order he gave the boy, and he did not come
back at once.
"Who is this young American who has seen the invis-
ible? And how came he here to-day?" asked the man
who was now frowning heavily, and moving restlessly in
his seat. "What is his name?"
Mr. Myers had picked up a book off the desk, and
was turning its pages slowly. He seemed hardly to hear
the fellow's words.
"He's a very bright young fellow," he said musingly.
*T don't think he would be easily deceived. He's quite
a clever detective, in his way.'" He was studying the
pair from under bent brows. Just then Mr. Latham9:;
hat fell from his hands to the floor, and before he had
recaptured it, the solicitor had entered, followed by h
serious faced young man, tfnom he carelessly named
the two strangers.
"Mr. Grant/'274
THE LAST STROKE
The lady's hand went suddenly to her heart, and her
face was ashen, beneath the dotted veil.
"Are you ill, madam?"
"A twinge," she faltered.
"It's neuralgia/' declared the man, drawing his chair
toward her. "She's subject to these sharp attacks. Bet-
ter, Bessie ?"
She nodded, and fixed her eyes upon "Mr. Grant," to
whom Mr. Myers was saying:
"This lady, Grant, is positive that the Brierlys, of
whom you have talked to me, are not now living. There
has been tricking somewhere, and deception. Will you
help us to understand one another?" The lawyer's face
had grown very grave.
Francis Ferrars seated himself directly before the
woman, whose eyes never left his face now, and were
growing visibly apprehensive.
"There has been more than tricking, worse than deceit
here, and if I am to make it clear to you, madam, I must
begin at the beginning. So far, at least, as I know it"
The woman bent her head slightly. "Go on," said the
man. He had never seen Ferrars either in "propria per-
sona," or as Ferriss Grant.
The detective began with a brief sketch of the Brierly
brothers, and then described, vividly, the discovery of
Charles Brierly's dead body beside the lake at Glenville.
He paused here and his voice grew stern as he resumed.
'T had never seen Charles Brierly in life, but, standing
beside his dead body, looking down into that face 90THE I.AST STROKE
.275
lately inspired by a manly, strong soul, I knew that here
was murder. There was no possibility of accident, and
such men, I know, do not cheat death by meeting him
half way. It was a murder and yet he had no enemies,
they said.
"The case interested me from the first, and when I
had seen the sorrow of the fair girl he loved, and who
loved him, I gave myself eagerly to the work of seeking
the author of this most cowardly blow.
"That night I walked the streets of Glenville alone,
and, passing a certain fashionable boarding house, I saw,
in a room lighted only by the late moonbeams, the
shadow of a woman, who paced the floor with her bare
arms tossing aloft in a pantomine of agony, or shame."
He glanced about him. The two lawyers were stand-
ing, side by side, near the door, erect and stern. The
man in the chair opposite, was affecting an incredulous
indifference. . The room was intensely still when the
voice ceased and no one stirred or spoke.
"Next morning, early, I viewed the scene of the crime,
and I saw how easily the destroyer might have crept
upon an unsuspecting victim, owing to the formation of
the shore, the shelter of the trees and shrubs, and the
protection of the curving Indian Mound. There had
been showers two days before, and in certain spots,
where the sun did not penetrate, the earth was still moist
under a huge tree, just where the slayer might have
stood, I found the print of a dainty shoe, or rather, the
pointed to^ of it. In two other sheltered places I foundm
THE LAST STROKE
parts of other footprints, and, a little off the road, in &
clump of underbrush, I found two well formed footv
prints, all alike, small, and pointed at the toe. But 1
found something- more in that hazel thicket. I found
my first convincing, convicting clue. It was just a
shread, a thread of a black mourning veil, such as wid-
ows wear. Later I found a poor simpleton, who had
been in the wood on the morning of the murder and who
had been horribly terrified. For a time he would only
cry out that he had seen a ghost, but by and by he grew
more communicative and, from what he then said—for
he described the 'ghost,' at last as a thing all white with
a black face—I knew how to account for a white frag-
ment which I found not far from the black one. A hired
carriage had passed over that lakeside road on that fatal
morning, and I learned that the lap cover with it was
'large and white.' Large enough to cover a woman of
small stature, who, with a black veil drawn close across
her features, and rising suddenly from among that clump
of hazel, could easily terrify a simpleton into leaving the
place where his presence was a menace."
He paused a moment, but he might as well ha\e been
looking upon carven statues. No one stirred, no one
spoke, and he resumed his fateful story.
/ "Then came the inquest. I believed, even then, that
I knew the hand that took Charles Brierly's life. But I
did not know the motive, and, until I did, my case was
a weak one. Besides, a woman soir*etimes strikes and
still deserves our pity and protection. 'I must know theTHE LAST STROKE
motive/ I said, and waited. Then, at the inquest, as
Robert Brierly, the brother of the dead man, whose pres-
ence in the town was known to only a few, came for-
ward to testify, a woman, who did not know him, and
whom he did not know, fainted at sight of him, and was
taken out of court. Then I knew the motive."
"Ah-h-h!" A queer sighing sound escaped the lips
©I the woman still sitting stonily erect before him,
but he hurried on.
"But knowledge is not always proof—in a court of law
—and I must have proof. That night a woman, dressed
as a boy, by courage and cunning combined, forced her
way into the rooms so lately occupied by Charles
Brierly. Fear of detection had begun its work upon her
mind, and she went, most of all, to try and throw justice
off the track. In Brierly's desk she left a letter, very
©onspicuously placed, an anonymous letter, so framed
as to throw suspicion upon the dead man's betrothed.
This again, showed the woman's hand. She also carried
away a watch, a pistol, and some foreign jewelry and
dainty bric-a-brac, to make the work seem that of a
thief; and last, she found, upon a letter file, a newspaper
clipping, which she also carried away. If she had left
that I might have overlooked its value. As it was I
found the paper from which it had been cut, secured a
second copy, and discovered my clue to the tangle. It
was an advertisement for the heirs of one Hugo Paisley,
and I soon found that the Brierly brothers were the
sought-for heirs. Then I knew that Robert Brierly's life278
THE LAST STROKE
was also menaced, and I warned him, and tried to set a
guard about him.
"In the meantime a boat had been found, not far from
the scene of the shooting; it had been seen on the lake
that morning, and its occupant was a spy, keeping watch
up and down the road, and the hillsides, while his con-
federate carried out their program of death. I had
already fixed upon the woman, and now we began to
look for the man."
Just here the man calling himself Latham, got up
stiffly, and moved toward the window near the clerk's
desk, where he leaned against the casement as if looking
down upon the street. No one seemed to notice him,
and the narrator went on.
"And now I had to find my final convincing proofs of
the motive and the deed. The brothers Brierly were,
all unknown to themselves, the heirs to the Paisley
estates, and of Hugo Paisley, by descent. Through
some error the murderers of Charles Brierly had been
led to think him the sole living member of the family,
and when Robert Brierly stood forth at the inquest, the
woman who had shot down his brother with hand and
heart of steel, fell fainting, at the sight of him, and, per-
haps, at the thought of her wasted crime.
"And now it was a drawn game, in which both sides
were forced to move with caution, and, for a time, I
could only watch the woman, on the one hand, and the
safety of Robert Brierly, on the other, for he now stood
between the plotters and their goal.THE LAST STROKE
279
"But despite my watchfulness, the second blow fell.
And the first time Robert Brierly ventured upon the city
street alone, after dark, he was struck down, almost at
his own door. It was a dangerous hurt, and, lest the
assassins should find a way to complete their work, we
took him away, as soon as he could be moved."
The woman was sitting very erect now, her eyes
smouldering behind the gleaming glasses, her hands
tightly clinched upon her knee.
"I knew that we must force the issue, then," Ferrars
went on. "And Mr. Myers came over here to substan-
tiate his client's claim to the Paisley estates, and to look
up the pedigree, the past and present history, of the
other claimants. How well he succeeded need not here
be told. He did succeed/'
Mrs. Latham had risen to her feet, and, for a moment,
seemed struggling for composure, and the power to
speak clearly.
"All this," she said then, "which is very strange, does
not explain why you dispute my claim in favor of a dead
man. As for this murder—if you have proved what you
charge—"
"One moment," Ferrars broke in. "Let me add, in
that connection, that one night, one of my agents in the
character of a burglar, entered this woman's room at her
hotel in Glenville. She found in a trunk, the veil from
which the black fragment, found on the bush, was torn;
and also a suit of boy's clothes. The veil she brought
away, the clothes were given away to a poor woman only280
THE LAST STROKE
this morning, and she sold them to my agent. As for
the man, he has been traced by the stolen watch and
jeweled ornaments. He tried to sell, and did pawn, them
in Chicago, in New York, and here in London. In fact
the chain of evidence is complete; nothing more is
needed to convict these two."
The woman's face was white and set. "After all/' she
said in a hollow voice, "you have not proved that the
Paisley estate is not mine by right. "Mr. Brierly, the
elder, being dead!"
"Even so, the second wife of Gaston Latham cannot
inherit, and her brother even in the character of brother-
in-law, cannot share the inheritance. One moment/'
for the woman seemed about to speak. "Let me end
this. Last night, in room number eight at a certain cafe,
I heard the plotters in conference, and I know that the
daughter of Mrs. Cramer, who would have inherited
after the Brierlys, is dead. The game is up, Mr. Harry
Levey. You and your sister have aimed two heavy
strokes at the happiness of two noble women, and the
lives of two good men, but the final stroke is mine! And
now, Mrs. Jamieson, if that is—" He did not finish the
sentence. The man Levey had drawn closer and closer
to the inner door, while Ferrars spoke, and now with a
swift spring he hurled himself against it, plunged for-
ward and would have fallen had not Ferrars, always
alert, bounded after him, and caught him as he fell. For
the inner door had opened suddenly, at his touch, and
when Ferrars drew the now struggling man backward,THE LAST STROKE
m
and away from it, the others in the room saw, in the
doorway, a man and woman side by side.
At sight of Robert Brierly's face the woman, who had
faced the ordeal of denunciation and conviction almost
without a quiver, threw up her hands, and uttering a
shrill scream, a cry of mortal terror and anguish, fell for-
ward upon her face.
Then came a moment of excited movement, which
would have been confusion but for the quick wit of Ruth
Glidden, and the coolness and energy of the detective.
While the entrapped villain was struggling like a fiend
in the grasp of four strong men, Ruth knelt beside the
fallen woman and lifted her head.
The next moment, two or three officers came hasten-
ing in, and Ferrars and Brierly, seeing their captive in
safe hands, came together to her aid. She looked up at
them with a questioning face.
"Did you know?'' she asked, her face full of horror.
"Did you know her?"
Ferrars nodded, and as the officers led their captive,
cursing and blustering, out at one door, he lifted the
senseless woman, and carried her to the couch in the
inner room.
"Bring water!" Ruth commanded, "and leave her to
me."
As the two men closed the door between them and
the two, so strangely different women, Brierly laid a
hand upon the detective's shoulder.
"Ferrars," he said, "What did Ruth mean? Who ism THE LAST STROKE
that terrible woman? And how is she concerned in your
story? It is time I should know the truth."
"Quite time. That woman is Mrs. Jamieson, or the
person you knew under that name. She is cleverly dis-
guised, but I expected some such trick. She went to
"the states" to rid herself of you and your brother; and
she took that man, who is really her own brother, and
who tried to kill you, as her fellow criminal."
"And did she—" Brierly stopped shuddering.
"She shot your brother; there is not a doubt of it."
"My God! And I thought—they were alone in the
office." And Brierly dropped weakly into the nearest
chair and dropped his face upon his hands.
"You thought," finished Ferrars, "that I was inter-
ested in the woman. I was. I suspected her from the
very first, and so did Hilda Grant."
In the inner room, Mrs. Jamieson opuied her eyes and
looked up to meet the gaze of the fair woman who was
in all things what she was not.
Ruth bent over her, a glass of water in her hand.
"Drink this, Mrs. Jamieson," she said simply.
A shudder like a death throe shook the recumbent
form. She lifted herself by one elbow, and caught at
the glass, drinking greedily. Then, still holding the
glass, she said slowly:
"Then you know me?"
"Yes."
"How?"■THE £A5T STROKE
"By vour a Httle, but mostly by what Mir.
Ferrars saidr
"Mr. Ferrars!" she gasped. "Do you mean him?"^
"I mean the man you have called Grant. Did you
never guess that he was a detective?''
"And he knew!" The woman arose to her full height
and again, as on a night long since, and in another
country, her arms were tossed above her head, as Ruth
nodded her answer, and for a moment her face was awful
to look upon, so tortured, so despairing, so full of wrath
and wretchedness and soul torture and heart agony, for
women can love and suffer, though their souls be
steeped in crime.
Ruth, who had taken the half emptied glass from her
hand as she struggled to her feet, now put it down, and,
startled by her look and manner, moved toward the
door, but the woman, her face ghastly, cried "Stop!"
with such agonized entreaty that the girl drew back.
"Don't!—I can't see him yet—Wait!—Let me—' She
sank weakly back upon the couch, and Ruth noted, while
turning away for a moment, how her hand toyed with
her dainty watchguard, in seeming self iorgetfulness,
drawing forth the little watch, a moment later, and look-
ing at it, as if the time was now of importance. Then
she threw herself back against the cushions.
"My—vinaigrette—my bag!" she moaned between
gasping breaths.
The little bag had been left in the outer office, where
it had fallen from her lap, and Ruth opened the door of/SO THE LAST STROKE
communication a little way and asked for it, saying^ as
Ferrars came toward her, "Not yet."
As Ruth turned back, she heard a sharp little click,
like the quick shutting of a watch case, and when she
held out the vinaigrette, Mrs. Jamieson was swallowing
the remainder of the water in the glass.
"Your salts, Mrs. Jamieson."
The woman looked up with a wild scared look in her
eyes, and held out, for an instant, the little jeweled
watch.
"For years," she said, in a slow, strange monotone, "I
have faced and feared danger, and failure. For years I
have been prepared! Because of my cowardice, and my
conscience. I have always kept a way of escape." Her
fingers fluttered aimlessly and the watch fell upon her
lap. Her last words seemed to come through stiffening
lips. Her face grew suddenly ghostly gray. Ruth
sprang toward the door.
"Don't let him come yet." With these words the dying
woman seemed to collapse, and sank limply back into the
cushions; her head drooped, her chin dropped.
Ruth flung open the door with a cry of terror, and the
four men—for the two lawyers had returned from their
escort duty—gathered about the couch. They saw a
shudder pass over the limp frame. The fingers fluttered
again feebly, there was a spasmodic stiffening of the fig-
ure—and that was the end,
* * * * * *
Four weeks later, a group of people were standingTHE LAST STROKE
m
upon the dock of a homeward bound steamer, abouMo
set out upon her ocean voyage. They were five in num-
ber, and they were welcoming, each in turn, the man
who had just joined them.
There had been a quiet wedding, a few days before, at
a little English church, and Ruth Glidden had become
Ruth Brierly as simply as if she were not an heiress,
and her newly made husband not the owner of English
lands, houses, stocks and factories, that changed him into
a millionaire.
"I could see no good reason for delay," Brierly was
saying, as he grasped the hand of Ferrars, whose con-
gratulations had been hearty and sincere. Neither of us
have need to consult aught save our own wishes; and
besides our nearest friends are with us."
"Besides," interposed the smiling woman at his side,
"we have been an encumbrance upon Mr. and Mrs.
Myers for so long—and it was really the only conven-
tional way to relieve them of so many charges. And then
—" and here she lowered her tone, and glanced toward
Hilda Grant, who, having already greeted Ferrars, was
standing a little aloof, "we can now make a home for
Hilda, and have a double claim on her."
"In all of which you have done well," smiled Ferrars.
"My only regret is that I must bring into this parting
moment an unpleasant element, but you may as well
hear it from me." He beckoned the others co approach;
and, when they were close about him, said, speaking188
THE LAST STROKE
kmrand j-avely: " 'Quarrelsome Harry' has escaped the
punishment of the law."
"Escaped!" It was Mr. Myers who repeated the
word. "Do you mean—"
- "I mean that he is dead. He was shot while trying to
escape. He had feigned illness so well that they were
taking him to the hospital department. He tried a rush
and a surprise, but it ended fatally for him. He was shot
while resisting re-arrest."
"It is better so," said Mr, Myers. "They have been
their own executioners. What could the law have added
to their punishment?"
"Only the law's delays," said Ferrars, and then fee
turned to Hilda Grant.
"This is not a long good-bye," he said gently. "At
least I hope not. I shall be back in 'the states' soon.
And, may I not still find a cousin there? Or must I stanl
again outside the barrier alone?"
"You will always find an affectionate cousin," said
Hilda, putting out her hand.
And now it was time to leave the ship. All around
them was the hurry of delayed farewells, the bustle of
late comers, the shifting of baggage, smiles, tears, last
words.
Ferrars i^uld remain for a time in London, but he
knew, as he answered to the call "all ashore," that when
he returned to the United States he would find in one
of her fair western cities, a warm welcome and a lasting
friendship.THE LAST STROKE 289
The plot, by which the beautiful tigress-hearted
woman whom they had known as Mrs. Jamieson had
hoped to achieve riches, was cleverly planned. The real
claimant had died in a remote place, and there were no
near friends to look after her interests, or those of her
young children. And then Harry Levey's sister, beau-
tiful, and an adventuress, from choice, like hfer^brother,
had beguiled Gaston Latham, and had, by frequent
changes of abode, by cunning, and by fraud, merged her
own personality into that of the former wife. Then had
come the baffling discovery of heirs in America, the plot-
ting and scheming to remove them from their path—and
the shameful end.
"Ferrars is a strange fellow," said Robert Brierly to
his wife, one moonlight night, as they sat together, and
somewhat aloof from the others on deck. "Do you
know he was the sole attendant, except for her servants,
at that woman's burial. He went in a carriage alone.
Was it from sentiment, or sympathy, think you?"
It was the first time the dead woman had been spoken
of, by either, since that trying day of her exposure and
death, and Ruth was silent a moment, before she
answered; the awful scene coming vividly before her.
Then she put her hand within her husband's arm, and
said, slowly, softly:
"It was because he is a good man; because she was
a woman without a friend, and because she loved him."
There was a long silence, and it was Ruth who next
spoke.290
THE LAST STROKE
":Have you ever thought, or hoped ,that the friendship
and trust that has grown out of Hilda's relation to Mr.
Ferrars might, sometime, end in something more?"
"No, dear, and this is why: Yesterday, Ferrars said to
me, 'There is a friend over in Glenville whom I hdpe
you will not forget. Let him be your guest. And, if the
day should come when your sweet sister that was to be
should enter society and be sought by others, give the
doctor his chance. He has loved her from the first."
Ruth sighed.
"Hilda is too young to go through the world loveless
and alone. Yes, and too sweet. And the doctor is a
noble man. But all this we may safely leave to the
future, and to their own hearts."
THE END.This book is a preservation facsimile produced for
the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign.
It is made in compliance with copyright law
and produced on acid-free archival
60# book weight paper
which meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (permanence of paper).
Preservation facsimile printing and binding
by
Northern Micrographics
Brookhaven Bindery
La Crosse, Wisconsin
2014