A HUSBAND BY PROXY

By

JACK STEELE

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1909, by

Desmond FitzGerald, Inc. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. THE PROPOSITION II. A SECOND EMPLOYMENT III. TWO ENCOUNTERS IV. UNSPOKEN ANTAGONISM V. THE "SHADOW" VI. THE CORONER VII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY VIII. WHERE CLEWS MAY POINT IX. A SUMMONS X. A COMPLICATION XI. THE SHOCK OF TRUTH XII. A DISTURBING LOSS XIII. A TRYST IN THE PARK XIV. A PACKAGE OF DEATH XV. SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERIES XVI. IN QUEST OF DOROTHY XVII. A RESCUE BY FORCE XVIII. THE RACE XIX. FRIGHT AND A DISAPPEARANCE XX. NEW HAPPENINGS XXI. REVELATIONS XXII. A MAN IN THE CASE XXIII. THE ENEMY'S TRACKS XXIV. A NEW ALARM XXV. A DEARTH OF CLEWS XXVI. STARTLING DISCLOSURES XXVII. LIKE A BOLT FROM THE BLUE XXVIII. A HELPLESS SITUATION XXIX. NIGHT-WALKERS XXX. OVERTURES FROM THE ENEMY XXXI. THE FRET OF WAITING XXXII. A TRAGIC CULMINATION XXXIII. FOSTER DURGIN XXXIV. THE RICHES OF THE WORLD XXXV. JOHN HARDY'S WILL XXXVI. GARRISON'S VALUED FRIEND XXXVII. A HONEYMOON

A Husband by Proxy

CHAPTER I

THE PROPOSITION

With the hum of New York above, below, and all about him, stirring hispulses and prodding his mental activities, Jerold Garrison, expertcriminologist, stood at the window of his recently opened office, looking out upon the roofs and streets of the city with a new sense ofpride and power in his being. 

New York at last!

He was here--unknown and alone, it was true--but charged with an energythat he promised Manhattan should feel. 

He was almost penniless, with his office rent, his licenses, and otherexpenses paid, but he shook his fist at the city, in sheer good natureand confidence in his strength, despite the fact he had waited a weekfor expected employment, and nothing at present loomed upon the horizon. 

His past, in a small Ohio town, was behind him. He blotted it outwithout regret--or so at least he said to himself--even as to all thegilded hopes which had once seemed his all upon earth. If his heartwas not whole, no New York eye should see its wounds--and the healingprocess had begun. 

He was part of the vast machine about him, the mighty brain, as itwere, of the great American nation. 

He paced the length of his room, and glanced at the door. Thehalf-painted sign on the frosted glass was legible, reversed, as theartist had left it:

 JEROLD -------- CRIMINOLOGIST. 

He had halted the painter himself on the name, as the letteringappeared too fanciful--not sufficiently plain or bold. 

While he stood there a shadow fell upon the glass. Someone wasstanding outside, in the hall. As if undecided, the owner of theshadow oscillated for a moment--and disappeared. Garrison, tempted toopen the door and gratify a natural curiosity, remained beside hisdesk. Mechanically his hand, which lay upon a book entitled "ATreatise on Poisons, " closed the volume. 

He was still watching the door. The shadow returned, the knob wasrevolved, and there, in the oaken frame, stood a tall young woman ofextraordinary beauty, richly though quietly dressed, and swiftlychanging color with excitement. 

Pale in one second, crimson in the next, and evidently concentratingall her power on an effort to be calm, she presented a strangelyappealing and enchanting figure to the man across the room. Braverywas blazing in her glorious brown eyes, and firmness came upon hermanner as she stepped inside, closed the door, and silently confrontedthe detective. 

The man she was studying was a fine-looking, clean-cut fellow, gray-eyed, smooth-shaven, with thick brown hair, and with agentleman-athlete air that made him distinctly attractive. Thefearless, honest gaze of his eyes completed a personal charm that wasundeniable in his entity. 

It seemed rather long that the two thus stood there, face to face. Garrison candidly admiring in his gaze, his visitor studious andslightly uncertain. 

She was the first to speak. 

"Are you Mr. Jerold?"

"Jerold Garrison, " the detective answered. "My sign is unfinished. May I offer you a chair?"

His caller sat down beside the desk. She continued to study his facefrankly, with a half-shy, half-defiant scrutiny, as if she banished anatural diffidence under pressure of necessity. 

She spoke again, abruptly. 

"I wish to procure peculiar services. Are you a very well-knowndetective?"

"I have never called myself a detective, " said Garrison. "I'm tryingto occupy a higher sphere of usefulness. I left college a year ago, and last week opened my office here and became a New Yorker. "

He might, in all modesty, have exhibited a scrap-book filled withaccounts of his achievements, with countless references to his work asa "scientific criminologist" of rare mental attainments. Of hisattainments as a gentleman there was no need of reference. Theyproclaimed themselves in his bearing. 

His visitor laid a glove and a scrap of paper on the desk. 

"It isn't so much detective services I require, " she said; "but ofcourse you are widely acquainted in New York--I mean with young menparticularly?"

"No, " he replied, "I know almost none. But I know the city fairlywell, if that will answer your purpose. "

"I thought, of course--I hoped you might know some honorable---- Yousee, I have come on rather extraordinary business, " she said, falteringa little helplessly. "Let me ask you first--is the confidence of apossible client quite sacred with a man in this profession?"

"Absolutely sacred!" he assured her. "Whether you engage my servicesor not, your utterances here will be treated as confidential and asinviolate as if spoken to a lawyer, a doctor, or a clergyman. "

"Thank you, " she murmured. "I have been hunting around----"

She left the sentence incomplete. 

"And you found my name quite by accident, " he supplied, indicating thescrap of paper. "I cannot help observing that you have been to otheroffices first. You have tramped all the way down Broadway fromForty-second Street, for the red ink that someone spilled at theForty-first Street crossing is still on your shoe, together with just afilm of dust. "

She withdrew her shoe beneath the edge of her skirt, although he hadnever apparently glanced in that direction. 

"Yes, " she admitted, "I have been to others--and they wouldn't do. Icame in here because of the name--Jerold. I am sorry you are notbetter acquainted--for my business is important. "

"Perhaps if I knew the nature of your needs I might be able to adviseyou, " said Garrison. "I hope to be more widely acquainted soon. "

She cast him one look, full of things inscrutable, and lowered herlashes in silence. She was evidently striving to overcome someindecision. 

Garrison looked at her steadily. He thought he had never in his lifebeheld a woman so beautiful. Some wild, unruly hope that she mightbecome his client, perhaps even a friend, was flaring in his mind. 

The color came and went in her cheeks, adding fresh loveliness at everychange. She glanced at her list of names, from which a number had beenscratched. 

"Well, " she said presently, "I think perhaps you might still be able toattend to my requirements. "

He waited to hear her continue, but she needed encouragement. 

"I shall be glad to try, " he assured her. 

She was silent again--and blushing. She looked up somewhat defiantly. 

"I wish you to procure me a husband. "

Garrison stared. He was certain he had heard incorrectly. 

"I do not mean an actual husband, " she explained. "I simply mean somehonorable young man who will assume the rôle for a time, as a businessproposition, for a fee to be paid as I would pay for anything else. 

"I would require that he understand the affair to be strictlycommercial, and that when I wish the arrangement to terminate he willdisappear from the scene and from my acquaintance at once andabsolutely. 

"All I ask of you is to supply me such a person. I will pay youwhatever fee you may demand--in reason. "

Garrison looked at her as fixedly as she was looking at him. 

Her recital of her needs had brought to the surface a phase ofdesperation in her bearing that wrought upon him potently, he knew notwhy. 

"I think I understand your requirements, as far as one can in thecircumstances, " he answered. "I hardly believe I have the ability toengage such a person as you need for such a mission. I informed you atthe start that my acquaintance with New York men is exceedingly narrow. I cannot think of anyone I could honestly recommend. "

"But don't you know any honorable young gentleman--like some collegeman, perhaps--here in New York, looking for employment; someone whomight be glad to earn, say, five hundred dollars?" she insisted. "Surely if you only know a few, there must be one among them. "

Garrison sat back in his chair and took hold of his smooth-shaved lipwith his thumb and finger. He reviewed his few New York experiencesrapidly. 

"No, " he repeated. "I know of no such man. I am sorry. "

His visitor looked at him with a new, flashing light in her eyes. 

"Not one?" she said, significantly. "Not one young _college_ man?"

He was unsuspicious of her meaning. 

"Not one. "

For a moment she fingered her glove where it lay upon the desk. Then alook of more pronounced determination and courage came upon her face asshe raised her eyes once more to Garrison's. 

She said:

"Are you married?"

A flush came at once upon Garrison's face--and memories and heartachespossessed him for a poignant moment. He mastered himself almostinstantly. 

"No, " he said with some emotion, "I am not. "

"Then, " she said, "couldn't you undertake the task yourself?"

Garrison leaned forward on the table. Lightning from an azure skycould have been no more astonishing or unexpected. 

"Do you mean--will I play this rôle--as your husband?" he said slowly. "Is that what you are asking?"

"Yes, " she answered unflinchingly. "Why not? You need the money; Ineed the services. You understand exactly what it is I require. It isbusiness, and you are a business man. "

"But I have no wish to be a married man, or even to masquerade as one, "he told her bluntly. 

"You have quite as much wish to be one as I have to be a marriedwoman, " she answered. "We would understand each other thoroughly fromthe start. As to masquerading, if you have no acquaintances, then whowould be the wiser?"

He acknowledged the logic of her argument; nevertheless, the thingseemed utterly preposterous. He rose and walked the length of hisoffice, and stood looking out of the window. Then he returned andresumed his seat. He was strangely moved by her beauty and someunexplained helplessness of her plight, vouchsafed to his senses, yethe recognized a certain need for caution. 

"What should I be expected to do?" he inquired. 

His visitor, in the mental agitation which had preceded this interview, had taken little if any time to think of the details likely to attendan alliance such as she had just proposed. She could only think ingeneralities. 

"Why--there will be very little for you to do, except to permityourself to be considered my lawful husband, temporarily, " she repliedafter a moment of hesitation, with a hot flush mounting to her cheek. 

"And to whom would I play?" he queried. "Should I be obliged, in thiscapacity, to meet your relatives and friends?"

"Certainly--a few, " said his visitor. "But I have almost no relativesin the world. I have no father, mother, brothers, or sisters. Therewill be, at most, a few distant relatives and possibly my lawyer. "

Garrison made no response. He was trying to think what such a gamewould mean--and what it might involve. 

His visitor presently added:

"Do you consent--for five hundred dollars?"

"I don't know, " answered the man. Again he paced the room. When hehalted before his client he looked at her sternly. 

"You haven't told me your name, " he said. 

She gave him her card, on which appeared nothing more than just merelythe name "Mrs. Jerold Fairfax, " with an address in an uptown West Sidestreet. 

Garrison glanced at it briefly. 

"This is something you have provided purposely to fit yourrequirements, " he said. "Am I not supposed to know you by any othername?"

"If you accept the--the employment, " she answered, once more blushingcrimson, "you may be obliged at times to call me Dorothy. My maidenname was Dorothy Booth. "

Garrison merely said: "Oh!"

They were silent for a moment. The man was pondering thepossibilities. His visitor was evidently anxious. 

"I suppose I can find someone else if you refuse the employment, " shesaid. "But you will understand that my search is one of greatdifficulty. The person I employ must be loyal, a gentleman, courageous, resourceful, and very little known. You can see yourselfthat you are particularly adapted for the work. "

"Thank you, " said Garrison, who was aware that no particular flatterywas intended. He added: "I hardly suppose it could do me any harm. "

Mrs. Fairfax accepted this ungallant observation calmly. Sherecognized the fact that his side of the question had its aspects. 

She waited for Garrison to speak again. 

A knock at the door startled them both. A postman entered, dropped twoletters on the desk, and departed down the hall. 

Garrison took up the letters. One was a circular of his own, addressedto a lawyer over a month before, and now returned undelivered andmarked "Not found, " though three or four different addresses had beensupplied in its peregrinations. 

The second letter was addressed to himself in typewritten form. He wastoo engrossed to tear it open, and laid them both upon the table. 

"If I took this up, " he presently resumed, "I should be obliged to knowsomething more about it. For instance, when were we supposed to havebeen married?"

"On the 10th of last month, " she answered promptly. 

"Oh!" said he. "And, in case of necessity, how should we prove it?"

"By my wedding certificate, " she told him calmly. 

His astonishment increased. 

"Then you were actually married, over a month ago?"

"I have the certificate. Isn't that sufficient?" she replied evasively. 

"Well--I suppose it is--for this sort of an arrangement, " he agreed. "Of course some man's name must appear in the document. I should beobliged, I presume, to adopt his name as part of the arrangement?"

"Certainly, " she said. "I told you I came into your office becauseyour name is Jerold. "

"Exactly, " he mused. "The name I'd assume is Jerold Fairfax?"

She nodded, watching him keenly. 

"It's a good enough name, " said Garrison. 

He paced up and down the floor in silence a number of times. Mrs. Fairfax watched him in apparent calm. 

"This is a great temptation, " he admitted. "I should like to earn thefee you have mentioned, Miss Booth--Mrs. Fairfax, but----"

He halted. 

"Well?"

"I don't exactly like the look of it, to be frank, " he confessed. "Idon't know you, and you don't know me. I am not informed whether youare really married or not. If you are, and the man---- You have nodesire to enlighten me on these matters. Can you tell me why you wishto pretend that I am your husband?"

"I do not wish to discuss that aspect of the arrangement at present, "she said. "It is purely a business proposition that should last nomore than a month or two at most, and then terminate forever. I wouldprefer to have you remain out of town as much as possible. "

"A great many haphazard deductions present themselves to my mind, " hesaid, "but all are doubtless inaccurate. I have no morbid curiosityconcerning your affairs, but this thing would involve me almost as muchas yourself, by its very nature. "

His brows were knitted in indecision. 

There was silence again between them. His visitor presently said:

"If I could offer you more than the five hundred dollars, I wouldgladly do so. "

"Oh, the fee is large enough, for up to date I have had no employmentor even a prospect of work, " said Garrison. "I hope you will not beoffended when I say that I have recently become a cautious man. "

"I know how strange it appears for me to come here with thisextraordinary request, " agreed Mrs. Fairfax. "I hardly know how I havedone so. But there was no one to help me. I hope you will notconsider the matter for another moment if you feel that either of uscannot trust the other. In a way, I am placing my honor in yourkeeping far more than you are placing yourself in charge of mine. "

Garrison looked at her steadily, and something akin tosympathy--something that burned like wine of romance in his blood--withzest of adventure and a surge of generosity toward this unknowngirl--tingled in all his being. Something in her helplessness appealedto his innate chivalry. 

Calmly, however, he took a new estimate of her character, notwithstanding the fact that his first, most reliable impression hadbeen entirely in her favor. 

"Well, " he said, after a moment, "it's a blind game for me, but I thinkI'll accept your offer. When do you wish me to begin my services?"

"I should like to notify my lawyer as soon as possible, " answered Mrs. Fairfax, frankly relieved by his decision. "He may regard the factthat he was not sooner notified as a little peculiar. "

"Practically you wish me to assume my rôle at once, " commentedGarrison. "What is your lawyer's name?"

"Mr. Stephen Trowbridge. "

Garrison took up that much-addressed letter, returned by the post, andpassed it across the table. The one fairly legible line on its surfaceread:

 STEPHEN TROWBRIDGE, ESQ. 

"I think that must be the same individual, " he said. "I sent outannouncements of my business and presence here to nearly every lawyerin the State. This envelope has been readdressed, as you observe, butit has never reached its destination. Is that your man?"

Mrs. Fairfax examined the missive. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think so. Do you wish his present address?"

"If you please, " answered Garrison. "I shall take the liberty ofsteaming this open and removing its contents, after which I will placean antedated letter or notification of the--our marriage--written byyourself--in the envelope, redirect it, and send it along. It willfinally land in the hands of your lawyer with its tardiness verynaturally explained. "

"You mean the notification will appear as if misdirected originally, "said Dorothy. "An excellent idea. "

"Perhaps you will compose the note at once, " said Garrison, pushingpaper, pen, and ink across the desk. "You may leave the rest, with theaddress, to me. "

His visitor hesitated for a moment, as if her decision wavered in thisvital moment of plunging into unknown fates, but she took up the penand wrote the note and address with commendable brevity. 

Garrison was walking up and down the office. 

"The next step----" he started to say, but his visitor interrupted. 

"Isn't this the only step necessary to take until something arisesmaking others expedient?"

"There is one slight thing remaining, " he answered, taking up her card. "You are in a private residence?"

"Yes. The caretaker, a woman, is always there. "

"Have you acquainted her with the fact of your marriage?"

"Certainly. She is an English servant. She asks no questions. But Itold her my husband is away from town and will be absent almostconstantly for the next two or three months. "

Garrison slightly elevated his brows, in acknowledgment of thethoroughness of her arrangements. 

"I have never attempted much acting--a little at private theatricals, "he told her; "but of course we shall both be obliged to play thislittle domestic comedy with some degree of art. "

She seemed prepared for that also, despite the sudden crimson of hercheeks. 

"Certainly. "

"One more detail, " he added. "You have probably found it necessary towithhold certain facts from my knowledge. I trust I shall not be ledinto awkward blunders. I shall do my best, and for the rest--I beg ofyou to conduct the affair according to your own requirements andjudgment. "

The slightly veiled smile in his eyes did not escape her observation. Nevertheless, she accepted his proposal quite as a matter of course. 

"Thank you. I am glad you relieved me of the necessity of making somesuch suggestion. I think that is all--for the present. " She stood up, and, fingering her glove, glanced down at the table for a moment. "MayI pay, say, two hundred dollars now, as a retainer?"

"I shall be gratified if you will, " he answered. 

In silence she counted out the money, which she took from a purse in abag. The bills lay there in a heap. 

"When you wish any more, will you please let me know?" she said. "Andwhen I require your services I will wire. Perhaps I'd better take boththis office and your house address. "

He wrote them both on a card and placed it in her hand. 

"Thank you, " she murmured. She closed her purse, hesitated a moment, then raised her eyes to his. Quite coldly she added: "Good-afternoon. "

"Good-day, " answered Garrison. 

He opened the door, bowed to her slightly as she passed--then facedabout and stared at the money that lay upon his desk. 

CHAPTER II

A SECOND EMPLOYMENT

For a moment, when he found himself alone, Garrison stood absolutelymotionless beside the door. Slowly he came to the desk again, and slowlyhe assembled the bills. He rolled them in a neat, tight wad, and heldthem in his hand. 

Word for word and look for look he reviewed the recent dialogue, shakinghis head at the end. 

He had never been so puzzled in his life. 

The situation, his visitor--all of it baffled him utterly. Had not themoney remained in his grasp he might have believed he was dreaming. 

"She was frightened, and yet she had a most remarkable amount of nerve, "he reflected. "She might be an heiress, an actress, or a princess. Shemay be actually married--and then again she may not; probably not, sincetwo husbands on the scene would be embarrassing. "

"She may be playing at any sort of a game, financial, political, ordomestic--therefore dangerous, safe, or commonplace, full of intrigue, ora mystery, or the silliest caprice. 

"She--oh, Lord--I don't know! She is beautiful--that much is certain. She seems to be honest. Those deep, brown eyes go with innocence--andalso with scheming; in which respect they precisely resemble blue eyes, and gray, and all the other feminine colors. And yet she seemed, well, helpless, worried--almost desperate. She must be desperate and helpless. "

Again, in fancy, he was looking in her face, and something was stirringin his blood. That was all he really knew. She had stirred him--and hewas glad of the meeting--glad he had entered her employment. 

He placed the roll of money in his pocket, then looked across his desk atthe clean, white letter which the postman had recently delivered. 

He took it up, paused again to wonder at the meaning of what hadoccurred, then tore the envelope and drew forth the contents. 

He had barely spread the letter open when a knock on the door startledevery thought in his brain. 

His first conclusion was that Mrs. Fairfax had returned to repudiate herbargain and ask the surrender of her money. With a smile for any fate, he crossed the room and opened the door. 

In the hallway stood a man--a little, sharp-faced, small-eyed, thin-nosedperson, with a very white complexion, and a large, smooth-shaved mouth, open as if in a smile that never ceased. 

"Garrison?" he said sharply. "Wicks--I'm Wicks. "

"Wicks?" said Garrison. "Come in. "

Mr. Wicks stepped in with a snap-like alacrity. "Read your letter, " hesaid--"read your letter. "

Obediently Garrison perused the missive in hand, typed on the steel-platestationery of the New York Immutable Life Insurance Company:

"DEAR SIR:

"At the recommendation of our counsel, Mr. Sperry Lochlan, who is stillabroad, we desire to secure your services in a professional capacity. Our Mr. Wicks will call upon you this afternoon to explain the nature ofthe employment and conclude the essential arrangements. 

"Respectfully yours, "JOHN STEFFAS, "Dep't of Special Service. "

A wave of gratitude toward Lochlan, the lawyer who had first employedhim, and advised this New York office, surged with another, of almostboyish joy, through Garrison's being. It seemed almost absurd that twoactual clients should thus have appeared within the hour. He looked upat the little man with a new, keen interest. 

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Wicks, " he said. "Will you please sit down?I am at your service. "

Mr. Wicks snatched a chair and sat down. It was quite a violentmaneuver, especially as that sinister grin never for a moment left hisfeatures. He took off his hat and made a vicious dive at a wisp of long, red hair that adorned the otherwise barren top of his head. The wisp laydown toward his left ear when thus adjusted. He looked up at Garrisonalmost fiercely. 

"Obscure, ain't you?" he demanded. 

"Obscure?" inquired Garrison. "Perhaps I am--just at present--here inNew York. "

"You are!" stated Mr. Wicks aggressively. 

Garrison was not enamored of his manner. 

"All right, " he said--"all right. "

Mr. Wicks suddenly leaned forward and fetched his index finger almost upagainst the young man's nose. 

"Good at murder?" he demanded. 

Garrison began to suspect that the building might harbor lunatics, several of whom had escaped. 

"Am I good at murder?" he repeated. "Doing murder or----"

"Ferreting murder! Ferreting murder! Ferreting murder!" cried thevisitor irritably. 

"Oh, " said Garrison, "if you wish to employ me on a murder case, I'll dothe best I can. "

"You worked out the Biddle robbery?" queried Mr. Wicks. 

Garrison replied that he had. The Biddle robbery was the Lochlancase--his first adventure in criminology. 

"Take the case!" commanded Mr. Wicks in his truculent manner. "Twohundred and fifty a month as long as you work. One thousand dollarsbonus if you find the murderer. Accept the terms?"

"Yes, I'll take the case, " he said. "What sort of----"

Mr. Wicks made a sudden snatch at his wisp of hair, adjusted it quite tothe other side of his head, then as abruptly drew a paper from his pocketand thrust it into Garrison's hand. 

"Statement of the case, " he interrupted. "Read it. "

Garrison accepted the document, spread it open, and read as follows:

STATEMENT: Case of John Hardy. 

Name--John Hardy. 

Age--57. 

Occupation--Real estate dealer (retired). 

Residence--Unfixed, changed frequently (last, Hickwood, two days, boarding). 

Family--No immediate family (no one nearer than nephews and nieces). 

Rating in Bradbury's--No rating. 

Insured in any other companies--No. 

Insured with us for what amount--Twenty thousand dollars. 

Name of beneficiary--Charles Scott. 

Residence--Hickwood, New York (village). 

Occupation--Inventor. 

Date of subject's death--May 27th. 

Place of death--Village of Branchville (near Hickwood). 

Verdict of coroner--Death from natural causes (heart failure or apoplexy). 

Body claimed by--Paul Durgin (nephew). 

Body interred where--Shipped to Vermont for burial. 

Suspicious circumstances--Beneficiary paid once before on claim forsimilar amount, death of risk having been equally sudden and unexplained. 

Remarks--The body was found on the porch of an empty house (said bysuperstitious neighbors to be haunted). It was found in sitting posture, leaning against post of porch. No signs of violence except a green stainon one knee. Deceased uncommonly neat. There is no grass growing beforethe empty house, owing to heavy shade of trees. No signs of strugglenear house. Details supplied by old woman, Mrs. Webber, whose son founddeceased. Our company not represented, either at inquest or afterward, as no notification of subject's death was filed until the 31st inst. 

At the bottom, written in pencil, appeared the words:

"Quiet case. Steffas. "

That was all. Garrison turned the paper. There was nothing on thereverse. Placing it face upward on the table, he thrust his hands intohis pockets and looked at Mr. Wicks. 

"I'm expected to fasten this crime on Scott?" he inquired. "Is that whatyour company requires?"

"Fasten the crime on the guilty man!" replied the aggressive Mr. Wicks. "If Scott didn't do it, we'll pay the claim. If he did, we'll send himto the chair. It may not be murder at all. "

"Of course, " said Garrison. "Who wrote this report?"

"What's that to you?" said Wicks. 

"I wondered why the writer drops out of the case, " answered Garrison. "That's all. "

"I wrote it, " said Wicks. "Scott knows me from the former case. If youwant the case, you will start this evening for Hickwood and begin yourwork. Use your own devices. Report everything promptly--everything. Goat once to the office and present your card for expenses and typedinstructions. Good-day!"

He had clapped on his hat. He strode to the door, opened it, disappeared, and closed it again as if he worked on springs. Garrisonwas left staring at the knob, his hand mechanically closed on thestatement intrusted to his keeping. 

"Well, " he said, "I'll be scalloped! Good old New York!"

He was presently out upon the street, a brisk, active figure, boarding aBroadway car for the downtown office of the company. 

At half past five he was back once more in his office with a secondhundred dollars in his pocket, fifty of which was for expenses. 

He was turning away from his desk at last to leave for his lodgings, thence to journey to Hickwood, when a messenger-boy abruptly appearedwith a telegram. 

When Garrison had signed, he opened the envelope and read the following:

"Wire me you have arrived unexpectedly and will be here at eight, thencome. 

"DOROTHY FAIRFAX. "

He almost ran from the building, bought a five-dollar bunch of thechoicest roses, and, after wiring in accordance with instructions, sentthem to the house. 

CHAPTER III

TWO ENCOUNTERS

Garrison roomed in Forty-fourth Street, where he occupied a small, second-story apartment. His meals he procured at various restaurantswhere fancy chanced to lead. 

To-night a certain eagerness for adventure possessed his being. 

More than anything else in the world he wished to see Dorothy again; hehardly dared confess why, but told himself that she was charming--andhis nature demanded excitement. 

He dined well and leisurely, bought a box of chocolates to present tohis new-found "wife, " dressed himself with exceptional care, and atlength took an uptown train for his destination. 

All the way on the cars he was thinking of the task he had undertakento perform. Not without certain phases of amusement, he rehearsed hispart, and made up his mind to leave nothing of the rôle neglected. 

Arrived in the West Side street, close to the house which should havebeen Dorothy's, he discovered that the numbering on the doors had beenwretchedly mismanaged. One or the other of two brownstone fronts mustbe her residence; he could not determine which. The nearest waslighted from top to bottom. In the other a single pair of windowsonly, on the second floor, showed the slightest sign of life. 

Resolved to be equal to anything the adventure might require, hemounted the steps of the lighted dwelling and rang the bell. He wasalmost immediately admitted by a serving-man, who appeared a triflesurprised to behold him, but who bowed him in as if he were expected, with much formality and deference. 

"What shall I call you?" he said. 

Garrison was surprised, but he announced:

"Just Mr. Jerold. "

A second door was opened; a gush of perfumed air, a chorus of gay youngvoices, and a peal of laughter greeted Garrison's ears as the servantcalled out his name. 

Instantly a troop of brilliantly dressed young women came running fromthe nearest room, all in fancy costume and all of them masked. Evidently a fancy-dress party was about to begin in the house. Garrison realized his blunder. 

Before he could move, a stunning, superbly gowned girl, with bare neckand shoulders that were the absolute perfection of beauty, came boldlyup to where the visitor stood. The others had ceased their laughter. 

"Jerold!--how good of you to come!" said the girl, and, boldly pattinghis face with her hand, she quickly darted from him, while the otherslaughed with glee. 

Garrison was sure he had never seen her before. Indeed, he hadscarcely had time to note anything about her, save that on her neck shewore two necklaces--one of diamonds, the other of pearls, and both ofwonderful gems. 

Then out from the room from which she had come stepped a man appareledas Satan--in red from top to toe. He, too, was in mask. He joined inthe laughter with the others. 

Garrison "found himself" with admirable presence of mind. 

"My one regret is that I may not remain, " he said, with a bow to theladies. "I might also regret having entered the wrong house, but yourreception renders such an emotion impossible. "

He bowed himself out with commendable grace, and the bold masqueraderthrew kisses as he went. Amused, quite as much as annoyed, at hisblunder, he made himself ready as best he might for another adventure, climbed the steps of the dwelling next at hand, and once more rang thebell. 

Almost immediately the dark hall was lighted by the switching on oflights. Then the door was opened, and Garrison beheld a squint-eyed, thin-lipped old man, who scowled upon him and remained there, barringhis way. 

"Good evening--is my wife at home--Mrs. Fairfax?" said Garrison, stepping in. "I wired her----"

"Jerold!" cried a voice, as the girl in the party-house had done. Butthis was Dorothy, half-way down the stairs, running toward him eagerly, and dressed in most exquisite taste. 

Briskly stepping forward, ready with the rôle he had rehearsed, hecaught her in his arms as she came to the bottom of the stairs, and shekissed him like a sweet young wife, obeying the impulse of her nature. 

"Oh, Jerold, I'm so glad!" she said. "I don't see why you have to goaway at nine!"

She was radiant with blushes. 

He recognized a cue. 

"And how's the dearest little girl in all the world?" he said, handingher the box of confections. "I didn't think I'd be able to make it, till I wired. While this bit of important business lasts we must dothe best we can. "

He had thrown his arm about her carelessly. She moved away with anatural gesture towards the man who had opened the door. 

"Oh, Jerold, this is my Uncle Sykey--Mr. Robinson, " she said. "He andAunt Jill have come to pay me a visit. We must all go upstairs to theparlor. "

She was pale with excitement, but her acting was perfect. 

Garrison turned to the narrow-eyed old man, who was scowling darklyupon him. 

"I'm delighted to meet you, " he said, extending his hand. 

"Um! Thank you, " said Robinson, refusing his hand. "Extraordinaryhoneymoon you're giving my niece, Mr. Fairfax. "

His manner nettled Garrison, who could not possibly have gauged thedepth of the old man's dislike, even hatred, conceived against himsimply as Dorothy's husband. 

A greeting so utterly uncordial made unlooked-for demands upon his wits. 

"The present arrangement will not endure very long, " he saidsignificantly. "In the meantime, if Dorothy is satisfied there seemsto be no occasion for anyone else to feel distressed. "

"If that's intended as a fling at me----" started Robinson, but Dorothyinterrupted. 

"Please come upstairs, " she said, laying her hand for a moment onGarrison's shoulder; and then she ran up lightly, looking back with allthe smiles of perfect art. 

Garrison read it as an invitation to a private confidence, much neededto put him properly on guard. He bounded up as if in hot pursuit, leaving her uncle down there by the door. 

She fled to the end of the upper hall, near a door that was closed. Garrison had lost no space behind her. She turned a white, tense faceas she came to a halt. 

"Be careful, please, " she whispered. "Some of my relatives appearedhere unexpectedly this afternoon. I had to wire on that account. Getaway just as soon as you can. You are merely passing through the city. You must write me daily letters while they are here--and--don't forgetwho you are supposed to be!"

She was radiant again with blushes. Garrison was almost dazzled by herbeauty. What reply he might have made was interrupted. Dorothy caughthim by the hand, like a fond young bride, as her uncle came rapidly upthe stairs. The door was opened at his elbow by a white-haired, almost"bearded" woman, large, sharp-sighted, and ugly, with many signs ofboth inquisitiveness and acquisitiveness upon her. 

"So, that's your Mr. Fairfax, " she said to Dorothy. "Come in here tillI see what you're like. "

Dorothy had again taken Garrison's arm. She led him forward. 

"This is Aunt Jill, " she said, by way of introduction and explanation. "Aunty, this is my husband, Jerold. "

Aunt Jill had backed away from the door to let them enter. Garrisonrealized at once that Dorothy's marriage had excited much antagonism inthe breasts of both these relatives. A sudden accession of boldnesscame upon him, in his plan to protect the girl. He entered the roomand faced the woman calmly. 

"I'm glad to meet you, " he said, this time without extending his hand. "I beg to impress upon both you and Mr. Robinson that, such as I am, Dorothy chose me of her own free will to occupy my present position. "

Mrs. Robinson was momentarily speechless. Her husband now stood in thedoor. 

Dorothy shot Garrison a look of gratitude, but her immediate desire wasfor peace. 

"Let us all sit down, and try to get better acquainted, " she said. "I'm sure we shall all be friends. "

"No doubt, " said her uncle somewhat offensively. 

Garrison felt himself decidedly uncertain of his ground. There wasnothing to do, however, but await developments. He looked about theroom in a quick, comprehensive manner. 

It was a large apartment, furnished handsomely, perhaps even richly, but in a style no longer modern, save for the installation of electriclights. It contained a piano, a fireplace, a cabinet, writing-desk, two settees, and the customary complement of chairs. 

The pictures on the walls were rather above the average, even in thehomes of the wealthy. The objects of art, disposed in suitable places, were all in good taste and expensive. 

Quite at a loss to meet these people to advantage, uninformed as he wasof anything vital concerning Dorothy and the game she might be playing, Garrison was rendered particularly alert by the feeling of constraintin the air. He had instantly conceived a high appreciation forDorothy's art in her difficult position, and he rose to a comprehensionof the rôle assigned to himself. 

He had earlier determined to appear affectionate; he now saw the needof enacting the part of protector. 

In the full illumination of the room, the glory of Dorothy's beauty wasstartling. His eyes sought her face with no need of acting, and theadmiration blazing in his gaze was more than genuine; it was thoroughlyspontaneous and involuntary. 

The moment was awkward and fraught with suspense for Garrison, as hefound himself subjected to the flagrantly unfriendly appraisement ofhis newly acquired relations. 

Aunt Jill had been wilted for a moment only. She looked their visitorover with undisguised contempt. 

"Well, I dare say you _look_ respectable and healthy, " she said, as ifconceding a point with no little reluctance, "but appearances are verydeceiving. "

"Thank you, " said Garrison. He sat down near Dorothy, occupying asmall settee. 

If Mrs. Robinson was personally pugnacious, her husband harbored farmore vicious emotions. Garrison felt this in his manner. The man waslooking at him narrowly. 

"How much of your time have you spent with your wife since yourmarriage?" he demanded, without the slightest preliminary introductionto the subject. 

Garrison realized at once that Dorothy might have prepared a harmlessfiction with which his answers might not correspond. He assumed a calmand deliberation he was far from feeling, as he said:

"I was not aware that I should be obliged to account to anyone saveDorothy for my goings and comings. Up to the present I believe she hasbeen quite well satisfied with my deportment; haven't you, Dorothy?"

"Perfectly, " said Dorothy, whose utterance was perhaps a trifle faint. "Can't we all be friends--and talk about----"

"I prefer to talk about this for a moment, " interrupted her uncle, still regarding Garrison with the closest scrutiny. "What's yourbusiness, anyway, Mr. Fairfax?"

Garrison, adhering to a policy of telling the truth with the greatestpossible frequency, and aware that evasion would avail them nothing, waited the fraction of a minute for Dorothy to speak. She was silent. He felt she had not committed herself or him upon the subject. 

"I am engaged at present in some insurance business, " he said. "Itwill take me out of town to-night, and keep me away for a somewhatindefinite period. "

"H'm!" said Mr. Robinson. "I suppose you'll quit your presentemployment pretty soon?"

With no possible chance of comprehending the drift of inquiry, Garrisonresponded:

"Possibly. "

"I thought so!" exclaimed the old man, with unconcealed asperity. "Marrying for money is much more remunerative, hey?"

"Oh, uncle!" said Dorothy. Her pain and surprise were quite genuine. 

Garrison colored instantly. 

He might have been hopelessly floundering in a moment had not a naturalindignation risen in his blood. 

"Please remember that up to this evening you and I have been absolutestrangers, " he said, with some heat. "I am not the kind to marry formoney. Had I done so I should not continue in my present calling for avery modest compensation. "

He felt that Dorothy might misunderstand or even doubt his resolutionto go on with her requirements. He added pointedly:

"I have undertaken certain assignments for my present employers which Imean to put through to the end, and no one aware of my motives couldcharge me with anything sordid. "

Dorothy rose, crossed the space between her chair and the small setteewhere Garrison was seated, took the place at his side, and shyly laidher hand upon his own. It was a natural, wifely thing to do. Garrisonrecognized her perfect acting. A tingle of strange, lawless joy ranthrough his veins; nevertheless, he still faced Robinson, for his angerhad been no pretense. 

There was something in his bearing, when aroused, that invited caution. He was not a man with whom to trifle. Mrs. Robinson, having felt itbefore, underwent the experience anew. 

"Let's not start off with a row, " she said. "No one means to offendyou, Mr. Fairfax. "

"What do you think he'll do?" demanded her husband. "Order us out ofthe house? It ain't his yet, and he knows it. "

Garrison knew nothing concerning the ownership of the house. Mr. Robinson's observation gave him a hint, however, that Dorothy'shusband, or Dorothy herself, would presumably own this dwelling soon, but that something had occurred to delay the actual possession. 

"I came to see Dorothy, and for no other purpose, " he said. "I haven'tthe slightest desire or intention to offend her relatives. "

If Robinson and his wife understood the hint that he would be pleasedto see Dorothy alone, they failed to act upon it. 

"We'll take your future operations as our guide, " said Mr. Robinsonsignificantly. "Protestations cost nothing. "

Mrs. Robinson, far more shrewd than her husband, in her way, had begunto realize that Garrison was not a man either to be frightened orbullied. 

"I'm sure we shall all be friends, " she said. "What's the use offighting? If, as Mr. Fairfax says, he did not marry Dorothy formoney----"

Her husband interrupted. "I don't believe it! Will you tell me, Mr. Fairfax, that when you married my niece you were not aware of herprospects?"

"I knew absolutely nothing of her prospects, " said Garrison, whothought he foresaw some money struggle impending. "She can tell youthat up to the present moment I have never asked her a word concerningher financial status or future expectations. "

"Why don't you tell us you never knew she had an uncle?" demandedRobinson, with no abatement of acidity. 

"As a matter of fact, " replied Garrison, "I have never known the nameof any of Dorothy's relations till to-night. "

"This is absurd!" cried the aggravated Mr. Robinson. "Do you mean totell me----"

Garrison cut in upon him with genuine warmth. He was fencing blindlyin Dorothy's behalf, and instinct was guiding him with remarkableprecision. 

"I should think you might understand, " he said, "that once in a while ayoung woman, with a natural desire to be esteemed for herself alone, might purposely avoid all mention both of her relatives and prospects. "

"We've all heard about these marriages for love, " sneered Dorothy'suncle. "Where did you suppose she got this house?"

Garrison grew bolder as he felt a certain confidence that so far he hadmade no particular blunders. His knowledge of the value of half atruth, or even the truth entire, was intuitive. 

"I have never been in this house before tonight, " he said. "Our'honeymoon, ' as you called it earlier, has, as you know, been brief, and none of it was spent beneath this roof. "

"Then how did you know where to come?" demanded Mr. Robinson. 

"Dorothy supplied me the address, " answered Garrison. "It is notuncommon, I believe, for husband and wife to correspond. "

"Well, here we are, and here we'll stay, " said Mr. Robinson, "till thewill and all the business is settled. Perhaps you'll say you didn'teven know there was a will. "

Garrison was beginning to see light, dimly. What it was that laybehind Dorothy's intentions and her scheme he could not know; he wasonly aware that to-night, stealing a glance at her sweet but worriedface, and realizing faintly that she was greatly beset with troubles, his whole heart entered the conflict, willingly, to help her through tothe end. 

"You are right for once, " he answered his inquisitor. "I have knownabsolutely nothing of any will affecting Dorothy, and I know nothingnow. I only know you can rely upon me to fight her battles to the fullextent of my ability and strength. "

"What nonsense! You don't know!" exclaimed Mr. Robinson. "Why----"

"It's the truth, " interrupted Dorothy. "I have told him nothing aboutit. "

"I don't believe it!" said her uncle. "But whatever he knows, I'lltell him this, that I propose to fight that will, day and night, beforemy brother's property shall go to any scheming stranger!"

Garrison felt the need for enlightenment. It was hardly fair to expecthim to struggle in the dark. He looked at his watch ostentatiously. 

"I did not come here expecting this sort of reception, " he saidtruthfully. "I hoped at least for a few minutes' time with Dorothy, alone. "

"To cook up further stories, I presume, " said Mr. Robinson, who made nomove to depart. 

Garrison rose and approached Mr. Robinson precisely as he might havedone had his right been more than a fiction. 

"Do you require Dorothy to go down in the hall, in her own house, toobtain a moment of privacy?" he demanded. "We might as well understandthe situation first as last. "

It was a half-frightened look, full of craft and hatred, that Robinsoncast upward to his face. He fidgeted, then rose from his seat. 

"Come, my dear, " he said to his wife, "the persecutions have commenced. "

He led the way from the room to another apartment, his wife obedientlyfollowing at his heels. The door they left ajar. 

CHAPTER IV

UNSPOKEN ANTAGONISM

Garrison crossed the room with an active stride and closed the doorfirmly. 

Dorothy was pale when he turned. She, too, was standing. 

"You can see that I've got to be posted a little, " he said quietly. "To err has not ceased to be human. "

"You have made no mistakes, " said Dorothy in a voice barely above awhisper. "I didn't expect them. When I found they had come I hardlyknew what to do. And when they declared I had no husband I had torequest you to come. "

"Something of the sort was my conclusion, " Garrison told her. "I haveblundered along with fact and fiction as best I might, but what am Isupposed to have done that excites them both to insult me?"

Dorothy seemed afraid that the very walls might hear and betray hersecret. 

"Your supposed marriage to me is sufficient, " she answered in thelowest of undertones. "You must have guessed that they feel themselvescheated out of this house and other property left in a relative's will. "

"Cheated by your marriage?" said Garrison. 

She nodded, watching to see if a look of distrust might appear in thegaze he bent upon her. 

"I wouldn't dare attempt to inform you properly or adequately to-night, with my uncle in the house, " she said. "But please don't believe I'vedone anything wrong--and don't desert me now. "

She had hardly intended to appeal to him so helplessly, but somehow shehad been so glad to lean upon his strength, since his meeting with herrelatives, that the impulse was not to be resisted. Moreover she felt, in some strange working of the mind, that she had come to know him aswell within the past half-hour as she had ever known anyone in all herlife. Her trust had gone forth of its own volition, together with hergratitude and admiration, for the way he had taken up her cause. 

"I left the matter entirely with you this afternoon, " he said. "I onlywish to know so much as you yourself deem essential. I feel this manis vindictive, cowardly, and crafty. Are you sure you are safe wherehe is?"

"Oh, yes, I'm quite safe, even if it is unpleasant, " she told him, grateful for his evident concern. "If need be, the caretaker wouldfight a pack of wolves in my defense. "

"This will?" asked Garrison. "When is it going to be settled--whendoes it come to probate?"

"I don't quite know. "

"When is your real husband coming?" he inquired, more for her ownprotection than his own. 

She had not admitted, in the afternoon, that she had a husband. Shecolored now as she tried to meet his gaze. 

"Did I tell you there was such a person?"

"No, " said Garrison, "you did not. I thought---- Perhaps that's oneof the many things I am not obliged to know. "

"Perhaps. " She hesitated a moment, adding: "If you'd rather not goon----"

She lowered her eyes. He felt a thrill that he could not analyze, itlay so close to jealousy and hope. And whatever it was, he knew it wasout of the bargain, and not in the least his right. 

"It wasn't for myself I asked, " he hastened to add. "I'll act my parttill you dismiss me. I only thought if another man were to come uponthe scene----"

The far-off sound of a ringing house-bell came indistinctly to hisears. Dorothy looked up in his face with a startled light in her greatbrown eyes that awoke a new interest within him. 

"The bell, " she said. "I heard it! Who could be coming here to-night?"

She slipped to the door, drew it open an inch, and listened thereattentively. 

Garrison was listening also. The door to the outside steps, in thehall below, was opened, then presently closed with a slam. Thecaretaker had admitted a caller. 

"Good! I'd like to see him!" said the voice of a man. "Upstairs?"

Dorothy turned to Garrison with her face as white as chalk. 

"Oh, if you had only gone!" she said. 

"What's the trouble?" he asked. "Who's come?"

"Perhaps you can slip in my room!" she whispered. "Please hurry!"

She hastened across the apartment to a door, with Garrison following. The door was locked. She remembered she had locked it herself, fromthe farther side, since the advent of her uncle in the house. 

She turned to lead him round, by the hall. But the door swung openabruptly, and a tall, handsome young man was at the threshold. His hatwas on. He was dressed, despite the season, in an overcoat ofextraordinary length, buttoned close round his neck. It concealed himfrom his chin to his heels. 

"Why, hello, Dot!" he said familiarly, advancing within the room. "Youand your Jerold weren't trying to run away, I hope. "

Dorothy struggled against her confusion and alarm. 

"Why, no, " she faltered. "Cousin Ted, you've never met Mr. Fairfax. Jerold, this is my cousin, Mr. Theodore Robinson. "

"How do you do?" said Garrison, nodding somewhat distantly, since noneof the Robinson group had particularly appealed to his tastes. 

"How are you?" responded Dorothy's cousin, with no attempt to concealan unfriendly demeanor. Crossing to Dorothy with deliberate intent tomake the most of his relationship, he caught her by the arms. 

"How's everything with you, little sweetheart?" he added in his way ofeasy intimacy. "What's the matter with my customary kiss?"

Dorothy, with every sign of fear or detestation upon her, seemed whollyunable to move. He put his arm roughly about her and kissed her twice. 

Garrison, watching with feelings ill suppressed, beheld her shrink fromthe contact. She appeared to push her cousin off with small effort todisguise her loathing, and fled to Garrison as if certain of protection. 

"What are you scared of?" said young Robinson, moving forward to catchher again, and laughing in an irritating way. "You used not to----"

Garrison blocked him promptly, subconsciously wondering where he hadheard that laugh before. 

"Perhaps that day has passed, " he said quietly. 

The visitor, still with his hat on, looked Garrison over with anger. 

"Jealousy already, hey?" he said. "If you think I'll give up my rightsas a cousin you're off, understand?"

Garrison stifled an impulse to slap the fellow's face. 

"What are your rights as a cousin, if I may ask?" he said. 

"Wait and see, " replied Robinson. "Dot was mighty fond of meonce--hey, Dot?"

Garrison felt certain of his ground in suppressing the fellow. 

"Whatever the situation may have been in the past, " he said, "it isvery much altered at present. "

"Is that so?" demanded Theodore. "Perhaps you'll find the game isn'tquite finished yet. "

Dorothy, still white and overwrought, attempted to mediate between thetwo. 

"I can't let you men start off like this, " she said. "I--I'm fond ofyou both. I wish you would try to be friendly. "

"I'm willing, " said her cousin, with a sudden change of front that inno wise deceived Garrison, and he held forth his hand. "Will youshake?"

That Dorothy wished him to greet the fellow civilly, and not incur hisill-feeling. Garrison was sure. He took the proffered hand, as coldas a fish, and dropped it again immediately. 

Theodore laughed, and stepped gracefully away, his long coat swingingoutward with his motion. Garrison caught a gleam of red, where thecoat was parted at the bottom--and he knew where he had heard thatlaugh before. The man before him was no other than the one he had seennext door, dressed in red fleshings as Satan. 

It was not to be understood in a moment, and Theodore's parents hadreturned once more to the door. Indeed, the old man had beheld themomentary hand-clasp of the men, and he was nettled. 

"Theodore!" he cried; "you're not making friends with a man who'ssneaked off and married Dorothy, I hope! I wouldn't have believed it!"

"Why not?" said his son. "What's done is done. "

His mother said: "Why have you got on an overcoat such a night as this?"

"Because I like it, " said Theodore. 

Garrison knew better. He wondered what the whole game signified. 

The old man was glaring at him sharply. 

"I should think for a man who has to leave at nine your time is gettingshort, " he said. "Perhaps your story was invented. "

Garrison took out his watch. The fiction would have to be played tothe end. The hour lacked twenty minutes of nine. He must presentlydepart, yet he felt that Dorothy might need protection. Having made uphis mind that a marriage had doubtless been planned between Dorothy andTheodore--on the man's part for the purpose of acquiring valuableproperty, probably veiled to Dorothy--he felt she might not be safe ifabandoned to their power. 

He had found himself plunged into complications on which it had notbeen possible to count, but notwithstanding which he meant to remain byDorothy with the utmost resolution. He had not acknowledged that thecharm she exercised upon him lay perilously close to the tenderest ofpassions, but tried to convince himself his present desire was merelyto see this business to the end. 

It certainly piqued him to find himself obliged to leave with so muchof the evening's proceedings veiled in mystery. He would have beenglad to know more of what it meant to have this cousin, Theodore, masquerading as the devil in one house, and covering all the signs hereat home. He was absolutely helpless in the situation. He knew thatDorothy wished him to depart. She could not, of course, do otherwise. 

"Thank you, " he said to the elder Robinson. "I must leave in fifteenminutes. "

Dorothy looked at him strangely. She could not permit him to stay, yetshe felt the need of every possible safeguard, now that her cousin hadappeared. The strange trust and confidence she felt in Garrison hadgiven her new hope and strength. To know he must go in the next fewminutes, leaving her there with the Robinsons, afflicted her abruptlywith a sense of desolation. 

Yet there was nothing she could say or do to prevent his immediateretreat. 

Young Robinson, made aware that Garrison would soon be departing, appeared to be slightly excited. 

"I'll go down and 'phone for my suit-case, " he said, and he left theroom at once. 

Aunt Jill and old Robinson sat down. It was quite impossible forGarrison to ask them again to retire. Dorothy crossed the room andseated herself before the piano. Garrison followed, and stood there ather side. 

She had no spirit for music, and no inclination to play, neverthelessshe permitted her hands to wander up and down the keys, calling forth asweetly sad bit of Hungarian song that took a potent hold on Garrison'semotions. 

"Is there anything I can do but go?" he murmured, his voice well maskedby the melody. "Do you think you may need me very soon?"

"I do not know. I hope not, " she answered, for him alone to hear. "I'm sorry it's been so disagreeable. Do you really have to go awayfrom town?"

"Yes. "

"To-day you said you had no employment. "

"It was true. Employment came within ten minutes of your leaving. Itook it. For you know you hardly expected to require my services sosoon. "

She played a trifle louder, and asked him:

"Where are you going?"

"To Branchville and Hickwood. "

The playing suddenly ceased. She looked up at him swiftly. In nervoushaste she resumed her music. 

"Not on detective work? You mentioned insurance. "

"It concerns insurance. "

She was silent for a moment. 

"When do you return?"

"I hardly know, " he answered. "And I suppose I've got to start at oncein order to maintain our little fiction. "

"Don't forget to write, " she said, blushing, as she had before; and sheadded: "for appearances. " She rose from her seat. 

Garrison pulled out his watch and remarked, for the Robinsons to hear:"Well, I've got to be off. "

"Wait a minute, please, " said Dorothy, as if possessed by a suddenimpulse, and she ran from the room like a child. 

With nothing particularly pleasant to say to the Robinsons, Garrisonapproached a center-table and turned the pages of a book. 

Dorothy was back in a moment. 

"I'll go down to the door, " she said. 

Garrison said good-night to the Robinsons, who answered curtly. Heclosed the door upon them as he left the room. 

Dorothy had hastened to the stairs before him, and continued down tothe hall. Her face was intensely white again as she turned about, drawing from her dress a neat, flat parcel, wrapped in paper. 

"I told you to-day that I trust you absolutely, " she said, in a nervousundertone. "I wish you'd take care of this package. "

Garrison took it, finding it heavy in his hand. "What is it?" he said. 

"Don't try to talk--they'll listen, " she cautioned. "Just hurry andgo. "

"If you need me, write or wire, " he said. 

"Good-night!"

She retreated a little way from him, as if she felt he might exact ahusband's right of farewell, which the absence of witnesses made quiteunessential. 

"Good-night, " she answered, adding wistfully; "I am very grateful, believe me. "

She gave him her hand, and his own hand trembled as he took it. 

A moment later he was out upon the street, a wild, sweet pleasure inhis veins. 

Across the way a man's dark figure detached itself from the darkness ofa doorstep and followed where Garrison went. 

Shadowed to his very door, Garrison came to his humble place of abodewith his mind in a region of dreams. 

It was not until he stood in his room, and his hand lay against hispocket, that he thought again of Dorothy's parcel surrendered to hiskeeping. He took it out. He felt he had a right to know its contents. 

It had not been sealed. 

He removed the paper, disclosing a narrow, shallow box, daintilycovered with leather. It was merely snapped shut with a catch. 

He opened it, and an exclamation of astonishment escaped his lips. 

It contained two necklaces--one of diamonds and one of pearls, the gemsof both marvelously fine. 

CHAPTER V

THE "SHADOW"

Nothing more disquieting than this possession of the necklaces couldpossibly have happened to Garrison. He was filled with vaguesuspicions and alarms. The thing was wholly baffling. 

What it signified he could not conjecture. His mind went at once tothat momentary scene at the house he had entered by mistake, and inwhich he had been confronted by the masked young woman, with the jewelson her throat, she who had patted his face and familiarly called him byname. 

He could not possibly doubt the two ropes of gems were the same. Thefact that Dorothy's cousin, in the garb of Satan, had undoubtedlyparticipated in the masking party, aroused disturbing possibilities inGarrison's mind. 

What was the web in which he was entangled?

To have Theodore come to the house in his long, concealing coat, straight from the maskers next door; to have him disappear, and then tohave Dorothy bring forth these gems with such wholly unimaginable trustin his honesty, brought him face to face with a brand-new mystery fromwhich he almost shrank. Reflections on thefts, wherein women wereaccomplices, could not be driven from his brain. 

Here was Dorothy suddenly requiring a pseudo-husband--for what? Herewas a party next door to the house--a party on which he had stumbledaccidentally--where a richly dressed young woman chanced to greet him, with her jewels on her neck. Here was, apparently, a familydisturbance, engendered by his marriage with old Robinson's niece. Andnow--here were the necklaces, worth, at the least estimation, the sumof thirty thousand dollars--delivered to himself!

He could not escape the thought of a "fence, " in which he himself hadpossibly been impressed as a tool, by the cleverest intrigue. Theentire attitude of the Robinsons might, he realized, have been but apart of the game. He had witnessed Dorothy's acting. It gave him avivid sense of her powers, some others of which might well lieconcealed behind her appearance of innocence. 

And yet, when he thought of the beautiful girl who had begged him notto desert her, he could not think her guilty of the things which thissingular outcome might suggest. He was sure she could clear up themystery, and set herself straight in his eyes. 

Not a little disturbed as to what he should do with these preciousbaubles, sparkling and glinting in his hand, he knitted his brow inperplexity. He was due to leave New York at once, on orders fromWicks. No safe deposit vault was available at such an hour. He darednot leave the things behind in this room. There was no alternative, hemust carry them along in his pocket. 

Inasmuch as the problem could not possibly be solved at once, and inview of the fact that his mind, or his heart, refused to credit Dorothywith guilt, there was nothing to do but dismiss the subject, as far aspossible, and make ready to depart. 

He opened a drawer to procure the few things requisite for his trip. On top of a number of linen garments lay a photograph--the picture of asweetly pretty young woman. He took it up, gazed at it calmly, andpresently shook his head. 

He turned it over. 

On the back was written: "With the love of my heart--Ailsa. "

He had kissed this picture a thousand times, in rapture. It had oncerepresented his total of earthly happiness, and then--when the noticeof her marriage had come so baldly, through the mail--it had symbolizedhis depths of despair. Through all his hurt he had clung, not only tothe picture, but also to some fond belief that Ailsa loved him still;that the words she had spoken and the things she had done, in the daysof their courtship, had not been mere idle falsehoods. 

To-night, for the first time since his dream had been shattered, thephotograph left him cold and unfeeling. Something had happened, hehardly knew what--something he hardly dared confess to himself, withDorothy only in his vision. The lifeless picture's day was gone atlast. 

He tossed it back in the drawer with a gesture of finality, drew fortha number of collars and ties, then went to a closet, opened the doorand studied his two suit-cases thoughtfully. He knew not which totake. One was an ordinary, russet-leather case; the other was athin-steel box, veneered with leather, but of special construction, ona plan which Garrison himself had invented. Indeed, the thing was atrap, ingeniously contrived when the Biddle robbery had baffled farolder men than himself, and had then been solved by a trick. 

On the whole, he decided he would take this case along. It had broughthim luck on the former occasion, and the present was, perhaps, acriminal case. He lifted it out, blew off some dust, and laid it, open, on the bed. 

To all appearances the thing was innocent enough. On the under side ofthe cover was a folding flap, fastened with a string and a button. Unremembered by Garrison, Ailsa's last letter still reposed in thepocket, its romance laid forever in the lavender of rapidly fadingmemories. 

Not only was the case provided with a thin false bottom, concealing itsmechanism, but between the cover and the body proper, on either side, were wing-like pieces of leather, to judge from their looks, thatseemed to possess no function more important than the ordinary canvasstrips not infrequently employed on a trunk to restrain the cover fromfalling far backward when opened. But encased in these wings wereconnections to powerful springs that, upon being set and suddenlyreleased, would snap down the cover like the hammer of a gun and catch, as in the jaws of a trap, any meddling hands that might have beenplaced inside the case by a thief, at the same time ringing a bell. Toset it was a matter of the utmost simplicity, while to spring it onehad barely to go at the contents of the case and touch the triggerlightly. 

The springs were left unset, as Garrison tossed in the trifles heshould need. Then he changed his clothes, turned off the gas, and waspresently out once more in the open of the street, walking to the GrandCentral Station, near at hand. 

The man who had followed all the way from Dorothy's residence not onlywas waiting, but remained on Garrison's trail. 

At a quarter of ten Garrison ensconced himself in a train forBranchville. His "shadow" was there in the car. The run requiredfifty minutes. Hickwood, a very small village, was passed by the carswithout a stop. It was hardly two miles from the larger settlement. 

The hour was late when Garrison arrived. He and his "shadow" alightedfrom the train and repaired to a small, one-story hotel near therailway depot, the only place the town afforded. They were presentlyassigned to adjoining rooms. 

Garrison opened his suit-case on the bureau, removed one or twoarticles, and left the receptacle open, with the cover propped againstthe mirror. Despite the lateness of the hour he then went out, to roamabout the village. His fellow traveler watched only to see him out ofthe house, and then returned in haste. 

In the town there was little to be seen. The houses extended far backfrom the railroad, on considerably elevated hills. There was one mainthoroughfare only, and this was deserted. The dwellings were dark. Noone seemed stirring in the place, though midnight had not yet struck. 

Garrison was out for half an hour. When he returned his suit-case wasclosed. He thought nothing of a matter so trifling till he lookedinside, and then he underwent a feeling as if it had been rifled. Butnothing was gone, so far as he could see. Then he noticed thefolding-pocket, for its fastening cord was undone. How well heremembered placing there the letter from Ailsa, months ago! A littlesurprised that he had so utterly forgotten its existence, he slippedhis hand inside the place--and found it empty!

Even then he entertained no suspicions, for a moment. The letter, likethe photograph, was no longer a valued possession. Yet he wonderedwhere it could have gone. Vaguely uncertain, after all, as to whetherhe had left it here or not, his eye was suddenly caught by theslightest movement in the world, reflected in the mirror of the bureau. The movement was up at the transom, above a door that led to the nextadjoining room. 

Instantly turning away, to allay any possible suspicion that he mightbe aware of the fact that someone was spying upon him, Garrison movedthe suit-case to a chair, drew from his pocket a folded paper thatmight have appeared important--although merely a railroadfolder--placed it carefully, as if to hide it, under various articlesof apparel, set the springs of the vicious steel-trap, and, leaving thesuitcase open as before, took a turn around the room. 

All this business was merely for the benefit of the man whom he knew tobe watching from over the door. Starting as if to undress, he paused, appeared to remember something left neglected, and hastened from hisroom, purposely leaving the door more than half-way ajar. Down thehall he strode, to the office, where he looked on the register anddiscovered the name of his neighbor--John Brown--an obvious alias. 

He had hardly been thus engaged for two minutes when the faint, far-offsound of a ringing bell came distinctly to his ears. 

"My alarm-clock's gone off, " he said to the man at the desk, and hefled up the hall like a sprinter. 

A clatter of sounds, as of someone struggling, had come before hereached his room. As he bounded in he beheld his suit-case, over atthe window, jerking against the sash and sill as if possessed of evilspirits. No thief was visible. The fellow, with the trap upon hisfingers, had already leaped to the ground. 

Within a yard of his captured burglar Garrison beheld the suit-casedrop, and his man had made good his escape. 

He thrust his head outside the window, but the darkness was in favor ofthe thief, who was not to be seen. 

Chagrined to think Mr. "Brown" had contrived to get loose, Garrisontook up the case, carried it back to the bureau, and opened it up, byskillfully releasing the springs. Three small patches of finger-skinwere left in the bite of its jaws--cards of the visitor left asannouncements of his visit. 

The room next door was not again occupied that night. The hotel saw nomore of Mr. Brown. 

CHAPTER VI

THE CORONER

Not in the least reassured, but considerably aroused in all hisinstincts by these further developments of a night already full ofmysterious transactions, Garrison, after a futile watch for hisneighbor, once more plunged into a study of the case in which he foundhimself involved. 

Vaguely he remembered to have noticed that the man who had come here toBranchville with him on the train carried no baggage. He had no doubtthe man had been close upon his trail for some considerable time; butwhy, and what he wanted, could not be so readily determined. Certainthe man had extracted Ailsa's letter from the pocket of the case, yethalf convinced that the thief had been searching for the necklacesintrusted to his care, Garrison was puzzled. 

There seemed to be no possible connection between the two. He couldnot understand what a thief who would take the one would require of theother. Aside from his money, the gems were the only articles hepossessed of the slightest value or significance. Half persuaded thatthe diamonds and pearls afforded the booty for which his visitor hadsearched, he was once more in doubt as to whether he had lost Ailsa'sletter or not. He might find it still among his things, at his room inForty-fourth Street. 

He was fully convinced the man would return no more. Nevertheless, when he turned in at last, the jewels were under the pillow. 

Branchville, in the morning, proved an attractive place of residence. Half its male population went to New York as commuters. Its housewivesthen bustled about their gardens or their chicken-coops, at the rear ofthe houses, and a dozen old men gathered slowly at the post-officestore to resume the task of doing nothing. 

Garrison experienced no difficulty in searching out Mrs. Webber, thewoman who had supplied certain details concerning the finding of thebody of the man, John Hardy, whose death had occurred here the previousweek. 

The house, at the porch of which the body had been discovered, wasempty. Mrs. Webber went with Garrison to the place, showed him exactlywhere the body had reclined, and left him alone at the scene. 

He looked the details over carefully. The porch was low and roofed;its eaves projected a foot. If, as Garrison fancied, the stricken manmight have come here in weakness, to lean against the post, and hadthen gone down, perhaps leaving heel-marks in the earth, all signs ofany such action had been obliterated, despite the fact that no rainshad fallen since the date of the man's demise. Garrison scrutinizedthe ground closely. A piece of broken crockery, a cork, the top of acan, an old cigar, and some bits of glass and wire lay beside thebaseboard--the usual signs of neglect. The one man-made article in allthe litter that attracted Garrison's attention was the old cigar. Hetook it up for a more minute examination. 

It had never been lighted. It was broken, as if someone had steppedupon the larger end; but the label, a bright red band of paper, wasstill upon it. The wrapper had somewhat spread; but the pointed endhad been bitten off, half an inch up on the taper. 

Aware that the weed might have been thrown down by anyone save Hardy, Garrison nevertheless placed it in an envelope and tucked it away inhis pocket. A visit to the local coroner presenting itself as the nextmost natural step, he proceeded at once to his office. 

As a dealer in real estate, a notary public, and an official in severaldirections, the coroner was a busy man. He said so himself. 

Garrison introduced himself candidly as a New York detective, dulylicensed, at present representing a State insurance company, and statedthe nature of his business. 

"All right, " said the coroner, inclined at once to be friendly. "Myname is Pike. What'd you want to know? Sit down and take it easy. "

"As much as I can learn about the case. " Garrison took a profferedchair. "For instance, what did you find on the body?"

"Nothing--of any importance--a bunch of keys, a fountain-pen, and--andjust some useless trash--I believe four dollars and nineteen cents. "

"Anything else?"

"Oh, some scraps of paper and a picture postal-card. "

"Any cigars?" asked Garrison. 

"Yep--three, with labels on 'em--all but one, I mean. " He had takenone label for his son's collection. 

"What did you do with the stuff?"

"Locked it up, waiting orders from the court, " replied Mr. Pike. "Youbet, I know my business. "

Garrison was pursuing a point. He inquired: "Do you smoke?"

"No, I don't; and if I did, I wouldn't touch one of them, " said thecoroner. "And don't you forget it. "

"Did anyone help you to carry off the body--anyone who might havethrown a cigar away, unlighted?"

"No, siree! When Billy Ford and Tom Harris git a cigar it never gitsaway, " said Mr. Pike. 

"Did you find out where the dead man came from and what he was doing inthe village?"

"He was stopping down to Hickwood with Mrs. Wilson, " answered Pike. "His friend there was Charlie Scott, who's making a flying-machinethat's enough to make anybody luny. I've told him he can't borrow nomoney from me on no such contraption, and so has Billy Dodd. "

Garrison mentally noted down the fact that Scott was in need of money. 

"What can you tell me of the man's appearance?" he added, after amoment of silence. "Did his face present any signs of agony?"

"Nope. Just looked dead, " said the coroner. 

"Were there any signs upon him of any nature?"

"Grass stain on his knee--that's about all. "

"About all?" Garrison echoed. "Was there anything else--any scratchesor bruises on his hands?"

"No--nary a scratch. He had real fine hands, " said the coroner. "Butthey did have a little dirt on 'em--right on three of the knuckles ofthe left hand and on one on the right--the kind of dirt you can't ruboff. "

"Did it look as if he'd tried to rub it off?"

"Looked as if he'd washed it a little and it wouldn't come. "

"Just common black dirt?"

"Yes, kind of grimy--the kind that gits in and stays. "

Garrison reflected that a sign of this nature might and might not proveimportant. Everything depended on further developments. One deductionwas presented to his mind--the man had doubtless observed that hishands were soiled and had washed them in the dark, since anyone withthe "fine" hands described by the coroner would be almost certain tokeep them immaculate; but might, in the absence of a light, wash themhalf clean only. 

He was not disposed to attach a very great importance to the matter, however, and only paused for a moment to recall a number of the various"dirts" that resist an effort to remove them--printers' ink, acidstains, axle grease, and greasy soot. 

He shifted his line of questions abruptly. 

"What did you discover about the dead man's relatives? The nephew whocame to claim the body?"

"Never saw him, " said the coroner. "I couldn't hang around the corpseall day. I'm the busiest man in Branchville--and I had to go down toNew York the day he come. "

"Did you take possession of any property that deceased might have hadat his room in Hickwood?"

"Sure, " said Pike. "Half a dozen collars, and some socks, a few oldletters, and a box almost full of cigars. "

"If these things are here in your office, " said Garrison, rising, "Ishould like to look them over. "

"You bet, I can put my hand on anything in my business in a minute, "boasted Mr. Pike. He rose and crossed the room to a desk with a large, deep drawer, which he opened with a key. 

The dead man's possessions were few, indeed. The three cigars whichhis pocket had disgorged were lying near a little pile of money. Garrison noted at once that the labels on two were counterparts of theone on the broken cigar now reposing in his pocket. He opened the boxbeneath his hand. The cigars inside were all precisely like theothers. Five only had ever been removed, of which four were accountedfor already. The other had doubtless been smoked. 

On the even row of dark-brown weeds lay a card, on which, written inpencil, were the words:

 A BIRTHDAY GREETING--WITH LOVE. 

Garrison let fall the lid and glanced with fading interest at the fewinsignificant papers and other trifles which the drawer contained. Hehad practically made up his mind that John Hardy had died, as thecoroner had found, of heart disease, or apoplexy, even in the act oflighting up to smoke. 

He questioned the man further, made up his mind to visit Charles Scottand Mrs. Wilson, in Hickwood, and was presently out upon the road. 

CHAPTER VII

A STARTLING DISCOVERY

Garrison walked along the road to Hickwood out of sheer love of beingin the open, and also the better to think. 

Unfortunately for the case in hand, however, his thoughts wanderedtruantly back to New York and the mystery about the girl masqueradingto the world as his wife. His meditations were decidedly mixed. Hethought of Dorothy always with a thrill of strong emotions, despite thehalf-formed suspicions which had crossed his mind at least a dozentimes. 

Her jewels were still in his pocket--a burden she had apparently foundtoo heavy to carry. How he wished he might accept her confidence inhim freely, unreservedly--with the thrill it could bring to his heart!

The distance to Hickwood seemed to slip away beneath his feet. Hearrived in the hamlet far too soon, for the day had charmed brightdreams into being, and business seemed wholly out of place. 

The railroad station, a store, an apothecary's shop, and a cobbler'slittle den seemed to comprise the entire commercial street. 

Garrison inquired his way to the home of his man--the inventor. 

Scott, whom he found at a workshop, back of his home, was a thin, stooped figure, gray as a wolf, wrinkled as a prune, and stained aboutthe mouth by tobacco. His eyes, beneath their overhanging brows ofgray, were singularly sharp and brilliant. Garrison made up his mindthat the blaze in their depths was none other than the light offanaticism. 

"How do you do, Mr. Scott?" said the detective, who had determined topose as an upper-air enthusiast. "I was stopping in Branchville for aday or two, and heard of your fame as a fellow inventor. I've beeninterested in aeroplanes and dirigible balloons so long that I thoughtI'd give myself the pleasure of a call. "

"Um!" said Scott, closing the door of his shop behind him, as if toguard a precious secret. "What did you say is your name?"

Garrison informed him duly. 

"I haven't yet made myself famous as a navigator of the air, but we allhave our hopes. "

"You'll never be able to steer a balloon, " said Scott, with a touch ofasperity. "I can tell you that. "

"I begin to believe you're right, " assented Garrison artfully. "It's amighty discouraging and expensive business, any way you try it. "

"I'll do the trick! I've got it all worked out, " said Scott, betrayedinto ardor and assurance by a nearness of the triumph that he felt tobe approaching. "I'll have plenty of money to complete itsoon--plenty--plenty--but it's a long time coming, even now. "

"That's the trouble with most of us, " Garrison observed, to draw hisman. "The lack of money. "

"Why can't they pay it, now the man is dead?" demanded Scott, as if hefelt that everyone knew his affairs by heart and could understand hismeaning. "I need the money now--to-day--this minute! It's bad enoughwhen a man stays healthy so long, and looks as if he'd last for twentyyears. That's bad enough without me having to wait and wait and wait, now that he's dead and in the ground. "

It was clear to Garrison the man's singleness of purpose had left hismind impaired. He began to see how a creature so bent on some wondroussolution of the flying-machine enigma could even become so obsessed inhis mind that to murder for money, insurance benefits, or anythingelse, would seem a fair means to an end. 

"Some friend of yours has recently died?" he asked. "You've been leftsome needed funds for your labors?"

"Funny kind of friendship when a man goes on living so long, " said thealert fanatic. "And I don't get the money; that's what's delaying menow. "

"You're far more fortunate than some of us, " said Garrison. "Somefriend, I suppose, here in town. "

"No, he was here two days, " answered Scott. "I saw him but little. Hedied in the night, up to the village. " His sharp eyes swung onGarrison peculiarly the moment his speech was concluded. 

He demanded sharply; "What's all this business to you?"

"Nothing--only that it shows the world's great inventors are not alwaysneglected, after all, " answered Garrison. "Some of us never enjoy suchgood fortune. "

"The world don't know how great I am, " declared the inventor, instantlyoff, on the hint supplied by his visitor. "But just the minute thatinsurance company gives me the money, I'll be ready to startle theskies! I'll blot out the stars for 'em! I'll show New York! I knowwhat I'm doing! And nothing on earth is going to stop me! All thesefool balloonists, with their big silk floating cigars! Deadly cigarsis what they are--deadly! You wait!"

Garrison was staring at him fixedly, fascinated by a new idea which hadcrept upon his mind with startling abruptness. His one idea was to getaway for a vital two minutes by himself. 

"Well, perhaps I'll try to get around again, " he said. "I can seeyou're very busy, and I mustn't keep you longer from your work. Goodluck and good-day. "

"The only principle, " the old man answered, his gaze directed to thesky. 

Garrison looked up, beholding a bird, far off in the azure vault, soaring in the majesty of flight. Then he hastened again to the quietlittle street, and down by a fence at a vacant lot, where he paused andlooked about. He was quite alone. Drawing from his pocket theenvelope containing the old cigar that Hardy had undoubtedly let fallas he died at the porch of the "haunted" house, he turned up theraggedly bitten end. 

"By George!" he exclaimed beneath his breath. 

Tucked within the tobacco folds, in a small hollow space which waspartially closed by the filler which had once been bitten together, wasa powdery stuff that seemed comprised of small, hard particles, as ofcrystals, roughly broken up. 

His breath came fast. His heart was pumping rapidly. He raised thecigar to his nostrils and smelled, but could only detect the pungentodor of tobacco. 

That the powder was a poison he had not the slightest doubt. Awarethat one poison only, thus administered, would have the potency to slayan adult human being practically on the instant, he realized at oncethat here, at the little, unimportant drug-shop of the place, thesimple test for such a stuff could be made in a matter of two minutes. 

Eager and feverish to inform himself without delay, he took out hisknife and carefully removed all the powder from its place and wrappedit most cautiously about in the paper of the envelope in hand. Thecigar he returned to his pocket. 

Five minutes later, at the drug-store down the street, an obliging andclever young chemist at the place was holding up a test-tube made ofglass, with perhaps two thimblefuls of acidulated solution which hadfirst been formed by dissolving the powder under inspection. 

"If this is what you suppose, " he said, "a slight admixture of thisiron will turn it Prussian blue. "

He poured in the iron, which was likewise in solution, and instantlythe azure tint was created in all its deadly beauty. 

Garrison was watching excitedly. 

"No mistake about it, " said the chemist triumphantly. "Where did youfind this poison?"

"Why--in a scrap of meat, " said Garrison, inventing an answer withready ingenuity; "enough to have killed my dog in half a shake!"

CHAPTER VIII

WHERE CLEWS MAY POINT

Startled, thus to discover that, after all, a crime of the mostinsidious and diabolical nature had been committed, Garrison wanderedalong the street, after quitting the drug-store, with his brain aglowwith excitement and the need for steady thought. 

The case that had seemed but a simple affair of a man's very naturaldemise had suddenly assumed an aspect black as night. 

He felt the need for light--all the light procurable in Hickwood. 

Aware of the misleading possibilities of a theory preconceived, he wasnot prepared even now to decide that inventor Scott was necessarilyguilty. He found himself obliged to admit that the indications pointedto the half-crazed man, to whom a machine had become a god, but nothingas yet had been proved. 

To return to Scott this morning would, he felt, be indiscreet. The oneperson now to be seen and interviewed was Mrs. Wilson, at whose homethe man Hardy had been lodged. He started at once to the place, hismind reverting by natural process to the box of cigars he had seen anhour before, and from which, without a doubt, this poisoned weed hadbeen taken by Hardy to smoke. He realized that one extremely importantpoint must be determined by the box itself. 

If among the cigars still remaining untouched there were otherssimilarly poisoned, the case might involve a set of facts quitedifferent from those which reason would adduce if the one cigar onlyhad been loaded. It was vital also to the matter in hand to ascertainthe identity of the person who had presented the smokes as a birthdayremembrance to the victim. 

He arrived at Mrs. Wilson's home, was met at the door by the ladyherself, and was then obliged to wait interminably while she fled tosome private boudoir at the rear to make herself presentable for"company. "

For the second time, when she at length appeared, Garrison foundhimself obliged to invent a plausible excuse for his visit andcuriosity. 

"I dropped in to ascertain a few little facts about the late Mr. Hardy, whose death occurred last week in Branchville, " he said. "Theinsurance company that I represent goes through this trifling formalitybefore paying a claim. "

"He certainly was the nicest man, " said Mrs. Wilson. "And just as Iwas countin' on the money, he has to up and die. I didn't think he wasthat kind. "

"Did he have many visitors?" Garrison asked, hastening at once to theitems he felt to be important. "I mean, from among the neighbors, or--anyone else?"

"Well, Charlie Scott come over, that second night and actin' that queerI didn't know what was the matter. He went off just about nineo'clock, and I went to bed, and then I heard him come back in half anhour, while Mr. Hardy was out, and he went again before Mr. Hardy comein and started off to Branchville to die. "

Her method of narrative was puzzling. 

"You mean, " said Garrison, "that after Mr. Scott had called and gone, Mr. Hardy went out temporarily, and in his absence Mr. Scott returnedand remained for a time in his room?"

"I didn't git up to see what he wanted, or how long he stayed, " saidMrs. Wilson. "I hate gittin' up when once I'm abed. "

"And he went before Mr. Hardy's return?"

"Yes, I stayed awake for that; for although Charlie Scott may be honestenough, he's inventin' some crazy fiddlede-dee, which has been thecrown of thorns of that dear woman all these----"

"Did they seem to be friends, Mr. Scott and Mr. Hardy?" Garrisoninterrupted mildly. "A clever woman, you know, can always tell. "

"Ain't you New York men the quick ones to see!" said Mrs. Wilson. "Ofcourse they was friends. The day he come Mr. Hardy was over toCharlie's all the livelong afternoon. "

"Did Mr. Hardy get very many letters, or anything, through the mail?"

"Well, of course, I offered to go to the post-office, and bring himeverything, " said Mrs. Wilson, "but he went himself. So I don't knowwhat he got, or who it come from. Not that I read anything but thepostals and----"

"Did he get any packages sent by express?"

"Not that come to my house, for little Jimmie Vane would have brought'em straight to me. "

Garrison went directly to the mark around which he had been playing. 

"Who delivered his birthday present--the box of cigars?"

"Oh, that was his niece, the very first evenin' he was here--and shethe prettiest girl I ever seen. "

"His niece?" echoed Garrison. "Some young lady--who brought them hereherself?"

"Well, I should say so! My, but she was that lovely! He took her upto Branchville to the train--and how I did hate to see her go!"

"Of course, yes, I remember he had a niece, " said Garrison, his mindreverting to the "statement" in his pocket. "But, upon my word, Ibelieve I've forgotten her name. "

"He called her Dot, " said Mrs. Wilson. 

"But her real name?" said Garrison. 

"Her real name was Dorothy Booth before she was married, " replied Mrs. Wilson, "but now, of course, it's changed. "

Garrison had suddenly turned ashen. He managed to control himself bymaking a very great effort. 

"Perhaps you know her married name?" he said. 

"I never forget a thing like that, " said Mrs. Wilson. "Her marriedname is Mrs. Fairfax. "

It seemed to Garrison he was fighting in the toils of some astoundingmaze, where sickening mists arose to clog his brain. He could scarcelybelieve his senses. A tidal wave of facts and deductions, centeringabout the personality of Dorothy Booth-Fairfax, surged upon himrelentlessly, bearing down and engulfing the faith which he strove tomaintain in her honesty. 

He had felt from the first there was something deep and dark withmystery behind the girl who had come to his office with her mostamazing employment. He had entertained vague doubts upon hearing ofwills and money inheritance at the house where she lived in New York. 

He recalled the start she had given, while playing at the piano, uponlearning he was leaving for Hickwood. Her reticence and thestrangeness of the final affair of the necklaces, in connection withthis present development, left him almost in despair. 

Despite it all, as it overwhelmed him thus abruptly, he felt himselfstruggling against it. He could not even now accept a belief in hercomplicity in such a deed while he thought of the beauty of her nature. That potent something she had stirred in his heart was a fierce, fighting champion to defend her. 

He had not dared confess to himself he was certainly, fatefully fallingin love with this girl he scarcely knew, but his heart refused to hearher accused and his mind was engaged in her defence. 

Above all else, he felt the need for calmness. Perhaps the sky wouldclear itself, and the sun again gild her beauty. 

"Mrs. Fairfax, " he repeated to his garrulous informant. "She broughtthe cigars, you say, the day of Mr. Hardy's arrival?"

"And went away on the six-forty-three, " said Mrs. Wilson. "I rememberit was six minutes late, and I did think my dinner would be dry as abone, for she said she couldn't stay----"

"And that was his birthday, " Garrison interrupted. 

"Oh, no. His birthday was the day he died. I remember, 'cause hewouldn't even open the box of cigars till after his dinner that day. "

Garrison felt his remaining ray of hope faintly flicker and expire. 

"You are sure the box wasn't opened?" he insisted. 

"I guess I am! He borrowed my screwdriver out of the sewin'-machinedrawer, where I always keep it, to pry up the cover. "

Garrison tacked to other items. 

"Why did she have to go so soon?" he inquired. "Couldn't she havestayed here with you?"

"What, a young thing like her, only just married?" demanded Mrs. Wilson, faintly blushing. "I guess you don't know us women when we'rein love. " And she blushed again. 

"Of course, " answered Garrison, at a loss for a better reply. "Did heruncle seem pleased with her marriage?"

"Why, he sat where you're now settin' for one solid hour, tellin' mehow tickled he felt, " imparted the housewife. "He said she'd giteverything he had in the world, now that she was married happy to adecent man, for he'd fixed it all up in his will. "

"Mr. Hardy said his niece would inherit his money?"

"Settin' right in that chair, and smilin' fit to kill. "

"Did the niece seem very fond of her uncle?"

"Well, at first I thought she acted queer and nervous, " answered Mrs. Wilson, "but I made up my mind that was the natural way for any youngbride to feel, especial away from her husband. "

Garrison's hopes were slipping from him, one by one, and putting ontheir shrouds. 

"Did Mr. Hardy seem to be pleased with his niece's selection--with Mr. Fairfax?" he inquired. "Or don't you know?"

"Why, he never even _seen_ the man, " replied Mrs. Wilson. "It seemsMr. Fairfax was mixin' up business with his honeymoon, and him and hisbride was goin' off again, or was on their way, and she had a chance torun up and see her uncle for an hour, and none of us so much as got alook at Mr. Fairfax. "

The mystery darkened rather than otherwise. There was nothing yet toestablish whether or not a real Mr. Fairfax existed. It appeared toGarrison that Dorothy had purposely arranged the scheme of her allegedmarriage and honeymoon in such a way that her uncle should not meet herhusband. 

He tried another query:

"Did Mr. Hardy say that he had never seen Mr. Fairfax?"

"Never laid eyes on the man in his life, but expected to meet him in amonth. "

Garrison thought of the nephew who had come to claim the body. Hisname had been given as Durgin. At the most, he could be no more thanDorothy's cousin, and not the one he had recently met at her house. 

"I don't suppose you saw Mr. Durgin, the nephew of Mr. Hardy?" heinquired. "The man who claimed the body?"

"No, sir. I heard about Mr. Durgin, but I didn't see him. "

Garrison once more changed the topic. 

"Which was the room that Mr. Hardy occupied? Perhaps you'll let me seeit. "

"It ain't been swept or dusted recent, " Mrs. Wilson informed him, rising to lead him from the room, "but you're welcome to see it, if youdon't mind how it looks. "

The apartment was a good-sized room, at the rear of the house. It wassituated on a corner, with windows at the side and rear. Against thefront partition an old-fashioned fireplace had been closed with adecorated cover. The neat bed, the hair-cloth chairs, and a table thatstood on three of its four legs only, supplied the furnishings. Thecoroner had taken every scrap he could find of the few things possessedby Mr. Hardy. 

"Nice, cheerful room, " commented Garrison. "Did he keep the windowsclosed and locked?"

"Oh, no! He was a wonderful hand to want the air, " said the landlady. "And he loved the view. "

The view of the shed and hen-coops at the rear was duly exhibited. Garrison did his best to formulate a theory to exonerate Dorothy fromknowledge of the crime; but his mind had received a blow at these newdisclosures, and nothing seemed to aid him in the least. He could onlyfeel that some dark deed lay either at the door of the girl who hadpaid him to masquerade as her husband, or the half-crazed inventor downthe street. 

And the toils lay closer to Dorothy, he felt, than they did to Scott. 

"You have been very helpful, I am sure, " he said to Mrs. Wilson. 

He bade her good-by and left the house, feeling thoroughly depressed inall his being. 

CHAPTER IX

A SUMMONS

Once in the open air again, with the sunshine streaming upon him, Garrison felt a rebound in his thoughts. He started slowly up the roadto Branchville, thinking of the murder as he went. 

The major requisite, he was thoroughly aware, was motive. Men werenever slain, except by lunatics, without a deeply grounded reason. Itdisturbed him greatly to realize that Dorothy might have possessed sucha motive in the danger of losing an inheritance, depending upon herimmediate marriage. He could not dismiss the thought that she hadsuddenly found herself in need of a husband, probably to satisfyconditions in her uncle's will; that she had paid Mr. Hardy a visit asa bride, but _without her husband_, and had since been obliged to cometo himself and procure his professional services _as such husband_, presumably for a short time only. 

She was cheating the Robinsons now through him. 

Of this much there could be no denial. She was stubbornly withholdingimportant information from himself as the masquerading husband. Shewas, therefore, capable of craft and scheming. The jewel mystery wasequally suspicious and unexplainable. 

And yet, when his memory flew to the hour in which he had met her forthe very first time, his faith in her goodness and honesty swept uponhim with a force that banished all doubt from his being. Every wordshe had uttered, every look from her eyes, had borne her sincerity inupon him indelibly. 

This was his argument, brought to bear upon himself. He did notconfess the element of love had entered the matter in the least. 

And now, as he walked and began to try to show himself that she couldnot have done this awful crime, the uppermost thought that tortured hismind was a fear that she might have a _genuine_ husband. 

He forced his thoughts back to the box of cigars, through the medium ofwhich John Hardy's death had been accomplished. What a diabolicallyclever device it had been! What scheme could be more complete to placethe deadly poison on the tongue of the helpless victim! The cigar isbitten--the stuff is in the mouth, and before its taste can manifestitself above the strong flavor of tobacco, the deadly work is done!And who would think, in ordinary circumstances, of looking in a cigarfor such a poison, and how could such a crime be traced?

The very diabolism of the device acquitted Dorothy, according toGarrison's judgment. He doubted if any clever woman, perhaps exceptingthe famous and infamous Lucrezia Borgia, could have fashioned a plan soutterly fiendish and cunning. 

He began to reflect what the thing involved. In the first place, manysmokers cut the end from every cigar, preliminary to lighting up tosmoke. The person who had loaded this cigar must have known it wasJohn Hardy's habit to bite his cigars in the old-fashioned manner. Hehated this thought, for Dorothy would certainly be one to know of thishabit in her uncle. 

On the other hand, however, the task of placing the poison was onerequiring nicety, for clumsy work would of course betray itself at thecigar-end thus prepared. To tamper with a well-made cigar like thisrequired that one should deftly remove or unroll the wrapper, hollowout a cavity, stuff in the poison, and then rewrap the whole withalmost the skill and art of a well-trained maker of cigars. ToGarrison's way of thinking, this rendered the task impossible for sucha girl as Dorothy. 

He had felt from the first that any man of the inventive, mechanicalattributes doubtless possessed by Scott could be guilty of working outthis scheme. 

Scott, too, possessed a motive. He wanted money. The victim wasinsured in his favor for a snug little fortune. And Scott had returnedto Hardy's room, according to Mrs. Wilson, while Hardy was away, andcould readily have opened the box, extracted one or two cigars, andprepared them for Hardy to smoke. He, too, would have known of Hardy'shabit of biting the end from his weed. 

There was still the third possibility that even before Dorothy's visitto her uncle the cigars could have been prepared. Anyone supplied withthe knowledge that she had purchased the present, with intention totake it to her uncle, might readily have conceived and executed theplan and be doubly hidden from detection, since suspicion would fallupon Dorothy. 

Aware of the great importance of once more examining the dead man'seffects at the coroner's office, Garrison hastened his pace. It stilllacked nearly an hour of noon when he re-entered Branchville. Theoffice he sought was a long block away from his hotel; nevertheless, before he reached the door a hotel bell-boy discerned him, waved hisarm, then abruptly disappeared inside the hostelry. 

The coroner was emerging from his place of business up the street. Garrison accosted him. 

"Oh, Mr. Pike, " he said, "I've returned, you see. I've nearlyconcluded my work on the Hardy case; but I'd like, as a matter of form, to look again through the few trifling articles in your custody. "

"Why, certainly, " said Mr. Pike. "Come right in. I've got to be awayfor fifteen minutes, but I guess I can trust you in the shop. "

He grinned good-naturedly, opened the drawer, and hurriedly departed. 

Garrison drew up a chair before the desk. 

At the door the hotel-boy appeared abruptly. 

"Telegram for you, Mr. Garrison, " he said. "Been at the office aboutan hour, but nobody knew where you was. "

Garrison took it and tore it open. It read:

"Return as soon as possible. Important. 

"DOROTHY. "

"Any answer?" inquired the boy. 

"No, " said Garrison. "What's the next train for New York?"

"Eleven-forty-five, " answered the boy. "Goes in fifteen minutes. "

"All right. Have my suit-case down at the office. "

He returned to his work. 

Ignoring the few piled-up papers in the drawer, he took up the threecigars beside the box, the ones which had come from Hardy's pocket, andscrutinized them with the most minute attention. 

So far as he could possibly detect, not one had been altered orrepasted on the end. He did not dare to cut them up, greatly as helonged to examine them thoroughly. He opened the box from which theyhad come. 

For a moment his eye was attracted and held by the birthdaygreeting-card which Dorothy had written. The presence of the cardshowed a somewhat important fact--the box had been opened once beforeJohn Hardy forced up the lid, in order that the card might be depositedwithin. 

His gaze went traveling from one even, nicely finished cigar-end to thenext, in his hope to discover signs of meddling. It was not until hecame to the end cigar that he caught at the slightest irregularity. Here, at last, was a change. 

He took the cigar out carefully and held it up. There could be nodoubt it had been "mended" on the end. The wrapper was not onlyslightly discolored, but it bulged a trifle; it was not so faultlesslyturned as all the others, and the end was corkscrewed the meresttrifle, whereas, none of the others had been twisted to bring them to apoint. 

Garrison needed that cigar. He was certain not another one in all thebox was suspicious. The perpetrator of the poisoning had evidentlyknown that Hardy's habit was to take his cigars from the end of the rowand not the center. No chance for mistake had been permitted. The twoend cigars had been loaded, and no more. 

How to purloin this cigar without having it missed by Mr. Pike was aworry for a moment. 

Garrison managed it simply. He took out a dozen cigars in the layer ontop and one from the layer next the bottom; then, rearranging theunderlying layer so as to fill in the empty space, he replaced theothers in perfect order in the topmost row, and thus had one cigar leftover to substitute for the one he had taken from the end. 

He plumped the suspicious-looking weed into his pocket and closed thebox. 

Eagerly glancing at the letters found among the dead man's possessions, he found a note from Dorothy. It had come from a town inMassachusetts. The date was over six weeks old. 

It was addressed, "Dear Uncle John, " and, in a girlish way, informedhim she had recently been married to a "splendid, brilliant young man, named Fairfax, " whom she trusted her uncle would admire. They were offon their honeymoon, it added, but she hoped they would not be longaway, for they both looked forward with pleasure to seeing him soon. 

It might have been part of her trickery; he could not tell. 

The envelope was missing. Where Hardy had been at the time ofreceiving the note was not revealed. The picture postal-card that Pikehad mentioned was also there. It, too, apparently, had come fromDorothy, and had been sent direct to Hickwood. 

Once more returning to the box of cigars, Garrison took it up andturned it around in his hand. On the back, to his great delight, hediscovered a rubber-stamp legend, which was nothing more or less than acheap advertisement of the dealer who had sold the cigars. 

He was one Isaac Blum, of an uptown address on Amsterdam Avenue, NewYork, dealer in stationery, novelties, and smokers' articles. Garrisonjotted down the name and address, together with the brand of thecigars, and was just about to rise and close the drawer when thecoroner returned. 

"I shall have to go down to New York this morning, " said Garrison. "Iowe you many thanks. "

"Oh, that's all right, " Mr. Pike responded. "If you're goin' to try tocatch fifteen, you'd better git a move. She's whistled for the stationjust above. "

Garrison hastened away. He was presently whirling back to Dorothy. 

His "shadow, " with his bruised hand gloved, was just behind him in thecar. 

CHAPTER X

A COMPLICATION

With ample time in which to wonder what Dorothy's summons might imply, Garrison naturally found himself in the dark, despite his utmostefforts at deduction. 

He welcomed the chance thus made possible to behold her again so soon, after what he had so recently discovered, and yet he almost dreaded thenecessity of ferreting out all possible facts concerning her actionsand motives for the past six weeks, the better to work up his case. Wherever it led him, he knew he must follow unrelentingly. 

Masquerading as her husband, he had involved himself in--Heaven aloneknew what--but certainly in all her affairs, even to the murder itself, since he was alleged to have married her prior to John Hardy's death, and was now supposed to benefit, in all probability, by some will thatHardy had executed. 

The recent developments disturbed him incessantly. He almost wished hehad never heard of Mr. Wicks, who had come to his office withemployment. And yet, with Dorothy entangled as she was in all thisbusiness, it was better by far that he should know the worst, as wellas the best, that there was to be discovered. 

He wondered if the whole affair might be charged with insidiousfatalities--either for himself or Dorothy. He was groping in thedark--and the only light was that which shone in Dorothy's eyes; therewas nothing else to guide him. He could not believe it was a banefullight, luring him on to destruction--and yet--and yet----

His gaze wandered out at the window on a scene of Nature's loveliness. The bright June day was perfect. In their new, vivid greens, thefields and the trees were enchanting. How he wished that he andDorothy might wander across the hills and meadows together!

A sweet, lawless wildness possessed his rebellious nature. His mindcould reason, but his heart would not, despite all his efforts atcontrol. 

Thus the time passed until New York was reached. 

Unobserved, the man who had shadowed Garrison so faithfully left thetrain at the Harlem station, to take the One Hundred and Twenty-fifthStreet crosstown car, in his haste to get to Ninety-third Street, wherethe Robinsons were waiting. 

Garrison went on to the Grand Central, carried his suit-case to hisroom, freshened his dress with new linen, and then, going forth, lunched at a corner café, purchased another bunch of roses, andproceeded on to Dorothy's. 

It was a quarter of two when he rang the bell. He waited only thebriefest time. The door was opened, and there stood young Robinson, smiling. 

"Why, how do you do, Cousin Jerold?" he said, cordially extending hishand. "Come right in. I'm delighted to see you. "

Garrison had expected any reception but this. He felt his old dislikeof the Robinsons return at once. There was nothing to do, however, butto enter. 

"Is Dorothy----" he started. 

"Won't you go right up?" interrupted Theodore. "I believe you are notunexpected. "

Garrison was puzzled. A certain uneasiness possessed him. Heproceeded quietly up the stairs, momentarily expecting Dorothy toappear. But the house was silent. He reached the landing and turnedto look at Theodore, who waved him on to the room they had occupiedbefore. 

When he entered he was not at all pleased to find the elder Robinsononly awaiting his advent. He halted just inside the threshold andglanced inquiringly from father to son. 

"How do you do?" he said stiffly. "Is Dorothy not at home?"

"She is not, " said old Robinson, making no advance and giving nogreeting. "Will you please sit down?"

Garrison remained where he was. 

"Do you expect her soon?" he inquired. 

"We shall get along very well without her. We've got something to sayto you--alone. "

Garrison said: "Indeed?"

He advanced to a chair and sat down. 

"In the first place, perhaps you will tell us your actual name, " saidold Robinson, himself taking a seat. 

Garrison was annoyed. 

"Let me assure you, once for all, that I do not in the least recognizeyour right to meddle in my concerns, or subject me to any inquisitions. "

"That's another way of saying you refuse to answer!" snapped Robinsontartly. "You know your name isn't Fairfax, any more than it's mine. Your name is Garrison. "

Garrison stared at him coldly. 

"You seem to have made up your mind very decidedly, " he said. "Is thatall you have to say?"

"You don't deny it?" cried the old man, exasperated by his calmness. "You don't dare deny it!"

Garrison grew calmer. 

"I haven't the slightest reason to deny anything, " he said. "Ifrequently require a pseudonym. Dorothy knows that I employ the nameGarrison whenever occasion demands. "

The old man was wild. 

"Will you swear that your right name is Fairfax?" he said. "That'swhat I demand to know!"

Garrison answered: "I came here to see my wife. I warn you I amgrowing impatient with your hidden insinuations!"

"Your wife!" cried old Robinson, making a dive into one of his pocketswith his hand. "What have you to say to this letter, from the womanwho is doubtless by now your _legal_ wife?" Suddenly snatching aletter from his coat, he projected himself toward Garrison and held upthe missive before him. 

It was the letter from Ailsa--the one that Garrison had missed--theletter in which she had agreed to become his wife. He put forth hishand to receive it. 

"No, you don't!" cried the old man, snatching it out of his reach. "I'll keep this, if you please, to show my niece. "

Garrison's eyes glittered. 

"So, it was _your_ hired thief who stole it, up at Branchville?" hesaid. "I don't suppose he showed you the skin that he left behind fromhis fingers. "

"That's got nothing to do with the point!" the old man cried at himtriumphantly. "I don't believe you are married to my niece. If youthink you can play your game on me----"

Garrison interrupted. 

"The theft of that letter was a burglary in which you are involved. You are laying up trouble for yourself very rapidly. Give that letterto me!"

"Give it up, hey? We'll see!" said Robinson. "Take it to court if youdare! I'm willing. This letter shows that another woman accepted you, and _that's_ the point you don't dare face in the law!"

Whatever else he discerned in the case. Garrison did not understand inthe least how Dorothy could have summoned him back here for this. 

"That letter is an old one, " he replied to Robinson calmly. "Look atthe date. It's a bit of ancient history, long since altered. "

"There is no date!" the old man shrilled in glee; and he was right. 

Garrison's reply was never uttered. The door behind him abruptlyopened, and there stood Dorothy, radiant with color and beauty. 

"Why, Jerold!" she cried. "Why, when did you come? I didn't even knowyou were in town. "

She ran to him ardently, as she had before, with her perfect art, andkissed him with wifely affection. 

CHAPTER XI

THE SHOCK OF TRUTH

For one second only Garrison was a trifle confused. Then he gave herthe roses he had brought. 

She carried them quickly to the table, hiding her face in theirfragrant petals. 

"Just a moment, Dorothy, " said Garrison. "You didn't know I'd come totown? You wired----" He halted and looked at the Robinsons. "Oh, " headded, "I think I begin to see. "

Dorothy felt something in the air. 

"What is it, Jerold?" she said. "I haven't wired. What do you mean?"

Garrison faced the Robinsons. 

"I mean that these two _gentlemen_ telegraphed me at Branchville tocome here at once--and signed your name to the wire. "

"Telegraphed you? In my name?" repeated Dorothy. "I don't believe Iunderstand. "

"We may as well understand things first as last, " said her uncle. "Idon't believe this man is your husband! I don't believe his name isFairfax! He was registered as Garrison. Furthermore----"

Garrison interrupted, addressing Dorothy:

"They think they have discovered something important or vital in thefact that I sometimes use the name Garrison. And they have managed tosteal an old letter----"

"I'll tell about the letter, if you please!" cried old Robinsonshrilly. He turned to Dorothy, who was very white. "There you are!"he said, waving the letter before her face. "There's the letter fromhis sweetheart--the woman he asked to become his wife! Here's heracceptance, and her protestations of love. She is doubtless his wifeat this moment! Read it for yourself!"

He thrust it into Dorothy's hand with aggressive insistence. 

Dorothy received it obediently. She hardly knew what she should say ordo to confute the old man's statements, or quiet his dangeroussuspicions. His arrival at the truth concerning herself and Garrisonhad disconcerted her utterly. 

Garrison did not attempt to take the letter, but he addressed herpromptly:

"I am perfectly willing to have you read the letter. It was writtenover a year ago. It is Ailsa's letter. I told you I was once engagedto Ailsa; that she married my friend, without the slightest warning;that I had not destroyed her last letter. She never acquired the habitof dating her letters, and therefore this one might appear to be a bitof recent correspondence. "

"A very pretty explanation!" cried old Robinson. "We'll see--we'llsee! Dorothy, read it for yourself!"

Dorothy was rapidly recovering her self-possession. She turned to heruncle quite calmly, with the folded bit of paper in her hand. 

"How did you come by this letter, " she inquired. "You didn't reallysteal it?"

Garrison answered: "The letter was certainly stolen. My suit-case wasrifled the night of my arrival at Branchville. These gentlemen hired athief to go through my possessions. "

"I've been protecting my rights!" the old man answered fiercely. "Ifyou think you can cheat me out of my rightful dues you'll find out yourmistake!"

"I wouldn't have thought you could stoop to this, " said Dorothy. "Youcouldn't expect to shake my faith in Jerold. "

She handed Garrison the letter to show her confidence. 

Garrison placed it in his pocket. He turned on the Robinsons angrily. 

"You are both involved in a prison offense, " he said--"an ordinary, vulgar burglary. I suppose you feel secure in the fact that forDorothy's sake I shall do nothing about it--to-day. But I warn youthat I'll endure no more of this sort of thing, in your efforts tothrow discredit on Dorothy's relationship with me! Now then, kindlyleave the room. "

Aware that Garrison held the upper hand, old Robinson was more thanchagrined; he was furious. His rage, however, was impotent; there wasno immediate remedy at hand. Theodore, equally baffled, returned tohis attitude of friendliness. 

"No harm's been done, and none was intended, " he said. "There'snothing in family rows, anyhow. Father, come along. "

His father, on the point of discharging another broadside of anger, altered his mind and followed his son to a room at the rear of thehouse. 

Garrison closed the door. 

Dorothy was looking at him almost wildly. 

"What does it mean?" she asked in a tone barely above a whisper. "Theyhaven't really found out anything?"

"They suspect the truth, I'm afraid, " he answered. "I shall be obligedto ask you a number of questions. "

Her face became quite ashen. 

"I can see that your employment has become very trying, " she said, "butI trust you are not contemplating retreat. "

The thought made her pale, for her heart, too, had found itselfpotently involved. 

"No; I have gone too far for that, " he answered, making an effort tofight down the dictates of his increasing love and keep his headthoroughly clear. 

"In the first place, when you wire me in the future use another name, for safety--say Jeraldine. In the next place, I am very much hamperedby the blindness of my mission. I can see, I think, that the Robinsonsexpected some legacy which you are now apparently about to inherit, andyour marriage became necessary to fulfill some condition of the will. Is this correct?"

"Yes, quite correct. " She remained very pale. 

"Who was it that died, leaving the will? And when did he die?"

"Another uncle, Mr. John Hardy--quite recently, " she answered. 

"You are not in mourning. "

"By his special request. He died very suddenly. He left a conditionin his will that I should inherit his fortune provided I should havebeen married at least one month prior to his death to a healthy, respectable man--who was not to be my cousin. "

"Theodore?"

She nodded. "You can see I had to have a husband. "

"Exactly. "

Garrison thought he saw a light that cleared her as he could havewished. He hastened to a question bearing directly upon it. 

"Did the Robinsons know of this clause in your Uncle Hardy's will--say, two or three weeks ago?"

"No. They knew nothing of it then. "

Garrison's heart sank. "You are sure?"

"Absolutely positive. Uncle John was very secretive. "

The suggestion that the Robinsons, having known the condition in thewill, had destroyed John Hardy in the belief that Dorothy, beingunmarried, would thereby lose the inheritance, was vanishing. Garrisonstill had hope. 

"You once alluded to certain obligations that--well, compelled you tohire a husband, " he said. "You had no urgent need of funds in a largeamount?"

She darted him a startled look. "I shall have a pressing need--soon. I suppose you have a right to know. "

Garrison was almost in despair. There was nothing to do but go on. 

"Did Mr. Hardy know anything of this need?"

"No. "

"You feared he might not be in sympathy with your requirements?"

"No, he---- Have these questions anything to do with our--case?" Sheseemed to be frightened. 

"They have, " he said. "You have your diamonds and pearls. You mightraise quite a sum on such valuable gems. "

The look of fear upon her face increased. 

"I couldn't!" she said, as if she feared the walls might hear andbetray. "Please don't mention----"

"You didn't tell me what they are, or why you wish to keep them, " hesaid. "What does it mean?"

"Please don't ask!" She was greatly agitated. "Please trust me--alittle while longer! You probably have to return to Branchville andyour work. "

He determined then and there upon the one supreme test of the situation. 

"That reminds me, " he said, averting his gaze; "the work on which I amengaged in Branchville is the case of a man named Hardy. I'm glad hewas not your uncle. "

Her face took on the hue of death. Her lips moved, but for a momentmade no sound. Then, with an effort, she replied:

"You're glad--but--why?"

"Because, " he replied, with a forced smile on his lips, "the man up atBranchville was murdered. "

She made no sound. 

She simply closed her eyes and swayed toward him, weakly collapsing asshe fell. He caught her quickly against his breast, a heavy, preciousburden that he knew he must love, though the angels of heaven accuseher. 

"Dorothy--Dorothy--forgive me, " he said, but her senses were deaf tohis voice. 

CHAPTER XII

A DISTURBING LOSS

Garrison, holding the limp, helpless form in his arms, gazed quicklyabout the room and saw the couch. He crossed the floor and placed herfull length upon its cushions. 

She lay there so white and motionless that he was frightened. He feltit impossible to call the Robinsons. He needed water, quickly. Heknew nothing of the house. His searching glance fell at once on thevase of roses, standing on the table. He caught it up, drew out theflowers, and was presently kneeling at Dorothy's side, wetting hishandkerchief with the water from the vase and pressing it closely onher forehead. 

She did not respond to his ministrations. He tore at her dress, whereit fastened at the neck, and laid it wide open for several inches. Onthe creamy whiteness of her throat he sprinkled the water, then sprangto the window, threw it up, and was once more kneeling beside her. 

The fresh breeze swept in gratefully and cooled her face and neck. Shestirred, slightly turned, opened her eyes in a languid manner, andpartially relapsed into coma. 

"Thank God!" said Garrison, who had feared for her life, and he oncemore applied his wetted handkerchief. He spoke to her, gently:

"Forgive me, Dorothy--it's all right--everything's all right, " but hersenses accepted nothing of his meaning. 

For another five minutes, that seemed like an age, he rubbed at herhands, resprinkled her throat and face, and waved a folded paper towaft her the zephyr of air. When she once more opened her eyes she wasfairly well restored. She recovered her strength by a sheer exertionof will and sat up, weakly, passing her hand across her brow. 

"I must have fainted, " she said. She was very white. 

"You're all right now--the heat and unusual excitement, " he answeredreassuringly. "Don't try to do anything but rest. "

She looked at him with wide, half-frightened eyes. Her fears hadreturned with her awakened intelligence. 

"You mustn't stay, " she told him with a firmness he was not prepared toexpect. "Please go as soon as you can. "

"But--can I leave you like this? You may need me, " he answered. "Ifthere's anything I can do----"

"Nothing now. Please don't remain, " she interrupted. "I shall go tomy room at once. "

Garrison realized she was in no condition for further questioning. Whatsoever the status of the case or his doubts, there was nothing morepossible, with Dorothy in this present condition. He knew she verymuch desired to be alone. 

"But--when shall I see you? What shall I----" he started. 

"I can't tell. Please go, " she interrupted, and she sank back oncemore on the cushions, looking at him wildly for a moment, and thenaverting her gaze. "Please don't stay another minute. "

He could not stay. His mind was confused as to his duty. He knew thathe loved her and wished to remain; he knew he was under orders and mustgo. Disturbed and with worry at his heart, he took her hand for onebrief pressure. 

"Don't forget I'm your friend--and protector, " he said. "Please don'tforget. "

He took his hat, said good-by, saw her lips frame a brief, half-audiblereply, then slipped from the room, to avoid giving undue notice to theRobinsons, went silently down the stairs to the door, and let himselfout in the street. 

Aware, in a dim sort of way, that a "shadow" was once more lurking onhis trail, as he left the house, he was almost indifferent to thefellow's intrusion, so much more disturbing had been the climax of hisvisit with Dorothy. 

The outcome of his announcement concerning her uncle's death hadaffected Dorothy so instantaneously as to leave him almost withouthope. The blow had reacted on himself with staggering force. He wassickened by the abruptness with which the accusing circumstances hadculminated. And yet, despite it all, he loved her more thanbefore--with a fierce, aggressive love that blindly urged him to herfuture protection and defense. 

His half-formed plan to visit the dealer who had sold the cigarsdeparted from his mind. He wanted no more facts or theories thatpointed as so many were pointing. Indeed, he knew not where he wasgoing, or what he meant to do, till at length a sign on a windowaroused him to a sense of things neglected. The sign read simply:

 BANK. SAFE DEPOSIT VAULTS. 

He entered the building, hired a box in the vault, and placed within itthe jewels he had carried. Then he remembered Wicks. 

Instructions had been given to report, not only fully, but promptly. He must make a report--but what? He knew he could not tell of thehorrible tissue of facts and circumstances that wound like a web aboutthe girl he loved. He would far rather give up the case. And once hegave it up, he knew that no man alive could ever come again upon thedamning evidence in his possession. 

He would say his work was incomplete--that it looked like a naturaldeath--that Scott had acted suspiciously, as indeed he had--that heneeded more time--anything but what appeared to be the sickening truth. Later, should Dorothy prove to be but some artful, dangerous creature, masquerading as a sweet young girl behind her appearance of beauty, innocence, and exquisite charm--that would be time enough to move. 

Perfectly willing to be followed for a time by his "shadow, " he walkedto the nearest Subway station in upper Broadway and was presently bornedowntown. 

He was barely in time at the big insurance office, for Wicks waspreparing to leave. No less nervous, snappy, or pugnacious thanbefore, the little sharp-faced man appeared more smiling than ever, andyet with an expression even more sardonic. 

"Well?" he said, as he ushered Garrison into a small, private room. "What have you to report?"

"Nothing very much to report as yet, " said Garrison, slightly flushingat withholding the truth. "It looks very much as if the coroner'sverdict may have been correct--although Scott acts a little like a manso absorbed in his inventions that he'd stop at nothing for money. "

"Needs money, does he?" demanded Wicks. "He has admitted that?"

"Yes, " said Garrison, "he speaks so plainly of his need and makes suchheartless and selfish references to the money he hopes to procure onthis insurance policy that I hardly know what to make of his character. "

"Capable of murder, is he?"

"He's fanatical about his invention and--he needs money. "

"You don't think him guilty?" announced Mr. Wicks, with rarepenetration. 

"There seems to be little or nothing against him as yet, " saidGarrison. "There was nothing found on the body, so far as I have beenable to learn, to indicate murder. "

"If murder at all, how could it have been done, " demanded Mr. Wicks. 

"Only by poison. "

"H'm! You saw the dead man's effects, of course. What did theycomprise?"

Garrison detailed the dead man's possessions, as found at the coroner'soffice. He neglected nothing, mentioning the cigars as candidly as hedid the few insignificant papers. 

"In what possible manner could the man have been poisoned?" demandedWicks, rising, with his watch in his hand. "Was there anything to eatat his apartments--or to drink?"

"Not that I can trace. The only clew that seems important, so far, isthat Scott spent fifteen minutes in Hardy's room, alone, on the nightof his death. "

"That's something!" said Wicks, with the slightest possible show ofapproval. "Put on your hat and go uptown with me and tell me exactlyall about it. "

They left the office, proceeded to the Subway, boarded an uptownexpress that was jammed to the guards with struggling humanity, alldeserting the small end of Gotham at once; and here, with Wicks crowdedflat up against him, and hanging, first to a strap and then to hisshoulder. Garrison related the few facts that he had already brieflysummarized. 

"Well--nothing to say to you but go ahead, " said Wicks, as they nearedthe Grand Central Station, where he meant to take a train. "Stick tothe case till you clean it up. That's all. "

Garrison, presently alone on the crowded street, with no particularobjective point in view, felt thoroughly depressed and lonely. 

He wished he had never discovered the poisoned cigar at Branchville. 

Mechanically, his hand sought his pocket, where the second charged weedhad been placed. 

Then he started and searched his waistcoat wildly. 

The deadly cigar was gone!

CHAPTER XIII

A TRYST IN THE PARK

Unable for a moment to credit his senses, Garrison moved over againstthe wall of the building he was passing, and stood there, slowly, almost mechanically, searching his pockets once again, while his mindrevolved about the lost cigar, in an effort to understand itsdisappearance. 

He was wholly at a loss for a tenable theory till he thought of thefrequency with which men are robbed of scarf-pins or similartrifles--and then a sickening possibility possessed him. 

One of the commonest devices that a woman employs in such a petty theftis to faint on the breast of her victim. In such a pose she mayreadily extract some coveted article from either his tie or his pocket, with almost absolute certainty of avoiding detection. 

It did not seem possible--and yet the fact remained that Dorothy hadfainted thus against him, and the poisoned cigar was gone. She hadknown of his visit to Branchville; his line of questions might haveroused her suspicions; the cigar had been plainly in sight. He hadseen her enact her rôle so perfectly, in the presence of her relatives, that he could not doubt her ability in any required direction. 

For a moment a powerful revulsion of feeling toward the girl, who wasundeniably involved in some exceptionally deep-laid plan, creptthroughout his being. Not only does a man detest being used as a tooland played upon like any common dunce, but he also feels an utterchagrin at being baffled in his labors. Apparently he had played thefool, and also he had lost the vital evidence of Hardy's poisoning. 

Mortified and angry, he remained there, while the crowds surged by, hisgaze dully fixed on the pavement. For a time he saw nothing, and thenat last he was conscious that a rose--a crushed and wilted rose, throwndown by some careless pedestrian--was lying almost at his feet. Somehow, it brought him a sense of calm and sweetness; it seemed asymbol, vouchsafed him here in the hot, sordid thoroughfare, wherecrime and folly, virtue and despair, stalk arm in arm eternally. 

He could not look upon the bit of trampled beauty, thus wasted on aheedless throng, and think of Dorothy as guilty. She had seemed justas crushed and wilted as the rose when he left her at her home--just asbeautiful, also, and as far from her garden of peace and fragrances asthis rejected handful of petals. She must be innocent. There must besome other explanation for the loss of that cigar--and some good reasonfor the things she had done and said. 

He took up the rose, indifferent to anyone who might have observed theaction with a smile or a sneer, and slowly proceeded down the street. 

The cigar, he reflected, might easily have been stolen in the Subway. A hundred men had crushed against him. Any one of them so inclinedcould have taken the weed at his pleasure. The thought was whollydisquieting, since if any man attempted to bite the cigar-end through, to smoke, he would pay a tragic penalty for his petty theft. 

This aspect of the affair, indeed, grew terrible, the more he thoughtupon it. He almost felt he must run to the station, try to search outthat particular train, and cry for all to hear that the stolen cigarwould be fatal--but the thought was a wild, unreasoning vagary; he wasabsolutely helpless in the case. 

He could not be certain that the weed had thus been extracted from hispocket. It might in some manner have been lost. He did not know--hecould not know. He felt sure of one thing only--his hope, his demand, that Dorothy must be innocent and good. 

Despite his arguments, he was greatly depressed. The outcome of allthe business loomed dim and uncertain before him, a haze charged withmystery, involving crime as black as night. 

He presently came to the intersection of fashionable Fifth Avenue andForty-second Street, and was halted by the flood of traffic. Hundredsof vehicles were pouring up and down, in endless streams, while twocalm policemen halted the moving processions, from time to time, topermit the crosstown cars and teams to move in their several directions. 

Across from Garrison's corner loomed the great marble library, stillincomplete and gloomily fenced from the sidewalk. Beyond it, furnishing its setting, rose the trees of Bryant Park, a green oasis inthe tumult and unloveliness about it. Garrison knew the benches therewere crowded; nevertheless, he made his way the length of the block andfound a seat. 

He sat there till the sun was gone and dusk closed in upon the city. The first faint lights began to twinkle, like the palest stars, in thebuildings that hedged the park about. He meant to hunt out arestaurant and dine presently, but what to do afterward he could notdetermine. 

There was nothing to be done at Branchville or Hickwood at night, andbut little, for the matter of that, to be done by day. Tomorrow wouldbe ample time to return to that theater of uncertainty. He longed forone thing only--another sight of Dorothy--enshrined within his heart. 

Reminded at last of the man who had followed on his trail, he purposelystrolled from the park and circled two blocks, by streets now almostdeserted, and was reasonably certain he had shaken off pursuit. As amatter of fact, his "shadow" had lost him in the Subway, and now, having notified the Robinsons by telephone, was watching the housewhere he roomed. 

Garrison ate his dinner in a mood of ceaseless meditation concerningDorothy. He was worried to know what might have happened since hisdeparture from her home. Half inclined in one minute to go again tothe house, in the next he was quite undecided. 

The thought of the telephone came like an inspiration. Unless theRobinsons should interfere, he might readily learn of her condition. 

At a drug-store, near the restaurant, he found a quiet booth, farbetter suited to his needs than the noisier, more public boxes at theeating place he had quitted. He closed himself inside the littlecubby-hole, asked for the number, and waited. 

It seemed an interminable time till a faint "Hello!" came over thewire, and he fancied the voice was a man's. 

"Hello! Is that Mrs. Fairfax?" he asked. "I'd like to speak to Mrs. Fairfax. "

"Wait a minute, please. Who is it?" said a voice unmistakablymasculine. 

"Mr. Wallace, " said Garrison, by way of precaution. "She'llunderstand. "

"Hold the wire, please. "

He held the receiver to his ear, and waited again. At length came asofter, more musical greeting. It was Dorothy. His heart wasinstantly leaping at the sound of her voice. 

"Hello! Is that someone to speak to me?" she said. "This is Mrs. Fairfax. "

"Yes, " answered Garrison. "This is Jerold. I felt I must find outabout you--how you are. I've been distressed at the way I was obligedto leave. "

"Oh!" said the voice faintly. "I--I'm all right--thank you. I mustsee you--right away. " Her voice had sunk to a tone he could barelydistinguish. "Where are you now?"

"Downtown, " said Garrison. "Where shall I meet you?"

"I--hardly know, " came the barely audible reply. "Perhaps--at CentralPark and Ninety-third Street. "

"I'll start at once, " he assured her. "If you leave the house infifteen minutes we shall arrive about the same time. Try to avoidbeing followed. Good-by. "

He listened to hear her answer, but it did not come. He heard thedistant receiver clink against its hook, and then the connection wasbroken. 

He was happy, in a wild, lawless manner, as he left the place andhastened to the Elevated station. The prospect of meeting Dorothy oncemore, in the warm, fragrant night, at a tryst like that of lovers, madehis pulses surge and his heart beat quicken with excitement. Allthought of her possible connection with the Branchville crime had fled. 

The train could not run fast enough to satisfy his hot impatience. Hewished to be there beneath the trees when she should presently come. He alighted at last at the Ninety-third Street station, and hastened tothe park. 

When he came to the appointed place, he found an entrance to thegreenery near by. Within were people on every bench in sight--NewYork's unhoused lovers, whose wooing is accomplished in the all butsylvan glades which the park affords. 

Here and there a bit of animated flame made a tiny meteor streakagainst the blackness of the foliage--where a firefly quested for itsmate, switching on its marvelous little searchlight. Beyond, on thesmooth, broad roadways, four-eyed chariots of power shot silentlythrough the avenues of trees--the autos, like living dragons, halftamed to man's control. 

It was all thrilling and exciting to Garrison, with the expectation ofmeeting Dorothy now possessing all his nature. Then--a few great dropsof rain began to fall. The effect was almost instantaneous. A dozenpairs of sweethearts, together with as many more unmated stragglers, came scuttling forth from unseen places, making a lively run for thenearest shelter. 

Garrison could not retreat. He did not mind the rain, except in so faras it might discourage Dorothy. But, thinking she might have goneinside the park, he walked there briskly, looking for some solitaryfigure that should by this time be in waiting. He seemed to beentirely alone. He thought she had not come--and perhaps in the rainshe might not arrive at all. 

Back towards the entrance he loitered. A lull in the traffic of thestreet had made the place singularly still. He could hear theraindrops beating on the leaves. Then they ceased as abruptly as theyhad commenced. 

He turned once more down the dimly lighted path. His heart gave aquick, joyous leap. Near a bench was a figure--the figure of a womanwhose grace, he fancied, was familiar. 

Her back was apparently turned as he drew near. He was about towhistle, if only to warn her of his coming, when the shrubbery justahead and beside the path was abruptly parted and a man with a short, wrapped club in his hand sprang forth and struck him viciously over thehead. 

He was falling, dimly conscious of a horrible blur of lights in hiseyes, as helplessly as if he had been made of paper. A second blow, before he crumpled on the pavement, blotted out the last remainingvestige of emotion. He lay there in a limp, awkward heap. 

The female figure had turned, and now came striding to the place with astep too long for a woman. There was no word spoken. Together the twolifted Garrison's unconscious form, carried it quickly to theshrubbery, fumbled about it for a minute or two, struck a match thatwas shielded from the view of any possible passer-by, and then, stillin silence, hastily quitted the park and vanished in one of theglistening side streets, where the rain was reflecting the lamps. 

CHAPTER XIV

A PACKAGE OF DEATH

A low, distant rumble of thunder denoted a new gathering of storm. Five minutes passed, and then the lightning flashed across thefirmament directly overhead. A crash like the splitting of the heavensfollowed, and the rain came down as if it poured through the slit. 

The violence lasted hardly more than five minutes, after which thedownpour abated a little of its fury. But a steadier, quieterprecipitation continued, with the swiftly moving center of disturbancealready far across the sky. 

The rain in his face, and the brisk puff of newly washed ozone in hisheavily moving lungs, aroused Garrison's struggling consciousness byslow degrees. Strange, fantastic images, old memories, weird phantoms, and wholly impossible fancies played through his brain with the dull, torturing persistency of nightmares for a time that seemed to himendless. 

It was fully half an hour before he was sufficiently aroused to roll toan upright position and pass his hand before his eyes. 

He was sick and weak. He could not recall what had happened. He didnot know where he was. 

He was all but soaked by the rain, despite the fact that a tree withdense foliage was spread above him, and he had lain beneath protectingshrubberies. Slowly the numbness seemed to pass from his brain, likethe mist from the surface of a lake. He remembered things, as it were, in patches. 

Dorothy--that was it--and something had happened. 

He was stupidly aware that he was sitting on something uncomfortable--alump, perhaps a stone--but he did not move. He was waiting for hisbrain to clear. When at length he hoisted his heavy weight upon hisknees, and then staggered drunkenly to his feet, to blunder toward atree and support himself by its trunk, his normal circulation began tobe restored, and pain assailed his skull, arousing him further to hissenses. 

He leaned for some time against the tree, gathering up the threads ofthe tangle. It all came back, distinct and sharp at last, and, withmemory, his strength was returning. He felt of his head, on which hishat was jammed. 

The bone and the muscles at the base of the skull were sore andsensitive, but the hurt had not gone deep. He felt incapable ofthinking it out--the reasons, and all that it meant. He wondered ifhis attacker had thought to leave him dead. 

Mechanically his hands sought out his pockets. He found his watch andpocketbook in place. Some weight seemed dragging at his coat. Whenhis hand went slowly to the place, he found the lump on which he hadbeen lying. He pulled it out--a cold, cylindrical affair, of metal, with a thick cord hanging from its end. Then a chill crept all thedistance down his spine. 

The thing was a bomb!

Cold perspiration and a sense of horror came upon him together. Anunderlying current of thought, feebly left unfocused in his brain--athought of himself as a victim, lured to the park for this deed--becameas stinging as a blow on the cheek. 

The cord on this metal engine of destruction was a fuse. The rain haddrenched it and quenched its spark of fire, doubtless at some break inthe fiber, since fuse is supposedly water-proof. Nothing but thethunder-storm had availed to save his life. He had walked into a trap, like a trusting animal, and chance alone had intervened to bring himforth alive. 

His brain by now was thoroughly active. Reactionary energy rushed inupon him to sharpen all his faculties. There was nothing left of thejoyous throbbing in his veins which thoughts of his tryst with Dorothyhad engendered. He felt like the wrathful dupe of a woman's wiles, forit seemed as plain as soot on snow that Dorothy, fearing theconsequences of his recent discoveries in the Hardy case, had made thispark appointment only with this treacherous intent. 

All his old, banished suspicions rushed pell-mell upon his mind, andwith them came new indications of her guilt. Her voice on thetelephone had been weak and faltering. She had chosen the park astheir meeting place, as the only available spot for such a deed. Andthen--then----

It seemed too horrible to be true, but the wound was on his head, anddeath was in his hand. It was almost impossible that anyone could haveheard their talk over the 'phone. He was left no alternative theory towork on, except that perhaps the Robinsons had managed, through somemachination, to learn that he and Dorothy were to meet at thisconvenient place. 

One struggling ray of hope was thus vouchsafed him, yet he felt as ifperhaps he had already given Dorothy the benefit of too many reasonabledoubts. He could be certain of one thing only--he was thoroughlyinvolved in a mesh of crime and intrigue that had now assumed a new andpersonal menace. Hereafter he must work more for Garrison and less forromantic ideals. 

Anger came to assist in restoring his strength. Far from undergoingany sense of alarm which would frighten him out of further effort toprobe to the bottom of the business, he was stubbornly determined toremain on the case till the whole thing was stripped of its secrets. 

Not without a certain weakness at the knees did he make his way back tothe path. 

He had no fear of lurking enemies, since those who had placed the bombin his pocket would long before have fled the scene to make an alibicomplete. The rain had ceased. Wrapping the fuse about the metalcartridge in his hand, he came beneath a lamp-post by the walk, andlooked the thing over in the light. 

There was nothing much to see. A nipple of gas-pipe, with a cap oneither end, one drilled through for the insertion of the fuse, described it completely. The kink in the fuse where the rain had foundentrance to dampen the powder, was plainly to be seen. 

Garrison placed the contrivance in his pocket. He pulled out hiswatch. The hour, to his amazement, was nearly ten. He realized hemust have lain a considerable time unconscious in the wet. Halting towonder what cleverness might suggest as the best possible thing to bedone, he somewhat grimly determined to proceed to Dorothy's house. 

CHAPTER XV

SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERIES

Damp and uncomfortable, he kept to the farther side of the street, andslackened his pace as he drew near the dwelling which he realized was aplace replete with mystery. 

He stood on the opposite sidewalk at length, and gazed across at thefrowning brownstone front. The place was utterly dark. Not theslightest chink of light was visible in all its somber windows. 

Aware that nothing is so utterly confusing to a guilty being as to beconfronted unexpectedly by a victim, supposed to be dispatched, Garrison had come this far without the slightest hesitation. Theaspect of the house, however, was discouraging. 

Despite the ache at the base of his skull, and despite the excitedthumping of his heart, he crossed the street, climbed unhaltingly tothe steps, and rang the bell. He had made up his mind to act as ifnothing unusual had occurred. Then, should either Dorothy or theRobinsons exhibit astonishment at beholding him here, or otherwisebetray a guilty knowledge of the "accident" which had befallen him, hisdoubts would be promptly cleared. 

A minute passed, and nothing happened. 

He rang the bell again. 

Once more he waited, in vain. 

His third ring was long and insistent. 

About to despair of gaining admission, he was gratified to note a dimlyreflected light, as if from the rear, below stairs. Then the hall wasillumined, and presently a chain-lock was drawn, inside the door, thebarrier swung open, and the serving-woman stood there before him, dressed with the evidences of haste that advertised the fact she hadrisen from her bed. 

Garrison snatched at his wits in time to act a part for which he hadnot been prepared. 

"I'm afraid it's pretty late, " he said, "but I came to surprise mywife. "

"My word, that's too bad, sir, ain't it?" said the woman. "Mrs. Fairfax has went out for the night. "

This was the truth. Dorothy, together with the Robinsons, had left thehouse an hour before and gone away in an automobile, leaving no word oftheir destination, or of when they intended to return. 

Utterly baffled, and wholly at a loss to understand this unexpectedmaneuver. Garrison stood for a moment staring at the woman. Afterall, such a flight was in reasonable sequence, if Dorothy were guilty. The one thing to do was to avail himself of all obtainable knowledge. 

"Gone--for the night, " he repeated. "Did Mrs. Fairfax seem anxious togo?"

"I didn't see her, sir. I couldn't say, really, " answered the woman. "Mr. Theodore said as how she was ailing, sir, and they was going away. That's all I know about it, sir. "

"I'm sorry I missed them, " Garrison murmured, half to himself. Then athought occurred to him abruptly--a bold suggestion, on which hedetermined to act. 

"Is my room kept ready, in case of present need like this to-night?" hesaid. "Or, if not, could you prepare it?"

"It's all quite ready, sir, clean linen and all, the room next to Mrs. Fairfax's, " said the woman. "I always keeps it ready, sir. "

"Very good, " said Garrison, with his mind made up to remain all nightand explore the house for possible clews to anything connected with itsmysteries. "You may as well return to your apartments. I can find myway upstairs. "

"Is there anything I could get you, sir?" inquired the woman. "Youlook a bit pale, sir, if you'll pardon the forwardness. "

"Thank you, no, " he answered gratefully. "All I need is rest. " Heslipped half a dollar in her hand. 

The woman switched on the lights in the hallway above. 

"Good-night, sir, " she said. "If you're needing anything more I hopeyou'll ring. "

"Good-night, " said Garrison. "I shall not disturb you, I'm sure. "

With ample nerve to enact the part of master, he ascended the stairs, proceeded to the room to which he had always gone before, and waited tohear the woman below retire to her quarters in the basement. 

The room denoted nothing unusual. The roses, which he had taken fromthe vase to obtain the water to sprinkle on Dorothy's face, haddisappeared. The vase was there on the table. 

He crossed the floor and tried the door that led to Dorothy's boudoir. It was locked. Without further ado, he began his explorations. 

It was not without a sense of gratitude that he presently discoveredthe bathroom at the rear of the hall. Here he laved his face and head, being very much refreshed by the process. 

A secondary hall led away from the first, and through this he came atonce to the rooms which had evidently been set apart for Dorothy andher husband. The room which he knew was supposed to be his owncontained nothing save comfortable furnishings. He therefore went atonce to Dorothy's apartments. 

She occupied a suite of three rooms--one of them large, the otherssmall. Exquisite order was apparent in all, combined with signs of adainty, cultured taste. It seemed a sacrilege to search herpossessions, and he made no attempt to do so. Indeed, he gainednothing from his quick, keen survey of the place, save a sense of herbeauty and refinement as expressed in the features of her "nest. " Hefelt himself warranted in opening a closet, into which he cast acomprehensive glance. 

It seemed well filled with hanging gowns, but several hooks were empty. 

On a shelf high up was a suit-case, empty, since it weighed almostnothing as he lifted up the end. He took it down, found marks wherefingers had disturbed the dust upon its lid, then stood on a chair, examined the shelf, and became aware that a second case had beenremoved, as shown by the absence of accumulated dust, which hadgathered all about the place it had formerly occupied. 

Replacing the case he had taken from the shelf, he closed the closet, in possession of the fact that some preparation, at least, had beenmade against some sort of a journey. He was certain the empty hookshad been stripped of garments for the flight, but whether by Dorothyherself or by her relatives he could not, of course, determine. 

He repaired at once to the rooms farther back, which the Robinsons hadoccupied. When he switched on the lights in the first one entered, heknew it had been the old man's place of refuge, for certain signs ofthe occupancy of Mr. Robinson were not lacking. 

It reeked of stale cigar-smoke, which would hang in the curtains for aweek. It was very untidy. There were many indications that oldRobinson had quitted in haste. On the table were ash-trays, oldcigar-stumps, matches, burned and new; magazines, hairpins, atooth-brush, and two calf-bound volumes of a legal aspect. One was alawyer's treatise on wills, the other a history of broken testaments, statistical as well as narrative. 

The closet here supplied nothing of value to Garrison when he gave it abrief inspection. At the end of the room was a door that stoodslightly ajar. It led to the next apartment--the room to whichTheodore had been assigned. Garrison soon discovered the electricbutton and flooded the place with light. 

The apartment was quite irregular. The far end had two windows, overlooking the court at the rear--the hollow of the block. These wereboth in an alcove, between two in-jutting partitions. One partitionwas the common result of building a closet into the room. The otherwas constructed to accommodate a staircase at the back of the house, leading to the quarters below. 

Disorder was again the rule, for a litter of papers, neckties, soiledcollars, and ends of cigarettes, with perfumes, toilet requisites, andbeer bottles seemed strewn promiscuously on everything capable ofreceiving a burden. 

Garrison tried the door that led to the staircase, and found it open. The closet came next for inspection. Without expecting anything ofparticular significance, Garrison drew open the door. 

Like everything else in the Robinsons' realm, it was utterlydisordered. Glancing somewhat indifferently over its contents. Garrison was about to close the door when his eye caught upon a gleamof dull red, where a ray of light fell in upon a bit of color on thefloor. 

He stopped, put his hand on the cloth, and drew forth a flimsy pair oftights of carmine hue--part of the Mephistophelian costume thatTheodore had worn on the night of the party next door. With this inhis hand, and a clearer understanding of the house, with its staircaseat the rear. Garrison comprehended the ease with which Theodore hadplayed his rôle and gone from one house to the other without arousingsuspicion. 

Encouraged to examine the closet further, he pawed around through thegarments hung upon the hooks, and presently struck his hand against asolid obstacle projecting from the wall in the darkest corner, andheard a hollow, resonant sound from the blow. 

Removing half a dozen coats that hung concealingly massed in the place, he almost uttered an exclamation of delight. There on the wall was asmall equipment telephone, one of the testing-boxes employed by thelinemen in their labors with which to "plug in" and communicate betweenplaces where no regular 'phone is installed. 

It was Theodore's private receiver, over which he could hear every wordthat might be said to anyone using the 'phone!

It tapped the wires to the regular instrument installed in the house, and was thoroughly concealed. 

Instantly aware that by this means young Robinson could have overheardevery word between himself and Dorothy concerning their meeting in thepark, Garrison felt his heart give a lift into realms of unreasonablejoy. 

It could not entirely dissipate the doubts that hung about Dorothy, butit gave him a priceless hope!

CHAPTER XVI

IN QUEST OF DOROTHY

More than half ready to believe that Dorothy had been spirited away, Garrison examined everything available, with the intention ofdiscovering, if possible, any scrap that might indicate the destinationto which the trio had proceeded. 

The Robinsons had left almost nothing of the slightest value orimportance, since what clothing remained was of no significancewhatever. 

It was not until he opened up the old man's books on the subject ofwills that Garrison found the slightest clew, and then he came upon apostal-card addressed to "Sykey Robinson, Esq. , " from Theodore'smother. It mentioned the fact that she had arrived quite safely at"the house, " and requested that her husband forward a pair of herglasses, left behind when she started. 

The address of the place where she was stopping was given as 1600Myrtle Avenue. The postmark was Woodsite, Long Island. 

Garrison made up his mind to go to Woodsite. If Dorothy were found, hemeant to steal her--if need be, even against her will. 

Warmed to the business by his few discoveries, he returned at once toDorothy's apartments and opened her bureau and dressing-table for asuperficial inspection. To his complete surprise, he found that everydrawer was in utter confusion as to its contents. That each and allhad been rudely overhauled there could not be a doubt for a moment. Not one showed the order apparent in all things else about the rooms. 

There could be but one conclusion. Some one had searched themhurriedly, sparing not even the smallest. The someone could not havebeen Dorothy, for many reasons--and Garrison once more rejoiced. 

He was thoroughly convinced that Dorothy had been taken from the houseby force. 

Whatever else she might be guilty of, he felt she must be innocent ofthe dastardly attempt upon his life. And, wherever she was, he meantto find her and take her away, no matter what the cost. 

The hour was late--too late, he was aware--for anything effective. Notwithout a certain satisfaction in his sense of ownership, and with grimresolutions concerning his dealings in future with the Robinsons, heextinguished the lights in the rooms he had searched, and, glad of themuch-needed rest, retired in calm for six solid hours of sleep. 

This brought him out, refreshed and vigorous, at a bright, early hourof the morning. The housekeeper, not yet stirring in her downstairsquarters, failed to hear him let himself out at the door--and his waywas clear for action. 

His breakfast he took at an insignificant café. Then he went to hisroom in Forty-fourth Street. 

The "shadow, " faithful to his charge, was waiting in the street beforethe house. His presence was noted by Garrison, who nodded to himselfin understanding of the fellow's persistency. 

Arrived upstairs, he discovered three letters, none of which he tookthe time to read. They were thrust in his pocket--and forgotten. 

The metal bomb, which was still in his coat, he concealed among a lotof shoes in his closet. 

From among his possessions, accumulated months before, when the needsof the Biddle robbery case had arisen, he selected a thoroughlyeffective disguise, which not only grew a long, drooping mustache uponhis lip, but aged him about the eyes, and appeared to reduce hisstature and his width of shoulders. With a pair of shabby gloves onhis hands, and a book beneath his arms, he had suddenly become agenteel if poor old book-agent, whose appearance excited compassion. 

Well supplied with money, armed with a loaded revolver, fortified byhis official badge, and more alert in all his faculties than he hadever felt in all his life, he passed down the stairs and out upon thestreet, under the very nose of the waiting "shadow, " into whose face hecast a tired-looking glance, without exciting the slightest suspicion. 

Twenty minutes later he had hired a closed automobile, and was beingcarried toward the Williamsburg Bridge and Long Island. The carselected was of a type renowned for achievements in speed. 

It was nearly ten o'clock when he stood at length on the sidewalkopposite 1600 Myrtle Avenue, Woodsite, a modest cottage standing on acorner. It was one of the houses farthest from the center of the town;nevertheless, it had its neighbors all about, if somewhat scattered. 

There was no sign of life about the place. The shades were drawn; itbore a look of desertion. Only pausing for a moment, as even abook-agent might, after many repeated rebuffs, Garrison wended his wayacross the street, proceeded slowly up the concrete walk, ascended thesteps, and rang the bell. 

There was no result. He rang again, and out of the corner of his eyebeheld the curtain pushed a trifle aside, in the window near at hand, where someone looked out from this concealment. For the third time herang--and at last the door was opened for a distance no more than sixinches wide. The face he saw was old man Robinson's. 

The chain on the door was securely fastened, otherwise Garrison wouldhave pushed his way inside without further ado. He noted this barelyin time to save himself from committing an error. 

"Go away!" said old Robinson testily. "No books wanted!"

"I hope you will not refuse a tired old man, " said Garrison, in a voicethat seemed trembling with weakness. "The books I have to offer arequite remarkable indeed. 

"Don't want them. Good-day!" said Robinson. He tried to close thedoor, but Garrison's foot prevented. 

"One of my books is particularly valuable to read to headstrong youngwomen. If you have a daughter--or any young woman in the house----"

"She can't see anyone--I mean there's no such person here!" snappedRobinson. "What's the matter with that door?"

"My other book is of the rarest interest, " insisted Garrison. "Anaccount of the breaking of the Butler will--a will drawn up by the mostastute and crafty lawyer in America, yet broken because of its flaws. A book----"

"Whose will was that?" demanded Robinson, his interest suddenly roused. "Some lawyer, did you say?" He relaxed his pressure on the door andfumbled at the chain. 

"The will of Benjamin Butler--the famous Benjamin Butler, " Garrisonreplied. "One of the most remarkable----"

"Come in, " commanded old Robinson, who had slipped off the chain. "Howmuch is the book?"

"I am only taking orders to-day, " answered Garrison, stepping brisklyinside and closing the door with his heel. "If you'll take this copyto the light----"

"Father!" interrupted an angry voice. "Didn't I tell you not to letanyone enter this house? Get out, you old nuisance! Get out with yourbook?"

Garrison looked down the oak-finished hall and saw Theodore comingangrily toward him. 

Alive to the value of the melodramatic, he threw off both his hat andmustache and squared up in Theodore's path. 

Young Robinson reeled as if struck a staggering blow. 

"You--you----" he gasped. 

Old Robinson recovered his asperity with remarkable promptness. 

"How dare you come into this house?" he screamed. "You lying----"

"That's enough of that, " said Garrison quietly. "I came forDorothy--whom you dared to carry away. "

"You--you--you're mistaken, " said Theodore, making a most tremendouseffort at calmness, with his face as white as death. "She isn't here. "

"Don't lie. Your father has given the facts away, " said Garrison. "Iwant her--and I want her now. "

"Look here, " said Theodore, rapidly regaining his rage, "if you thinkyou can come to my house like this----" He was making a move as if toslip upstairs--perhaps for a gun. 

Garrison pulled his revolver without further parley. 

"Stay where you are! Up with your hands! Don't either of you make amove that I don't order, understand? I said I'd come to take my wifeaway. "

"For Heaven's sake, don't shoot!" begged old Robinson. "Don't shoot!"

"You fool--do you think I'd bring her here?" said Theodore, trying togrin, but putting up his hands. "Put away your gun, and act like a manin his senses, or I'll have you pulled for your pains. "

"You've done talking enough--and perhaps _I'll_ have just a word to sayabout pulling, later on, " said Garrison. "In the meantime, don't youopen your head again, or you'll get yourself into trouble. "

He raised his voice and shouted tremendously:

"Dorothy!"

"Jerold!" came a muffled cry, from somewhere above in a room. 

He heard her vainly tugging at a door. 

"Go up ahead of me, both of you, " he commanded, making a gesture withthe gun. "I prefer not to break in the door. "

CHAPTER XVII

A RESCUE BY FORCE

Theodore was hesitating, though his father was eager to obey. Garrisonstepped a foot forward and thrust the pistol firmly against the youngman's body, cocking the hammer. 

"I'm going--for the love of Heaven, look out!" cried the cravensuddenly, and he backed toward the stairs in haste. 

"That's better, " said Garrison coldly. "Step lively, please, and don'tattempt the slightest treachery unless you are prepared to pay theprice. "

Theodore had no more than started when the door-bell rang--four littlejingles. 

"It's mother, " said old Robinson, starting for the door. 

"Let her remain outside for the present, " ordered Garrison. "Get on upthe stairs. "

The bell rang again. The Robinsons, resigned to defeat, ascended tothe hall above, with the gun yawning just at the rear. 

Once more Garrison called out:

"Dorothy--where are you?"

"Here!" cried Dorothy, her voice still muffled behind a solid door. "The room at the back. I can't get out!"

Garrison issued another order to Theodore, whom he knew to be thegoverning spirit in the fight against himself and Dorothy:

"Put down one hand and get out your keys--but don't attempt to removeanything else from your pocket, or I'll plug you on the spot. "

Theodore cast a defiant glance across the leveled gun to the steady, cool eyes behind it, and drew forth the keys, as directed. 

"If that's you, Jerold--please, please get me out--the door is locked!"called Dorothy, alarmed by each second of delay. "Where are you now?"

"Coming!" called Garrison. He added, to Theodore: "Keep one hand up. Unlock the door. " He called out again: "Keep cool when it's opened. Don't confuse the situation. "

Young Robinson, convinced that resistance at this point was useless, inserted the key in the lock and opened the door, at the same timecasting a knowing look at his father, who stood over next to the wall. 

In the instant that Garrison's attention was directed to the unlockedroom, old Robinson made a quick retreat to a tiny red box that wasscrewed against the wall and twice pulled down a brass ring. 

Garrison beheld the action too late to interpose. He knew the thingfor a burglar-alarm--and realized his own position. 

Meantime Dorothy had not emerged. 

"Jerold! Jerold!" she cried. "My feet are chained!"

"Get in there, both of you, double-quick!" commanded Garrison, and heherded the Robinsons inside the room, fairly pushing them before himwith the gun. 

Then he saw Dorothy. 

White with fear, her eyes ablaze with indignation at the Robinsons, herbeauty heightened by the look of intensity in her eyes, she stood bythe door, her ankles bound together by a chain which was secured to theheavy brass bed. 

"Jerold!" she cried as she had before, but her voice broke and tearsstarted swiftly from her eyes. 

"Be calm, dear, please, " said Garrison, who had turned on her captorswith an anger he could scarcely control. "You cowards! You infamousscoundrels!" he said. "Release those chains this instant, or I'll blowoff the top of your head!" He demanded this of Theodore. 

"The key isn't here, " said the latter, intent upon gaining time sincethe burglar-alarm had been sprung. "I left it downstairs. "

"I think you lie, " said Garrison. "Get busy, or you'll have trouble. "

"It's on his ring, with the key to the door, " said Dorothy. "They'vekept me drugged and stupid, but I saw as much as that. "

Once more Garrison pushed the black muzzle of the gun againstTheodore's body. The fellow cringed. The sweat stood out on hisforehead. He dropped to his knees and, trembling with fear, fumbledwith the keys. 

"To think they'd dare!" said Dorothy, who with difficulty refrainedfrom sobbing, in her anger, relief, and nervous strain. 

Garrison made no reply. He was fairly on edge with anxiety himself, inthe need for haste, aware that every moment was precious, with thetown's constabulary doubtless already on the way to respond to the oldman's alarm. The rights of the case would come too late, with his andDorothy's story against the statements of the Robinsons, and he had nointention of submitting to arrest. 

"You're wasting time--do better!" he commanded Theodore, and he nudgedthe gun under his ribs. "That's the key, that crooked one--use it, quick!"

Theodore dared not disobey. The chain fell away, and Dorothy ranforward, with a sob upon her lips. 

"Don't hamper me, dear, " said Garrison, watching the Robinsons alertly. "Just get your hat, and we'll go. "

Dorothy ran to a closet, drew forth a hat, and cried that she was ready. 

"Throw those keys in the hall!" commanded Garrison, and young Robinsontossed them out as directed. "Now, then, over in the corner with thepair of you!"

The helpless Robinsons moved over to the corner of the room. Dorothywas already in the hall. Garrison was backing out, to lock the door, when Dorothy ran in again beside him. 

"Just a minute!" she said, and, going to the bed, despite Garrison'simpatience, she turned down the pillow and caught up a bunch of fadedroses--his roses--and, blushing in girlish confusion, ran out oncemore, and slammed the door, which Garrison locked on her relations. 

"Throw the keys under the rug, " he said quietly. "We've no time tolose. The old man rang in an alarm. "

Dorothy quickly hid the keys as directed. The face she turned to himthen was blanched with worry. 

"What shall we do?" she said, as he led her down the stairs. "In alittle town like this there's no place to go. "

"I provided for that, " he answered; and, beholding her start as a soundof loud knocking at the door in the rear gave new cause for fright, headded: "Thank goodness, the old bearded woman has gone around back toget in!"

Half a minute more, and both were out upon the walk. Garrison carryinghis book, his pistol once more in his pocket. 

A yell, and a shrill penetrative whistle from the rear of the house, now told of Theodore's activities at the window of the room where heand his father were imprisoned. He was doubtless making ready to lethimself down to the ground. 

"We may have to make a lively run, " said Garrison. "My motor-car istwo blocks away. "

They were still a block from the waiting car when, with yells and afurious blowing of his whistle, Theodore came running to the streetbefore his house. One minute later a big red car, with the chief ofthe town's police and the chief of the local firemen, shot around thecorner into Myrtle Avenue, and came to a halt before the residencewhich the fugitives had just barely quitted. 

"Make a run for it now, we're in for a race, " said Garrison, and, withDorothy skipping in excitement beside him, he came to his waitingchauffeur. 

"That fellow up the street is on our trail!" he said. "Cut loose allthe speed you've got. Fifty dollars bonus if you lose the bunch beforeyou cross the bridge to New York!"

He helped Dorothy quickly to her seat inside, and only pausing to notethat Theodore was clambering hotly into the big red car, two longvillage blocks away, he swung in himself as the driver speeded up themotor. 

Then, with a whir and a mighty lurch as the clutch went in, theautomobile started forward in the road. 

Ten seconds later they were running full speed, with the muffler cutout, and sharp percussions puncturing the air like a Gatling gun'sterrific detonations. 

The race for New York had commenced. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RACE

Some of the roads on Long Island are magnificent. Many of the speedlaws are strict. The thoroughfare stretching ahead of the two cars wasone of the best. 

The traffic regulations suffered absolute demolition. 

Like a liberated thing of flame and deviltry, happiest when rocketingthrough space, the car beneath the fugitives seemed to bound in the airas it whirred with a higher and higher hum of wheels and gears, and theair drove by in torrential force, leaving a cloud of smoke and dust intheir wake. 

Dorothy clung to Jerold, half afraid. He raised himself upon the seatand looked out of the tiny window set in the back. The big car in theroad behind, obscured in the dust that must help to blind its driver, had lost scarcely more than half a block in picking up its speed. 

It, too, was a powerful machine, and its coughing, open exhaust wasadding to the din on the highway. It was trailing smoke in a dense, bluish cloud that meant they were burning up their lubricant withspendthrift prodigality. But the monster was running superbly. 

The houses seemed scooting by in madness. A team that stood beside theroad dwindled swiftly in perspective. The whir of the gears and thefurious discharge of the used-up gas seemed increasing momentarily. The whole machine was rocking as it sped, yet the big red pursuer wasapparently gaining by degrees. 

Garrison nodded in acknowledgment of the fact that the car behind, withalmost no tonneau and minus the heavy covered superstructure, offeredless resistance to the wind. With everything else made equal, andaccident barred, the fellow at the wheel behind would overhaul them yet. 

He looked out forward. The road was straight for at least a mile. Hebeheld a bicycle policeman, riding ahead, to develop his speed, withthe certain intention of calling to his driver to stop. 

Half a minute later the car was abreast the man on the wheel, whoshrieked out his orders on the wind. Garrison leaned to the tube thatended by the chauffeur's ear. 

"Go on--give her more if she's got it!" he said. "I'll take care ofthe fines!"

The driver had two notches remaining on his spark advance. He thumbedthe lever forward, and the car responded with a trifle more of speed. It was straining every bolt and nut to its utmost capacity of strength. 

The bicycle officer, clinging half a minute to a hope made forlorn byhis sheer human lack of endurance, drifted to rearward with the dust. 

Once more Garrison peered out behind. The big red demon, tearing downthe road, was warming to its work. With cylinders heating, and hermixture therefore going snappily as a natural result, she too had takenon a slight accession of speed. Two meteors, flung from space acrossthe earth's rotundity, could scarcely have been more exciting thanthese liberated chariots of power. 

There was no time to talk; there was scarcely time to think. The road, the landscape, the very world, became a dizzying blur that destroyedall distinct sense of sight. In the rush of the air, and therapid-fire fusillade from the motor, all sense of hearing was benumbed. 

A craze for speed took possession of the three--Dorothy, Garrison, thedriver. The power to think on normal lines was being swept away. Suchmania as drives a lawless comet comes inevitably upon all who ride withsuch space-defying speed. The one idea is more--more speed--morefreedom--more recklessness of spirit!

A village seven miles from Woodsite, calm in its half-deserted state, with its men all at business in New York, was cleaved, as it were, bythe racing machines, while women and children ran and screamed toescape from the path of the monsters. 

The fellow behind was once more creeping up. The time consumed ingoing seven miles had been barely ten minutes. In fifteen minutesmore, at his present rate of gain, the driver behind would be upalongside, and then--who knew what would happen?

Dorothy had started as if to speak, at least a dozen times. She wasnow holding on with all her strength, aware that conversation waswholly out of the question. 

Garrison was watching constantly through the glass. The race couldhardly last much longer. They were rapidly approaching a larger town, where such speed would be practically criminal. If only they couldgain a lead and dart into town and around some corner, into traffic ofsufficient density to mask his movements, he and Dorothy might perhapsalight and escape observation on foot, while the car led pursuitthrough the streets. 

About to suggest some such plan to his driver, he was suddenly sickenedby a sharp report, like a pistol fired beneath the car. He feared fora tire, but the noise came again, and then three times, quickly, insuccession. One of the cylinders was missing. Not only was the powercut down by a fourth, but compression in the engine thus partially"dead" was a drag on the others of the motor. 

The driver leaned forward, one hand on the buzzer of his coil, and gavea screw a turn. Already the car was losing speed. The fellow behindwas coming on like a red-headed whirlwind. For a moment the missingseemed to cease, and the speed surged back to the hum of the whirringgears. 

"Bang! Bang!" went the sharp report, as before, and Garrison groaned. He was looking out, all but hopeless of escape, rapidly reflecting onthe charges that would lie against not only himself, but his chauffeur, when he saw the red fellow plunge through the dust on a crazy, gyratingcourse that made his heart stand still. 

They had blown out a tire!

Like a drunken comet, suddenly robbed of all its own crazy laws, thered demon see-sawed the highway. The man at the wheel, shutting offhis power, crowding on his brakes, and clinging to his wheel with theskill and coolness of a master, had all he could do to keep the machineanywhere near the proper highway. 

Unaware of what had occurred at the rear the driver in charge ofGarrison's car had once more adjusted the buzzer, and now with suchsplendid results that his motor seemed madder than before to run itselfto shreds. 

Like a vanishing blot on the landscape, the red car behind, when itcame to a halt, was deserted by its rival in the race. Two minuteslater, with the city ahead fast looming like a barrier before them, Garrison leaned to the tube. 

"Slow down!" he called. "Our friend has quit--a blow-out. Get down tolawful speed. "

Even then they ran fully half a mile before the excited creature ofwheels and fire could be tamed to calmer behavior. 

CHAPTER XIX

FRIGHT AND A DISAPPEARANCE

With the almost disappointed thing of might purring tamely alongthrough the far-spread town, and then on through level ways of beauty, leading the way to Gotham, Dorothy found that she was still clingingfast to Jerold's arm, after nearly ten minutes of peace. 

Then she waked, as it were, and shyly withdrew her hand. 

Garrison had felt himself transported literally, more by the ecstasy ofhaving her thus put dependence upon him than by any mere flight of thecar. He underwent a sense of loss when the strain subsided, and hertrembling hold relaxed and fell from his arm. 

Nevertheless, she clung to the roses. His heart had taken time to beata stroke in joy during that moment of stress at the house, when she hadcaused a few seconds' added delay to gather up the crushed and fadedflowers. 

Since speaking to the driver last Garrison had been content to sitbeside the girl in silence. There was much he must ask, and much shemust tell, but for this little time of calm and delight he could notbreak the spell. Once more, however, his abounding confidence in hergoodness, her innocence, and deep-lying beauty of character rosetriumphant over fears. Once more the spell of a mighty love was laidupon his heart. He did not know and could not know that Dorothy, too, was Cupid's victim--that she loved him with a strange and joyousintensity, but he did know that the whole vast world was no price forthis moment of rapture. 

She was the first to speak. 

"Why did we have to run away? Aren't you supposed to have a perfectright to--to take me wherever you please--especially from a place likethat, and such outrageous treatment?"

"I am only supposed to have that right, " he answered. "As a matter offact, I committed a species of violence in Theodore's house, compellinghim to act at the point of the gun. Technically speaking, I had noright to proceed so far. But, aside from that, when they sprung thealarm--well, the time had come for action. 

"Had the constable dragged me away, as a legal offender--which he woulddoubtless have done on the charge of two householding citizens--thedelay would have been most annoying, while a too close investigation ofmy status as a husband might have proved even more embarrassing. "

A wave of crimson swept across her face. 

"Of course. " She relapsed into silence for a moment. Then she added:"What does it all mean, anyway? How dared they carry me off like this?How did you happen to come? When did you find that I had gone? Whatdo you think we'd better do?"

"Answer one question at a time, " said Garrison, stuffing hishandkerchief into the tube, lest the driver overhear theirconversation. "There is much to be explained between us. In the firstplace, tell me, Dorothy, what happened just after I 'phoned you lastevening, and you made an appointment to meet me in the park. "

"Why, I hardly know, " she said, her face once more a trifle pale. "Iwent upstairs to get ready, thinking to slip out unobserved. In theact of putting on my hat, I was suddenly smothered in the folds of astrong-smelling towel thrown over my head, and since that time I havescarcely known anything till this morning, when I waked in the bed atTheodore's house, fully dressed, and chained as you saw me. "

"But--these roses?" he said, lightly placing his hand upon them. "Howdid you happen to have them along?"

It was not a question pertinent to the issues in hand, but it meant agreat deal to his heart. 

"Why--I--I was wearing them--that's all, " she stammered. "No onestopped to take them off. "

He was satisfied. He wished they might once and for all dismiss theworld, with all its vexations, its mysteries, and pains, and ride onlike this, through the June-created loveliness bathed in itssunlight--comrades and lovers, forever. 

The hour, however, was not for dreaming. There were grim factsaffecting them both, and much to be cleared between them. Moreover hewas merely hired to enact a rôle that, if it sometimes called for ashow of tender love, was still but a rôle, after all. He attacked thebusiness directly. 

"We require an understanding on a great many topics, " he said to herslowly. "After I 'phoned you I went to the park, was caught in therain, and attacked by two ruffians, who knocked me down, and left me towhat they supposed would be certain destruction. "

"Jerold!" she said, and his name thus on her lips, with no one by towhom she was acting, gave him an exquisite pleasure. There was nopossibility of guilty knowledge on her part. Of this he was thoroughlyconvinced. "You? Attacked?"

"Later, " he resumed, "when I recovered, I went to the house inNinety-third Street, was admitted by the woman in charge, and remainedall night, after taking the liberty of examining all the apartments. "

She looked at him in utter amazement. 

"Why--but what does it---- You, attacked in the park--these lawlessdeeds--you stayed all night---- And you found I had been carried away?"

"No; I merely thought so. The woman knew nothing. But I presentlydiscovered a number of interesting things. Theodore has installed aprivate 'phone in his closet, and by means thereof had overheard ourappointment. Your bureau and dressing-case had both been searched----"

"For the necklaces!" she cried. "You have them safe?"

"I thought it might have been the jewels--or your marriagecertificate, " he said, alive to numerous points in the case which, hefelt, were about to develop. 

She turned a trifle pale. 

"I've sewn the certificate--where I'm sure they'd never find it, " shesaid. "But the jewels are safe?"

"Quite safe, " he said, making a mental note of her insistence on thetopic. "I then discovered the address of the Woodsite house, and youknow the rest. "

"It's terrible! The whole thing is terrible!" she said. "I wouldn'thave thought they'd dare to do such things! I don't know what we'regoing to do. We're neither of us safe!"

"You must help me all you can, " he said, laying his hand for a momenton her arm. "I've been fighting in the dark. I must find youapartments where you will not be discovered by the Robinsons, whosecriminal designs on the property inheritance will halt at nothing, and--you must tell me all you can. "

"I will, " she said; "only----"

And there she halted, her eyes raised to his in mute appeal, a dumbfear expressed in their depths. 

They had both avoided the topic of the murder, at the news of which shehad fainted. Garrison almost feared it, and Dorothy evidently dreadedits approach. 

More than anything else Garrison felt he must know she was innocent. That was the one vital thing to him now, whether she could ever returnhis love or not. He loved her in every conceivable manner, fondly, passionately, sacredly, with the tenderest wishes for her comfort andhappiness. He believed in her now as he always had, whensoever theywere together. Nevertheless, he could not abandon all his facultiesand plunge into folly like a blind and confident fool. 

"I'd like to ask about the jewels first, " he said. "The night I firstcame to your home I entered the place next door by accident. Afancy-dress party was in progress. "

"Yes--I knew it. They used to be friends of Theodore's. "

"So I guessed, " he added dryly. "Theodore was there. "

"Theodore--there?" she echoed in surprise he felt to be genuine. "Why, but--don't you remember you met him with the others in my house, soonafter you came?"

"I do, perfectly. Nevertheless, I saw him in the other house, in mask, I assure you, dressed to represent _Mephistopheles_. Last night Ifound the costume in his closet, and the stairs at the rear were his, of course, to employ. "

"I remember, " said Dorothy excitedly, "that he came in a long grayovercoat, though the evening was distinctly warm. "

"Precisely. And all of this would amount to nothing, " Garrisonresumed, "only that while I stood in the hall of the house I hadentered, that evening, I saw a young woman, likewise in mask, wearingyour necklaces--your pearls and diamonds. "

Dorothy stared at him in utter bewilderment. Her face grew pale. Hereyes dilated strangely. 

"You--you are sure?" she said in a tone barely audible. 

"Perfectly, " said Garrison. 

"And you never mentioned this before?"

"I awaited developments. "

"But--what did you think? You might almost have thought that Theodorehad stolen them, and handed them to me, " she said. "Especially afterthe way I put them in your charge!"

"I told you we have much to clear between us, " he said. "Haven't I theright to know a little----"

"But--how did they come to be there?" she interrupted, abruptlyconfronted by a phase of the facts which she had momentarilyoverlooked. "How in the world could my jewels have been in that houseand also in my bureau at the very same time?"

"Isn't it possible that Theodore borrowed them, temporarily, andsmuggled them back when he came?"

The startled look was intensified in her eyes as she met his gaze. 

"He must have done it in some such way!" she said. "I thought at thetime, when I ran in to get them, they were not exactly as I had leftthem, earlier. And I gave them to you for fear he'd steal them!"

This was some light, at least. Garrison needed more. 

"Why couldn't you have told me all about them earlier?"

She looked at him beseechingly. Some way, it seemed to them both theyhad known each other for a very long time, and much had been swept awaythat must have stood as a barrier between mere client and agent. 

"I felt I'd rather not, " she confessed. "Forgive me, please. They donot belong to me. 

"Not yours?" said Garrison. "What do you mean?"

"I advanced some money on them--to some one very dear, " she answered. "Please don't probe into that, if you can help it. "

His jealousy rose again, with his haunting suspicion of a man in thebackground with whom he would yet have to deal. He knew that here hehad no rights, but in other directions he had many. 

"I shall be obliged to do considerable probing, " he said. "The timehas come when we must work much more closely together. A maze ofevents has entangled us both, and together we must find our way out. "

She lowered her glance. Her lip was trembling. He felt she wasstriving to gain a control over her nerves, that were strung to thehighest tension. For fully a minute she was silent. He waited. Shelooked up, met his gaze for a second, and once more lowered her eyes. 

"You spoke of--of something--yesterday, " she faltered. "It gave me aterrible shock. "

She had broached the subject of the murder. 

"I was sorry--sorry for the brutal way--the thoughtless way I spoke, "he said. "I hope to be forgiven. "

She made no reply to his hope. Her entire stock of nerve was requiredto go on with the business in hand. 

"You said my uncle was--murdered, " she said, in a tone he strained tohear. "What makes you think of such a thing?"

"You have not before made the statement that the Hardy in Hickwood wasyour uncle, " he reminded her. 

"You must have guessed it was my uncle, " she replied. "You knew it allthe time. "

"No, not at first. Not, in fact, till some time after I began my workon the case. I knew Mr. Hardy had been murdered before I knew anythingelse about him. "

She was intensely white, but she was resolute. 

"Who told you he was murdered?"

"No one. I discovered the evidence myself. "

He felt her weaken and grow limp beside him. 

"The--the evidence?" she repeated faintly. "What kind--of evidence?"

"Poison. "

He was watching her keenly. 

She swayed, as if to faint once more, but mastered herself by exertingthe utmost of her will. 

"Poison?" she repeated, as before. "But how?"

"In a box of cigars--a birthday present given to your uncle. "

It was brutal--cruelly brutal--but he had to test it out withoutfurther delay. 

His words acted almost with galvanic effect. 

"Cigars! His birthday! My cigars!" she cried. "Jerold, you don'tsuspect me?"

The car was starting across the bridge. It suddenly halted in thetraffic. Almost on the instant came a crash and a cry. A daintylittle brougham had been crushed against another motor car in the jamand impatience on the structure. One of its wheels had lost half itsspokes, that went like a parcel of toothpicks. 

Garrison leaped out at once, and Dorothy followed in alarm. In thetide of vehicles, blocked by the trifling accident, a hundred personscraned their heads to see what the damage had been. 

A small knot of persons quickly gathered about the damaged carriage. Garrison hastened forward, intent upon offering his services, shouldhelp in the case be required. He discovered, in the briefest time, that no great damage had been done, and that no one had been injured. 

Eager to be hastening onward, he turned back to his car. Almostimmediately he saw that the chauffeur's seat was empty. Dorothy hadapparently stepped once more inside, to be screened from public view. 

Hastily scanning the crowd about the place, Garrison failed to find hisdriver. He searched about impatiently, but in vain. He presentlybecame aware of the fact that his man had, for some reason, fled andleft his car. 

Considerably annoyed, and aware that he should have to drive themachine himself, he returned once more to the open door of the auto, intent upon informing Dorothy of their loss. 

He gazed inside the car in utter bewilderment. 

Dorothy also was gone. 

CHAPTER XX

NEW HAPPENINGS

Still puzzled, unable to believe his senses, Garrison made a secondquick search of the vicinity that was rapidly being cleared andrestored to order by a couple of efficient police officers, but withoutavail. 

Neither Dorothy nor the chauffeur could be found. 

One of the officers ordered him to move along with his car. There wasnothing else to be done. Reluctantly, and not without feelings ofannoyance and worry, combined with those of baffled mystery andchagrin, Garrison was presently obliged to climb to the driver's seatand take the wheel in hand. 

The motor was running, slowly, to a rhythmic beat. He speeded it up, threw off the brake, put the gears in the "low, " and slipped in theclutch. Over the bridge in the halted procession of traffic he steeredhis course--a man bereft of his comrade and his driver and with amotor-car thrust upon his charge. 

Through the streets of New York he was finally guiding the greatpurring creature of might, which in ordinary circumstances would havefilled his being with delight. Thorough master of throttle, spark-advance, and speed-lever, he would have asked nothing better thanto drive all day--if Dorothy were only at his side. 

He had never felt more utterly disconcerted in his life. Where had shegone--and why?

What did it mean to have the chauffeur also disappear?

Had the two gone off together?

If so, why should she choose a companion of his type?

If not, then what could have formed the motive for the man's abruptflight from the scene?

And what should be done with the motor-car, thus abandoned to his care?

A quick suspicion that the car had been stolen came to Garrison's mind. Nevertheless it was always possible that Dorothy had urged the driverto convey her out of the crowd, and that the driver had finallyreturned to get his car, and found it gone; but this, for many reasons, seemed unlikely. 

Dorothy had shown her fear in her last startled question: "Jerold, youdon't suspect me?" She might have fled in some sort of fear afterthat. But the driver--what was it that had caused him also to vanishat a time so unexpected?

Garrison found himself obliged to give it up. He could think ofnothing to do with the car but to take it to the stand where he hadhired it in the morning. The chauffeur might, by chance, appear andclaim his property. Uneasy, with the thing thus left upon his hands, and quite unwilling to be "caught with the goods, " Garrison was swiftlygrowing more and more exasperated. 

He knew he could not roll the car to the stand and simply abandon itthere, for anyone so inclined to steal; he objected to reporting it"found" in this peculiar manner at any police headquarters, for hecould not be sure it had been stolen, and he himself might be suspected. 

Having hired the car in crowded Times Square, near his Forty-fourthStreet rooms, he ran it up along Broadway with the thought of awaitingthe driver. 

The traffic was congested with surface cars, heavy trucks, othermotors, and carriages. His whole attention was riveted on the task inhand. Driving a car in the streets of New York ceases to be enjoyment, very promptly. The clutch was in and out continuously. He crept here, he speeded up to the limit for a space of a few city blocks, and creptagain. 

Past busy Fourteenth Street and Union Square he proceeded, and on toTwenty-third Street with Madison Square, green and inviting, lying tohis right. Pushed over into the Fifth Avenue traffic by theregulations, he contemplated returning to the Broadway stream as soonas possible, and was crawling along with his clutch barely rubbing, when a hansom cab, containing a beautiful but pale young woman, slowlypassed. The occupant abruptly rose from her seat and scrutinized thecar in obvious excitement. 

Garrison barely caught a glimpse of her face, busied as he was with thedriving. He continued on. Two minutes later he was halted by a jam ofcarriages and the hansom returned at full speed. Once more the paleyoung woman was leaning half-way out. 

"Stop!" she cried at the astounded Garrison. "You've stolen that car!I'll have you arrested! You've got to return it at once!"

Garrison almost smiled, the half-expected outcome had arrived sopromptly. He saw that half a dozen drivers of cabs and other vehicleswere looking on in wonder and amusement. 

"Kindly drive into Twenty-sixth Street, out of this confusion, " heanswered. "I shall be glad to halt there and answer all requirements. "

He was so obviously a thorough gentleman, and his manner was so calmand dignified, that the strange young lady almost felt abashed at thecharges she had made. 

The jam was broken. Garrison ran the car to the quieter side street, and the cab kept pace at his side. 

Presently he halted, got down from the seat and came to the hansom, lifting his hat. How thankful he was that no policeman had overheardthe young woman's cry, and followed, she might never suspect. 

"Permit me to introduce myself as a victim of another's man's wrongfulintentions, " he said. "I hired this car this morning uptown--in fact, in Times Square, and was driven out to Long Island. Returning, we werehalted on the bridge--and the chauffeur disappeared--ran away, leavingme to drive for myself. 

"I feared at the time it might be the man was a thief, and I am greatlyrelieved to find the owner of the car so promptly. If this or anyother explanation, before an officer, or any court, will gratify youmore, I shall be glad to meet every demand you may make upon my time. "

The young woman looked at him with widely blazing eyes. She believedhim, she hardly knew why. She had alighted from the hansom. 

"I've been driving up and down Fifth Avenue all morning!" she said. "Ifelt sure I could find it that way. It isn't mine. It was only leftin my charge. I was afraid that something might happen. I didn't wantto have it in the first place! I knew it would cause me endlesstrouble. I don't know what to do with it now. "

"I should be gratified, " said Garrison, "if you will state that you donot consider me guilty of a theft so stupid as this would appear. "

"I didn't think you were the man, " she answered. "A chauffeur mycousin discharged undoubtedly stole it. Policemen are after him now, with the man who runs the garage. They went to Long Island City, orsomewhere, to find him, this morning. Perhaps he saw them on thebridge. "

She was regaining color. She was a very fine-looking young woman, despite the expression of worry on her face. She was looking Garrisonover in a less excited manner--and he knew she held no thought of guiltagainst him. 

"Let me suggest that you dismiss your cab and permit me to take you atonce to your garage, " he said, adding to the man on the box: "Cabby, how much is your bill?"

"Five dollars, " said the man, adding substantially to his charge. 

"Take ten and get out!" said Garrison, handing him a bill. 

"Oh, but please----" started the pretty young woman. 

Garrison interrupted. 

"The man who stole your car did yeoman service for me. I promised himfive times this amount. He may never dare appear to get his money. Kindly step in. Will you drive the car yourself?"

"No, thank you, " she murmured, obeying because of his masterly manner. "But really, I hardly know----"

"Please say nothing further about it, " he once more interrupted. "I amsorry to have been in any manner connected with an event which hascaused you uneasiness; but I am very glad, indeed, to be instrumentalin returning your property and relieving your worry. Where do you keepyour car?"

She told him the place. It was up in the neighborhood of ColumbusCircle. Twenty minutes later the car was "home"--where it would neverget away on false pretenses again, and the news of its coming began togo hotly out by wire. 

Garrison heard the men call his fair companion Miss Ellis. He called acab, when she was ready to go, asked for permission to escort her home, and was driven in her company to an old-fashioned house downtown, nearWashington Square. There he left her, with a nice old motherly person, and bade her good-by with no expectation of ever beholding her again, despite the murmured thanks she gave him and the half-timid offer ofher hand. 

When he left and dismissed the cabman he was face to face with theproblem of what he should do to find his "wife. " His worry all surgedback upon him. 

He wondered where Dorothy had gone--where she could go, why she hadfled from him--and what could he do but wait with impatience some wordof her retreat. He had felt her innocence all but established, andlove had come like a new great tide upon him. He was lonely now, andthoroughly disturbed. 

He had warned her she must go to live in some other house than her own;nevertheless she might have proceeded to the Ninety-third Streetresidence for things she would require. It was merely a hope. He madeup his mind to go to the house without delay, aware that the Robinsonsmight make all haste to get there and gain an advantage. 

Half an hour later he was once more in the place. The housekeeperalone was in charge. No one had been there in his absence. 

He had no intention of remaining long, with Dorothy to find, althoughhe felt inclined to await the possible advent of Theodore and hisfather, whom he meant to eject from the place. As yet he dared notattempt to order the arrest of the former, either for Dorothy'sabduction or the crime attempted on himself in the park. The risk wastoo great--the risk to the fictional marriage between himself andDorothy. 

He climbed the stairs, wandered aimlessly through the rooms, sat down, waited, somewhat impatiently, tried to think what were best to do, worried himself about Dorothy again, and finally made up his mind shemight attempt to wire him at his office address. Calling up thehousekeeper, he gave her strict instructions against admitting any ofthe Robinsons--an order which the woman received with apparentgratification. They were merely to be referred to himself, at thisaddress, should they come upon the scene. 

He started off. He had barely closed the door and heard the woman puton the chain, and was turning to walk down the brownstone steps whenTheodore, half-way up, panting from haste, confronted him, face to face. 

For a moment the two stood staring at each other in surprise. Garrisonwas first to break the silence. 

"You came a little late, you see. I have just issued orders you arenot to be admitted to this house again, except with my specialpermission. "

"By Heaven, you---- We'll see about that!" said Theodore. "I'll haveyou put under arrest!"

"Try it, " said Garrison, grinning in his face. "A charge of abduction, plus a charge even larger, may cause you more than mere annoyance. You've been looking for trouble with me, and you're bound to have it. Let me warn you that you are up against a number of facts that you mayhave overlooked--and you may hear something drop!"

"You think you've been clever, here and in Woodsite, I suppose, " saidTheodore, concealing both wrath and alarm. "I could drop a couple offacts on you that would fade you a little, I reckon. And this houseisn't yours yet!"

"I wonder how many lessons you are going to need, " answered Garrisoncoldly. "If you put so much as your hand inside this building, I'llhave you arrested for burglary. Now, mind what I say--and get out!"

"I'll see you later, all right, " said Robinson, glaring for a moment inimpotent rage, and he turned and retreated from the place. 

Garrison, with his mind made up to a _coup_ of distinct importance, waspresently headed for his room in Forty-fourth Street. Before he leftthe Subway he went to a waiting-room, replaced the long mustache uponhis face--the one with which he had started away in the morning--andwalked the few short blocks from the station to his house. 

The street was nearly deserted, but the "shadow" he had duped in themorning was on watch, still undismissed from duty by young Robinson. 

Garrison went up to him quietly--and suddenly showing his gun, pulledaway the false mustache. 

"I'm the man you've been waiting to follow, " he said. "Now, don't saya word, but come on. "

"Hell!" said the man. 

He shrugged his shoulders and was soon up in Garrison's room. 

CHAPTER XXI

REVELATIONS

The fellow whom Garrison had taken into camp had once attempteddetective work himself and failed. He was not at all a clever being, but rather a crafty, fairly reliable employee of a somewhat shady"bureau" with which young Robinson was on quite familiar terms. 

He was far from being a coward. It was he who had followed Garrison toBranchville, rifled his suit-case, and been captured by the trap. Despite the fact that his hand still bore the evidence of havingtampered with Garrison's possessions, he had dared remain on the jobbecause he felt convinced that Garrison had never really seen him andcould not, therefore, pick him up. 

Sullen in his helplessness, aware that his captor must at last have avery great advantage, he complied with Garrison's command to take aseat in the room, and glanced about him inquiringly. 

"What do you want with me anyhow?" he said. "What's your game?"

"Mine is a surer game than yours, " said Garrison, seating himself withhis back to the window, and the light therefore all on his visitor'sface. "I'm going to tell you first what you are up against. "

The man shifted uneasily. 

"You haven't got anything to hold me on, " he said. "I've got myregular license to follow my trade. "

"I was not aware the State was issuing licenses to burglars, " saidGarrison. "Come, now, with that hand of yours, what's the use ofbeating around the bush. If my suit-case had nipped you by the wristinstead of the fingers, I'd have captured you red-handed in the act. "

The fellow thrust his hand in his pocket. His face, with two days'growth of beard upon it, turned a trifle pale. 

"I'd rather work on your side than against you, " he ventured. "A manhas to make a living. "

"You've come around to the point rather more promptly than I expected, "said Garrison. "For fear that you may not keep your word, when itcomes to a pinch, I'll inform you I can send you up on two separatecharges, and I'll do so in a wink, if you try to double-cross me in theslightest particular. "

"I haven't done anything but that one job at Branchville, " said the manin alarm. 

"What are you givin' me now?"

"What's your name?" demanded Garrison. 

"Tuttle, " said the fellow, after a moment of hesitation. "FrankTuttle. "

"All right, Tuttle. You furnished Theodore Robinson with informationconcerning my movements and, in addition to your burglary atBranchville, you have made yourself accessory to a plot to commit awillful murder. "

"I didn't! By Heaven, I didn't!" Tuttle answered. "I didn't haveanything to do with that. "

"With what?" asked Garrison. "You see you plunge into every trap Ilay, almost before it is set. "

He rose, went to his closet, never without his eye on his man, searchedon the floor and brought forth the cold iron bomb. This he abruptlyplaced on Tuttle's knee. 

Tuttle shrank in terror. 

"Oh, Lord! I didn't! I didn't know they went in to do a thing likethat!" he said. "I've been pretty desperate, I admit, Mr. Garrison, but I had no hand in this!"

The sweat on his forehead advertised his fear. He looked at Garrisonin a stricken, ghastly manner that almost excited pity. 

"But you knew that two of Robinson's assassins were to meet me in thepark, " said Garrison. "You procured their services--and expected toread of an accident to me in the papers the following morning. "

He was risking a mere conjecture, but it went very near to the truth. 

"So help me, I didn't go as far as that!" said Tuttle. "I admit Istole the letter up at Branchville, and sent it to Robinson at once. Iadmit I followed you back to New York and told him all I could. But Ionly gave him the names and addresses of the dagos, and I never knewwhat they had to do!"

Garrison took the bomb and placed it on his bureau. 

"Very good, " he said. "That makes you, as I said before, an accompliceto the crime attempted--in addition to the burglary, for which I couldsend you up. To square this off you'll go to work for me, and begin bysupplying the names and addresses of your friends. "

Tuttle was a picture of abject fear and defeat. His jaw hung down; hiseyes were bulging in their sockets. 

"You--you mean you'll give me a chance?" he said. "I'll doanything--anything you ask, if only you will!"

"Look here, Tuttle, your willingness to do anything has put you whereyou are. But I'll give you a chance, with the thorough understandingthat the minute you attempt the slightest treachery you'll go up inspite of all you can do. First, we'll have the names of the dagos. "

Tuttle all but broke down. He was not a hardened criminal. He hadmerely learned a few of the tricks by which crime may be committed, and, having failed in detective employment, had no substantial callingand was willing to attempt even questionable jobs, if the pay werefound sufficient. 

He supplied the names and addresses of the men who had done youngRobinson's bidding in Central Park. Garrison jotted them down. 

"I suppose you know that I am in the detective business myself, " headded, as he finished the writing. 

"I thought so, but I wasn't sure, " said Tuttle. 

"You told young Robinson as much?"

"He hired me to tell him everything. "

"Exactly. How much do you expect to tell him of what is going onto-day?"

"Nothing that you do not instruct, " said Tuttle, still feelinginsecure. "That is, if you meant what you said. "

"I meant it, " said Garrison, "meant it all. You're at work for me fromthis time on--and I expect the faithfulness of an honest man, no matterwhat you may have been before. "

"You'll get it, " said Tuttle. "I only want a show to start off squareand right. . . . What do you want me to do?"

"There is nothing of great importance just at present, except toremember who is your boss, " answered Garrison. "You may be obliged todouble-cross Robinson to a slight extent, when he next hunts you up foryour report. He deserves a little of the game, no matter how he getsit. Take his instructions the same as before. Tell him you have lostme for a time. Report to me promptly concerning his instructions andeverything else. Do you know the address of my office?"

"You have never been there since I was put on the case, " said Tuttlewith commendable candor. 

"All right, " said Garrison. "It's down in the----"

A knock on the door interrupted. The landlady, a middle-aged woman whorarely appeared at Garrison's room, was standing on the landing when hewent to investigate, and holding a message in her hand. 

"A telegram for you, " she said, and halting for a moment, she turnedand retreated down the stairs. 

Garrison tore the envelope apart, pulled out the yellow slip and read:

Please come over to 937 Hackatack Street, Jersey City, as soon aspossible. 

JERALDINE. 

It was Dorothy, across the Hudson. A wave of relief, to know she wasnear and wished to see him, swept over Garrison's being. 

"Here, " he said to Tuttle, "here's the address on a card. Report to methere at six o'clock to-night. Get out now and go to young Robinson, but not at the house in Ninety-third Street. "

"Why not?" inquired Tuttle. "Its the regular place----"

"I've ordered him not to enter the house again, " interrupted Garrison. "By the way, should he attempt to do so, or ask you to get in there forhim, agree to his instructions apparently, and let me know withoutdelay. "

"Thank you for giving me a chance, " said Tuttle, who had risen from hischair. "You'll never regret it, I'm sure. "

"All right, " said Garrison. "Shake!"

He gave the astonished man a firm, friendly grip and bade him "So'long!" at the door. 

A few minutes later, dressed in his freshest apparel, he hastened outto gulp down a cup of strong coffee at an adjacent café, then headeddowntown for the ferry. 

CHAPTER XXII

A MAN IN THE CASE

The hour was just after four o'clock when Garrison stepped from a cabin Hackatack Street, Jersey City, and stood for a moment looking at thered-brick building numbered 937. 

It was a shabby, smoke-soiled, neglected dwelling, with signs of lifeutterly lacking. 

Made wary by his Central Park experience, Garrison had come there armedwith his gun and suspiciously alert. His cabman was instructed to wait. 

Without apparent hesitation Garrison ascended the chalk-marked stepsand rang the bell. 

Almost immediately the door was opened, by a small and rather prettyyoung woman, dressed in good taste, in the best of materials, andwearing a very fine diamond ring upon her finger. 

Behind her, as Garrison instantly discerned, were rich and costlyfurnishings, singularly out of keeping with the shabby exterior of theplace. 

"How do you do?" he said, raising his hat. "Is my wife, Mrs. Fairfax----"

"Oh, " interrupted the lady. "Won't you please come in? She hardlyexpected you to come so promptly. She's lying down to take a rest. "

Garrison entered and was shown to a parlor on the left. It, too, wasfurnished in exceptional richness, but the air was close and stuffy, and the whole place uncomfortably dark. 

"If you'll please sit down I'll go and tell her you have come, " saidhis hostess. "Excuse me. "

The smile on her face was somewhat forced and sad, thought Garrison. His feeling of suspicion had departed. 

Left alone, he strode across the room and glanced at a number ofpictures, hung upon the walls. They were excellent oils, one or two bymasters. 

Dorothy must have slept lightly, if at all. Garrison's back was stillturned toward the entrance when her footfall came to his ear. She cameswiftly into the apartment. 

"Oh, you were very good to come so soon!" she said in a tone made lowfor none but him to hear. "I wired you, both at your house and office, not more than an hour ago. "

"I got the message sent to the house, " he said. "It came as a greatrelief. " He paused for a moment, looking in her eyes, which wereraised to his own appealingly. "Why did you run away?--and how did youdo it?" he asked her. "I didn't know what in the world to think or do. "

Her eyes were lowered. 

"I had to--I mean, I simply obeyed an impulse, " she confessed. 

In an almost involuntary outburst she added: "I am in very greattrouble. There is no one in the world but you that can give me anyhelp. "

All the pain she had caused him was forgotten in the joy of thatinstant. How he longed to take her in his arms and fold her insecurity against his breast! And he dared not even be tender. 

"I am trying to help you, Dorothy, " he said, "but I was utterlydumfounded, there in the crush on the bridge. Where did you go?"

"I ran along and was helped to escape the traffic, " she explained. "Then I soon got a car, with my mind made up to come over here just assoon as I could. This is the home of my stepbrother's wife--Mrs. Foster Durgin. I had to come over and--and warn--I mean, I had tocome, and so I came. "

He had felt her disappearance had nothing to do with the vanishing ofthe chauffeur. Her statement confirmed his belief. 

"Durgin?" Garrison repeated. "Didn't some Durgin, a nephew of Hardy, claim the body, up at Branchville?"

Dorothy was pale again, but resolute. 

"Yes--Paul. He's Foster's brother. "

"You told me you had neither brothers nor sisters, " Garrison remindedher a little sternly. "These were not forgotten?"

"They are stepbrothers only--by marriage. I thought I could leave themout, " she explained, flushing as she tried to meet his gaze. "Pleasedon't think I meant to deceive you very much. "

"It was a technical truth, " he told her; "but isn't it time you told meeverything? You ran off before I could even reply to something youappeared to wish to know. You----"

"But you don't suspect me?" she interrupted, instantly reverting to thequestion she had put before, in that moment of her impulse to run. "Icouldn't bear it if I thought you did!"

"If I replied professionally, I should say I don't know what to think, "he said. "The whole affair is complicated. As a matter of fact, Icannot seem to suspect you of anything wrong, but you've got to help meclear it as fast as I can. "

She met his gaze steadily, for half a minute, then tears abruptlyfilled her eyes, and she lowered her gaze to the floor. 

"Thank you, Jerold, " she murmured, and a thrill went straight to hisheart. "I am very much worried, and very unhappy--but I haven't doneanything wrong--and nothing like that!--not even a wicked thought likethat! I loved my uncle very dearly. "

She broke down and turned away to give vent to an outburst of grief. 

"There, there, " said Garrison after a moment. "We must do the best wecan. If you will tell me more, my help is likely to be greater. "

Dorothy dried her eyes and resumed her courage heroically. 

"I haven't asked you to be seated all this time, " she saidapologetically. "Please do--and I'll tell you all I can. "

Garrison took a chair, while Dorothy sat near him. He thought he hadnever seen her in a mood of beauty more completely enthralling thanthis one of helplessness and bravery combined. 

"We are quite, well--secure from being overheard?" he said. 

She went at once and closed the door. 

"Alice would never listen, greatly as she is worried, " she said. "Itwas she who met you at the door--Foster's wife. "

Garrison nodded. He was happy only when she came once more to her seat. 

"This is your stepbrother's home?" he inquired. "Is he here?"

"This is Alice's property, " Dorothy corrected. "But that's way aheadof the story. You told me my uncle was poisoned by my cigars. Howcould that possibly have been? How did you find it out? How was itdone?"

"The box had been opened and two cigars had been so loaded with poisonthat when he bit off one, at the end, to light it up, he got the deadlystuff on his tongue--and was almost instantly stricken. "

Despite the dimness of the light in the room Dorothy's face showed verywhite. 

She asked; "What kind of poison?"

He mentioned the drug. 

"Not the kind used by photographers?" she asked in affright. 

"Precisely. Foster, then, is a photographer?"

"He used to be, but---- Oh, I don't see how he--it's terrible! It'sterrible!"

She arose and crossed the room in agitation, then presently returned. 

"Your suspicions may be wrong, " said Garrison, who divined she hadsomething on her mind. "Why not tell me all about it, and let meassist, if I can? What sort of a looking man is Foster?"

"Rather small, and nearly always smiling. But he may not have done it!He may be innocent! If only you could help me now!" she said. "Idon't believe he could have done it!"

"But you half suspect it was he?"

"I've been afraid of it all along, " she said, in an outburst ofconfession. "Before I even knew that Uncle John was--murdered--beforeyou told me, I mean--I felt afraid that something of the kind mighthave happened, and since that hour I've been nearly distracted by mythoughts!"

"Let's take it slowly, " said Garrison, in his soothing way. "I imaginethere has been either anger or hatred, spite or pique on the part ofyour stepbrother, Foster, towards John Hardy in the past. "

"Yes--everything! Uncle John spoiled Foster at first, but when hefound the boy was gambling in Wall Street, he cut him off and refusedto supply him the means to pay off the debts he had contracted. Fosterthreatened at the time. 

"The breach grew wider. Uncle didn't know he was married to Alice. Foster wouldn't let me tell. He had used up nearly all of Alice'smoney. She refused to mortgage anything more, after I took thenecklaces, on a loan--and if Foster doesn't get ten thousand dollars inAugust I don't know what he'll do!"

Garrison was following the threads of this quickly delivered narrativeas best he might. It revealed a great deal, but not all. 

"I see, " he commented quietly. "But how could Foster hope to profit bythe death of Mr. Hardy?"

Dorothy turned very white again. 

"He knew of the will. "

"The will that was drawn in your favor?"

"Yes. "

"And he thought that you were married, that the conditions of the willhad been fulfilled?"

Dorothy nodded assent. 

Garrison's impulse was to push a point in personal affairs and ask ifshe had really married some Fairfax, not yet upon the scene. But headhered strictly to business. 

"What you fear is that Foster, aware that you would become your uncle'sheir, may have hastened your uncle's end, in the hope that when youcame in for the property you would liquidate his debts?"

Dorothy nodded again. 

She said: "It is terrible! Do you see the slightest ray of hope?"

Garrison ignored the query for a moment. 

"Where is Foster now?"

"No one knows--he seems to have run away--that's one of the worstthings about it. "

"But you came over here to warn him, " said Garrison. 

Dorothy flushed. 

"That was my impulse, I admit, when you told me about the cigars. Ihardly knew what else I could do. "

"You are very fond of Foster?"

"I am very fond of Alice. "

Garrison was glad. He could even have been jealous of a brother. 

"But how could Foster have tampered with your cigars?" he inquired. "Was he up there at Hickwood when you left them?"

"He was there all the time of uncle's visit, in hiding, and even on thenight of his death, " she confessed in a whisper. "Alice doesn't knowof this, but he admitted it all to me. "

"This is what you have been trying to conceal from me, all the time, "Garrison observed. "Do the Robinsons have their suspicions?"

"I can't be certain. Perhaps they have. Theodore has exercised a verybad influence on Foster's life. He intimated once to me that perhapsUncle John had been murdered. "

Garrison thought for a moment. 

"It is almost impossible for anyone to have had that suspicion who hadno guilty knowledge, " he said. "Theodore was, and is, capable of anycrime. If he knew about the will and believed you had not fulfilledthe conditions, by marrying, he would have had all the motive in theworld to commit the crime himself. "

"But, " said Dorothy, "he knew nothing of the will, as I told youbefore. "

"And he with an influence over Foster, who _did_ know all about thewill?"

Dorothy changed color once again. She was startled. 

"I never thought of that, " she admitted. "Foster might have told. "

"There's a great deal to clear up in a case like this, " said Garrison, "even when suspicions point your course. I think I can land Mr. Theodore on the things he attempted on me, but not just yet. He mayreveal himself a little more. Besides, our alleged marriage willhardly bear a close investigation. "

For the moment Dorothy was more concerned by his personal danger thanby anything concerning the case. 

"You told me a little of what was attempted in the park, " she said. "I've thought about it ever since--such a terrible attack! If anythingdreadful should happen to you----"

She broke off suddenly, turned crimson to her hair, and dropped hergaze from his face. 

In that moment he resisted the greatest temptation of his life--theimpulse to sink at her feet on his knees, and tell her of his love. Heknew she felt, as he did, the wondrous attraction between them; he knewthat to her, as to himself, the impression was strong that they hadknown each other always; but hired as he had been to conduct an affairin which it had been particularly stipulated there was to be nosentiment, or even the slightest thought of such a development, hethrottled his passion and held himself in check. 

"Some guardian angel must have hovered near, " was all he permittedhimself to reply, but she fathomed the depth of his meaning. 

"I hope some good spirit may continue to be helpful--to us both, " shesaid. "What are you going to do next?"

"Take you back to New York, " said Garrison. "I must have you near. But, while I think of it, please answer one thing more. How did ithappen that your uncle's life was insured for that inventor inHickwood, Charles Scott?"

"They were lifelong friends, " said Dorothy. "They began as boystogether. Uncle John was saved by this Mr. Scott, when he wastwenty-one--his life was saved, I mean. And he was very much in lovewith Mr. Scott's sister. But something occurred, I hardly know what. The Scotts never had much money, and they lost the little they had. Miss Scott was very shamefully treated, I believe, by some other friendin the group, and she died before she was thirty--I've heard as aresult of some great unhappiness. 

"Uncle and Mr. Scott were always friends, though they drifted apart tosome extent. Mr. Scott became an inventor, and spent all his poorwife's money, and also funds that Uncle John supplied, on hisinventions. The insurance was Uncle John's last plan for befriendinghis old-time companion. There was no one else to make it in favor of, for of course the estate would take care of the heirs that he wished toremember. Does that answer your question?"

"Perfectly, " said Garrison. "I think if you'll make ready we willstart. Is there any particular place in New York where you prefer tostay?"

"No. I'd rather leave that to you. "

"By the way, " he said, his mind recurring to the motor-car incident andall that had followed, "did you know that when you deserted me soabruptly on the bridge, the chauffeur also disappeared--and left mewith the auto on my hands?"

"Why, no!" she said. "What could it mean?"

"It seems to have been a stolen car, " he answered. "It was left incharge of a strange young woman, too poor to own it--left her by afriend. She found it in my possession and accepted my explanation asto how it was I chanced to have it in my care. She is living in ahouse near Washington Square. "

"How very strange!" said Dorothy, who had suddenly conceived some queerfeminine thought. "If the house near Washington Square is nice, perhaps you might take me there. But tell me all about it!"

What could be actuating her woman's mind in this was more than he couldtell. But--why not take her to that house as well as to any in NewYork?

"All right, " he said. "It's a very nice place. I'll tell you thestory as we go. "

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ENEMY'S TRACKS

On the way returning to Gotham, Garrison learned every fact concerningJohn Hardy, his former places of residence, his former friends, hisways of life and habits that he deemed important to the issues andrequirements now in hand, with Dorothy's stepbrother more than halfsuspected of the crime. 

Dorothy gladly supplied the information. She had been on the verge ofdespair, harboring her fear and despair all alone, with the loyaldesire to protect not only Foster, but Alice as well, and now she feltan immense relief to have a man's clear-headed aid. 

Garrison held out no specific hope. 

The case looked black for young Durgin at the best, and the fellow hadrun away. A trip to the small Connecticut town of Rockdale, whereHardy had once resided, and to which it had long been his wont toreturn as often as once a month, seemed to Garrison imperative at thisjuncture. 

He meant to see Tuttle at six, and start for the country in the evening. 

He outlined his plan to Dorothy, acquainting her with the fact that hehad captured Theodore's spy, from whom he hoped for news. 

By the time they came to the house near Washington Square, Dorothy wasall but asleep from exhaustion. The strain, both physical and mental, to which she had been subjected during some time past, and moreparticularly during the past two days, told quickly now when at lastshe felt ready to place all dependence on Garrison and give up tomuch-needed rest. 

The meeting of Miss Ellis and Dorothy was but slightly embarrassing toGarrison, when it presently took place. Explaining to the woman of thehouse that his "wife" desired to stop all night in town, rather than goon to Long Island, while he himself must be absent from the city, hereadily procured accommodations without exciting the least suspicion. 

Garrison merely waited long enough to make Dorothy promise she wouldtake a rest without delay, and then he went himself to a hotelrestaurant, near by in Fifth Avenue, devoured a most substantial meal, and was five minutes late at his office. 

Tuttle had not yet appeared. The hall before the door was deserted. The sign on his glass had been finished. 

Garrison went in. There were letters all over the floor, together withDorothy's duplicate telegram, a number of cards, and some advertisingcirculars. One of the cards bore the name of one J. P. Wilder, and thelegend, "Representing the New York _Evening Star_. " There was nothing, however, in all the stuff that appeared to be important. 

Garrison read the various letters hastily, till he came to one from theinsurance company, his employers, requesting haste in the matter of theHardy case, and reminding him that he had reported but once. This hefiled away. 

Aware at last that more than half an hour had gone, without a sign fromhis man, he was on the point of going to the door to look out in thehall when Tuttle's shadow fell upon the glass. 

"I stayed away a little too long, I know, " he said. "I was trying toget a line on old man Robinson, to see if he'd give anything away, butI guess he's got instructions from his son, who's gone away from town. "

"Gone away from town?" repeated Garrison. "Where has he gone?"

"I don't know. The old man wouldn't say. "

"You haven't seen Theodore?"

"No. He left about five this afternoon. The old man and his wife arestopping in Sixty-fifth Street, where they used to live some monthsago. "

"What did you report about me?"

"Nothing, except I hadn't seen you again, " said Tuttle. "The old manleaves it all to his son. He didn't seem to care where you had gone. "

Garrison pondered the matter carefully. He made almost nothing out ofTheodore's departure from the scene. It might mean much or little. That Theodore had something up his sleeve he entertained no doubt. 

"It's important to find out where he has gone, " he said. "See oldRobinson again. Tell him you have vital information on a special pointthat Theodore instructed you to deliver to no one but himself, and theold man may tell you where you should go. I am going out of townto-night. Leave your address in case I wish to write. "

"I'll do my best, " said Tuttle, writing the address on a card. "Isthere anything more?"

"Yes. You know who the two men were who knocked me down in CentralPark and left a bomb in my pocket. Get around them in any way you can, ascertain what agreement they had with young Robinson, or whatinstructions, and find out why it was they did not rob me. Come hereat least once a day, right along, whether you find me in or not. "

Once more Tuttle stated he would do his best. He left, and Garrison, puzzling over Theodore's latest movement, presently locked up hisoffice and departed from the building. 

He was no more than out on the street than he came upon Theodore'stracks in a most unexpected direction. A newsboy came by, loudlycalling out his wares. An _Evening Star_, beneath his arm, stared atGarrison with type fully three inches high with this announcement:

 MYSTERY OF MURDER AND A WILL!!

 _John Hardy May Have Been Slain! Beautiful Beneficiary Married Just in Time!_

Garrison bought the paper. 

With excitement and chagrin in all his being he glanced through thestory of himself and Dorothy--all that young Robinson could possiblyknow, or guess, dished up with all the sensational garnishments ofwhich the New York yellow press is capable. 

Sick and indignant with the knowledge that Dorothy must be apprised ofthis at once, and instructed to remain in hiding, to induce all abouther to guard her from intrusion and to refuse to see all reporters whomight pursue the story, he hastened at once towards Washington Square, and encountered his "wife, " almost upon entering the house. 

She was white with alarm. 

He thought she had already seen the evening sheet. 

"Jerold!" she said, "something terrible has happened. When I got up, half an hour ago to dress--my wedding certificate was gone!"

CHAPTER XXIV

A NEW ALARM

Without, for a moment, comprehending the drift of Dorothy's fears, Garrison led her to a parlor of the house, looking at her in a mannerso fixed that she realized their troubles were not confined to the lossof her certificate. 

"What do you think? What do you fear? There isn't anything else?" shesaid, as he still remained dumb for a moment. "What shall we do?"

"Theodore threatened that something might occur, " he said. "He hasevidently done his worst, all at once. "

"Why--but I thought perhaps my certificate was stolen here, " whisperedDorothy in agitation. "How could Theodore----"

"No one in this house could have known you had such a document aboutyou, " interrupted Garrison. "While you were drugged, or chloroformed, in the Robinsons' house, the old woman, doubtless, searched youthoroughly. You told me your certificate was sewed inside----"

"Inside--yes, inside, " she interrupted. "I thought it was safe, forthey put a blank paper in its place, and I might not have thought ofanything wrong if I had not discovered a black thread used instead ofthe white silk I had been so careful to employ. "

"There is ample proof that Theodore has utilized his wits to goodadvantage, " he said. "Your marriage-certificate episode is only a partof what he has achieved. This paper contains all the story--suggestingthat your uncle may have been murdered, and telling the conditions ofthe will. "

He held up the paper before her startled eyes, and saw the look ofalarm that came upon her. 

"Printed--in the paper!" she exclaimed in astonishment and utterdismay. "Why, how could such a thing happen?"

She took the paper and scanned the story hurriedly, making exclamationsas she read. 

"Theodore--more of Theodore, " said Garrison. "From his point of view, and with all his suspicions concerning our relationship, it is amaster-stroke. It renders our position exceedingly difficult. "

"But--how could he have found out all these things?" gasped Dorothy. "How could he know?"

"He has guessed very shrewdly, and he has doubtless pumped yourstepbrother of all that he happened to know. "

"What shall we do?" she repeated hopelessly. "We can't proveanything--just now--and what will happen when the will comes up forprobate?"

"I'll land him in prison, if he doesn't pull out of it now, " saidGarrison, angered as much by Theodore's diabolical cleverness as he wasby this premature publicity given to the story. "He has carried it allwith a mighty high hand, assured of our fear to take the business intocourt. He has stirred up a fight that I don't propose to lose!--afight that has roused all the red-hot Crusader of my being!"

"But--what shall we do? All the newspaper people will be digging atthe case and doing their best to hunt up everyone concerned!"

"No reporters can be seen. If the fact leaks out that you are here, through anyone connected with the house, you must move at once, andchange your name, letting no one but me know where you are. "

She looked at him blankly. "Alone? Can't you help me, Jerold?"

"It is more important for me to hasten up country now than it wasbefore, " he answered. "I must work night and day to clear things upabout the murder. "

"But--if Foster should really be guilty?"

"He'll be obliged to take his medicine--otherwise suspicion mightpossibly rest upon you. "

"Good Heavens!"

She was very pale. 

"This story in the _Star_ has precipitated everything, " he added. "Already it contains a hint that you and your 'husband' are the oneswho benefit most by the possible murder of John Hardy. "

She sank on a chair and looked at him helplessly. 

"I suppose you'll have to go--but I don't know what I shall do withoutyou. How long do you think you'll be away?"

"It is quite impossible to say. I shall return as soon ascircumstances permit. I'll write whenever I can. "

"I shall need some things from the house, " she said. "I haveabsolutely nothing here. "

"Buy what you need, and remain indoors as much as you can, " heinstructed. "Reporters will be sure to haunt the house in Ninety-thirdStreet, hoping to see us return. "

"It's horrible!" said Dorothy. "It almost makes me wish I had neverheard of any will!"

Garrison looked at her with frank adoration in his eyes. 

"Whatever the outcome, I shall always be glad, " he said--"glad of theday you needed--needed assistance--glad of the chance it has given meto prove my--prove my--friendship. "

"I'll try to be worthy of your courage, " she answered, returning hislook with an answering glance in which the love-light could only atbest be a trifle modified. "But--I don't see how it will end. "

"About this marriage certificate----" he started, when the door-bellrang interruptingly. 

In fear of being overheard by the landlady, already attending a caller, Garrison halted, to wait. A moment later the door was opened by thelady of the house herself, and a freshly-groomed, smooth-shaven youngman was ushered in. The room was the only one in the house for thissemi-public use. 

"Excuse me, " said the landlady sweetly. "Someone to see Miss Ellis. "

The visitor bowed very slightly to Dorothy and Garrison, and stoodsomewhat awkwardly near the door, with his hat in his hand. Thelandlady, having made her excuses for such an intrusion, disappeared tosummon Miss Ellis. 

Garrison was annoyed. There was nothing to do but to stand there inembarrassing silence. Then Miss Ellis came shyly in at the door, dressed so becomingly that it seemed not at all unlikely she had hopedfor the evening's visitor. 

"Oh, Mr. Hunter, this is a very pleasant surprise!" she said. "Allowme to introduce my friends, Mr. And Mrs. Fairfax. " She added toGarrison and Dorothy, "This is Mr. Hunter, of the New York _Star_. "

Prepared to bow and let it go at that, Garrison started, ever soslightly, on learning the visitor's connection. Mr. Hunter, on hispart, meeting strangers unexpectedly, appeared to be diffident andquite conventional, but pricked up his ears, which were strung to catchthe lightest whisper of news, at the mention of the Fairfax name. 

"Not the Fairfax of the Hardy case?" he said, for the moment intent onnothing so moving as a possible service to his paper. "Of courseyou've seen----"

Garrison sat down on the copy of the _Star_ which Dorothy had left in achair. He deftly tucked it up beneath his coat. 

"No, oh, no, certainly not, " he said, and pulling out his watch, headded to Dorothy, "I shall have to be going. Put on your hat and comeout for a two-minute walk. "

Then, to the others:

"Sorry to have to run off in this uncomplimentary fashion, but I trustwe shall meet again. "

Hunter felt by instinct that this was the man of all men whom he ought, in all duty, to see. He could not insist upon his calling in such asituation, however, and Garrison and Dorothy, bowing as they passed, were presently out in the hall with the parlor door closed behind them. In half a minute more they were out upon the street. 

"You'll be obliged to find other apartments at once, " he said. "You'dbetter not even go back to pay the bill. I'll send the woman a coupleof dollars and write that you made up your mind to go along home, afterall. "

"But--I wanted to ask a lot of questions--of Miss Ellis, " said Dorothy, thereby revealing the reason she had wished to come here before. "Ithought perhaps----"

"Questions about me?" interrupted Garrison, smiling upon her in thelight of a street-lamp they were passing. "I can tell you far moreabout the subject than she could even guess--if we ever get the time. "

Dorothy blushed as she tried to meet his gaze. 

"Well--it wasn't that--exactly, " she said. "I only thought--thought itmight be interesting to know her. "

"It's far more interesting to know where you will go, " he answered. "Let me look at this paper for a minute. "

He pulled forth the _Star_, turned to the classified ads, found the"Furnished Rooms, " and cut out half a column with his knife. 

"Let me go back where I was to-night, " she suggested. "I am really tootired to hunt a place before to-morrow. I can slip upstairs and retireat once, and the first thing in the morning I can go to a place whereAlice used to stay, with a very deaf woman who never remembers my nameand always calls me Miss Root. "

"Where is the place?" said Garrison, halting as Dorothy halted. 

"In West Eighteenth Street. " She gave him the number. "It will lookso very queer if I leave like this, " she added. "I'd rather not excitesuspicion. "

"All right, " he replied, taking out a booklet and jotting down "MissRoot, " and the address she had mentioned. "I'll write to you in thename the deaf woman remembers, or thinks she remembers, and no one needknow who you are. If I hurry now I can catch the train that connectswith the local on the Hartford division for Rockdale. "

They turned and went back to the house. 

"You don't know how long you'll be gone?" she said as they neared thesteps. "You cannot tell in the least?"

"Long enough to do some good, I hope, " he answered. "Meantime, don'tsee anybody. Don't answer any questions; and don't neglect to leavehere early in the morning. "

She was silent for a moment, and looked at him shyly. 

"I shall feel a little bit lonely, I'm afraid, " she confessed--"withnone of my relatives, or friends. I hope you'll not be very long. Good-by. "

"Good-by, " said Garrison, who could not trust himself to approach thesubject she had broached; and with his mind reverting to the subject ofhis personal worry in the case, he added: "By the way, the loss of yourwedding certificate can be readily repaired if you'll tell me the nameof the preacher, or the justice of the peace----"

"I'd rather not--just at present, " she interrupted, in immediateagitation. "Good-night--I'll have to go in. "

She fled up the steps, found the door ajar, and pushing it open, stoodframed by the light for a moment, as she turned to look back where hewas standing. 

Only for a moment did she hover there, however. 

He could not see her face as she saw his. 

He could not know that a light of love and a mute appeal forforgiveness lay together in the momentary glance bestowed upon him. 

Then she closed the door; and as one in a dream he slowly walked away. 

CHAPTER XXV

A DEARTH OF CLEWS

Garrison's ride on the train was a matter of several hours' duration. Not only did he read every line of the story in the _Star_, which hefelt convinced had been furnished by young Robinson, but he likewisehad time to reflect on all the phases, old and new, of the case inwhich he was involved. 

But wander where they would, his thoughts invariably swung around thetroubled circle to Dorothy and the topic was she married or not, and ifshe was, --where was the man?

He could not reach a decision. 

Heretofore he had reasoned there could be no genuine Fairfax; to-nighthe entertained many doubts of his former deductions. He found itpossible to construe Dorothy's actions both ways. She was afraid tohave him search out the man who had written her wedding certificate, perhaps because it was a fraud, or perhaps because there _was_ aFairfax somewhere, concerning whom something must be hidden. 

The murder mystery, the business of the will, even the vengeance hepromised himself he would wreak on Theodore, sank into significance inthe light of his personal worry. There was only one thing worth while, and that was love. 

He was rapidly approaching a frame of mind in which no sacrifice wouldbe too great to be made, could he only be certain of winning Dorothy, heart-free, for his own. 

For more than an hour he sat thinking, in the car, oblivious to theflight of time, or to the towns through which he was passing. He gaveit up at last and, taking from his pocket a book he employed formemoranda, studied certain items there, supplied by Dorothy, concerningher uncle and his ways of life. There were names of his friends andhis enemies among the scribbled data, together with descriptive bitsconcerning Hardy's personality. 

Marking down additional suggestions and otherwise planning his work tobe done at Rockdale, Garrison reflected there was little apparent hopeof clearing young Durgin of suspicion, unless one trifling hint shouldsupply the clew. Dorothy had stated that her Uncle John had long hadsome particularly bitter and malicious enemy, a man unknown to herself, from whom she believed Mr. Hardy might have been fleeing, from time totime, in the trips which had become the habit of his life. 

That this constant moving from place to place had been the bane of hisexistence was a theory that Dorothy had formed a year before. Yet, forall she knew, it might have been young Foster Durgin whom her uncle wastrying to avoid!

The train connection for Rockdale was wretchedly timed. What with along wait at the junction and a long delay at a way station fartherout, it was nearly one o'clock when at length his destination wasreached and Garrison, with his steel-trap suit-case in hand, found hisway to a second-rate hotel, where, to his great relief, the beds werefar better than they looked. 

He had taken the precaution to register as Henry Hilborn, realizingthat Rockdale doubtless abounded in acquaintances of Hardy's who wouldprobably read the published story of his will in their own local papersin the morning. He wrote at once to Dorothy, under the name of MissRoot, apprising her of his altered name and his address. 

In the morning he was early at his work. Representing himself asnothing more than the agent of the New York Insurance Company, forwhich he was, in fact, conducting his various investigations, at leastin part, he rapidly searched out one after another of the persons whosenames Dorothy had supplied, but all to little purpose. 

He found the town very much alive indeed to the news which the _Star_had blazoned to the world. Hardy had been a well-known figure, off andon, for many years in Rockdale, and the names of the Durgins and ofDorothy were barely less familiar. 

Garrison's difficulty was not that the people talked too little, butrather that they talked too much, and said almost nothing in theprocess. New trivialities were exceedingly abundant. 

He worked all day with no results of consequence. The persons whosenames had been supplied by Dorothy had, in turn, furnished more namesby the dozen, alleging that this man or that knew John Hardy betterthan the proverbial brother, if possible; nevertheless, one afteranother, they revealed their ignorance of any vital facts that Garrisoncould use. 

On the following day he learned that Paul Durgin, the nephew creditedwith having claimed the body of the murdered man, lived ten miles outon a farm, amassing a fortune rearing ducks. 

Hiring a team, Garrison drove to Durgin's farm. He found his man inthe center of a vast expanse of duck-pens, where ducks by the thousand, all singularly white and waterless, were greeting their master withacclaim. 

Durgin came out of the duck midst to see his visitor. He was a large, taciturn being, healthy, strong, independent, a trifle suspicious andmore than a trifle indifferent as to the final disposal of John Hardy'sfortune. 

Garrison, at first, found him hard to handle. He had not yet read thepapers. He knew nothing at all of what was being said; and now that heheard it at last, from Garrison's lips, he scarcely did more than nodhis head. 

Garrison was annoyed. He determined on awakening the duck-stuporedbeing, unless the task should prove hopeless. 

"Mr. Durgin, " he said, "the reasons for supposing that Hardy wasmurdered--poisoned--are far more convincing than anyone reallysupposes--and suspicion points particularly at a person in whom you mayand may not be interested--your younger brother, Foster Durgin. "

A curious white appearance crept all about the smooth-shaven mouth ofthe duck man. He was not in the least an emotionless clod; he was noteven cold or indifferent, but silent, slow at giving expression toanything but excellent business capabilities. 

He looked at Garrison steadily, but with dumb appeal in his eyes. Theblow had gone home with a force that made Garrison sorry. 

"How could that be?" the man inquired, "even with Foster wild?"

"He may not be guilty--it's my business to discover who is, " saidGarrison, with ready sympathy. "It looks as if he had a motive. Withhis knowledge of photography and his dabbling in the art, he has almostcertainly handled poison--the particular poison used to destroy JohnHardy's life. He was there in Hickwood at the time of the crime. Hehas gambled in Wall Street, and lost, and now has disappeared. You cansee I need your help to clear the case. "

CHAPTER XXVI

STARTLING DISCLOSURES

Durgin sat down on a box, picked up a sliver of wood and began to chewit slowly. He was not a man of rapid thoughts; and he was stunned. 

"How did you find out all these things?" he said. 

"From Dorothy, partially, and in part from my own investigations. "

"Dorothy didn't go back on the boy like that?" The man was hurt by thethought. 

"Not at all. She tried to shield him. I came to Rockdale on heraccount, to try to discover if there is anyone else who might have hada motive for the crime. "

Durgin pulled the sliver of wood to shreds with his teeth. 

"I don't think Foster would have done it, " he said, concealing the painin his breast. "He's been wild. I've lost all patience with his waysof livin', but Uncle John was never afraid of Foster, though he was ofHiram Cleave. "

"What's that?" said Garrison, instantly, alive to a possible factor inthe case. "Do you mean there was a man Mr. Hardy was afraid of--Hiramwhat?"

"He never wanted me to tell of that, " said Durgin in his heavy manner. "He wasn't a coward; he said so, and I know it's true, but he had afear of Cleave. "

"Now that's just exactly what I've got to know!" said Garrison. "Manalive, if you wish to help me clear your brother, you've got to give meall the facts you can think of concerning Mr. Hardy, his enemies, andeverything else in the case! What sort of a man is this Cleave?"

"A short, middle-aged man, " drawled Durgin deliberately. "I never sawhim but once. "

"What was the cause of enmity between him and Hardy, do you know?"

"No, I don't. It went far back--a woman, I guess. But I hope youwon't ever say I told that it was. I promised I wouldn't, and I neverdid till now. "

The big fellow looked at Garrison with honest anxiety in his eyes. 

"It's not my business to tell things, " Garrison assured him. "This isa matter perhaps of life and death for your brother. Do you think Mr. Hardy feared this man Cleave would take his life?"

"He did, yes. "

"Was it ever attempted before?"

Durgin looked at him oddly. 

"I think so, but I couldn't be sure. "

"You mean, Mr. Hardy told you a little about it, but, perhaps, not all?"

"How did you know that?" Durgin asked, mystified by Garrison'sswiftness of thinking. 

"I don't know anything. I'm trying to find out. How much did Hardytell you of a former attempt on his life?"

"He didn't really tell it. He sort of let it out a little, andwouldn't say anything more. "

"But you knew it was this man Cleave?"

"Yes, he was the one. "

Garrison questioned eagerly: "Where is he now?"

"I don't know. "

"When was it that you saw the man?"

"A year ago. "

"Where?"

"In the village--Rockdale, " answered Durgin. 

"Mr. Hardy pointed him out?"

"Yes, but how did you----"

"What was the color of his hair?" Garrison interrupted. 

"He had his hat on. I didn't see his hair. "

"What did your uncle say at the time?"

"Nothing much, just 'that's the man'--that's all, " said the duck man. "And he went away that night--I guess because Cleave turned around andsaw us in the store. "

"All right, " said Garrison. "Where's your brother now?"

"I don't know. We don't get on. "

"Do you think he knew anything about Mr. Hardy's will?"

Durgin answered with a query: "Which one?"

"Why, the only one, I suppose, " said Garrison. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there must have been more than one, " drawled the duck man withexasperating slowness. "Foster was down in the first, but that wasburned. I don't think he ever saw the others, but he knew he wasn't afavorite any more. "

"What about yourself?" asked Garrison. 

"I asked Uncle John to leave me out. I've got enough, " was the answer. "We're no blood kin to the Hardys. I know I wasn't in the last. "

"The last?" repeated Garrison. "You mean the last will of Mr. Hardy--the one in favor of Dorothy, in case she should be married?"

Durgin studied his distant ducks for a moment. 

"No, I don't think that was the last. I'm sure that will wasn't thelast. "

Garrison stared at him fixedly. 

"You're sure it wasn't the last?" he echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Uncle John sent a letter and said he'd made a brand-new will, "answered Durgin in his steady way of certainty. "I burned up theletter only yesterday, clearing up my papers. "

"You don't mean quite recently?" insisted Garrison. 

"Since Dorothy got married, " answered Durgin, at a loss to understandGarrison's interest. "Why?"

"This could make all the difference in the world to the case, " Garrisontold him. "Did he say what he'd done with this new document?"

"Just that he'd made a new will. "

"Who helped him? Who was the lawyer? Who were the witnesses?"

"He didn't say. "

Garrison felt everything disarranged. And Durgin's ignorance wasbaffling. He went at him aggressively. 

"Where was your uncle when he wrote the letter?"

"He was up to Albany. "

Albany! There were thousands of lawyers and tens of thousands of menwho would do as witnesses in Albany!

"But, " insisted Garrison, "perhaps he told you where it was depositedor who had drawn it up, or you may know his lawyer in Albany. 

"No. He just mentioned it, that's all, " said Durgin. "The letter wasmost about ducks. "

"This is too bad, " Garrison declared. "Have you any idea in the worldwhere the will may be?"

"No, I haven't. "

"You found nothing of it, or anything to give you a hint, when youclaimed the body for burial, and examined his possessions in Hickwood?"

"No. "

"Where was Dorothy then?"

"I don't know. She's always looked after Foster more than me, he beingthe weak one and most in need. "

Desperate for more information. Garrison probed in every conceivabledirection, but elicited nothing further of importance, save that anold-time friend of Hardy's, one Israel Snow, a resident of Rockdale, might perhaps be enabled to assist him. 

Taking leave of Durgin, who offered his hand and expressed a deep-lyinghope that something could be done to clear all suspicion from hisbrother, Garrison returned to Rockdale. 

The news of a will made recently, a will concerning which Dorothy knewnothing, --this was so utterly disconcerting that it quite overshadowed, for a time, the equally important factor in the case supplied byDurgin's tale concerning this unknown Hiram Cleave. 

Where the clews pointed now it was utterly impossible to know. If thefact should transpire that Dorothy did, in fact, know something of thenew will made by her uncle, or if Foster knew, and no such will shouldever be produced, the aspect of the case would be dark indeed. 

Not at all convinced that Theodore Robinson might not yet be found atthe bottom of the mystery, Garrison wondered where the fellow had goneand what his departure might signify. 

Israel Snow was out of town. He would not return till the morrow. Garrison's third night was passed in the little hotel, and no word hadcome from Dorothy. He had written four letters to the EighteenthStreet address. He was worried by her silence. 

On the following day Mr. Snow returned. He proved to be a stooped oldman, but he supplied a number of important facts. 

In the first place he stated that Hiram Cleave had long since assumedanother name which no one in Rockdale knew. No one was acquainted withhis business or his whereabouts. The reason of the enmity between himand John Hardy went deep enough to satisfy the most exacting mind. 

Cleave, Hardy, and Scott, the inventor, had been boys together, and, inyoung manhood, chums. Hardy had fallen in love with Scott's sister, while he was still a young, romantic man. Cleave, developing anutterly malicious and unscrupulous nature, had deceived his friendHardy, tried to despoil Miss Scott's very life, thereby ultimatelycausing her death, and Hardy had intervened only in time to save herfrom utter shame and ruin. 

Then, having discovered Cleave guilty of a forgery, he had spared noeffort or expense till he landed the creature in prison out in Indiana. Cleave had threatened his life at the time. He had long since beenliberated. His malicious resentment had never been abated, and for thepast two or three years, with Miss Scott a sad, sweet memory only, JohnHardy had lived a lonely life, constantly moving to avoid his enemy. 

A friend of another friend of a third friend of Snow's, who might havemoved away, had once had a photograph of Cleave. Old Snow promised toprocure it if possible and deliver it over to Garrison, who made eageroffers to go and try to get it for himself, but without avail. Hepromised to wait for the picture, and returned at last to his hotel. 

A telegram was waiting for him at the desk. He almost knew what heshould find on reading it. The message read:

Please return at once. JERALDINE. 

He paid off his bill, and posting a note to Israel Snow, giving anaddress, "Care of J. Garrison, " in the New York building where he hadhis office, he caught the first train going down and arrived inManhattan at three. 

CHAPTER XXVII

LIKE A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

Delaying only long enough to deposit his suit-case at his lodgings, andneglecting the luncheon which he felt he could relish, Garrison postedoff to Eighteenth Street with all possible haste. 

The house he found at the number supplied by Dorothy was an old-timeresidence, with sky-scrapers looming about it. A pale woman met him atthe door. 

"Miss Root--is Miss Root in, please?" he said. "I'd like to see her. "

"There's no such person here, " said the woman. 

"She's gone--she's given up her apartment?" said Garrison, at a loss toknow what this could mean. "She went to-day? Where is she now?"

"She's never been here, " informed the landlady. "A number of letterscame here, addressed in her name, and I took them in, as people oftenhave mail sent like that when they expect to visit the city, but shesent around a messenger and got them this morning. "

Thoroughly disconcerted by this intelligence, Garrison could only askif the woman knew whence the messenger had come--the address to whichhe had taken the letters. The woman did not know. 

There was nothing to do but to hasten to the house near WashingtonSquare. Garrison lost no time in speeding down Fifth Avenue. 

He came to the door just in time to meet Miss Ellis, dressed to go out. 

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Fairfax?" she said. "Mrs. Fairfax asked me totell you, if you came before I went, that she'd meet you at youroffice. I felt so sorry when she was ill. "

"I didn't know she'd been ill, " said Garrison. "I was afraid ofsomething like that when she failed to write. "

"Oh, yes, she was ill in the morning, the very day after you left, "imparted Miss Ellis. 

"I know you'll excuse me, " interrupted Garrison. "I'll hurry along, and hope to see you again. "

He was off so abruptly that Miss Ellis was left there gasping on thesteps. 

Ten minutes later he was stepping from the elevator and striding downthe office-building hall. 

Dorothy was not yet in the corridor. He opened the office, beheld anumber of notes and letters on the floor, and was taking them up whenDorothy came in, breathless, her eyes ablaze with excitement. 

"Jerold!" she started. "Please lock the door and----" when she wasinterrupted by the entrance of a man. 

Dorothy gave a little cry and fled behind the desk. 

Garrison faced the intruder, a tall, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed man witha long mustache--a person with every mark of the gentleman upon him. 

"Well, sir, " said Garrison, in some indignation, "what can I do foryou?"

"We'll wait a minute and see, " said the stranger. "My name is JeroldFairfax, and I came to claim my wife. "

Garrison almost staggered. It was like a bolt from the bluest sky, where naught but the sun of glory had been visible. 

"Dorothy! What does he mean?" he said, turning at once to the girl. 

She sank weakly to a chair and could not meet the question in his eyes. 

"Didn't you hear what I said?" demanded the visitor. "This is my wifeand I'd like to know what it means, you or somebody else passingyourself off in my place!"

Garrison still looked at Dorothy. 

"This isn't true, what the man is saying?" he inquired. 

She tried to look up. "I--I---- Forgive me, please, " she said. "He's--He followed me here----"

"Certainly I followed, " interrupted the stranger. "Why wouldn't Ifollow my wife? What does this mean, all this stuff they've beenprinting in the papers about some man passing as your husband?" Hesnatched out a newspaper abruptly, and waved it in the air. 

"And if you're the man, " he added, turning to Garrison, "I'll informyou right now----"

"That will do for you, " Garrison interrupted. "This lady has come tomy office on a matter of business. My services to her have nothing todo with you or any of your claims. And let me impress upon you thefact that her affairs with me are private in character, and that youare here uninvited. "

"The devil I am!" answered Fairfax, practically as cool as Garrisonhimself. "I'll inform you that a man needs no invitation from astranger, lawyer, detective, or otherwise, to seek the presence of hiswife. And now that I've found her I demand that she come along withme!"

Dorothy started to her feet and fled behind Garrison. 

"Please don't let him stay!" she said. "Don't let him touch me, please!"

Garrison faced the intruder calmly. 

"I permit no one to issue orders in this office, either to me or myclients, " he said. "Unless you are a far better man than I, you willdo nothing to compel this lady to depart until she wishes to do so. You will oblige me by leaving my office. "

"I'll do nothing of the sort!" answered Fairfax. "Your bluff soundsbig, but I'm here to call it, understand? Dorothy, I command you tocome. "

"I will not go with such a man as you!" she cried in a sudden burst ofanger. "You left me shamefully, half an hour after we were married!You've been no husband to me! You have only come back because youheard there might be money! I never wish to see you again!"

"Well, you're going to hear from me, now!" said Fairfax. "As for you, Mr. Garrison, assuming my name and----"

He was making a movement toward his pocket, throwing back his coat. 

"Drop that!" interrupted Garrison. He had drawn his revolver with aquickness that was startling. "Up with your hand!"

Fairfax halted his impulse. His hand hung oscillating at the edge ofhis coat. A ghastly pallor overspread his face. His eyes took on alook of supernatural brightness. His mouth dropped open. He croucheda trifle forward, staring fixedly at the table. His hand had fallen athis side. He began to whisper:

"His brains are scattered everywhere, I see them--seethem--everywhere--everywhere!" His hand came up before his eyes, thefingers spread like talons. He cried out brokenly, and, turningabruptly, hastened through the door, and they heard him running downthe hall. 

Dorothy had turned very white. She looked at Garrison almost wildly. 

"That's exactly what he said before, " she said, "when he pushed me fromthe train and ran away. "

"What does it mean?" said Garrison, tense with emotion. "What have youdone to me, Dorothy? He isn't your husband, after all?"

Dorothy sank once more in the chair. She looked at Garrisonappealingly. 

"I married him, " she moaned. "He's crazy!"

Garrison, too, sat down. His pistol he dropped in his pocket. 

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I was afraid, " she confessed. "I thought you wouldn't consent tobe--to be--what you have been. "

"Of course I wouldn't, " Garrison responded. "What have I got myselfinto? Why did you do it?"

"I had to, " she answered weakly. "Please don't scold me now--even ifyou have to desert me. " Her voice broke in one convulsive sob, but shemastered herself sharply. "I'll go, " she added, struggling to herfeet. "I didn't mean to get you into all this----"

"Dorothy, sit down, " he interrupted, rising instantly and placing hishand on her shoulder. "I didn't mean it--didn't mean what I said. Ishan't desert you. I love you--I love you, Dorothy!"

She turned one hurt look upon him, then sank on the desk to cover herface. 

"Oh, don't, don't, don't!" she said. "You haven't any right----"

"Forgive me, " he pleaded. "I didn't intend to let you know. I didn'tintend to use my position for anything like that. Forgive me--forgetwhat I said--and let me serve you as I have before, with no thought ofanything but--earning the money, my fee. "

He turned away, striking his fist in his palm, and went across to thewindow. 

For nearly five minutes neither spoke. Dorothy, torn by emotions toogreat to be longer restrained, had controlled her sobs almostimmediately, but she had not dared to raise her eyes. She sat up atlast, and with gaze averted from the figure against the square oflight, composed herself as best she might. 

"What is there we can do?" she said at last. "If you wish to bereleased from your--your position----"

"We won't talk of that, " he interrupted, still looking out on the roofsbelow. "I'm in this to stay--till you dismiss me and bid me forgetit--forget it and you--forever. But I need your help. "

"I have made it very hard, I know, " she said. "If I've acteddeceitfully, it was the only way I thought I could do. "

"Please tell me about this man Fairfax, " he requested, keeping his backtoward her as before. "You married him, where?"

"At Rockbeach, Massachusetts. "

She was businesslike again. 

"To satisfy the condition in your uncle's will?"

"No, " the confession came slowly, but she made it with courage. "I hadknown him for quite a long time. He had--he had courted me a year. Hewas always a gentleman, cultured, refined, and fascinating in manyways. I thought I was in--I thought I was fond of him, very. He wasbrilliant--and romantic--and possessed of many qualities that appealedto me strongly. I'm quite sure now he exercised some spell uponme--but he was kind--and I believed him--that's all. "

"Who married you?"

"A justice of the peace. "

"Why not a minister?"

"Mr. Fairfax preferred the justice. "

Garrison remained by the window stubbornly. 

"You said the man is crazy. What did you mean?"

"Didn't you see?" she answered. "That light in his eyes is insanity. I thought it a soul-light shining through, though it worried me often, I admit. We were married at two in the afternoon and went at once tothe station to wait there for the train. He bought the tickets andtalked in his brilliant way until the train arrived. It only stoppedfor a moment. 

"He put me on, then a spell came over him suddenly, I don't know what, and he pushed me off the steps, just as the train was moving out--andsaid the very thing you heard him say in here--and rode away and leftme there, deserted. "

She told it all in a dry-voiced way that cost her an effort, asGarrison felt and comprehended. He had turned about, in sheer sympathyfor her predicament. 

"What happened then?"

"I saw in a paper, two days later, he had been detained in a town inOhio as being mentally unbalanced. In the meantime I had written to myUncle John, while we were waiting at the station, telling him briefly Iwas married and to whom. The note was posted not five minutes before apostman came along and took up the letters in the box. I couldn't havestopped it had I wished to, and it never occurred to my mind to stopit, anyway. "

"What did your uncle reply?"

"He wrote at once that he was thoroughly pleased. He had long hoped Imight marry someone other than Theodore. He confessed that his willcontained a clause to the effect that I should inherit no more thanfive thousand dollars, should I not have been married at least onemonth prior to his death, to a healthy, respectable man who was not mycousin. 

"I dared not write that I had been deserted, or that Mr. Fairfax mightbe insane. I couldn't tell what to do. I hardly knew what to expect, or what I was, or anything. I could only pretend I was off on myhoneymoon--and wait. Then came uncle's sudden death, and my lawyersent me word about the will, asking when he should file it for probate. Then--then I knew I had to have a _sane_ husband. "

"And the will is not yet filed?"

"Not yet. And fortunately Mr. Trowbridge has had to be away. "

Garrison pursued the topic of the will for purposes made necessary byhis recent discoveries concerning a new one. 

"Mr. Trowbridge had your uncle's testament in his keeping?"

Dorothy shook her head. "No. I believe he conferred with uncle'slawyer, just after his death, and read it there. "

"Where did your uncle's lawyer live?"

"In Albany. "

"Do you know his name?"

"I think it is Spikeman. Why?"

Garrison was looking at her again with professional coldness, despitethe fact that his heart was fairly burning in his breast. 

"Because, " he said, "I learned from your stepbrother, Paul Durgin, nearRockdale, that your uncle made a later will, and we've got to get traceof the document before you can know where you stand. "

Dorothy looked at him with her great brown eyes as startled as a deer's. 

"Another will!" she said. "I may have lost everything, after all!What in the world would become of Foster then--and Alice?"

"And yourself?" added Garrison. 

"Oh, it doesn't make the least difference about me, " she answered inher bravery--bravery that made poor Garrison love her even more thanbefore, "but they all depend so much upon me! Tell me, please, whatdid you find out about Foster?"

"Not a great deal, " Garrison confessed. "This new will business was mymost important discovery. Nevertheless, I confirmed your story of aman whom your uncle greatly feared. His name, it seems, is HiramCleave. "

"That's the name! That's the man!" cried Dorothy. "I remember now!He once pinched my face till I cried. "

"You have seen him, then? What sort of a looking being is he?"

"I don't remember much--only the horrid grin upon his face. I was onlya child--and that impressed me. You didn't hear anything of Foster?"

"Not of his whereabouts--quite a bit concerning his character, none ofit particularly flattering. "

"I don't know where in the world he can be, " said Dorothy. "PoorAlice! What are we going to do now, with all these new complications?"

"Do the best we can, " said Garrison. "Aside from the will, and my workon the murder of your uncle, a great deal depends upon yourself, andyour desires. "

Dorothy looked at him in silence for a moment. A slight flush came toher face. 

She said: "In what respect?"

Garrison had no intention of mincing matters now. He assumed ahardness of aspect wholly incompatible with his feelings. 

"In respect to Mr. Fairfax, " he answered. "He will doubtlessreturn--dog your footsteps--make himself known to the Robinsons, andotherwise keep us entertained. "

She met his gaze as a child might have done. 

"What can I do? I've depended so much upon you. I don't like to asktoo much--after this--or ever---- You've been more than kind. Ididn't mean to be so helpless--or to wound your feelings, or----"

A knock at the door interrupted, and Tuttle entered the room. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

A HELPLESS SITUATION

Confused thus to find himself in the presence of Dorothy as well asGarrison, Tuttle snatched off his hat and looked about him helplessly. 

"How are you, Tuttle?" said Garrison. "Glad to see you. Come back infifteen minutes, will you? I want your report. "

"Fifteen minutes; yes, sir, " said Tuttle, and he backed from the place. 

"Who was that?" said Dorothy. "Anyone connected with the case?"

"A man that Theodore hired to shadow me, " said Garrison. "I took himinto camp and now he is shadowing Theodore. Let me ask you one or twoquestions before he returns. You were ill the morning after I left, and did not go at all to Eighteenth Street. "

"I couldn't go, " she said. "I tried not to give up and be so ill, butperhaps the effects of the drug that the Robinsons employed caused thetrouble. At last I thought you might have written to the EighteenthStreet address, so I sent around and got your letters, before I couldeven send a wire. "

"You wired because Fairfax had appeared?"

"Yes, I thought you ought to know. "

"How did you know he was here in New York? Did he call at the housewhere you were staying?"

"No. He sent a note declaring he would call. That was this morning. Miss Ellis's friend, of the _Star_, had an intuition as to who we were, that evening when he called. When I finally requested Miss Ellis toask him not to print more stories about us, he had already spoken tothe editor, and more of the matter had appeared. Since you left, however, I haven't seen a single reporter. "

"Fairfax got his clew to your whereabouts from the press, of course. The question now is, where do you wish to go? And what do you wish meto do--concerning the rôle I have filled?"

Dorothy was thoroughly disturbed by the topic. 

"Oh, I don't know what to do, " she confessed. "I wish I could neversee that man again! What do you advise?"

"We hardly know what the situation may require, till we discover moreabout this latest will, " said Garrison. "Things may be alteredmaterially. If you wish it, you can doubtless manage to secure aseparation from Fairfax. In the meantime I would strongly advise thatyou rent an apartment without delay, where no one can find you again. "

She looked at him wistfully. "Not even you?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to see me, once in a while, " he told her, suppressing the passionate outcry of his heart, "unless you wish tosecure the services of someone who will make no mistakes. "

She was hurt. She loved him. Her nature cried out for the sureprotection of his arms, but her womanhood forbade. More than anythingelse in the world she wished to please him, but not by confessing herfondness. 

However much she might loathe the thought, she was the wife of JeroldFairfax, with everything precious to guard. By the token of the woundthat Garrison had inflicted, she knew that she had wounded him. Itcould not have been avoided--there was nothing but a chasm between them. 

"Please do not make me feel that I have been utterly despicable, " shepleaded. "You have made no mistakes--in the conduct of the case. Ishould be so helpless without you. "

Garrison knew he had hurt her. He was sorry. He knew her position wasthe only one possible for a woman such as he could love. He reviledhimself for his selfishness. He forced himself now to return her gazewith no hint of anything save business in his eyes. 

"Dorothy, I shall be honored to continue with your work, " he said. "Imean to see you through. "

"Thank you--Jerold, " she said. Her voice all but broke. She had neverloved him so much as now, and because of that had given herself the onelittle joy of calling him thus by his name. She added more bravely:"I'll find a room and send you the address as soon as possible. Meantime, I hope we will soon discover about this latest will. "

"I shall do my best, " he assured her. "Let me take you now to theannex elevator, in case anyone should be waiting to see you at theother. Get yourself a heavy veil, and be sure you avoid being followedwhen you hunt up your room. Take the apartment in the name of MissRoot, and send me word in that name also, just for precaution. LeaveFairfax and the others to me. I may go up to Albany about the will. "

He opened the door, but she hesitated a moment longer. 

"I hope it will all end somehow, for the best, " she said. "It's veryhard for you. "

He smiled, but not mirthfully. 

"It was here in this room I assumed my rôle, " he said, "and here I dropit. "

For a moment she failed to understand. 

"Drop it?" she echoed. "How?"

"I'm no longer even your pseudo-husband. I drop the name Fairfax, withall it might imply. "

She blushed crimson and could not meet his gaze. 

"I'm sorry if I've been the cause----" she started. 

Garrison interrupted. 

"I'm glad--glad of everything that's happened. We'll say no more ofthat. But--Theodore--how he will gloat over this!"

"If he finds out Mr. Fairfax is crazy, he could overthrow the will, "suggested Dorothy. "But--what's the use of thinking of that, if a newwill comes to light? It's a dreadfully mixed affair. " She stepped outin the hall and Garrison led the way to the elevator farther to therear. The chains of a car were descending rapidly. 

"Please try not to detest the hour I came to see you first, " she said, holding out her hand, "if you can. "

"I'll try, " said Garrison, holding the precious little fingers for asecond over the conventional time. 

Glancing up at him quickly she saw a bright smile in his eye. Joy wasin her heart. The car was at the floor. 

"Good-by, " she said, "till we meet again--soon. "

"Good-by, " he answered. 

She stepped in the cage and was dropped from his sight, but her lastglance remained--and made him happy. 

CHAPTER XXIX

NIGHT-WALKERS

Tuttle had returned by the time Garrison came once more to his office. He entered the room behind his chief, and Garrison closed the door. 

"Well?" said Jerold, "any news?"

"I got a line on young Robinson, " answered Tuttle. "He's gone to asmall resort named Rockbeach, up on the coast of Massachusetts, but hisfather doesn't know his business, or if he does he denies it. "

"Rockbeach?" said Garrison, who realized at once that Theodore had gonethere to search out the justice of the peace who had married Dorothyand Fairfax. "Is he up there still?"

"He hadn't come home this morning. "

What so long an absence on Theodore's part might signify was a matterpurely of conjecture. There was nothing more to be done but awaitdevelopments. Whatever young Robinson's scheme, it might be whollydisorganized by the latest will that John Hardy had drawn. 

"What about the two dagos--the fellows who attacked me in the park?"inquired Garrison. "Have you found out anything concerning them?"

Tuttle replied with a question. "Haven't you seen it in the papers?"

"Seen what?"

"Why, the bomb explosion and the rest of it--all Black Hand businesslast night, " answered Tuttle. "One of our pair was killed outright, and the other one's dying, from a premature explosion of one of theirgas-pipe cartridges. They attempted to blow up a boiler, under atenement belonging to a man they'd tried to bleed, and it got 'em both. "

He took from his pocket a two-column clipping from a morning newspaper, and placed it on the desk. 

"Out of my hands, then; no chance to help send them up, " commentedGarrison reflectively, as he glanced through the article. "I'll keepthis, if you don't mind, " he added. "It may be useful withRobinson--in helping to warm up his blood. "

"I tried to carry out instructions, " said Tuttle, "but I couldn't findout where they were till this came out in print. I hope there'ssomething else I can do. "

Garrison thought for a moment. 

"How many times have you been here to report?"

"Two or three times every day. "

"Have you noticed a tall, light-haired man, with a long mustache, around here at all, either to-day or yesterday?"

"If he's got blue eyes and wears a brown striped suit, he was here thismorning and asked me where he could find you, " Tuttle answered. "Isthat your man?"

"The same. His name is Fairfax. He's the real Fairfax. He'll belikely to return. Until Robinson appears again, you can keep your eyeon this office, spot Fairfax, and then keep him shadowed for a time. Find where he lives, where he goes, and what he does. "

"Anything more?"

"Keep track of old man Robinson, and let me know as soon as Theodorereturns. "

Tuttle rose as if to go. He hesitated, turning his hat in his hands. 

"Would it be asking too much if I suggested I need a little money?" heinquired. "The Robinsons pay with hot air. "

"I can let you have twenty-five, " said Garrison, pulling out hisrapidly diminishing roll. "That do?"

"Fine, " said Tuttle, receiving the bills. "When shall I----"

A messenger boy came plunging in at the door without the slightestformality. 

"Telegram for Garrison, " he said. "Sign here. "

"Wait half a minute, Tuttle, " said Garrison, tearing open the envelope, as the boy was departing, and he read the wire almost at a glance. 

It was dated from Branchville. 

Come up here as soon as possible. Important. 

JAMES PIKE. 

For a moment Garrison failed to remember the personality of James Pike. Then it came with a flash--the coroner! Aware at once that the tale ofpossible murder in the Hardy case had been spread and discussed allover the State, he realized that Pike, and others who had beenconcerned when John Hardy's body was found in their jurisdiction, mighthave come upon new material. 

"Nothing to add to instructions, " he said to Tuttle. "I shall be outof town to-night, and perhaps a part of to-morrow. "

Tuttle took his leave. Garrison paced up and down the office floor forhalf an hour. He was very much in hopes that word might come fromDorothy as to where she had chosen a room. The afternoon was gone, andhe was famished. 

He left at last, went to a restaurant, ate a hearty meal, and returnedto the office rather late. On the floor lay a notification of aspecial delivery letter, to be had at the nearest substation. 

He was there in the shortest possible time. 

The letter was from Dorothy. It began "Dear Jerold, " but it merelyinformed him she had found apartments on Madison Avenue, not far fromTwenty-ninth Street. 

He wrote her a note to acquaint her with the fact that new developmentscalled him at once to Branchville, whence he might continue to Albany, and this, with a dozen magnificent roses, he sent by special messengerto Miss Jeraldine Root. 

He was still enabled to catch a fairly early train from Grand CentralStation. 

A little after eight o'clock he arrived in Branchville, found JamesPike's real-estate office ablaze with light, and walked in on that busygentleman, who rose in excitement to grasp him by the hand. 

"You got my wire?" demanded Mr. Pike. "I'm awful glad you came. Iturned up something in the Hardy case that I think you ought to know. Got a man coming 'round here in fifteen minutes who read up on themurder suspicions and the rest of it, and he saw a stranger, down inHickwood the night of Hardy's death, get into Hardy's room at Mrs. Wilson's. It just struck me you ought to know, and so I wired. "

"Thank you very much, " said Garrison. "I consider this highlyimportant. Who is your man?"

"He ain't a man, he's a boy; young Will Barnes, " amended the coroner. "Most people think he's just a lazy, no-account young feller, but I'vealways said he was growin'. Goes fishin' a good deal, of course, but---- There he goes, now!" He ran to the door, through the glass ofwhich he had seen a tall, lanky youth across the way. 

"Hi, Will!" he yelled, "come over, the New York man is waiting!"

Young Barnes came slowly across the highway. 

"I've got to git some hooks, " he said. "If I don't get 'em now thestore'll close. "

"This is more important than hooks, " answered Pike. "Come in here. Mr. Garrison, this is Mr. Barnes. Will, Mr. Garrison, the New Yorkdetective. "

Quite unimpressed by Garrison's personality or calling, Will advancedand shook his hand. 

Garrison looked him over quickly. 

"You're the man who saw a stranger going into Hardy's room, at Mrs. Wilson's, the night that Hardy died, I believe?" he said. "How did youhappen to be there?"

"He lives right near, " volunteered Mr. Pike. 

"I was gettin' night-walkers, " said Will. 

"Night-walkers?" repeated Garrison. "People?"

"Fishin' worms, " supplied Mr. Pike. "Angleworms walk at night and Willgits 'em for bait. Goes out with a dark lantern and picks 'em up. "

"I see, " said Garrison. "What sort of a looking person was the man whogot into Mrs. Wilson's house?"

"A little shaver, that's all I could see, " said the youthful angler. 

The description tallied closely with all that Garrison had heard beforeof Hiram Cleave, or Foster Durgin. 

"Very good, " he said. "Did you see what he did in the room?"

"Didn't do nuthin' but steal a couple of cigars, " informed the discipleof Walton. "He wasn't there more'n about a minute. "

"But he _did_ steal a couple of cigars?" echoed Garrison, keenly alertto the vital significance of this new evidence. "Did he take them fromthe table?"

"Nope. Took 'em out of a box. "

"Then came out by the window and departed?"

"Yep, he sneaked. "

"Why didn't you tell anyone of this before?"

"Nobody asked me. "

"And he ain't got no use for Mrs. Wilson, nor she for him, "supplemented the coroner. "But I thought you ought to know. "

"Would you know the man again if you should see him?" Garrison inquired. 

"Sure. "

"Do you know where he went when he left the house, or yard? Did youfollow him at all?"

"No, the night-walkers was too thick. "

Garrison knew the lay of the yard at Mrs. Wilson's. He knew the room. There was no particular reason for visiting the scene again. There wasnothing, in fact, to do at all except to visit the dealer in New Yorkwho had sold the cigars to Dorothy, and hope for news of Foster Durginor the speedy arrival of the photograph of Cleave, which the old man inRockdale had promised. He asked one more question. 

"Was he young or old?"

"Don't know, " said Will, grinning. "He didn't say. "

Garrison rose to go. 

"This is all of the utmost importance. I may be obliged to have youcome down to New York--if I can find the man. But when you come itwill be at my expense. "

"The fishin's awful good right now, " objected Will. "I don't knowabout New York. "

"You can pick yourself out a five-dollar rod, " added Garrison. "I'llwire you when to come. "

Garrison left for Albany at once. He found himself obliged to take aroundabout course which brought him there late in the night. 

In the morning he succeeded in running down a John W. Spikeman, who hadserved as Hardy's lawyer for many years. 

The man was ill in bed, delirious, a condition which had lasted forseveral days. Naturally no word concerning the Hardy affair had cometo his notice--hence his silence on the subject, a silence whichGarrison had not heretofore understood. 

He could not be seen, and to see him would have been of no avail, sincehis mind was temporarily deranged. 

The utmost that Garrison could do was to go to the clerk at his office. This man, a very fleshy person, decidedly English and punctilious, wasmost reluctant to divulge what he was pleased to term the professionalsecrets of the office. 

Under pressure of flattery and a clever cross-examination, he at lengthadmitted that Mr. Hardy had drawn a will, within a week of his death, that Mr. Spikeman had declared it perfect, and that he and another hadsigned it as witnesses all in proper form. Concerning the contents ofthe document he was absolutely dumb. No amount of questioning, flattery, or persuasion would induce him to divulge so much as a wordof what he had witnessed. 

Garrison gave up with one more inquiry:

"Was the will deposited here in Mr. Spikeman's vault?"

"No, sir, " said the clerk; "Mr. Hardy took it with him when he went. "

Garrison's hopes abruptly wilted. 

CHAPTER XXX

OVERTURES FROM THE ENEMY

Leaving Spikeman's office, Garrison walked aimlessly away, reflectingon the many complications so recently developed, together with thefactors in the case, and all its possibilities. He was shutting fromhis mind, as far as possible, the thoughts of Fairfax, Dorothy'shusband, whose coming he had feared by intuition from the first. 

The actual appearance of a husband on the scene had come as a shock, despite his many warnings to himself. What could develop along thatparticular line was more than he cared to conjecture. He felt himselfrobbed, distracted, all but purposeless, yet knew he must still go onwith Dorothy's affairs, though the other man reap the reward. 

Forcing his mind to the Hardy affair, he found himself standing as oneat the edge where things ought to be patent; nevertheless a fog wasthere, obscuring all in mystery. 

Some man had entered Hardy's room and tampered with Dorothy's cigars. This did not necessarily absolve Charles Scott, the insurancebeneficiary, from suspicion, yet was all in his favor. The HiramCleave was an unknown quantity. Unfortunately the general descriptionof the man who had entered Hardy's room tallied closely with Dorothy'sdescription of Foster Durgin, whom she herself suspected of the crime. He had been in Hickwood, lurking near his uncle for several days. Hehad since run away and was apparently in hiding. 

Intending to make an endeavor to seek out young Durgin and confront himwith Barnes, who had seen the intruder in Hardy's room, and intendingalso to visit the dealer in tobacco from whom Dorothy had purchased hercigars, Garrison made his way to the railway station to return oncemore to New York. 

The matter of finding Hardy's will was on his mind as a constant worry. It had not been found among his possessions or on his person. It couldhave been stolen from his room. If this should prove to be the case itwould appear exceedingly unfavorable for Durgin. It was not at allunlikely that he might have been aware of something concerning thetestament, while Hiram Cleave, if such a person existed, would have hadno special interest in the document, one way or another. 

Another possibility was that Hardy had hidden the will away, but thisseemed rather unlikely. 

Comfortably installed on a train at last, Garrison recalled his firstdeductions, made when he came upon the fact of the poisoned cigars. The person who had prepared the weeds must have known very many ofHardy's personal habits--that of taking the end cigar from a box, andof biting the point instead of cutting it off with his knife, forinstance. These were things with which Foster, no doubt, would be wellacquainted. And in photographic work he had handled the deadly poisonemployed for Hardy's death. 

Again, as he had a hundred times before, Garrison accused himself ofcrass stupidity in permitting someone to abstract that cigar from hispocket. It might have been lost: this he knew, but he felt convincedit had been stolen. And since he was certain that Dorothy was not theone, he could think of no chance that a thief could have had to extractit without attracting his attention. 

When at length he arrived once more in Manhattan, he proceeded at onceto the shop on Amsterdam Avenue where Dorothy had purchased her cigars. Here he found a short individual in charge of a general business, including stationery, candy, newspapers, and toys, in addition to thearticles for smokers. 

Garrison pulled out his memorandum concerning that box of cigars stillin possession of Pike, at Branchville. 

"I dropped in to see if by any chance you recall the sale of a box ofcigars some little time ago, " he said, and he read off the name of thebrand. "You sold them to a lady--a young lady. Perhaps you remember. "

"Oh, yes, " agreed the man. "I don't sell many by the box. "

"Did anyone else come in while she was here, or shortly after, and buysome cigars of this same brand?" He awaited the dealer's slow processof memory and speech with eager interest. 

"Y-e-s, I think so, " said the man after a pause. "Yes, sure, a smallman. He bought a box just the same. Two boxes in one evening--I don'tdo that every day. "

"A man, you say--a small man. Was he young?"

"I don't remember very well. He was sick, I think. He had ahandkerchief on his face and his hat was pulled far down. "

"But surely you remember whether he was young or not, " insistedGarrison. "Try to think. "

A child came in to buy a stick of candy. The dealer attended to herneeds while Garrison waited. When he returned he shook his head. 

"So many people come, " he said, "I don't remember. "

Garrison tried him with a score of questions, but to no avail. Hecould add nothing to what he had supplied, and the vagueness thatshadowed the figure of the man had not been illumined in the least. Beyond the fact that a small man had followed Dorothy inside the storeand purchased the duplicate of her cigars, there was nothing ofsignificance revealed. 

Disappointed, even accusing himself of dullness and lack of resourcesin the all-important discovery of his unknown man's identity. Garrisonwent out upon the street. He felt himself in a measure disloyal toDorothy in his growing conviction that young Foster Durgin was guilty. He was sorry, but helpless. He must follow the trail wheresoever itled. 

He ate a belated luncheon, after which he went to his office. 

There were two letters lying on the floor, neither one addressed in ahand he knew. The first he opened was from Theodore. It was brief:

DEAR SIR:

If you can find the time to grant me an interview, I feel confident Ican communicate something of interest. 

Yours truly, THEODORE ROBINSON. 

His street address was written at the top. 

Garrison laid the letter on the desk and opened the second. If thefirst had occasioned a feeling of vague wonder in his breast, the otherwas far more potently stirring. It read:

DEAR MR. GARRISON:

I called once, but you were out. Shall return again about four-thirty. 

Trusting to see you, FOSTER DURGIN. 

Without even halting to lock the door as he fled from the placeGarrison hastened pell-mell to the telegraph-office, on the entrancefloor of the building, and filed the following despatch:

JAMES PIKE, Branchville, N. Y. :

Get Will Barnes on train, headed for my office, soon as possible. 

GARRISON. 

As he stepped in the elevator to return to his floor, he found Tuttlein the corner of the car. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE FRET OF WAITING

Tuttle had performed his services fairly well. He reported that youngRobinson had returned to town and had lost no time in dismissing him, with a promise to pay for services rendered by the end of the week. Theodore had seemed content with the bald report which Tuttle had madeconcerning Garrison's almost total absence from his office, and hadrather appeared to be satisfied to let the case develop for the present. 

Tuttle knew nothing of the note on Garrison's desk from Theodore, andwas therefore unaware how his news affected his chief, who wondered yetagain what might be impending. 

Concerning Fairfax there was news that was equally disquieting. He hadbeen here once, apparently quite sane again. He had talked with Tuttlefreely of a big surprise he had in store for the man who had hidden hiswife, and then he had gone to his lodgings, near at hand, departingalmost immediately with a suit-case in his hand and proceeding to thestation, where he had taken a train on a ticket purchased forBranchville. 

Tuttle, uninstructed as to following in a circumstance like this, hadthere dropped the trail. 

"What seemed to be the nature of the big surprise he had in mind?"inquired Garrison. "Could you gather anything at all?"

"Nothing more than that. He appeared to be brooding over some sort ofrevenge he had in his mind, or something he meant to do, but he wascareful to keep it to himself. "

"He said nothing at all of leaving New York?"

"Not a word. "

"You are positive he bought a ticket for Branchville?"

"Oh, sure, " said Tuttle. 

Garrison reflected for a moment. "I rather wish you had followed. However, he may return. Keep your eye on the place where he wasrooming. Have you noticed anyone else around the officehere--reporters, for instance?"

"No. The story's a sort of a dead one with the papers. Young Robinsonwas gone, and you kept out of sight, and nothing came up to prove anything. "

"You must have been talking to some newspaper man yourself, " wasGarrison's comment. He looked at Tuttle keenly. 

"I did, yes, sir. One of them saw me here two or three times andfinally asked me what paper I represented. I told him the _Cable_. "

Garrison paced up and down the floor somewhat restlessly. 

"I think of nothing further except for you to keep an eye on theRobinsons, " he said. "Wait a minute. I want you to go to theNinety-third Street house with a note I'll give you to the housekeeper, and examine the closet, in the back room, first flight up, to see if anequipment telephone is still in place there, concealed beneath a lot ofclothing. "

He sat down, wrote the note, and gave it to Tuttle, who departed withinstructions to return with his report as soon as possible. 

The office oppressed Garrison. It seemed to confine him. He proddedhimself with a hundred vague notions that there ought to be somethinghe could do, some way to get at things more rapidly. He wondered howfar he would find it possible to go with Foster Durgin, and what thefellow would say or do, if confronted with the cold-blooded factsalready collated. 

Up and down and up and down he paced, impatient of every minute thatsped away bringing nothing to the door. Would Barnes arrive in time, or at all? Would Durgin fail to come? Did Dorothy know of hispresence in the city?

Everything always swung back to Dorothy. What would she do concerningFairfax? What would Fairfax himself attempt to do, so far baffled, buta factor with a hold upon her name and, perhaps, upon her fortune? Andif the thing should all be cleared at last, and come to its end, as allthings must, what would be the outcome for himself and Dorothy?

She had told him at the start that when her business ends had beencompletely served she would wish him to dismiss himself, --from her lifeand her memory forever. He smiled at the utter futility of such abehest. It had gone beyond his power to forget like this, though acentury of time should elapse. 

For an hour he paced his cage impatiently, and nothing happened. Adozen times he went to the door, opened it and looked out in thehall--to no avail. The moment for young Durgin to arrive was at hand. It was almost time for young Barnes to appear. 

Tuttle should have made his trip by this. The postman should havebrought that photograph from Israel Snow, of Rockdale. Dorothy mightat least 'phone. 

It was maddening to wait and feel so impotent! His mind reverted tovarious phases of the case, but lingered most upon the secondwill--that might mean so much to Dorothy. Where had it gone? Had itbeen stolen--or hidden? Some way he felt it was hidden. For somereason, wholly illogical, he thought of Hardy lying dead with thosegrease-like stains upon his knuckles. What did they mean?

Working out a line of thought about the will, he was halted abruptly bya shadow on the glass of his door. He sat down quickly at his desk andassumed an air of calmness he was far from feeling. At the knock whichcame he called to the visitor to enter. 

The visitor entered. It was Wicks. 

"Oh, how do you do?" said Garrison, rising from his chair. "Come in. Come in, Mr. Wicks. "

CHAPTER XXXII

A TRAGIC CULMINATION

The grin on the face of Mr. Wicks had apparently deepened and becomeeven more sardonic. He glanced Garrison over in his sharp, penetrativemanner, heightened by his nervousness, and took a chair. 

"Forgotten instructions, haven't you, Garrison?" he snapped, adjustinghis thin wisp of hair. "Where's your report on the case of Hardy, allthese days?"

"Well, I admit I've rather neglected the office, " said Garrison, eyinghis visitor with a new, strange interest. "I've been hard at work. I've lost no time. The case is not at all simple. "

"What's all this business in the papers? You mixing up with some nieceof Hardy's, and the girl getting married to save an inheritance?"demanded Wicks. "What the devil do you mean?"

"That part is my private affair, " answered Garrison calmly. "It hasnothing to do with my work for your company, nor has it interfered inthe least with my prosecution of the inquiry. "

"Do you mean to say it hasn't delayed your reports?"

"What if it has? I've had nothing to report--particularly. "

"Yes, you have, " snapped Wicks. "You know it was murder--that'ssomething to report!"

Garrison studied the man deliberately for half a minute beforereplying. What a living embodiment of Durgin's description of HiramCleave he was! And what could he know of the facts in the case ofHardy's death that would warrant him in charging that the affair wasknown to be murder?

"Do I know it was murder?" he queried coldly. "Have I said so, Mr. Wicks, to you, or to anyone else?"

Wicks glanced at him with a quick, roving dart from his eyes. 

"You saw what was printed in the papers, " he answered evasively. "Youmust have given it out. "

"I gave out nothing, " said Garrison, bent now on a new line of thought, and determined that he would not accuse young Durgin by name tilldriven to the last extremity. "But, as a matter of fact, I do know, Mr. Wicks, that Hardy was murdered. "

"Then why the devil don't you report to that effect?" snapped Wicks. "Are you trying to shield that young woman?"

Garrison knew whom he meant, but he asked: "What young woman?"

"Dorothy Booth-Fairfax! You know who I mean!"

"What has she to do with it?" Garrison inquired in apparent innocence. "Why should you think I'm shielding her?"

"She's the likely one--the only one who could benefit by Hardy'sdeath!" answered Wicks, a little less aggressively. "You could seethat by the accounts in the paper. "

"I haven't read the papers for guidance, " Garrison observed dryly. "Have you?"

"I didn't come here to answer questions. I came to ask them. I demandyour report!" said Mr. Wicks. "I want to know all that you know!"

Garrison reflected that the little man knew too much. It suddenlyoccurred to his mind, as the man's sharp eyes picked up every speck orfleck upon his clothing, that Wicks, in the Subway that evening whenthey rode together in the jostling crowd, could have filched thatpoisoned cigar from his pocket with the utmost ease. He determined totry a little game. 

"I've been waiting for the last completing link in my chain, " he said, "before accusing any man of murder. You are right in supposing that Ihave found out more than I've reported--but only in the last few daysand hours. I told you before that I thought perhaps Hardy had beenpoisoned. "

"Well! What more? How was it done?"

"The poison employed was crushed to a powder, " and he mentioned thename of the stuff. 

"Used by photographers, " commented Wicks. 

"Not exclusively, but at times, yes. "

"How was the stuff administered?"

"I think in a fifteen-cent cigar. " Garrison was watching him closelywhile apparently toying with a pen. 

"Very good, " said Wicks with an air of satisfaction that was notexactly understandable. "I presume you have something to goon--something by way of evidence?"

"No, " said Garrison, "unfortunately I have not. I had a second cigarwhich I believe was prepared with the poison, but I committed theblunder of losing it somewhere--Heaven alone knows where. "

"That's devilish poor business!" cried Wicks in apparent exasperation. "But you haven't said why you believe the man got the poison in anysuch manner. On what do you base your conclusions?"

"Near where the man was found dead I discovered an unsmoked cigar, "answered Garrison, watching the effect of his words. "It containedwhat little of the powder the victim had not absorbed. "

Wicks looked at him almost calmly. 

"You've done good work, " he said. "It's a pity you lost that secondcigar. And, by the way, where did you get it?"

Garrison realized that, despite his intended precautions, he had goneirretrievably into disclosures that were fetching the case up toDorothy or young Foster Durgin. In his eagerness to pursue a newtheory, he had permitted Wicks to draw him farther than he had everintended to go. There was no escape. He decided to put it through. 

"I got it from a box, at the coroner's office, " he admitted. 

"Mr. Garrison, what do you mean by withholding all these facts?"demanded Wicks sharply. "Where did Hardy get the box of cigars?"

Garrison would gladly have evaded this question, but he was helpless. 

"They were a birthday present from his niece. "

"This Miss Booth-Fairfax?"

"Yes. "

"And you're in love with her!--masquerading as her husband! What doyou mean by saying you've not attempted to shield her?"

"Now go slow, Mr. Wicks, " cautioned Garrison. "I know what I'm doingin this case. It was given to me to ferret out--and I'll go through itto the end--no matter who is found guilty. "

"That's better!" said Wicks. "You don't believe it's this young woman. Who else could have as good a motive?"

Garrison was fighting for time. A sacrifice was necessary. Heutilized young Durgin, who might, after all, be guilty. 

"Miss Booth, or Mrs. Fairfax, has a step-brother, by marriage, " hesaid. "He has worked at photography. He gambles in Wall Street. Hewas desperate--but as yet I have no positive proof that he did thiscrime. I am waiting for developments--and expecting things at anymoment. "

"Where is the man?" said Wicks. "What's his name?"

"Foster Durgin. I'm waiting for him now. He's fifteen minutesoverdue. "

"Arrest him when he comes!" commanded Wicks. "Take no chances onletting him escape!"

"Perhaps that's good advice, " said Garrison slowly. "I'll think itover. "

"He's the only one you suspect?"

"Well, there's one more element, somewhat vague and unsubstantiated, "admitted Garrison. "There's a man, it seems, who threatened Hardyyears ago. He has followed Hardy about persistently. Hardy appearedto fear him greatly, which accounts for his ceaseless roving. This manmay and may not have accomplished some long-planned revenge atBranchville. He appears to be somewhat mystical, but I felt it mybusiness to investigate every possible clew. "

"Certainly, " said Wicks, whose scrutiny of Garrison's face had grownonce more abnormally acute. "What's his name?"

Garrison focused his eyes on the man across the desk incisively. 

"Hiram Cleave. "

So far as he could see there was not so much as a flicker to show thathis shot had gone home. 

Wicks spoke up, no less aggressively than before. 

"Where is he now?"

"No one seems to know. I hope to discover--and report. "

Wicks rose and took his hat from the desk. 

"Except for your negligence in appearing at the office, " he said, "youhave done fairly well. Shall you need any help in arresting Durgin?If you wish it I----"

A knock on the door interrupted. A postman entered, met Garrison as hewas stepping across the floor, and handed him a thin, flat parcel, crudely wrapped and tied. It was postmarked Rockdale. 

Garrison knew it for the photograph--the picture of Cleave for which hehad hoped and waited. 

"Wait just a minute, Mr. Wicks, " he said, backing toward the door withintent to keep his man from departing. "This is a letter from a friendwho is helping on the case. Let me look it through. I may have moreto report before you go. "

Wicks sat down again. 

Garrison remained by the door. He was cutting the string on thepackage when a second knock on the glass behind him gave him a start. 

He opened the door. A small, rather smiling young man was in the hall. 

"Mr. Garrison?" he said. "My name is----"

"How do you do?" Garrison interrupted loudly, having instantlyrecognized Foster Durgin, from a strong resemblance to his olderbrother, and instantly calling out: "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Wicks, "stepped out in the hall and closed the door. 

"My name is Durgin, " said the visitor. "I called before----"

"I know, " interrupted Garrison, moving down the hall and speaking in avoice so low he was certain Wicks could hear nothing, from behind thedoor, even should he try. "I've been expecting you. I want you to dosomething quickly, before we try to have a talk. I want you to godownstairs, ring up police headquarters and ask for a couple ofofficers to come as quickly as they can travel. "

"What for? I don't----"

"I've got to arrest the man who murdered your uncle, " said Garrison, using the most searching and startling method at command to put youngDurgin to the test of guilt or innocence. "Act first and come backafterward!"

"I'm with you!" said Durgin. "Got him, have you?--what's his name?"

He was innocent. 

Garrison knew it, and instantly concluded that the young man before himcould hardly have stolen the uncle's second will. But he had no timefor ramifying inquiries. He pushed his visitor toward the elevator andonly answered with more urging for speed. 

He returned to the office, tearing off the wrapper from his picture ashe went. He glanced at it once before he opened the door. It wasWicks--not so bald--not so aggressive of aspect, but Wicks beyond theshadow of a doubt. On the back was written "Hiram Cleave. "

Wicks turned upon him as he entered. 

"I can't wait here all day while you conduct your business in thehall, " he said. "Who was the man outside?"

Garrison had grown singularly calm. 

"That, " he said, "was Foster Durgin. "

"And you let him get away?" cried Wicks wrathfully. "Mr. Garrison----"

Garrison interrupted curtly. 

"I took your advice and sent him to get the police. Good joke, isn'tit, to have him summon the officers to arrest the man who murdered hisuncle?"

Wicks had an intuition or a fear. He stared at Garrison wildly. Garrison remained by the door. 

"What do you mean to do?" demanded the visitor. 

"Wait a few minutes and see, " was Garrison's reply. "Meantime, here isa photograph of the man who threatened Hardy's life. And, by the way, "he added, holding the picture with its face toward himself, in attitudeof carelessness, "I forgot to say before that a man was seen enteringHardy's room, in Hickwood, the night of the murder. He extracted twocigars from the box presented to Hardy by his niece, and in their placehe deposited others, precisely like them, purchased at the same littlestore in Amsterdam Avenue where she obtained hers, and bought, moreover, within a very few minutes of her visit to the shop. All ofwhich bears upon the case. "

Wicks was eying him now with a menacing, furtive glance that shiftedwith extraordinary rapidity. He had paled a trifle about the mouth. 

"Mr. Garrison, " he said, "you are trifling with this matter. What doyou mean?"

"Just what I said, " answered Garrison. "The witness who saw themurderer leave his deadly cigars in that box should have arrived by nowto identify the criminal. This photograph, as I said before, is apicture of the man I think guilty. "

He advanced a step, with no intention of abandoning the door, anddelivered the picture into his visitor's hand. 

Wicks glanced down at it furtively. His face turned livid. 

"So!" he cried. "You think you---- Get away from that door!"

He made a swift movement forward, but Garrison blocked his way. 

"Not till your friends the policemen arrive!" he said. "It was yourown suggestion, and good. "

"You act like a crazy man!" Wicks declared with a sudden change ofmanner. "I'll have you discharged--you are discharged! The case isout of your hands. You----"

For the third time a knock was sounded on the door. 

"Come in!" called Garrison, keeping his eyes on Wicks, whose face hadturned from the red of rage to the white of sudden fear. "Comein--don't wait!"

It was Pike and young Will Barnes. 

"That's the man!" said the youth on entering, his eyes transfixed byWicks. "Look at him laugh!"

"I'd kill you all if I had a gun!" cried Wicks in an outburst ofmalignity. "I killed Hardy, yes! I said I'd get him, and I got him!It's all I lived for, but, by Heaven! you'll never take me to jailalive!"

He caught up a chair, ran to the window, and beat out the glass with ablow. Garrison ran to snatch him back, but Wicks swung the chair andit broke on Garrison's head and he went down abruptly in a heap. 

There were two sharp cries. Wicks made one as he leaped to his deathfrom the sill. 

The other came in a woman's utterance. 

It was Dorothy, at the open door. 

"Jerold!" she cried, and ran into the room and knelt where he lay onthe floor. 

He was merely stunned. He recovered as if by the power ofstubbornness, with his mind strangely occupied by thoughts of Hardy'swill--the hidden will--and the fingers stained with black. When heopened his eyes he was looking up in the sweetest, most anxious face inall the world. 

"Help me up. Let me go before everyone comes, " he said. "I believe Iknow where to find your uncle's will!"

It was already too late. Durgin and two policemen appeared at the opendoor. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

FOSTER DURGIN

Confusion reigned in the office presently, for more of the officerscame upon the scene, and people from adjoining rooms helped to swellthe numbers. Everyone was talking at once. 

The form of Wicks, motionless and broken, lay far below the window, onthe pavement of an air and light shaft, formed like a niche in thebuilding. Garrison sent Dorothy to her lodgings, promising to visither soon. There was nothing she could do in such a place, and he feltthere was much she should be spared. 

Pike, young Barnes, and Foster Durgin remained, the two former aswitnesses of what had occurred, Durgin by Garrison's request. Allothers were presently closed out of the office, and the body of Wickswas removed. 

The hour that followed, an hour of answering questions, makingstatements, proving who he was and what, was a time that Garrisondisliked exceedingly, but it could not be escaped. Reporters hadspeedily gathered; the story would make a highly sensational sequel tothe one already printed. 

The guilt of Wicks had been confessed. Corroborative testimony beingquite abundant, and every link in the chain complete, the affair leftno possible suspicion resting upon either Scott or any of Hardy'srelatives; and Garrison and Durgin refused to talk of Dorothy'smarriage or anything concerning the will. 

The story used before was, of course, reviewed at length. Despite thedelays of the investigation immediately undertaken, Garrison managed atlast to secure the freedom of Pike and Will Barnes, in addition to thatof himself and Foster Durgin. As good as his word, he took thedisciple of Walton to a first-class dealer in sportsmen's articles andbought him a five-dollar rod. Barnes and the coroner of Branchvillestarted somewhat late for their town. 

The evening was fairly well advanced when at length young Durgin andGarrison found themselves enabled to escape officials, reporters, andthe merely curious, to retire to a quiet restaurant for something toeat and a chat. 

Durgin, as he sat there confronting his host, presented a picture toGarrison of virtues mixed with hurtful tendencies. A certain look ofmelancholy lingered about his eyes. His mouth was of the sensitivedescription. His gaze was steady, but a boyish expression of defiancesomewhat marred an otherwise pleasant countenance. 

He showed both the effects of early spoiling and the subsequentintolerance of altered conditions. On the whole, however, he seemed amanly young fellow in whom regeneration was more than merely promised. 

Garrison ordered the dinner--and his taste was both excellent andgenerous. 

"Mr. Durgin, " he said at last with startling candor, "it looked for atime as if you yourself were concerned in the death of Mr. Hardy. Morethan half the pleasure that Dorothy will experience in the outcome ofto-day's affairs will arise from her knowledge of your innocence. "

Foster met his gaze steadily. 

"I am sorry for many of the worries I have caused, " he said, in aquiet, unresentful manner, free alike from surprise or anger. "I'vebeen trying to do better. You knew I'd been away?"

"That was one of the features of the case that looked a littlesuspicious, " answered Garrison. 

"I didn't care to tell where I was going, in case my mission shouldfail, " the young fellow imparted. "I went after work--good, clean, well-paying work--and I got it. I can hold up my head at last. "

A look of pride had come upon his face, but his lip was trembling. That the fight he had waged with himself was manly, and worthily won, to some considerable extent, was a thing that Garrison felt. He had nointention of preaching and no inclination for the task. 

"'Nuff said, " he answered. "Shake. Here comes the soup. "

They shook hands over the table. No further reference was made to apersonal subject. Some way Garrison felt that a man had come to takethe place of a boy, and while he reflected that the fight was not yetabsolutely finished, and the bitterness of it might remain for sometime yet to come, nevertheless he was thoroughly convinced that throughsome great lesson, or some awakening influence, Foster had come to hismanhood and could henceforth be trusted to merit respect and the trustof all his fellow-beings. 

Garrison, alone, at nine o'clock, had an impulse to hasten off toBranchville. In the brief time of lying unconscious on the floor whenWicks struck him down, he had felt some strange psychic sense takepossession of his being, long enough for the room that Hardy hadoccupied in Hickwood to come into vision, as if through walls madetransparent. 

He had merely a dim, fading memory that when he awoke he had spoken toDorothy, telling her to help him to go, that the hiding-place ofHardy's will had been at last revealed. As he thought of it now, onhis way to Dorothy's abiding place, he shook his head in doubt. It wasprobably all an idle dream. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE RICHES OF THE WORLD

Dorothy was waiting to see him. She was still excited, still anxiousconcerning himself. She had quite forgotten his words about the willin her worry lest the blow on his head had proved more serious than hadat first appeared. 

He met her quietly in a large, common parlor--the duplicate of athousand such rooms in New York--and was thoroughly determined to curbthe impetuous surging of his feelings. She was wearing a bunch of hiscarnations, and had never seemed more beautiful in all her wondrousmoods of beauty. 

Just to have sat where he could look upon her all he wished, withoutrestraint or conventions, would almost have satisfied his soul. Butshe gave him her hand with a grace so compelling, and her eyes askedtheir question so tenderly--a question only of his welfare--that riotwas loosed in his veins once more and love surged over him in billows. 

"I was afraid you might not come, " she said. "I have never been moreworried or afraid. Such a terrible moment--all of it--and thatcreature striking you down! If you hadn't come I'd have been so sureyou were very badly hurt. I'd have felt so guilty for all I've done tojeopardize your life in my petty affairs. "

"It's all right. I was ashamed for going out so easily, " saidGarrison, turning away in self-defense and seating himself in a chair. "He struck me so suddenly I had no time to guard. But that part isn'tworth another thought. "

"I thought it the _only_ part worth anything, " said Dorothy in herhonesty. "It came upon me suddenly that nothing I was after was worththe risks you've been assuming in my behalf. And they may not beended. I wish they were. I wish it were all at an end! But Foster isinnocent. If you knew how glad I am of that you would feel a littlerepaid. "

"I feel thoroughly repaid and gratified, " said Garrison. "I have toldyou before that I am glad you came into my existence with yourneed--your case. I have no regret over anything that has happened--tomyself. It has been life to me--life! And I take a certain pride infeeling that when you come to dismiss me, at the end, I shall not havebeen an absolute disappointment. "

She looked at him in a new alarm. He had purposely spoken somewhatbluntly of his impending dismissal. She had come to a realizing sensethat she could never dismiss him from her life--that to have him near, to know he was well--to love him, in a word--had become the one motiveof her life. 

Nevertheless she was helpless. And he was treating the matter as ifher fate were sealed to that of Fairfax indissolubly. What littletimid hopes she might have entertained of gaining her freedom, sometime in the future, and saving herself, soul and body, for him--allthis he had somewhat dimmed by this reference to going from her ken. 

"But I--I haven't said anything about dismissing--anyone, " shefaltered. "I hadn't thought----" She left her sentence incomplete. 

"I know, " said Jerold. "There has been so much to think about, thesubject may have been neglected. As a matter of fact, however, I amalready out of it, supplanted by your genuine husband. We can nolonger maintain the pretense. 

"The moment Mr. Fairfax and Theodore chance to meet, our bit oftheatricalism goes to pieces. We would scarcely dare to face a court, in a will probation, with Fairfax on the scene. So, I say, I ampractically eliminated already. "

The one thing that remained in her mind at the end of his speech wasnot in the least the main concern. She looked at him with pain in hereyes. 

"Has it been nothing but a bit of theatricalism, after all?"

He dared not permit himself to answer from his heart. He kept up hisshow of amusement, or indifference to sentiment. 

"We have played theatric rôles to a small but carefully selectedaudience, " he said. "I for a fee, and you--for needful ends. We mightas well be frank, as we were the day it all began. "

It was the way of a woman to be hurt. She felt there was something ofa sting in what he said. She knew she had halted his impassioneddeclaration of love--but only because of the right. She had heard it, despite her protest--and had treasured it since, and echoed it over inher heart repeatedly. 

She wished him to say it all again--all of it and more--but--not justyet. She wanted him to let her know that he loved her more thananything else in the world, but not by spoken words of passion. 

"I am sorry if I've seemed so--so heartless in it all, " she said. "Ihadn't the slightest intention of--of permitting you to----"

"I know, " he interrupted, certain he knew what she meant. "I haven'taccused anyone. It was all my own fault. We'll drop it, if you wish. "

"You haven't let me finish, " she insisted. "I started to say that Ihad no intention of making you feel like--like nothing more than anagent--toward me--I mean, I had no intention of appearing to you like aselfish, heartless woman, willing to sacrifice the sweetest--thevarious things of life to gain my ends. I want you to believe thatI--I'd rather you wouldn't call it all just mere theatrics. "

Garrison gripped his chair, to restrain the impulse to rise and takeher in his arms. He could almost have groaned, for the love in hisheart must lie there, dumb and all but hopeless. 

"Dorothy, " he said when he felt his mastery complete, "I have alreadymade it hard enough for myself by committing a folly against which yougave me ample warning. I am trying now to redeem myself and merit yourtrust and regard. "

Her eyes met his in a long, love-revealing look--a look that couldbridge all the gulfs of time and the vast abyss of space itself--andwords would have been but a jar. Whatever the outcome, after this, nothing could rob them of the deep, supernal joy that flashed therebetween them for a moment. 

Even when her lashes fell, at last, the silence was maintained. 

After a time Garrison spoke again, returning to earth and theunfinished labor before him. 

"I must go, " he said, consulting his watch. "I hope to catch a trainfor Branchville in order to be there early in the morning. "

"On our--this business?" she inquired. 

He felt it quite impossible to raise her hopes--or perhaps herfears--by announcing he felt he should find John Hardy's latest will. Moreover, he had undergone a wakeful man's distrust of the "dream" hehad experienced after falling at the hands of Wicks. He resorted to aharmless deceit, which, after all, was not entirely deceitful. 

"Mr. Fairfax left for Branchville--he said to spring a surprise, " heimparted. "I thought it would do no harm to be on hand and prepare forhis moves, as far as possible. "

He had risen. Dorothy did likewise. A slight suggestion of palenessoverspread her face, followed at once by a faint, soft flush of color. 

"I hope you will try to avoid him--avoid anything that might bedangerous, " she faltered. "I feel already I shall never be able toforgive myself for the dangers into which I have sent you. "

"This is the surest way to avoid any possible dangers, " he assured her. "And, by the way, there is no particular reason now why you shouldlonger remain away from Ninety-third Street. The newspaper men havedone their worst, and the Robinsons will be entirely disarmed by thevarious events that have happened--unless Theodore should happen tospring a new surprise, and in any event you might be far morecomfortable. "

"Perhaps I will return--some time to-morrow, " she said. "I'll see. "

Garrison went to the door and she walked at his side. 

He merely said: "Good-night--and Heaven bless you, Dorothy. "

She answered: "Good-night, Jerold, " and gave him her hand. 

He held it for a moment--the riches of the world. And when he had gonethey felt they had divided, equally, a happiness too great forterrestrial measurement. 

CHAPTER XXXV

JOHN HARDY'S WILL

Garrison slept the sleep of physical exhaustion that night inBranchville. The escape from New York's noise and turmoil was welcometo his weary body. He had been on a strain day after day, and much ofit still remained. Yet, having cleared away the mystery concerningHardy's death, he felt entitled to a let-down of the tension. 

In the morning he was early on the road to Hickwood--his faculties alleagerly focused on the missing will. He felt it might all prove themerest vagary of his mind--his theory of his respecting old Hardy andthis testament. But stubbornly his mind clung fast to a few importantfacts. 

Old Hardy had always been secretive, for Dorothy had so reported. Hehad carried his will away with him on leaving Albany. It had not beenstolen--so far as anyone could know. Coupled with all this was thefact that the dead man's hands' had been stained upon theknuckles--stained black, with a grimy something hard to washaway--perhaps the soot, the greasy, moldy old soot of a chimney, encountered in the act of secreting the will, and later only partiallyremoved. It seemed as clear as crystal to the reasoning mind ofGarrison as he hastened along on the road. 

He passed the home of Scott, the inventor, and mentally jotted down areminder that the man, being innocent, must be paid his insurance nowwithout delay. 

Mrs. Wilson was working in her garden, at the rear of the house, whenGarrison arrived. She was wonderfully pleased to see him. She hadread the papers--which Garrison had not--and discovered what a trulyremarkable personage he was. 

The credit of more than ordinarily clever work had been meted out bythe columnful, and his name glared boldly from the vivid account of allhe had done in the case. All this and more he found himself obliged toface at the hands of Mrs. Wilson, before he could manage to enter thehouse and go as before to Hardy's room. 

It was just precisely as he had seen it on his former visit. It hadnot been rented since, partially on account of the fact that Hardy'sfate had cast an evil shadow upon it. 

Garrison lost no time in his search. He followed his theory. It ledhim straight to the fireplace, with its crudely painted board, built tooccupy its opening. Behind this, he felt, should be the will. 

The board was stuck. Mrs. Wilson hastened to her sitting-room to fetcha screwdriver back to pry it out. Garrison gave it a kick, at thebottom, in her absence, thus jarring it loose, and the top fell forwardin his hand. 

He put his hand far up, inside the chimney--and on a ledge of brick, where his knuckles picked up a coating of moldy, greasy soot, hisfingers encountered an envelope and knocked it from its lodgment. Itfell on the fender at the bottom of the place. He caught it up, onlytaking time to note a line, "Will of John Hardy, " written upon it--and, cramming it into his pocket, thrust the board back into place as Mrs. Wilson entered at the door. 

It was not with intent to deceive the good woman that he had thusabruptly decided to deny her the knowledge of his find, but rather as asensible precaution against mere idle gossip, which could achieve noparticular advantage. 

Therefore when she pried the board from place, and nothing wasdiscovered behind it, he thanked her profusely, made a whollyperfunctory examination of the room, and presently escaped. 

Not until he found himself far from any house, on the road he wastreading to Branchville, did he think of removing the package from hispocket. He found it then to be a plain white envelope indorsed withthis inscription:

Last will of John Hardy. To be opened after my death, and then by myniece, Dorothy Fairfax, only. 

Denied the knowledge whether it might mean fortune or poverty to thegirl he loved, and feeling that, after all, his labors might heap greatunearned rewards on Fairfax, bestowing on himself the mere hollowconsciousness that his work had been well performed, he was presentlyseated once more in a train that roared its way down to New York. 

There was still an hour left of the morning when he alighted at theGrand Central Station. He went at once to Dorothy's latest abode. 

She was out. The landlady knew nothing whatever of her whereabouts. Impatient of every delay, and eager to know not only the contents ofthe will, but what it might mean to have Dorothy gone in this manner, he felt himself baffled and helpless. He could only leave a note andproceed to his office. 

Tuttle was there when he arrived. He had nothing to report ofFairfax--of whom Garrison himself had heard no word in Branchville--butconcerning the house in Ninety-third Street there was just a mite ofnews. 

He had been delayed in entering by the temporary absence of thecaretaker. He had finally succeeded in making his way to the closet inTheodore's room--and the telephone was gone. Theodore had evidentlyfound a means to enter by the stairs at the rear, perhaps through thehouse next door. The caretaker felt quite certain he had not set footinside the door since Garrison issued his orders. 

Garrison wrote a note to Theodore, in reply to the one received the daybefore, suggesting a meeting here at this office at noon, or as soon asconvenient. 

"Take that out, " he said to Tuttle, "and send it by messenger. Thenreturn to the house where Fairfax had his room and see if there's anynews of him. "

Tuttle opened the door to go just as Dorothy, who had arrived outside, was about to knock. Garrison beheld her as she stepped slightly back. He rose from his seat and hastened towards her. 

"Excuse me, " said Tuttle, and he went his way. 

"Come in, " said Garrison. "Come in, Dorothy. I've been at your houseand missed you. "

She was somewhat pale. 

"Yes, I couldn't stay--I wanted to see you the moment you returned, "she told him. "Theodore has found my address, I don't know how, andsent me a note in which he says he has something new--some dreadfulsurprise----"

"Never mind Theodore, " Garrison interrupted. "Sit down and get yourbreath. He couldn't have come upon much in all his hunting--much, Imean, that we do not already know. In the meantime, get ready fornews--I can't tell what sort of news, but--I've found your uncle'slatest will!"

Dorothy made no attempt to speak for a moment. Her face became almostashen. Then it brightened. Alarm went from her eyes and she evenmustered a smile. 

"It doesn't make a great deal of difference now, whatever Uncle Johnmay have done, " she said. "Foster and Alice will be all right--but, where did you find it? Where has it been?"

"I found it at the room he occupied in Hickwood--and fetched it along. "

He produced it from his pocket and placed it in her hand. 

Despite her most courageous efforts she was weak and nervously excited. Her hands fairly trembled as she tore the envelope across. 

"Take it calmly, " said Garrison. "Don't be hurried. "

She could make no reply. She drew the will from its sheath and, spreading it open, glanced through it rapidly. 

"Dear Uncle John!" she presently said, in a voice that all but broke. "He has willed it all to me, with no conditions--all except a nicelittle sum for Foster--poor Foster, I'm so glad!"

She broke down and cried. 

Garrison said nothing. He went to the window and let her cry it out. 

She was drying her eyes, in an effort to regain her self-control, whensomeone knocked and immediately opened the door. 

Garrison turned. Dorothy had risen quickly to her feet. 

It was Theodore who stood in the doorway. He had come beforeGarrison's note could be delivered. 

"Come in, " said Garrison. "You're just the man I wish to see. "

CHAPTER XXXVI

GARRISON'S VALUED FRIEND

Dorothy, catching up the precious will, had retreated from Theodore'sadvance. She made no effort to greet him, even with so much as a nod. 

"I thought I might possibly find you both, and save a little time, "said Robinson, striding in boldly, with no sign of removing his hat. "Seems I hit it off about right. "

"Charmingly, " said Garrison. "Won't you sit down and take off your hatand stay a while?"

"You sound cheerful, " said Theodore, drawing forth a chair and seatinghimself in comfort. "Perhaps you realize the game is up at last. "

"Yes, " agreed Garrison. "I think we do--but it's good of you to comeand accept our notice, I'm sure. "

"I didn't come to accept notice--I came to give it, " said youngRobinson self-confidently. "I've recently returned from Rockbeach, where I went to investigate your so-called marriage. "

He had seen or heard nothing of Fairfax; that was obvious. 

"Well?" said Garrison. "Proceed. "

"That's about enough, ain't it?" said Theodore. "The marriage havingbeen a fraud, what's the use of beating around the bush? If you careto fix it up on decent terms, I'll make no attempt to break the willwhen it comes up for probate, but otherwise I'll smash your case tosplinters. "

"You've put it quite clearly, " said Garrison. "You are offering tocompromise. Very generous. Let me have the floor for half a minute. I've had your man Tuttle on your trail, when you thought you had him onmine, for some little time. 

"I happen to know that you stole two necklaces in the keeping of Mrs. Fairfax, on the night I met you first, and placed them on the neck ofsome bold young woman in the house next door, where, as you mayremember, I saw you dressed as Mephistopheles. You----"

"I stole nothing of the kind!" interrupted Theodore. "She's gotthem----"

"Never mind that, " Garrison interposed. "Let's go on. You installed a'phone in your closet, at the house in Ninety-third Street, and on thenight when you overheard an appointment I made with Mrs. Fairfax, youplugged in, overheard it, abducted Dorothy, under the influence ofchloroform, stole her wedding-certificate, and delivered me over to thehands of a pair of hired assassins to have me murdered in Central Park. 

"All this, with the robbery you hired Tuttle to commit at Branchville, ought to keep you reflecting in prison for some little time to come--ifyou think you'd like to go to court and air your grievances publicly. "

Theodore was intensely white. Yet his nerve was not entirely destroyed. 

"All this won't save your bacon, when I turn over all my affidavits, "he said. "The property won't go to you when the will's before thecourt. The man who married you in Rockbeach was no justice of thepeace, and you know it, Mr. Jerold Garrison. You assumed the name ofFairfax and hired a low-down political heeler, who hadn't been ajustice for fully five years, to act the part and marry you to Dorothy. 

"I've got the affidavits. If you think that's going to sound well inpublic--if you think it's pleasant to Dorothy now to know what ablackguard you are, why let's get on the job, both of us flinging themud!"

Dorothy was pale and tense with new excitement. 

"Wait a minute, please, " said Garrison. "You say you have legalaffidavits that the man who performed that marriage ceremony was afraud, paid to act the part?--that the marriage was a sham--no marriageat all?"

"You know it wasn't!" Theodore shouted at him triumphantly, pullinglegal-looking papers from his pocket. "And you were married to anotherwretched woman at the time. Let Dorothy try to get some joy out ofthat, if she can--and you, too!"

"Thank you, I've got mine, " said Garrison quietly. "You're the verybest friend I've seen for weeks. Fairfax, the man who has done thisunspeakable wrong, is a lunatic, somewhere between here and up country, at this moment. He was here in town for a couple of days, and Ithought you might have met him. "

"You--what do you mean?" demanded Theodore. 

"Just what I say, " said Garrison. "I'll pay you five hundred dollarsfor your affidavits, if they're genuine, and you may be interested toknow, by the way of news, that a later will by your step-uncle, JohnHardy, has come to light, willing everything to Dorothy--withoutconditions. You wasted time by going out of town. "

"A new will!--I refuse to believe it!" said Robinson, weak withapprehension. 

Garrison drew open a drawer of his desk and took out a loaded revolver. He knew his man and meant to take no risk. Crossing to Dorothy, hetook the will from her hand. 

"This is the document, " he said. "Signed and witnessed in the best oflegal form. And speaking of leaving town, let me suggest that youmight avoid a somewhat unhealthily close confinement by making yourresidence a good long way from Manhattan. "

Robinson aged before their very eyes. The ghastly pallor remained onhis face. His shoulders lost something of their squareness. A musclewas twitching about his mouth. His eyes were dulled as he tried oncemore to meet the look of the man across the desk. 

He knew he was beaten--and fear had come upon him, fear of theconsequences earned by the things he had done. He had neither the willnor the means to renew the fight. Twice his lips parted, in his effortto speak, before he mastered his impotent rage and regained the powerto think. He dropped his documents weakly on the desk. 

"I'll take your five hundred for the papers, " he said. "How much timewill you give me to go?"

"Two days, " said Garrison. "I'll send you a check to-morrow morning. "

Theodore turned to depart. Tuttle had returned. He knocked on thedoor and entered. Startled thus to find himself face to face withRobinson, he hesitated where he stood. 

"So, " said Theodore with one more gasp of anger, "you sold me out, didyou, Tuttle? I might have expected it of you!"

Tuttle would have answered, and not without heat. Garrison interposed. 

"It's all right, Tuttle, " he said. "Robinson knows when he's done. Itold him you were in a better camp. Any news of Mr. Fairfax for usall?"

"It's out in the papers, " said Tuttle in reply, taking two copies of anevening edition from his pocket. "It seems a first wife of Mr. Fairfaxhas nabbed him, up at White Plains. But he's crazy, so she'll put himaway. "

For the first time in all the scene Dorothy spoke. 

She merely said, "Thank Heaven!"

CHAPTER XXXVII

A HONEYMOON

A month had flown to the bourne whence no summer charms return. 

August had laid a calming hand on all the gray Atlantic, dimpling itssurface with invitations to the color and glory of the sky. The worldturned almost visibly here, in this vast expanse of waters, bringingits meed of joys and sorrows to the restless human creatures on itsbosom. 

Jerold and Dorothy, alone at last, even among so many passengers, werefour days deep in their honeymoon, with all the delights of Europelooming just ahead. 

There was nothing left undone in the case of Hardy. Scott had beenpaid his insurance; the Robinsons had fled; Foster Durgin and his wifewere united by a bond of work and happiness; the house in Ninety-thirdStreet was rented, and Fairfax was almost comfortable at a "sanatorium"where his wife came frequently to see him. 

With their arms interlocked, Dorothy and Jerold watched the sun godown, from the taffrail of the mighty ocean liner. 

When the moon rose, two hours later, they were still on deck, alone. 

And when they came to a shadow, built for two, they paused in theirperfect understanding. She put her arms about his neck and gave him akiss upon the lips. His arms were both about her, folding her close tohis breast. 

"It's such a rest to love you all I please, " she whispered. "It wasvery, very hard, even from the first, to keep it from telling itself. "

Such is the love that glorifies the world. 

THE END