WINSOME WINNIEAND OTHER NEWNONSENSE NOVELS

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

THE HOHENZOLLERNS IN AMERICAAND OTHER IMPOSSIBILITIES

LITERARY LAPSES

NONSENSE NOVELS

SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLETOWN. With a Frontispiece by Cyrus Cuneo

BEHIND THE BEYOND AND OTHERCONTRIBUTIONS TO HUMANKNOWLEDGE. With 17 Illustrationsby "FISH"

ARCADIAN ADVENTURES WITHTHE IDLE RICH

MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGERLUNACY

ESSAYS AND LITERARY STUDIES

FURTHER FOOLISHNESS: SKETCHESAND SATIRES ON THE FOLLIESOF THE DAY. With coloured Frontispieceby "FISH" and 5 other Plates byM. BLOOD. 

FRENZIED FICTION

THE UNSOLVED RIDDLE OF SOCIALJUSTICE. 

THE BODLEY HEAD

_WINSOME WINNIEAND OTHER NEWNONSENSE NOVELS_

_BY STEPHEN LEACOCK_

_LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEADNEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXXI_

_Printed in Great Britain by R. Clay & Sons, Ltd. , London and Bungay_

_CONTENTS_

 CHAP. 

 I. WINSOME WINNIE; OR, TRIAL AND TEMPTATION I. THROWN ON THE WORLD II. A RENCOUNTER III. FRIENDS IN DISTRESS IV. A GAMBLING PARTY IN ST. JAMES'S CLOSE V. THE ABDUCTION VI. THE UNKNOWN VII. THE PROPOSAL VIII. WEDDED AT LAST

 II. JOHN AND I; OR, HOW I NEARLY LOST MY HUSBAND

 III. THE SPLIT IN THE CABINET; OR, THE FATE OF ENGLAND

 IV. WHO DO YOU THINK DID IT? OR, THE MIXED-UP MURDER MYSTERY I. HE DINED WITH ME LAST NIGHT II. I MUST SAVE HER LIFE III. I MUST BUY A BOOK ON BILLIARDS IV. THAT IS NOT BILLIARD CHALK V. HAS ANYBODY HERE SEEN KELLY? VI. SHOW ME THE MAN WHO WORE THOSE BOOTS VII. OH, MR. KENT, SAVE ME! VIII. YOU ARE PETER KELLY IX. LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE X. SO DO I

 V. BROKEN BARRIERS; OR, RED LOVE ON A BLUE ISLAND

 VI. THE KIDNAPPED PLUMBER: A TALE OF THE NEW TIME

 VII. THE BLUE AND THE GREY: A PRE-WAR WAR STORY

 VIII. BUGGAM GRANGE: A GOOD OLD GHOST STORY

I

WINSOME WINNIE

OR, TRIAL AND TEMPTATION

(_Narrated after the best models of 1875_)

_I. --Winsome Winnie; or, Trial and Temptation. _

CHAPTER I

THROWN ON THE WORLD

"Miss Winnifred, " said the Old Lawyer, looking keenly over and throughhis shaggy eyebrows at the fair young creature seated before him, "youare this morning twenty-one. "

Winnifred Clair raised her deep mourning veil, lowered her eyes andfolded her hands. 

"This morning, " continued Mr. Bonehead, "my guardianship is at an end. "

There was a tone of something like emotion in the voice of the stern oldlawyer, while for a moment his eye glistened with something like a tearwhich he hastened to remove with something like a handkerchief. "I havetherefore sent for you, " he went on, "to render you an account of mytrust. "

He heaved a sigh at her, and then, reaching out his hand, he pulled thewoollen bell-rope up and down several times. 

An aged clerk appeared. 

"Did the bell ring?" he asked. 

"I think it did, " said the Lawyer. "Be good enough, Atkinson, to fetchme the papers of the estate of the late Major Clair defunct. "

"I have them here, " said the clerk, and he laid upon the table a bundleof faded blue papers, and withdrew. 

"Miss Winnifred, " resumed the Old Lawyer, "I will now proceed to giveyou an account of the disposition that has been made of your property. This first document refers to the sum of two thousand pounds left to youby your great uncle. It is lost. "

Winnifred bowed. 

"Pray give me your best attention and I will endeavour to explain to youhow I lost it. "

"Oh, sir, " cried Winnifred, "I am only a poor girl unskilled in theways of the world, and knowing nothing but music and French; I fear thatthe details of business are beyond my grasp. But if it is lost, I gatherthat it is gone. "

"It is, " said Mr. Bonehead. "I lost it in a marginal option in anundeveloped oil company. I suppose that means nothing to you. "

"Alas, " sighed Winnifred, "nothing. "

"Very good, " resumed the Lawyer. "Here next we have a statement inregard to the thousand pounds left you under the will of your maternalgrandmother. I lost it at Monte Carlo. But I need not fatigue you withthe details. "

"Pray spare them, " cried the girl. 

"This final item relates to the sum of fifteen hundred pounds placed intrust for you by your uncle. I lost it on a horse race. That horse, "added the Old Lawyer with rising excitement, "ought to have won. He wascoming down the stretch like blue--but there, there, my dear, you mustforgive me if the recollection of it still stirs me to anger. Suffice itto say the horse fell. I have kept for your inspection the score cardof the race, and the betting tickets. You will find everything inorder. "

"Sir, " said Winnifred, as Mr. Bonehead proceeded to fold up his papers, "I am but a poor inadequate girl, a mere child in business, but tell me, I pray, what is left to me of the money that you have managed?"

"Nothing, " said the Lawyer. "Everything is gone. And I regret to say, Miss Clair, that it is my painful duty to convey to you a furtherdisclosure of a distressing nature. It concerns your birth. "

"Just Heaven!" cried Winnifred, with a woman's quick intuition. "Does itconcern my father?"

"It does, Miss Clair. Your father was not your father. "

"Oh, sir, " exclaimed Winnifred. "My poor mother! How she must havesuffered!"

"Your mother was not your mother, " said the Old Lawyer gravely. "Nay, nay, do not question me. There is a dark secret about your birth. "

"Alas, " said Winnifred, wringing her hands, "I am, then, alone in theworld and penniless. "

"You are, " said Mr. Bonehead, deeply moved. "You are, unfortunately, thrown upon the world. But, if you ever find yourself in a positionwhere you need help and advice, do not scruple to come to me. Especially, " he added, "for advice. And meantime let me ask you in whatway do you propose to earn your livelihood?"

"I have my needle, " said Winnifred. 

"Let me see it, " said the Lawyer. 

Winnifred showed it to him. 

"I fear, " said Mr. Bonehead, shaking his head, "you will not do muchwith that. "

Then he rang the bell again. 

"Atkinson, " he said, "take Miss Clair out and throw her on the world. "

CHAPTER II

A RENCOUNTER

As Winnifred Clair passed down the stairway leading from the Lawyer'soffice, a figure appeared before her in the corridor, blocking the way. It was that of a tall, aristocratic-looking man, whose features worethat peculiarly saturnine appearance seen only in the English nobility. The face, while entirely gentlemanly in its general aspect, was stampedwith all the worst passions of mankind. 

Had the innocent girl but known it, the face was that of Lord Wynchgate, one of the most contemptible of the greater nobility of Britain, and thefigure was his too. 

"Ha!" exclaimed the dissolute Aristocrat, "whom have we here? Stay, pretty one, and let me see the fair countenance that I divine behindyour veil. "

"Sir, " said Winnifred, drawing herself up proudly, "let me pass, Ipray. "

"Not so, " cried Wynchgate, reaching out and seizing his intended victimby the wrist, "not till I have at least seen the colour of those eyesand imprinted a kiss upon those fair lips. "

With a brutal laugh, he drew the struggling girl towards him. 

In another moment the aristocratic villain would have succeeded inlifting the veil of the unhappy girl, when suddenly a ringing voicecried, "Hold! stop! desist! begone! lay to! cut it out!"

With these words a tall, athletic young man, attracted doubtless by thegirl's cries, leapt into the corridor from the street without. Hisfigure was that, more or less, of a Greek god, while his face, althoughat the moment inflamed with anger, was of an entirely moral andpermissible configuration. 

"Save me! save me!" cried Winnifred. 

"I will, " cried the Stranger, rushing towards Lord Wynchgate withuplifted cane. 

But the cowardly Aristocrat did not await the onslaught of the unknown. 

"You shall yet be mine!" he hissed in Winnifred's ear, and, releasinghis grasp, he rushed with a bound past the rescuer into the street. 

"Oh, sir, " said Winnifred, clasping her hands and falling on her kneesin gratitude. "I am only a poor inadequate girl, but if the prayers ofone who can offer naught but her prayers to her benefactor can avail tothe advantage of one who appears to have every conceivable advantagealready, let him know that they are his. "

"Nay, " said the stranger, as he aided the blushing girl to rise, "kneelnot to me, I beseech. If I have done aught to deserve the gratitude ofone who, whoever she is, will remain for ever present as a bright memoryin the breast of one in whose breast such memories are all too few, heis all too richly repaid. If she does that, he is blessed indeed. "

"She does. He is!" cried Winnifred, deeply moved. "Here on her knees sheblesses him. And now, " she added, "we must part. Seek not to follow me. One who has aided a poor girl in the hour of need will respect her wishwhen she tells him that, alone and buffeted by the world, her oneprayer is that he will leave her. "

"He will!" cried the Unknown. "He will. He does. "

"Leave me, yes, leave me, " exclaimed Winnifred. 

"I will, " said the Unknown. 

"Do, do, " sobbed the distraught girl. "Yet stay, one moment more. Letshe, who has received so much from her benefactor, at least know hisname. "

"He cannot! He must not!" exclaimed the Indistinguishable. "His birth issuch--but enough!"

He tore his hand from the girl's detaining clasp and rushed forth fromthe place. 

Winnifred Clair was alone. 

CHAPTER III

FRIENDS IN DISTRESS

Winnifred was now in the humblest lodgings in the humblest part ofLondon. A simple bedroom and sitting-room sufficed for her wants. Hereshe sat on her trunk, bravely planning for the future. 

"Miss Clair, " said the Landlady, knocking at the door, "do try to eatsomething. You must keep up your health. See, I've brought you akippered herring. "

Winnifred ate the herring, her heart filled with gratitude. With renewedstrength she sallied forth on the street to resume her vain search foremployment. For two weeks now Winnifred Clair had sought employment evenof the humblest character. At various dress-making establishments shehad offered, to no purpose, the services of her needle. They had lookedat it and refused it. 

In vain she had offered to various editors and publishers the use of herpen. They had examined it coldly and refused it. 

She had tried fruitlessly to obtain a position of trust. The variousbanks and trust companies to which she had applied declined herservices. In vain she had advertised in the newspapers offering to takesole charge of a little girl. No one would give her one. 

Her slender stock of money which she had in her purse on leaving Mr. Bonehead's office was almost consumed. 

Each night the unhappy girl returned to her lodging exhausted withdisappointment and fatigue. 

Yet even in her adversity she was not altogether friendless. 

Each evening, on her return home, a soft tap was heard at the door. 

"Miss Clair, " said the voice of the Landlady, "I have brought you afried egg. Eat it. You must keep up your strength. "

Then one morning a terrible temptation had risen before her. 

"Miss Clair, " said the manager of an agency to which she had applied, "Iam glad to be able at last to make you a definite offer of employment. Are you prepared to go upon the stage?"

The stage!

A flush of shame and indignation swept over the girl. Had it come tothis? Little versed in the world as Winnifred was, she knew but too wellthe horror, the iniquity, the depth of degradation implied in the word. 

"Yes, " continued the agent, "I have a letter here asking me to recommenda young lady of suitable refinement to play the part of Eliza in _UncleTom's Cabin. _ Will you accept?"

"Sir, " said Winnifred proudly, "answer me first this question fairly. IfI go upon the stage, can I, as Eliza, remain as innocent, as simple as Iam now?"

"You can not, " said the manager. 

"Then, sir, " said Winnifred, rising from her chair, "let me say this. Your offer is doubtless intended to be kind. Coming from the class youdo, and inspired by the ideas you are, you no doubt mean well. But let apoor girl, friendless and alone, tell you that rather than accept such adegradation she will die. "

"Very good, " said the manager. 

"I go forth, " cried Winnifred, "to perish. "

"All right, " said the manager. 

The door closed behind her. Winnifred Clair, once more upon the street, sank down upon the steps of the building in a swoon. 

But at this very juncture Providence, which always watches over theinnocent and defenceless, was keeping its eye direct upon Winnifred. 

At that very moment when our heroine sank fainting upon the doorstep, ahandsome equipage, drawn by two superb black steeds, happened to passalong the street. 

Its appearance and character proclaimed it at once to be one of thosevehicles in which only the superior classes of the exclusive aristocracyare privileged to ride. Its sides were emblazoned with escutcheons, insignia and other paraphernalia. The large gilt coronet that appearedup its panelling, surmounted by a bunch of huckleberries, quartered in afield of potatoes, indicated that its possessor was, at least, of therank of marquis. A coachman and two grooms rode in front, while twofootmen, seated in the boot, or box at the rear, contrived, by theimmobility of their attitude and the melancholy of their faces, toinspire the scene with an exclusive and aristocratic grandeur. 

The occupants of the equipage--for we refuse to count the menials asbeing such--were two in number, a lady and gentleman, both of advancedyears. Their snow-white hair and benign countenances indicated that theybelonged to that rare class of beings to whom rank and wealth are but anincentive to nobler things. A gentle philanthropy played all over theirfaces, and their eyes sought eagerly in the passing scene of the humblestreet for new objects of benefaction. 

Those acquainted with the countenances of the aristocracy would haverecognized at once in the occupants of the equipage the Marquis ofMuddlenut and his spouse, the Marchioness. 

It was the eye of the Marchioness which first detected the form ofWinnifred Clair upon the doorstep. 

"Hold! pause! stop!" she cried, in lively agitation. 

The horses were at once pulled in, the brakes applied to the wheels, andwith the aid of a powerful lever, operated by three of the menials, thecarriage was brought to a standstill. 

"See! Look!" cried the Marchioness. "She has fainted. Quick, William, your flask. Let us hasten to her aid. "

In another moment the noble lady was bending over the prostrate form ofWinnifred Clair, and pouring brandy between her lips. 

Winnifred opened her eyes. "Where am I?" she asked feebly. 

"She speaks!" cried the Marchioness. "Give her another flaskful. "

After the second flask the girl sat up. 

"Tell me, " she cried, clasping her hands, "what has happened? Where amI?"

"With friends!" answered the Marchioness. "But do not essay to speak. Drink this. You must husband your strength. Meantime, let us drive youto your home. "

Winnifred was lifted tenderly by the menservants into the aristocraticequipage. The brake was unset, the lever reversed, and the carriagethrown again into motion. 

On the way Winnifred, at the solicitation of the Marchioness, relatedher story. 

"My poor child!" exclaimed the lady, "how you must have suffered. ThankHeaven it is over now. To-morrow we shall call for you and bring youaway with us to Muddlenut Chase. "

Alas, could she but have known it, before the morrow should dawn, worsedangers still were in store for our heroine. But what these dangerswere, we must reserve for another chapter. 

CHAPTER IV

A GAMBLING PARTY IN ST. JAMES'S CLOSE

We must now ask our readers to shift the scene--if they don't mind doingthis for us--to the apartments of the Earl of Wynchgate in St. James'sClose. The hour is nine o'clock in the evening, and the picture beforeus is one of revelry and dissipation so characteristic of the nobilityof England. The atmosphere of the room is thick with blue Havana smokesuch as is used by the nobility, while on the green baize table a litterof counters and cards, in which aces, kings, and even two spots areheaped in confusion, proclaim the reckless nature of the play. 

Seated about the table are six men, dressed in the height of fashion, each with collar and white necktie and broad white shirt, their facesstamped with all, or nearly all, of the baser passions of mankind. 

Lord Wynchgate--for he it was who sat at the head of the table--rosewith an oath, and flung his cards upon the table. 

All turned and looked at him, with an oath. "Curse it, Dogwood, " heexclaimed, with another oath, to the man who sat beside him. "Take themoney. I play no more to-night. My luck is out. "

"Ha! ha!" laughed Lord Dogwood, with a third oath, "your mind is not onthe cards. Who is the latest young beauty, pray, who so absorbs you? Ihear a whisper in town of a certain misadventure of yours----"

"Dogwood, " said Wynchgate, clenching his fist, "have a care, man, or youshall measure the length of my sword. "

Both noblemen faced each other, their hands upon their swords. 

"My lords, my lords!" pleaded a distinguished-looking man of moreadvanced years, who sat at one side of the table, and in whose featuresthe habitués of diplomatic circles would have recognized the handsomelineaments of the Marquis of Frogwater, British Ambassador to Siam, "letus have no quarrelling. Come, Wynchgate, come, Dogwood, " he continued, with a mild oath, "put up your swords. It were a shame to waste time inprivate quarrelling. They may be needed all too soon in Cochin China, or, for the matter of that, " he added sadly, "in Cambodia or in DutchGuinea. "

"Frogwater, " said young Lord Dogwood, with a generous flush, "I waswrong. Wynchgate, your hand. "

The two noblemen shook hands. 

"My friends, " said Lord Wynchgate, "in asking you to abandon our game, Ihad an end in view. I ask your help in an affair of the heart. "

"Ha! excellent!" exclaimed the five noblemen. "We are with you heart andsoul. "

"I propose this night, " continued Wynchgate, "with your help, to carryoff a young girl, a female!"

"An abduction!" exclaimed the Ambassador somewhat sternly. "Wynchgate, Icannot countenance this. "

"Mistake me not, " said the Earl, "I intend to abduct her. But I proposenothing dishonourable. It is my firm resolve to offer her marriage. "

"Then, " said Lord Frogwater, "I am with you. "

"Gentlemen, " concluded Wynchgate, "all is ready. The coach is below. Ihave provided masks, pistols, and black cloaks. Follow me. "

A few moments later, a coach, with the blinds drawn, in which were sixnoblemen armed to the teeth, might have been seen, were it not for thedarkness, approaching the humble lodging in which Winnifred Clair wassheltered. 

But what it did when it got there, we must leave to another chapter. 

CHAPTER V

THE ABDUCTION

The hour was twenty minutes to ten on the evening described in our lastchapter. 

Winnifred Clair was seated, still fully dressed, at the window of thebedroom, looking out over the great city. 

A light tap came at the door. 

"If it's a fried egg, " called Winnifred softly, "I do not need it. I ateyesterday. "

"No, " said the voice of the Landlady. "You are wanted below. "

"I!" exclaimed Winnifred, "below!"

"You, " said the Landlady, "below. A party of gentlemen have called foryou. "

"Gentlemen, " exclaimed Winnifred, putting her hand to her brow inperplexity, "for me! at this late hour! Here! This evening! In thishouse?"

"Yes, " repeated the Landlady, "six gentlemen. They arrived in a closedcoach. They are all closely masked and heavily armed. They beg you willdescend at once. "

"Just Heaven!" cried the Unhappy Girl. "Is it possible that they mean toabduct me?"

"They do, " said the Landlady. "They said so!"

"Alas!" cried Winnifred, "I am powerless. Tell them"--shehesitated--"tell them I will be down immediately. Let them not come up. Keep them below on any pretext. Show them an album. Let them look at thegoldfish. Anything, but not here! I shall be ready in a moment. "

Feverishly she made herself ready. As hastily as possible she removedall traces of tears from her face. She threw about her shoulders anopera cloak, and with a light Venetian scarf half concealed the beautyof her hair and features. "Abducted!" she murmured, "and by six of them!I think she said six. Oh, the horror of it!" A touch of powder to hercheeks and a slight blackening of her eyebrows, and the courageous girlwas ready. 

Lord Wynchgate and his companions--for they it was, that is to say, theywere it--sat below in the sitting-room looking at the albums. "Woman, "said Lord Wynchgate to the Landlady, with an oath, "let her hurry up. Wehave seen enough of these. We can wait no longer. "

"I am here, " cried a clear voice upon the threshold, and Winnifred stoodbefore them. "My lords, for I divine who you are and wherefore you havecome, take me, do your worst with me, but spare, oh, spare this humblecompanion of my sorrow. "

"Right-oh!" said Lord Dogwood, with a brutal laugh. 

"Enough, " exclaimed Wynchgate, and seizing Winnifred by the waist, hedragged her forth out of the house and out upon the street. 

But something in the brutal violence of his behaviour seemed to kindlefor the moment a spark of manly feeling, if such there were, in thebreasts of his companions. 

"Wynchgate, " cried young Lord Dogwood, "my mind misgives me. I doubt ifthis is a gentlemanly thing to do. I'll have no further hand in it. "

A chorus of approval from his companions endorsed his utterance. For amoment they hesitated. 

"Nay, " cried Winnifred, turning to confront the masked faces that stoodabout her, "go forward with your fell design. I am here. I am helpless. Let no prayers stay your hand. Go to it. "

"Have done with this!" cried Wynchgate, with a brutal oath. "Shove herin the coach. "

But at the very moment the sound of hurrying footsteps was heard, and aclear, ringing, manly, well-toned, vibrating voice cried, "Hold! Stop!Desist! Have a care, titled villain, or I will strike you to the earth. "

A tall aristocratic form bounded out of the darkness. 

"Gentlemen, " cried Wynchgate, releasing his hold upon the frightenedgirl, "we are betrayed. Save yourselves. To the coach. "

In another instant the six noblemen had leaped into the coach anddisappeared down the street. 

Winnifred, still half inanimate with fright, turned to her rescuer, andsaw before her the form and lineaments of the Unknown Stranger, who hadthus twice stood between her and disaster. Half fainting, she fellswooning into his arms. 

"Dear lady, " he exclaimed, "rouse yourself. You are safe. Let me restoreyou to your home!"

"That voice!" cried Winnifred, resuming consciousness. "It is mybenefactor. "

She would have swooned again, but the Unknown lifted her bodily up thesteps of her home and leant her against the door. 

"Farewell, " he said, in a voice resonant with gloom. 

"Oh, sir!" cried the unhappy girl, "let one who owes so much to one whohas saved her in her hour of need at least know his name. "

But the stranger, with a mournful gesture of farewell, had disappearedas rapidly as he had come. 

But, as to why he had disappeared, we must ask our reader's patience foranother chapter. 

CHAPTER VI

THE UNKNOWN

The scene is now shifted, sideways and forwards, so as to put it atMuddlenut Chase, and to make it a fortnight later than the eventsrelated in the last chapter. 

Winnifred is now at the Chase as the guest of the Marquis andMarchioness. There her bruised soul finds peace. 

The Chase itself was one of those typical country homes which are, orwere till yesterday, the glory of England. The approach to the Chase laythrough twenty miles of glorious forest, filled with fallow deer andwild bulls. The house itself, dating from the time of the Plantagenets, was surrounded by a moat covered with broad lilies and floating greenscum. Magnificent peacocks sunned themselves on the terraces, whilefrom the surrounding shrubberies there rose the soft murmur of doves, pigeons, bats, owls and partridges. 

Here sat Winnifred Clair day after day upon the terrace recovering herstrength, under the tender solicitude of the Marchioness. 

Each day the girl urged upon her noble hostess the necessity of herdeparture. "Nay, " said the Marchioness, with gentle insistence, "staywhere you are. Your soul is bruised. You must rest. "

"Alas, " cried Winnifred, "who am I that I should rest? Alone, despised, buffeted by fate, what right have I to your kindness?"

"Miss Clair, " replied the noble lady, "wait till you are stronger. Thereis something that I wish to say to you. "

Then at last, one morning when Winnifred's temperature had fallen toninety-eight point three, the Marchioness spoke. 

"Miss Clair, " she said, in a voice which throbbed with emotion, "Winnifred, if I may so call you, Lord Muddlenut and I have formed aplan for your future. It is our dearest wish that you should marry ourson. "

"Alas, " cried Winnifred, while tears rose in her eyes, "it cannot be!"

"Say not so, " cried the Marchioness. "Our son, Lord Mordaunt Muddlenut, is young, handsome, all that a girl could desire. After months ofwandering he returns to us this morning. It is our dearest wish to seehim married and established. We offer you his hand. "

"Indeed, " replied Winnifred, while her tears fell even more freely, "Iseem to requite but ill the kindness that you show. Alas, my heart is nolonger in my keeping. "

"Where is it?" cried the Marchioness. 

"It is another's. One whose very name I do not know holds it in hiskeeping. "

But at this moment a blithe, gladsome step was heard upon the flagstonesof the terrace. A manly, ringing voice, which sent a thrill toWinnifred's heart, cried "Mother!" and in another instant Lord MordauntMuddlenut, for he it was, had folded the Marchioness to his heart. 

Winnifred rose, her heart beating wildly. One glance was enough. Thenewcomer, Lord Mordaunt, was none other than the Unknown, theUnaccountable, to whose protection she had twice owed her life. 

With a wild cry Winnifred Clair leaped across the flagstones of theterrace and fled into the park. 

CHAPTER VII

THE PROPOSAL

They stood beneath the great trees of the ancestral park, into whichLord Mordaunt had followed Winnifred at a single bound. All about themwas the radiance of early June. 

Lord Mordaunt knelt on one knee on the greensward, and with a touch inwhich respect and reverence were mingled with the deepest and manliestemotion, he took between his finger and thumb the tip of the girl'sgloved hand. 

"Miss Clair, " he uttered, in a voice suffused with the deepestyearning, yet vibrating with the most profound respect, "MissClair--Winnifred--hear me, I implore!"

"Alas, " cried Winnifred, struggling in vain to disengage the tip of herglove from the impetuous clasp of the young nobleman, "alas, whither canI fly? I do not know my way through the wood, and there are bulls in alldirections. I am not used to them! Lord Mordaunt, I implore you, let thetears of one but little skilled in the art of dissimulation----"

"Nay, Winnifred, " said the Young Earl, "fly not. Hear me out!"

"Let me fly, " begged the unhappy girl. 

"You must not fly, " pleaded Mordaunt. "Let me first, here upon bendedknee, convey to you the expression of a devotion, a love, as ardent andas deep as ever burned in a human heart. Winnifred, be my bride!"

"Oh, sir, " sobbed Winnifred, "if the knowledge of a gratitude, athankfulness from one whose heart will ever treasure as its proudestmemory the recollection of one who did for one all that one could havewanted done for one--if this be some poor guerdon, let it suffice. But, alas, my birth, the dark secret of my birth forbids----"

"Nay, " cried Mordaunt, leaping now to his feet, "your birth is allright. I have looked into it myself. It is as good--or nearly asgood--as my own. Till I knew this, my lips were sealed by duty. While Isupposed that you had a lower birth and I an upper, I was bound tosilence. But come with me to the house. There is one arrived with me whowill explain all. "

Hand in hand the lovers, for such they now were, returned to the Chase. There in the great hall the Marquis and the Marchioness were standingready to greet them. 

"My child!" exclaimed the noble lady, as she folded Winnifred to herheart. Then she turned to her son. "Let her know all!" she cried. 

Lord Mordaunt stepped across the room to a curtain. He drew it aside, and there stepped forth Mr. Bonehead, the old lawyer who had castWinnifred upon the world. 

"Miss Clair, " said the Lawyer, advancing and taking the girl's hand fora moment in a kindly clasp, "the time has come for me to explain all. You are not, you never were, the penniless girl that you suppose. Underthe terms of your father's will, I was called upon to act a part and tothrow you upon the world. It was my client's wish, and I followed it. Itold you, quite truthfully, that I had put part of your money intooptions in an oil-well. Miss Clair, that well is now producing a milliongallons of gasolene a month!'

"A million gallons!" cried Winnifred. "I can never use it. "

"Wait till you own a motor-car, Miss Winnifred, " said the Lawyer. 

"Then I am rich!" exclaimed the bewildered girl. 

"Rich beyond your dreams, " answered the Lawyer. "Miss Clair, you own inyour own right about half of the State of Texas--I think it is in Texas, at any rate either Texas or Rhode Island, or one of those big states inAmerica. More than this, I have invested your property since yourfather's death so wisely that even after paying the income tax and theproperty tax, the inheritance tax, the dog tax and the tax onamusements, you will still have one half of one per cent to spend. "

Winnifred clasped her hands. 

"I knew it all the time, " said Lord Mordaunt, drawing the girl to hisembrace, "I found it out through this good man. "

"We knew it too, " said the Marchioness. "Can you forgive us, darling, our little plot for your welfare? Had we not done this Mordaunt mighthave had to follow you over to America and chase you all around Newportand Narragansett at a fearful expense. "

"How can I thank you enough?" cried Winnifred. Then she added eagerly, "And my birth, my descent?"

"It is all right, " interjected the Old Lawyer. "It is A 1. Your father, who died before you were born, quite a little time before, belonged tothe very highest peerage of Wales. You are descended directly fromClaer-ap-Claer, who murdered Owen Glendower. Your mother we are stilltracing up. But we have already connected her with Floyd-ap-Floyd, whomurdered Prince Llewellyn. "

"Oh, sir, " cried the grateful girl. "I only hope I may prove worthy ofthem!"

"One thing more, " said Lord Mordaunt, and stepping over to anothercurtain he drew it aside and there emerged Lord Wynchgate. 

He stood before Winnifred, a manly contrition struggling upon featureswhich, but for the evil courses of he who wore them, might have beenalmost presentable. 

"Miss Clair, " he said, "I ask your pardon. I tried to carry you off. Inever will again. But before we part let me say that my acquaintancewith you has made me a better man, broader, bigger and, I hope, deeper. "

With a profound bow, Lord Wynchgate took his leave. 

CHAPTER VIII

WEDDED AT LAST

Lord Mordaunt and his bride were married forthwith in the parish churchof Muddlenut Chase. With Winnifred's money they have drained the moat, rebuilt the Chase, and chased the bulls out of the park. They have sixchildren, so far, and are respected, honoured and revered in thecountryside far and wide, over a radius of twenty miles incircumference. 

II

JOHN AND I

OR, HOW I NEARLY LOST MY HUSBAND

(_Narrated after the approved fashion of the best Heart and HomeMagazines_)

_II. --John and I; or, How I Nearly Lost My Husband. _

It was after we had been married about two years that I began to feelthat I needed more air. Every time I looked at John across thebreakfast-table, I felt as if I must have more air, more space. 

I seemed to feel as if I had no room to expand. I had begun to askmyself whether I had been wise in marrying John, whether John was reallysufficient for my development. I felt cramped and shut in. In spite ofmyself the question would arise in my mind whether John reallyunderstood my nature. He had a way of reading the newspaper, propped upagainst the sugar-bowl, at breakfast, that somehow made me feel as ifthings had gone all wrong. It was bitter to realize that the time hadcome when John could prefer the newspaper to his wife's society. 

But perhaps I had better go back and tell the whole miserable story fromthe beginning. 

I shall never forget--I suppose no woman ever does--the evening whenJohn first spoke out his love for me. I had felt for some time past thatit was there. Again and again, he seemed about to speak. But somehow hiswords seemed to fail him. Twice I took him into the very heart of thelittle wood beside Mother's house, but it was only a small wood, andsomehow he slipped out on the other side. "Oh, John, " I had said, "howlonely and still it seems in the wood with no one here but ourselves! Doyou think, " I said, "that the birds have souls?" "I don't know, " Johnanswered, "let's get out of this. " I was sure that his emotion was toostrong for him. "I never feel a bit lonesome where you are, John, " Isaid, as we made our way among the underbrush. "I think we can get outdown that little gully, " he answered. Then one evening in June after teaI led John down a path beside the house to a little corner behind thegarden where there was a stone wall on one side and a high fence rightin front of us, and thorn bushes on the other side. There was a littlebench in the angle of the wall and the fence, and we sat down on it. 

"Minnie, " John said, "there's something I meant to say----"

"Oh, John, " I cried, and I flung my arms round his neck. It all camewith such a flood of surprise. 

"All I meant, Minn----" John went on, but I checked him. 

"Oh, don't, John, don't say anything more, " I said. "It's just tooperfect. " Then I rose and seized him by the wrist. "Come, " I said, "cometo Mother, " and I rushed him along the path. 

As soon as Mother saw us come in hand in hand in this way, she guessedeverything. She threw both her arms round John's neck and fairly pinnedhim against the wall. John tried to speak, but Mother wouldn't let him. "I saw it all along, John, " she said. "Don't speak. Don't say a word. Iguessed your love for Minn from the very start. I don't know what Ishall do without her, John, but she's yours now; take her. " Then Motherbegan to cry and I couldn't help crying too. "Take him to Father, "Mother said, and we each took one of John's wrists and took him toFather on the back verandah. As soon as John saw Father he tried tospeak again--"I think I ought to say, " he began, but Mother stopped him. "Father, " she said, "he wants to take our little girl away. He loves hervery dearly, Alfred, " she said, "and I think it our duty to let her go, no matter how hard it is, and oh, please Heaven, Alfred, he'll treat herwell and not misuse her, or beat her, " and she began to sob again. 

Father got up and took John by the hand and shook it warmly. 

"Take her, boy, " he said. "She's all yours now, take her. "

So John and I were engaged, and in due time our wedding day came and wewere married. I remember that for days and days before the wedding dayJohn seemed very nervous and depressed; I think he was worrying, poorboy, as to whether he could really make me happy and whether he couldfill my life as it should be filled. But I told him that he was not toworry, because I _meant_ to be happy, and was determined just to makethe best of everything. 

Father stayed with John a good deal before the wedding day, and on thewedding morning he went and fetched him to the church in a closedcarriage and had him there all ready when we came. It was a beautifulday in September, and the church looked just lovely. I had a beautifulgown of white organdie with _tulle_ at the throat, and I carried a greatbunch of white roses, and Father led John up the aisle after me. 

I remember that Mother cried a good deal at the wedding, and told Johnthat he had stolen her darling and that he must never misuse me or beatme. And I remember that the clergyman spoke very severely to John, andtold him he hoped he realized the responsibility he was taking and thatit was his duty to make me happy. A lot of our old friends were there, and they all spoke quite sharply to John, and all the women kissed meand said they hoped I would never regret what I had done, and I justkept up my spirits by sheer determination, and told them that I had madeup my mind to be happy and that I was going to be so. 

So presently it was all over and we were driven to the station and gotthe afternoon train for New York, and when we sat down in thecompartment among all our bandboxes and flowers, John said, "Well, thankGod, that's over. " And I said, "Oh, John, an oath! on our wedding day, an oath!" John said, "I'm sorry, Minn, I didn't mean----" but I said, "Don't, John, don't make it worse. Swear at me if you must, but don'tmake it harder to bear. "

 * * * * *

We spent our honeymoon in New York. At first I had thought of goingsomewhere to the great lonely woods, where I could have walked under thegreat trees and felt the silence of nature, and where John should havebeen my Viking and captured me with his spear, and where I should behis and his alone and no other man should share me; and John had saidall right. Or else I had planned to go away somewhere to the seashore, where I could have watched the great waves dashing themselves againstthe rocks. I had told John that he should be my cave man, and shouldseize me in his arms and carry me whither he would. I felt somehow thatfor my development I wanted to get as close to nature as ever Icould--that my mind seemed to be reaching out for a great emptiness. ButI looked over all the hotel and steamship folders I could find and itseemed impossible to get good accommodation, so we came to New York. Ihad a great deal of shopping to do for our new house, so I could not bemuch with John, but I felt it was not right to neglect him, so I drovehim somewhere in a taxi each morning and called for him again in theevening. One day I took him to the Metropolitan Museum, and another dayI left him at the Zoo, and another day at the aquarium. John seemed veryhappy and quiet among the fishes. 

So presently we came back home, and I spent many busy days in fixing andarranging our new house. I had the drawing-room done in blue, and thedining-room all in dark panelled wood, and a boudoir upstairs done inpink and white enamel to match my bedroom and dressing-room. There was avery nice little room in the basement next to the coal cellar that Iturned into a "den" for John, so that when he wanted to smoke he couldgo down there and do it. John seemed to appreciate his den at once, andoften would stay down there so long that I had to call to him to comeup. 

When I look back on those days they seem very bright and happy. But itwas not very long before a change came. I began to realize that John wasneglecting me. I noticed it at first in small things. I don't know justhow long it was after our marriage that John began to read the newspaperat breakfast. At first he would only pick it up and read it in littlebits, and only on the front page. I tried not to be hurt at it, andwould go on talking just as brightly as I could, without seeming tonotice anything. But presently he went on to reading the inside part ofthe paper, and then one day he opened up the financial page and foldedthe paper right back and leant it against the sugar-bowl. 

I could not but wonder whether John's love for me was what it had been. Was it cooling? I asked myself. And what was cooling it? It hardlyseemed possible, when I looked back to the wild passion with which hehad proposed to me on the garden bench, that John's love was waning. ButI kept noticing different little things. One day in the spring-time Isaw John getting out a lot of fishing tackle from a box and fitting ittogether. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said that he wasgoing to fish. I went to my room and had a good cry. It seemed dreadfulthat he could neglect his wife for a few worthless fish. 

So I decided to put John to the test. It had been my habit every morningafter he put his coat on to go to the office to let John have one kiss, just one weeny kiss, to keep him happy all day. So this day when he wasgetting ready I bent my head over a big bowl of flowers and pretendednot to notice. I think John must have been hurt, as I heard him stealout on tiptoe. 

Well, I realized that things had come to a dreadful state, and so I sentover to Mother, and Mother came, and we had a good cry together. I madeup my mind to force myself to face things and just to be as bright asever I could. Mother and I both thought that things would be better if Itried all I could to make something out of John. I have always felt thatevery woman should make all that she can out of her husband. So I did mybest first of all to straighten up John's appearance. I shifted thestyle of collar he was wearing to a tighter kind that I liked better, and I brushed his hair straight backward instead of forward, which gavehim a much more alert look. Mother said that John needed waking up, andso we did all we could to wake him up. Mother came over to stay with mea good deal, and in the evenings we generally had a little music or agame of cards. 

About this time another difficulty began to come into my married life, which I suppose I ought to have foreseen--I mean the attentions of othergentlemen. I have always called forth a great deal of admiration ingentlemen, but I have always done my best to act like a lady and todiscourage it in every possible way. I had been innocent enough tosuppose that this would end with married life, and it gave me a dreadfulshock to realize that such was not the case. The first one I noticed wasa young man who came to the house, at an hour when John was out, for thepurpose, so he said at least, of reading the gas meter. He looked at mein just the boldest way and asked me to show him the way to the cellar. I don't know whether it was a pretext or not, but I just summoned allthe courage I had and showed him to the head of the cellar stairs. I haddetermined that if he tried to carry me down with him I would scream forthe servants, but I suppose something in my manner made him desist, andhe went alone. When he came up he professed to have read the meter andhe left the house quite quietly. But I thought it wiser to say nothingto John of what had happened. 

There were others too. There was a young man with large brown eyes whocame and said he had been sent to tune the piano. He came on threeseparate days, and he bent his ear over the keys in such a mournful waythat I knew he must have fallen in love with me. On the last day heoffered to tune my harp for a dollar extra, but I refused, and when Iasked him instead to tune Mother's mandoline he said he didn't know how. Of course I told John nothing of all this. 

Then there was Mr. McQueen, who came to the house several times to playcribbage with John. He had been desperately in love with me yearsbefore--at least I remember his taking me home from a hockey match once, and what a struggle it was for him not to come into the parlour and seeMother for a few minutes when I asked him; and, though he was marriednow and with three children, I felt sure when he came to play cribbagewith John that it _meant_ something. He was very discreet andhonourable, and never betrayed himself for a moment, and I acted mypart as if there was nothing at all behind. But one night, when he cameover to play and John had had to go out, he refused to stay even for aninstant. He had got his overshoes off before I told him that John wasout, and asked him if he wouldn't come into the parlour and hear Motherplay the mandoline, but he just made one dive for his overshoes and wasgone. I knew that he didn't dare to trust himself. 

Then presently a new trouble came. I began to suspect that John wasdrinking. I don't mean for a moment that he was drunk, or that he wasopenly cruel to me. But at times he seemed to act so queerly, and Inoticed that one night when by accident I left a bottle of raspberryvinegar on the sideboard overnight, it was all gone in the morning. Twoor three times when McQueen and John were to play cribbage, John wouldfetch home two or three bottles of bevo with him and they would sitsipping all evening. 

I think he was drinking bevo by himself, too, though I could never besure of it. At any rate he often seemed queer and restless in theevenings, and instead of staying in his den he would wander all over thehouse. Once we heard him--I mean Mother and I and two lady friends whowere with us that evening--quite late (after ten o'clock) apparentlymoving about in the pantry. "John, " I called, "is that you?" "Yes, Minn, " he answered, quietly enough, I admit. "What are you doing there?"I asked. "Looking for something to eat, " he said. "John, " I said, "youare forgetting what is due to me as your wife. You were fed at six. Goback. "

He went. But yet I felt more and more that his love must be dwindling tomake him act as he did. I thought it all over wearily enough and askedmyself whether I had done everything I should to hold my husband's love. I had kept him in at nights. I had cut down his smoking. I had stoppedhis playing cards. What more was there that I could do?

 * * * * *

So at last the conviction came to me that I must go away. I felt that Imust get away somewhere and think things out. At first I thought of PalmBeach, but the season had not opened and I felt somehow that I couldn'twait. I wanted to get away somewhere by myself and just face things asthey were. So one morning I said to John, "John, I think I'd like to gooff somewhere for a little time, just to be by myself, dear, and I don'twant you to ask to come with me or to follow me, but just let me go. "John said, "All right, Minn. When are you going to start?" The coldbrutality of it cut me to the heart, and I went upstairs and had a goodcry and looked over steamship and railroad folders. I thought of Havanafor a while, because the pictures of the harbour and the castle and thequeer Spanish streets looked so attractive, but then I was afraid thatat Havana a woman alone by herself might be simply persecuted byattentions from gentlemen. They say the Spanish temperament is somethingfearful. So I decided on Bermuda instead. I felt that in a beautiful, quiet place like Bermuda I could think everything all over and facethings, and it said on the folder that there were always at least twoEnglish regiments in garrison there, and the English officers, whatevertheir faults, always treat a woman with the deepest respect. 

So I said nothing more to John, but in the next few days I got all myarrangements made and my things packed. And when the last afternoon cameI sat down and wrote John a long letter, to leave on my boudoir table, telling him that I had gone to Bermuda. I told him that I wanted to bealone: I said that I couldn't tell when I would be back--that it mightbe months, or it might be years, and I hoped that he would try to be ashappy as he could and forget me entirely, and to send me money on thefirst of every month. 

 * * * * *

Well, it was just at that moment that one of those strange coincidenceshappen, little things in themselves, but which seem to alter the wholecourse of a person's life. I had nearly finished the letter to John thatI was to leave on the writing-desk, when just then the maid came up tomy room with a telegram. It was for John, but I thought it my duty toopen it and read it for him before I left. And I nearly fainted when Isaw that it was from a lawyer in Bermuda--of all places--and it saidthat a legacy of two hundred thousand dollars had been left to John byan uncle of his who had died there, and asking for instructions aboutthe disposition of it. 

A great wave seemed to sweep over me, and all the wicked thoughts thathad been in my mind--for I saw now that they _were_ wicked--were drivenclean away. I thought how completely lost poor old John would feel ifall this money came to him and he didn't have to work any more and hadno one at his side to help and guide him in using it. 

I tore up the wicked letter I had written, and I hurried as fast as Icould to pack up a valise with John's things (my own were packedalready, as I said). Then presently John came in, and I broke the newsto him as gently and as tenderly as I could about his uncle having lefthim the money and having died. I told him that I had found out allabout the trains and the Bermuda steamer, and had everything all packedand ready for us to leave at once. John seemed a little dazed about itall, and kept saying that his uncle had taught him to play tennis whenhe was a little boy, and he was very grateful and thankful to me forhaving everything arranged, and thought it wonderful. 

I had time to telephone to a few of my women friends, and they justmanaged to rush round for a few minutes to say good-bye. I couldn't helpcrying a little when I told them about John's uncle dying so far awaywith none of us near him, and I told them about the legacy, and theycried a little to hear of it all; and when I told them that John and Imight not come back direct from Bermuda, but might take a run over toEurope first, they all cried some more. 

We left for New York that evening, and after we had been to Bermuda andarranged about a suitable monument for John's uncle and collected themoney, we sailed for Europe. 

All through the happy time that has followed, I like to think thatthrough all our trials and difficulties affliction brought us safelytogether at last. 

III

THE SPLIT IN THE CABINET

OR, THE FATE OF ENGLAND

(_A political novel of the Days that Were_)

_III. --The Split in the Cabinet; or, The Fate of England. _

CHAPTER I

"The fate of England hangs upon it, " murmured Sir John Elphinspoon, ashe sank wearily into an armchair. For a moment, as he said "England, "the baronet's eye glistened and his ears lifted as if in defiance, butas soon as he stopped saying it his eye lost its brilliance and his earsdropped wearily at the sides of his head. 

Lady Elphinspoon looked at her husband anxiously. She could not concealfrom herself that his face, as he sank into his chair, seemed somehowten years older than it had been ten years ago. 

"You are home early, John?" she queried. 

"The House rose early, my dear, " said the baronet. 

"For the All England Ping-Pong match?"

"No, for the Dog Show. The Prime Minister felt that the Cabinet ought toattend. He said that their presence there would help to bind thecolonies to us. I understand also that he has a pup in the show himself. He took the Cabinet with him. "

"And why not you?" asked Lady Elphinspoon. 

"You forget, my dear, " said the baronet, "as Foreign Secretary mypresence at a Dog Show might be offensive to the Shah of Persia. Had itbeen a Cat Show----"

The baronet paused and shook his head in deep gloom. 

"John, " said his wife, "I feel that there is something more. Didanything happen at the House?"

Sir John nodded. 

"A bad business, " he said. "The Wazuchistan Boundary Bill was read thisafternoon for the third time. "

No woman in England, so it was generally said, had a keener politicalinsight than Lady Elphinspoon. 

"The third time, " she repeated thoughtfully, "and how many more will ithave to go?"

Sir John turned his head aside and groaned. 

"You are faint, " exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon, "let me ring for tea. "

The baronet shook his head. 

"An egg, John--let me beat you up an egg. "

"Yes, yes, " murmured Sir John, still abstracted, "beat it, yes, do beatit. "

Lady Elphinspoon, in spite of her elevated position as the wife of theForeign Secretary of Great Britain, held it not beneath her to performfor her husband the plainest household service. She rang for an egg. Thebutler broke it for her into a tall goblet filled with old sherry, andthe noble lady, with her own hands, beat the stuff out of it. For theveteran politician, whose official duties rarely allowed him to eat, anegg was a sovereign remedy. Taken either in a goblet of sherry or in amug of rum, or in half a pint of whisky, it never failed to revive hisenergies. 

The effect of the egg was at once visible in the brightening of his eyeand the lengthening of his ears. 

"And now explain to me, " said his wife, "what has happened. What _is_this Boundary Bill?"

"We never meant it to pass, " said Sir John. "It was introduced only as asop to public opinion. It delimits our frontier in such a way as toextend our suzerainty over the entire desert of El Skrub. The Wazooshave claimed that this is their desert. The hill tribes are restless. Ifwe attempt to advance the Wazoos will rise. If we retire it deals a blowat our prestige. "

Lady Elphinspoon shuddered. Her long political training had taught herthat nothing was so fatal to England as to be hit in the prestige. 

"And on the other hand, " continued Sir John, "if we move sideways, theOhulîs, the mortal enemies of the Wazoos, will strike us in our rear. "

"In our rear!" exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon in a tone of pain. "Oh, John, we must go forward. Take another egg. "

"We cannot, " groaned the Foreign Secretary. "There are reasons which Icannot explain even to you, Caroline, reasons of State, which absolutelyprevent us from advancing into Wazuchistan. Our hands are tied. Meantimeif the Wazoos rise, it is all over with us. It will split the Cabinet. "

"Split the Cabinet!" repeated Lady Elphinspoon in alarm. She well knewthat next to a blow in the prestige the splitting of the Cabinet wasabout the worst thing that could happen to Great Britain. "Oh, John, they _must_ be held together at all costs. Can nothing be done?"

"Everything is being done that can be. The Prime Minister has them atthe Dog Show at this moment. To-night the Chancellor is taking them tomoving pictures. And to-morrow--it is a State secret, my dear, but itwill be very generally known in the morning--we have seats for them allat the circus. If we can hold them together all is well, but if theysplit we are undone. Meantime our difficulties increase. At the verypassage of the Bill itself a question was asked by one of the new labourmembers, a miner, my dear, a quite uneducated man----"

"Yes?" queried Lady Elphinspoon. 

"He asked the Colonial Secretary"--Sir John shuddered--"to tell himwhere Wazuchistan is. Worse than that, my dear, " added Sir John, "hedefied him to tell him where it is. "

"What did you do? Surely he has no right to information of that sort?"

"It was a close shave. Luckily the Whips saved us. They got theSecretary out of the House and rushed him to the British Museum. When hegot back he said that he would answer the question a month from Friday. We got a great burst of cheers, but it was a close thing. But stop, Imust speak at once with Powers. My despatch box, yes, here it is. Nowwhere is young Powers? There is work for him to do at once. "

"Mr. Powers is in the conservatory with Angela, " said Lady Elphinspoon. 

"With Angela!" exclaimed Sir John, while a slight shade of displeasureappeared upon his brow. "With Angela again! Do you think it quiteproper, my dear, that Powers should be so constantly with Angela?"

"John, " said his wife, "you forget, I think, who Mr. Powers is. I amsure that Angela knows too well what is due to her rank, and to herself, to consider Mr. Powers anything more than an instructive companion. AndI notice that, since Mr. Powers has been your secretary, Angela's mindis much keener. Already the girl has a wonderful grasp on foreignpolicy. Only yesterday I heard her asking the Prime Minister at luncheonwhether we intend to extend our Senegambian protectorate over theFusees. He was delighted. "

"Oh, very well, very well, " said Sir John. Then he rang a bell for amanservant. 

"Ask Mr. Powers, " he said, "to be good enough to attend me in thelibrary. "

CHAPTER II

Angela Elphinspoon stood with Perriton Powers among the begonias of theconservatory. The same news which had so agitated Sir John lay heavy onboth their hearts. 

"Will the Wazoo rise?" asked Angela, clasping her hands before her, while her great eyes sought the young man's face and found it. "Oh, Mr. Powers! Tell me, will they rise? It seems too dreadful to contemplate. Do you think the Wazoo will rise?"

"It is only too likely, " said Powers. They stood looking into oneanother's eyes, their thoughts all on the Wazoo. 

Angelina Elphinspoon, as she stood there against the background of thebegonias, made a picture that a painter, or even a plumber, would haveloved. Tall and typically English in her fair beauty, her features, inrepose, had something of the hauteur and distinction of her mother, andwhen in motion they recalled her father. 

Perriton Powers was even taller than Angela. The splendid frame andstern features of Sir John's secretary made him a striking figure. Yethe was, quite frankly, sprung from the people, and made no secret of it. His father had been simply a well-to-do London surgeon, who had beenknighted for some mere discoveries in science. His grandfather, so itwas whispered, had been nothing more than a successful banker who hadamassed a fortune simply by successful banking. Yet at Oxford youngPowers had carried all before him. He had occupied a seat, a front seat, in one of the boats, had got his blue and his pink, and had taken adouble final in Sanscrit and Arithmetic. 

He had already travelled widely in the East, spoke Urdu and Hoodoo withfacility, while as secretary to Sir John Elphinspoon, with a seat in theHouse in prospect, he had his foot upon the ladder of success. 

"Yes, " repeated Powers thoughtfully, "they may rise. Our confidentialdespatches tell us that for some time they have been secretly passinground packets of yeast. The whole tribe is in a ferment. "

"But our sphere of influence is at stake, " exclaimed Angela. 

"It is, " said Powers. "As a matter of fact, for over a year we have beenliving on a mere _modus vivendi_. "

"Oh, Mr. Powers, " cried Angela, "what a way to live. "

"We have tried everything, " said the secretary. "We offered the Wazoo acondominium over the desert of El Skrub. They refused it. "

"But it's our desert, " said Angela proudly. 

"It is. But what can we do? The best we can hope is that El Boob willacquiesce in the _status quo_. "

At that moment a manservant appeared in the doorway of the conservatory. 

"Mr. Powers, sir, " he said, "Sir John desires your attendance, sir, inthe library, sir. "

Powers turned to Angela, a new seriousness upon his face. 

"Miss Elphinspoon, " he said, "I think I know what is coming. Will youwait for me here? I shall be back in half an hour. "

"I will wait, " said the girl. She sat down and waited among thebegonias, her mind still on the Wazoo, her whole intense nature strungto the highest pitch. "Can the _modus vivendi_ hold?" she murmured. 

In half an hour Powers returned. He was wearing now his hat and lightovercoat, and carried on a strap round his neck a tin box with a whitepainted label, "_British Foreign Office. Confidential Despatches. ThisSide Up With Care. _"

"Miss Elphinspoon, " he said, and there was a new note in his voice, "Angela, I leave England to-night----"

"To-night!" gasped Angela. 

"On a confidential mission. "

"To Wazuchistan!" exclaimed the girl. 

Powers paused a moment. "To Wazuchistan, " he said, "yes. But it must notbe known. I shall return in a month--or never. If I fail"--he spoke withan assumed lightness--"it is only one more grave among the hills. If Isucceed, the Cabinet is saved, and with it the destiny of England. "

"Oh, Mr. Powers, " cried Angela, rising and advancing towards him, "howsplendid! How noble! No reward will be too great for you. "

"My reward, " said Powers, and as he spoke he reached out and claspedboth of the girl's hands in his own, "yes, my reward. May I come andclaim it here?"

For a moment he looked straight into her eyes. In the next he was gone, and Angela was alone. 

"His reward!" she murmured. "What could he have meant? His reward thathe is to claim. What can it be?"

But she could not divine it. She admitted to herself that she had notthe faintest idea. 

CHAPTER III

In the days that followed all England was thrilled to its base as thenews spread that the Wazoo might rise at any moment. 

"Will the Wazoos rise?" was the question upon every lip. 

In London men went to their offices with a sense of gloom. At lunch theycould hardly eat. A feeling of impending disaster pervaded all ranks. 

Sir John as he passed to and fro to the House was freely accosted in thestreets. 

"Will the Wazoos rise, sir?" asked an honest labourer. "Lord help usall, sir, if they do. "

Sir John, deeply touched, dropped a shilling in the honest fellow's hat, by accident. 

At No. 10 Downing Street, women of the working class, with children intheir arms, stood waiting for news. 

On the Exchange all was excitement. Consols fell two points intwenty-four hours. Even raising the Bank rate and shutting the doorbrought only a temporary relief. 

Lord Glump, the greatest financial expert in London, was reported assaying that if the Wazoos rose England would be bankrupt in forty-eighthours. 

Meanwhile, to the consternation of the whole nation, the Government didnothing. The Cabinet seemed to be paralysed. 

On the other hand the Press became all the more clamorous. The London_Times_ urged that an expedition should be sent at once. Twenty-fivethousand household troops, it argued, should be sent up the Euphrates orup the Ganges or up something without delay. If they were taken in flatboats, carried over the mountains on mules, and lifted across the riversin slings, they could then be carried over the desert on jackasses. Theycould reach Wazuchistan in two years. Other papers counselledmoderation. The _Manchester Guardian_ recalled the fact that the Wazooswere a Christian people. Their leader, El Boob, so it was said, hadaccepted Christianity with childlike simplicity and had asked if therewas any more of it. The _Spectator_ claimed that the Wazoos, or moreproperly the Wazi, were probably the descendants of an Iranic or perhapsUrgumic stock. It suggested the award of a Rhodes Scholarship. It lookedforward to the days when there would be Wazoos at Oxford. Even thepresence of a single Wazoo, or, more accurately, a single Wooz, wouldhelp. 

With each day the news became more ominous. It was reported in the Pressthat a Wazoo, inflamed apparently with _ghee_, or perhaps with _bhong_, had rushed up to the hills and refused to come down. It was said thatthe Shriek-el-Foozlum, the religious head of the tribe, had torn off hissuspenders and sent them to Mecca. 

That same day the _Illustrated London News_ published a drawing "WazooWarriors Crossing a River and Shouting, Ho!" and the generalconsternation reached its height. 

Meantime, for Sir John and his colleagues, the question of the hourbecame, "Could the Cabinet be held together?" Every effort was made. Thenews that the Cabinet had all been seen together at the circus, for amoment reassured the nation. But the rumour spread that the First Lordof the Admiralty had said that the clowns were a bum lot. The RadicalPress claimed that if he thought so he ought to resign. 

On the fatal Friday the question already referred to was scheduled forits answer. The friends of the Government counted on the answer torestore confidence. To the consternation of all, the expected answer wasnot forthcoming. The Colonial Secretary rose in his place, visiblynervous. Ministers, he said, had been asked where Wazuchistan was. Theywere not prepared, at the present delicate stage of negotiations, tosay. More hung upon the answer than Ministers were entitled to divulge. They could only appeal to the patriotism of the nation. He could onlysay this, that _wherever_ it was, and he used the word _wherever_ withall the emphasis of which he was capable, the Government would acceptthe full responsibility for its being where it was. 

The House adjourned in something like confusion. 

Among those seated behind the grating of the Ladies' Gallery was LadyElphinspoon. Her quick instinct told her the truth. Driving home, shefound her husband seated, crushed, in his library. 

"John, " she said, falling on her knees and taking her husband's handsin hers, "is this true? Is this the dreadful truth?"

"I see you have divined it, Caroline, " said the statesman sadly. "It isthe truth. We don't know where Wazuchistan is. "

For a moment there was silence. 

"But, John, how could it have happened?"

"We thought the Colonial Office knew. We were confident that they knew. The Colonial Secretary had stated that he had been there. Later on itturned out that he meant Saskatchewan. Of course they thought _we_ knew. And we both thought that the Exchequer must know. We understood thatthey had collected a hut tax for ten years. "

"And hadn't they?"

"Not a penny. The Wazoos live in tents. "

"But, surely, " pleaded Lady Elphinspoon, "you could find out. Had you nomaps?"

Sir John shook his head. 

"We thought of that at once, my dear. We've looked all through theBritish Museum. Once we thought we had succeeded. But it turned out tobe Wisconsin. "

"But the map in the _Times_? Everybody saw it. "

Again the baronet shook his head. "Lord Southcliff had it made in theoffice, " he said. "It appears that he always does. Otherwise thephysical features might not suit him. "

"But could you not send some one to see?"

"We did. We sent Perriton Powers to find out where it was. We had amonth to the good. It was barely time, just time. Powers has failed andwe are lost. To-morrow all England will guess the truth and theGovernment falls. "

CHAPTER IV

The crowd outside of No. 10 Downing Street that evening was so densethat all traffic was at a standstill. But within the historic room wherethe Cabinet were seated about the long table all was calm. Few couldhave guessed from the quiet demeanour of the group of statesmen that thefate of an Empire hung by a thread. 

Seated at the head of the table, the Prime Minister was quietly lookingover a book of butterflies, while waiting for the conference to begin. Beside him the Secretary for Ireland was fixing trout flies, while theChancellor of the Exchequer kept his serene face bent over upon hisneedlework. At the Prime Minister's right, Sir John Elphinspoon, nolonger agitated, but sustained and dignified by the responsibility ofhis office, was playing spillikins. 

The little clock on the mantel chimed eight. 

The Premier closed his book of butterflies. 

"Well, gentlemen, " he said, "I fear our meeting will not be a protractedone. It seems we are hopelessly at variance. You, Sir Charles, " hecontinued, turning to the First Sea Lord, who was in attendance, "arestill in favour of a naval expedition?"

"Send it up at once, " said Sir Charles. 

"Up where?" asked the Premier. 

"Up anything, " answered the Old Sea Dog, "it will get there. "

Voices of dissent were raised in undertones around the table. 

"I strongly deprecate any expedition, " said the Chancellor of theExchequer, "I favour a convention with the Shriek. Let the Shriek sign aconvention recognizing the existence of a supreme being and receivingfrom us a million sterling in acknowledgment. "

"And where will you _find_ the Shriek?" said the Prime Minister. "Come, come, gentlemen, I fear that we can play this comedy no longer. Thetruth is, " he added with characteristic nonchalance, "we don't knowwhere the bally place is. We can't meet the House to-morrow. We arehopelessly split. Our existence as a Government is at an end. "

But, at that very moment, a great noise of shouting and clamour rosefrom the street without. The Prime Minister lifted his hand for silence. "Listen, " he said. One of the Ministers went to a window and opened it, and the cries outside became audible. "A King's Messenger! Make way forthe King's Messenger!"

The Premier turned quietly to Sir John. 

"Perriton Powers, " he said. 

In another moment Perriton Powers stood before the Ministers. 

Bronzed by the tropic sun, his face was recognizable only by the assuredglance of his eye. An Afghan _bernous_ was thrown back from his head andshoulders, while his commanding figure was draped in a long _chibuok_. Apair of pistols and a curved _yasmak_ were in his belt. 

"So you got to Wazuchistan all right, " said the Premier quietly. 

"I went in by way of the Barooda, " said Powers. "For many days I wasunable to cross it. The waters of the river were wild and swollen withrains. To cross it seemed certain death----"

"But at last you got over, " said the Premier, "and then----"

"I struck out over the Fahuri desert. For days and days, blinded by thesun, and almost buried in sand, I despaired. "

"But you got through it all right. And after that?"

"My first care was to disguise myself. Staining myself from head tofoot with betel nut----"

"To look like a beetle, " said the Premier. "Exactly. And so you got toWazuchistan. Where is it and what is it?"

"My lord, " said Powers, drawing himself up and speaking with emphasis, "I got to where it was thought to be. There is no such place!"

The whole Cabinet gave a start of astonishment. 

"No such place!" they repeated. 

"What about El Boob?" asked the Chancellor. 

"There is no such person. "

"And the Shriek-el-Foozlum?"

Powers shook his head. 

"But do you mean to say, " said the Premier in astonishment, "that thereare no Wazoos? There you _must_ be wrong. True we don't just know wherethey are. But our despatches have shown too many signs of active troubletraced directly to the Wazoos to disbelieve in them. There are Wazoossomewhere, there--there _must_ be. "

"The Wazoos, " said Powers, "are there. But they are Irish. So are theOhulîs. They are both Irish. "

"But how the devil did they get out there?" questioned the Premier. "Andwhy did they make the trouble?"

"The Irish, my lord, " interrupted the Chief Secretary for Ireland, "areeverywhere, and it is their business to make trouble. "

"Some years ago, " continued Powers, "a few Irish families settled outthere. The Ohulîs should be properly called the O'Hooleys. The wordWazoo is simply the Urdu for McGinnis. El Boob is the Urdu for theArabic El Papa, the Pope. It was my knowledge of Urdu, itself anagglutinative language----"

"Precisely, " said the Premier. Then he turned to his Cabinet. "Well, gentlemen, our task is now simplified. If they are Irish, I think weknow exactly what to do. I suppose, " he continued, turning to Powers, "that they want some kind of Home Rule. "

"They do, " said Powers. 

"Separating, of course, the Ohulî counties from the Wazoo?"

"Yes, " said Powers. 

"Precisely; the thing is simplicity itself. And what contribution willthey make to the Imperial Exchequer?"

"None. "

"And will they pay their own expenses?"

"They refuse to. "

"Exactly. All this is plain sailing. Of course they must have aconstabulary. Lord Edward, " continued the Premier, turning now to theSecretary of War, "how long will it take to send in a couple of hundredconstabulary? I think they'll expect it, you know. It's their right. "

"Let me see, " said Lord Edward, calculating quickly, with militaryprecision, "sending them over the Barooda in buckets and then over themountains in baskets--I think in about two weeks. "

"Good, " said the Premier. "Gentlemen, we shall meet the House to-morrow. Sir John, will you meantime draft us an annexation bill? And you, youngman, what you have done is really not half bad. His Majesty will see youto-morrow. I am glad that you are safe. "

"On my way home, " said Powers, with quiet modesty, "I was attacked by alion----"

"But you beat it off, " said the Premier. "Exactly. Good night. "

CHAPTER V

It was on the following afternoon that Sir John Elphinspoon presentedthe Wazoo Annexation Bill to a crowded and breathless House. 

Those who know the House of Commons know that it has its moods. At timesit is grave, earnest, thoughtful. At other times it is swept withemotion which comes at it in waves. Or at times, again, it just seems tosit there as if it were stuffed. 

But all agreed that they had never seen the House so hushed as when SirJohn Elphinspoon presented his Bill for the Annexation of Wazuchistan. And when at the close of a splendid peroration he turned to pay agraceful compliment to the man who had saved the nation, and thunderedforth to the delighted ears of his listeners--

 _Arma virumque cano Wazoo qui primus ab oris_, and then, with the words "England, England, " still on his lips, fellover backwards and was carried out on a stretcher, the House broke intowild and unrestrained applause. 

CHAPTER VI

The next day Sir Perriton Powers--for the King had knighted him afterbreakfast--stood again in the conservatory of the house in CarltonTerrace. 

"I have come for my reward, " he said. "Do I get it?"

"You do, " said Angela. 

Sir Perriton clasped her in his arms. 

"On my way home, " he said, "I was attacked by a lion. I tried to beatit----"

"Hush, dearest, " she whispered, "let me take you to father. "

IV

WHO DO YOU THINK DID IT?

OR, THE MIXED-UP MURDER MYSTERY

(_Done after the very latest fashion in this sort of thing_)

_IV. --Who Do You Think Did It? or, The Mixed-Up Murder Mystery. _

_NOTE. --Any reader who guesses correctly who did it is entitled (in allfairness) to a beautiful gold watch and chain. _

CHAPTER I

HE DINED WITH ME LAST NIGHT

The afternoon edition of the _Metropolitan Planet_ was going to press. Five thousand copies a minute were reeling off its giant cylinders. Asquare acre of paper was passing through its presses every hour. In thehuge _Planet_ building, which dominated Broadway, employés, compositors, reporters, advertisers, surged to and fro. Placed in a single line(only, of course, they wouldn't be likely to consent to it) they wouldhave reached across Manhattan Island. Placed in two lines, they wouldprobably have reached twice as far. Arranged in a procession they wouldhave taken an hour in passing a saloon: easily that. 

In the whole vast building all was uproar. Telephones, megaphones andgramophones were ringing throughout the building. Elevators flew up anddown, stopping nowhere. 

Only in one place was quiet--namely, in the room where sat the big manon whose capacious intellect the whole organization depended. 

Masterman Throgton, the general manager of the _Planet_, was a man inmiddle life. There was something in his massive frame which suggestedmassiveness, and a certain quality in the poise of his great head whichindicated a balanced intellect. His face was impenetrable and hisexpression imponderable. 

The big chief was sitting in his swivel chair with ink all round him. Through this man's great brain passed all the threads and filaments thatheld the news of a continent. Snap one, and the whole continent wouldstop. 

At the moment when our story opens (there was no sense in opening itsooner), a written message had just been handed in. 

The Chief read it. He seemed to grasp its contents in a flash. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed. It was the strongest expression that thissolid, self-contained, semi-detached man ever allowed himself. Anythingstronger would have seemed too near to profanity. "Good God!" herepeated, "Kivas Kelly murdered! In his own home! Why, he dined with melast night! I drove him home!"

For a brief moment the big man remained plunged in thought. But withThrogton the moment of musing was short. His instinct was to act. 

"You may go, " he said to the messenger. Then he seized the telephonethat stood beside him (this man could telephone almost without stoppingthinking) and spoke into it in quiet, measured tones, without wasting aword. 

"Hullo, operator! Put me through to two, two, two, two, two. Is thattwo, two, two, two, two? Hullo, two, two, two, two, two; I wantTransome Kent. Kent speaking? Kent, this is Throgton speaking. Kent, amurder has been committed at the Kelly residence, Riverside Drive. Iwant you to go and cover it. Get it all. Don't spare expense. The_Planet_ is behind you. Have you got car-fare? Right. "

In another moment the big chief had turned round in his swivel chair (atleast forty degrees) and was reading telegraphic despatches fromJerusalem. That was the way he did things. 

CHAPTER II

I MUST SAVE HER LIFE

Within a few minutes Transome Kent had leapt into a car (a surface car)and was speeding north towards Riverside Drive with the full power ofthe car. As he passed uptown a newsboy was already calling, "Club ManMurdered! Another Club Man Murdered!" Carelessly throwing a cent to theboy, Kent purchased a paper and read the brief notice of the tragedy. 

Kivas Kelly, a well-known club man and _bon vivant_, had been found deadin his residence on Riverside Drive, with every indication--or, atleast, with a whole lot of indications--of murder. The unhappy club manhad been found, fully dressed in his evening clothes, lying on his backon the floor of the billiard-room, with his feet stuck up on the edge ofthe table. A narrow black scarf, presumably his evening tie, was twistedtightly about his neck by means of a billiard cue inserted in it. Therewas a quiet smile upon his face. He had apparently died fromstrangulation. A couple of bullet-holes passed through his body, one oneach side, but they went out again. His suspenders were burst at theback. His hands were folded across his chest. One of them still held awhite billiard ball. There was no sign of a struggle or of anydisturbance in the room. A square piece of cloth was missing from thevictim's dinner jacket. 

In its editorial columns the same paper discussed the more generalaspects of the murder. This, it said, was the third club man murdered inthe last fortnight. While not taking an alarmist view, the paper feltthat the killing of club men had got to stop. There was a limit, areasonable limit, to everything. Why should a club man be killed? Itmight be asked, why should a club man live? But this was hardly to thepoint. They do live. After all, to be fair, what does a club man ask ofsociety? Not much. Merely wine, women and singing. Why not let him havethem? Is it fair to kill him? Does the gain to literature outweigh thesocial wrong? The writer estimated that at the rate of killing now goingon the club men would be all destroyed in another generation. Somethingshould be done to conserve them. 

Transome Kent was not a detective. He was a reporter. After sweepingeverything at Harvard in front of him, and then behind him, he hadjoined the staff of the _Planet_ two months before. His rise had beenphenomenal. In his first week of work he had unravelled a mystery, inhis second he had unearthed a packing scandal which had poisoned thefood of the entire nation for ten years, and in his third he hadpitilessly exposed some of the best and most respectable people in themetropolis. Kent's work on the _Planet_ consisted now almost exclusivelyof unravelling and unearthing, and it was natural that the managershould turn to him. 

The mansion was a handsome sandstone residence, standing in its owngrounds. On Kent's arrival he found that the police had already drawn acordon around it with cords. Groups of morbid curiosity-seekers hungabout it in twos and threes, some of them in fours and fives. Policemenwere leaning against the fence in all directions. They wore that baffledlook so common to the detective force of the metropolis. "It seems tome, " remarked one of them to the man beside him, "that there is aninexorable chain of logic about this that I am unable to follow. " "So doI, " said the other. 

The Chief Inspector of the Detective Department, a large, heavy-lookingman, was standing beside a gate-post. He nodded gloomily to TransomeKent. 

"Are you baffled, Edwards?" asked Kent. 

"Baffled again, Mr. Kent, " said the Inspector, with a sob in his voice. "I thought I could have solved this one, but I can't. "

He passed a handkerchief across his eyes. 

"Have a cigar, Chief, " said Kent, "and let me hear what the trouble is. "

The Inspector brightened. Like all policemen, he was simply crazy overcigars. "All right, Mr. Kent, " he said, "wait till I chase away themorbid curiosity-seekers. "

He threw a stick at them. 

"Now, then, " continued Kent, "what about tracks, footmarks? Had youthought of them?"

"Yes, first thing. The whole lawn is covered with them, all stampeddown. Look at these, for instance. These are the tracks of a man with awooden leg"--Kent nodded--"in all probability a sailor, newly landedfrom Java, carrying a Singapore walking-stick, and with a tin-whistletied round his belt. "

"Yes, I see that, " said Kent thoughtfully. "The weight of the whistleweighs him down a little on the right side. "

"Do you think, Mr. Kent, a sailor from Java with a wooden leg wouldcommit a murder like this?" asked the Inspector eagerly. "Would he doit?"

"He would, " said the Investigator. "They generally do--as soon as theyland. "

The Inspector nodded. "And look at these marks here, Mr. Kent. Yourecognize them, surely--those are the footsteps of a bar-keeper out ofemployment, waiting for the eighteenth amendment to pass away. See howdeeply they sink in----"

"Yes, " said Kent, "he'd commit murder. "

"There are lots more, " continued the Inspector, "but they're no good. The morbid curiosity-seekers were walking all over this place while wewere drawing the cordon round it. "

"Stop a bit, " said Kent, pausing to think a moment. "What aboutthumb-prints?"

"Thumb-prints, " said the Inspector. "Don't mention them. The house isfull of them. "

"Any thumb-prints of Italians with that peculiar incurvature of the ballof the thumb that denotes a Sicilian brigand?"

"There were three of those, " said Inspector Edwards gloomily. "No, Mr. Kent, the thumb stuff is no good. "

Kent thought again. 

"Inspector, " he said, "what about mysterious women? Have you seen anyaround?"

"Four went by this morning, " said the Inspector, "one at eleven-thirty, one at twelve-thirty, and two together at one-thirty. At least, " headded sadly, "I think they were mysterious. All women look mysterious tome. "

"I must try in another direction, " said Kent. "Let me reconstruct thewhole thing. I must weave a chain of analysis. Kivas Kelly was abachelor, was he not?"

"He was. He lived alone here. "

"Very good, I suppose he had in his employ a butler who had been withhim for twenty years----"

Edwards nodded. 

"I suppose you've arrested him?"

"At once, " said the Inspector. "We always arrest the butler, Mr. Kent. They expect it. In fact, this man, Williams, gave himself up at once. "

"And let me see, " continued the Investigator. "I presume there was ahousekeeper who lived on the top floor, and who had been stone deaf forten years?"

"Precisely. "

"She had heard nothing during the murder?"

"Not a thing. But this may have been on account of her deafness. "

"True, true, " murmured Kent. "And I suppose there was a coachman, athoroughly reliable man, who lived with his wife at the back of thehouse----"

"But who had taken his wife over to see a relation on the night of themurder, and who did not return until an advanced hour. Mr. Kent, we'vebeen all over that. There's nothing in it. "

"Were there any other persons belonging to the establishment?"

"There was Mr. Kelly's stenographer, Alice Delary, but she only came inthe mornings. "

"Have you seen her?" asked Kent eagerly. "What is she like?"

"I have seen her, " said the Inspector. "She's a looloo. "

"Ha, " said Kent, "a looloo!" The two men looked into one another's eyes. 

"Yes, " repeated Edwards thoughtfully, "a peach. "

A sudden swift flash of intuition, an inspiration, leapt into the youngreporter's brain. 

This girl, this peach, at all hazards he must save her life. 

CHAPTER III

I MUST BUY A BOOK ON BILLIARDS

Kent turned to the Inspector. "Take me into the house, " he said. Edwardsled the way. The interior of the handsome mansion seemed undisturbed. "Isee no sign of a struggle here, " said Kent. 

"No, " answered the Inspector gloomily. "We can find no sign of astruggle anywhere. But, then, we never do. "

He opened for the moment the door of the stately drawing-room. "No signof a struggle there, " he said. The closed blinds, the draped furniture, the covered piano, the muffled chandelier, showed absolutely no sign ofa struggle. 

"Come upstairs to the billiard-room, " said Edwards. "The body has beenremoved for the inquest, but nothing else is disturbed. "

They went upstairs. On the second floor was the billiard-room, with agreat English table in the centre of it. But Kent had at once dashedacross to the window, an exclamation on his lips. "Ha! ha!" he said, "what have we here?"

The Inspector shook his head quietly. "The window, " he said in amonotonous, almost sing-song tone, "has apparently been opened from theoutside, the sash being lifted with some kind of a sharp instrument. Thedust on the sill outside has been disturbed as if by a man ofextraordinary agility lying on his stomach----Don't bother about that, Mr. Kent. It's _always_ there. "

"True, " said Kent. Then he cast his eyes upward, and again aninvoluntary exclamation broke from him. "Did you see that trap-door?" heasked. 

"We did, " said Edwards. "The dust around the rim has been disturbed. Thetrap opens into the hollow of the roof. A man of extraordinary dexteritymight open the trap with a billiard cue, throw up a fine manila rope, climb up the rope and lie there on his stomach. 

"No use, " continued the Inspector. "For the matter of that, look at thishuge old-fashioned fireplace. A man of extraordinary precocity couldclimb up the chimney. Or this dumb-waiter on a pulley, for servingdrinks, leading down into the maids' quarters. A man of extremeindelicacy might ride up and down in it. "

"Stop a minute, " said Kent. "What is the meaning of that hat?"

A light gossamer hat, gay with flowers, hung on a peg at the side of theroom. 

"We thought of that, " said Edwards, "and we have left it there. Whoevercomes for that hat has had a hand in the mystery. We think----"

But Transome Kent was no longer listening. He had seized the edge of thebilliard table. 

"Look, look!" he cried eagerly. "The clue to the mystery! The positionsof the billiard balls! The white ball in the very centre of the table, and the red just standing on the verge of the end pocket! What does itmean, Edwards, what does it mean?"

He had grasped Edwards by the arm and was peering into his face. 

"I don't know, " said the Inspector. "I don't play billiards. "

"Neither do I, " said Kent, "but I can find out. Quick! The nearestbook-store. I must buy a book on billiards. "

With a wave of the arm, Kent vanished. 

The Inspector stood for a moment in thought. 

"Gone!" he murmured to himself (it was his habit to murmur all reallyimportant speeches aloud to himself). "Now, why did Throgton telephoneto me to put a watch on Kent? Ten dollars a day to shadow him! Why?"

CHAPTER IV

THAT IS NOT BILLIARD CHALK

Meantime at the _Planet_ office Masterman Throgton was putting on hiscoat to go home. 

"Excuse me, sir, " said an employé, "there's a lot of green billiardchalk on your sleeve. "

Throgton turned and looked the man full in the eye. 

"That is not billiard chalk, " he said, "it is face powder. "

Saying which this big, imperturbable, self-contained man stepped intothe elevator and went to the ground floor in one drop. 

CHAPTER V

HAS ANYBODY HERE SEEN KELLY?

The inquest upon the body of Kivas Kelly was held upon the followingday. Far from offering any solution of what had now become anunfathomable mystery, it only made it deeper still. The medicaltestimony, though given by the most distinguished consulting expert ofthe city, was entirely inconclusive. The body, the expert testified, showed evident marks of violence. There was a distinct lesion of theoesophagus and a decided excoriation of the fibula. The mesodenum wasgibbous. There was a certain quantity of flab in the binomium and theproscenium was wide open. 

One striking fact, however, was decided from the testimony of theexpert, namely, that the stomach of the deceased was found to containhalf a pint of arsenic. On this point the questioning of the districtattorney was close and technical. Was it unusual, he asked, to findarsenic in the stomach? In the stomach of a club man, no. Was not halfa pint a large quantity? He would not say that. Was it a small quantity?He should not care to say that it was. Would half a pint of arseniccause death? Of a club man, no, not necessarily. That was all. 

The other testimony submitted to the inquest jury brought out variousfacts of a substantive character, but calculated rather to complicatethan to unravel the mystery. The butler swore that on the very day ofthe murder he had served his master a half-pint of arsenic at lunch. Buthe claimed that this was quite a usual happening with his master. Oncross-examination it appeared that he meant apollinaris. He was certain, however, that it was half a pint. The butler, it was shown, had been inKivas Kelly's employ for twenty years. 

The coachman, an Irishman, was closely questioned. He had been in Mr. Kelly's employ for three years--ever since his arrival from the oldcountry. Was it true that he had had, on the day of the murder, aviolent quarrel with his master? It was. Had he threatened to kill him?No. He had threatened to knock his block off, but not to kill him. 

The coroner looked at his notes. "Call Alice Delary, " he commanded. There was a deep sensation in the court as Miss Delary quietly steppedforward to her place in the witness-box. 

Tall, graceful and willowy, Alice Delary was in her first burst ofwomanhood. Those who looked at the beautiful girl realized that if herfirst burst was like this, what would the second, or the third be like?

The girl was trembling, and evidently distressed, but she gave herevidence in a clear, sweet, low voice. She had been in Mr. Kelly'semploy three years. She was his stenographer. But she came only in themornings and always left at lunch-time. The question immediately askedby the jury--"Where did she generally have lunch?"--was disallowed bythe coroner. Asked by a member of the jury what system of shorthand sheused, she answered, "Pitman's. " Asked by another juryman whether sheever cared to go to moving pictures, she said that she wentoccasionally. This created a favourable impression. "Miss Delary, " saidthe district attorney, "I want to ask if it is your hat that was foundhanging in the billiard-room after the crime?"

"Don't you dare ask that girl that, " interrupted the magistrate. "MissDelary, you may step down. "

But the principal sensation of the day arose out of the evidence offeredby Masterman Throgton, general manager of the _Planet_. Kivas Kelly, hetestified, had dined with him at his club on the fateful evening. He hadafterwards driven him to his home. 

"When you went into the house with the deceased, " asked the districtattorney, "how long did you remain there with him?"

"That, " said Throgton quietly, "I must refuse to answer. "

"Would it incriminate you?" asked the coroner, leaning forward. 

"It might, " said Throgton. 

"Then you're perfectly right not to answer it, " said the coroner. "Don't ask him that any more. Ask something else. "

"Then did you, " questioned the attorney, turning to Throgton again, "play a game of billiards with the deceased?"

"Stop, stop, " said the coroner, "that question I can't allow. It's toodirect, too brutal; there's something about that question, somethingmean, dirty. Ask another. "

"Very good, " said the attorney. "Then tell me, Mr. Throgton, if you eversaw this blue envelope before?" He held up in his hand a long blueenvelope. 

"Never in my life, " said Throgton. 

"Of course he didn't, " said the coroner. "Let's have a look at it. Whatis it?"

"This envelope, your Honour, was found sticking out of the waistcoatpocket of the deceased. "

"You don't say, " said the coroner. "And what's in it?"

Amid breathless silence, the attorney drew forth a sheet of blue paper, bearing a stamp, and read:

"This is the last will and testament of me, Kivas Kelly of New York. Ileave everything of which I die possessed to my nephew, Peter Kelly. "

The entire room gasped. No one spoke. The coroner looked all around. "Has anybody here seen Kelly?" he asked. 

There was no answer. 

The coroner repeated the question. 

No one moved. 

"Mr. Coroner, " said the attorney, "it is my opinion that if Peter Kellyis found the mystery is fathomed. "

Ten minutes later the jury returned a verdict of murder against a personor persons unknown, adding that they would bet a dollar that Kelly didit. 

The coroner ordered the butler to be released, and directed the issue ofa warrant for the arrest of Peter Kelly. 

CHAPTER VI

SHOW ME THE MAN WHO WORE THOSE BOOTS

The remains of the unhappy club man were buried on the following day asreverently as those of a club man can be. None followed him to the graveexcept a few morbid curiosity-seekers, who rode on top of the hearse. 

The great city turned again to its usual avocations. The unfathomablemystery was dismissed from the public mind. 

Meantime Transome Kent was on the trail. Sleepless, almost foodless, andabsolutely drinkless, he was everywhere. He was looking for Peter Kelly. Wherever crowds were gathered, the Investigator was there, searching forKelly. In the great concourse of the Grand Central Station, Kent movedto and fro, peering into everybody's face. An official touched him onthe shoulder. "Stop peering into the people's faces, " he said. "I amunravelling a mystery, " Kent answered. "I beg your pardon, sir, " saidthe man, "I didn't know. "

Kent was here, and everywhere, moving ceaselessly, pro and con, watchingfor Kelly. For hours he stood beside the soda-water fountains examiningevery drinker as he drank. For three days he sat on the steps ofMasterman Throgton's home, disguised as a plumber waiting for a wrench. 

But still no trace of Peter Kelly. Young Kelly, it appeared, had livedwith his uncle until a little less than three years ago. Then suddenlyhe had disappeared. He had vanished, as a brilliant writer for the NewYork Press framed it, as if the earth had swallowed him up. 

Transome Kent, however, was not a man to be baffled by initial defeat. 

A week later, the Investigator called in at the office of InspectorEdwards. 

"Inspector, " he said, "I must have some more clues. Take me again to theKelly residence. I must re-analyse my first diæresis. "

Together the two friends went to the house. "It is inevitable, " saidKent, as they entered again the fateful billiard-room, "that we haveoverlooked something. "

"We always do, " said Edwards gloomily. 

"Now tell me, " said Kent, as they stood beside the billiard table, "whatis your own theory, the police theory, of this murder? Give me yourfirst theory first, and then go on with the others. "

"Our first theory, Mr. Kent, was that the murder was committed by asailor with a wooden leg, newly landed from Java. "

"Quite so, quite proper, " nodded Kent. 

"We knew that he was a sailor, " the Inspector went on, dropping againinto his sing-song monotone, "by the extraordinary agility needed toclimb up the thirty feet of bare brick wall to the window--a landsmancould not have climbed more than twenty; the fact that he was from theEast Indies we knew from the peculiar knot about his victim's neck. Weknew that he had a wooden leg----"

The Inspector paused and looked troubled. 

"We knew it. " He paused again. "I'm afraid I can't remember that one. "

"Tut, tut, " said Kent gently, "you knew it, Edwards, because when heleaned against the billiard table the impress of his hand on themahogany was deeper on one side than the other. The man was obviouslytop heavy. But you abandoned this first theory. "

"Certainly, Mr. Kent, we always do. Our second theory was----"

But Kent had ceased to listen. He had suddenly stooped down and pickedup something off the floor. 

"Ha ha!" he exclaimed. "What do you make of this?" He held up a squarefragment of black cloth. 

"We never saw it, " said Edwards. 

"Cloth, " muttered Kent, "the missing piece of Kivas Kelly's dinnerjacket. " He whipped out a magnifying glass. "Look, " he said, "it's beenstamped upon--by a man wearing hob-nailed boots--made in Ireland--a manof five feet nine and a half inches high----"

"One minute, Mr. Kent, " interrupted the Inspector, greatly excited, "Idon't quite get it. "

"The depth of the dint proves the lift of his foot, " said Kentimpatiently, "and the lift of the foot indicates at once the man'sheight. Edwards, find me the man who wore these boots and the mystery issolved!"

At that very moment a heavy step, unmistakably to the trained ear thatof a man in hob-nailed boots, was heard upon the stair. The door openedand a man stood hesitating in the doorway. 

Both Kent and Edwards gave a start, two starts, of surprise. 

The man was exactly five feet nine and a half inches high. He wasdressed in coachman's dress. His face was saturnine and evil. 

It was Dennis, the coachman of the murdered man. 

"If you're Mr. Kent, " he said, "there's a lady here asking for you. "

CHAPTER VII

OH, MR. KENT, SAVE ME!

In another moment an absolutely noiseless step was heard upon thestair. 

A young girl entered, a girl, tall, willowy and beautiful, in the firstburst, or just about the first burst, of womanhood. 

It was Alice Delary. 

She was dressed with extreme taste, but Kent's quick eye noted at oncethat she wore no hat. 

"Mr. Kent, " she cried, "you are Mr. Kent, are you not? They told me thatyou were here. Oh, Mr. Kent, help me, save me!"

She seemed to shudder into herself a moment. Her breath came and wentquickly. 

She reached out her two hands. 

"Calm yourself, my dear young lady, " said Kent, taking them. "Don't letyour breath come and go so much. Trust me. Tell me all. "

"Mr. Kent, " said Delary, regaining her control, but still trembling, "Iwant my hat. "

Kent let go the beautiful girl's hands. "Sit down, " he said. Then hewent across the room and fetched the hat, the light gossamer hat, withflowers in it, that still hung on a peg. 

"Oh, I am so glad to get it back, " cried the girl. "I can never thankyou enough. I was afraid to come for it. "

"It is all right, " said the Inspector. "The police theory was that itwas the housekeeper's hat. You are welcome to it. "

Kent had been looking closely at the girl before him. 

"You have more to say than that, " he said. "Tell me all. "

"Oh, I will, I will, Mr. Kent. That dreadful night! I was here. I saw, at least I heard it all. "

She shuddered. 

"Oh, Mr. Kent, it was dreadful! I had come back that evening to thelibrary to finish some work. I knew that Mr. Kelly was to dine out andthat I would be alone. I had been working quietly for some time when Ibecame aware of voices in the billiard-room. I tried not to listen, butthey seemed to be quarrelling, and I couldn't help hearing. Oh, Mr. Kent, was I wrong?"

"No, " said Kent, taking her hand a moment, "you were not. "

"I heard one say, 'Get your foot off the table, you've no right to putyour foot on the table. ' Then the other said, 'Well, you keep yourstomach off the cushion then. '" The girl shivered. "Then presently onesaid, quite fiercely, 'Get back into balk there, get back fifteeninches, ' and the other voice said, 'By God! I'll shoot from here. ' Thenthere was a dead stillness, and then a voice almost screamed, 'You'vepotted me. You've potted me. That ends it. ' And then I heard the othersay in a low tone, 'Forgive me, I didn't mean it. I never meant it toend that way. '

"I was so frightened, Mr. Kent, I couldn't stay any longer. I rusheddownstairs and ran all the way home. Then next day I read what hadhappened, and I knew that I had left my hat there, and was afraid. Oh, Mr. Kent, save me!"

"Miss Delary, " said the Investigator, taking again the girl's hands andlooking into her eyes, "you are safe. Tell me only one thing. The manwho played against Kivas Kelly--did you see him?"

"Only for one moment"--the girl paused--"through the keyhole. "

"What was he like?" asked Kent. "Had he an impenetrable face?"

"He had. "

"Was there anything massive about his face?"

"Oh, yes, yes, it was all massive. "

"Miss Delary, " said Kent, "this mystery is now on the brink of solution. When I have joined the last links of the chain, may I come and tell youall?"

She looked full in his face. 

"At any hour of the day or night, " she said, "you may come. "

Then she was gone. 

CHAPTER VIII

YOU ARE PETER KELLY

Within a few moments Kent was at the phone. 

"I want four, four, four, four. Is that four, four, four, four? Mr. Throgton's house? I want Mr. Throgton. Mr. Throgton speaking? Mr. Throgton, Kent speaking. The Riverside mystery is solved. "

Kent waited in silence a moment. Then he heard Throgton's voice--not anote in it disturbed:

"Has anybody found Kelly?"

"Mr. Throgton, " said Kent, and he spoke with a strange meaning in histone, "the story is a long one. Suppose I relate it to you"--he paused, and laid a peculiar emphasis on what followed--"_over a game ofbilliards_. "

"What the devil do you mean?" answered Throgton. 

"Let me come round to your house and tell the story. There are points init that I can best illustrate over a billiard table. Suppose I challengeyou to a fifty point game before I tell my story. "

It required no little hardihood to challenge Masterman Throgton atbilliards. His reputation at his club as a cool, determined player wassurpassed by few. Throgton had been known to run nine, ten, and eventwelve at a break. It was not unusual for him to drive his ball clearoff the table. His keen eye told him infallibly where each of the threeballs was; instinctively he knew which to shoot with. 

In Kent, however, he had no mean adversary. The young reporter, thoughhe had never played before, had studied his book to some purpose. Hisstrategy was admirable. Keeping his ball well under the shelter of thecushion, he eluded every stroke of his adversary, and in his turn causedhis ball to leap or dart across the table with such speed as to buryitself in the pocket at the side. 

The score advanced rapidly, both players standing precisely equal. Atthe end of the first half-hour it stood at ten all. Throgton, a grimlook upon his face, had settled down to work, playing with one knee onthe table. Kent, calm but alive with excitement, leaned well forward tohis stroke, his eye held within an inch of the ball. 

At fifteen they were still even. Throgton with a sudden effort forced abreak of three; but Kent rallied and in another twenty minutes they wereeven again at nineteen all. 

But it was soon clear that Transome Kent had something else in mind thanto win the game. Presently his opportunity came. With a masterly stroke, such as few trained players could use, he had potted his adversary'sball. The red ball was left over the very jaws of the pocket. The whitewas in the centre. 

Kent looked into Throgton's face. 

The balls were standing in the very same position on the table as on thenight of the murder. 

"I did that on purpose, " said Kent quietly. 

"What do you mean?" asked Throgton. 

"The position of those balls, " said Kent. "Mr. Throgton, come into thelibrary. I have something to say to you. You know already what it is. "

They went into the library. Throgton, his hand unsteady, lighted acigar. 

"Well, " he said, "what is it?"

"Mr. Throgton, " said Kent, "two weeks ago you gave me a mystery tosolve. To-night I can give you the solution. Do you want it?"

Throgton's face never moved. 

"Well, " he said. 

"A man's life, " Kent went on, "may be played out on a billiard table. Aman's soul, Throgton, may be pocketed. "

"What devil's foolery is this?" said Throgton. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that your crime is known--plotter, schemer that you are, you arefound out--hypocrite, traitor; yes, Masterman Throgton, or rather--letme give you your true name-_Peter Kelly_, murderer, I denounce you!"

Throgton never flinched. He walked across to where Kent stood, and withhis open palm he slapped him over the mouth. 

"Transome Kent, " he said, "you're a liar. "

Then he walked back to his chair and sat down. 

"Kent, " he continued, "from the first moment of your mock investigation, I knew who you were. Your every step was shadowed, your every movementdogged. Transome Kent--by your true name, _Peter Kelly_, murderer, Idenounce you. "

Kent walked quietly across to Throgton and dealt him a fearful blowbehind the ear. 

"You're a liar, " he said, "I am not Peter Kelly. "

They sat looking at one another. 

At that moment Throgton's servant appeared at the door. 

"A gentleman to see you, sir. "

"Who?" said Throgton. 

"I don't know, sir, he gave his card. "

Masterman Throgton took the card. 

On it was printed:

_PETER KELLY_

CHAPTER IX

LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE

For a moment Throgton and Kent sat looking at one another. 

"Show the man up, " said Throgton. 

A minute later the door opened and a man entered. Kent's keen eyeanalysed him as he stood. His blue clothes, his tanned face, and theextraordinary dexterity of his fingers left no doubt of his calling. Hewas a sailor. 

"Sit down, " said Throgton. 

"Thank you, " said the sailor, "it rests my wooden leg. "

The two men looked again. One of the sailor's legs was made of wood. With a start Kent noticed that it was made of East Indian sandalwood. 

"I've just come from Java, " said Kelly quietly, as he sat down. 

Kent nodded. "I see it all now, " he said. "Throgton, I wronged you. Weshould have known it was a sailor with a wooden leg from Java. There isno other way. "

"Gentlemen, " said Peter Kelly, "I've come to make my confession. It isthe usual and right thing to do, gentlemen, and I want to go throughwith it while I can. "

"One moment, " said Kent, "do you mind interrupting yourself with ahacking cough?"

"Thank you, sir, " said Kelly, "I'll get to that a little later. Let mebegin by telling you the story of my life. "

"No, no, " urged Throgton and Kent, "don't do that!"

Kelly frowned. "I think I have a right to, " he said. "You've got to hearit. As a boy I had a wild, impulsive nature. Had it been curbed----"

"But it wasn't, " said Throgton. "What next?"

"I was the sole relative of my uncle, and heir to great wealth. Pamperedwith every luxury, I was on a footing of----"

"One minute, " interrupted Kent, rapidly analysing as he listened. "Howmany legs had you then?"

"Two--on a footing of ease and indolence. I soon lost----"

"Your leg, " said Throgton. "Mr. Kelly, pray come to the essentialthings. "

"I will, " said the sailor. "Gentlemen, bad as I was, I was notaltogether bad. "

"Of course not, " said Kent and Throgton soothingly. "Probably not morethan ninety per cent. "

"Even into my life, gentlemen, love entered. If you had seen her youwould have known that she is as innocent as the driven snow. Three yearsago she came to my uncle's house. I loved her. One day, hardly knowingwhat I was doing, I took her----" he paused. 

"Yes, yes, " said Throgton and Kent, "you took her?"

"To the Aquarium. My uncle heard of it. There was a violent quarrel. Hedisinherited me and drove me from the house. I had a liking for the seafrom a boy. "

"Excuse me, " said Kent, "from what boy?"

Kelly went right on. "I ran away as a sailor before the mast. "

"Pardon me, " interrupted Kent, "I am not used to sea terms. Why didn'tyou run _behind_ the mast?"

"Hear me out, " said Kelly, "I am nearly done. We sailed for the EastIndies--for Java. There a Malay pirate bit off my leg. I returned home, bitter, disillusioned, the mere wreck that you see. I had but onethought. I meant to kill my uncle. "

For a moment a hacking cough interrupted Kelly. Kent and Throgton noddedquietly to one another. 

"I came to his house at night. With the aid of my wooden leg I scaledthe wall, lifted the window and entered the billiard-room. There wasmurder in my heart. Thank God I was spared from that. At the very momentwhen I got in, a light was turned on in the room and I saw beforeme--but no, I will not name her--my better angel. 'Peter!' she cried, then with a woman's intuition she exclaimed, 'You have come to murderyour uncle. Don't do it. ' My whole mood changed. I broke down and criedlike a--like a----"

Kelly paused a moment. 

"Like a boob, " said Kent softly. "Go on. "

"When I had done crying, we heard voices. 'Quick, ' she exclaimed, 'flee, hide, he must not see you. ' She rushed into the adjoining room, closingthe door. My eye had noticed already the trap above. I climbed up toit. Shall I explain how?"

"Don't, " said Kent, "I can analyse it afterwards. "

"There I saw what passed. I saw Mr. Throgton and Kivas Kelly come in. Iwatched their game. They were greatly excited and quarrelled over it. Throgton lost. "

The big man nodded with a scowl. "By his potting the white, " he said. 

"Precisely, " said Kelly, "he missed the red. Your analysis was wrong, Mr. Kent. The game ended. You started your reasoning from a falsediæresis. In billiards people never mark the last point. The board stillshowed ninety-nine all. Throgton left and my uncle, as often happens, kept trying over the last shot--a half-ball shot, sir, with the red overthe pocket. He tried again and again. He couldn't make it. He triedvarious ways. His rest was too unsteady. Finally he made his tie into along loop round his neck and put his cue through it. 'Now, by gad!' hesaid, 'I can do it. '"

"Ha!" said Kent. "Fool that I was. "

"Exactly, " continued Kelly. "In the excitement of watching my uncle Iforgot where I was, I leaned too far over and fell out of the trap. Ilanded on uncle, just as he was sitting on the table to shoot. He fell. "

"I see it all!" said Kent. "He hit his head, the loop tightened, the cuespun round and he was dead. "

"That's it, " said Kelly. "I saw that he was dead, and I did not dare toremain. I straightened the knot in his tie, laid his hands reverentlyacross his chest, and departed as I had come. "

"Mr. Kelly, " said Throgton thoughtfully, "the logic of your story iswonderful. It exceeds anything in its line that I have seen publishedfor months. But there is just one point that I fail to grasp. The twobullet holes?"

"They were old ones, " answered the sailor quietly. "My uncle in hisyouth had led a wild life in the west; he was full of them. "

There was silence for a moment. Then Kelly spoke again:

"My time, gentlemen, is short. " (A hacking cough interrupted him. ) "Ifeel that I am withering. It rests with you, gentlemen, whether or not Iwalk out of this room a free man. "

Transome Kent rose and walked over to the sailor. 

"Mr. Kelly, " he said, "here is my hand. "

CHAPTER X

SO DO I

A few days after the events last narrated, Transome Kent called at theboarding-house of Miss Alice Delary. The young Investigator wore a lightgrey tweed suit, with a salmon-coloured geranium in his buttonhole. There was something exultant yet at the same time grave in hisexpression, as of one who has taken a momentous decision, affecting hisfuture life. 

"I wonder, " he murmured, "whether I am acting for my happiness. "

He sat down for a moment on the stone steps and analysed himself. 

Then he rose. 

"I am, " he said, and rang the bell. 

"Miss Delary?" said a maid, "she left here two days ago. If you are Mr. Kent, the note on the mantelpiece is for you. "

Without a word (Kent never wasted them) the Investigator opened the noteand read:

 "Dear Mr. Kent, "Peter and I were married yesterday morning, and have taken an apartment in Java, New Jersey. You will be glad to hear that Peter's cough is ever so much better. The lawyers have given Peter his money without the least demur. 

 "We both feel that your analysis was simply wonderful. Peter says he doesn't know where he would be without it. 

 "Very sincerely, "Alice Kelly. 

 "P. S. --I forgot to mention to you that I saw Peter in the billiard-room. But your analysis was marvellous just the same. "

That evening Kent sat with Throgton talking over the details of thetragedy. 

"Throgton, " he said, "it has occurred to me that there were points aboutthat solution that we didn't get exactly straight somehow. "

"So do I, " said Throgton. 

V

BROKEN BARRIERS

OR, RED LOVE ON A BLUE ISLAND

(_The kind of thing that has replaced the good Old Sea Story_)

_V. --Broken Barriers; or, Red Love on a Blue Island. _

It was on a bright August afternoon that I stepped on board the steamer_Patagonia_ at Southampton outward bound for the West Indies and thePort of New Orleans. 

I had at the time no presentiment of disaster. I remember remarking tothe ship's purser, as my things were being carried to my state-room, that I had never in all my travels entered upon any voyage with solittle premonition of accident. "Very good, Mr. Borus, " he answered. "You will find your state-room in the starboard aisle on the right. " Idistinctly recall remarking to the Captain that I had never, in any ofmy numerous seafarings, seen the sea of a more limpid blue. He agreedwith me so entirely, as I recollect it, that he did not even trouble toanswer. 

Had anyone told me on that bright summer afternoon that our ship wouldwithin a week be wrecked among the Dry Tortugas, I should have laughed. Had anyone informed me that I should find myself alone on a raft in theCaribbean Sea, I should have gone into hysterics. 

We had hardly entered the waters of the Caribbean when a storm ofunprecedented violence broke upon us. Even the Captain had never, so hesaid, seen anything to compare with it. For two days and nights weencountered and endured the full fury of the sea. Our soup plates weresecured with racks and covered with lids. In the smoking-room ourglasses had to be set in brackets, and as our steward came and went, wewere from moment to moment in imminent danger of seeing him washedoverboard. 

On the third morning just after daybreak the ship collided withsomething, probably either a floating rock or one of the dry Tortugas. She blew out her four funnels, the bowsprit dropped out of its place, and the propeller came right off. The Captain, after a briefconsultation, decided to abandon her. The boats were lowered, and, thesea being now quite calm, the passengers were emptied into them. 

By what accident I was left behind I cannot tell. I had been talking tothe second mate and telling him of a rather similar experience of minein the China Sea, and holding him by the coat as I did so, when quitesuddenly he took me by the shoulders, and rushing me into the desertedsmoking-room said, "Sit there, Mr. Borus, till I come back for you. " Thefellow spoke in such a menacing way that I thought it wiser to comply. 

When I came out they were all gone. By good fortune I found one of theship's rafts still lying on the deck. I gathered together such articlesas might be of use and contrived, though how I do not know, to launch itinto the sea. 

On my second morning on my raft I was sitting quietly polishing my bootsand talking to myself when I became aware of an object floating in thesea close beside the raft. Judge of my feelings when I realized it to bethe inanimate body of a girl. Hastily finishing my boots and stoppingtalking to myself, I made shift as best I could to draw the unhappy girltowards me with a hook. 

After several ineffectual attempts I at last managed to obtain a hold ofthe girl's clothing and drew her on to the raft. 

She was still unconscious. The heavy lifebelt round her person must (soI divined) have kept her afloat after the wreck. Her clothes weresodden, so I reasoned, with the sea-water. 

On a handkerchief which was still sticking into the belt of her dress, Icould see letters embroidered. Realizing that this was no time forhesitation, and that the girl's life might depend on my reading hername, I plucked it forth. It was Edith Croyden. 

As vigorously as I could I now set to work to rub her hands. My idea was(partly) to restore her circulation. I next removed her boots, whichwere now rendered useless, as I argued, by the sea-water, and began torub her feet. 

I was just considering what to remove next, when the girl opened hereyes. "Stop rubbing my feet, " she said. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "you mistake me. "

I rose, with a sense of pique which I did not trouble to conceal, andwalked to the other end of the raft. I turned my back upon the girl andstood looking out upon the leaden waters of the Caribbean Sea. The oceanwas now calm. There was nothing in sight. 

I was still searching the horizon when I heard a soft footstep on theraft behind me, and a light hand was laid upon my shoulder. "Forgiveme, " said the girl's voice. 

I turned about. Miss Croyden was standing behind me. She had, so Iargued, removed her stockings and was standing in her bare feet. Thereis something, I am free to confess, about a woman in her bare feet whichhits me where I live. With instinctive feminine taste the girl hadtwined a piece of seaweed in her hair. Seaweed, as a rule, gets me everytime. But I checked myself. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "there is nothing to forgive. "

At the mention of her name the girl blushed for a moment and seemedabout to say something, but stopped. 

"Where are we?" she queried presently. 

"I don't know, " I answered, as cheerily as I could, "but I am going tofind out. "

"How brave you are!" Miss Croyden exclaimed. 

"Not at all, " I said, putting as much heartiness into my voice as I wasable to. 

The girl watched my preparations with interest. 

With the aid of a bent pin hoisted on a long pole I had no difficulty inascertaining our latitude. 

"Miss Croydon, " I said, "I am now about to ascertain our longitude. Todo this I must lower myself down into the sea. Pray do not be alarmed oranxious. I shall soon be back. "

With the help of a long line I lowered myself deep down into the seauntil I was enabled to ascertain, approximately at any rate, ourlongitude. A fierce thrill went through me at the thought that thislongitude was our longitude, hers and mine. On the way up, hand overhand, I observed a long shark looking at me. Realizing that the fellowif voracious might prove dangerous, I lost but little time--indeed, Imay say I lost absolutely no time--in coming up the rope. 

The girl was waiting for me. 

"Oh, I am so glad you have come back, " she exclaimed, clasping herhands. 

"It was nothing, " I said, wiping the water from my ears, and speaking asmelodiously as I could. 

"Have you found our whereabouts?" she asked. 

"Yes, " I answered. "Our latitude is normal, but our longitude is, Ifear, at least three degrees out of the plumb. I am afraid, MissCroyden, " I added, speaking as mournfully as I knew how, "that you mustreconcile your mind to spending a few days with me on this raft. "

"Is it as bad as that?" she murmured, her eyes upon the sea. 

In the long day that followed, I busied myself as much as I could withmy work upon the raft, so as to leave the girl as far as possible toherself. It was, so I argued, absolutely necessary to let her feel thatshe was safe in my keeping. Otherwise she might jump off the raft and Ishould lose her. 

I sorted out my various cans and tins, tested the oil in my chronometer, arranged in neat order my various ropes and apparatus, and got myfrying-pan into readiness for any emergency. Of food we had for thepresent no lack. 

With the approach of night I realized that it was necessary to makearrangements for the girl's comfort. With the aid of a couple of uprightpoles I stretched a grey blanket across the raft so as to make acomplete partition. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "this end of the raft is yours. Here you maysleep in peace. "

"How kind you are, " the girl murmured. 

"You will be quite safe from interference, " I added. "I give you myword that I will not obtrude upon you in any way. "

"How chivalrous you are, " she said. 

"Not at all, " I answered, as musically as I could. "Understand me, I amnow putting my head over this partition for the last time. If there isanything you want, say so now. "

"Nothing, " she answered. 

"There is a candle and matches beside you. If there is anything that youwant in the night, call me instantly. Remember, at any hour I shall behere. I promise it. "

"Good night, " she murmured. In a few minutes her soft regular breathingtold me that she was asleep. 

I went forward and seated myself in a tar-bucket, with my head againstthe mast, to get what sleep I could. 

But for some time--why, I do not know--sleep would not come. 

The image of Edith Croyden filled my mind. In vain I told myself thatshe was a stranger to me: that--beyond her longitude--I knew nothing ofher. In some strange way this girl had seized hold of me and dominatedmy senses. 

The night was very calm and still, with great stars in a velvet sky. Inthe darkness I could hear the water lapping the edge of the raft. 

I remained thus in deep thought, sinking further and further into thetar-bucket. By the time I reached the bottom of it I realized that I wasin love with Edith Croyden. 

Then the thought of my wife occurred to me and perplexed me. Our unhappymarriage had taken place three years before. We brought to one anotheryouth, wealth and position. Yet our marriage was a failure. My wife--forwhat reason I cannot guess--seemed to find my society irksome. In vain Itried to interest her with narratives of my travels. They seemed--insome way that I could not divine--to fatigue her. "Leave me for alittle, Harold, " she would say (I forgot to mention that my name isHarold Borus), "I have a pain in my neck. " At her own suggestion I hadtaken a trip around the world. On my return she urged me to go roundagain. I was going round for the third time when the wrecking of thesteamer had interrupted my trip. 

On my own part, too, I am free to confess that my wife's attitude hadaroused in me a sense of pique, not to say injustice. I am not in anyway a vain man. Yet her attitude wounded me. I would no sooner begin, "When I was in the Himalayas hunting the humpo or humped buffalo, " thanshe would interrupt and say, "Oh, Harold, would you mind going down tothe billiard-room and seeing if I left my cigarettes under thebilliard-table?" When I returned, she was gone. 

By agreement we had arranged for a divorce. On my completion of my thirdvoyage we were to meet in New Orleans. Clara was to go there on aseparate ship, giving me the choice of oceans. 

Had I met Edith Croyden three months later I should have been a man freeto woo and win her. As it was I was bound. I must put a clasp of iron onmy feelings. I must wear a mask. Cheerful, helpful, and full ofnarrative, I must yet let fall no word of love to this defenceless girl. 

After a great struggle I rose at last from the tar-bucket, feeling, ifnot a brighter, at least a cleaner man. 

Dawn was already breaking. I looked about me. As the sudden beams of thetropic sun illumined the placid sea, I saw immediately before me, only ahundred yards away, an island. A sandy beach sloped back to a rockyeminence, broken with scrub and jungle. I could see a little streamleaping among the rocks. With eager haste I paddled the raft close tothe shore till it ground in about ten inches of water. 

I leaped into the water. 

With the aid of a stout line, I soon made the raft fast to a rock. Thenas I turned I saw that Miss Croyden was standing upon the raft, fullydressed, and gazing at me. The morning sunlight played in her hair, andher deep blue eyes were as soft as the Caribbean Sea itself. 

"Don't attempt to wade ashore, Miss Croyden, " I cried in agitation. "Pray do nothing rash. The waters are simply infested with bacilli. "

"But how can I get ashore?" she asked, with a smile which showed all, ornearly all, of her pearl-like teeth. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "there is only one way. I must carry you. "

In another moment I had walked back to the raft and lifted her astenderly and reverently as if she had been my sister--indeed more so--inmy arms. 

Her weight seemed nothing. When I get a girl like that in my arms Isimply don't feel it. Just for one moment as I clasped her thus in myarms, a fierce thrill ran through me. But I let it run. 

When I had carried her well up the sand close to the little stream, Iset her down. To my surprise, she sank down in a limp heap. 

The girl had fainted. 

I knew that it was no time for hesitation. 

Running to the stream, I filled my hat with water and dashed it in herface. Then I took up a handful of mud and threw it at her with all myforce. After that I beat her with my hat. 

At length she opened her eyes and sat up. 

"I must have fainted, " she said, with a little shiver. "I am cold. Oh, if we could only have a fire. "

"I will do my best to make one, Miss Croyden, " I replied, speaking asgymnastically as I could. "I will see what I can do with two drysticks. "

"With dry sticks?" queried the girl. "Can you light a fire with that?How wonderful you are!"

"I have often seen it done, " I replied thoughtfully; "when I was huntingthe humpo, or humped buffalo, in the Himalayas, it was our usualmethod. "

"Have you really hunted the humpo?" she asked, her eyes large withinterest. 

"I have indeed, " I said, "but you must rest; later on I will tell youabout it. "

"I wish you could tell me now, " she said with a little moan. 

Meantime I had managed to select from the driftwood on the beach twosticks that seemed absolutely dry. Placing them carefully together, inIndian fashion, I then struck a match and found no difficulty in settingthem on fire. 

In a few moments the girl was warming herself beside a generous fire. 

Together we breakfasted upon the beach beside the fire, discussing ourplans like comrades. 

Our meal over, I rose. 

"I will leave you here a little, " I said, "while I explore. "

With no great difficulty I made my way through the scrub and climbed theeminence of tumbled rocks that shut in the view. 

On my return Miss Croyden was still seated by the fire, her head in herhands. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "we are on an island. "

"Is it inhabited?" she asked. 

"Once, perhaps, but not now. It is one of the many keys of the WestIndies. Here, in old buccaneering days, the pirates landed and careenedtheir ships. "

"How did they do that?" she asked, fascinated. 

"I am not sure, " I answered. "I think with white-wash. At any rate, theygave them a good careening. But since then these solitudes are only thehome of the sea-gull, the sea-mew, and the albatross. "

The girl shuddered. 

"How lonely!" she said. 

"Lonely or not, " I said with a laugh (luckily I can speak with a laughwhen I want to), "I must get to work. "

I set myself to work to haul up and arrange our effects. With a fewstones I made a rude table and seats. I took care to laugh and sing asmuch as possible while at my work. The close of the day found me stillbusy with my labours. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said, "I must now arrange a place for you to sleep. "

With the aid of four stakes driven deeply into the ground and withblankets strung upon them, I managed to fashion a sort of rude tent, roofless, but otherwise quite sheltered. 

"Miss Croyden, " I said when all was done, "go in there. "

Then, with little straps which I had fastened to the blankets, I buckledher in reverently. 

"Good night, Miss Croyden, " I said. 

"But you, " she exclaimed, "where will you sleep?"

"Oh, I?" I answered, speaking as exuberantly as I could, "I shall dovery well on the ground. But be sure to call me at the slightest sound. "

Then I went out and lay down in a patch of cactus plants. 

I need not dwell in detail upon the busy and arduous days that followedour landing upon the island. I had much to do. Each morning I took ourlatitude and longitude. By this I then set my watch, cooked porridge, and picked flowers till Miss Croyden appeared. 

With every day the girl came forth from her habitation as a new surprisein her radiant beauty. One morning she had bound a cluster of wildarbutus about her brow. Another day she had twisted a band ofconvolvulus around her waist. On a third she had wound herself up in amat of bulrushes. 

With her bare feet and wild bulrushes all around her, she looked as acave woman might have looked, her eyes radiant with the Caribbean dawn. My whole frame thrilled at the sight of her. At times it was all I coulddo not to tear the bulrushes off her and beat her with the heads ofthem. But I schooled myself to restraint, and handed her a rock to situpon, and passed her her porridge on the end of a shovel with the calmpoliteness of a friend. 

Our breakfast over, my more serious labours of the day began. I busiedmyself with hauling rocks or boulders along the sand to build us a houseagainst the rainy season. With some tackle from the raft I had mademyself a set of harness, by means of which I hitched myself to aboulder. By getting Miss Croyden to beat me over the back with a stick, I found that I made fair progress. 

But even as I worked thus for our common comfort, my mind was fiercelyfilled with the thought of Edith Croyden. I knew that if once thebarriers broke everything would be swept away. Heaven alone knows theeffort that it cost me. At times nothing but the sternest resolutioncould hold my fierce impulses in check. Once I came upon the girlwriting in the sand with a stick. I looked to see what she had written. I read my own name "Harold. " With a wild cry I leapt into the sea anddived to the bottom of it. When I came up I was calmer. Edith cametowards me; all dripping as I was, she placed her hands upon myshoulders. "How grand you are!" she said. "I am, " I answered; then Iadded, "Miss Croyden, for Heaven's sake don't touch me on the ear. Ican't stand it. " I turned from her and looked out over the sea. Presently I heard something like a groan behind me. The girl had thrownherself on the sand and was coiled up in a hoop. "Miss Croyden, " I said, "for God's sake don't coil up in a hoop. "

I rushed to the beach and rubbed gravel on my face. 

With such activities, alternated with wild bursts of restraint, our lifeon the island passed as rapidly as in a dream. Had I not taken care tonotch the days upon a stick and then cover the stick with tar, I couldnot have known the passage of the time. The wearing out of our clothinghad threatened a serious difficulty. But by good fortune I had seen alarge black and white goat wandering among the rocks and had chased itto a standstill. From its skin, leaving the fur still on, Edith hadfashioned us clothes. Our boots we had replaced with alligator hide. Ihad, by a lucky chance, found an alligator upon the beach, and attachinga string to the fellow's neck I had led him to our camp. I had thenpoisoned the fellow with tinned salmon and removed his hide. 

Our costume was now brought into harmony with our surroundings. Formyself, garbed in goatskin with the hair outside, with alligator sandalson my feet and with whiskers at least six inches long, I have no doubtthat I resembled the beau ideal of a cave man. With the open-air life anew agility seemed to have come into my limbs. With a single leap in myalligator sandals I was enabled to spring into a coco-nut tree. 

As for Edith Croyden, I can only say that as she stood beside me on thebeach in her suit of black goatskin (she had chosen the black spots)there were times when I felt like seizing her in the frenzy of mypassion and hurling her into the sea. Fur always acts on me just likethat. 

It was at the opening of the fifth week of our life upon the island thata new and more surprising turn was given to our adventure. It arose outof a certain curiosity, harmless enough, on Edith Croyden's part. "Mr. Borus, " she said one morning, "I should like so much to see the rest ofour island. Can we?"

"Alas, Miss Croyden, " I said, "I fear that there is but little to see. Our island, so far as I can judge, is merely one of the uninhabited keysof the West Indies. It is nothing but rock and sand and scrub. There isno life upon it. I fear, " I added, speaking as jauntily as I could, "that unless we are taken off it we are destined to stay on it. "

"Still I should like to see it, " she persisted. 

"Come on, then, " I answered, "if you are good for a climb we can take alook over the ridge of rocks where I went up on the first day. "

We made our way across the sand of the beach, among the rocks andthrough the close matted scrub, beyond which an eminence of ruggedboulders shut out the further view. 

Making our way to the top of this we obtained a wide look over the sea. The island stretched away to a considerable distance to the eastward, widening as it went, the complete view of it being shut off by similarand higher ridges of rock. 

But it was the nearer view, the foreground, that at once arrested ourattention. Edith seized my arm. "Look, oh, look!" she said. 

Down just below us on the right hand was a similar beach to the onethat we had left. A rude hut had been erected on it and various articleslay strewn about. 

Seated on a rock with their backs towards us were a man and a woman. Theman was dressed in goatskins, and his whiskers, so I inferred from whatI could see of them from the side, were at least as exuberant as mine. The woman was in white fur with a fillet of seaweed round her head. Theywere sitting close together as if in earnest colloquy. 

"Cave people, " whispered Edith, "aborigines of the island. "

But I answered nothing. Something in the tall outline of the seatedwoman held my eye. A cruel presentiment stabbed me to the heart. 

In my agitation my foot overset a stone, which rolled noisily down therocks. The noise attracted the attention of the two seated below us. They turned and looked searchingly towards the place where we wereconcealed. Their faces were in plain sight. As I looked at that of thewoman I felt my heart cease beating and the colour leave my face. 

I looked into Edith's face. It was as pale as mine. 

"What does it mean?" she whispered. 

"Miss Croyden, " I answered, "Edith--it means this. I have never foundthe courage to tell you. I am a married man. The woman seated there ismy wife. And I love you. "

Edith put out her arms with a low cry and clasped me about the neck. "Harold, " she murmured, "my Harold. "

"Have I done wrong?" I whispered. 

"Only what I have done too, " she answered. "I, too, am married, Harold, and the man sitting there below, John Croyden, is my husband. "

With a wild cry such as a cave man might have uttered, I had leapt to myfeet. 

"Your husband!" I shouted. "Then, by the living God, he or I shall neverleave this place alive. "

He saw me coming as I bounded down the rocks. In an instant he hadsprung to his feet. He gave no cry. He asked no question. He stooderect as a cave man would, waiting for his enemy. 

And there upon the sands beside the sea we fought, barehanded andweaponless. We fought as cave men fight. 

For a while we circled round one another, growling. We circled fourtimes, each watching for an opportunity. Then I picked up a greathandful of sand and threw it flap into his face. He grabbed a coco-nutand hit me with it in the stomach. Then I seized a twisted strand of wetseaweed and landed him with it behind the ear. For a moment hestaggered. Before he could recover I jumped forward, seized him by thehair, slapped his face twice and then leaped behind a rock. Looking fromthe side I could see that Croyden, though half dazed, was feeling roundfor something to throw. To my horror I saw a great stone lying ready tohis hand. Beside me was nothing. I gave myself up for lost, when at thatvery moment I heard Edith's voice behind me saying, "The shovel, quick, the shovel!" The noble girl had rushed back to our encampment and hadfetched me the shovel. "Swat him with that, " she cried. I seized theshovel, and with the roar of a wounded bull--or as near as I could makeit--I rushed out from the rock, the shovel swung over my head. 

But the fight was all out of Croyden. 

"Don't strike, " he said, "I'm all in. I couldn't stand a crack with thatkind of thing. "

He sat down upon the sand, limp. Seen thus, he somehow seemed to bequite a small man, not a cave man at all. His goatskin suit shrunk in onhim. I could hear his pants as he sat. 

"I surrender, " he said. "Take both the women. They are yours. "

I stood over him leaning upon the shovel. The two women had closed innear to us. 

"I suppose you are _her_ husband, are you?" Croyden went on. 

I nodded. 

"I thought you were. Take her. "

Meantime Clara had drawn nearer to me. She looked somehow very beautifulwith her golden hair in the sunlight, and the white furs draped abouther. 

"Harold!" she exclaimed. "Harold, is it you? How strange and masterfulyou look. I didn't know you were so strong. "

I turned sternly towards her. 

"When I was alone, " I said, "on the Himalayas hunting the humpo orhumped buffalo----"

Clara clasped her hands, looking into my face. 

"Yes, " she said, "tell me about it. "

Meantime I could see that Edith had gone over to John Croyden. 

"John, " she said, "you shouldn't sit on the wet sand like that. You willget a chill. Let me help you to get up. "

I looked at Clara and at Croyden. 

"How has this happened?" I asked. "Tell me. "

"We were on the same ship, " Croyden said. "There came a great storm. Even the Captain had never seen----"

"I know, " I interrupted, "so had ours. "

"The ship struck a rock, and blew out her four funnels----"

"Ours did too, " I nodded. 

"The bowsprit was broken, and the steward's pantry was carried away. TheCaptain gave orders to leave the ship----"

"It is enough, Croyden, " I said, "I see it all now. You were left behindwhen the boats cleared, by what accident you don't know----"

"I don't, " said Croyden. 

"As best you could, you constructed a raft, and with such haste as youmight you placed on it such few things----"

"Exactly, " he said, "a chronometer, a sextant----"

"I know, " I continued, "two quadrants, a bucket of water, and alightning rod. I presume you picked up Clara floating in the sea. "

"I did, " Croyden said; "she was unconscious when I got her, but byrubbing----"

"Croyden, " I said, raising the shovel again, "cut that out. "

"I'm sorry, " he said. 

"It's all right. But you needn't go on. I see all the rest of youradventures plainly enough. "

"Well, I'm done with it all anyway, " said Croyden gloomily. "You can dowhat you like. As for me, I've got a decent suit back there at our camp, and I've got it dried and pressed and I'm going to put it on. "

He rose wearily, Edith standing beside him. 

"What's more, Borus, " he said, "I'll tell you something. This island isnot uninhabited at all. "

"Not uninhabited!" exclaimed Clara and Edith together. I saw each ofthem give a rapid look at her goatskin suit. 

"Nonsense, Croyden, " I said, "this island is one of the West Indiankeys. On such a key as this the pirates used to land. Here they careenedtheir ships----"

"Did what to them?" asked Croyden. 

"Careened them all over from one end to the other, " I said. "Here theygot water and buried treasure; but beyond that the island was, andremained, only the home of the wild gull and the sea-mews----"

"All right, " said Croyden, "only it doesn't happen to be that kind ofkey. It's a West Indian island all right, but there's a summer hotel onthe other end of it not two miles away. "

"A summer hotel!" we exclaimed. 

"Yes, a hotel. I suspected it all along. I picked up a tennis racket onthe beach the first day; and after that I walked over the ridge andthrough the jungle and I could see the roof of the hotel. Only, " headded rather shamefacedly, "I didn't like to tell her. "

"Oh, you coward!" cried Clara. "I could slap you. "

"Don't you dare, " said Edith. "I'm sure you knew it as well as he did. And anyway, I was certain of it myself. I picked up a copy of lastweek's paper in a lunch-basket on the beach, and hid it from Mr. Borus. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. "

At that moment Croyden pointed with a cry towards the sea. 

"Look, " he said, "for Heaven's sake, look!"

He turned. 

Less than a quarter of a mile away we could see a large white motorlaunch coming round the corner. The deck was gay with awnings and brightdresses and parasols. 

"Great Heavens!" said Croyden. "I know that launch. It's theAppin-Joneses'. "

"The Appin-Joneses'!" cried Clara. "Why, we know them too. Don't youremember, Harold, the Sunday we spent with them on the Hudson?"

Instinctively we had all jumped for cover, behind the rocks. 

"Whatever shall we do?" I exclaimed. 

"We must get our things, " said Edith Croyden. "Jack, if your suit isready run and get it and stop the launch. Mrs. Borus and Mr. Borus and Ican get our things straightened up while you keep them talking. My suitis nearly ready anyway; I thought some one might come. Mr. Borus, wouldyou mind running and fetching me my things, they're all in a parceltogether? And perhaps if you have a looking-glass and some pins, Mrs. Borus, I could come over and dress with you. "

That same evening we found ourselves all comfortably gathered on thepiazza of the Hotel Christopher Columbus. Appin-Jones insisted on makinghimself our host, and the story of our adventures was related again andagain to an admiring audience, with the accompaniment of cigars and icedchampagne. Only one detail was suppressed, by common instinct. BothClara and I felt that it would only raise needless comment to explainthat Mr. And Mrs. Croyden had occupied separate encampments. 

Nor is it necessary to relate our safe and easy return to New York. 

Both Clara and I found Mr. And Mrs. Croyden delightful travellingcompanions, though perhaps we were not sorry when the moment came to saygood-bye. 

"The word 'good-bye, '" I remarked to Clara, as we drove away, "is alwaysa painful one. Oddly enough when I was hunting the humpo, or humpedbuffalo, of the Himalayas----"

"Do tell me about it, darling, " whispered Clara, as she nestled besideme in the cab. 

VI

THE KIDNAPPED PLUMBER

A TALE OF THE NEW TIME

(_Being one chapter--and quite enough---from the Reminiscences of anOperating Plumber_)

_VI. --The Kidnapped Plumber: A Tale of the New Time. _

"Personally, " said Thornton, speaking for the first time, "I never careto take a case that involves cellar work. "

We were sitting--a little group of us--round about the fire in acomfortable corner of the Steam and Air Club. Our talk had turned, asalways happens with a group of professional men, into more or lesstechnical channels. I will not say that we were talking shop; the wordhas an offensive sound and might be misunderstood. But we were talkingas only a group of practising plumbers--including some of the biggestmen in the profession--would talk. With the exception of Everett, whohad a national reputation as a Consulting Barber, and Thomas, who was avacuum cleaner expert, I think we all belonged to the same profession. We had been holding a convention, and Fortescue, who had one of thebiggest furnace practices in the country, had read us a paper thatafternoon--a most revolutionary thing--on External Diagnosis ofDefective Feed Pipes, and naturally the thing had bred discussion. Fortescue, who is one of the most brilliant men in the profession, hadstoutly maintained his thesis that the only method of diagnosis fortrouble in a furnace is to sit down in front of it and look at it forthree days; others held out for unscrewing it and carrying it home forconsideration; others of us, again, claimed that by tapping the affectedspot with a wrench the pipe might be fractured in such a way as to provethat it was breakable. It was at this point that Thornton interruptedwith his remark about never being willing to accept a cellar case. 

Naturally all the men turned to look at the speaker. Henry Thornton, atthe time of which I relate, was at the height of his reputation. Beginning, quite literally, at the bottom of the ladder, he had intwenty years of practice as an operating plumber raised himself to thetop of his profession. There was much in his appearance to suggest theunderlying reasons of his success. His face, as is usual with men of ourcalling, had something of the dreamer in it, but the bold set of the jawindicated determination of an uncommon kind. Three times President ofthe Plumbers' Association, Henry Thornton had enjoyed the highesthonours of his chosen profession. His book on _Nut Coal_ was recognizedas the last word on the subject, and had been crowned by the FrenchAcademy of Nuts. 

I suppose that one of the principal reasons for his success was hissingular coolness and resource. I have seen Thornton enter a kitchen, with that quiet reassuring step of his, and lay out his instruments onthe table, while a kitchen tap with a broken washer was sprizzlingwithin a few feet of him, as calmly and as quietly as if he were in hislecture-room of the Plumbers' College. 

"You never go into a cellar?" asked Fortescue. "But hang it, man, Idon't see how one can avoid it!"

"Well, I do avoid it, " answered Thornton, "at least as far as I possiblycan. I send down my solderist, of course, but personally, unless it isabsolutely necessary, I never go down. "

"That's all very well, my dear fellow, " Fortescue cut in, "but you knowas well as I do that you get case after case where the cellar diagnosisis simply vital. I had a case last week, a most interesting thing--" heturned to the group of us as he spoke--"a double lesion of a gas-pipeunder a cement floor--half a dozen of my colleagues had been absolutelybaffled. They had made an entirely false diagnosis, operated on thedining-room floor, which they removed and carried home, and when I wascalled in they had just obtained permission from the Stone Mason'sProtective Association to knock down one side of the house. "

"Excuse me interrupting just a minute, " interjected a member of thegroup who hailed from a distant city, "have you much trouble aboutthat? I mean about knocking the sides out of houses?"

"No trouble now, " said Fortescue. "We did have. But the public isgetting educated up to it. Our law now allows us to knock the side outof a house when we feel that we would really like to see what is in it. We are not allowed, of course, to build it up again. "

"No, of course not, " said the other speaker. "But I suppose you canthrow the bricks out on the lawn. "

"Yes, " said Fortescue, "and sit on them to eat lunch. We had a big fightin the legislature over that, but we got it through. "

"Thank you, but I feel I am interrupting. "

"Well, I was only saying that, as soon as I had made up my mind that thetrouble was in the cellar, the whole case was simple. I took mycolleagues down at once, and we sat on the floor of the cellar and helda consultation till the overpowering smell of gas convinced me thatthere was nothing for it but an operation on the floor. The whole thingwas most successful. I was very glad, as it happened that theproprietor of the house was a very decent fellow, employed, I think, asa manager of a bank, or something of the sort. He was most grateful. Itwas he who gave me the engraved monkey wrench that some of you wereadmiring before dinner. After we had finished the whole operation--Iforgot to say that we had thrown the coal out on the lawn to avoid anycomplication--he quite broke down. He offered us to take his whole houseand keep it. "

"You don't do that, do you?" asked the outsider. 

"Oh no, never, " said Fortescue. "We've made a very strict professionalrule against it. We found that some of the younger men were apt to takea house when they were given it, and we had to frown down on it. But, gentlemen, I feel that when Mr. Thornton says that he never goes downinto a cellar there must be a story behind it. I think we should invitehim to relate it to us. "

A murmur of assent greeted the speaker's suggestion. For myself I wasparticularly pleased, inasmuch as I have long felt that Thornton as a_raconteur_ was almost as interesting as in the rôle of an operatingplumber. I have often told him that, if he had not happened to meetsuccess in his chosen profession, he could have earned a living as a daywriter: a suggestion which he has always taken in good part and withoutoffence. 

Those of my readers who have looked through the little volume ofReminiscences which I have put together, will recall the narrative of_The Missing Nut_ and the little tale entitled _The Blue Blow Torch_ asinstances in point. 

"Not much of a story, perhaps, " said Thornton, "but such as it is youare welcome to it. So, if you will just fill up your glasses withraspberry vinegar, you may have the tale for what it is worth. "

We gladly complied with the suggestion and Thornton continued:

"It happened a good many years ago at a time when I was only a youngfellow fresh from college, very proud of my Plumb. B. , and inclined tothink that I knew it all. I had done a little monograph on _Choked Feedin the Blow Torch_, which had attracted attention, and I suppose thataltogether I was about as conceited a young puppy as one would find inthe profession. I should mention that at this time I was not married, but had set up a modest apartment of my own with a consulting-room and asingle manservant. Naturally I could not afford the services of asolderist or a gassist and did everything for myself, though Simmons, myman, could at a pinch be utilized to tear down plaster and breakfurniture. "

Thornton paused to take a sip of raspberry vinegar and went on:

"Well, then. I had come home to dinner particularly tired after a longday. I had sat in an attic the greater part of the afternoon (a case oftop story valvular trouble) and had had to sit in a cramped positionwhich practically forbade sleep. I was feeling, therefore, none too wellpleased, when a little while after dinner the bell rang and Simmonsbrought word to the library that there was a client in theconsulting-room. I reminded the fellow that I could not possiblyconsider a case at such an advanced hour unless I were paid emergencyovertime wages with time and a half during the day of recovery. "

"One moment, " interrupted the outside member. "You don't mentioncompensation for mental shock. Do you not draw that here?"

"We do _now_" explained Thornton, "but the time of which I speak is someyears ago and we still got nothing for mental shock, nor disturbance ofequilibrium. Nowadays, of course, one would insist on a substantialretainer in advance. 

"Well, to continue. Simmons, to my surprise, told me that he had alreadyinformed the client of this fact, and that the answer had only been aplea that the case was too urgent to admit of delay. He also suppliedthe further information that the client was a young lady. I am afraid, "added Thornton, looking round his audience with a sympathetic smile, "that Simmons (I had got him from Harvard and he had not yet quitelearned his place) even said something about her being strikinglyhandsome. "

A general laugh greeted Thornton's announcement. 

"After all, " said Fortescue, "I never could see why an Ice Man should besupposed to have a monopoly on gallantry. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Thornton. "For my part--I say it withoutaffectation--the moment I am called in professionally, women, as women, cease to exist for me. I can stand beside them in the kitchen andexplain to them the feed tap of a kitchen range without feeling them tobe anything other than simply clients. And for the most part, I think, they reciprocate that attention. There are women, of course, who willcall a man in with motives--but that's another story. I must get back towhat I was saying. 

"On entering the consulting-room I saw at once that Simmons hadexaggerated nothing in describing my young client as beautiful. I haveseldom, even among our own class, seen a more strikingly handsome girl. She was dressed in a very plain and simple fashion which showed me atonce that she belonged merely to the capitalist class. I am, as I thinkyou know, something of an observer, and my eye at once noted the absenceof heavy gold ear-rings and wrist-bangles. The blue feathers at the sideof her hat were none of them more than six inches long, and the buttonson her jacket were so inconspicuous that one would hardly notice them. In short, while her dress was no doubt good and serviceable, there wasan absence of _chic_, a lack of noise about it, that told at once thetale of narrow circumstances. 

"She was evidently in great distress. 

"'Oh, Mr. Thornton, ' she exclaimed, advancing towards me, 'do come toour house at once. I simply don't know what to do. '

"She spoke with great emotion, and seemed almost on the point ofbreaking into tears. 

"'Pray, calm yourself, my dear young lady, ' I said, 'and try to tell mewhat is the trouble. '

"'Oh, don't lose any time, ' she said, 'do, do come at once. '

"'We will lose no time' I said reassuringly, as I looked at my watch. 'It is now seven-thirty. We will reckon the time from now, with overtimeat time and a half. But if I am to do anything for you I must have someidea of what has happened. '

"'The cellar boiler, ' she moaned, clasping her hands together, 'thecellar boiler won't work!'

"'Ah!' I said soothingly. 'The cellar boiler won't work. Now tell me, isthe feed choked, miss?'

"'I don't know, ' she exclaimed. 

"'Have you tried letting off the exhaust?'

"She shook her head with a doleful look. 

"'I don't know what it is, ' she said. 

"But already I was hastily gathering together a few instruments, questioning her rapidly as I did so. 

"'How's your pressure gauge?' I asked. 'How's your water? Do you drawfrom the mains or are you on the high level reservoir?'

"It had occurred to me at once that it might be merely a case ofstoppage of her main feed, complicated, perhaps, with a valvular troublein her exhaust. On the other hand it was clear enough that, if her feedwas full and her gauges working, her trouble was more likely a leaksomewhere in her piping. 

"But all attempts to draw from the girl any clear idea of the symptomswere unavailing. All she could tell me was that the cellar boilerwouldn't work. Beyond that her answers were mere confusion. I gatheredenough, however, to feel sure that her main feed was still working, andthat her top story check valve was probably in order. With that I had tobe content. 

"As a young practitioner, I had as yet no motor car. Simmons, however, summoned me a taxi, into which I hurriedly placed the girl and my basketof instruments, and was soon speeding in the direction she indicated. Itwas a dark, lowering night, with flecks of rain against the windows ofthe cab, and there was something in the lateness of the hour (it was nowafter half-past eight) and the nature of my mission which gave me astimulating sense of adventure. The girl directed me, as I felt sureshe would, towards the capitalist quarter of the town. We had soon spedaway from the brightly lighted streets and tall apartment buildingsamong which my usual practice lay, and entered the gloomy anddilapidated section of the city where the unhappy capitalist classreside. I need not remind those of you who know it that it is scarcely acheerful place to find oneself in after nightfall. The thick growth oftrees, the silent gloom of the ill-lighted houses, and the rankundergrowth of shrubs give it an air of desolation, not to say danger. It is certainly not the place that a professional man would choose to beabroad in after dark. The inhabitants, living, so it is said, on theirscanty dividends and on such parts of their income as our taxation isstill unable to reach, are not people that one would care to fall inwith after nightfall. 

"Since the time of which I speak we have done much to introduce a betterstate of things. The opening of day schools of carpentry, plumbing andcalcimining for the children of the capitalist is already producingresults. Strange though it may seem, one of the most brilliant of ourboiler fitters of to-day was brought up haphazard in this very quarterof the town and educated only by a French governess and a universitytutor. But at the time practically nothing had been done. The place wasinfested with consumers, and there were still, so it was said, servantsliving in some of the older houses. A butler had been caught one nightin a thick shrubbery beside one of the gloomy streets. 

"We alighted at one of the most sombre of the houses, and ourtaxi-driver, with evident relief, made off in the darkness. 

"The girl admitted us into a dark hall, where she turned on an electriclight. 'We have light, ' she said, with that peculiar touch of pride thatone sees so often in her class, 'we have four bulbs. '

"Then she called down a flight of stairs that apparently led to thecellar:

"'Father, the plumber has come. Do come up now, dear, and rest. '

"A step sounded on the stairs, and there appeared beside us one of themost forbidding-looking men that I have ever beheld. I don't knowwhether any of you have ever seen an Anglican Bishop. Probably not. Outside of the bush, they are now never seen. But at the time of which Ispeak there were a few still here and there in the purlieus of the city. The man before us was tall and ferocious, and his native ferocity wasfurther enhanced by the heavy black beard which he wore in open defianceof the compulsory shaving laws. His black shovel-shaped hat and hisblack clothes lent him a singularly sinister appearance, while his legswere bound in tight gaiters, as if ready for an instant spring. Hecarried in his hand an enormous monkey wrench, on which his fingers wereclasped in a restless grip. 

"'Can you fix the accursed thing?' he asked. 

"I was not accustomed to being spoken to in this way, but I was willingfor the girl's sake to strain professional courtesy to the limit. 

"'I don't know, ' I answered, 'but if you will have the goodness first tofetch me a little light supper, I shall be glad to see what I can doafterwards. '

"My firm manner had its effect. With obvious reluctance the fellowserved me some biscuits and some not bad champagne in the dining-room. 

"The girl had meantime disappeared upstairs. 

"'If you're ready now, ' said the Bishop, 'come on down. '

"We went down to the cellar. It was a huge, gloomy place, with a cementfloor, lighted by a dim electric bulb. I could see in the corner theoutline of a large furnace (in those days the poorer classes had stillno central heat) and near it a tall boiler. In front of this a man waskneeling, evidently trying to unscrew a nut, but twisting it the wrongway. He was an elderly man with a grey moustache, and was dressed, inopen defiance of the law, in a military costume or uniform. 

"He turned round towards us and rose from his knees. 

"'I'm dashed if I can make the rotten thing go round, ' he said. 

"'It's all right, General, ' said the Bishop. 'I have brought a plumber. '

"For the next few minutes my professional interest absorbed all myfaculties. I laid out my instruments upon a board, tapped the boilerwith a small hammer, tested the feed-tube, and in a few moments had madewhat I was convinced was a correct diagnosis of the trouble. 

"But here I encountered the greatest professional dilemma in which Ihave ever been placed. There was nothing wrong with the boiler at all. It connected, as I ascertained at once by a thermo-dynamic valvulartest, with the furnace (in fact, I could see it did), and the furnacequite evidently had been allowed to go out. 

"What was I to do? If I told them this, I broke every professional ruleof our union. If the thing became known I should probably be disbarredand lose my overalls for it. It was my plain professional duty to take alarge hammer and knock holes in the boiler with it, smash up the furnacepipes, start a leak of gas, and then call in three or more of mycolleagues. 

"But somehow I couldn't find it in my heart to do it. The thought of thegirl's appealing face arose before me. 

"'How long has this trouble been going on?' I asked sternly. 

"'Quite a time, ' answered the Bishop. 'It began, did it not, General, the same day that the confounded furnace went out? The General here andAdmiral Hay and I have been working at it for three days. '

"'Well, gentlemen, ' I said, 'I don't want to read you a lesson on yourown ineptitude, and I don't suppose you would understand it if I did. But don't you see that the whole trouble is _because_ you let thefurnace out? The boiler itself is all right, but you see, gents, itfeeds off the furnace. '

"'Ah, ' said the Bishop in a deep melodious tone, 'it feeds off thefurnace. Now that is most interesting. Let me repeat that; I must try toremember it; it feeds _off_ the furnace. Just so. '

"The upshot was that in twenty minutes we had the whole thing put torights. I set the General breaking up boxes and had the Bishop rake outthe clinkers, and very soon we had the furnace going and the boiler inoperation. 

"'But now tell me, ' said the Bishop, 'suppose one wanted to let thefurnace out--suppose, I mean to say, that it was summer-time, andsuppose one rather felt that one didn't care about a furnace and yet onewanted one's boiler going for one's hot water, and that sort of thing, what would one do?'

"'In that case, ' I said, 'you couldn't run your heating off yourfurnace: you'd have to connect in your tubing with a gas generator. '

"'Ah, there you get me rather beyond my depth, ' said the Bishop. 

"The General shook his head. 'Bishop, ' he said, 'just step upstairs aminute; I have an idea. '

"They went up together, leaving me below. To my surprise andconsternation, as they reached the top of the cellar stairs, I saw theGeneral swing the door shut and heard a key turn in the lock. I rushedto the top of the stairs and tried in vain to open the door. I wastrapped. In a moment I realized my folly in trusting myself in the handsof these people. 

"I could hear their voices in the hall, apparently in eager discussion. 

"'But the fellow is priceless, ' the General was saying. 'We could takehim round to all the different houses and make him fix them all. Hangit, Bishop, I haven't had a decent tap running for two years, andAdmiral Hay's pantry has been flooded since last March. '

"'But one couldn't compel him?'

"'Certainly, why not? I'd compel him bally quick with this. '

"I couldn't see what the General referred to, but had no doubt that itwas the huge wrench that he still carried in his hand. 

"'We could gag the fellow, ' he went on, 'take him from house to houseand make him put everything right. '

"'Ah, but afterwards?' said the Bishop. 

"'Afterwards, ' answered the General, 'why kill him! Knock him on thehead and bury him under the cement in the cellar. Hay and I couldeasily bury him, or for that matter I imagine one could easily use thefurnace itself to dispose of him. '

"I must confess that my blood ran cold as I listened. 

"'But do you think it right?' objected the Bishop. 'You will say, ofcourse, that it is only killing a plumber; but yet one asks oneselfwhether it wouldn't be just a _leetle_ bit unjustifiable. '

"'Nonsense, ' said the General. 'You remember that last year, when Haystrangled the income tax collector, you yourself were very keen on it. '

"'Ah, that was different, ' said the Bishop, 'one felt there that therewas an end to serve, but here----'

"'Nonsense, ' repeated the General, 'come along and get Hay. He'll makeshort work of him. '

"I heard their retreating footsteps and then all was still. 

"The horror which filled my mind as I sat in the half darkness waitingfor their return I cannot describe. My fate appeared sealed and I gavemyself up for lost, when presently I heard a light step in the hall andthe key turned in the lock. 

"The girl stood in front of me. She was trembling with emotion. 

"'Quick, quick, Mr. Thornton, ' she said. 'I heard all that they said. Oh, I think it's dreadful of them, simply dreadful. Mr. Thornton, I'mreally ashamed that Father should act that way. '

"I came out into the hall still half dazed. 

"'They've gone over to Admiral Hay's house, there among the trees. That's their lantern. Please, please, don't lose a minute. Do you mindnot having a cab? I think really you'd prefer not to wait. And look, won't you please take this?'--she handed me a little packet as shespoke--'this is a piece of pie: you always get that, don't you? andthere's a bit of cheese with it, but please run. '

"In another moment I had bounded from the door into the darkness. A wildrush through the darkened streets, and in twenty minutes I was safeback again in my own consulting-room. "

Thornton paused in his narrative, and at that moment one of the stewardsof the club came and whispered something in his ear. 

He rose. 

"I'm sorry, " he said, with a grave face. "I'm called away; a very oldclient of mine. Valvular trouble of the worst kind. I doubt if I can doanything, but I must at least go. Please don't let me break up yourevening, however. "

With a courtly bow he left us. 

"And do you know the sequel to Thornton's story?" asked Fortescue with asmile. 

We looked expectantly at him. 

"Why, he married the girl, " explained Fortescue. "You see, he had to goback to her house for his wrench. One always does. "

"Of course, " we exclaimed. 

"In fact he went three times; and the last time he asked the girl tomarry him and she said 'yes. ' He took her out of her surroundings, hadher educated at a cooking school, and had her given lessons on theparlour organ. She's Mrs. Thornton now. "

"And the Bishop?" asked some one. 

"Oh, Thornton looked after him. He got him a position heating furnacesin the synagogues. He worked at it till he died a few years ago. Theysay that once he got the trick of it he took the greatest delight in it. Well, I must go too. Good night. "

VII

THE BLUE AND THE GREY

A PRE-WAR WAR STORY

(_The title is selected for its originality. A set of seventy-five mapswill be supplied to any reader free for seventy-five cents. This offeris only open till it is closed_)

_VII. --The Blue and the Grey: A Pre-War War Story. _

CHAPTER I

The scene was a striking one. It was night. Never had the Mississippipresented a more remarkable appearance. Broad bayous, swollen beyond ourpowers of description, swirled to and fro in the darkness under treesgarlanded with Spanish moss. All moss other than Spanish had been sweptaway by the angry flood of the river. 

Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph, a young Virginian, captain of the ----thcompany of the ----th regiment of ----'s brigade--even this is more thanwe ought to say, and is hard to pronounce--attached to the Army of theTennessee, struggled in vain with the swollen waters. At times he sank. At other times he went up. 

In the intervals he wondered whether it would ever be possible for himto rejoin the particular platoon of the particular regiment to which hebelonged, and of which's whereabouts (not having the volume of the armyrecord at hand) he was in ignorance. In the intervals, also, hereflected on his past life to a sufficient extent to give the reader amore or less workable idea as to who and to what he was. His father, theold grey-haired Virginian aristocrat, he could see him still. "Take thissword, Eggleston, " he had said, "use it for the State; never foranything else: don't cut string with it or open tin cans. Never sheatheit till the soil of Virginia is free. Keep it bright, my boy: oil itevery now and then, and you'll find it an A 1 sword. "

Did Eggleston think, too, in his dire peril of another--younger than hisfather and fairer? Necessarily, he did. "Go, Eggleston!" she hadexclaimed, as they said farewell under the portico of his father's housewhere she was visiting, "it is your duty. But mine lies elsewhere. Icannot forget that I am a Northern girl. I must return at once to mypeople in Pennsylvania. Oh, Egg, when will this cruel war end?"

So had the lovers parted. 

Meanwhile--while Eggleston is going up and down for the third time, which is of course the last--suppose we leave him, and turn to considerthe general position of the Confederacy. All right: suppose we do. 

CHAPTER II

At this date the Confederate Army of the Tennessee was extended in aline with its right resting on the Tennessee and its left resting on theMississippi. Its rear rested on the rugged stone hills of the Chickasabarange, while its front rested on the marshes and bayous of the Yazoo. Having thus--as far as we understand military matters--both its flankscovered and its rear protected, its position was one which we ourselvesconsider very comfortable. 

It was thus in an admirable situation for holding a review or fordiscussing the Constitution of the United States in reference to theright of secession. 

The following generals rode up and down in front of the army, namely, Mr. A. P. Hill, Mr. Longstreet, and Mr. Joseph Johnston. All these threecelebrated men are thus presented to our readers at one and the sametime without extra charge. 

But who is this tall, commanding figure who rides beside them, his headbent as if listening to what they are saying (he really isn't) while hiseye alternately flashes with animation or softens to its naturalmelancholy? (In fact, we can only compare it to an electric light bulbwith the power gone wrong. ) Who is it? It is Jefferson C. Davis, President, as our readers will be gratified to learn, of the ConfederateStates. 

It being a fine day and altogether suitable for the purpose, GeneralLongstreet reined in his prancing black charger (during this distressedperiod all the horses in both armies were charged: there was no otherway to pay for them), and in a few terse words, about three pages, gavehis views on the Constitution of the United States. 

Jefferson Davis, standing up in his stirrups, delivered a stirringharangue, about six columns, on the powers of the Supreme Court, admirably calculated to rouse the soldiers to frenzy. After whichGeneral A. P. Hill offered a short address, soldier-like and to thepoint, on the fundamental principles of international law, whichinflamed the army to the highest pitch. 

At this moment an officer approached the President, saluted and stoodrigidly at attention. Davis, with that nice punctilio which marked theSouthern army, returned the salute. 

"Do you speak first?" he said, "or did I?"

"Let me, " said the officer. "Your Excellency, " he continued, "a youngVirginian officer has just been fished out of the Mississippi. "

Davis's eye flashed. "Good!" he said. "Look and see if there are manymore, " and then he added with a touch of melancholy, "The South needsthem: fish them all out. Bring this one here. "

Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph, still dripping from the waters of thebayou, was led by the faithful negroes who had rescued him before thegenerals. Davis, who kept every thread of the vast panorama of the warin his intricate brain, eyed him keenly and directed a few searchingquestions to him, such as: "Who are you? Where are you? What day of theweek is it? How much is nine times twelve?" and so forth. Satisfied withEggleston's answers, Davis sat in thought a moment, and then continued:

"I am anxious to send some one through the entire line of theConfederate armies in such a way that he will be present at all thegreat battles and end up at the battle of Gettysburg. Can you do it?"

Randolph looked at his chief with a flush of pride. 

"I can. "

"Good!" resumed Davis. "To accomplish this task you must carrydespatches. What they will be about I have not yet decided. But it iscustomary in such cases to write them so that they are calculated, iflost, to endanger the entire Confederate cause. The main thing is, canyou carry them?"

"Sir, " said Eggleston, raising his hand in a military salute, "I am aRandolph. "

Davis with soldierly dignity removed his hat. "I am proud to hear it, Captain Randolph, " he said. 

"And a Carey, " continued our hero. 

Davis, with a graciousness all his own, took off his gloves. "I trustyou, _Major_ Randolph, " he said. 

"And I am a Lee, " added Eggleston quickly. 

Davis with a courtly bow unbuttoned his jacket. "It is enough, " he said. "I trust you. You shall carry the despatches. You are to carry them onyour person and, as of course you understand, you are to keep on losingthem. You are to drop them into rivers, hide them in old trees, burythem under moss, talk about them in your sleep. In fact, sir, " saidDavis, with a slight gesture of impatience--it was his _one_fault--"you must act towards them as any bearer of Confederatedespatches is expected to act. The point is, can you do it, or can'tyou?"

"Sir, " said Randolph, saluting again with simple dignity, "I come fromVirginia. "

"Pardon me, " said the President, saluting with both hands, "I hadforgotten it. "

CHAPTER III

Randolph set out that night, mounted upon the fastest horse, in fact thefleetest, that the Confederate Army could supply. He was attended onlyby a dozen faithful negroes, all devoted to his person. 

Riding over the Tennessee mountains by paths known absolutely to no oneand never advertised, he crossed the Tombigbee, the Tahoochie and theTallahassee, all frightfully swollen, and arrived at the headquarters ofGeneral Braxton Bragg. 

At this moment Bragg was extended over some seven miles of bush anddense swamp. His front rested on the marshes of the Tahoochie River, while his rear was doubled sharply back and rested on a dense growth ofcactus plants. Our readers can thus form a fairly accurate idea ofBragg's position. Over against him, not more than fifty miles to thenorth, his indomitable opponent, Grant, lay in a frog-swamp. The spacebetween them was filled with Union and Confederate pickets, fraternizing, joking, roasting corn, and firing an occasional shot atone another. 

One glance at Randolph's despatches was enough. 

"Take them at once to General Hood, " said Bragg. 

"Where is he?" asked Eggleston, with military precision. 

Bragg waved his sword towards the east. It was characteristic of the manthat even on active service he carried a short sword, while a pistol, probably loaded, protruded from his belt. But such was Bragg. Anyway, hewaved his sword. "Over there beyond the Tahoochicaba range, " he said. "Do you know it?"

"No, " said Randolph, "but I can find it. "

"Do, " said Bragg, and added, "One thing more. On your present missionlet nothing stop you. Go forward at all costs. If you come to a river, swim it. If you come to a tree, cut it down. If you strike a fence, climb over it. But don't stop! If you are killed, never mind. Do youunderstand?"

"Almost, " said Eggleston. 

Two days later Eggleston reached the headquarters of General Hood, andflung himself, rather than dismounted, from his jaded horse. 

"Take me to the General!" he gasped. 

They pointed to the log cabin in which General Hood was quartered. 

Eggleston flung himself, rather than stepped, through the door. 

Hood looked up from the table. 

"Who was that flung himself in?" he asked. 

Randolph reached out his hand. "Despatches!" he gasped. "Food, whisky!"

"Poor lad, " said the General, "you are exhausted. When did you last havefood?"

"Yesterday morning, " gasped Eggleston. 

"You're lucky, " said Hood bitterly. "And when did you last have adrink?"

"Two weeks ago, " answered Randolph. 

"Great Heaven!" said Hood, starting up. "Is it possible? Here, quick, drink it!"

He reached out a bottle of whisky. Randolph drained it to the last drop. 

"Now, General, " he said, "I am at your service. "

Meanwhile Hood had cast his eye over the despatches. 

"Major Randolph, " he said, "you have seen General Bragg?"

"I have. "

"And Generals Johnston and Smith?"

"Yes. "

"You have been through Mississippi and Tennessee and seen all thebattles there?"

"I have, " said Randolph. 

"Then, " said Hood, "there is nothing left except to send you at once tothe army in Virginia under General Lee. Remount your horse at once andride to Gettysburg. Lose no time. "

CHAPTER IV

It was at Gettysburg in Pennsylvania that Randolph found General Lee. 

The famous field is too well known to need description. The armies ofthe North and the South lay in and around the peaceful village ofGettysburg. About it the yellow cornfields basked in the summer sun. Thevoices of the teachers and the laughter of merry children rose in theharvest-fields. But already the shadow of war was falling over thelandscape. As soon as the armies arrived, the shrewder of the farmerssuspected that there would be trouble. 

General Lee was seated gravely on his horse, looking gravely over theground before him. 

"Major Randolph, " said the Confederate chieftain gravely, "you are justin time. We are about to go into action. I need your advice. "

Randolph bowed. "Ask me anything you like, " he said. 

"Do you like the way I have the army placed?" asked Lee. 

Our hero directed a searching look over the field. "Frankly, I don't, "he said. 

"What's the matter with it?" questioned Lee eagerly. "I felt there wassomething wrong myself. What is it?"

"Your left, " said Randolph, "is too far advanced. It sticks out. "

"By Heaven!" said Lee, turning to General Longstreet, "the boy is right!Is there anything else?"

"Yes, " said Randolph, "your right is crooked. It is all sideways. "

"It is. It is!" said Lee, striking his forehead. "I never noticed it. I'll have it straightened at once. Major Randolph, if the Confederatecause is saved, you, and you alone, have saved it. "

"One thing more, " said Randolph. "Is your artillery loaded?"

"Major Randolph, " said Lee, speaking very gravely, "you have saved usagain. I never thought of it. "

At this moment a bullet sang past Eggleston's ear. He smiled. 

"The battle has begun, " he murmured. Another bullet buzzed past hisother ear. He laughed softly to himself. A shell burst close to hisfeet. He broke into uncontrolled laughter. This kind of thing alwaysamused him. Then, turning grave in a moment, "Put General Lee undercover, " he said to those about him, "spread something over him. "

In a few moments the battle was raging in all directions. TheConfederate Army was nominally controlled by General Lee, but in realityby our hero. Eggleston was everywhere. Horses were shot under him. Muleswere shot around him and behind him. Shells exploded all over him; butwith undaunted courage he continued to wave his sword in all directions, riding wherever the fight was hottest. 

The battle raged for three days. 

On the third day of the conflict, Randolph, his coat shot to rags, hishat pierced, his trousers practically useless, still stood at Lee'sside, urging and encouraging him. 

Mounted on his charger, he flew to and fro in all parts of the field, moving the artillery, leading the cavalry, animating and directing theinfantry. In fact, he was the whole battle. 

But his efforts were in vain. 

He turned sadly to General Lee. "It is bootless, " he said. 

"What is?" asked Lee. 

"The army, " said Randolph. "We must withdraw it. "

"Major Randolph, " said the Confederate chief, "I yield to your superiorknowledge. We must retreat. "

A few hours later the Confederate forces, checked but not beaten, wereretiring southward towards Virginia. 

Eggleston, his head sunk in thought, rode in the rear. 

As he thus slowly neared a farmhouse, a woman--a girl--flew from ittowards him with outstretched arms. 

"Eggleston!" she cried. 

Randolph flung himself from his horse. "Leonora!" he gasped. "You here!In all this danger! How comes it? What brings you here?"

"We live here, " she said. "This is Pa's house. This is our farm. Gettysburg is our home. Oh, Egg, it has been dreadful, the noise of thebattle! We couldn't sleep for it. Pa's all upset about it. But come in. Do come in. Dinner's nearly ready. "

Eggleston gazed a moment at the retreating army. Duty and affectionstruggled in his heart. 

"I will, " he said. 

CHAPTER V

CONCLUSION

The strife is done. The conflict has ceased. The wounds are healed. North and South are one. East and West are even less. The Civil War isover. Lee is dead. Grant is buried in New York. The Union Pacific runsfrom Omaha to San Francisco. There is total prohibition in the UnitedStates. The output of dressed beef last year broke all records. 

And Eggleston Lee Carey Randolph survives, hale and hearty, bright andcheery, free and easy--and so forth. There is grey hair upon his temples(some, not much), and his step has lost something of its elasticity (nota great deal), and his form is somewhat bowed (though not reallycrooked). 

But he still lives there in the farmstead at Gettysburg, and Leonora, now, like himself, an old woman, is still at his side. 

You may see him any day. In fact, he is the old man who shows you overthe battlefield for fifty cents and explains how he himself fought andwon the great battle. 

VIII

BUGGAM GRANGE

A GOOD OLD GHOST STORY

_VIII. --Buggam Grange: A Good Old Ghost Story. _

The evening was already falling as the vehicle in which I was containedentered upon the long and gloomy avenue that leads to Buggam Grange. 

A resounding shriek echoed through the wood as I entered the avenue. Ipaid no attention to it at the moment, judging it to be merely one ofthose resounding shrieks which one might expect to hear in such a placeat such a time. As my drive continued, however I found myself wonderingin spite of myself why such a shriek should have been uttered at thevery moment of my approach. 

I am not by temperament in any degree a nervous man, and yet there wasmuch in my surroundings to justify a certain feeling of apprehension. The Grange is situated in the loneliest part of England, the marshcountry of the fens to which civilization has still hardly penetrated. The inhabitants, of whom there are only one and a half to the squaremile, live here and there among the fens and eke out a miserableexistence by frog-fishing and catching flies. They speak a dialect sobroken as to be practically unintelligible, while the perpetual rainwhich falls upon them renders speech itself almost superfluous. 

Here and there where the ground rises slightly above the level of thefens there are dense woods tangled with parasitic creepers and filledwith owls. Bats fly from wood to wood. The air on the lower ground ischarged with the poisonous gases which exude from the marsh, while inthe woods it is heavy with the dank odours of deadly nightshade andpoison ivy. 

It had been raining in the afternoon, and as I drove up the avenue themournful dripping of the rain from the dark trees accentuated thecheerlessness of the gloom. The vehicle in which I rode was a fly onthree wheels, the fourth having apparently been broken and taken off, causing the fly to sag on one side and drag on its axle over the muddyground, the fly thus moving only at a foot's pace in a way calculated toenhance the dreariness of the occasion. The driver on the box in frontof me was so thickly muffled up as to be indistinguishable, while thehorse which drew us was so thickly coated with mist as to be practicallyinvisible. Seldom, I may say, have I had a drive of so mournful acharacter. 

The avenue presently opened out upon a lawn with overgrown shrubberies, and in the half darkness I could see the outline of the Grange itself, arambling, dilapidated building. A dim light struggled through thecasement of a window in a tower room. Save for the melancholy cry of arow of owls sitting on the roof, and croaking of the frogs in the moatwhich ran around the grounds, the place was soundless. My driver haltedhis horse at the hither side of the moat. I tried in vain to urge him, by signs, to go further. I could see by the fellow's face that he wasin a paroxysm of fear, and indeed nothing but the extra sixpence which Ihad added to his fare would have made him undertake the drive up theavenue. I had no sooner alighted than he wheeled his cab about and madeoff. 

Laughing heartily at the fellow's trepidation (I have a way of laughingheartily in the dark), I made my way to the door and pulled thebell-handle. I could hear the muffled reverberations of the bell farwithin the building. Then all was silent. I bent my ear to listen, butcould hear nothing except, perhaps, the sound of a low moaning as of aperson in pain or in great mental distress. Convinced, however, fromwhat my friend Sir Jeremy Buggam had told me, that the Grange was notempty, I raised the ponderous knocker and beat with it loudly againstthe door. 

But perhaps at this point I may do well to explain to my readers (beforethey are too frightened to listen to me) how I came to be beating on thedoor of Buggam Grange at nightfall on a gloomy November evening. 

A year before I had been sitting with Sir Jeremy Buggam, the presentbaronet, on the verandah of his ranch in California. 

"So you don't believe in the supernatural?" he was saying. 

"Not in the slightest, " I answered, lighting a cigar as I spoke. When Iwant to speak very positively, I generally light a cigar as I speak. 

"Well, at any rate, Digby, " said Sir Jeremy, "Buggam Grange is haunted. If you want to be assured of it go down there any time and spend thenight and you'll see for yourself. "

"My dear fellow, " I replied, "nothing will give me greater pleasure. Ishall be back in England in six weeks, and I shall be delighted to putyour ideas to the test. Now tell me, " I added somewhat cynically, "isthere any particular season or day when your Grange is supposed to bespecially terrible?"

Sir Jeremy looked at me strangely. "Why do you ask that?" he said. "Haveyou heard the story of the Grange?"

"Never heard of the place in my life, " I answered cheerily. "Till youmentioned it to-night, my dear fellow, I hadn't the remotest idea thatyou still owned property in England. "

"The Grange is shut up, " said Sir Jeremy, "and has been for twentyyears. But I keep a man there--Horrod--he was butler in my father's timeand before. If you care to go, I'll write him that you're coming. And, since you are taking your own fate in your hands, the fifteenth ofNovember is the day. "

At that moment Lady Buggam and Clara and the other girls came troopingout on the verandah, and the whole thing passed clean out of my mind. Nor did I think of it again until I was back in London. Then, by one ofthose strange coincidences or premonitions--call it what you will--itsuddenly occurred to me one morning that it was the fifteenth ofNovember. Whether Sir Jeremy had written to Horrod or not, I did notknow. But none the less nightfall found me, as I have described, knocking at the door of Buggam Grange. 

The sound of the knocker had scarcely ceased to echo when I heard theshuffling of feet within, and the sound of chains and bolts beingwithdrawn. The door opened. A man stood before me holding a lightedcandle which he shaded with his hand. His faded black clothes, onceapparently a butler's dress, his white hair and advanced age left me inno doubt that he was Horrod of whom Sir Jeremy had spoken. 

Without a word he motioned me to come in, and, still without speech, hehelped me to remove my wet outer garments, and then beckoned me into agreat room, evidently the dining-room of the Grange. 

I am not in any degree a nervous man by temperament, as I think Iremarked before, and yet there was something in the vastness of thewainscoted room, lighted only by a single candle, and in the silence ofthe empty house, and still more in the appearance of my speechlessattendant, which gave me a feeling of distinct uneasiness. As Horrodmoved to and fro I took occasion to scrutinize his face more narrowly. Ihave seldom seen features more calculated to inspire a nervous dread. The pallor of his face and the whiteness of his hair (the man was atleast seventy), and still more the peculiar furtiveness of his eyes, seemed to mark him as one who lived under a great terror. He moved witha noiseless step and at times he turned his head to glance in the darkcorners of the room. 

"Sir Jeremy told me, " I said, speaking as loudly and as heartily as Icould, "that he would apprise you of my coming. "

I was looking into his face as I spoke. 

In answer Horrod laid his finger across his lips and I knew that he wasdeaf and dumb. I am not nervous (I think I said that), but therealization that my sole companion in the empty house was a deaf mutestruck a cold chill to my heart. 

Horrod laid in front of me a cold meat pie, a cold goose, a cheese, anda tall flagon of cider. But my appetite was gone. I ate the goose, butfound that after I had finished the pie I had but little zest for thecheese, which I finished without enjoyment. The cider had a sour taste, and after having permitted Horrod to refill the flagon twice I foundthat it induced a sense of melancholy and decided to drink no more. 

My meal finished, the butler picked up the candle and beckoned me tofollow him. We passed through the empty corridors of the house, a longline of pictured Buggams looking upon us as we passed, their portraitsin the flickering light of the taper assuming a strange and life-likeappearance, as if leaning forward from their frames to gaze upon theintruder. 

Horrod led me upstairs and I realized that he was taking me to the towerin the east wing, in which I had observed a light. 

The rooms to which the butler conducted me consisted of a sitting-roomwith an adjoining bedroom, both of them fitted with antique wainscotingagainst which a faded tapestry fluttered. There was a candle burning onthe table in the sitting-room, but its insufficient light only renderedthe surroundings the more dismal. Horrod bent down in front of thefireplace and endeavoured to light a fire there. But the wood wasevidently damp and the fire flickered feebly on the hearth. 

The butler left me, and in the stillness of the house I could hear hisshuffling step echo down the corridor. It may have been fancy, but itseemed to me that his departure was the signal for a low moan that camefrom somewhere behind the wainscot. There was a narrow cupboard door atone side of the room, and for the moment I wondered whether the moaningcame from within. I am not as a rule lacking in courage (I am sure myreader will be decent enough to believe this), yet I found myselfentirely unwilling to open the cupboard door and look within. In placeof doing so I seated myself in a great chair in front of the feeblefire. I must have been seated there for some time when I happened tolift my eyes to the mantel above and saw, standing upon it, a letteraddressed to myself. I knew the handwriting at once to be that of SirJeremy Buggam. 

I opened it, and spreading it out within reach of the feeblecandlelight, I read as follows:

 "My dear Digby, "In our talk that you will remember, I had no time to finish telling you about the mystery of Buggam Grange. I take for granted, however, that you will go there and that Horrod will put you in the tower rooms, which are the only ones that make any pretence of being habitable. I have, therefore, sent him this letter to deliver at the Grange itself. 

 "The story is this:

 "On the night of the fifteenth of November, fifty years ago, my grandfather was murdered in the room in which you are sitting, by his cousin, Sir Duggam Buggam. He was stabbed from behind while seated at the little table at which you are probably reading this letter. The two had been playing cards at the table and my grandfather's body was found lying in a litter of cards and gold sovereigns on the floor. Sir Duggam Buggam, insensible from drink, lay beside him, the fatal knife at his hand, his fingers smeared with blood. My grandfather, though of the younger branch, possessed a part of the estates which were to revert to Sir Duggam on his death. Sir Duggam Buggam was tried at the Assizes and was hanged. On the day of his execution he was permitted by the authorities, out of respect for his rank, to wear a mask to the scaffold. The clothes in which he was executed are hanging at full length in the little cupboard to your right, and the mask is above them. It is said that on every fifteenth of November at midnight the cupboard door opens and Sir Duggam Buggam walks out into the room. It has been found impossible to get servants to remain at the Grange, and the place--except for the presence of Horrod--has been unoccupied for a generation. At the time of the murder Horrod was a young man of twenty-two, newly entered into the service of the family. It was he who entered the room and discovered the crime. On the day of the execution he was stricken with paralysis and has never spoken since. From that time to this he has never consented to leave the Grange, where he lives in isolation. 

 "Wishing you a pleasant night after your tiring journey, "I remain, "Very faithfully, "Jeremy Buggam. "

I leave my reader to imagine my state of mind when I completed theperusal of the letter. 

I have as little belief in the supernatural as anyone, yet I mustconfess that there was something in the surroundings in which I nowfound myself which rendered me at least uncomfortable. My reader maysmile if he will, but I assure him that it was with a very distinctfeeling of uneasiness that I at length managed to rise to my feet, and, grasping my candle in my hand, to move backward into the bedroom. As Ibacked into it something so like a moan seemed to proceed from theclosed cupboard that I accelerated my backward movement to aconsiderable degree. I hastily blew out the candle, threw myself uponthe bed and drew the bedclothes over my head, keeping, however, one eyeand one ear still out and available. 

How long I lay thus listening to every sound, I cannot tell. Thestillness had become absolute. From time to time I could dimly hear thedistant cry of an owl, and once far away in the building below a soundas of some one dragging a chain along a floor. More than once I wascertain that I heard the sound of moaning behind the wainscot. MeantimeI realized that the hour must now be drawing close upon the fatal momentof midnight. My watch I could not see in the darkness, but by reckoningthe time that must have elapsed I knew that midnight could not be faraway. Then presently my ear, alert to every sound, could justdistinguish far away across the fens the striking of a church bell, inthe clock tower of Buggam village church, no doubt, tolling the hour oftwelve. 

On the last stroke of twelve, the cupboard door in the next room opened. There is no need to ask me how I knew it. I couldn't, of course, see it, but I could hear, or sense in some way, the sound of it. I could feelmy hair, all of it, rising upon my head. I was aware that there was a_presence_ in the adjoining room, I will not say a person, a livingsoul, but a _presence_. Anyone who has been in the next room to apresence will know just how I felt. I could hear a sound as of some onegroping on the floor and the faint rattle as of coins. 

My hair was now perpendicular. My reader can blame it or not, but itwas. 

Then at this very moment from somewhere below in the building there camethe sound of a prolonged and piercing cry, a cry as of a soul passing inagony. My reader may censure me or not, but right at this moment Idecided to beat it. Whether I should have remained to see what washappening is a question that I will not discuss. My one idea was to getout, and to get out quickly. The window of the tower room was sometwenty-five feet above the ground. I sprang out through the casement inone leap and landed on the grass below. I jumped over the shrubbery inone bound and cleared the moat in one jump. I went down the avenue inabout six strides and ran five miles along the road through the fens inthree minutes. This at least is an accurate transcription of mysensations. It may have taken longer. I never stopped till I foundmyself on the threshold of the _Buggam Arms_ in Little Buggam, beatingon the door for the landlord. 

I returned to Buggam Grange on the next day in the bright sunlight of afrosty November morning, in a seven-cylinder motor car with six localconstables and a physician. It makes all the difference. We carriedrevolvers, spades, pickaxes, shotguns and an ouija board. 

What we found cleared up for ever the mystery of the Grange. Wediscovered Horrod the butler lying on the dining-room floor quite dead. The physician said that he had died from heart failure. There wasevidence from the marks of his shoes in the dust that he had come in thenight to the tower room. On the table he had placed a paper whichcontained a full confession of his having murdered Jeremy Buggam fiftyyears before. The circumstances of the murder had rendered it easy forhim to fasten the crime upon Sir Duggam, already insensible from drink. A few minutes with the ouija board enabled us to get a fullcorroboration from Sir Duggam. He promised, moreover, now that his namewas cleared, to go away from the premises for ever. 

My friend, the present Sir Jeremy, has rehabilitated Buggam Grange. Theplace is rebuilt. The moat is drained. The whole house is lit withelectricity. There are beautiful motor drives in all directions in thewoods. He has had the bats shot and the owls stuffed. His daughter, Clara Buggam, became my wife. She is looking over my shoulder as Iwrite. What more do you want?

THE END

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

LITERARY LAPSES

_Twelfth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Spectator. _--"This little book is a happy example of the way in which the double life can be lived blamelessly and to the great advantage of the community. The book fairly entitles Mr. Leacock to be considered not only a humorist but a benefactor. The contents should appeal to English readers with the double virtue that attaches to work which is at once new and richly humorous. "

 _Globe. _--"One specimen of Mr. Leacock's humour, 'Boarding-House Geometry, ' has long been treasured on this side. "

 _The Guardian. _--"Much to be welcomed is Professor Stephen Leacock's 'Literary Lapses, '--this charming and humorous work. All the sketches have a freshness and a new personal touch. Mr. Leacock is, as the politicians say, 'a national asset, ' and Mr. Leacock is a Canadian to be proud of. One has the comfortable feeling as one reads that one is in the company of a cultured person capable of attractive varieties of foolishness. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"The appearance of 'Literary Lapses' is practically the English début of a young Canadian writer who is turning from medicine to literature with every success. Dr. Stephen Leacock is at least the equal of many who are likely to be long remembered for their short comic sketches and essays; he has already shown that he has the high spirits of 'Max Adeler' and the fine sense of quick fun. There are many sketches in 'Literary Lapses' that are worthy of comparison with the best American humour. "

 _Morning Post. _--"The close connection between imagination, humour, and the mathematical faculty has never been so delightfully demonstrated. "

 _Outlook. _--"Mr. John Lane must be credited with the desire of associating the Bodley Head with the discovery of new humorists. Mr. Leacock sets out to make people laugh. He succeeds and makes them laugh at the right thing. He has a wide range of new subjects; the world will gain in cheerfulness if Mr. Leacock continues to produce so many excellent jests to the book as there are in the one under notice. "

 _Truth. _--"By the publication of Mr. Stephen Leacock's 'Literary Lapses' Mr. John Lane has introduced to the British Public a new American humorist for whom a widespread popularity can be confidently predicted. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

NONSENSE NOVELS

_THIRTEENTH EDITION_

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Spectator. _--"We can assure our readers who delight in mere joyous desipience that they will find a rich harvest of laughter in the purely irresponsible outpourings of Professor Leacock's fancy. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"It is all not only healthy satire, but healthy humour as well, and shows that the author of 'Literary Lapses' is capable of producing a steady flow of high spirits put into a form which is equal to the best traditions of contemporary humour. Mr. Leacock certainly bids fair to rival the immortal 'Lewis Carroll' in combining the irreconcilable--exact science with perfect humour--and making the amusement better the instruction. "

 _Daily Mail. _--"In his 'Literary Lapses' Mr. Stephen Leacock gave the laughter-loving world assurance of a new humorist of irresistible high spirits and rare spontaneity and freshness. By this rollicking collection of 'Nonsense Novels, ' in tabloid form, he not only confirms the excellent impression of his earlier work, but establishes his reputation as a master of the art of literary burlesque. The whole collection is a sheer delight, and places its author in the front rank as a literary humorist. "

 Mr. JAMES DOUGLAS in _The Star_. --"We have all laughed over Mr. Stephen Leacock's 'Literary Lapses. ' It is one of those books one would die rather than lend, for to lend it is to lose it for ever. Mr. Leacock's new book, 'Nonsense Novels, ' is more humorous than 'Literary Lapses. ' That is to say, it is the most humorous book we have had since Mr. Dooley swum into our ken. Its humour is so rich that it places Mr. Leacock beside Mark Twain. "

 _Morning Leader. _--"Mr. Leacock possesses infinite verbal dexterity. .. . Mr. Leacock must be added as a recognized humorist. "

 _Daily Express. _--"Mr. Stephen Leacock's 'Nonsense Novels' is the best collection of parodies I have read for many a day. The whole book is a scream, witty, ingenious, irresistible. "

 _Public Opinion. _--"A most entertaining book. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

SUNSHINE SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN

WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY CYRUS CUNEO

_Ninth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _The Times. _--"His real hard work, for which no emolument would be a fitting reward, is distilling sunshine. This new book is full of it--the sunshine of humour, the thin keen sunshine of irony, the mellow evening sunshine of sentiment. "

 _Spectator. _--"This is not the first but the third volume in which he has contributed to the gaiety of the Old as well as the New World. .. . A most welcome freedom from the pessimism of Old-World fiction. "

 _Academy. _--"One of the best and most enjoyable series of sketches that we have read for some time . .. They are all bright and sparkling, and bristle with wit and humour. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"Like all real humorists Mr. Leacock steps at once into his proper position. .. . His touch of humour will make the Anglo-Saxon world his reader. .. . We cannot recall a more laughable book. "

 _Globe. _--"Professor Leacock never fails to provide a feast of enjoyment. .. . No one who wishes to dispose intellectually of a few hours should neglect Professor Leacock's admirable contribution to English literature. It is warranted to bring sunshine into every home. "

 _Country Life. _--"Informed by a droll humour, quite unforced, Mr. Leacock reviews his little community for the sport of the thing, and the result is a natural and delightful piece of work. "

 _Daily Telegraph. _--"His Sketches are so fresh and delightful in the manner of their presentation. .. . Allowing for differences of theme, and of the human materials for study, Mr. Leacock strikes us as a sort of Americanised Mr. W. W. Jacobs. Like the English humorist, the Canadian one has a delightfully fresh and amusing way of putting things, of suggesting more than he says, of narrating more or less ordinary happenings in an irresistibly comical fashion. .. . Mr. Leacock should be popular with readers who can appreciate fun shot with kindly satire. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

BEHIND THE BEYOND

AND OTHER CONTRIBUTIONS TO HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. With 16 Illustrations byA. H. FISH. 

_Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Punch. _--"In his latest book, 'Behind the Beyond, ' he is in brilliant scoring form. I can see 'Behind the Beyond' breaking up many homes; for no family will be able to stand the sudden sharp yelps of laughter which must infallibly punctuate the decent after-dinner silence when one of its members gets hold of this book. It is Mr. Leacock's peculiar gift that he makes you laugh out loud. When Mr. Leacock's literal translation of Homer, on p. 193, met my eye, a howl of mirth broke from me. I also forgot myself over the interview with the photographer. As for the sketch which gives its title, to the book, it is the last word in polished satire. The present volume is Mr. Leacock at his best. "

 _Spectator. _--"Beneficent contributions to the gaiety of nations. The longest and best thing in the book is the delightful burlesque of a modern problem play. Miss Fish's illustrations are decidedly clever. "

 _Observer. _--"There are delicious touches in it. "

 _Queen. _--"All through the book the author furnishes a continual feast of enjoyment. "

 _Dundee Advertiser. _--"'Behind the Beyond' is a brilliant parody, and the other sketches are all of Mr. Leacock's very best, 'Homer and Humbug' being as fine a piece of raillery as Mr. Leacock has written. Mr. Leacock is a humorist of the first rank, unique in his own sphere, and this volume will add yet more to his reputation. "

 _Aberdeen Free Press. _--"Exquisite quality . .. Amazingly funny. "

 _Yorkshire Daily Post. _--"In the skit on the problem play which gives the book its title the author reaches his high-water mark. "

 _Glasgow Herald. _--"Another welcome addition to the gaiety of the nations. The title-piece is an inimitably clever skit. It is both genial and realistic, and there is a genuine laugh in every line of it. Humour and artistry are finely blended in the drawings. "

 _Daily Express. _--"The pictures have genuine and rare distinction. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

ARCADIAN ADVENTURES WITH THE IDLE RICH

_FOURTH EDITION_

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Spectator. _--"A blend of delicious fooling and excellent satire. Once more the author of 'Literary Lapses' has proved himself a benefactor of his kind. "

 _Morning Post. _--"All the 'Adventures' are full of the fuel of the laughter which is an intellectual thing. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"Professor Leacock shows no falling off either in his fund of social observation or his power of turning it to sarcasm and humour. The book is full to the brim with honest laughter and clever ideas. "

 _Bystander. _--"It is necessary to laugh, now even more necessary than at ordinary times. Fortunately, Professor Leacock produces a new book at the right moment. It will cause many chuckles. He is simply irresistible. "

 _Westminster Gazette. _--"Marks a distinct advance in Mr. Leacock's artistic development. "

 _Daily Chronicle. _--"This altogether delightful and brilliant comedy of life. .. . Mr. Leacock's humour comes from the very depths of a strong personality, and in the midst of a thousand whimsicalities, a thousand searchlights on the puerilities of human nature he never loses touch with the essential bite of life. "

 _Saturday Review. _--"Professor Leacock is a delightful writer of irresponsible nonsense with a fresh and original touch. These 'Arcadian Adventures' are things of sheer delight. "

 _Tatler. _--"I have not felt so full of eagerness and life since the war began as after I had read this delightfully humorous and clever book. "

 _Evening Standard. _--"In this book the satire is brilliantly conspicuous. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

MOONBEAMS FROM THE LARGER LUNACY

_FOURTH EDITION_

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Times. _--"Such a perfect piece of social observation and joyful castigation as the description of the last man in Europe . .. The portrait of So-and-so is not likely to be forgotten . .. It is so funny and so true. "

 _Morning Post. _--"Excellent fooling . .. Wisdom made laughable. "

 _Daily Chronicle. _--"Here is wit, fun, frolic, nonsense, verse, satire, comedy, criticism--a perfect gold mine for those who love laughter. "

 _Sunday Times. _--"Very pungent and telling satire. Buy the book--it will give you a happy hour. "

 _Standard. _--"Under the beams of the moon of his delight, the author never fails to be amusing. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"Mr. Leacock's humour is a credit to Canada, for it has a depth and a polish such as are both rare in the literature of a young nation. "

 _Land and Water. _--"Unlike a number of so-called humorists, Mr. Leacock is really funny, as these sketches prove. "

 _Field. _--"Indeed a very pleasant hour can be spent with this author, who is full of humour, wit, and cleverness, and by his work adds much to the gaiety of life. "

 _Spectator. _--"Mr. Leacock has added to our indebtedness by his new budget of refreshing absurdities. .. . In shooting folly as it flies, he launches darts that find their billet on both sides of the Atlantic. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

ESSAYS AND LITERARY STUDIES

_Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Truth. _--"Full of practical wisdom, as sober as it is sound. "

 _Morning Post. _--"He is the subtlest of all transatlantic humorists, and, as we have pointed out before, might almost be defined as the discoverer of a method combining English and American humour. But he never takes either his subject or himself too seriously, and the result is a book which is as readable as any of its mirthful predecessors. "

 _World. _--"Those readers who fail to find pleasure in this new volume of Essays will be difficult to please. Here are discourses in the author's happiest vein. "

 _Daily News. _--"All are delightful. "

 _Bystander. _--"No sane person will object to Professor Leacock professing, so long as he periodically issues such good entertainment as 'Essays and Literary Studies. '"

 _Daily Telegraph. _--"The engaging talent of this Canadian author has hitherto been exercised in the lighter realm of wit and fancy. In his latest volume there is the same irresistible humour, the same delicate satire, the same joyous freshness; but the wisdom he distils is concerned more with realities of our changing age. "

 _Outlook. _--"Mr. Leacock's humour is his own, whimsical with the ease of a self-confident personality, far-sighted, quick-witted, and invariably humane. "

 _Times. _--"Professor Leacock's paper on American humour is quite the best that we know upon the subject. "

 _Spectator. _--"Those of us who are grateful to Mr. Leacock as an intrepid purveyor of wholesome food for laughter have not failed to recognize that he mingles shrewdness with levity--that he is, in short, wise as well as merry. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Further Foolishness

SKETCHES AND SATIRES ON THE FOLLIES OF THE DAY

With Coloured Frontispiece by "Fish, " and five other Plates byM. Blood

_Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 _Morning Post. _--"An excellent antidote to war worry. "

 _Evening Standard. _--"You will acknowledge, if you have not done so before, the satirical keenness of Mr. Leacock. "

 _Daily Graphic. _--"The book is a joy all through, laughter on every page. "

 _Times. _--"Further examples of the diverting humour of Professor Leacock. "

 _Bystander. _--"'Further Foolishness, ' in a word, is the most admirable tonic which I can prescribe to-day . .. The jolliest possible medley. "

 _Daily Chronicle. _--"Mr. Leacock's fun is fine and delicate, full of quaint surprises; guaranteed to provoke cheerfulness in the dullest. He is a master-humorist, and this book is one of the cleverest examples of honest humour and witty satire ever produced. "

 _Spectator. _--"In this new budget of absurdities we are more than ever reminded of Mr. Leacock's essential affinity with Artemus Ward, in whose wildest extravagances there was nearly always a core of wholesome sanity, who was always on the side of the angels, and who was a true patriot as well as a great humorist. "

 _Pall Mall Gazette. _--"A humorist of high excellence. "

 _Daily Express. _--"Really clever and admirably good fun. "

 _Star. _--"Some day there will be a Leacock Club. Its members will all possess a sense of humour. "

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

FRENZIED FICTION

_FOURTH EDITION_

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 "Everything in 'Frenzied Fiction' is exhilarating. Full of good things. "--_Morning Post. _

 "More delightful samples of Leacock humour. These delightful chapters show Mr. Leacock at his best. "

 _Daily Graphic. _

 "Stephen Leacock has firmly established himself in public favour as one of our greatest humorists. His readers will be more than pleased with 'Frenzied Fiction. '"--_Evening Standard. _

 "It is enough to say that Mr. Leacock retains an unimpaired command of his happy gift of disguising sanity in the garb of the ludicrous. There is always an ultimate core of shrewd common-sense in his burlesques. "--_Spectator. _

 "Full of mellow humour. "--_Daily Mail. _

 "From beginning to end the book is one long gurgle of delight. "--_World. _

 "If it is your first venture into the Leacockian world read that delicious parody 'My Revelations as a Spy, ' and we will be sworn that before you've turned half a dozen pages you will have become a life-member of the Leacock Lodge. "--_Town Topics. _

 "When humour is such as you get in 'Frenzied Fiction' it is a very good thing indeed. "--_Sketch. _

 "There is always sufficient sense under Stephen Leacock's nonsense to enable one to read him at least twice. "--_Land and Water. _

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE HOHENZOLLERNS IN AMERICA

AND OTHER IMPOSSIBILITIES

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 "Equal in gay humour and deft satire to any of its predecessors, and no holiday will be so gay but this volume will make it gayer. .. . It is a book of rollicking good humour that will keep you chuckling long past summer-time. "--_Daily Chronicle. _

 "At his best, full of whims and oddities . .. The most cheerful of humorists and the wisest of wayside philosophers. "--_Daily Telegraph. _

 "He has never provided finer food for quiet enjoyment . .. His precious quality of Rabelaisian humanism has matured and broadened in its sympathy. "--_Globe. _

 "In the author's merriest mood. All of it is distilled wit and wisdom of the best brand, full of honest laughter, fun and frolic, comedy and criticism. "--_Daily Graphic. _

 "The book is inspired by that spirit of broad farce which runs glorious riot through nearly all that Stephen Leacock has written. "--_Bookman. _

 "He has all the energy and exuberance of the born humorist. .. . All admirers will recognize it as typical of Mr. Leacock's best work. "--_Manchester Guardian. _

 "An entertaining volume. "--_Scotsman. _

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE UNSOLVED RIDDLE OF SOCIAL JUSTICE

_Crown 8vo. 5s. Net_

 A discussion of the new social unrest, the transformation of society which it portends and the social catastrophe which it might precipitate. 

 The point of view taken by the author leads towards the conclusion that the safety of the future lies in a progressive movement of social control alleviating at least the misery it cannot obliterate, and based upon the broad general principle of equality of opportunity, and a fair start. The chief immediate opportunities for social betterment, as the writer sees them, lie in the attempt to give every human being in childhood, education and opportunity. 

 "His book is short, lucid, always to the point, and sometimes witty. "--_Times. _

 "A book for the times, suggestive, critical and highly stimulating. Mr. Leacock surveys the troubled hour and discusses the popular palliatives with a keen, unbiassed intelligence and splendid sympathy. I hope it will have as large a circulation as any of his humorous books, for it has much wisdom in it. "--_Daily Chronicle. _

 "The charm of Mr. Leacock's book is . .. That it deals tersely and clearly with the problem of Social Justice without technical jargon or any abuse of generalities. "--_Morning Post. _

 * * * * *

THE HUMOROUS NOVELS OF HARRY LEON WILSON

BUNKER BEANMA PETTENGILLSOMEWHERE IN RED GAPRUGGLES OF RED GAP

_Crown 8vo. 7s. Net_

 Harry Leon Wilson is one of the first of American humorists, and in popularity he is a close rival of O. Henry. His "Ruggles of Red Gap, " published at the beginning of the war, achieved a distinct success in England, while the raciness and vivacity of "Ma Pettengill" have furthered the author's reputation as an inimitable delineator of Western comedy. An English edition of this author's works is in course of preparation, of which the above are the first volumes. 

 "The author has the rare and precious gift of original humour. "--_Daily Graphic. _

 "Thackeray would have enjoyed Mr. Wilson's merry tale of 'Ruggles of Red Gap. ' A very triumph of farce. "--_Sunday Times. _

 "Mr. Wilson is an American humorist of the first water. We have not for a long time seen anything so clever in its way and so outrageously funny. "--_Literary World. _

LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD